She was relieved when Drago’s phone rang. While he took the call she stared out of the window and watched the street lamps flash past in a blur as the car sped along the highway. A few minutes later the imposing modern building of the Venice-Mestre Hospital came into view. As they approached Jess saw dozens more reporters crowded around the entrance, and when the limousine halted outside the front doors camera flashbulbs lit up the interior of the car, throwing Drago’s stern features into sharp relief.
‘Do the press always hound you like this?’ she asked him. She felt nervous about leaving the car, even with the reassuring presence of his huge bodyguard.
‘The paparazzi often follow me—they have a relentless fascination with my love-life,’ he said drily. ‘But I will not allow them to upset my aunt and mother. I’ll issue a statement about Angelo’s accident in the morning and ask for my family to be given privacy while his condition remains critical. Hopefully that will make a few of them back off.’
When the driver opened the door Drago climbed out of the car first and turned to offer Jess his hand. The sound of loud, unintelligible voices hit her ears, and she instinctively ducked her head to avoid the flashlights. The crowd of reporters pushed forward and she stumbled—would have fallen but for the arm that Drago snaked around her waist. Half carrying her, he hurried her through the main doors of the hospital while the reporters were prevented from entering by several security guards.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, glancing at her tense face.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ No way was Jess going to admit that being in close proximity to his hard body had made her heart race. As she followed Drago along a corridor her heart began to pound for a different reason. She hated hospitals—hated the frightening clinical atmosphere and the smell of disinfectant that were such a painful reminder not only of Daniel, but of her own brief stay on a hospital ward when she was seventeen.
A nurse met them at the door of the intensive care ward, and while Drago spoke to her Jess struggled against a rising sense of panic. All her life she had learned to block out unhappy experiences—and there had been plenty of those during her childhood, both before and after she had gone into care—but being in the hospital brought back agonising memories that she had never been able to bury. She did not want to think about Daniel. And she did not dare think about Katie. Opening that particular Pandora’s box was simply too painful.
Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run from the ward. But it was too late. Drago had halted and was opening a door which she saw led into a small private room. She glimpsed a figure lying on a bed surrounded by machinery which beeped and flashed sporadically.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t disturb Angelo now,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s nearly midnight. Do the staff mind us being here outside of visiting hours?’
‘Of course not.’ Drago’s dark brows rose in surprise. ‘We can come whenever we want. Until this morning when I flew to London I hadn’t left the ward since Angelo was admitted. As for disturbing him—that is the point of bringing you here,’ he said sardonically. He glanced at her and frowned when he saw that her face was so white that the golden freckles on her nose and cheeks stood out. ‘Did the reporters upset you? Why are you so pale?’
Jess fought the nauseous sensation that swept over her. ‘I don’t like hospitals,’ she muttered.
‘Does anyone?’ Impatience crept into Drago’s voice. His jaw tightened.
The past days he had spent at the hospital had evoked painful memories that would always haunt him. It had been a long time ago, he reminded himself. Life had moved on. He was thankful that Vittoria had found happiness with the man she had eventually married, and now she had a child. God knew she deserved to be happy after everything that had happened, the way he had let her down…
With an effort he forced his mind from the past and concentrated on the woman at his side. ‘I can assure you that my aunt would rather not be here, keeping a vigil at her son’s bedside.’ He hesitated and deliberately lowered his voice so that only Jess could hear him. ‘Angelo’s mother is understandably distraught. You must forgive her if she is a little…abrupt.’
Jess did not understand what Drago meant, but there was no time to query his curious statement as he ushered her into the room. As she nervously approached the bed a horrible sense of dread and déjà-vu filled her. Angelo looked very different without his wild curls half-hiding his face. His skull was covered in bandages and his skin and lips were deathly pale. He reminded her of a waxwork figure: perfect in detail but lifeless, just as Daniel had been.
Hot tears suddenly burned her eyes. She rarely cried; experience had taught her that it was a pointless exercise. But for once she could not control her emotions. It seemed so cruel that a young man in the prime of his life might never open his eyes again or smile at the people he loved.
A movement from the other side of the room made Jess turn her head, and she saw a woman whom she guessed from her strained face and red-rimmed eyes to be Angelo’s mother.
Overwhelmed by an instinctive need to express her sympathy, Jess murmured, ‘I’m so sorry about Angelo.’
The woman stared at her, and then spoke to Drago in a torrent of Italian. Jess could not understand a word, but she sensed that her presence was not welcome. Remembering Drago’s warning that his aunt was distraught, she wondered if she should leave and come back to visit Angelo later, but as she turned towards the door Drago placed a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward.
‘Aunt Dorotea, Jess has come to talk to Angelo in the hope that he will respond to her voice.’ He looked steadily at his aunt. ‘I’m sure you appreciate that she has rushed from England to visit him.’
His aunt continued to stare at Jess, with no hint of welcome on her rather haughty face. But then she said sharply, ‘You are my son’s girlfriend?’
‘I am his friend,’ Jess corrected her.
‘So you are not his mistress?’
‘No.’ Jess frowned, puzzled by Angelo’s mother’s distinctly unfriendly attitude. She glanced questioningly at Drago. ‘I could come back another time, if you think it would be better.’
He shook his head. ‘I brought you here to talk to Angelo. Your name is the only word he has uttered, so perhaps he will respond to you.’ He looked at his aunt. ‘I want you to go home for a few hours. Fico is waiting to take you. You need to get some rest and have something to eat. You will not be any help to Angelo if you collapse,’ he added, countering his aunt’s attempt to argue.
Despite her obvious reluctance to leave her son, his Aunt Dorotea nodded as if she was used to her nephew taking charge. ‘You will call me if there is any change?’
Drago’s voice softened. ‘Of course.’
He escorted his aunt from the room, leaving Jess alone with Angelo. She sat by the bed, watching him, just as she had done with Daniel when one of the care workers from the home had taken her to visit him. Angelo looked so young and defenceless. It was agonising to think that he might not survive. Her throat ached, but she swallowed her tears and leaned closer to take hold of his hand. It felt warm, and that filled her with hope.
‘Hi, Angelo…’ she said huskily. ‘What have you done to yourself?’ It was difficult to know what to say, but after a moment’s hesitation she continued, ‘The guys missed you when you didn’t show up for work. Gaz said you make the best tea. We’ve nearly finished the Connaught Road job. I’ve just got to fit new skirting boards.’
She felt comfortable talking about work and kept up a flow of chatter, although