“Why are you in bed with me?” my voice dug into the wall of my throat like rusty nails. I fussed with the covers, attempting to wrap them around my body. Romeo eased me out of his hold as if I was made of glass. His gaze bore through me, and his jaw was tight.
“Doctor’s orders. You’ve caught a virus that’s been going around. Skin to skin can help the body regulate its temperature.”
I wouldn’t put it past Romeo to make something up. I sifted through my memories, finding them frosted and murky. The last thing I remembered was getting into the bath.
“I feel like rubbish,” I admitted, a splitting headache pulsing in a tight band across my forehead.
“That’s normal. The virus starts off with fatigue and builds to extreme lethargy. Do you remember anything?” He sounded stiff.
I narrowed my eyes at my husband, taking in the disheveled state of his dark hair and the tired circles under his eyes. I rarely saw him out of place, and there was something captivating about how undone he was. His chest was sprinkled with a dusting ofblack hair, and my gaze trailed down to where it disappeared beneath the sheets. I hadn’t looked at him closely the last time he had been naked in front of me. Thoughts of revenge had consumed my mind.
“Did I say something?” A flush crawled up my neck. What if I admitted something mortifying? What if he’d seen beneath the hard façade? The barrier between my strength and emotions thinned. Reading my father’s letter had sent me spiraling into its deep depths. His words had been effused with love. But it reminded me how much I lacked that in my real life. How much I craved it.
He was gone, and I needed him. The ache was an abscess, swelling with my denial. I felt frail under the ineffectual cover of the sheet. The sickness tore down my ability to mask how much I still missed my father. Where does all the hurt go when it’s given no space to be processed? It had made a hovel in my hollow heart, poisoning me from the inside out.
Two hands are good, but four are better.
His sweet joke had become tainted when he disappeared. Forcing me to make a promise to myself. I didn’t need anyone else. I could only rely on my own two hands. But as I stared at my trembling hands, gripping the blankets with white knuckles, a wave of nausea washed over me. The weight of carrying everything alone was exhausting and suffocating.
“You could barely talk, wife.” Romeo reached out and covered my fists with his hands, giving a brief squeeze. His thumbs brushed my chest. “I confess, I thought you had ingested something. That you’d had enough of this life.”
My back stiffened, and indignation stabbed my chest. I narrowed my eyes at him, lips gaping at his admission.
“You could never drive me to such a thing,” I snapped.
Romeo’s face melted, and he closed his eyes, humming. His hands over mine thawed the icy shield encasing my heart.
“There she is. I’m glad the virus didn’t burn out your fire.”
I didn’t know how to reply, but the proximity of his bare chest was making my blood rush through my veins. Romeo’s arm looped around my back, and he forced me close. Pressing my bare breasts flat against him. His gaze dropped to my lips. Desperate, ravenous hunger sent a flash down my spine. How hard would I make him bleed if he tried to kiss me again? Or could I take the oblivion he offered?
“You can leave now. I’m lucid enough to care for myself,” I swallowed. “Maria can help me otherwise,” I added in case he thought my illness would give him access to my bedroom. But as I looked down at the sheets, I registered they weren’t mine. The covers were shiny turquoise with a baroque medallion pattern. On the bedside table, there was a gold frame with a picture of Romeo and me on our wedding day.
“You had me moved to your room?” I jerked out of his intoxicating grip.
“Our room,” he corrected. “I had to keep you close with your illness, and besides, we’re married. We should share a bed.”
I wasn’t even going to touch that comment, nor the way his eyebrow arched. He wanted me to fight him on it, I realized.
“You might get sick,” I warned, searching for something to repel him with. Romeo stretched, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed.
“If that’s the case, promise not to be gentle with me?” His grin was tight. My gaze was drawn to his muscular form. He hadn’t been naked, but the small, black trunks left little to the imagination. He followed my eyeline to where it pinned on the bulge inside his underwear.
“You’ll be pleased to know your tea had no lingering effects,” he joked, striding over to shuck on his trousers.
“I’m sure Merissa will be relieved,” I shot back, fighting the absurd urge to ask him to stay. The bed felt cold in the absenceof his warmth, and I enveloped myself in the sheets to trap the memory of him against me. Only because I was cold. No other reason.
Romeo finished buttoning his shirt and came to stand at the end of the bed. A moment ago, I’d been pressed against him, but the way he loomed now had my heart rate rocketing.
“There is only one woman I want in my bed. And she was drooling all over me for hours.”
My cheeks heated, and I caught my tongue between my teeth. My head was cloudy. Thoughts took longer to connect than others. Because of the illness, not because he was rolling his sleeves up in a way that made his forearms bulge. Romeo’s smile slipped off, and he cleared his throat.
“I want you to know I visited your mom. I wanted to get the gift for you.”
Leaning forward, I felt a sharp jolt of pain shoot through me and couldn’t help but wince. Despite my body’s protests, I couldn’t contain the surge of excitement coursing through me.
“What was it?” I didn’t bother to hide the frantic note in my voice. Did he command my mom to hand it over? I was hungry for what my father had left me. The small girl inside me, who wanted the love of her father back more than anything, clapped her hands together.
