It’s very private up there and shouldn’t be busy. In fact, I can make sure it isn’t. And I can organise some tea for you both.’
Safia’s mother nodded and wafted in front of her face with her hand. ‘Oh, please. Yes. I need some fresh air.’ Leaning in to her daughter, she whispered, ‘That is, of course, if you don’t mind, darling Safia? We won’t stay away for long.’
The sheets moved a little. ‘Go. All of you. Leave me here. Forever.’
A quick phone call later and Safia, Kara and Declan were alone.
But now what? Even without her parents in the room it was going to be tough convincing Safia to comply.
Kara was just about to broach the dressings conversation again when Declan laughed. ‘Well, would you look at that eejit.’
‘What? Where?’ Kara frowned as she looked over to him. His focus was on a pile of magazines on the table. The latest teen heart-throb was emblazoned on the front cover of BFF! magazine, which had been covered in pink glitter hand-drawn hearts. ‘Oh, that’s Liam from Oblivion.’
‘I don’t care where he’s from,’ he continued. ‘He looks like he needs a decent feed and a new belt. Are those his grandaddy’s trousers he’s wearing? Because they don’t seem to fit.’
Kara looked up again and noticed he was watching the sheet move down. Just a little.
She joined in. ‘How can you say that? Don’t break my heart. Liam is hot, hot, hot. And what do you know, Mr Fuddy-Duddy? Those baggy trousers are all the rage. Maybe you should get a pair.’
‘Maybe I should. D’you think all the girls would come screaming after me then?’ He gave a very poor rendition of Oblivion’s number one hit. ‘“That’s what makes me looooove you …”’
‘Screaming to get away from you, more like. Save our poor ears and stick to the day job.’ She leaned closer to the sheet that was now making little noises that sounded a lot like hesitant surprised laughter. ‘Great doctor, really, don’t let the singing put you off. I heard that Oblivion’s doing a tour soon—they’re playing in London in a few weeks.’ And going to see her favourite singer might well give Safia the motivation she needed to get better.
The girl sighed. ‘He played at my sixteenth birthday party. He said I was beautiful.’ Safia slowly pulled the sheet back. ‘But he wouldn’t say that now.’
Declan sat next to the bed and looked at her. Kara wondered what on earth he could say to make her feel better. ‘Don’t you know you’ve gorgeous eyes, Safia? Beautiful. A boy could lose himself in there.’
‘Once, maybe. But not now.’
‘Oh, definitely now.’
Safia met Declan’s gaze, still cautious, but she didn’t tell them to leave.
Seizing this moment of calm, Declan reached out and began to remove a dressing with painstaking care. When Safia put her hand out to stop him he gave her a quick shake of his head and a reassuring smile. The girl lay back and closed her eyes.
Kara opened another dressing pack and covered the bed as he kept his focus on his patient and smiled softly and gently, as if she was the most beautiful person in the world, the only person in the world. As if the horrendous discolouration and raw melted skin didn’t make his heart jerk or his professional eye wonder how in hell they could ever restore her back to her previous beauty.
She’d heard about his slick surgical skills and knew how well respected he was. Heck, the Sheikh had personally requested Declan did the surgery—and judging by his extensive client list both here and at the Hunter Clinic he was well sought after. So she hadn’t expected a doctor as talented as Declan to have such grounded humanity.
‘There. There. Nearly done now. You’re doing grand, sweetheart. Just grand. It’s not nearly so bad as I thought it’d be.’
He spoke in a mesmerising, soothing voice that felt as if he was stroking the raw wounds back together again. Kara didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so touching.
‘I bet you’ve broken a few hearts already, Safia?’
The girl opened her eyes and gave him a sad smile. ‘Yes … you mustn’t tell my father.’
‘Cross my heart.’
‘But I never will again. Who’s going to love me with a face like this? Skin like this?’ She lifted the arms she’d tried to shield her face with and showed him the skin that had been so damaged. Finally tears began to fall. ‘Don’t tell me that beauty’s skin-deep. Or that scars are sexy. Because they’re not. And please don’t tell me that looks don’t matter—because in my world they do.’
And that was the heart of the matter. A young girl’s life was broken and no one could truly fix it.
Kara’s throat closed tight.
Declan ran his hand over the girl’s hair. ‘Ah, now, sweetheart. That’s it. That’s it. I know. Believe me, I know. Let it out. Just let it go.’
‘I’m … so … tired … of being brave,’ Safia sobbed. ‘Of trying to pretend it’s okay when it’s not. And all they do is make promises that I’ll be back to normal soon. How can I?’ She looked up at him, eyes pleading but with a glimpse of trust. ‘Can you make me better, Dr Underwood?’
‘Call me Declan, please. Actually, call me Dec if you like—my sisters call me that.’
‘Okay.’ Safia nodded and smiled again. ‘Dec.’
‘Listen, Safia, I will be honest with you because you deserve that at the very least. I can’t ever make it go away completely.’ His voice caught a little as he thumbed away the girl’s tears.
A few months ago Kara had watched him smooth his way across a dance floor, his charm and flirtatious manner catching her in a moment of weakness. But there was a genuine depth to him that she hadn’t imagined.
He cleared his throat. ‘But I promise I can make it a whole lot better. Will you let me try?’
‘At first glance, Safia’s burns are a mix of partial and full thickness—some will need further debridement and then grafting,’ Declan said to Kara as they grabbed a coffee en route to the media room.
His head was a whirl of the emotions that always shook through him at this stage of assessment—emotions he had a tight hold of and would never allow to interfere with any professional judgement. Flashbacks from seventeen years ago haunted him each time he removed a dressing, but they made him more determined to improve his skills and techniques.
Another woman damaged. It made him sick to his stomach.
His new junior surgeon took a sip of coffee, oblivious to what was going on in his head. Which was a damned fine thing—no one needed to know his motivations, just his achievements. She smiled and his gut tightened. He put it down to stress.
‘So, Declan, do you prefer autograft or zenograft?’
‘It depends entirely on the situation. We can get a better look at the viability of the skin and the underlying bed
