but if you want to be fully fit again, that’s what you’re going to have to do.’ Tasha dropped her hands from the zip. ‘I need to get out of this gear and take a shower. Then I’ll give you a massage to try and relax those muscles of yours. Don’t move until I come back.’
‘Shower.’ Alessandro closed his eyes, not daring to think about the word ‘massage’. ‘Now you’re torturing me.’
She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, a frown in her eyes. ‘You could take a shower if you wanted to.’
He gave a sardonic smile and gestured to his cast. ‘Oh, yeah—easy as anything.’
‘Not easy, but possible. We just have to cover it in plastic to protect it.’
There was a long, pulsing silence. ‘You’re offering to help me in the shower?’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
Alessandro wondered if he was the only one feeling warm. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t suggested it. Nurse, he told himself. She was offering as a nurse, not anything else. ‘I was joking. I can manage.’
‘Well, you can’t shower on your own, no matter how macho you are.’ Her voice was mild. ‘But if you don’t want a shower, that’s fine. I don’t want to push you if you’re shy.’
Shy?
It had nothing to do with being shy and everything to do with the fact that she was standing in front of him wearing a form-fitting black wetsuit.
‘Yeah.’ His voice was a hoarse croak. ‘That’s right. I’m shy. So we’ll give the shower a miss for now.’
As she strolled away from him he took comfort in the fact that at least there was one part of his body that appeared to be working normally.
* * *
By the end of two weeks, Tasha had reached screaming pitch.
As plans went, this one had backfired big time.
The tension that had been there on the first day seemed to grow with each passing minute.
If revenge was supposed to be pleasurable then she was definitely doing something wrong because she was in agony. The only one suffering was her.
Instead of giving her the opportunity to be aloof and distant, she was being sucked deeper and deeper into his life. His lack of mobility inevitably meant that she did everything from physio to answering the phone.
Even as she had that thought, the phone rang again and Tasha rolled her eyes and answered it, wondering which of Alessandro’s many female friends it would be this time.
A brisk voice informed her that the Princess Eleanor wished to speak to her son, but before Tasha could hand over the phone a cool, cultured voice came down the line.
‘Are you his nurse?’
Tasha frowned. ‘Well, no, actually, I’m a—’
‘Never mind. I’m better off not knowing.’ In a cold, unemotional tone she demanded to speak to her son and Tasha passed the phone over without question, feeling defensive and irritated and about as small as a bacterium.
Just what was his mother implying?
She’d been expecting to be asked for a clinical update on progress, but clearly his mother didn’t consider her worth speaking to.
Angry with herself for caring, Tasha busied herself tidying up and tried not to listen to the conversation, but it was impossible not to pick up the tension between the two of them, even though the conversation was conducted in Italian.
Alessandro replied to what appeared to be a barrage of questions in a similar clipped, perfunctory tone and afterwards he flung the phone down onto the sofa, picked up the crutches and struggled onto the terrace. The loud thump of the sticks told her everything she needed to know about his mood.
Startled by the lack of affection between mother and son, Tasha stared at his rigid shoulders for a while and then followed him outside. Was she supposed to say something or pretend it hadn’t happened? This wasn’t her business, was it? And she wasn’t supposed to care...
Torn, she stood awkwardly. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No. Thanks.’ He kept his gaze fixed on the surfers in the bay. ‘Not unless you can conjure up a new, fit body. I need to heal instantly so that I can get back to my life.’
A life he clearly hated.
‘I know it feels frustrating, but if you rush things you’ll just do more damage.’ She tried to put herself in his mother’s shoes. Alessandro was her only surviving son. To hear about his accident must have given her a shock. Perhaps it was anxiety that had put that chill in her tone. ‘Your mother must be worried.’
‘She’s worried I’m not doing my duty. Apparently while I’m “lounging” here, enjoying myself with pretty nurses in attendance—that’s you, by the way...’ he threw her a mocking smile ‘...my image is suffering.’
So that explained Princess Eleanor’s frigid tone on the phone. She’d assumed there was something going on between the ‘nurse’ and her son. Irritated rather than embarrassed, Tasha glanced at the bruises visible through the open neck of his polo shirt. ‘Does she know how badly you were hurt?’
‘Yes. Josh called her while I was in Theatre the first time.’
‘And?’
‘And she said it was no more than I deserved for indulging in high-risk sports. My accident is badly timed. I had fifty official engagements scheduled over the next month, including opening the annual May ball at the palace.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps she’s worried that—’
‘Tasha, she isn’t worried.’ He cut through her platitudes, his dark eyes hard and cold. ‘My mother only worries about two things—duty and responsibility. My love of polo was bad enough. Having injured myself, I’ve committed the cardinal sin of making life very inconvenient for her.’
‘You’re her son and I’m sure that—’
‘Let’s get one thing straight.’ Alessandro shifted his position so that he was facing her. ‘As far as my mother is concerned, the wrong son died. It’s because of me that Antonio is no longer Crown Prince. I can’t bring him back so I’m expected to fill his shoes...’ He hesitated and then muttered something under his breath. ‘In every way.’
Tasha frowned. In every way. What did he mean by that? ‘It wasn’t your fault. Why are you blaming yourself?’
He turned away abruptly and Tasha felt the tension flowing from him. Darkness surrounded him like a force field and suddenly she knew that the change in him, the hardness, was all to do with the death of his brother.
Her insides softened. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘But—’
‘Not everything can be healed by good nursing, Natasha.’ The bitterness sliced through her own defences and she stretched out her hand and touched his arm.
‘Is that why she rang? To tell you you’ve made her life difficult?’ Anger glowed inside her and suddenly Tasha wished she hadn’t passed him the phone.
She should have screened the call.
‘She rang to order me to see my advisers, who apparently have a plan for, and I quote, “pulling something positive” out of this disastrous mess I’ve made.’ A cynical smile tilted his mouth. ‘Apparently an injured prince may appeal to a certain age group, so she thinks there may be some mileage in media interviews. So that’s my contribution to society—providing entertainment for bored housewives.’
‘Next time I’m going to tell her you’re asleep and can’t be disturbed.’ Part of her wondered why she