Page 108 of The Unwanted Wife

"When was the last time you took some time off?" Summer frowns. Her phone buzzes; she looks at it and sighs. "I need to go relieve the baby-sitter."

"So glad you could make it." I blow a kiss in her direction. "I’d kiss you, but I don’t want to risk passing you the germs."

She blows a kiss back at me, then at the others. "It was so lovely to meet all of you. I’m going to try to make it next Friday, if all goes well. And you”—she stabs a finger in my direction—"you take care of that cold. And if you need anything?—"

"I’ll be fine." I laugh. "Some sleep, and I’ll be right as rain tomorrow."

Ugh, I am not right as rain. In fact, it feels like a storm has taken up residence in my head. I groan, then turn on my side. The others fussed over me, including helping me to shut down the shop, and seeing me upstairs. Imelda tucked me into bed. Zoey made me a cup of hot tea with lemon and ginger and insisted I take it, along with Tylenol. I swallowed it down without protest, then fell asleep to the sound of my friends talking. When I woke up at midnight, I managed to go to the bathroom, drank some more water, then fell asleep again. I woke up with shivers wracking my body.

I peer at my phone, and realize I didn’t charge it. I manage to plug it in and switch it on. It’s two a.m., so it must be more than six hours since I took the last dose of Tylenol. I reach for the bottle of pills Zoey must have left behind on my nightstand, then shake out two and swallow them down with the now tepid tea. I slide down under the covers, then curl up on my side, trying to keep my body warmth in. My teeth chatter, the chills seem to intensify, and I can’t stop shaking. I stuff my palms under my armpits in an attempt to warm them. I feel terrible. Terrible. Tears slide down my cheeks. I will not feel sorry for myself. I will not. I swipe at the moisture. Close my eyes, and sleep fitfully.

Finally, warmth sweeps over me. I sigh, snuggling into it. A heavy hand descends around my waist and pulls me against a hard front. I know it’s him. "Nate," I whisper.

56

Nathan

I watch her sleep, thick eyelashes sweeping over her cheekbones. Her breathing is harsh, her cheeks are flushed, and when I push the hair back from her forehead, I feel her burning up. Damn. I should have come sooner.

Zoey called my office and told me Starling wasn’t feeling well. I wanted to rush to her right away, but I stopped myself. I promised her I’d give her time. I also promised her I’d always be there for her—in sickness and in health. That’s my vow to her. It’s that vow that finally pushed me to leave the office, by which time, it was past two a.m..

I drove to her place, pulled out the key I have to her apartment, and let myself in. When I reached her bed, I found her shivering with fever. I took off my shoes, crawled into bed, and held her. She melted into me, and her trembling almost instantly subsided. She’s still running a fever, but it seems to be slightly weaker in intensity than earlier. I slide out of bed, fill a glass with water, wet a washcloth, and walk back. I slide my arm under her neck, and holding up her head, place the glass to her lips. "Drink, baby."

Her eyelids flicker, then she obediently takes a few sips of water.

"When did you take the Tylenol?"

"Two a.m., I saw the time before I fell back to sleep."

I lay her back against the pillow, then place the washcloth on her forehead.

"That feels good," she sighs.

I place my hand on the moist cloth, and she places her much smaller hand on mine. "I’m so glad you’re here."

I bend and brush my lips over hers. "Me too, darling."

A tear squeezes out from the corner of my eye. I make no attempt to brush it off. This is how much I’ve missed being with my wife. How much I’ve missed holding her. Cuddling her in the mornings. Waking up to her sweet curves against mine. How much I’ve missed the beat of her heart against mine. How much I’ve missed the warmth of her body against mine. And yes, I’ve missed being inside her, too, missed the clench of her pussy around my cock as she orgasms, those breathy little moans and whines she makes when she’s close. The curve of her lips, those big eyes of hers when she’s surprised. I’ve missed everything. I’ve missed sharing my life with my significant other. Missed her even more, now that I know how it can be for us to be together. Missed her much more than those years I spent jerking off to the feel of her mouth against mine when she kissed me on her eighteenth birthday. I’m glad I’m here, for it’s a privilege to show her how much I care.

"Maybe I should call a doctor." I begin to move away, but she grabs my wrist.

"No doctor."

"But you’re not well, sweetheart."

She looks between my eyes. "You’re here now. I’ll be fine."

I cup her cheek. "Give me your illness, baby. I can take it."

She scoffs, "Like I want you to get sick."

"I can bear it. But seeing you unwell hurts me so much more. I’d do anything to make you feel better. Anything."

Her lips curve. "I love you." She closes her eyes.

When the cloth begins to lose its coolness, I rise, wet it under the tap in the bathroom, then return and place it on her forehead. I find a basin in her kitchen, fill it with water and place it on her nightstand. I continue to wet the washcloth and place it on her forehead throughout the night. As the silvery light of dawn filters in through the window, her fever breaks. I wipe the sweat from her forehead, then gently run the cloth over her neck, before I toss it back into the basin.

The tension drains from my muscles, and I yawn. I’ve been in enough fights to realize I’m facing an adrenaline dip. This, nursing her through this fever, is, by far, one of the more serious battles I’ve fought. And no way am I losing to this illness. But she’s better now. I yawn again, then slip into the bed and gather her close. My breathing mirrors hers and I drift off to sleep. When I wake up it’s to find her staring at me.

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