Page 123 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

The doctor who’d called had said an ambulance had brought Emma in and she was now waiting for the doctor to examine her, but A&E was busy. As her next of kin, he needed to arrive promptly as she was showing signs of distress.Confusion. She needed support.

He was sure the doctor’s words had been calculated to trigger certain emotions in him. And delivered by a professional, they were all the more believable. Made it easier to alarm him, imagine how vulnerable she was.Alone.

He wasn’t alarmed, but here he was.

The doors closed behind him.

Drawn curtains equalled full beds, didn’t they? He’d never been in a hospital like this, but Dante understood. He’d read the papers. It was easy to see why Emma’s doctor had been so easily persuaded to take part in her little ruse.

What if she isn’t lying?She’s never lied to you before. Never gone to these kinds of lengths to get your attention.

Shehadto be lying. He couldn’t allow for any other scenario. He would call her out on her lies, she would sign the divorce papers and they’d be done once and for all.

His ears pricked as the low hum of conversations behind each makeshift cubicle peaked.

He moved.Listening.

‘Thank you, Doctor.’

His neck snapped to the left as a white, cheap curtain was dragged back on a metal rail. A harried man with a tight smile nodded and withdrew from the cubicle.

And there she was.

Her blond fringe had grown and fell over her eyebrows. Thick silky strands framed her face, teasing at her high cheekbones before falling in a wave over her shoulders.

Oh, how he’d liked to play with her hair. Wrap it around his fist and draw her into his chest as her back pressed into him.

No, he wouldn’t go there. He would not indulge in what had always been between them.

He focused himself and let his gaze travel down. Her legs lay flat on top of sterile white starched sheets as she sat up against an almost nonexistent pillow. A white blouse covered her pert breasts and a black pencil skirt hugged her hips and thighs.

The same little outfit she’d worn the night they’d met.

As he brought his gaze back up her body to her face, their gazes caught.

Wide, bright blue eyes met his. And he noted the widening of her pupils.

‘Doctor,’ she acknowledged.

Was this her attempt at strengthening the ruse?

Slowly, he pulled the curtain back into place. ‘No,’ he said, dismissing the idea of playingthatgame. ‘I’m no doctor.’

‘Then who are you?’ Her pink lips parted, and his mouth slickened. Unbidden. ‘A nurse?’ she pressed. ‘A porter?’

‘You really don’t know who I am, Emma?’ he asked, and ignored the pressure building in his sternum. He knew she was faking, and yet... The conviction in her voice was impressive.

‘Should I?’ She shrugged. ‘The doctor said lots of things were going to happen. Someone would be with me shortly to take me to a ward. And then something about a psychiatrist and an MRI. Or some abbreviation of letters. But honestly, I feel fine.’

He moved closer and stood at the end of the bed. ‘Of course you do.’

‘I do,’ she confirmed. ‘I’ve already wasted so many resources. I don’t need to be in this bed taking it from someone who needs it.’

‘You don’t need it, Emma?’ he asked, moving around the bed in purposeful strides. ‘The bed? You don’t requiremyassistance?’ he baited.Watched. But she didn’t flinch. Not a flicker of anything.

‘I’m clumsy,’ she said. ‘It’s untreatable, I’m afraid.’

‘If you are untreatable,’ he said, catching the lie as it was spoken, ‘why come to a hospital for treatment?’

---