She couldn’t say anything. Her throat sealed over a molten pain that filled it as he escorted her like always to her quarters, continuing her education in Catalan traditions and his family’s close-knit pursuits-all the things she’d never had and would never have. “Spring and summer are rife with fiestas i carnaval…that means-”
“Feasts and carnivals. I know,” she mumbled. “But I-”
A smile invaded his eyes and lips again, cutting her off more effectively than if he’d shouted. “I sometimes forget how good your Spanish is, and I’m blown away by how colloquial your Catalan has become in this short period.”
She nearly choked on the surge of emotion and pleasure his praise provoked, only for it to be followed by an even deeper dejection.
That deepened further when he swept his gaze ahead, animation draining from his voice, the newscaster-like delivery coming back. “The closest upcoming festival is La Diada De Sant Jordi, or St. George’s Day, celebrating the patron saint of Catalonia, on the 23rd of April. There are many variations of the legend of St. George, but the Catalan version says there was a lake that was home to a dragon to which a maiden had to be sacrificed every day. One day, St. George killed the dragon and rescued that day’s maiden. A red rose tree is supposed to have grown where the dragon’s blood was spilled. Now on the day, the streets of Catalonia are filled with stands selling rosas i libros-roses and books. The rose is a symbol of love, while the book is a symbol of culture.”
“I’m sure it would be a great time to be in Catalonia-”
He bulldozed over her attempt to interrupt him. “It certainly is. The celebrations are very lively and very participatory. Anyone walking down the streets anywhere in Catalonia is invited to join. Another similar celebration is Mother of God of Montserrat, on the 27th of April. In addition to these dates, each village and town has its own designated patron saint to pay homage to. Those celebrations are much like the larger celebrations, with parades of giants made of papier-mâché, fireworks, music from live bands and more. My family may stay until the 23rd of June, which is the shortest day of the year and coincides with the summer solstice celebration and the festival honoring St. John. Here in Catalonia, we light bonfires when the sun is at its most northern point. Catalans believe this wards off disease, bad luck and assorted other demons.”
She tried again. “Sounds like a fun time ahead for you and your family-”
“And for you, too. You’ll love the energy and sheer fun of this time of year.”
“I’m sure I would. But I won’t be here for all that, so maybe another time?”
She felt his eyes turn to her then, felt their gaze as if it were his powerful arms hauling her back to him.
“What are you talking about?”
She kept walking, struggled not to give in to the need to look at him and catch his uncensored reaction to her announcement before the barrier of his surgical composure descended, obscured it. Stupid. Still wishing she mattered beyond being a duty.
“Based on your latest tests and diagnosis of my condition, and since you obviously won’t do it, I’m giving myself a clean bill of health. Time to return to my life and job.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” He stopped her midway in the huge sunlit corridor leading to her quarters. “You’re left-handed and can barely move your fingers. It’s going to be weeks before you can do a lot of basic things for yourself, months before you can go back to work.”
“Countless people with more severe and permanent disabilities are forced to fend for themselves, and they manage-”
“But you won’t only be fending for yourself now. You’re having a baby. And you’re not forced to do anything-you don’t have to manage on your own. I won’t allow you to, and I sure as hell am not allowing you to leave. And this is the last time we have this conversation, Cybele Wilkinson.”
Her heart flapped faster with each adamant word until it felt blurred like the wings of a hummingbird.
She tried to tell herself it was moronic to feel that way. That even if she had to concede that he was correct, she should listen to the voice telling her to be indignant at his overruling tactics, to rebel against his cornering her at every turn into doing what he thought was right for her. That voice also insisted there was nothing to be so giddy about, that he wasn’t doing it out of concern for her, but for his patient.
She couldn’t listen. And if another voice said she was criminally weak to be forgetting her minutes-ago resolution and clinging to whatever time she could get with him, she could only admit it. She wasn’t strong enough to throw away one second she could have in his company, extensive family and all.
As for walking away for his peace of mind, she believed his acute feelings of duty wouldn’t leave him any if he let her go before he judged she could handle being on her own. She also had to believe he could handle her being here, or he would have been relieved at her offer to leave. And since he wasn’t, she shouldn’t feel bad about staying. She’d offered to go, and he’d said no. Such an incredibly alpha, protective and overriding no.
Still, some imp inside her, which she was certain had come to life during this past month, wouldn’t let her grab at his lifeline without contention. Or without trying to do what it could to erase the damage her blunder had caused to their newfound ease and rapport.
“Okay, it’s clear you believe you’re right-”
“I am right.”
She went on as if he hadn’t growled over her challenging opening “-but that doesn’t automatically mean I agree. I came here as an alternative to staying in your center as a teaching pincushion. But, if I’d been there, you would have discharged me long ago. No one stays in hospital until their fractures heal.”
His eyebrows descended a fraction more. “Do you enjoy futility, Cybele? We’ve established that when I make a decision-”
“-saying no to you isn’t an option,” she finished for him, a smile trembling on her lips, inviting him to smile back at her, light up the world again, tell her that he’d look past her foolish moment of weakness. “But that was a decision based on a clinical picture from a month ago. Now that I’m diagnosed as having no rattling components, I should be left to fend for myself.”
She waited for him to smile back at her, decimate her argument, embroil her in another verbal tournament that neither of them wanted to win, just to prolong the match and the enjoyment.