Page 14 of Falling for Paris
She worked quietly, focusing on pouring the ganache and putting away perishable ingredients. When it was time to put the tart in the chiller to set, Tori was rather annoyed. Rafael didn’t need to help her, but some final instructions would have been useful. She recalled what her classmates did and appreciated that she wasn’t rushed, but where the hell was he?
She walked to the hallway and peeked into his empty office. Had he left?
And then she heard it: the hint of gruff breathing coming from deeper down the hallway. Approaching a closed door she recognized as the employees-only lounge, Tori realized the rumbling sound had morphed into shallow, pained breaths.
In a flash of panic, she burst in. “Um, hello?!” The sight of him made the hair at the back of her neck raise. “Rafael, are you hurt?”
His back was to the door because he was crouched over a cabinet, his left arm lifted to hold his body up and his right arm stiff and angled wrong, like it was seizing up without his control.
“Leave,” he gritted without turning around. “Let yourself…” he paused to take a pained breath. “You can let yourself out.”
“What can I do? Please let me help.” Her voice came out in worried spurts. She couldn’t leave him like this.
“Just”—he used his left hand to point to the microwave—“the compress was heating up, but I didn’t get to it on time.”
Tori opened the microwave and took out a long, narrow compress that seemed to have something grainy inside. Rice maybe? She held the warmed object like an offering and walked to where Rafael had managed to sit. His right arm was still stiff and his face was a mask of discomfort.
“Thank you. Just place it over my…yes, that’s it.”
She had positioned it over the injured shoulder, letting the length drape over his upper arm. They were quiet for a while, only the sound of her heartbeat and the rush of her blood filling her head. Rafael’s eyes were closed, lashes seeming thicker and darker over paled skin. She watched, amazed, as his shallow and panting breaths deepened, his features easing. When his eyes opened, his gaze was a blaze of frustration.
“I’ll get you water,” she said.
Turning away from him, she sorted through her concern and confusion. What was wrong and, perhaps more importantly, why was he soweirdabout it? A hot pack was hardly the height of emergency care. A bit of aging muscles was nothing to be ashamed of. Fumbling with a glass, Victoria watched as he flexed and unflexed his hand, then put his head to the back of the chair like he’d been stabbed.
“Rafael, drink this.” She added, skittish and nervous, “My mom always said most things can be solvedwith a glass of water or a walk outside. Or both.”
He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. “Tell me about your mom. Distract me.” His voice was made choppy by distress yet sounded surprisingly warm.
“Take this first,” she ordered gently, wrapping his good hand around the glass and waiting for him to drink. He was sitting in an individual armchair, so if she sat with him it would have been on his lap. So she knelt at the side of his injured arm.
“Is it a muscle spasm? An old injury?”
“The condition is brachial neuritis. I have what’s called Parsonage Turner Syndrome.” His voice was tight with restrained resentment. “It is basically the envious cocktail of nerve pain, muscle seizures, and the sudden loss of use of my entire limb. Inconvenient, but it will pass. Don’t look so worried.”
“Do you take medicine for it?”
“Yes, throughout the day. Before class and right after. We went over today so I took it too late.”
“That’s my fault.”
Rafael shook his head. “It is no one’s fault,mon ange,” he whispered. Tori’s heart quickened when he called herhis angel.
“You asked about my mom…” She faltered.
His head was back and eyes closed again, forehead creased, but he managed to tilt his lips to indicateyes, go on.
“She raised three girls. Despite having a graduate degree in English, she was a stay-at-home mom because my dad was away so much, being a pilot. And she also wanted us to travel which made it hard for her to keep a typical work schedule.”
“Three girls?” he said in disbelief. “Three girls just like you?” His teasing was so unexpected at the moment, it made Tori chuckle.
“They are so much worse than me. I’m the responsible oldest sister, I’ll have you know.”
Rafael lifted his head. A grunt escaped his throat.
“Will it help if I massage your shoulder? Your arm?” she asked.
At the question, he managed to tilt his head and grimaced a curt response. “Don’t touch my arm.”
