Free Black Widow Bride by Tessa Radley Page B

hospital bed. Rebecca didn’t dare look at Damon. Not that it would’ve helped. On the drive to the hospital, he’d continued the cold and remote treatment he’d started at breakfast, the silence building a wall of ice between them.
    Far better to think about poor Soula, whose chalky pallor was barely distinguishable from the white sheets enveloping her, and whose eyes were closed despite the wide-screen plasma television blaring across a room that looked more like a luxurious hotel suite than a hospital ward.
    As the ward door clicked shut, Soula’s eyes opened and lit up. “Rebecca, how good to see you! Damon, you’re back!” She struggled to sit up, paying scant attention to the drip secured to the back of her hand—or the wiring that protruded from under the bedclothes.
    “Mama!” Damon crossed the private ward in two hasty strides. “No, Mama. Lie still.”
    “Don’t be silly. I’m not yet dead, my son. Switch the television off.” Damon complied. “Now raise the back of the bed.”
    While Damon was adjusting the bed-frame setting, Rebecca approached the high bed, deeply shaken by Damon’s mother’s appearance. Only the dark, indomitable eyes showed a shred of the proud woman Rebecca remembered.
    “I must look a wreck, hmm?”
    Rebecca forced a smile, aware that Soula must have read the shock in her eyes but unable for the life of her to think of any platitude that would sound sincere.
    “What? No answer, Rebecca?” The older woman gave a wan smile. “Better that than the lies the rest of the family feed me. This morning my eldest sister, Iphigenia, said I still put women of half my age to shame. Pah! All lies!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “But I have to admit it’s not as bad as it looks. White is a terrible colour. Look—” she flung an arm out “—white nightdress, white sheets, white blankets. So bad for an older woman—it simply doesn’t do a thing for my complexion.”
    Affection for the acerbic woman overwhelming her, Rebecca bent to plant an impulsive kiss on the cheek that wore a few more wrinkles than it had in the past. “Nonsense,” she whispered into Soula’s ear. “True beauty comes from within. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”
    They exchanged a long look, then Soula’s arms crept around Rebecca’s neck and pulled her close. “It’s so good to have you here, child. I was starting to despair.”
    The note of very real desperation in Soula’s voice and the unexpected warmth of her hug caused something to splinter deep inside Rebecca and she hugged Soula back fiercely. Swallowing the burgeoning lump in her throat, she glanced up at the bank of equipment above the bed and said in a choked-up voice, “I have to admit I don’t like seeing you tied to these machines. When will you be out and about?”
    Damon reared up on the other side of the bed, outrage in his eyes. “Out and about? My mother needs—”
    “Soon!” Soula interrupted her son.” I will not stay in this place ena lepto—” she held up a thin forefinger “—longer than I need. Not one minute. Look at me! My hair needs attention, my nails need a manicure….” She held out elegant hands spoiled only by chipped nails.
    “You should’ve told me. I would’ve organised a beautician, a hairdresser—” Damon waved a hand at her nails “—whoever you needed to fix that.”
    “How can I expect you and Savvas to understand? You are men! Look, I’m wearing nightclothes in the middle of the day. And I reek of antibacterial soap.” She paused for breath. “I can’t bear the smell of the antiseptic.”
    “Neither can I,” said Rebecca with heartfelt fervour. Memories haunted her of the hospital her brother, James, had been in and out of before his death.
    Soula gave her a sharp glance. “Only the experiences of the old and sick bring on such strong dislike.”
    “Perhaps.” Rebecca kept her reply noncommittal, aware that she’d already given away more than she’d