The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(10)
Paparazzi.
The men and women armed with notebooks and cameras were already piling out of their cars and trucks. Nicholas spoke to his driver and the limo picked up speed, barreling past the swarming horde. It spun around a corner and through a parking lot, and then made for the canopied doorway which led to an emergency entrance.
The instant the limo came to a halt, Nicholas shoved open the door beside him. Snagging Amanda around the waist, he pulled her out in a smooth movement and drew her to her feet, holding her against him.
“Don’t look at them, don’t answer questions, and above all, don’t stop. Keep moving, no matter what happens,” he said in a hard undertone. Shielding her from the oncoming camera flashes with his wide shoulders, he made for the double doors ahead of them.
It was good advice, as Amanda well knew. Though her father had done his best to protect her and Jonathan from his racing fame, it had not always been possible. She had almost forgotten the odd panic from being pursued, of being the target of endless camera flashes, the sense of privacy being stripped away as if she had no right to it.
Jonathan must have gained more of a following in Europe than she had imagined, she thought in breathless wonder. Who would have guessed his accident would bring out the vultures.
Putting her head down, she clung to Nicholas’s arm that clamped her to him. She matched her steps to his long strides as best she could while shouts and yells exploded from all sides.
The automatic doors slid open as they neared them. A detail of security police stood just inside. The men parted, allowing them through, and then closed ranks behind them. The sounds of pursuit died away.
Nicholas tossed a few words with the sound of appreciation over his shoulder, but did not pause. He swept Amanda through a reception area crowded with curious patients. Beyond it was another door with an automatic lock that buzzed and released at their approach. It gave onto a hallway. They plunged down it, rounded a corner, and came to a halt in a long corridor that stretched blessedly empty and quiet ahead of them.
In the sudden silence, two things were brought home to Amanda. It was not only Jonathan’s name the paparazzi had called out as they bayed after them like hounds. With the confusion and hubbub of Italian, she had not quite grasped why they had their sights set on the De Frenzas, but assumed it was a combination of impressive wealth and the drama of the accident.
“My apologies,” Nicholas said, raking his fingers through his hair in a gesture of angry exasperation. “I ought to have realized the incident would be leaked.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You should not have been subjected to that, not now.”
She gave a dismissive shake of her head. “Jonathan,” she said, speaking the thought uppermost in her mind, “when can I see him?”
“Now, I believe,” he answered, and gestured down the hall where two white-coated physicians were coming to greet them.
The preferential treatment was welcome, but Amanda barely registered it. In fact, it was almost expected after the way Italian customs had boarded the De Frenza plane for a private immigration check, also after they were whisked away in a waiting limo and chased by paparazzi. Her main concern was for her brother, and she was only grateful that introductions were brief before she and Nicholas were led toward his room.
The two physicians strode at Nicholas’s side down gleaming, marble-floored corridors, speaking in rapid Italian while Nicholas fired questions, nodded at the answers and shot back more. Amanda hurried to keep up with them, running a few steps now and then. When she began to lag behind, Nicholas paused, swept a hard arm behind her back and set off again.
“What is it?” she asked breathlessly as she tried to keep up. “What are they saying?”
“You should learn Italian,” he said without slackening his pace.
“I won’t be here that long,” she snapped back with some annoyance. “Is Jonathan all right? What are they telling you about him?”
“It isn’t about him,” Nicholas answered with a bite in his voice, and turned back at once to the medical briefing.
The news was about his sister, then. It didn’t appear to be good.
Chill distress moved over Amanda. She wanted to offer comfort, but could think of nothing to say. She would be the last person he would want to hear it from anyway, as he blamed her brother for his sister’s critical condition. Without another word, she allowed herself to be led to Jonathan. She couldn’t get there fast enough to suit her.
Her brother’s bed was surrounded by monitors and he lay in what appeared to be a tangle of tubing that ran into his veins. He was so still and pale under the sheet that it was difficult to be certain he was alive. Stitches made a black line across his right temple. Bandaging wrapped one shoulder and his chest, and his leg in its cast was propped on a foam support that looked far from comfortable. Gloom filled the small, square room, the only light coming from a long, dim fixture above the bed and a glimmer of dawn light through the window blinds.
Amanda moved to take Jonathan’s lax hand, staring down at him for long moments. He looked so young, with his lashes resting on shadows as dark as bruises that lay beneath his eyes and all care smoothed from his brow. He might have been a boy again, as when she had rocked him to sleep. She lifted his hand to her lips for an instant, since that seemed the only place on his body that might not hurt. Releasing him, she drew up a chair and sat down beside the bed.