The Fabrizio Bride

Chapter Two

Sarika's face blanched, and her mouth dropped open before she raised a fist to cover it. Rafe ached to take her in his arms, but it was no longer his place to offer her comfort—to offer her anything at all. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"But she's in perfect health. I just spoke to her last week."

He could understand her denial. He'd felt the same way when his grandmother had first fallen ill. She'd always been so strong, a powerful force to be reckoned with in the family. "I suspect she's been hiding her illness for a while."

"Is it serious? Is she in the hospital doing tests or something?"

"She collapsed, Sarika. She almost died." He didn't soften his words. He couldn't allow himself to yield one inch toward this woman, but when he saw the pain and panic that washed through her, he was overcome with guilt and all kinds of softer feelings.

"Is she going to be all right?" She swayed closer, grasping tightly to his shirt. Her green gaze swam with tears and those lush lips trembled. He closed his eyes to block out the sight, but that only intensified her scent. It swirled through his head, intoxicating him.

He took a jerky step backward. She held on and moved with him.

"We'll go and see her tomorrow."

"What's wrong with her? What aren't you telling me? Is she dying? Rafe, please tell me she isn't dying."

"She's not dying. She has some heart problems, but they can be managed. Just calm down and come up to the house. We'll discuss it there." Preferably with a desk between them.

He broke away from her and strode along the drive back to his car. He looked up when he reached the driver's side only to see her standing where he'd left her, arms wrapped around her middle.

Her long legs suddenly gave way, and she fell to her knees on the pine-needle-covered ground. Letting out a muffled oath, he sprinted toward her, all his neatly made plans to keep his distance crunching beneath his feet.

A sob shuddered through her body as he pulled her up and cradled her head against his shoulder. Her arms squeezed his chest.

"Hush, Sarika. Don't cry. She's strong. She has the best doctors in Santa Barbara—in the world—taking care of her. I made sure of it." He kissed the top of her head. "The prognosis is good. She'll be home with us in no time. I promise."

The drive back to the chalet was quick. She didn't say a word as silent tears streamed down her face. When she saw him watching, she wiped her face with her hands. "I'm sorry. It's just the thought of losing her—"

"We're not going to lose her."

"I know. I heard you, but...that's what they said about my mom, too."

"Your mom had cancer, Sarika. That's harder to predict than a heart defect—one they know about and are treating."

She nodded, but he could still see how shaken she was—her hands clenched in her lap, her breathing shallow.

He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. She'd opened the door but hadn't stepped out. Crouching beside her, he pressed his palm to her forehead. It felt clammy.

She pushed his hand away. "Quit being nice. It makes it hard to stay mad at you."

"You have every right to be mad. I should never have gotten involved with you in the first place."

The scowl came back. "And that's one reason I'm mad. You act like it was all your decision. It wasn't. It was mine, too. And what you shouldn't have done was shut me out and run away."