relationship, he’d made his, which was to stay in Italy to keep Gianni closer to the whole family. The boy needed all that support after what he’d been through and, to be honest, so did he. Especially with practically everything in his life going crazy.
Dante did love racing, and he’d been good at it earlier in his life, which was why he ultimately made the decision to return to the sport. Years earlier there’d been reports of a bright future for him in it, yet he loved medicine, and leaving it behind, like he was doing with his plans and dreams for a life with Catherine, wasn’t easy. It was a sound choice based on his situation, though. Gianni needed the whole family structure around him, and the Baldassare team needed a Baldassare on the track to maintain its prestige in the racing world. The enterprise supported a lot of people, and at present he was the only Baldassare qualified to race. So the responsibility fell to him to be both father and race-car driver, and he took both of them seriously.
It had been five years since all that emotional strife, and life was turning out to be pretty good. He had his racing, he had Gianni. And the Baldassare racing team was on top, right where they belonged.
Except now he also had this wretched broken ankle being treated by Catherine, of all people, which was a bit of a hitch. He’d get over that, though. In a week or two he’d be back to normal. But in the meantime he could deal with Catherine. In fact, he looked forward to dealing with her. Maybe taunting her a little. Showing her what she’d given up. What she had tossed out of her life.
Catherine…She did look well, didn’t she? Better than well, actually. He liked her hair longer, hanging to her shoulders the way it was now. It made her look…soft. Her curves were as good as ever, although he doubted she ever took off her white lab coat to show them off, which was a pity because she’d always been a feast for a man’s eyes.
Her husband’s eyes now. Sobering thought. And from the look of the sobering little frown lines setting in around her eyes, he wondered if all that conjugal bliss wasn’t agreeing with her as well as it should.
Dante glanced down, discovered he was still hanging onto the phone, and finally hung up. Then he gave the blankets a toss and scooted himself to the edge of the bed, fully intent on maneuvering himself into the wheelchair sitting right there waiting for him. It was time to get out of this suite and have a look around. Maybe find Catherine. And do what? He didn’t know. They’d had their final arguments years ago, and there was nothing more to say. Or was there? Maybe he just needed to prove a point, to let her know that he’d had a great life without her. A little get-even attitude popping up? He didn’t really think of himself as the vindictive sort, but maybe he was, at least where Catherine was concerned, as she’d had the very last word on the death of their relationship, leaving him with nothing to say.
He chuckled. Maybe forcing her to be his doctor was the last word he’d been denied all those years ago.
Only thing was, in his intention to go and see Catherine, the transfer from his bed to the wheelchair turned into something a little more daunting than he’d thought, and once he’d managed to pull the chair up next to the bed, he really wasn’t sure he wanted to risk the move into it. Not without some stout help who would make sure he didn’t transfer himself straight to the floor and another ankle injury.
Irritated with his incapacity, Dante dropped back into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to get out of there. Wanted to get the hell out of there. Wanted to get away from Catherine, forget about her again, go back to his real life. Him and Gianni. And his family. No one else!
“Going somewhere?” Catherine asked, stepping between the wheelchair and the bed.
Dante opened his eyes slowly. “Is that meant to be funny?” he snapped. “You know damned well I can’t go anywhere.”
“Another good mood, I see. Is that the way you’re going to act the whole time you’re here?”
“Aren’t doctors supposed to be compassionate?” he cracked back. “Have a pleasant bedside manner?”
“Ask yourself that question, Dante. You used to be one, didn’t you?” She dropped the clipboard holding Dante’s medical notes onto the table by the bed then moved the wheelchair closer.
“Now what?” he grumbled.
“X-ray. I want to see what I’ll be working with. Other than a grumpy patient.”
He heaved an impatient sigh, one clearly meant to be heard. “Maybe I should have let that other doctor work on me. You know, the one who wanted an autograph for every member of his family—all seventy-seven of them.”
Catherine laughed. That did sound like Friedrich. “He’s a fan,” she said, her voice finally softening. “Probably knows more about you than you do.”
“Fans to do that.”
“And you like having fans?” she asked. “I always thought you were a private person.”
“Fans are a necessary part of the job.” He sat back up. “You can’t get away from it. You take a job where the public gets involved in some manner, and that’s what happens.” Then he looked at the wheelchair again. “Do you expect me to get into that all by myself?”
She shook her head. “As much as it might do my heart good to see you fall flat on your face, I do have one of the physical therapists on his way to teach you how to do it on your own. You should have it down by this afternoon, then I’ll give you your daily schedule.”
“My daily schedule?”
“Therapy, regular exercise, meals. Times available to you for things like the hair salon, the spa…”
“Excuse me, but I came here to recover from an accident, and to have therapy.”
“Which is what will happen in due course.”
“But all the other things…that’s wasting my time.”
“Didn’t you read the brochures, Dante? We have a fully integrated treatment plan here. You know—mind, body, spirit.” Her mouth twisted into a devilish grin. “We’ll even do skin exfoliation if you need it.”
“Except I don’t need my skin exfoliated,” he snapped. “Don’t need spiritual enlightening or anything else that’s not about my ankle. What I want, all I want, is to get myself over this, and get to the place where I can take care of myself at home. I’m not here on a holiday and, quite frankly, Catherine, I’m surprised you’d even subscribe to this kind of frou-frou medicine. Back in Boston—”
“Back in Boston was another lifetime, Dante. Things change. People change. Relationships change.”
“I thought you were a better doctor than that,” he retorted.
“Once upon a time I thought you were better, too. But we all make mistakes.” She stepped aside as the therapist, Hans Bertschinger, came into the room, and she stayed there while Hans started the first instruction on how to get from the bed to the wheelchair. Watching Dante swing his good leg over the edge of the bed, Catherine noticed his hideous hospital gown creep up, and didn’t avert her eyes quickly enough to keep from seeing a generous portion of his leg and thigh. Nice, muscular. She did remember how he’d always been in good shape. Sexy, provocative body. She’d memorized every inch of it and never forgotten.
Before the blush set in, she turned away.
