“Is that…did they have to…” Pain gripped her—the idea of cracking her father’s breastbone to get at his heart—it just hurt so badly to think of him that vulnerable. Tears burned, blurring her vision.

The nurse swung around the desk to stand beside her. “If you’re asking whether they had to open his chest, no. Fortunately, the mitral valve is the most common repair, and he only needed a chordal transfer. It’s far less invasive, and there won’t be any risk of blood clots.”

“Okay. So, that’s good?”

“It’s as good as it gets, and of course they’ve flown in the best cardiovascular team in the world, so he’s getting the very best care possible.”

“Thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure, Princess.”

When she turned, she found Harrison waiting for her. She ran right into his arms. The big man held her tightly. “He’s stable, Rosalina. He’s going to recover.”

“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “Why can’t I just be happy with what I have?”

“Because you’re so much more than what they need you to be.” He released her and led her to a small conference room. Before pushing open the door, he said, “Brace yourself.”

Inside, her mother stood with the staff, issuing orders.

“Why isn’t she with my father?” she asked him quietly.

“The doctors are with him right now. Trust me, she’s been by his side every moment. But, now, she’s doing damage control. They’re keeping his condition on lock-down. It can’t get out.”

Her heart seized at what her father’s heart attack could mean for Tuesday’s vote. “Mama.” She pushed through the crowd to get to her.

“There you are.” Her mother held her tightly, her slender body trembling.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I’ve made it so difficult on you.”

“This isn’t your fault, sweet girl.”

“The nurse told me they did it the least invasive way and with the fewest complications.”

“That’s right, darling.” Her mother looked ravaged with worry.

“Can I see him?”

“Not yet. But as soon as they give me the word, we’ll all go in together.” Her mother glanced across the room to where Genevieve sat alone on a plastic chair.

“Vivi.” As Rosalina dashed across the room, her sister jumped up and into her arms. They held each other tightly, rocking slowly in place.

Her sister pulled back first. “Is he going to die?” Frustration warred with fear in her eyes. Streaks of mascara marred her pale, smooth skin.

“No. He’s not.”

“I can’t ask Mother, and everyone’s just giving me the, He’s going to be fine bullshit. I’m not a child. I can handle the truth. I just want to know.”