Page 41 of Soulmate of the Mafia King
“Yeah.” She smiled. “But it was cute.”
“Oh, that’s good. I love being cute.” I shook my head. “They’re never going to let me live it down.”
She brushed the hair off my forehead. “I’d be shocked if they ever mentioned it to anyone else. They all know you were medicated. And for all their tough talk, they were worried about you.”
I snorted. “Did you tell them that? Because if not, I’d love to be around when you do.”
She shoved my shoulder lightly. “Fine, if you’re going to be a dick, I won’t tell you where we’re going.”
“We’re not going home?” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
By her indulgent laughter, I’d failed. “We are, don’t worry. Someone’s just meeting us there.”
I grimaced. I didn’t like the way she said “someone.” I just wanted to lie down, get a full night’s sleep, and get back to business tomorrow. Egypt could finally return to being just another country.
Paige kissed the tip of my nose and held onto my hand the whole way home. That made everything a little easier to bear. And so did the way she made me get out on the same side of the car as her so she didn’t have to let go.
I stepped out into the bright Philly sunshine and stared up at my house. The house I’d designed over so many years. I still remembered the bolt of inspiration for the outside, slaving over the cohesion of every room. But who the fuck was I kidding? I’d only built and designed a house; Paige had made it somewhere I could call home.
She tugged me inside, and by the small black bag sitting on the stairs to the second floor, I knew exactly who her surprise was.
“Another doctor?” I groaned.
“You don’t know that you didn’t hurt something on the flight.” She bit her lip. “I’m not losing you because you’re a stubborn jackass.”
Real worry shone in her dark eyes, and I wrapped my arms around her waist. “You’re not losing me for anything.” I kissed her, long and slow.
Someone cleared their throat behind us. I turned to see Enstrom, the doctor who’d been working for Killian for years, standing in the doorway.
“So you got yourself stabbed.” He snapped a latex glove against his wrist. “I thought I told you to watch for signs of high cholesterol and sharp objects.”
I sighed, released Paige, and turned myself over to Enstrom’s very dubious mercy.
One ridiculously full check-up later, I wanted my own bed even more than I wanted my next breath. Enstrom finally allowed Paige into the room.
“He’s a wreck,” the doctor said. “Damn near died, and I don’t like the stitchwork of whatever overseas doctor you used. She was a lefty.”
Paige bit her lip as if hiding laughter and nodded. I’d forgotten she hadn’t met Enstrom before.
“And for all that, I wouldn’t have put him on a plane for another twenty-four hours.” Enstrom peered at me. “At least!”
Paige covered her mouth, trying to look serious and thoughtful. “So what can we do about that?”
“Do? Nothing!” Enstrom shook his head. “You’d be better off throwing him to animals.”
“What’s his prognosis?” she asked.
He snorted. “He’ll be fine in a few weeks.”
I grinned and started to sit up.
Enstrom whirled toward me. “If!” He pointed a finger in my face. “He stays the course of his medication, taking the pain pills no more than absolutely needed, and rests the remainder of the time. I’m talking in-bed rest. Shit TV. Beach books. Nothing more strenuous.”
Behind him, Paige bent at the waist, laughing silently.
“I understand,” I said. “Nothing strenuous.”
“I know you’re lying to me.” Enstrom shook his finger. “Pneumothorax can recur. You rest, or I come back. Capiche?”
