8. Soren
Chapter 8
Soren
T wo weeks later
I tell myself nothing has changed.
That’s a lie.
Talia’s name is on my marriage certificate. My second one. I signed my life into something absurd and reckless. And now, I’m supposed to pretend it means nothing.
I should be able to. Except I can’t.
She’s everywhere.
I make my pre-surgery rounds, reviewing charts, issuing orders, moving from one patient to the next with the same measured precision I always have. Routine.
But then I hear her laugh.
It carries down the hallway, light and warm, like sunlight slipping through half-closed blinds. I pause, my grip tightening around the chart in my hands.
I hear her laughter again, closer this time. My feet move before I can think.
Through the small glass window into a recovery room, I see Talia. She’s crouched beside a bed, eyes crinkled at the corners as she grins at one of the kids. The patient—a little girl named Ella—giggles, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest.
Talia adjusts Ella’s IV like she’s done it a hundred times. I know she has her movements practiced, smooth. But it’s the way she talks to them. No rush, no clinical detachment. Just warmth. Presence.
I should keep moving. Instead, I watch.
Talia says something that makes the boy in the next bed snort with laughter. And suddenly the recovery room is less like a hospital and more like a safe place.
I turn away, jaw tight.
She’s doing her job. That’s all.
So why does it unsettle me?
***
I don’t do the cafeteria. I grab coffee when I have to, but I prefer my office. Less noise, fewer distractions.
And yet, somehow, I find myself here.
Talia’s at a table near the window, stirring a cup of tea, completely unaware of the way half the room watches her. Not because she’s beautiful—though she is . Not because she’s new either.
They stare because she’s present .
She listens when people talk. She doesn’t just nod along, waiting for her turn to speak. She meets eyes, engages, cares.
That unsettled feeling returns.
I turn, heading for the exit.
“Dr. Calloway.”
Her voice stops me cold. But I’m also conscious of the eyes of half the cafeteria watching us curiously. I school my expression, turning back.
“Nurse Vance.”
A hint of amusement tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I was wondering how long you were going to pretend you didn’t see me.”
“I’m busy.”
“So is everyone else.”
I exhale, shifting my weight. “Something you need?”
Her head tilts, studying me. “Not particularly. You?”
“No.”
A lie.
She nods like she knows it. “Alright, then.”
By the time I reach my office, my head is a mess.
This is nothing , I tell myself. A distraction. A shift in routine. It will pass.
But as I sit behind my desk, staring at an untouched report, all I can hear is Talia’s voice.
All I can see is the flicker of something in her expression when we signed those papers. All I can remember is Marigold’s hand in hers the other night at dinner, their laughter wrapping around each other like ivy.
I press my fingers to my temples. This was supposed to be simple.
Then why does it feel like I’ve lost control?
***
Talia checks on Marigold. I take her home. We carry on like the rest of the world, like this arrangement is nothing more than what we agreed to.
I hear the knock.
just as I shrug off my jacket.
Marigold is asleep, tucked beneath her favorite pink blanket, her tiny fingers curled around her stuffed rabbit. The house is quiet. Peaceful.
I stride to the front door, still rolling my sleeves up, and pull it open. Talia .
She’s standing there, casual and composed, like she isn’t the reason my entire day has been thrown off balance. Like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Talia,” I say, voice even.
“Soren.” She lifts a brow, arms crossed. “Are you going to let me in, or just stare?”
I don’t answer. Because for the first time, I look at her.
No scrubs. No sterile hospital setting between us. Just a dress that clings too well to her curves, hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder, the faintest trace of perfume curling through the evening air. She looked presentable in her “wedding” dress. But somehow, this is different. Warmer.
A dangerous sensation knots in my chest.
This was a mistake.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “I wanted to thank you for uh… agreeing with my offer, and standing up for me in the office the other day. Tt… meant a lot.”
She nods once, an unfamiliar flicker in her eyes. “It’s alright. I overheard they were planning to use the accident to take Marigold away. I just had to do something.”
“You didn’t have to, but I’m grateful you did.”
I was. Truly.
For a moment, Talia looks like she doesn’t know what to say. I know she’s never seen this side of me.
“So,” she goes on. “We will need to make this… real. But not. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“We’ll need to set some ground rules,” she says. “No kissing or unnecessary touching. The likes.”
I grin. “I agree. Why don’t you come in, so we can discuss?”
She steps forward, but I move at the same time. Talia bumps into me, brushing against me, and momentarily stumbling. My hands react before I can think, catching her wrist as she tries to steady herself.
And then we’re frozen .
Close. Too close.
Talia’s wrist beneath my fingers is warm, pulse quick. Her breath catches, lips parting slightly, eyes flicking up to meet mine.
The space between us crackles.
I should let go.
But I don’t.
Because there’s something about the way she’s looking at me right now—something unguarded, something I want to understand. Because if I do, she’ll step away, and for some reason, I don’t want that.
“Talia!”
Marigold’s voice shatters whatever was building between us.
Talia jerks back. I drop her wrist. We step apart just as Marigold comes skidding into view, socked feet sliding against the floor. Looking all the world like she wasn’t just in the ER.
She beams at Talia, her wide eyes completely oblivious to whatever that was.
“I knew I heard your voice,” Marigold says, throwing herself at Talia.
Talia catches her with ease, laughing as Marigold squeezes her tight.
“I told Dad you would!”
Talia lifts an eyebrow at me. “Did she?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Marigold ignores me, tugging Talia’s hand. “Come see my new doll! I named her Star.”
Talia grins, her cheeks still slightly flushed. “Good name.”
Marigold nods seriously. “She’s a doctor like Dad. But she also fights bad guys.”
“Multitalented.”
Talia follows her inside, the door swinging shut behind her.
I stare after them, my pulse still uneven, the ghost of her skin lingering against mine.
This was supposed to be simple . An arrangement. A deal.
But I already know…
I’m in trouble.