His interest grew.
At that moment, the door pushed inwards and two women entered, both wearing hospital scrubs. He sensed a change in atmosphere.
“Time for my punishment?” Yaya asked, with a heavenward lift of her eyes.
Raf watched with interest as Lauren took a step backwards but her body remained tense, as if on alert.
“Just a short one today,” one of the nurses offered.
“A short what?” Raf clarified, standing and moving towards Yaya’s head.
“Your grandmother has physical therapy each morning,” Lauren murmured. “Gentle exercises, nothing too strenuous.”
“That’s what you say,” Yaya winked at Lauren, pushing the covers back.
“She likes to complain.” The nurse with red hair smiled at Raf, her eyes showing that she was the opposite of Lauren – there was no lack of interest there.
She had, however, chosen the wrong approach. “Yaya is far from a complainer.”
“Calm down, Raf,” Yaya laughed throatily. “It was a joke. They’re doing their best. I keep telling them I’m no Olympic athlete.”
Raf compressed his lips, taking a step backwards, acknowledging the possibility that seeing his grandmother like this had made him unnecessarily defensive. The two nurses helped her from the bed and he stiffened, the sight of her frail body in white cotton nightgown almost too much to bear. Her long hair was knotted into a loose bun at her nape, and her legs shuffled out of the room. At the door, she put a hand on one of the nurse’s arms, stalling her progress.
“Aspetti, un momento.” She turned to Raf. “Don’t let the others fuss over me, Raf. I’m still Yaya.”
Emotions rushed through him. Her pride was palpable. He nodded. “Of course.”
He watched as they left and then, with a heavy heart, turned to face Lauren. She was watching him, her intelligent blue eyes quizzical in a way that wasn’t remotely appraising of him as a man she might find attractive. No, she looked at him like a specimen, as though trying to fathom his components.
“She likes you,” he observed, moving around the bed, closer to Lauren.
“It’s mutual.”
“She’s not overly
welcoming of outsiders.”
“I’ve been here a week now. We’ve got to know one another.” Her smile was tight; dismissive. “I doubt she considers me an outsider anymore.”
“No,” he agreed, the questions he had about Lauren growing by the minute. “She’s lost weight since I was here last.”
“She doesn’t eat much. That’s quite normal. Her appetite may come back.” Lauren turned away from him to arrange the bed sheets, pulling them up before fluffing the pillows and neatening them. Her fingers were deft and efficient. She stepped back from the bed, tidying other surfaces as she went. It was like watching a ballet, one she’d performed often.
“May?” He honed in on her use of the word, disliking it immediately for its implication.
Her look was one of clinical apology. “There’s no one path we follow in situations like this. Bodies aren’t always predictable. The stroke was what could be described as moderate, but her age works against her.”
Perhaps his expression showed how little he appreciated the news, because she hesitated for only a moment before walking closer towards him, so close that he caught a hint of her fragrance and felt a punch of raw desire shift in his gut. Two weeks in Argentina had left him with an obvious desire to get laid, that was all. Fantasising about a woman just doing her job – and a job that included nursing his grandmother – was beyond wrong.
“I will say this for Paula,” Lauren murmured, pronouncing the name in the Italian fashion – ‘Pow-la’. “She’s a fighter. I’ve never seen someone with so much determination. Even in the evenings when I know how tired she is, she insists on being joined for dinner.”
“What does she do?” Guilt swiftly pushed more pleasurable inclinations from his mind. Yaya had been alone too long. Though he and his brothers and cousins all visited often – several times a week – that wasn’t the same. The idea seemed impossible at first – to move to Villa Fortune for a few months – but why was it? He spent so much time travelling around, it wasn’t as though he had any roots at home that he’d be neglecting. Besides, his place was only an hour’s drive away – quicker if he took the helicopter. He could easily spend five nights a week here and commute back for the weekends.
“She likes to listen to jazz,” Lauren said with an indulgent smile. “And every now and again Christmas carols. She told me she’s not sure she’ll make it to another Christmas and doesn’t see the sense in denying herself the indulgence of something that brings her so much pleasure.”
He straightened his spine. “She thinks she won’t make it to Christmas?”
Lauren nodded carefully. “She’s a pragmatist, Rafaello.”