Chapter Thirteen
Julien
I woke up feeling... good.
Which should have been my first warning sign.
Because I never woke up feeling good. I woke up feeling prepared, or rested, or occasionally caffeinated if I timed my alarm correctly. But good? Comfortable? Relaxed?
That wasn’t normal.
That wasn’t me.
My body was warm. My sheets were soft. There was a pleasant weight against my side, like...
My eyes snapped open because there... lying next to me in my bed, my bed, in my apartment, in my sanctuary, was Athena.
Naked.
Completely, utterly, cosmically naked, with her dark hair spread across my pillow.
My pillow! The one I bought specifically for optimal cervical spine alignment. She had one arm draped across my chest, her face peaceful and serene as if she belonged there.
Like this was normal.
Like she hadn’t just violated every law of physics, personal boundaries, and basic human decency by materializing in my bed like some kind of spiritual home invader.
I screamed.
Not a dignified shout of alarm.
Not a masculine exclamation of surprise.
I screamed! A high-pitched, sustained sound. The kind of sound that would have made a horror movie victim proud. The kind of sound that, if my colleagues ever heard it, would haunt me for the rest of my professional career.
I scrambled backward, or tried to, but my legs were tangled in the sheets—my Egyptian cotton, 800 thread count, now contaminated bedsheets—and instead of achieving a tactical retreat, I achieved something closer to a full-body spasm.
My knee hit the nightstand, and pain exploded through my patella.
I didn’t care.
I kept scrambling, as my sheets wrapped around my torso like a very expensive straitjacket, until I finally, finally tumbled off the edge of the bed and hit the floor with a thud that probably woke my neighbor downstairs.
“What?” I gasped, staring up at the ceiling, my heart rate somewhere in the range of acute tachycardia. “How?”
How is she here?
HOW IS SHE HERE?!
I paid for a hotel room. Three nights. $347 per night plus taxes. I had the receipt. I had proof that she was supposed to be at The Meridian, safely contained in a room with earth-toned decor and welcoming energy, not in my apartment.
And more importantly... more importantly, how had she gotten in?
My apartment had a security system. A good one. The kind that sent alerts to my phone if someone so much as breathed near my front door. I had a deadbolt. A chain lock. A doorman downstairs who was supposed to prevent exactly this kind of cosmic home invasion.
And yet somehow, somehow... she’d bypassed all of it.
She had gotten into my building.
Into my apartment.
Into my bed. While I was sleeping!
I sat up, still tangled in sheets, my back against the bed frame, and stared at the ceiling.
This isn’t happening.
This cannot be happening.
I’m a neurosurgeon. A man of science. A person who understands cause and effect and the basic principles of locked doors.
And yet...
From above me, on the bed, I heard a soft sound.
A yawn.
A yawn.
Like she was just waking up from a pleasant night’s sleep in someone else’s bed without permission.
“Julien?” Her voice was sleepy, warm, completely unbothered. “Are you okay? I heard a noise.”
“A noise?” I managed, my voice somewhere between a whisper and a shriek. “You heard a—that was me! Screaming. Because you’re naked. In my bed!”
“Oh.” A pause. “Did I startle you?”
“Startle me?”
I pulled myself up using the bed frame, still wrapped in sheets like the world’s most panicked burrito, and stared at her. She was sitting up now, completely unconcerned about her state of undress, her hair tousled and her expression one of mild confusion.
Like I was the one being unreasonable.
“How—?” I started, then stopped, then started again. “How are you here?”
“I came over.”
“You came over?!”
“Yes.”
“To my apartment?”
“Yes.”
“The apartment I didn’t give you the address to?”
“Oh, Vivian texted it to me. She said you would probably need someone to check on you, make sure you were settling in okay.” She smiled. “She’s very thoughtful.”
Vivian.
Benedict Arnold Vivian.
My former sister. That traitor, Vivian, who is apparently now actively conspiring with my accidental wife to destroy what remains of my sanity.
“And you just...” I gestured vaguely at the bed, at her, at the entire impossible situation. “You just let yourself in?”
“The doorman was very nice. I told him I was your wife and that I had lost my key, and he let me up. Very trusting. Good energy.”
“He let you—” I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Opened them again. “And then you just... got into my bed?”
“Well, I knocked first. But you were already asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful, so I just...” She shrugged. “The universe guided me.”
“The universe,” I said very carefully, “does not have opinions about bedroom arrangements.”
“Of course it does. Everything is connected. And clearly, the universe wanted us to—”
“The universe,” I interrupted, “is a vast expanse of mostly empty space governed by physical laws that do not include breaking and entering.”
“I didn’t break anything. The doorman let me in.”
“That’s still entering!”
“But not breaking.”
I stared at her.
She stared back, completely serene.
My heart was still racing. My knee throbbed where I had hit the nightstand. I was standing in my bedroom, wrapped in sheets like some kind of deranged toga-wearing philosopher, arguing with a naked woman about the legal definition of breaking and entering.
This is my life now.
This is what I’ve become.
Dr. Julien Darcy, neurosurgeon, man of science, person who just screamed like a prepubescent girl because his spiritual chaos wife materialized in his bed.
“You can’t just...” I gestured helplessly. “You can’t just show up in someone’s apartment. In their bed. Without permission.”
“But we’re married.”
“That doesn’t—” I stopped. Started again. “That doesn’t give you the right to—”
“Doesn’t it, though?” She tilted her head, genuinely curious. “I mean, isn’t that what marriage is? Sharing space? Sharing lives?”
“We’re not sharing anything. We’re getting an annulment.”
“The universe has other plans.”
“The universe,” I said, my voice rising despite my best efforts, “can take its plans and—”
I stopped.
Took a breath.
Control, Julien. Maintain control.
Except I couldn’t maintain control because my control had been systematically destroyed over the past forty-eight hours, and now the last bastion of my ordered existence, my home, my sanctuary, had been invaded by a woman who thought cosmic destiny was a valid reason for home invasion.
“Athena,” I said, very carefully and very slowly. “I need you to understand something.”
“Okay.”
“This apartment is my space. My private space. The one place where I can…” I gestured vaguely. “Where I can exist without—”
“Without chaos?”
“Yes.”
“Without me?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, without you, without your cosmic destiny and your spiritual observations and your complete disregard for personal boundaries.
But something in her expression stopped me.
She wasn’t smiling anymore.
She was just looking at me.
Really looking at me, and for the first time since I had woken up to find her in my bed, she looked uncertain.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to invade your space. I just thought...” She pulled her knees up slightly, covering herself. “Vivian said you might need someone. That you tend to isolate when you’re stressed. And I thought maybe I could help.”
“By breaking into my apartment?”
“By being here. By showing you that you don’t have to face everything alone.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
And despite everything, despite the panic attack I had just had, despite the violation of my personal space, despite the fact that she was still naked in my bed, I felt something in my chest soften.
Just slightly.
Just enough to be dangerous.
“I appreciate the thought,” I muttered. “But in the future, could you maybe... call first?”
“I can do that.”
“And not break into my apartment?”
“The doorman let me in.”
“Athena.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll call first.” She smiled that warm, genuine smile that made my carefully constructed defenses feel suddenly inadequate. “But just so you know, the universe is very persistent. If it wants us together, it’s going to keep finding ways.”
“The universe,” I said, “is going to have to try harder than a home invasion.”
“Challenge accepted.”
I closed my eyes.
What have I gotten myself into?
What cosmic joke is this?
And why—WHY—does part of me not completely hate this?
I opened my eyes and looked at her again.
She was still sitting in my bed, her expression open and earnest and completely, utterly sincere.
She genuinely thought she was helping.
She genuinely believed the universe had sent her here to... what? Take care of me? Balance my precision with her chaos?
She’s insane, I thought.
She’s completely, certifiably insane.
And I’m married to her.
“I’m going to make coffee,” I said finally, unwrapping myself from the sheets with as much dignity as I could muster. “And then we’re going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries.”
“Okay.”
“And personal space.”
“Okay.”
“And the legal definition of breaking and entering.”
“The doorman—”
“Athena.”
She grinned. “Coffee sounds great.”
I walked out of the bedroom, my knee still throbbing, my heart rate still elevated, my entire worldview still fundamentally shattered.
Behind me, I heard her humming.
Something tuneless and cheerful.
In my bed.
In my apartment.
In my life.
Tomorrow, I thought as I walked to the kitchen. Tomorrow I’m changing all the locks and having a very serious conversation with that doorman.
And possibly checking myself into a psychiatric facility.
But first... coffee.
Because if I was going to survive this cosmic nightmare, I was going to need significantly more caffeine.