LITMIR.BIZ

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Luc to reach her and opened her arms, sighing when Luc lowered his head to drop a perfunctory kiss on each cheek. Why couldn’t he be warmer, why wouldn’t he allow her into his head and his life? Luc was, and always had been, fully independent, and Mariella hated—and admired—it. The world saw her as a strong matriarchal figure running herd on her family, staff and friends, but Mariella had little—no—control over Luc. He was completely independent of their money and did not need their influence. She couldn’t help him, advise him or protect him, and that made her feel twitchy. A mother should be able to do all, or at least one thing, for her child, but Luc? No, he had to forge his own path. Stubborn boy.

      Luc pulled out of her grip, far too soon, and shook Joe’s hand. “How is he?” Joe asked, pushing his hands into the pockets of his chinos. Dear Joe—what would she do without him?

      Luc shook his head. “It’s not good. He’s in a coma. He has extensive injuries. Mom—” Luc placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed “—you need to prepare yourself. There’s a good chance...”

      Mariella shook her head as she lifted her fist to her mouth. Digging deep, she sucked up some strength and looked her eldest in the eyes. “No, Luc. Don’t think like that. He will be fine.”

      “Mom, he’s very badly injured.”

      Mariella narrowed her eyes at him. “Get a second opinion. Get the best in the world. Get them here, get them now. Once those doctors have examined him, I will listen again, but, until then, we will have no talk of the possibility of your father dying. Are we clear?”

      “I am a doctor. I do know what I am talking—”

      Mariella couldn’t listen to any more. This was her life partner, his father, Luc was discussing. He wasn’t another patient; her life lay in a hospital bed beyond those doors. If she didn’t believe, who would? “I said, am I clear?”

      Luc’s eyes slid away to look at Joe, but Mariella didn’t drop her gaze. Until Harrison recovered, she was head of this family. Luc closed his eyes in frustration, and when he opened them again, he gave her a curt nod. “As you wish, Mariella.”

      Dammit, he only called her Mariella when he was pissed off with her. Mariella held out a hand to grip his, but Luc took a step back, retreating into his cool, calm shell. Luc handed her a mocking smile. “Rafe needs you. He’s taking this hard.”

      He didn’t say it out of concern for his brother, Mariella realized as she walked toward Rafe, who stood by the window, ignoring their conversation. As she always did, she ignored Luc’s subtle dig about her preference for Rafe. The two boys were born competitive, and growing up their sibling rivalry had sometimes descended into outright war. But Luc refused to see that he had the advantage over Rafe, that the prosaic, unemotional attitude he’d inherited from Harrison made the world an easier place to deal with. Luc was an oceangoing liner, steady, stable, and Rafe was a rickety raft, at the mercy of the ebbs and swells of life. If all was well, he could be charming and ebullient, but when the tide turned, and he was faced with criticism and rejection, he didn’t have the resilience to ride the waves. She was his life jacket, his rescue craft, the person he leaned on. It made Mariella feel like she still had value as a mother.

      Rafe turned to her, his gaze filled with despair. But when his arms went around her, when his hand rested on the back of her head, Mariella knew that he was trying to comfort her, to ease her pain. Darling Rafe. He was trying to be brave, but Mariella felt the shudder that passed through him, and she tightened her grip. She was his mother—it was her job to provide strength and comfort, leadership. She could do this—she could support Rafe, and the rest of her family, through this horrible time. Mariella drew big circles on his back, wishing that Rafe had a man in his life, someone who could comfort him, support him, when she wasn’t around. But he didn’t, and right now she was his chief source of comfort. No matter how much she had to do, how worried she was, she’d take on that role with alacrity. After all, she’d been doing this for most of his life, and she was damn good at it.

      It only took a minute or two, and Rafe’s grip on her eased. He sniffed, lifted his head and sent her a watery smile. “Mom.”

      Mom. The sound from those lips still had the power to melt her heart. She would die for this boy, she realized. She would die for any of her children. They were the beat of her heart, the reason she did what she did, the essence of who she was.

      Mariella pushed Rafe’s hair off his face and swiped her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away the traces of moisture with her thumbs. She planted a kiss on his mouth and squeezed his cheeks. “Your father will be fine. Do you hear me?”

      Rafe nodded, gratitude in his eyes. He’d needed someone to tell him that, Mariella realized. Luc had probably just hit him with the cold, hard facts. She didn’t doubt, not for one second, that Harrison was in grave danger, but she also believed in the power of positivity, in the strength of the human spirit and its will to live. Harrison still had so much he wanted to do; he would fight to stay in this world.

      Seeing that Rafe was, mostly, composed, Mariella kept her hand on his back and turned back to face Luc and Joe.

      “Where is Elana?” she demanded, realizing for the first time that her youngest wasn’t present.

      Luc pushed his hand through his straight hair. “I’ve been calling and texting, but she’s not picking up. I’ve called Thom and told him the situation—he’s trying to reach her, too.”

      Dammit, her wild child. Mariella’s lips thinned as she heard her phone ringing from her designer bag dangling from her shoulder. Pulling her cell out, she scrolled through her many missed calls. All clients. Nothing from Elana. She pulled up Elana’s number, dialed it and lifted the phone to her ear. Today was a workday and Elana should pick up a call from her or Gabe. Mariella felt her frustration rise when the call went directly to voice mail. Maybe Gabe had spoken to her...

      Mariella’s head snapped up. “And where the hell is Gabe?”

      Luc and Rafe exchanged a look that set Mariella’s teeth on edge. “Neither of you called him, did you?”

      Luc, at least, had the balls to look her in the eye as he answered her. “He’s not exactly family, Mom.”

      “He lived in your house, ate at your table, attended school with you since he was ten years old. He is my nephew, and our most valued employee. He. Is. Family.” Mariella enunciated every word. Her eyes flew from Luc and Rafe and back again. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

      “I’ll call Gabe,” Joe said, doing what he did best and defusing the tension between members of the Marshall family.

      Mariella shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll do it.” She glanced down at her phone and quickly accessed Gabe’s number. Unlike Elana, Gabe answered before the first ring could be completed.

      “Tía?”

      Mariella pushed her fist into her sternum, trying to push away the flare of rising acid. “Gabe, I need you at St. Aloysius. Harrison had an accident, and he’s in bad shape.”

      Gabe swore. “What the hell happened? Is he okay? How bad is bad?”

      Mariella looked up when Joe touched her arm. She followed his pointed finger and saw a doctor approaching, his face weary and so very, very grave. “It’s bad, Gabe. I have to go. Get here as soon as you can.”

      “I’m on my way,” Gabe replied.

      Mariella lowered the phone as the doctor stopped in front of her, holding out his hand. “Mrs. Santiago-Marshall, I’m Dr. Grant. We should speak. Come and sit down—you might need to make some decisions.”

      * * *

      Mariella, holding Luc’s hand, stepped into the corridor leading to Harrison and took a moment to steady herself. She could do this—she had to do this. No matter their differences, the arguments, the fights over control and power, Harrison was her husband. Her lover for more than three decades, her best friend.

      “I’ll go in with you, and I’ll be

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