Memories Without Him novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Scan

In the ER Vincent learns what she hid, orders Aldo out, calls off the engagement and tells her to pack.

I woke up to a ceiling of white tiles and a beeping I knew from the day I got my diagnosis.

My head was heavy and my tongue was dry.

A man sat in the plastic chair beside my bed with his elbows on his knees and his tie gone.

It took me a moment to understand that it was Vincent.

He had not moved from that chair, I would learn later, for nine hours.

"Don't sit up," he said.

I sat up anyway, and the room slid sideways, and he caught my shoulder.

His hand was warm through the thin gown.

He took it away at once.

"Water," I said.

The word came out right, and I nearly cried.

He held the cup for me.

I drank, and he watched my throat, and his jaw worked.

"The doctor showed me your scan," he said.

I put the cup down.

"That was private."

"I made him show me." His voice was flat and very quiet. "A seizure in my arms, Gemma. I asked what it was, and he said you already knew."

"I knew."

"For how long?"

"Eleven days."

"And you came to a dinner with forty armed men in the room, in a dress, with nobody." He stopped and breathed. "Without telling anyone."

"I told you I wanted one hour."

"You told me one hour! You didn't say you were dying."

"I don't know that I am," I said. "There's a chance."

"What kind of chance?"

I told him what the doctor had told me.

The surgery, the memory, the word recent.

I watched his face while I said it.

He didn't interrupt, and he didn't look away, and when I had finished he sat very still.

"They might take me out of your head," he said at last. It was not quite a question.

"They might take everything from the last few years. I don't know yet which ones."

"And that's what the hour was for."

"It was going to be goodbye," I said. "You have a right to know that I came to say it, and you don't have to be nice about it. You told me what we are."

His eyes came up sharply.

"What I told you."

"Your text. At two in the morning. It said I was mistaking being looked after for love."

Vincent looked at me for a long time without saying anything.

A muscle moved at his jaw, and he reached into his pocket and took out his phone.

"Gemma," he said slowly, "I don't."

A knock cut him off.

The door opened, and Aldo came in with a coat over his arm and a paper bag from the cafe downstairs.

"There she is," Aldo said, and his whole face went soft with relief. "Sweetheart, you scared ten years off me. I brought you tea."

He set it down on the tray and put a hand over mine.

"Boss, a word," he said, in a lower voice. "The Orsinis are in the lobby. The father's furious. You left his daughter at the table in front of the families."

"Let him be furious."

"Vincent." Aldo's voice was patient and fatherly. "She's in good hands here. A hospital is the best place for her. We can send flowers, a nurse, whatever she needs. But you have an alliance to save tonight, and every hour you sit in that chair makes it worse."

"Leave her to the hospital," Vincent repeated.

"For tonight. Just tonight."

"The same way I left her to a door for six months."

Aldo's hand stayed on mine, and it didn't move.

"That was your order, boss."

"Was it?"

Aldo blinked.

"Vincent, you gave it yourself. I thought we had agreed it was better. Safer, with the war."

"We'll talk about that." Vincent stood up, and his shadow fell across the bed. "Go down and tell Orsini the engagement is off."

The room went still.

"Boss, you can't."

"I'm the Don. I can."

"The alliance, the Staten Island routes, the whole east side..."

"Then I'll lose them." Vincent said it without raising his voice at all. "Tell Orsini I apologize to his daughter, and I'll say it to her face. Then tell him there will be no wedding."

Aldo did not argue again.

He looked at Vincent, then at me, and the kindness stayed on his face.

"Of course," he said. "Whatever you want. I only wanted what was best for her."

He patted my hand twice and went out.

The door shut, and Vincent stood looking at it.

"You didn't have to do that," I said.

"No."

"I wasn't asking you to."

"I know you weren't." He turned. His eyes were dark and tired and fixed on me. "That's the problem, Gemma. You never ask me for anything."

I opened my mouth, and he lifted a hand.

"The doctor says you can go home in the morning. To what? An apartment with a roommate who works nights? You had a seizure in front of forty people."

"I'll manage."

"No."

He took a black duffel bag off the floor beside the chair, and I realized one of his men must have brought it from my apartment.

It had my notebook sticking out of the top.

"Get dressed," Vincent said. "You're coming home with me."

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