“He’s here now. Waiting for you.”
“He always comes for me. Always.”
The door flew open, bringing with it a beam of light, and a wiry old man, his sprigs of grey hair standing at attention. His black physician’s bag was clutched in his grip, almost bigger than him. He adjusted his round gold spectacles, accessing the situation.
“I am here!” he said, dropping his bag next to the bed. “Set her down.”
“You need to rest now, baby. Come. Rest here for me.”
She rested against the pillow, her body trembling and jerking.
“Ahh,” Dr. Sala cooed at her. “Hush now,piccola colomba.”Little dove.For all of the energy he possessed when he first walked in the door, his hands stilled, and his bushy eyebrows rose and then froze.
I went completely hollow.
“Rocco!” he shouted.
“Tell me,” I said. “The woman is my wife.”
He turned to me, adjusting his glasses again. “This woman is your wife?”
“She is.”
Rocco came in, looking between the two of us. I only knew the man by name and reputation. He was one of the finest doctors in Rome. And he was married to Marzio Fausti’s sister. That made her my great aunt and him my great uncle by marriage.
“Please, do tell me, nephew, why the famous ballerina is here? In this place!” His voice went up an octave when he saidplace!
“You know her?” Rocco said.
“Not personally, no. And that is not to say that I wouldn’t have loved to meet her under different circumstances. She is…ART! Your aunt and I have seen her dance in Paris, more than once. I will only ask you once more, why is she here?”
“Ah, well—you see. Her presence was requested, uncle.”
“By who?”
“Nonnoand the family.”
“Nonsense!” He waved a bony hand. “We do not operate like this! We do not steal women from their beds, especially one of this caliber! Who does she belong to? I would like to have a word with that family.”
“She belongs to our family, uncle.”
Every muscle constricted inside of me.
“She is my brother’s wife.”
The good doctor turned to me again. “Ah.” He drew the sound out. “Yes, Luca’s son. Brando. Your wife, she is talented, no? And does not belong in a place like this! I do not belong in a place like this—but there is a reason for my presence! Not hers!”
Scarlett moaned. He placed a hand on her head—wet with rain, sweat, and blood. “Hush, hush,piccola colomba. Uncle is going to make you better.”
Dr. Sala uttered soft words to her in Italian while he took out his tools and began his assessment.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice soothing, “what happened to her and why she is here.”
Rocco started from the beginning, and when he came to Nemours, Sala hissed through his teeth. He pulled her arms forward, searching.
“My wife is not a drug—”
“Yes, I know,” he said, as soothingly to me. “But neither were the other women in his presence.”
