She grinned. “No one is.”
While I enjoyed their exchange, I found it odd. She’d been coming to our house for a week, but they acted as though they’d been dear friends for years.
Then again, Dad was like that with staff he respected. Just look at Charles Bedford as an example.
“I’ll have to call Gio and Vittoria,” I said.
“Oh, she’ll be hysterical.”
Sailor patted his hand. “I’ll give you two space.”
When she aimed her big hazel eyes at me, I nearly flinched at how cruel I’d been toward her previously.
“If you wouldn't mind taking me back, I’ll get out of your hair after that.”
“No problem. I’ll be right back, Dad.”
As we approached her room, I overheard the ladies inside gossiping about her and hoped she was struck temporarily deaf.
“Just like her to be mixed up in something like this. The mafia, for crying out loud?”
“Maybe that knock to the head will fix her attitude.”
Loudly, I said, “Here we are, Dr. Wentworth. Thank you so much for checking up on my father. I know he values your healing touch.”
And as I pushed her wheelchair into the room, I glared harder than I ever had before. The two gossipers straightened their spines, scurrying out around us with mumbled excuses.
“Don't bother,” she said as I set the brakes so she could get up. “They all hate me, and I’ve never given them a reason not to.”
I scoffed. “That’s pathetic.”
“I know I am.”
Appalled, I basically picked her up to settle her on the bed. “Not you, Sailor. Them. They’re pathetic women who never made it out of middle school.”
The pain in her eyes as she briefly met my gaze was sad enough to stab through my heart. “Thanks, but I’m used to it.”
That sure as hell didn't make it right.
Chapter Seven
Sailor
It wasn't until the next day that I no longer felt like I’d vomit every time I shifted my head, and then I went to the staff lounge to pull a clean pair of scrubs out of my locker. I wasn't willing to walk around the hospital in an open-backed gown, showing off for my coworkers.
Thankfully, Benito was awake when I knocked on his open door. I wasn’t entirely surprised to see he had a private room; thankfully, the woman I was sharing with mostly slept.
“Ah,cara mio!” he exclaimed when I walked in.
Crossing the room to his bed, I said, “You’ve never spoken Italian to me before.”
“You’re basically a member of the family at this point.” He smiled broadly, and I was relieved to see he looked about the same as yesterday. Though I would have preferred some improvement, it was better than a setback.
Bringing the visitor’s chair over, I sat beside him. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re better, aren’t you?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined me.
“Still tender.” Without conscious thought, I ran my fingertips over the lump on my temple. “But not dizzy or nauseous anymore.”
