The change of position caused blood to rush to his brain and a thumping headache filled his skull.
“I probably shouldn't have had that last drink,” he whispered to himself. “Or even the last three drinks.”
Wearing only his underwear, he walked over to the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat and made him feel better almost immediately. Which was good, because he needed to recover quickly. He wanted to make the most of his time in New York and he refused to waste any of it to a nasty hangover.
As he walked back toward his bed, he noticed that the light on his cell phone was blinking. When he picked it up, he saw that he had a missed call from Orsino Palace.
Father, he thought, as he clicked on the number to return the call. He waited anxiously to hear his father's voice.
“Marco,” a female voice answered his father's cell phone. “How nice of you to call.”
Marco winced at the familiar voice. It was his stepmother. Despite marrying his father when
he was a young teen, the two of them had never gotten along well.
“Good morning, Magdalena,” he greeted her. “I'd like to speak to my father.”
“Your father is lying down,” she said, crisply. “He's trying to relax right now, which isn't easy since his only son decided to leave town during one of the hardest times of his life.”
“He and I have talked about this,” Marco replied, doing his best to stay calm. “Father was the one who encouraged me to continue this trip. I had offered to come home.”
“I don't recall him mentioning anything of the sort,” she said, her snide tone causing the anger inside Marco to flare. “But tell me, Marco. Has it been worth it? Has the trip to the United States been worthy of leaving your family at such an inconvenient time? I hope you're enjoying yourself and not getting into too much trouble.”
“The States have been amazing and my days without trouble,” he assured her. “But to be honest, my dear Magdalena, I didn't call to get an earful from you or to chat about my vacation. In fact, I called my father's phone in order to speak with him.”
“As I said, he's resting at the moment and I won't allow him to exert any extra energy that he doesn't need to. That includes talking to you,” she said.
Marco began pacing the room again. He clenched and unclenched his fists before speaking. There were many words that he wanted to say to her, but none of them would be considered polite.
“I would like to speak to him, Magdalena,” he said, as he walked swiftly back and forth across the carpet in front of the bed. “If you aren't going to let me speak with him, can you at least tell me what is going on with his health? I've been worried sick about it.”
“So worried sick you couldn't take his call earlier?” Magdalena asked. “He had so wanted to speak to his only son.”
“That's why I'm calling now,” Marco replied testily. “Now, I'd like to know how the follow up appointment went with the doctors.”
“Since you couldn't be bothered to speak to him yourself, I will tell you. Based on the size and location of the tumor in his lungs, the doctors said that the best possible plan of action will be surgery,” she said. “It's not a simple procedure, but if it's successful then there's a chance that he won't have to go through chemo and radiation.”
Marco stopped in his tracks and stared out of the window of his hotel room. He heard the words that came out of the Queen's mouth, but it took a moment for them to fully soak in.
“So the surgery is going to happen?” Marco wished he could speak to his father instead of his stepmother. He had so many questions and he wanted to hear his father's thoughts.
Marco knew that the surgery was the best option for his father, so in a way he was happy to hear the news. But it still meant that King Carlo would have to go under the knife and would be forced to deal with all of the pain that would entail. He also realized that the recovery from such an invasive surgery would likely come with its own host of complications. So, although it was the best possible option, the thought of it still scared Marco half to death.
“What did my father say about all of this?” he asked, as his heart fluttered with worry.
“He said that he's ready and willing to move forward with the operation as soon as possible,” she said. “The sooner the better, if you ask me. The quicker that tumor is gone, the less likely it will spread.”
“How soon is soon?” Marco asked, desperate for more information. “Did Father schedule a date yet?”
“I scheduled one for him,” she said, her tone as condescending as ever.
Marco let out a frustrated sigh. What is this woman's problem? Why does she feel the need to control every aspect of everything?
“Can you please tell me when the surgery is scheduled?” he asked, his words slow and paced.
“July fifteenth.”
“July? That's next month,” Marco nearly shouted.