Chapter 52
PAIGE
The car ride is mostly a blur. When we’re back at the hotel, Rafe helps me out and into the hotel elevator. I try to protest that I’m fine, but he shushes me each time.
In the elevator, he tells me to hold on to the wall. “Out of your heels,” he tells me, and I lift one foot and then the other, letting him undo the straps and pull them off.
“Before you kill yourself,” he mutters, and I think of my foot on his chest earlier today and his mouth between my thighs.
I think I can handle turned-on Rafe.
But this is protective Rafe, the same man who seemed concerned about me at that fighting ring, or who promises he’ll handle my uncle.
I haven’t been someone others take care of in a very long time.
There’s no space for it. No family member or boyfriend who would ever do it.
It’s just been me, and my group of friends, and my gnawing need to never show weakness.
When we exit the elevator, Rafe lifts me up again and carries me through our suite, setting me down on the bed.
He mutters something I can’t make out again. It’s annoying, because he usually says things I want to hear.
The bed is soft, so very soft, and I blink up at him. His face is drawn, like something is bothering him.
“What did you say?” I ask him.
He reaches for the covers beside me. “I said not on my watch.”
Oh.
He instructs me to lift up my legs, to turn, and then I’m covered in a thin linen sheet. The pillow is a squishy cloud beneath my head. I close my eyes. Just for a second. The dress isn’t very comfortable, but I can’t imagine getting up or handling that. Not right now.
When I come to, there’s something cool against my forehead and a voice urging me to drink. Take this pill.
“Rafe?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
I swallow the medicine and sink back down against the pillow. He puts the towel back on my forehead. “I know you hate being still, but you’re going to have to be. Just for a little while.”
I lie back. My joints hurt and my throat is burning up. “I missed the opera. There was… mingling.”
“It’s fine. It wasn’t that great of an opera, and you knew no one there.”
“I always make friends, at parties,” I murmur.
“Yes.” There’s amusement in his voice. “You’re good at that. But there will be more parties. Don’t think about it.”
“Mhm. Okay.”
“I’ve canceled our schedules for tomorrow.”
I blink my eyes open. “Our schedules?”
“Yes. No meetings, online or in person.”
It takes me a moment. There were some calls I needed to make. “But… I… really?”
“Yes.” He uses gentle hands to adjust the towel over my forehand. His hand slides down, and it’s cool against the base of my neck. “Damn it. You’re burning up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Damn. That’s how I know you’re truly sick. You’re apologizing to me.”
“I’m polite,” I protest and sink deeper into the pillow. It’s hard to maintain a conversation.
“No, you’re not,” he says. There’s another wet towel placed along the back of my neck. It feels heavenly. Like taking a bath on a hot day. “Damn it, Paige. Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad earlier today? Or yesterday?”
“It wasn’t important,” I murmur, my eyes drifting closed. “I felt fine.”
“Of course it is. When you’re sick, when you’re hurt, you tell me. You tell me, Paige.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Why?” His voice is tight, but the hand brushing over my face is careful. “Because it’s my job to take care of you.”
“No. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t put that on you.”
He scoffs. “Put it on me? You’re my wife. Even if you seem to forget it all the damn time. But I’ve never, not for a second since we stood in that courthouse, been able to forget that I’m your husband. So you tell me. When you’re hurt, or sick, or in pain. Okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur into the pillow.
“Good.”
My lips curve up. “Great.”
He’s silent for several minutes. I almost drift off completely. But then the bed shifts beside me, and his voice appears, farther away.
“I’m going to find a doctor,” he says.
I blink open my eyes to find at him shrugging into a jacket. I don’t want to be alone in here. It’s a strange hotel room and it’s so very, very quiet. Nothing but my own spinning head.
“You’re leaving?”
He nods. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“How soon?”
He turns back to his bag. I watch him rummage for a few seconds before he turns back, a dark-red box in his hands. I recognize that color. It’s Artemis’s color.
“I won’t be gone longer than an hour. Here…” He sets the box down beside me and tears open the packaging. “I was going to wait to give… it’s not important.”
He hands me a watch.
It’s an Artemis Jewel model with a custom face. Behind the ticking hands is a beautiful artistic wave. It looks like a version of my tattoo, but better, more artistic. The band is dark brown leather.
I blink at it and can’t think of a single thing to say through my feverish haze. If I say anything, I’m afraid I might start to cry.
I grip the watch in my left hand.
“One hour,” he repeats.