Page 35 of The Marriage Auction 2: Part 4

“Good. The last thing I want, and this one is entirely on you…Madam Alana,” he spoke my title as though it were coated in velvet.

“Anything.” I said the word but also feared what it might mean to a man like him.

“A bride.”

“Excuse me?” I frowned, uncertain I’d heard him clearly. He couldn’t possibly want me to match him with…

“I want a wife. A woman that can handle my unique lifestyle. A woman who will look the other way. A woman who will mother my three children as if they were her own. A woman who will take my name with pride and honor. A woman who will share my bed and only my bed…for life.”

Episode 97

Play Dead

GIOVANNI

Pain. Bone melting, excruciating agony tore across my back and legs like I was being burned alive for the second time. Tears soaked the pillow I silently screamed into. I held my hands into fists, my belly to the hospital bed as I tried not to pass out.

It was too much. I’d never survive days or more likely weeks of this.

Every single one of my nerve endings felt as though they were being ripped from my body with dirty tweezers.

“Fucking hell,” I roared and bit into the cotton pillow as the nurse cleaned my wounds, whatever solution she used sluicing over my destroyed back and legs like a waterfall of pure acid. The heavy pain meds and nerve blocker I was on supposedly dulled the worst of it. The medicine didn’t come close to assuaging the absolute torture I experienced every time they changed my bandages. The doctors urged me to accept stronger pain infusions, but I refused as it would require my admission to the ICU. I’d spent days lost in the ugly haze of my nightmares due to sedation. I’d rather deal with the pain than feel nothing at all.

“Okay, Pookie,” the nurse cooed, patting the bottom of my foot. It was probably the only place she could touch me without adding to my suffering. “You did better this time. The burns are healing really well.”

“Awesome,” I grumbled. She said that every time she changed my bandages. “Maybe I’ll sign up to run the next New York City marathon,” I added dryly.

She chuckled, and it sounded like birds chirping. Maggie was her name. Short for Margaret, she’d explained, but absolutely not Peggy. She hated that common nickname and made it clear she wouldn’t be answering if anyone called her by it.

Maggie was the only nurse I could tolerate. Mostly because I was a terrible patient. She put up with my bullshit when the others gave up, calling for orderlies and a doctor’s assistance. The grey-haired nurse somewhere in her sixties was a sprite compared to me, with a quick wit that also could withstand my angry outbursts. When I got out of hand due to the endless pain, she treated me as though I was a screaming toddler, hence the nickname Pookie. She claimed if I was going to act like a toddler, she’d address me as such. It didn’t phase her that I was a six-foot-two, built man that could knock her out with one punch. Instead, she used kindness, sarcasm and humor to push through my anger. For some reason, with her, it worked.

Julianne knocked on the hospital door and peeked her head in. My heart beat rapidly, my skin buzzing as the worst of the pain eased at simply seeing her face.

“The yelling stopped. Can I come in now?” She asked Maggie, not me.

“Oh, he was a rascal today. Weren’t you, Pookie? Ripping up his pillowcase with his teeth like a wild beast!” She patted my foot again. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you another one and throw away the evidence. None will be the wiser.” She winked, as if what went on between us in this room when I lost my shit would stay between us. I appreciated the favor.

By my own decree, Julianne was kicked out of the room ever since my first experience with my injuries being cleaned while I was awake. I refused to have my wife see me sobbing like a babyevery time my wounds were tended. It was demoralizing. I hated it and everything about being in this fucking hospital. I wanted out.

Today.

Julianne had other ideas. Wanting to follow along with the doctors’ orders regardless of what I knew I needed.

“What did they say?” I hissed. They meaning the doctors.

She was supposed to be on an errand to get my doctors to agree to allow me to go on home healthcare. It was the only way they would consider letting me leave these four walls.

“They recommended you transfer to a special burn facility where you could get more expert care,” she said gently.

“Fuck that!” I growled. “I want to go home and sleep in our bed. It’s the only way I’m going to get any real rest.”

“Here, here,” Maggie cheered from across the room as she typed something into a rolling computer she dragged around from patient to patient as she performed her duties.

“Dr. Cline jokingly said the only way you could go home is if you had a full-time nurse and regular in-home doctor visits. He also sent your chart and images of your burns to a plastic surgeon who specializes in severe burns for a consult.”

“Great. We’ll set it up,” I answered automatically, used to getting my way.

Maggie snorted, and I glared in her direction.

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