Page 197 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

It was the last thing she heard before she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

CHAPTER TWELVE

MIABLINKEDTHEworld slowly into focus. Her head felt as if it were full of cotton wool, her limbs immovable and as heavy as lead. Where was she? In a bed of some sort, but the sheets felt scratchy, and she could hear a persistent beeping. And she couldn’t remember anything...

Blink... Blink...

Like the twirl of a kaleidoscope, the blurry shapes and colours of the world around her slowly clarified into a whole: a room—a hospital room, by the looks of it—the bright-blue sky visible out of the window. The beeping was from a machine next to her bed. And next to the machine, in a vinyl-covered arm chair, was Santos.

His head was pillowed by his hand, slumping forward, as though he’d fallen asleep without realising. He looked exhausted—his clothes creased, his hair rumpled, his close-cropped beard not as neatly trimmed as it usually was.

What on earth had happened?

Mia must have made some sound, because Santos stirred, lifting his head and looking around blearily before he suddenly lurched forward.

‘Mia...’

‘What?’ Her voice came out in a dry rasp. ‘What happened?’

‘Oh, my goodness, Mia.’ To her shock, his eyes filled with tears and he covered her hand that lay on the bed sheet with both of his own as he bowed his head over her, almost as if he was in prayer.

It wasn’t until his shoulders shook that Mia realised he was actually crying. For her; when, she wondered, had anyone shed a tear for her? It was a humbling and yet also strangely gratifying thought, and yet she hated seeing him look sad.

‘Santos.’ She felt a lump form in her own throat, simply at the sight of all that emotion. ‘Santos, it’s okay. I’m okay.’ At least, she hoped she was. ‘What happened? What’s going on?’ Her voice sounded like a rusty saw being scraped across an old board. ‘And may I please have some water?’

‘Of course.’ He jumped up, wiping his eyes, shocking her further, and then went to pour her a glass of water from the jug by her bed. Mia tried to reach for it but realised she was too weak; she could barely lift her arm from the bed. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She couldn’t remember anything.

Santos held the cup to her lips, and she drank as best as she could, grateful for the cool liquid that wet her lips and trickled down her throat. After a couple of sips, she eased back and Santos returned the water glass to the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d been in before, his hands clasped between his knees.

‘I was afraid you were going to die,’ he said in a low voice, like a confession.

Die?Surely he was exaggerating? Now that she’d had a few moments to think, along with some water, Mia felt her mind clearing as the memories started to slot back into place. They’d been snorkelling, she’d been stung by a sea urchin and then she must have had some kind of allergic reaction. She remembered Santos removing the spines and saying her foot looked swollen, and she even remembered starting to feel woozy, the world turning all weird and waving. She must have passed out and Santos had brought her here to the island hospital. But surely, she hadn’t been in any danger ofdying?

She managed a smile, although her lips were cracked and the effort hurt just a little. ‘And I thought you said a sea urchin was just a little worse than a bee sting.’

‘Mia.’He looked up at her, his expression anguished. ‘I’m serious.’

Taking in the torment on his face, she knew he was, utterly. ‘Santos,’ she whispered. ‘What happened?’

He gave a gulping sort of swallow as he slowly shook his head. ‘They think you had a severe allergic reaction to the sea urchin sting. It’s very rare, but it can happen, and when it does it can be incredibly serious. You lost consciousness, right there on the beach. I carried you to the boat and then sailed to Katapola, where an ambulance from the hospital met us—I’d called 112.’

The Greek emergency number. A ripple of shock went through Mia, icy and incredulous. Had it really been that bad? She couldn’t remember any of it.

‘I...’ She found she had no words.

‘You didn’t regain consciousnessonce, Mia, in forty-eight hours.’ Santos’s voice was ragged, his eyes wide and dark as he stared at her as if he could imbue her with the strength of his feeling and his fear. ‘At one point, they weren’t sure you ever would. They told me that sometimes allergic reactions to sea urchin stings can be fatal.’ His voice choked.‘Fatal.’

‘Santos, I’m so sorry.’ She spoke the words helplessly because she had no others. He must have been through hell in the last two days, not knowing if she would live or die. She twined her fingers through his. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered again.

Abruptly he rose from his chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor, his back to her as he stalked to the window, raking one hand through his hair. Mia eyed him in fearful uncertainly. He was clearly in the grip of some powerful emotion. Was he angry...with her? Or with himself, for caring about her in the first place?

It reminded her of her mother, in an entirely visceral way. Blaming her for being sick, forbeingat all. Without Mia, her mother would have been unencumbered, free,happy. She’d always made that abundantly clear, even when she’d showed her affection, doled out in miniscule amounts, as if she was reluctant to feel anything for her; yet at times, as her mother, she just couldn’t help herself.

The sense of guilt and inadequacy Mia had felt as a child came rushing back, worse than ever. Somehow, and it really didn’t matter how, this was all her fault—again, as always. Santos’s pain was her problem, not his. She was to blame...just like she had been for the miscarriage.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her voice choking. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Santos whirled round, his hand dropping from his hair. ‘Mia, what on earth do you have to be sorry for?’ he demanded, his voice sounding as if it had been scraped raw. ‘I’mthe one who is sorry—me. I’m...’ Now his voice was choking. ‘I’m so damned sorry.’

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