“Then I’m going, anyway.” She didn’t look away. “I’m getting on a plane with or without you.”
I stared at her, recognizing that look. She would do it. She would find some cut-rate charter or exhaust herself trying to bypass every safety protocol. She was a woman of competence and fire, and right now, her fire was aimed at me.
I could fight her, or I could control the variables.
With a frustrated growl, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number Dr. Bedi had given me weeks ago—the direct line I’d earned after interrogating her so thoroughly she’d finally surrendered it just to get me out of her office.
She answered on the second ring.
“Dr. Bedi, it’s Aristides Christakis. Can Dede travel to Greece?”
“Not at thirty-six weeks. Air travel is extremely risky. The changes in cabin pressure, the stress, the possibility of going into labor mid-flight—”
“What if you came with us?” I interrupted.
Silence on the other end.
“I have private plane. It will be outfitted with full medical equipment. You can bring two of your best nurses. You will have everything you need. I will fly you back to America the moment we land. Name your price.”
Another pause. “Mr. Christakis—”
“Name it. Whatever you want. Please help me keep my wife and children safe while I go to my sick mother.”
Dr. Bedi was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful. “There’s a clinic in my hometown in India. Rural area, very poor. They desperately need medical equipment—an ultrasound machine, surgical supplies, incubators for their maternity ward.”
“Consider it done, yes. I will write check right now.”
“And a generator,” she added. “The power goes out constantly.”
“Two generators. Industrial grade. And three ambulances. Anything else?”
“That’s more than enough, Mr. Christakis.” I heard the smile in her voice. “I’ll need two hours to arrange coverage for my other patients and pack. Have your pilot file a medical flight plan.”
I exhaled with relief. “Thank you, Dr. Bedi.”
When I hung up, Dede was watching me with a mixture of triumph and tenderness.
“You will be death of me,” I muttered, pulling her close.
“You love me anyway,” she said softly.
“I do, yes.” I kissed her forehead. “But if anything happens to you on that plane—”
“Nothing will happen. We have Dr. Bedi.” She smiled up at me. “Now call your pilot. Let’s go see your mother.”
29
By the third time the nurse came into the private sleeping cabin to check my blood pressure, I’d become fed up with her hovering. True, she was doing her job, and it was clear she was overwhelmed by the luxury of the private jet, not to mention the shock of being on her way to Europe with a mere couple of hours’ notice, but I desperately needed quiet.
“If I need you, I’ll use the call button,” I said from where I sat on the sofa. She nodded and left, closing the cabin door behind her.
I took another sip of water and tried to focus on my novel, but the words blurred together. Across the cabin, Aris stood by the window, staring out at the clouds. He’d barely spoken since we boarded.
“Talk to me,” I said softly.
He turned from the window, and I saw the fear he’d been trying to hide. “What if we don’t make it in time?”
I set down my book and held out my hand to him. “Then we don’t. But you’re going to her now. That’s what matters.”
