Page 27 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
“Come on, let’s call a spade a spade. Did you hire Nicole because she was the best nurse, or because you’re fucking her?”
I ignore him, but he’s not wrong. He doesn’t know that, of course. I keep my personal life from him precisely because he won’t let me hear the end of it. I sure as hell can’t tell him now. Since running into Nicole again at the hospital, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
Nicole looks over her shoulder at me, and for a second, the room narrows. She’s looking at me like she can read my thoughts, and for a ridiculous moment, I try to think of anything else, just in case she can.
I chose Nicole because she treated my mother and me with the utmost respect when most of the other hospital staff were rushing in and out like we meant nothing to them. I chose Nicole because she’s both caring and competent, the kind of nurse who’ll do anything to help her patients. I chose Nicole because my mother deserves someone kind.
I chose Nicole because she somehow managed to climb under my skin and I still can’t shake her. And now she’ll be living in my home, sleeping under the same roof. This might be the dumbest decision I’ve ever made.
Mom leads Nicole toward her bedroom but stops short when she sees the new medical setup. I’ve outfitted the room with discreet monitors and medical devices to catch any emergency before it happens. I’ve also installed a call button she can press if she falls.
“Sergei, what is all this?” she asks sharply, turning to me with a murderous glare. “Why are all these things in my room?”
Sasha snorts beside me, unable to hold back his laughter. He did warn me it was too much, but I don’t care. He wasn’t the one who had to find her unconscious. I’m not risking that ever again.
“You’re overprotective. I’m not a child,” she snaps in Russian. “Having a nurse is one thing, but this is too much.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive, Mom,” I shoot back, also in Russian. “You may be my mother, but I am the man of the house and what I say goes.”
“I’ll show you ‘man of the house,’” she huffs, getting in my face and giving me a shove.
Nicole steps between us. “I think we should get you settled,” she says, firm yet gentle, defusing the brewing fight. “Too much stress isn’t good for your heart, Mrs.Volkova.”
“Please, call me Liliya,” she says in a gentler tone. “We’ll be spending plenty of time together, it seems.”
“Liliya,” Nicole repeats, smoothing out the unfamiliar syllables. “I’d like to take your blood pressure now that you’re home.”
My mother scowls but nods. She lowers herself onto the bed and allows Nicole to work. In just a few minutes, Nicole has already proven she’s perfect for the job. She handles my mother with a balance of patience and firmness I can’t match. I love Mom, but she’s stubborn. Nicole doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.
Once she records Mom’s blood pressure, Nicole coaxes her to lie down for a nap. Miraculously, she agrees without a fight. Sasha and I exchange shocked looks as Nicole tucks our mother in without a single protest.
“Whatever you’re paying her, double it,” Sasha mutters. “I’ve never seen Mom listen to anyone like that.”
I smirk, feeling a surge of pride that has everything to do with choosing Nicole.
“Let me show you to your room,” I tell her when she’s finished. I shoot Sasha a look, silently telling him to give us privacy.
She falls into step beside me, silent for a moment. Now that we’re alone, the air between us feels charged. Maybe it’s just in my head, but I almost feel a magnetic draw to her. When she moves, I move. When I breathe, she breathes. It’s the strangest sensation, yet I’m not ready for it to end.
We reach the guest wing, and I open the door to her suite. I step aside to let her enter first, allowing her the space to explore.
The room is bright, polished, and elegant without being cold—or so my designer assured me. She turns in a slow circle, her gaze sweeping over every detail.
“This is incredible,” she whispers, almost to herself.
“Comfortable?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe, crossing my arms.
She glances back at me, eyes still wide. “More than comfortable,” she says. “It’s bigger than my apartment.”
“My father had a thing for grandeur,” I tell her. “He had this house built when I was young, and he had a hand in every single detail. We’ve updated some of the interior in the last few years, but we’ve tried to keep it all in line with his original vision.”
“You grew up here?” she asks, suddenly shy.
“Yes.” I laugh. “My brother and I used to race through the halls and get in trouble for drawing on the walls. Mom always said this house was far too nice to be raising hellions.”
“I can’t imagine you being a hellion,” she murmurs, a small smile curving her lips. “You seem very close to your family.”
“They’re everything to me,” I say.
