Page 66 of My Dark Horse Prince

12

A lot of the peace I found the day before is gone when I’m sitting in a hospital gown, about to be cut open. I mean, I know it’s just my leg, but I kind of need it to work.

Also, I really don’t want to die.

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about that, usually, but when you have to sign a release saying you know about 100 different complicating factors, all of which might kill you, it sort of starts to feel likely.

“It’s going to be fine,” Kris says.

“If Grigoriy tries to leap through the door and into the operating room,” I say.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let him interfere.”

I shake my head. “Actually, I was going to say to help him.”

Kris blinks. “What has been going on between you two?”

I shove her arm. “As if you didn’t intentionally leave me there with the hope that we’d flirt.”

“Flirt?” Kris sighs. “Aleks had a lot more faith in him than he should have, I guess.”

“What?”

Kristiana shrugs. “He said that all the women were just obsessed with him, and that he was quite the ladies’ man. Maybe it didn’t really translate to this century.”

A ladies’ man, huh? “Did he have a lot of girlfriends?” For some reason, that really concerns me.

“Well, they didn’t really do girlfriends back then. It was more like, women of the night or future wives.”

“Women of the night? Really?” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help asking, “Did he have either?”

“I’m not going to claim to be an expert, but Aleks said his buddy never had any interest in anyone.”

That, at least, jives with what Grigoriy told me himself.

“It bodes well that you’re asking, though.” Kris is looking at me with a knowing glance that I don’t want to deal with.

Luckily, the surgeon comes in and saves me. “It’s a good morning to change someone’s life,” he says.

“Are there bad mornings to improve lives?” Kris arches one eyebrow.

“There are two men out there who both look really nervous,” Dr. Hubert says. He looks just as bald, just as short, and just as unattractive as he did the last time I saw him, and I’m okay with that. I just want him to be a magician with bone repair. “They’re insisting they be allowed to watch from the observation deck.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I know they’re desperate for it.”

“They need to know that they will absolutely not be allowed through the OR doors under any circumstance,” Dr. Hubert says.

“They know,” Kristiana says.

“Are you ready to begin?” Dr. Hubert looks suddenly serious.

I nod.

“Let’s go.” He introduces me to the anesthesiologist, and moments later, my world goes dark.

Of course, an instant after that, someone’s snapping in front of my face. Recovery from surgery’s pretty awful, every time. You’re not in control of your body, you’re disoriented, and for some reason, I’m always filled to the brim with panic and terror.

Probably because it’s almost exactly how I felt on the day my leg was shattered originally. It’s not a comfortable feeling. But eventually, I manage to make it through that horrible haze, and I start to surface from the fog and misery of post-surgical recovery.

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