Page 47 of Cage the Storm
“Good.”
“How long until the doctor clears me to get the hell out of this bed?” I try to move, but the weakness pisses me off.
She smirks. “A few days. If you don’t do anything stupid.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not making any promises.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. And the friction between us eases for the first time since I woke up. How long it will last is up for debate.
She tilts her head, trying to read between the lines, then she asks, “You hungry?”
“Yeah, I could eat.” I haven’t eaten in days. And food sounds like the only thing that might make me feel human again.
She gives me a knowing look, probably relieved I have an appetite. “I’ll have Chef Laurent send something down.” The idea of real food has my stomach growling, and now I’m impatient.
“Something good. None of that bland recovery crap.” Luna smiles, putting her hands on her hips.
“You’re in no position to be picky.”
“I’m always in a position to be picky.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” And just like that, things feel a little normal again.
My fingers wrap around her wrist to stop her. She glances down at my hand, then up at me. “What?”
“Stay.” Her expression softens.
“You want company?” I’m feeling that tight pull in my gut, and I know it’s not from hunger.
“Yeah.”
“Alright. I’ll have the chef prepare two plates. Just like the dining room.”
“Exactly. Thank you.” I watch her leave, wishing I were climbing the stairs with her.
I adjust my pillows, but the frustration still hums through my veins. The hunger is a constant reminder that my body is healing, whether I like the pace or not.
Minutes tick past, and before I know it, Luna’s back. Balancing two plates in her hands, the scent of something delicious, making my mouth water.
“I told you I’d get real food.” She smiles as she sets one on the nightstand beside me.
I glance at the plate—pasta, grilled chicken, fresh bread. Solid.
Once I’ve finished, I push the plate away and settle against the pillows. Exhaustion creeps in despite the food giving me a little more energy.
Now I sit back and watch my wife. She seems more relaxed, but she barely touched her food.
“You should eat,” I murmur. She rolls her eyes at me.
“I did.” I point at her plate.
“Not enough.” She sighs, and I can’t help thinking she has something on her mind.
“I’ll eat something later.” I need to bite my lip for fear of smiling.
“Have you ever actually listened to your own advice?” Her lips twitch, biting back a laugh.
“Rarely.” I blink, and for the life of me, I don’t know how much longer I can keep my eyes open.
