CHAPTER FOUR

AN INTENSIVE CARE unit was not the most peaceful place to be for either the patients or the close family members who were beside their beds. The level of staffing was high enough for it to feel crowded and seriously unwell people were there for the constant monitoring they needed which meant they were rarely left alone. The banks of sophisticated monitoring equipment created a background of beeping sounds, occasionally interrupted by alarms as parameters for whatever was being watched reached levels that were too high or low.

Nobody questioned the interest that the head of Seattle General’s ER had in this particular patient because he often followed the progress of cases he’d been involved with. Apart from the select few that knew his father’s identity, nobody thought there was anything different about the man in the far corner bed who was still in a coma following his emergency surgery for both leg and head injuries. It was a sad thought for Dom that nobody would recognise Roberto Baresi right now, with his head bandaged, eyes puffy and closed and his face half covered with the device securing his breathing tube in place and supporting the bulky connections to the bedside ventilator.

After three days, it was becoming a familiar part of Dom’s routine to regularly drop into the ICU. He was also in frequent contact with his father’s neurosurgeon, Max Granger, so he could pass on the progress reports to his sister, Giada. During the day, Dom’s brief visits were purely clinical, but during the night in Seattle General’s post-surgical ICU the staffing level was lower so that was when Dom could spend a little more time by his father’s bedside—as a loving son who was grappling with both sadness and guilt at what Roberto was having to endure.

If anybody asked, Dom was going to tell them that he was a friend of the family and the only person close enough to visit, but nobody had asked yet. This was a place where people were ultimately vulnerable so privacy was respected whenever possible to afford patients just a little more dignity.

Dom was sitting quietly now, close to Roberto’s bed, in the dimmed lighting of the unit, watching the screens and readouts on the monitors around his father. He was able to speak quietly to him without being overheard thanks to the background hum of the ventilator and the other sounds of the ICU. He told him that Giada was fine and that she was back in Isola Verde and there were no problems at home. He reassured him about the others involved in the accident, telling him that Logan was unhurt and ready to start work next week at Seattle General and that Giorgio was uninjured. He also told him frequently that he was doing well himself. That they were all taking the best care of him and that he was going to come through this with flying colours.

There was still a level of tension, of course. His father had not only survived a serious car accident but had also been through not just one but two life-saving surgeries in the space of only a few hours after that. He was still in a coma and requiring support for his breathing days later with no indications yet of when he might wake up, but there was relief to be found as well. The critical period of the initial six to twelve hours, when a deterioration in clinical status was usually the first sign of a potentially fatal complication, was thankfully well past now and Roberto was stable, with good control of the key aspects of blood pressure and oxygen levels that were so important in the care of a patient with a head injury.

Relief was one of the best feelings in the world, Dom decided, as he let a long, slow breath out, having scanned all the monitors before allowing his gaze to rest on his father’s face again. He could actually feel some tension being swept away, to be replaced with a sense of peace that might not last but it was something to be savoured for as long as possible. Dom found himself smiling at his father and leaning closer so he could talk quietly. Not about anything in particular, it was in the hope that his father would be able to hear his voice and to know that someone who loved him was nearby.

‘I had a big day in the ER today,’ he told Roberto. ‘There was just so much going on and a lot of very sick people so I had to try and be in too many places at the same time. There was a shooting victim and someone who’d fallen from a roof. Other people with drug overdoses and heart attacks and someone who was badly burned.’ He leaned back to stretch. ‘Do you ever get an ache between your shoulder blades from too much stress? Yes...’ Dom paused for a long moment, watching his father’s face. ‘Of course you do. Ruling a country carries a lot more responsibility than running an ER, doesn’t it? I have to admit I’m really not looking forward to that at all. The ER is the only kingdom I’ve ever wanted to rule.’

He let his breath out in a sigh. It was time to change the subject. This might be a one-sided conversation that nobody else could hear but he was still treading on thin ice. If this story broke, the level of tension around Roberto would escalate as private security as well as other measures would have to be installed and that would not help his recovery at all.

‘Were the horses your way of defusing the stress? A fast gallop along a beach? The best thing I find is to stand in a really hot shower for a long time. Not that I’d change my job because of the stress, mind you.’ He was talking aloud to himself now. He would never have dreamed of saying anything like this to his father if it was a normal conversation. ‘I love it because it pushes me to perform the best I can and...when you know you’ve made a difference—saved a life, possibly—then that’s the best feeling in the world. Like relief but bigger...because there’s satisfaction in making it happen. Pride, even...’

There was no flicker on his father’s face to suggest that he could hear what Dom was saying but it felt good to be telling him how important his job was to him. To say things he should probably have said long ago.

‘I’ve never thanked you for letting me have the opportunity to do this. You could have stopped me from coming here to study in the first place and...and I know you’ve let me continue working for longer than you wanted to. I’m sorry I haven’t been home in so long but it was because I didn’t want to have that discussion. I didn’t want to feel any more guilty than I already did, that I was putting off doing my duty. Hoping for just another year of being here and being able to be true to myself—as a man. And a doctor. Not as a crown prince who should have stood up to do his duty a long time ago. I’ve felt so guilty about that...’

Dom let his breath out in another sigh. He shouldn’t be talking about this again but it had been bottled up for too long. ‘I’ve felt guilty about keeping the secret of who I am, too. At first it was so good to be able to live like a normal person here and never have to worry about someone taking a picture that might reflect badly on the family but, you know what? Keeping a secret like that meant that nobody really knew me. I think it’s actually been a much bigger barrier than I realised. To all sorts of things...’

Because there was the most astonishing relief to be found in the fact that Emilia Featherstone now knew that secret. He’d always been himself with her—or what he thought of as his real self—but that secret was also part of himself and it had created a solid wall between them. A gap that could never be bridged. Now it was gone and, while the smashing of that barrier had created a bit of damage and he couldn’t blame Emilia for having been so angry he was hopeful that, given time, she would trust him again and they would be on new ground.

Astonishing new ground, for both of them, but most significantly, for Dom.

He’d never had a relationship with anyone that felt as honest as the one he had with Emilia. She’d never held back, either in competing with him all through medical school or giving as good as she got in their personal banter that was often a little too close to being insulting to be acceptable with any other people and totally unthinkable with anyone he might interact with as a prince.

A nurse came into the space Dom was occupying by his father’s bedside. ‘Excuse me, Dr Di Rossi, but I need to take an arterial blood sample to check Mr Baresi’s oxygen levels. We’re due to reposition him soon, as well.’

‘Of course. I’ll get out of your way.’

‘There’s no need—it won’t take too long and it’s nice to see Mr Baresi with some company. It’s sad that his family can’t be with him.’

‘Mmm...’ Dom stood up as he made the noncommittal sound. ‘It is. But I can’t stay any longer. It’s good to see that he’s stable. He’s doing well, given all that he’s dealing with.’

The nurse smiled, nodding, as she moved in with the small syringe to take a sample of blood from the arterial line—one of the many ways his father’s condition was being monitored closely. Dom left the unit. It was late but he was going to go back to his office in the ER and catch up on some paperwork, his head a lot clearer now that some of the day’s tension had evaporated.

Taking the stairs instead of an elevator, Dom found his thoughts tracking back to Emilia again. To the unique relationship they had that wasn’t exactly friendship but it was, nevertheless, remarkably close. His friendship with Lucas was the closest relationship he’d ever had with anyone outside his family and that had been forged from the things they had in common. They were both men who had issues with what was expected of them by their families. They worked together. They relaxed together whenever they could, over a beer and a pizza. They were like brothers—they had each other’s backs and, while they might have disagreements, ultimately they were on the same side.

His and Emilia’s history was pretty much the opposite. Years of battling with each other to be seen as the best. An unspoken understanding that it was of the utmost importance to succeed and it hadn’t mattered that neither of them had known exactly why it was so important to the other.

For Dom, it had been about being true to himself.

And for Emilia? Had it been about escaping her background?

He pushed open the internal doors to the ER and walked through a department that was quiet enough for the moment to seem a totally different world from the space he’d been working in all day. There were no distractions on the way to his office that disrupted his train of thought.

He and Emilia were actually far more alike than he’d realised. They’d both been escaping their backgrounds. Okay, from the outside, it would look like they were total opposites because she was escaping poverty and the lack of anyone who cared about who she was or what her future might hold and he’d been surrounded by unlimited wealth and people who cared too much about who he was and a future that was inescapable.

But...at a level that was soul-deep, they were kind of the same thing, weren’t they?

And if Emilia could see that, maybe she would forgive him for having kept that secret. Not that it should matter so much but...it did...

Because he’d never had a relationship with anyone that was like what he had with Emilia and he certainly would never get the chance to have another one when he stepped up to take on his responsibilities as King. Knowing that he was soon going to lose what he was only just discovering was disturbing because it felt...important. Special.

The paperwork on his desk was ignored. Dom pulled out his phone instead. It was after midnight and it would be rude to wake someone up by sending a text message... But that feeling of something important about his relationship with Emilia was morphing into a sense of almost urgency.

Have just realised it’s almost Thanksgiving. Do you have plans for dinner?

Her response came swiftly enough to let him know she hadn’t been asleep.

Ha-ha. I’ve always thought I should cook a turkey and a pumpkin pie, etc., etc., but I’ve never been inspired.

Can you actually cook?

A lot better than you, I expect.

Want to put that to the test?

There was a minute’s silence but then Dom’s lips curved into a smile as her response pinged in because it felt like normal service was being resumed, here, between himself and Emilia. A bit of banter. A whole lot of friendly competition.

I’ll do the turkey. You do the pumpkin pie. Your place or mine?

Mine. And bring the ingredients so we know there’s no cheating and buying ready-made.

Don’t need to cheat, mate. I’ll be surprised if you can even boil water.

An emoji of a winking face had been added to the end of her message.

Wanting something that you knew you were never likely to have was like pressing your nose against a glass window as you gazed longingly at what you could see on the other side.

For Emilia Featherstone, the sense of desperately wanting what other people all seemed to have but was always out of reach for herself was almost a comforting feeling because it was so familiar. Because she knew that she’d experienced it often enough in her lifetime to know that, no matter how overwhelming it might seem, she could deal with it. She would probably end up being stronger because of it, in fact.

The most overwhelming longings were the emotional things, of course.

The need to belong somewhere. The need to be loved. The kind of windows that were always lit up extra brightly around celebrations for Thanksgiving or Christmas—those family celebrations when everybody else seemed to be enfolded in loving gatherings.

Maybe there was a new longing Emilia could add this year—the need to be with the person that she loved?

No...she needed to qualify that. It wasn’t just a random need to be with someone she cared deeply about, it was a specific need to be with Domenico di Rossi. It wasn’t just an aftershock of realising how much she cared about him because this was very different from having a crush on someone, or even falling in love. She’d been in love before and, although her last relationship had carried on for far longer than it should have and any memories were now tainted, Emilia knew that even at the beginning it had been nothing like this.

She’d never felt connected to anyone in quite the way she did now to Dom. But the glass in this new window was impossibly thick. It wasn’t simply the idea of a relationship that was equal enough to have respect on both sides, or to be able to trust the other with a raw honesty that made the connection tight enough to be unbreakable, it was the whole royalty thing. As crazy as it seemed, Dom was a prince. Soon to become a king. And that was enough to make that window so thick it actually felt like a safety barrier. Or one of those glass bridges they had in places like China where you could walk over a chasm and experience the thrill but know that you were perfectly safe and that you could trust that the glass was never going to break.

So maybe that was why Emilia was here now. In Dom’s apartment. Taking over the bench space while he’d marked out his own territory on the huge island countertop. A double oven was already heating up. So was their impending battle over who was the better cook. Emilia eyed up the raw turkey in front of her. She’d sat up last night, watching videos online that promised to teach her how to cook the perfect roast turkey for Thanksgiving dinner and she had all the supplies she needed. She pulled on kitchen gloves before tackling a task she’d never been partial to as she unwrapped and then used paper towels to dry the poultry.

‘If I had to do this on a regular basis, I’d probably become a vegetarian,’ she muttered, tying the legs of the large bird together with a piece of string.

‘Want to swap? You can make the pies.’

‘Pies?’ Emilia emphasised the last letter of the word. ‘Plural?’

‘Sì.’ Dom was tying the strings of his apron. ‘My research told me that it was compulsory to have both an apple and a pumpkin pie on the table for dessert. I think my task is going to be harder than yours.’

‘Doubt it.’ Emilia pushed the turkey’s ugly neck and tail skin out of sight and tucked the wings beneath the body to provide the platform for roasting that one of the videos had recommended. ‘It’s not just the turkey, you know. There are all the side dishes to do and gravy to make.’ She dribbled olive oil over the turkey and rubbed it over the skin with her hands. ‘Garlic mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, green beans—’

‘Enough...’ Dom was grinning. ‘I declare the competition on even ground and I don’t want to swap any more. Here, let me pour you a glass of wine.’ He reached for the bottle of red wine amongst the grocery bags still on the floor. ‘Were you really telling the truth when you said you’d never cooked a turkey before? At least I have the excuse of not being American.’

‘I don’t tell lies.’ The words came out sounding curt and Emilia bit her lip as she saw the wary look that crossed Dom’s face. ‘Sorry...’ She stripped off her gloves before taking the glass of wine he was holding out towards her. ‘I’m not accusing you of lying.’

‘But I kept my secret and that’s just as bad, yes?’ Dom held her gaze. ‘No more secrets, Emmy, I promise. Not ever...’

The thought that ‘not ever’ might not be very long at all was enough to make Emilia’s breath catch in her throat. At some point in the near future, Dom was going to disappear from her life and why on earth would the ruler of a small Mediterranean kingdom have any desire to keep in touch with someone from a life he’d had to leave far behind? But there was something in that sombre gaze that told Emilia that the connection would always be there. They shared a passion for what they did in life. They also shared a passion for competing with each other and there was something close enough to sadness in Dom’s eyes to let her know that he was going to miss so much of his life here. The high-paced drama that the ER could provide. Perhaps he was realising that he would miss the connection they had, as well.

Would miss her...?

Emilia took a sip of her wine to force herself to break that eye contact. To try and distract herself from the swirl of emotion that was threatening to distract her completely. It worked. She found herself blinking in surprise, in fact.

‘Oh, wow...that’s the nicest wine I’ve ever tasted.’

‘We have some of the best vineyards in Europe on Isola Verde.’ Dom smiled. ‘And we make the best olive oil and you should taste the limoncello.’ He raised his own glass to touch Emilia’s. ‘Maybe you will someday.’

‘Mmm...’ Emilia drowned her response with another mouthful of wine but then she put her glass down to reach for the herbs and other seasoning that she was going to use on the turkey. ‘I’ll have this in the oven in a minute,’ she announced. ‘The countdown is on. You’ve only got a few hours to get those pies made and baked. I hope you didn’t cheat and buy ready-made pastry?’

The sound Dom made was indignant. ‘As if...’

A short time later, the black granite top of the central island bench was a snowstorm of flour to one side where there were several bowls being devoted to pastry making and there was a pumpkin being carved into pieces on the other side. Impressively, Dom was clearly intending to make his pumpkin purée from scratch. When he’d got all the pieces into a pot to boil, he refilled their wine glasses.

‘This is nice,’ he declared. ‘It’s good to be away from the hospital for a while.’

Emilia nodded. ‘I imagine you’re spending a lot of extra time there at the moment.’

‘I read an interesting article about talking to people when they are in a coma. There was a study, from back in 2015, I think, where brain scans revealed that some coma patients can hear and understand what is spoken around them. The people who had family members speaking to them every day woke up significantly faster and had a better recovery. So, yes... I visit him as often as I can.’

‘How’s he doing?’

It was safe ground to discuss Roberto’s condition in medical terms and both Dom and Emilia could carry on with their tasks as they talked about every detail of the care Dom’s father was receiving. Emilia made cranberry sauce as they debated the pros and cons of an early tracheostomy for patients who were going to need prolonged control of their ventilation.

‘It’s only been five days. Early is anything up to ten days so we can afford to wait longer.’

‘Doesn’t an early tracheostomy have benefits in shortening the duration of mechanical ventilation and minimising risks of weaning failure?’

‘Yes, but why do such an invasive procedure if it’s not absolutely necessary? They’re already starting the gradual reduction of ventilatory support. I’m hoping that my father’s spontaneous breathing will be adequate before long. He’s tough.’ Dom looked as though he was focussing hard on rolling out his pastry. ‘Determined. He’s going to succeed in this fight.’ He was blinking rapidly now and his voice was trailing into silence. ‘He’s going to win...’

‘Like father, like son.’

‘Scusi?’ Dom looked puzzled.

‘You’re very alike, I think. You and your father. You both like to win.’

His lips curved into a hint of a smile. ‘You could be right. And, this time, I am going to win. You’re going to be blown away by what I’m about to do.’ He was picking up a sharp knife. And...a ruler?

‘Well, I’m about to make the best gravy in the world.’ Emilia found her phone and did a quick search for a recipe she had bookmarked. Moments later, however, she was searching through her grocery bags.

‘What are you looking for?’ Dom looked up from where he was slicing his pastry into thin strips.

‘I need to make stock. The recipe says to boil the neck of my turkey as a base but my turkey didn’t have a neck.’

‘It will be in a plastic bag. With all the other giblets.’

Giblets? Emilia wasn’t going to admit she had no idea what that meant. ‘I have everything else I need, like flour and sage. I might have to go back to the butcher and ask what happened to the neck.’

‘I wouldn’t bother. Have a look in the pantry. There’s bound to be some ready-made stock in there. My housekeeper often cooks for me and leaves meals for when I need them so there are all sorts of things on the shelves. Chicken stock would do fine, I expect.’

Emilia scowled. ‘Ready-made is cheating.’

Dom’s smile widened. ‘I’ll let you off. It’s not as if you’re going to win, anyway. Look at this work of art.’ He had his pastry strips laid across a pie plate filled with sliced apples and he was somehow weaving them into a very professional looking lattice. ‘Oops...that goes over, not under. Stop distracting me, Emmy. I need to get these into the oven so we don’t have to wait for dessert later.’

Funny how Emilia had always hated anyone calling her ‘Emmy’. She was actually liking it today. Liking it a lot. As much as she was enjoying the cooking. And then setting the table later as the aromas from the roasting meat and vegetables and the bubbling gravy and sauce became delicious enough to make her feel very hungry. It smelt like Thanksgiving and, for the first time ever, it felt like she was a real part of it.

It felt like she belonged.

This sleek, modern apartment that had been chosen for its proximity to Seattle General provided a level of luxury that made life outside work comfortable enough for Dom that he was never distracted from his focus on his career.

Mind you, it had never looked like this, with dishes and pots piling up in the sink and surfaces covered with the remnants of the impromptu cooking competition. It had never smelt quite like this, either, with the savoury aromas of roasting meat and bubbling gravy having their own competition with the sweeter scent of baked goods coming from the oven he was using. Dom crouched down to peer through the glass door of the oven. He was going to turn it off very soon to make sure the pastry didn’t get too brown on top and that the pies had time to cool before they ate them. Emilia had finished setting the table and she was about to mash potatoes. Another appetising aroma got added to the mix as she squeezed roasted garlic cloves into the pot. Dom found the fresh cream in his fridge that he needed to whip to go with his pies. Nothing was coming out of a can, today.

‘I’m starving,’ he told Emilia a little later, putting the whipped cream back in the fridge.

‘Me, too. This has all taken a lot longer than I thought it would.’

‘And I’ve been boring you talking shop. I think you’re as clued up on my father’s condition as anybody in his medical team.’

‘I’m not bored, Dom. Of course he’s on your mind. He’s your father and I can understand how worried you must be. It’s easy to see how much you love him.’

Was it?

Dom watched as Emilia took the foil covering off the turkey that had been resting on the bench. He’d been driven by his concern for his father ever since Roberto had been wheeled into his ER and his fear had been mixed with a huge amount of guilt for having ducked his own responsibilities for so long. He was trying to keep in touch with his sister and reassure her and trying to ensure that their father knew that they cared but... Emilia had hit the nail on the head with that one, tiny word, hadn’t she?

He did love his father. And maybe that love had got buried under resentment that the career he loved was eventually going to be taken away from him and the distance that had been created had added another layer that muffled that love, but the near catastrophe of the accident had shattered those barriers.

‘You’re very lucky, you know.’ Emilia’s smile was soft as she looked up to catch his gaze. ‘You’ve got a family to be thankful for and that’s what Thanksgiving is all about. Family is everything, isn’t it?’

She broke their shared gaze and seemed to be blinking hard. ‘Now...look at this.’ She moved a magnificently browned turkey onto a wooden board. ‘You may as well concede defeat, Dom. Have you ever seen anything that looks this good?’

‘It does look good.’ His tone was cautious, however. Dom wasn’t about to let Emilia think she’d won already. And he was still thinking about those softly spoken words that sounded as if they’d come straight from the heart.

Family is everything, isn’t it?

He was lucky. He had a father and a sister and a wonderful home waiting for him on a sun-drenched Mediterranean island. How close had Emilia ever been to feeling like she had a family? Or a real home, for that matter? If he’d known more about her years ago, would that have changed their relationship?

He watched as Emilia gathered the other dishes to take to the table. Tendrils of her hair had come loose to float around her face and the glow on her cheeks almost matched the fiery tones of her hair. She had her sleeves rolled up and her apron was grubby and...and she’d never looked as lovely as she did right now.

It took Dom back to the first time he’d ever seen her. When he’d recognised that she presented a risk to his focus. What a relief it had been to find that she was so determined to outdo him and that nothing personal was going to be allowed to interfere with that goal. So, no. It wouldn’t have changed their relationship because that wouldn’t have been allowed. And now it had changed, because there was truth between them but it was too late because this was the beginning of the end of his life here in Seattle. Very soon it would be time for him to re-join the family he was lucky enough to have but, in the meantime, he could enjoy this celebration.

They ate in silence for several minutes.

‘Potatoes are good,’ he told Emilia. ‘And the beans. I even like the sprouts.’

‘But...?’

‘Um... I hate to say it...’

‘But you’re going to, anyway.’ Emilia sighed heavily as she put her fork down. ‘And you’re right. The turkey tastes weird.’

‘It does a bit.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Dom ate another mouthful, staring at the rest of the turkey on its board. ‘It almost tastes like...plastic.’ He could feel himself frowning as his gaze sharpened. ‘What’s that?’

‘What?’

He reached to take hold of what he’d spotted on the carving board. ‘You didn’t put stuffing in this turkey, did you?’

Emilia shook her head. ‘I read that it can be a risk for food poisoning.’

‘So what’s this?’

Her mouth dropped as he pulled it out.

‘What is that?’

Dom was laughing now. ‘You know how you couldn’t find the bag of giblets when you were looking for the neck? Did you think of looking inside the turkey?’

‘No...that’s gross. Why would you put a plastic bag in there? Hey...stop...’ Emilia leaned far enough to thump his arm. ‘Stop laughing at me.’

But she was having trouble not smiling herself and Dom couldn’t stop. Even when he caught the smoke seeping out of the oven from the corner of his eye, moments before the alarm sounded, he was still laughing. He’d forgotten to turn the oven off, hadn’t he? His pies weren’t going to be too brown, they were probably incinerated by now.

In the space of what felt like seconds, their Thanksgiving dinner had become an epic disaster.

So why on earth did he feel like he was having what could possibly be the best time of his life?