she was standing, nothing had changed. Surely if he’d woken up there would be some positive signs?
“Is he...is he...?” Elana stumbled toward the bed, her hand pressed against her mouth, unable to complete the sentence everyone was too afraid to ask. When her chest began to rise and fall in agitation, Thom laid a calming hand on her shoulder.
“He’s still alive, but I’m afraid he’s slipped back into his coma,” Dr. Aebischer informed them.
“But how is that possible? Weren’t you supposed to bring him out of his coma and keep him out?” Luc snarled, his hands bunched into tight fists.
“There are certainly positive signs. His brain activity is heightened, which gives me cause to be cautiously optimistic—”
“We’re not paying you for your optimism,” Rafe barked.
Mariella shook her head, unable to drag her gaze from Harrison’s still body. She wanted to stalk around to his side and beat her hand against his chest. Scream at him to wake up. Minutes ago, she hadn’t been sure whether she wanted to face him. But with even that uncertainty now shattered, anger and frustration bubbled like a lethal cocktail within her.
“You say he woke up briefly? How long was briefly?” Joe asked. He’d quietly maneuvered his way to her side. And although he didn’t put his hand on her, Mariella felt his solid presence and quiet support. Felt it and guiltily welcomed it. She let the sensation seep into her depleted spirit as she stared defiantly at her husband. Her very comatose husband.
“A matter of minutes. As was to be expected, he was confused—”
“Did he say anything?” Gabe demanded.
Dr. Aebischer shook his head. “We didn’t get the chance to take the tube out of his mouth before he fell back under. I’m sorry this all proved to be a false alarm. I got the nurses to call you back to let you know, but you were already on your way here.”
“So this was all a fucking waste of time, is that what you’re saying?” Luc growled.
“Well...” Dr. Aebischer started.
Mariella straightened. “I take it there’s nothing more to be done for him right now?”
“Except make him comfortable and keep monitoring him, no.”
Rafe swore under his breath. Elana suppressed a quiet sob and wilted against Thom. Joe took a half step closer to Mariella. Luc paced in a tight circle, his anger barely contained. Gabe just leaned against the wall, his arms folded as his gaze rested on Harrison.
Her family.
Hers.
It was time to stop sitting back and hoping for the best. It was time to take control.
“Give us the room, Doctor.” She infused her voice with enough grit to make sure he understood it wasn’t a request. “And tell your staff that we don’t want to be disturbed.”
If the doctor found her request a little strange, he chose not to voice it. They weren’t paying him for mindless chitchat.
She felt the weighted stares of her family as Dr. Aebischer left the room but waited until the doctor’s footsteps had stopped echoing before she strolled around to the top of her husband’s bed. For a moment she stood looking down at him.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Rafe prompted.
With a deep breath, she turned around. “We can’t keep going on like this. We can’t wait for your father to wake up.”
Elana gasped, her face going a pasty white. “What? You’re not going to pull the plug on him, are you? I—we won’t let you—”
“Dios mío, of course I’m not going to pull the plug on him! Why would you even think that?” She frowned. What on earth was wrong with Elana? She’d been acting oddly since she got back from her honeymoon, with her emotions seesawing all over the place. God, she hoped she wasn’t flaking out at being married already. She would need to keep a closer eye on her. Something else that needed taking care of.
She stared at her daughter until Elana gave a tight-lipped nod. “Sorry... I just...this is so hard,” Elana said.
Mariella suppressed a sigh. “It’s fine. We’re all under a lot of pressure. Which is exactly my point. We’ve been hoping for a miracle, one that might yet happen. Who knows? But we need to mitigate that with a little bit of reality.”
Luc frowned. “What does that mean?”
“We can’t just sit around, waiting for your father to wake up and save us.”
“I didn’t realize we needed saving,” he bit out.
“Then you need to dig your head out of the sand, Luc.”
Luc’s jaw clenched, but he knew better than to talk back to his mother.
Mariella’s gaze shifted from one son to the other, then to the other occupants of the room. Gabe was no longer leaning against the wall, but his arms were still crossed, his gaze watchful.
“As we discussed over dinner, the Marshall brand is suffering. The tabloids are ripping us apart every chance they get. They can’t make up their minds whether Harrison is dead or he’s run off and abandoned us. It’s a goddamn circus out there, and we’re the star attraction.”
“Mariella, I don’t think—”
She held up a halting hand. “No, Joe, I’m sorry, but I won’t be convinced that things aren’t that bad. They are,” she snapped. She didn’t even feel bad when he tried to hide a wince. Enough was enough. “We can’t keep pretending it isn’t happening. We’re turning into the next hashtag joke on social media.” She glanced down at Harrison, at the steady, useless rise and fall of his chest. Then she locked gazes with each member of her family. “It needs to end. Now.”
Stunned silence greeted her. After a minute, Luc nodded. “So what do you propose?”
Relief punched through her. She’d been expecting opposition. Her children knew she was strong when it counted, but for all their lives, Harrison had been the head of the Marshall family and she his stalwart support. She’d never taken command like this.
But things were changing. Her gaze drifted to Joe. Things had changed. She blinked away the curious question in his eyes as Gabe stepped forward. Before he could speak, his phone rang.
Mariella saw the apology in his eyes as he fished the phone out of his pocket. A glance at the screen, and his face hardened a touch. “I’m sorry, Tía, I need to take this. It’s business.”
“Of course.” She waved him away, watched him walk briskly out of the room. In a way she was a little relieved he was out of the way. Her nephew was nothing if not an alpha male. While she relished that on occasion, she needed to establish implacable control right now as the head of the Marshall family. Her family’s reputation and well-being depended on it.
“We’re already hosting the masquerade ball, Mom. What else can we do?” Rafe asked.
“I’ve got an idea,” Luc suggested.
Mariella turned to her son. His eyes were gleaming, a sure sign his clever brain was working at warp speed. Pride punched through her. “What are you thinking?”
“We take the masquerade ball, and we super-size the fuck out of it.”
She bit her tongue against admonishing him for swearing. He would always be her baby, but he was a grown man. Instead, she smiled as the idea took root and sprouted. “Yes! That’s an excellent idea, Luc.”
Rafe nodded, too. “We could also take a little of the heat off by doing it out of town. We arrange private jets to fly the guests out to the ball—for extra, of course—make a huge deal out of it.”
“I play golf with the CEO of Westfield Jets. He’s been on my case for months to find