The sleeve is rolled up to his elbow, his left forearm exposed. Santino gestures at the bag, then takes a step backward.
Seeing that everything I’ll need is in the first aid kit, I first clean the area around the wound. I’m careful as I remove the remainder of the old stitches.
After I push the suture thread through the eye of the needle, I glance at Simi. She’s rubbing the silk shirt between her fingers, her faced pressed against the oval window as she looks outside.
Concentrating on what I’m doing, I close the wound up and clean the area again before wrapping a bandage around Georgi’s forearm.
The moment I’m done and I begin to gather the supplies and soiled antiseptic wipes, Georgi says, “Leave it, Nina. Santino will take care of that. Come sit.”
I nod and straighten to my full height. For a rare moment, I glance down at Georgi, and noticing how pale he is, I look at the bag again and ask, “Is there anything in there for pain?”
“Yes.” Santino gestures to a selection I would’ve killed to have in the torture chamber.
Crouching again, I look at the pre-filled syringes before glancing up at Georgi. “Are you allergic to anything?”
He shakes his head. “Give me the morphine.”
That tells me how much pain he’s in, and I don’t hesitate for a second longer. I don’t think about the other people around us as I unbutton his shirt until I’m able to expose his shoulder. I wipe the site clean before I double-check the injection, then push the needle into his olive-toned skin.
Once I’m done, I press a cotton ball to catch any drops of blood. My gaze lifts, and suddenly I find myself staring into Georgi’s eyes. A smirk forms around his mouth, something cocky and playful, reminding me of our interaction in the hotel bar. Even his tone is teasing as he says, “You take such good care of me,moeto hubavo mishle.”
My face warms up from hearing him call me his beautiful little mouse, and instantly feeling self-conscious and on guard, I yank away. I drop the cotton ball by the wipes and quickly take my seat, pulling Simi onto my lap.
“Can we take off?” a man asks from the front.
“Yes,” Georgi replies while fastening the buttons of his shirt again.
I put on the seat belt and hold Simi tight.
“Is the prince’s owie okay?” she whispers.
Georgi positions his elbow on the leather armrest between our seats and leans a little closer. “I’m more than okay. Your Mama took care of my owie, so you don’t have to worry.”
She looks at Georgi’s bandaged forearm, then at his face. Just as she’s about to say something else, the plane begins to move, and her gaze widens.
Neither of us has ever flown before, and I’m feeling very anxious, so it makes me worry about Simi.
When the aircraft lifts off the ground, my stomach drops horribly, and as we climb into the air, there’s a weird sensation in my throat and stomach.
Then it hits hard, and I feel terribly nauseated.
“Oh God,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand.
Georgi’s head snaps in my direction. “What?”
“I feel sick. I need to go to the toilet.”
“We can’t move around the cabin until the seatbelt sign is off.”
Raya leans a little forward. “Massage the pressure point just beneath your wrist.”
She indicates where on her own, but before I can move Simi so I can do it, Georgi takes hold of my arm and begins to massage the area in slow circular movements, the pressure firm but not hurting.
When I swallow hard, he keeps the pressure on the spot and leans his head down to catch my eyes. “Take deep breaths.”
I focus on filling my lungs with air, and when he begins to massage me again, I’m surprised when it actually takes the edge off the nausea.
Using his left hand, his palm settles on the side of my head, and he nudges me until my cheek is pressed against his bicep. “Get some rest, Nina,” he murmurs, his tone gentle.
