Page 75 of Chasing Caine
“Rice.” I ran both hands over my face, the soft bed and his easy-going nature lulling me into a comfort I didn’t have when we arrived. “Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Got it.”
He laughed. “Hurt it before?”
“Call me accident-prone.” Not the truth, not even close. I climbed rocks and mountains, jumped out of planes, free dove shipwrecks. But let him believe what he wanted.
He was quiet a moment, then placed a gentle hand on my shin. “Did your boyfriend do this to you?”
“No!” My eyes snapped to him. “I mean yes, but we were playing around on some rocks, having fun. I just slipped.”
Antonio had been flirting. His usual charming self. The panic in his eyes when I got hurt was a hot knife in my gut. Not just for how awful he felt over it, but for how it hammered home how much he genuinely cared about me.
Dr. Ivan stood and folded the x-ray machine back into its cabinet, hitting a few keys on the panel at its base. My x-ray flashed up on the screen. “Not broken, no fracture.”
“Good news.” I still had four days in Naples. The last thing I needed was a cast or surgery.
The doctor crossed the room and opened a drawer. “Any problem if I give you lidocaine? Allergies or reactions you’ve had in the past?”
“No problem. And probably a good idea.”
He filled a needle from a small ampule, capped it, and returned to my bedside. “This may hurt for a moment, but it’ll numb the pain.”
“Distraction time again. How long have you been on this boat?” I looked up to the ceiling, preparing to breathe through the injection.
He placed the needle on the bed next to me and removed the ice pack. “Two years now.”
“Coolest place you’ve been?”
“We go to Rome and Corsica a lot.” He ripped open a small packet and wiped antiseptic across my ankle. “Mr. Fiori is Corsican.”
“Explains the accent.” I hissed out a breath, his touch light but so painful. Despite Corsica’s primary language being French, the Corsican language was more like northern Italian. “More distraction, please?”
“We mostly sail around the Med. Algiers, Tunis, Malta, Marseille.” He pulled the cap from the needle and inserted it. “Last summer, we traveled the US east coast. New York, Atlantic City, down to Miami and the Caribbean.”
This was far from my first injection into an injured joint, but he was good.Close eyes. Deep breath. Don’t grit your teeth.“South America?”
“No. But they’re talking about the St. Lawrence next year.” He pulled out the needle and covered it with cotton gauze. “Maybe the Great Lakes.”
The pressure of the gauze stung, but it wasn’t excruciating. That was progress. “Will you visit home?”
“Maybe.” He checked under the gauze, pushed it back down, and re-checked.
The pain diminished quickly. “That’s better.”
“Remember, the ankle’s still injured. Treat it that way.”
“Is having a doctor and x-ray machine normal on a boat like this?”
“Yes and no.” He topped the gauze with medical tape, cleaned up his supplies, and walked them to the disposal on the opposite wall. “Many yachts this size have a nurse, if nothing else. Mr. Fiori employs some men who… tend to get hurt.”
“Paramilitary?”
Dr. Ivan barked a laugh. Bodyguard Two—Jason—whipped the door open but was waved away. “Risk-takers. Not sure how your experience on the rib was, but they never do anything at an appropriate speed.”
Sounded like me on a better day. “Yeah, the ride wasn’t pleasant.”
“I think Mr. Fiori originally wanted a doctor onboard for him and his family, but soon discovered the younger staff were the ones who needed me.” He returned to his stool next to me with a tensor bandage. “He’s a good man, all things being equal.”
My worries had been foolish. Dr. Ivan and Bodyguard Jason were looking out for me, not to mention Antonio.