Page 11 of The Wrong Fiancée

You can walk, Elika, imagine how she's feeling about her life? You want normal and you can probably have it someday, never again for Noe.

"I can't do this anymore," Noe said dramatically.

"What does that mean?" I sat down next to her on her bed.

"I want to come and live with you."

"I'm hardly home. I can't take care of you like they do here." This was an old argument. She didn't really want to be in my small cottage. But this was how she picked a fight with me.

"You just don't want to take care of me," Noe snarled and banged her head against the headboard. "I hate my life. I hate you."

"You're here for a reason, Noe. You're making progress. Think about it. A year ago, you couldn't even wiggle your toes."

"I used to be able to walk and now wiggling my toes is a success? Are you out of your mind?" she screamed.

This went on and on until she finally calmed down, her anger bleeding into the depression she was always fighting. "Why bother, Elika?" Her voice was low and defeated as she stared blankly out of her window, looking away from me. "Not like I going walk again, like you. What's the point? Even if my legs could move a little—what's going to change?"

"It could change everything, Noe." I forced optimism into my voice, though I felt her despair dragging me down, too. "With the new therapies, you might regain enough strength to use a wheelchair independently. You could get back some control over your life. Maybe even work again."

Noe used to manage a spa at a resort in Waikiki. She took such pride in herself. She'd gotten a degree in hotel management. She had told me to do the same as it was guaranteed employment in Hawaii—but I wanted to work in an art gallery. Well, it looked like neither of our dreams came true.

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Work again? I can't even get out of bed without someone helping me. Do you know howpathetic that feels? What? You don't want to pay my bills anymore? Is that it? Is that why you want me to go to work? In my condition?"

I'd wanted to scream at her, shake her, tell her that I wanted the best for her, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference. That was the thing with a TBI—the injury was more than physical. It had rewired her brain, turning frustration into deep-rooted despair.

She wasn't Noe anymore, not the Noe I remembered from before the accident. And honestly, we hadn't been friends then, either. She'd always been on her own path, and I'd been on mine. Now, it was my responsibility to lift her up, to drag her out of that darkness, because if I didn't, who would?

I let out a breath, thinking about how every visit to Ka Pono felt like I was walking on eggshells—hoping, just hoping, that maybe this time she'd show some spark, some glimmer of the old Noe. But it never came.

Still, I wouldn't give up on her. I couldn't. The treatments here were cutting-edge—new forms of nerve regeneration therapy, targeted physical exercises, and even some experimental procedures that held real promise. There was a chance—slim, but a chance—that with time, she could regain at least partial mobility in her legs. Maybe she could learn to stand again, even if she'd never walk the same. But it wasn't just about mobility, it was about giving her back her will to live.

"You have to keep trying," I told her softly, watching her hands clench into fists on the blanket, working herself up. "I know it feels impossible right now, but there's still hope, Noe. This place—this treatment—it could make a difference. You could get some of your life back."

"Oh God, aren't you full of positivity today," she threw back at me. "What? Did you get laid or something?"

Me? Positive? Yeah, right.

When I didn't say anything, she sneered, "But who'd want you? Donny always thought you were too skinny and flat."

Donny had been Noe's boyfriend of three years,hadbeing theoperative word. He'd dumped her right after the accident. Like, I gave a shit what that asshole thought about me.

"How about we go out for a bit?" I rose to get her wheelchair ready.

She didn't answer, but I knew she loved going out and pretending things were normal. I'd talk about this and that, topics that had nothing to do with her condition or mine for that matter, and we'd both pretend we were sisters again like we used to be, casual and playful.

So, I took her out for a stroll in her wheelchair and spent the afternoon cheering her up. By the time I got home and went for my night shift at Lava Lua, I was just about ready to collapse.

Seeing Dean at the tiki lounge with Felicity, Michael, and Rebecca’s daughter, Cristin, didn’t help. Theo, her boyfriend, seemed decent enough, but Cristin was just like her mother—and just like Felicity.

I had no idea what Dean saw in my cousin. She had a PhD, though, so maybe that made up for all her meanness and selfishness—after all, she was, probably, his intellectual equal while I was busy making Mai Tais for raucous tourists.

Chapter Five

DEAN

The Thatchers spent two months every summer in Kauai, working from their bungalows. Meanwhile, I’d be shuttling back and forth to Hong Kong. I’d already warned Felicity, who wasn’t thrilled about my upcoming trip—a week, maybe longer—starting in just a few days. Once I got back, Felicity and I would head to Bordeaux, where Mom had insisted we all gather for the family’s summer holiday.

"I have some auctions that I can't manage from here," I told her when she pouted.

---