“Another
one, Lady Bella,” said my torturer, erm, physical therapist, Karen. “Last one.
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
“I
hate you,” I grumbled as I finished my exercises, pressing against her hand. I
fell back on the table and wiped my brow, which was covered in sweat. Karen
helped me back and she picked up the massage cream. “Okay, never mind. I don’t
hate you. Massage away, Karen.”
“The
scar is looking better,” Karen murmured as she placed a roll of towels
underneath my knee. She began working her strong fingers into my leg and I took
deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain.
I
wrinkled my nose, seeing a long, nasty scar running from my lower thigh to the
top of my shin. It was red and puckered, nasty and angry. So different from the
initial scar I’d received from my surgery in New York. We’d been in the summer
Gevalian palace for about three months. Shortly after our arrival in early
March, I was feeling better and I was heading to the kitchen without my
crutches or knee brace. My knee was still unstable and I took a tumble,
completely jacking up my knee, reinjuring it and causing me to have an open ACL
reconstruction surgery by the palace physician. What had been tiny laparoscopic
scars was now a zipper from the top of my shin to my lower thigh. “It’s ugly,
Karen,” I grumbled.
“It’s
already fading, Lady Bella,” Karen said, giving me a warm smile. She was an
older woman, in her late forties, early fifties, who worked with her husband,
Doug, for my physical therapy. “You’re getting stronger every day we work. I’m
thinking that you will be completely free of the crutches by the time you celebrate
Prince Edward’s birthday in a couple of weeks. He’s mentioned that he has plans
for the two of you.”
“What
about the brace?” I asked. I blinked at her. “And, what plans?”
“I
think we may be able to streamline it,” Karen chuckled. “My husband will get
the measurements for you, fitting you by the next week. And, I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Thanks,
Karen,” I smiled as she finished my massage. When she was done, she attached
electrodes to my knee and I spent fifteen minutes getting my knee stimmed and
iced. I attached my knee in the clunky knee brace, I hobbled to where Masen was
working out. He was running, his gait perfect and his bare chest streaked with
sweat. I wanted to lick his tattoo, tasting his skin.
I
also missed running. Not that I was any good at it, but seeing Masen’s smooth
and graceful stride on the treadmill made me jealous of my own gimpiness. I
cursed the paparazzi for causing the accident that resulted in my injuries.
Fucking vultures.
I
sat down, blatantly ogling my fiancé. He was singing to whatever song was
playing on his iPod and focused on his feet pounding the treadmill. He blinked
over to me, a crooked smile spreading over his face. Despite the speed he was
running, he crooned some love song in French. I didn’t know what he was saying,
but he was giving it his all. He slowed down and hopped down, ending the song
while on his knee and holding my hand.
“You’ve
missed your calling, Masen,” I giggled as he beamed at me goofily. “You should
have been a singer.”
“Surely
you jest,” Masen chuckled, standing up and picking up the t-shirt that was
draped over the side of the treadmill. “I can play the piano, guitar and
violin, but singing is not my talent. Emmett is a beautiful baritone.”
“What
you lack in talent, you make up for in enthusiasm,” I said, standing up and
putting my crutches under my arms. “How was your work out?”
“Good.
Yours?” Masen asked, guiding me through the gym and to the waiting Range Rover
outside the rehabilitation facility. Felix nodded from his spot in the driver’s
seat. Once we were settled, he pulled away and drove us back to the summer home.
“I’m
frustrated that I’m not healing as quickly as I’d hoped,” I frowned, scowling
at my knee.
“You
had a major set-back, cherie,” Masen
breathed, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles. “You’re making a lot of
progress. Before you know it, you’ll be running right along with me.”
“Unlikely,” I snorted. “I’ll be happy just to walk without a noticeable limp.”
Training Facility
Gevalian/Swiss Alps
Gevalian Summer Palace
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