Romeo, Romeo Part 33

"'Cause your head is so big, I don't think there's room in there for both me and your ego."

"There will be plenty of room. I'll put the top down. It's a beautiful day."

Chapter Twenty.

When Nick said he was going to take Rosalie to his home, she figured it would be nice, but she never expected a freaking mansion. It was huge and stately, and everything a person could want in an upscale boutique hotel, but it wasn't exactly homey.

She fell in love with the original stained gla.s.s, the intricate woodwork, and the paneling-old-world mahogany, not Home Depot.

The decorating, however, gave her pause. It was so totally un-Nick. It looked fine for a guy who lived on a diet of ballet, champagne, caviar, and cla.s.sical music, but not for Nick, who lived on beer, pizza, hockey, and rock with a little Sinatra thrown in for good measure. Not that Nick couldn't do the ballet, champagne and caviar, and orchestra thing on occasion, but he wouldn't be comfortable living in it, and neither would she. No wonder he'd moved in with her. Rosalie cringed at the thought of what Dave's tail alone would do to this place.

Nick stood beside her in the entry. "You hate it."

She must not have hidden her feelings well. d.a.m.n, why did he have to be so perceptive? "I don't hate it, but I'm having trouble seeing you here." She spun around, taking in the chandelier, the chichi knickknacks in the living room, the ornate Victorian dining room, the hunting club study/library. "The person who decorated it must not have known you at all. Are you comfortable living here? I'd be afraid to sit down."

"Lee, the only place I've ever felt comfortable was with you. Don't you see? You're my home, my love, my family. You're what I've been searching for my whole life. I sleep here when I'm not with you, and I use it as my mailing address, but I don't live here. I never have."

Nick wiped tears she didn't realize she'd been crying off her cheeks and kissed her. She snuggled closer in his arms. "So, where did you live before you moved here?"

"Nowhere."

"Where did you grow up?"

"Here. In the bas.e.m.e.nt apartment. My mother used to manage this brownstone when it was a tenement. Park Slope has changed a lot in the last ten years. Growing up, I used to dream of buying the place and restoring it."

"And you always get what you want. I know."

The doorbell sounded. It was like being in a bell tower on Sunday, only louder and longer. "What? A simple ding-dong isn't good enough? Rich people even have ostentatious doorbells?"

"I didn't pick it out. The decorator did."

"I don't think I'd like this decorator of yours."

Nick choked and didn't grin. But he looked like he wanted to. "I'm sure you wouldn't."

He answered the door. It was Dr. Mike. Rosalie groaned.

Mike walked right past Nick without acknowledging his existence. "Rosalie, how's my favorite patient?"

Nick cleared his throat. "You're not even going to say h.e.l.lo?"

Mike got in Nick's face. "You deserve to be shot. I was in bed... in bed with a woman, and we were just getting to the good stuff when you had me paged. You said it was an emergency."

"It is."

Mike looked at Rosalie. "Do you feel as if you're dying, Rosalie?" "No."

Mike turned back to Nick. "See, there's no emergency."

Nick seemed to grow in stature. He puffed up and looked scary. "Lee's sick. In my book, that's an emergency."

Mike looked Rosalie over. "You have lost a lot of weight. Have you been dieting?"

She shook her head. She really didn't want to talk about her stomach in front of Nick. Mike must have gotten the hint.

Mike took her arm and steered her toward the main staircase. "Since I'm here, I might as well take a look at you. Come on. Let's go up to one of the bedrooms. He's got a million of them."

Nick sputtered. "Bedroom? Why do you need to go to a bedroom? You're not taking Lee into a bedroom."

She turned around on the steps and glared at him. "What is your problem? You're the one who dragged Mike all the way over here. Where do you want him to examine me? In the kitchen?"

"Why not? All he's going to do is look down your throat, right, Mike?"

"Nick, I'm a doctor. Rosalie's a patient. Grow up."

Nick followed them up the stairs. When they got to a guest room, Mike led her inside and shut the door on Nick.

"I'll be right out here." She heard Nick yell through the heavy door.

Mike sat on a comfortable chair and nodded toward the other. "I think we should make him stand out there for a good long time. It'll serve him right for dragging me out here under false pretenses."

"I'm sorry about that. I told him I wasn't sick."

"I understand why he's concerned. You don't look well, Rosalie. What's the problem?"

"My stomach has been bothering me. I think it's stress."

"Bothering you how, exactly?"

"You know. My stomach hurts; I'm nauseous a lot; I don't have much of an appet.i.te."

"How long has this been going on?"

"A little over a month."

"Is it getting better? Worse?"

"You're not going to talk to Nick about this, are you?"

"No, but if that's an engagement ring on your hand, you probably should. Could you be pregnant?"

"Not unless it's the second Immaculate Conception."

Mike looked questioningly at that. "Contraceptives aren't one hundred percent reliable."

"I know, but abstinence is. I haven't seen Nick in a month, and I had my period after we stopped seeing each other."

"You stopped seeing each other a month ago, and now you're engaged?"

"It's a long story. What else do you need to know?"

"I'm going to take your blood pressure, listen to your heart and lungs."

"Fine." He did his thing and didn't say much, so she figured everything must be normal. He took her temperature with one of those ear things. Again, he said nothing. He looked in her ears, down her throat, up her nose. "Are we done yet? I told you I was fine."

"Lie down on the bed and show me where it hurts."

Rosalie kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed. She pointed just below the breastbone. "Here."

"Unzip your pants for me, and pull your s.h.i.+rt up to right under your bra."

She did, and he did the usual poking and prodding thing on her stomach, and even listened to it with the stethoscope, a very cold stethoscope.

"Well, your uterus isn't enlarged, so it doesn't look as if you're pregnant."

"I told you that. Geez, Mike. You charge for this?"

Rosalie zipped up her pants and pulled her s.h.i.+rt back down. He offered her a hand up.

"Have you been vomiting?"

"A little."

"Is there blood in the vomit?"

"No." Okay, now she was beginning to worry.

"What have you been eating?"

"Not much."

"Do you drink a lot of coffee?" "Yes."

"How much?"

'Three or four Venti, triple shot lattes a day." "No more coffee. I want you to see a gastroenterologist friend of mine. I'll call and set something up right away." "Why?"

"Well, my dear, it sounds to me like you have an ulcer. Do you take painkillers? Ibuprofen?"

"Yes."

"Not any more. Acetaminophen, if you must. I'll give you a prescription for something that will help decrease the acid level in your stomach, and I'll call and get you an appointment for Monday. You'll have to take a few tests. No canceling."

"Is this serious?"

"It can be. Ulcers are caused by bacteria, but stress, poor diet, and irregular and skipped meals are contributing factors."

"What am I going to tell Nick? He's going to freak." Mike patted her on the back. "Well, if I were you, I'd start out by telling him I cured your pneumonia." "Yeah, great."

"Why don't you go calm the bear while I pick up my things? I don't know who p.i.s.sed him off and gave him that black eye, but I don't want one of those."

"He's harmless, and he's happy... well, except for the whole Premier Motors fiasco. Mr. La.s.siter called me last night and told me they'd made a deal. Nick's always wanted Premier, but he never wanted to get it this way."

"Yeah, Nick's a good guy. He'd never hurt Mr. La.s.siter if he could avoid it. But it sounds to me like he had no choice. Congratulations on your engagement. I wish you two all the best. I suppose I'll have to start finding my own dates now. d.a.m.n, that takes time."

"Excuse me?"

"I have, on occasion, comforted Nick's old girlfriends after he dumped them. Unfortunately, none were of your caliber."

"Is that a compliment I heard?"

"Yes, it's a definite compliment. Nick's a lucky man."

"Thanks, but I'm pretty lucky, too."

Nick knocked on the door. "What's going on in there? Lee? Sweetheart-"

She opened the door to a frantic Nick.

"What's taking so long?" He wrapped his arms around her and looked over her head at Mike. "Is she okay?"

Mike closed his little black bag and walked past them down the hall. "Your fiancee will tell you everything you need to know."

Rosalie smiled. "Thanks, Mike."

He jogged down the steps. It looked like he was in a hurry to get back to whomever he'd been dragged away from. "You're welcome. Consider it an engagement present," he called back. They heard the front door slam behind him.

Nick looked at her expectantly. "So?"

"Mike thinks I might have a little ulcer."

"A little ulcer? A little ulcer! Maddnne, Maddnne, what's wrong with that head of yours?" what's wrong with that head of yours?"

"Nick, it's okay. Mike gave me a prescription to calm my stomach, and I'll go to the doctor he recommended on Monday. I promise. So don't break my chops, because he says stress is a contributing factor, and you're stressing me out."

"I'm sorry. I really thought you were pregnant." He actually looked disappointed. "I told you I wasn't."

"Yeah, but what do you know? You thought you had a cold, and you had pneumonia."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Nope, I'll remind you of that for the rest of your life."