sick sixty-year-old man.”
His stomach churned. He was only thirty years old—what the hell was going on?
“You have a family history of heart disease?”
Oh, no, not that. He blinked rapidly. “Yes, my father.”
“Okay.” The doctor nodded. “It can run in the family. Your good cholesterol is down, your bad cholesterol is sky-high, your entire body is in a state of silent inflammation and your blood pressure when you got here about blew the top of your head off. It’s minimally improved since we got your pain under control.”
He muttered to Paolo what the doctor said. Paolo drew in a shocked breath. “So what do you recommend?”
“I don’t know what you do for a living but you need to take some time off to get your health under control. Get to your primary care doctor and get a note if your boss gives you any grief. You have a primary care doctor?”
Giorgio nodded. “Yes, yes, I will see him as soon as I get home.” He had been neglectful—it had been over three years since his last checkup.
“I mean it. I see young, strong guys like you all the time roll in here grabbing their chests. Sometimes they only roll out in a box, capeesh? ” His Italian accent was straight out of The Godfather, but Giorgio understood all too well.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Dr. Weiss extended a hand and Giorgio shook it. “Watch your diet—more fruits, vegetables, lean meats and a splash of olive oil. Cut back on the pasta, bread and sweets. A glass or two a day of red wine is actually good for you, but no more than that. You don’t want to rev up your liver on top of everything. Any questions?”
He had a million questions—like how fate could be so cruel as to start him along the same path as his father, but Dr. Weiss had no answer for that—no one did. “No, and thank you.”
The doc left and Giorgio dropped his head back onto the hard gurney, covering his eyes with his forearm. He didn’t want to be in the hospital, didn’t want to have this sword hanging over his head. What if he hadn’t eaten those damned chili dogs with Renata and instead had gone along his blissfully ignorant way until he dropped dead on the street, his office or God forbid, driving along the mountainous roads of Vinciguerra?
What would happen to Stefania if he died? She would have to run Vinciguerra alone once their grandmother passed away.
He swallowed hard and felt a beefy hand on his shoulder. “ Signore. You will be all right—I promise.”
“ Grazie, Paolo.” He removed his hand and sat up. A prince of Vinciguerra did not swoon and cry like a Victorian maiden. “We leave out the back door. I don’t want anyone to know about this, especially the princess.”
Paolo nodded. “I will bring the car to a side door.”
Giorgio changed into his own clothing and met Paolo at the agreed-upon door. He slid into the backseat of the limo and closed his eyes. “Back to the hotel, Paolo.”
He would make himself healthy again so that he could walk Stevie down the aisle, hand her off to that German footballer and watch his nieces and nephews come along. She had always wanted a large family after being so lonely as a child.
He had been lonely, too—a nineteen-year-old university student in New York raising an eleven-year-old girl. He had wanted to set a good example for her and spent much of his time with her instead of freely dating like other men his age. And despite what his sister had told Renata, running Vinciguerra did take a good deal of time. Was he still lonely?
Yes, but not when he was with Renata. He’d met her less than twelve hours ago and aside from his terror-filled medical emergency, she had occupied his thoughts ever since. Her sarcastic New York wit, her talent for handling his sister. And more personal memories, like how her mouth opened under his, how her breasts filled his hands, how her thighs softened for him as he discovered her tender flesh.
He shifted uneasily at his arousal, cautious after the
His stomach churned. He was only thirty years old—what the hell was going on?
“You have a family history of heart disease?”
Oh, no, not that. He blinked rapidly. “Yes, my father.”
“Okay.” The doctor nodded. “It can run in the family. Your good cholesterol is down, your bad cholesterol is sky-high, your entire body is in a state of silent inflammation and your blood pressure when you got here about blew the top of your head off. It’s minimally improved since we got your pain under control.”
He muttered to Paolo what the doctor said. Paolo drew in a shocked breath. “So what do you recommend?”
“I don’t know what you do for a living but you need to take some time off to get your health under control. Get to your primary care doctor and get a note if your boss gives you any grief. You have a primary care doctor?”
Giorgio nodded. “Yes, yes, I will see him as soon as I get home.” He had been neglectful—it had been over three years since his last checkup.
“I mean it. I see young, strong guys like you all the time roll in here grabbing their chests. Sometimes they only roll out in a box, capeesh? ” His Italian accent was straight out of The Godfather, but Giorgio understood all too well.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Dr. Weiss extended a hand and Giorgio shook it. “Watch your diet—more fruits, vegetables, lean meats and a splash of olive oil. Cut back on the pasta, bread and sweets. A glass or two a day of red wine is actually good for you, but no more than that. You don’t want to rev up your liver on top of everything. Any questions?”
He had a million questions—like how fate could be so cruel as to start him along the same path as his father, but Dr. Weiss had no answer for that—no one did. “No, and thank you.”
The doc left and Giorgio dropped his head back onto the hard gurney, covering his eyes with his forearm. He didn’t want to be in the hospital, didn’t want to have this sword hanging over his head. What if he hadn’t eaten those damned chili dogs with Renata and instead had gone along his blissfully ignorant way until he dropped dead on the street, his office or God forbid, driving along the mountainous roads of Vinciguerra?
What would happen to Stefania if he died? She would have to run Vinciguerra alone once their grandmother passed away.
He swallowed hard and felt a beefy hand on his shoulder. “ Signore. You will be all right—I promise.”
“ Grazie, Paolo.” He removed his hand and sat up. A prince of Vinciguerra did not swoon and cry like a Victorian maiden. “We leave out the back door. I don’t want anyone to know about this, especially the princess.”
Paolo nodded. “I will bring the car to a side door.”
Giorgio changed into his own clothing and met Paolo at the agreed-upon door. He slid into the backseat of the limo and closed his eyes. “Back to the hotel, Paolo.”
He would make himself healthy again so that he could walk Stevie down the aisle, hand her off to that German footballer and watch his nieces and nephews come along. She had always wanted a large family after being so lonely as a child.
He had been lonely, too—a nineteen-year-old university student in New York raising an eleven-year-old girl. He had wanted to set a good example for her and spent much of his time with her instead of freely dating like other men his age. And despite what his sister had told Renata, running Vinciguerra did take a good deal of time. Was he still lonely?
Yes, but not when he was with Renata. He’d met her less than twelve hours ago and aside from his terror-filled medical emergency, she had occupied his thoughts ever since. Her sarcastic New York wit, her talent for handling his sister. And more personal memories, like how her mouth opened under his, how her breasts filled his hands, how her thighs softened for him as he discovered her tender flesh.
He shifted uneasily at his arousal, cautious after the
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