Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Iwas sure he did these things just to keep me on my toes.

With the exception of going to meetings or business-related events, Dane mostly stayed home. I’d originally thought that was purely because, being a workaholic, he preferred to be in his home office when not at o-Verve. But I’d come to realize that, actually, he was a home bird. He seemed at his most relaxed when on his own territory.

He never took off on his own to do “guy stuff” or ever proposed that we go anywhere together. So when he’d picked me up from the bridal boutique after my final fitting to take me straight to a very popular restaurant, it had been something of a surprise.

Other men might take their wives out for meals all the time, but not Dane. It not only meant coming away from work, it meant leaving the house. Plus, he preferred home cooking—he didn’t even like takeout much, the weirdo. And considering I wasn’t the true definition of a wife, he had no need to romance me or anything, so there was really no need for him to put himself out—something which, as a rule, he rarely ever did.

Yet, he sat opposite me at a table in this large but cozy restaurant. And I didn’t know what to make of it.

It sometimes felt like things had once more shifted between us. But although we’d introduced sex into the mix since returning from New York two weeks ago, we’d never once fucked or slept in his bed. That could be his way of making it clear that it was just sex; that he hadn’t officially moved me into his life.

He hadn’t done or said anything to implythat we were an actual couple, and he was still religious about using condoms. It seemed unnecessary when not only had he had the snip, but I was on the pill and we were both clean. As such, I wondered if the condoms were, for him, also a barrier against emotional intimacy or something. Probably.

Things had changed, though. He spent more time with me at home. We almost always ate our meals together now. We often even cooked them together. There’d been the odd occasion when he joined me in the media room, or when we both sat in his magical garden—which I’d begun to think of as my alfresco reading nook—and just talked or simply basked in the peaceful atmosphere.

He also slept in my bed every night. I suspected he had nightmares or was easily yanked out of sleep, because there had been times when I’d woken to find him working on his laptop in my chair. I never commented on it for fear that he’d start going somewhere else to work. Besides, he sometimes came back to bed or woke me in style shortly before the alarm went off.

Although we did spend time together, we still spent the majority of our free time apart even while under the same roof. So, things were different yet not. And now he was, what, taking me on a date? Was that what this was? Did he want something?

Well, whatever his motivation, I was grateful, because this pizza was the shit. He seemed to be enjoying his own meal—some kind of pasta dish that I didn’t have a prayer of pronouncing. He’d forked a piece of it earlier and offered it to me, so I could attest that it did taste good.

The whole thing reminded me of when we’d gone for a cake-tasting session that Chris and Miley organized. Dane had fed me several small pieces of various party cakes. If I liked it, he’d tried it. If I didn’t like it, he’d vetoed it on that basis. We’d eventually settled on one particular cake. It was freaking amazing.

I glanced around the Italian restaurant. It smelled exactly as such a place should: of garlic, grilled meat, tomato sauce, creamy mozzarella, and hot bread. It was a big place yet had a cozy feel. It also possessed a distinct charm with its earthy colors, muted lighting, dark wood flooring, photography prints of Italian villages, and ornamental tables and chairs.

Having finished my meal, I used a wet wipe to clean the grease and crumbs from my fingers. “I can’t quite believe the reception is in a month’s time. Have you sorted out a tuxedo for it yet?”

“Yes,” he replied, lifting his glass of wine. “When will you pick up your dress?”

“It will be ready for collection on the Saturday before the reception. Chris is going to pick it up for me.” I’d bought my footwear while I was at the boutique last time, so that was done. I hadn’t yet shown Dane the ivory lace knee-high boots. There had been occasions when, at home alone, I’d worn them to go on a wander through the house; breaking them in and getting a feel for what they were like depending on the type of flooring.

I used the soft napkin to dry my clean hands. “Onto a whole other topic, are you sure you’re okay with spending Thanksgiving with my family?”

His brow creased. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Melinda’s still a little off with you. I wouldn’t like to eat my Thanksgiving dinner at a table where there’s tension.” The meal was in a few weeks’ time, but Melinda had already called the people she wished to invite, including my father.

“You want to go, so we’ll go. Just be aware that if Heather cancels the plans she’s made with her friends and does attend the dinner, I won’t be anything close to friendly with her. I can’t prove she sent that flash drive, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

“I highly doubt she’ll cancel her plans. She’s always left Junior at her parents’ home on Thanksgiving so she can go spend the day drinking with her friends. To each their own, I guess. You sure the tension won’t put you off your meal?”

“Unlike you, I’m not interested in the holidays. It will be just another day to me.”

“So I won’t be able to convince you to dress up on Halloween?”

His brow furrowed. “Is that a serious question?”

And there went my dream of him dressed in a fireman’s outfit. I leaned back in my chair. “I guess I can spend the day with Ashley and Tucker.”

His frown deepened. “You’ll spend it with me.”

“Doing what? You’ll hole up in your office.”

“We’ll go to the city’s annual Halloween festival.”

My mouth almost dropped open. I sat up straight. “Okay, you’re really starting to worry me now. Daytrips, meals, festivals. You’re not dying, are you?”

He gave me a droll look. “Do you want to go to the festival or not?”

“Yeah, obviously, but there’ll be no tickets left. They sell out fast.”

“I’ll get some.”

I was going to warn him that it wouldn’t be so simple, but then his phone began to ring. I waited for him to answer it, but he didn’t. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

“We’re talking.”

I almost fell off my chair. “But you … Okay.” I wasn’t gonna complain that I had his full attention. I really didn’t know what to do with it, though. And now he was back to wearing that secret smile. I narrowed my eyes. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Looking at me like you know something I don’t.”

“Vienna, I probably know a lot of things you don’t.”

I might have bristled if I wasn’t so pleased that the oh so serious Dane Davenport was actually teasing me. “Arrogant fucker,” I muttered.

Agodawful cramp in my stomach yanked me out of sleep. I moaned and pulled my knees up to my chest. Every muscle in my stomach seemed to contract and twist. Then a strong wave of nausea slammed into me.

Oh God, I was gonna be sick.

I felt the vomit begin to rise; knew I’d never be able to hold it back.

I scrambled off the bed and rushed to the bathroom like my ass was on fire. I made it to the toilet just in time. I retched violently as vicious contractions racked my stomach. It was so bad I could barely catch my breath between the flows of vomit that surged up my throat and sprayed the toilet pan.

“Vienna?” A hand settled on my back just as Dane bent over me. “Shit.”

Mortified, I tried waving him away, but he wouldn’t be budged. He held my ponytail out of the way and rubbed my back as I hurled like a champ. The stench of stomach acid and vomit stung my nostrils.

Finally, the contractions stopped, but the queasy feeling remained, telling me it wasn’t over yet. Glad of the reprieve, I flushed the toilet, sank to my knees, and sat on my haunches. Jesus, that was intense. My eyes watered, and my breaths were coming fast.

I grabbed some toilet paper and wiped my mouth. “I think I caught a stomach bug.”

“Or food poisoning.” Crouched beside me, he put his palm against my forehead. His jaw went hard. “You’re running a fever.”

“I don’t feel hot.” If anything, I felt cold.

“You’re shaking a little. Do you have the chills?”

I went to answer, but then my stomach turned over. Groaning, I lurched forward and retched again. And again. And again.

“Wait there,” said Dane.

Where did he think I was going to fucking go?

I kept on heaving as my stomach lurched, twisted, and cramped. Soon, Dane was at my side again, rubbing my back. How he was able to stay in the room when the stench was so vile, I had no idea.

The contractions eventually eased off again. I flushed the toilet once more and wiped my mouth with the fresh tissue Dane handed me. My shoulders drooping, I sat back on my haunches again. Feeling all hollowed out, I might have slumped to the tiled floor if Dane hadn’t steadied me.

“Here.” He gave me the bottle of water I’d earlier placed on my nightstand. “Don’t guzzle it down; take sips.”

Easy for him to say—the back of his throat wasn’t burning from bile. Still, I only took small sips of the water.

He rubbed a very gentle circle on my back. “The symptoms of stomach bugs and food poisoning are pretty similar.” He held up his phone for a moment, adding, “According to this website, you don’t need to go to Urgent Care or the ER unless you’ve got any of the symptoms listed. So far, the only one you have is the fever.”

My eyes fell closed. God, he’d Googled it. There was just something so endearing about it that my heart went all light and warm.

“I still think you should go to the ER.”

I shook my head. “I don’t need a doctor. I’ve had a bug before; I’ll be fine. But this is gonna be a rough night.” I blew out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

He gave me a dark look. “You think I’d leave you when you’re sick?”

“What I think is that it reeks in here. No one would blame you for wanting fresh air or preferring to not watch someone hurl.”

“I’m staying.”

A cramp twisted my stomach again. I turned back to the toilet and heaved over and over and over. Until my stomach muscles ached.

I blinked my watery eyes and swayed toward the toilet, feeling shaky and depleted. “I forgot how much I hate being sick.”

“I really think you should see a doctor,” said Dane, concern creasing his brow.

I weakly shook my head. “Don’t need one.” What I needed was to stick close to this toilet.

His nostrils flared. “All right. But if you start showing any more of the food poisoning symptoms, I’m taking you to Urgent Care—I don’t give a damn what you say.”

“Agreed.” Another wave of nausea gripped my insides, and my stomach dry-heaved again. Fuck. “Go. Run. Save yourself.”

“I’m staying.”

I would have called him a masochist if another dry-heave hadn’t seized my insides.

Two days of nausea, vomiting, cramps, muscle aches, and diarrhea went by. And even though—against my wishes—he had a doctor come visit who asserted that I didn’t need to be hospitalized, Dane hovered around me like I was on my death bed. I was surprised he didn’t invite my family and friends here to “say their goodbyes” or something.

He insisted on working from home, as if leaving me would somehow worsen the stomach bug. In fact, he hardly left my side. I wouldn’t say he was sweet or sympathetic. He was gruff and bossy and curt, seeming a little out of his depth.

He kept flicking from one website to another, comparing lists of symptoms to be sure there was nothing he was missing. He felt positive it was food poisoning and was ready to call up the Italian restaurant until he read—again, on a website—that symptoms of food poisoning could take weeks to come on, so I could have caught it from any number of places. The doctor who came to visit had confirmed that.

Melinda, Wyatt, and Simon stopped by to see me, but Dane didn’t let them stay long, claiming I needed my rest. Which they all seemed to think was beyond cute, but they didn’t say as much to him. Nor did they comment on how much he needlessly faffed over me—ensuring I had drinks of water close by, keeping me covered with a blanket, handfeeding me crackers—like I couldn’t do anything for myself. It was pretty sweet, really.

Although the symptoms passed after two days, I was still groggy and felt like shit. I worked from home for the next few days. Dane, to my surprise, did the same.

By Sunday morning, I was fully recovered and raring to go back to work the next day. He got all snarly and surly. He thought it would be better if I took it easy for another week or so. I thought it would be better if he shoved that idea up his ass.

Standing in the middle of the den, I sighed. “I was sick, Dane, not terminally ill. I’m fine now. There’s no reason why I can’t go back to work.”

“You’re not at one-hundred percent yet,” he insisted.

“No? I feel it.” I crossed to him, touched by his concern but also a little exasperated. “The doctor told you there was no reason I couldn’t go back to work.” Which I knew had pissed Dane off. He’d been relying on the doctor to back him up.

“You can keep working from home.”

“No, I can’t. Nor do I want to. You’ve put off countless meetings, and many people are eager to reschedule—especially some guy named Blake Mercier, who called three times today. Stop clucking like a mother hen, I’m fine.”

“You had food poisoning, Vienna. That’s not always simple to recover from.”

I let out a pfft sound. “I had a stomach bug.”

“Even the doctor said it could have been food poisoning.”

“Yes, could have been. But he couldn’t be sure without a fecal sample. And I’m quite certain you’ll remember that I hadn’t been able to provide him with one. I’d been fresh out of shit. Literally. My body had purged itself in a major way.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Only you, Vienna. Only you.”

“Even if it was food poisoning, that wouldn’t mean I have to work from home any longer.”

A muscle in his cheek ticked. “You have to promise to tell me if you get too tired or need to go home.”

I almost rolled my eyes. “I promise.”

He sighed. “Then we go back to work tomorrow. You know, a lot of people would find it weird that that makes you smile.”

“I consider myself lucky that I have a job I enjoy.” But after Dane and I divorced, I’d lose the position for sure. And I’d miss the fuck out of it, just as I’d miss the fuck out of this man who’d been a very attentive—albeit curt and rude—nurse.

I got the feeling he’d never watched over someone who was sick before. He could have asked another person to stay with me. He could even have hired someone to do it. But he hadn’t. I wished he had, though, because he just kept sneaking deeper beneath my defenses with every sweet thing he did.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning. “You don’t feel sick again, do you?” He actually felt my forehead to check my temperature.

I had to fight a smile. Yeah, my defenses stood no chance against this side of him. “I’m fine, Nurse Nancy. Thank you for taking care of me, by the way.”

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “It was a one-off. If you’re ever ill again, you’re on your own.”