Listed: Volumes I-VI

by Noelle Adams

  Paul was really angry now—angrier than she’d seen him since the night she’d tried to sneak out of the apartment. “What kind of man do you think I am?” he broke into her garbled explanation. “You really think I would hook up with another woman while my wife was in the bathroom?”

  “No,” she mumbled, staring down at her twisting hands. “I didn’t mean that. I know you’re not the kind of guy who would cheat on his wife. But, since we’re not really married, I would understand if—”

  Paul grabbed her left hand with his left hand and displayed the rings in a rough, frustrated gesture. “We are married. For whatever reason, we are married. I’m not going to cheat on you.”

  Emily stared at their rings, the platinum band on his long, masculine finger and her rings on her much smaller hand.

  The sight had pleased her earlier in the evening, feeding into the daydream she was indulging. But now it seemed more real, more strange, more inexplicable. It made her chest hurt.

  “Didn’t you know that before?” Paul asked, his voice still gravelly. “Didn't you know I wasn't going to sleep around? What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “I did know,” she said in a rush, feeling a wave of intense guilt because she’d never meant to insult him but somehow still had. “I know you aren't that kind of man.”

  Just a couple of months ago, she would have said he was.

  “But you were crying in the bathroom. You must have thought…” Paul trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.

  “No, no, no. I wasn’t crying because I thought you were making plans for a sleazy affair. I just…I mean, I was upset because…I was just enjoying feeling like…like someone else, and then I was kind of hit by the reminder that I’m…that I’m not.”

  “You aren’t what?” The resentment and impatience had faded from his face during her halting attempt to explain, and he looked more thoughtful than anything else now.

  She gave a long sigh and leaned back against the seat of the car, closing her eyes as she admitted the truth. “I’m not the girl who gets the guy that everyone wants.”

  The silence following her words stretched on so long that Emily realized how Paul might have misinterpreted her words. Her eyes flew open, and she saw Paul staring at her blankly. She said, “Not that I was thinking it was romantic between us or anything. I’m not crazy. I wasn’t ever thinking that. I was just having fun pretending I was the girl everyone envies because… because she’s got the best guy.”

  She was so mortified by having told Paul the truth that she dropped her face into her hands and tried to breathe.

  After a minute, she realized Paul still hadn’t answered. When she looked up, she saw he was still gazing at her with the strangest expression.

  “Paul, I’m so sorry,” she said, the words cracking in her throat. She reached over and put her hand on his sleeve. “I really wasn’t thinking that you were going to cheat on me. I was just thinking that maybe you…you’d prefer to be with the kind of woman you really like. And that just got me going with some old issues.” She attempted a dry laugh, although it was more of a snuffle. “You’d think that dying would put your issues in perspective, but I can’t seem to shake some of them.”

  When he still didn’t answer, she asked, “Are you really mad at me?”

  “No,” Paul said at last. “I’m not mad. I think I…understand.”

  Emily collapsed back against the seat, feeling like an absolute fool but relieved that she hadn’t ruined her friendship with Paul. To her surprise, he reached over and pulled her against his side, the weight of his arm around her warm and incredibly comforting. He smelled like Paul, so she breathed him in.

  After a minute, he murmured, “Emily, half the men in the restaurant were jealous of me this evening.”

  “What?” She didn’t pull away from him. Just twisted her neck so she could peer up at his face.

  “You heard me. You may not have noticed, but I definitely did. Men were checking you out, sizing me up, concluding I must have money because otherwise I’d never be able to get a woman like you.”

  Emily straightened up, one of her hands fisting in his jacket lapel. “That’s ridiculous. I appreciate your attempt to boost my ego, but you have to be somewhat realistic in the exaggeration for it to work.”

  He ignored her light irony and shook his head. “It’s the truth. Everywhere I looked, some other guy was leering at my wife. Honestly, I found it rather obnoxious.”

  If it hadn’t been for the faintly aggrieved tone of his last words, she wouldn’t have believed him, but he seemed to be telling the truth. She gave a little giggle, just an overflow of too much emotion, and nestled back under Paul’s arm.

  They were almost to the theater when Paul murmured, without any segue, “Not even once have I wanted to cheat on you.”

  A swell of relief and affection rose in her throat. She knew they weren’t in love and that the marriage was mostly a sham. She knew, after she died, he would go back to pursuing the women he really wanted. But she still would have hated for her husband to be having lecherous thoughts about other women while she was around.

  All she said was, “Good. Me either.”

  * * *

  Paul dropped his light, charming demeanor like the façade it always was. When they went into the theater, he didn’t tell her any funny stories or give her any pretty compliments. He was quiet at first. Then he was annoyed because there was some sort of mix-up with their tickets and it took a couple of minutes to sort it out.

  Then he started telling her about the English history leading up to the events of the play, and he got wrapped up in the explanation with an intensity that made otherwise boring details absolutely fascinating. Then, during the intermission, when Emily was feeling tired and kind of achy, he peered at her with concerned scrutiny and put a hand on her forehead to check her temperature.

  All of it was Paul. And Emily liked all of it—the quietness, the grumpiness, the intensity, the concern—better than when he had been light and charming.

  The play was amazing, and they got back to the hotel very late. Emily had to conclude, despite the minor emotional upheavals, it had been a very good day. Plus, they were flying to Egypt tomorrow.

  She was absolutely exhausted, and she was feeling even more achy than before, probably because they'd done so much today. So she took a couple of Tylenol and went to bed.

  ***

  Emily was so achy she could barely force herself out of bed the next morning.

  She sat on the side of the mattress, trying to catch her breath and assess her condition. Her whole body hurt, and she felt hot and clammy at the same time. She drank several gulps of water from the bottle at her bedside. After a minute, she convinced herself that she was just tired and sore from the long day of shopping and sightseeing yesterday.

  Today she was going to Egypt. She only had a very small window of time to do everything on her list, and she wasn’t going to miss one of the things she was most excited about.

  So she managed to shower and dress, although she had to sit down for a few minutes to recover afterwards. Her head was throbbing now, and she had started to shiver a little, but she was finally able to rouse herself enough to leave her bedroom and head into the parlor of their suite.

  Naturally, Paul was already up, looking cool and attractive. He was working at the desk on his laptop and had probably been up for a while.

  The effort it took to get dressed and walk into the parlor had made Emily a little dizzy, but she gave him as cheerful a good-morning as she could manage.

  Paul looked up and smiled at her in a way she liked—a quiet smile but one that felt real. “How are you?”

  Consecutive waves of hot and cold prompted a sudden feeling of panic. She forced out, “Fine,” and walked over to the room service cart where she always got her coffee.

  The scent of coffee hit her nose and made her feel ill. Heat seemed to pulse out of the stainless steel carafe. Instead of coffee, she poured herself
a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice with shaking hands and went to sit on a chair by a window far away from Paul.

  She could feel his eyes on her as she tried to sip her juice.

  “Emily?” Paul prompted after a stretch of silence.

  She made a wordless mumble of response, wishing her body didn’t hurt so much so she could think more clearly.

  Then Paul—damn him—got out of his chair and walked over to where she sat. He scrutinized her in his usual way, looking for signs of her dying.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, her tone far sharper than was warranted. “I’m just tired after yesterday.”

  Paul didn’t reply with words. He reached out and put a hand on her forehead.

  Emily tried to jerk away, but there was nowhere she could go.

  “Damn it, Emily,” Paul said curtly, putting his hand on her forehead again. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She tried to glare at him with imposing indignation, but she felt so sick she was afraid she might cry.

  “Come here,” he murmured, his voice a little husky as he reached down to pull her to her feet. “You need to get back into bed.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed.” She tried to pull away from him, but she was too weak and unsteady on her feet. “We have to make our flight.”

  “You can’t go with a fever.” Paul sounded mild now, gentle, but his arm at her back was strong as he guided her into her bedroom.

  She felt like she was choking on the pain in her body, the oppressive heat, and the crushing disappointment. Her shoulders shook a few times—quite unwillingly—but she wasn’t going to let herself cry. As Paul helped her off with her cardigan and shoes, she mumbled, “Maybe it won’t last very long.”

  Paul unlatched her watch and slid it from her wrist. “Maybe it won’t,” he agreed, easing her down so she was lying in her unmade bed.

  She peered up at him fuzzily, trying to read the expression on his face. He didn’t look or sound tender or pitying. Just mild. At least he didn’t look annoyed at her for trying to act like she wasn’t sick.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said before walking out of her room.

  She was starting to shiver again, so she pulled the covers up until they were tucked under her chin. She felt absolutely miserable, but at least when she was lying down she didn’t feel quite so dizzy.

  Paul returned in less than a minute, and he had in his hand a thermometer that took her temperature by being held against her head for just a few seconds.

  “What is it?” Emily asked, her teeth chattering, when he pulled his arm back and read the display. She felt kind of like a child and didn’t like that feeling at all, but she couldn't seem to do anything about it.

  “102⁰,” Paul muttered, his eyes shifting from the thermometer to her face. “No wonder you feel so bad.”

  “Maybe it won’t last long,” she said again. “And we can still fly out later today.”

  Paul’s eyes softened as they rested on her. “I’m sorry, Emily. You can’t go anywhere today.”

  “But—” she began, before she cut herself off. There was no sense in arguing. Paul had made it clear that, about her health, he would dig in his heels. She just didn’t have the energy anyway. She curled up on her side. “I really wanted to cross it off my list.”

  “I know, but we’ll go in a couple of days when you’re feeling better.”

  Her eyes widened in sudden hope. “We can still go?”

  “Of course. I’ll just reschedule everything. Now get some rest. I’m going to call the doctor.”

  Emily released a long sigh and closed her eyes, relieved that everything wasn’t completely ruined. The darkness throbbed behind her closed eyelids. Her attempt to cheer herself up by visualizing all she would see in Egypt ended up as a bizarre, vibrating picture of her and Paul hopping over the Pyramids.

  It wasn’t long before the crazy image shifted into the blackness of sleep.

  * * *

  She was jarred awake by a gentle hand on her shoulder and a soft voice saying, “Emily? Can you wake up?”

  She groaned as the world closed in around her with hot, achy heaviness.

  “I’m sorry,” Paul said, pushing her hair away from her face. “The doctor’s here.”

  She tried to make herself focus on his familiar face. His gray eyes were soft like before as he straightened up. Then she shifted her gaze to another man standing beside her bed. He was middle-aged and balding and smiling at her.

  “Hello,” she managed to croak. Her mouth was painfully dry, and she fumbled for her water until Paul moved the bottle into her hand.

  “Sorry you’re feeling poorly, Mrs. Marino,” the doctor said, reaching over to take her temperature with a thermometer similar to Paul’s. “I talked to Dr. Franklin, and he updated me on your case. This will only take a few minutes, and then I’ll let you rest again.”

  Emily nodded, deciding that would do for a response, since her throat was aching and she didn’t feel like talking.

  “102.9⁰,” the doctor said, reading the thermometer.

  “It’s gone up almost a whole degree since I called you,” Paul said. He was speaking softly and to the doctor.

  “It may keep going up.” The doctor smiled pleasantly as he took Emily’s blood pressure, listened to her chest, and checked her throat. “Everything looks fine,” he told her. “You’re going to feel sick for a while, but it’s early yet and it shouldn’t last very long.”

  She nodded mutely again, her teeth starting to chatter as her body shifted suddenly from hot to cold. Her neck hurt, her thighs hurt, her fingers hurt, her eyes hurt. She heard herself making a helpless sound through her shivering.

  “Find her another blanket,” the doctor said. He’d turned his back to her now and was talking to Paul. “Don’t let her shiver like that—it increases the core body temperature and could raise her fever.”

  Since her part of the ordeal seemed to be over, Emily closed her eyes and huddled under the covers. Someone walked over and put another blanket over her—it smelled like Paul but it would hurt too much to open her eyes, so she didn’t actually see him drape it over her. The extra blanket helped. She stopped shivering almost immediately.

  A minute later, she heard voices again. They were farther away now. Outside her room. She could hear them, though.

  “Keep checking her temperature regularly,” the doctor said. “Every half hour. If it gets above 105⁰, give me a call and we’ll decide if we need to take her to the hospital. But, if she follows the same course as her aunt, then I don’t think the fever will spike that high this time.”

  “What can I do for her?” That voice was obviously Paul’s.

  “Stagger the dosages of acetaminophen and ibuprofen, so she can take something as often as possible. Try to keep her comfortable—with cool rags or maybe a tepid bath. Don’t let her shiver. Keep her hydrated. She can eat if she wants to, but don’t make her.”

  “Okay.”

  “I know you’re worried about your wife, Mr. Marino, but I don’t think this fever should last very long. The early ones her aunt had didn't. Give me a call if you have any questions today, and I’ll check in with you tomorrow regardless.”

  The voice disappeared then. Emily was curled in a tight ball and thought she was still listening. She couldn’t quite figure out what happened to the disembodied voices.

  She was concentrating so hard on listening that she jumped when Paul’s voice sounded from just above her. “Emily?”

  She opened one eye and glared at him malevolently out of it.

  “I’m sorry. Can you sit up and take these pills? Then you can go to sleep, and no one will bother you.”

  Paul didn’t really give her a choice, since he pulled her up gently into a sitting position and put what looked like Advil pills in her hand. She swallowed them obediently with the water he handed her, although they hurt as they went down her throat.

  “I’m going to sleep now,” she told
him, rather raspily but with what she thought was appropriate authority.

  “An excellent plan.” He walked over and pulled the room-darkening curtains closed, and it didn’t seem so terrible to keep her eyes open.

  But she didn’t need to keep her eyes open now, so she closed them.

  * * *

  The next time conscious awareness pushed its painful way into her mind, her body hurt even worse. She was so hot that, for a moment, it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  She pushed the covers off frantically and took several ragged gasps.

  “Emily?”

  The voice grated on her nerves so she ignored it. She wasn’t even sure where it came from. She tossed on the bed, kicking at the covers and trying to find a cool spot on the sheet.

  She was sweating, and her clothes were oppressive and confining. The ponytail was poking into the back of her head, and her bra was wretchedly tight.

  Her eyes were tightly closed, but she jerked when something touched her head. She opened her eyes to discover what had touched her and gave a little sob because the dim room seemed to blind her.

  She saw Paul, still looking cool and handsome in his blue shirt, checking the thermometer.

  She sucked in more air and closed her eyes, wanting everything to just go away. Her ponytail poked her so horribly that she reached up and yanked the elastic out of her hair and threw the band blindly across the room.

  Then she felt something deliciously cold and wet on her forehead. It moved slowly to her cheeks and her neck. She sighed in relief as her face started to cool a little.

  When she opened her eyes again, it wasn’t quite so unbearable.

  “Do you think you can get up and change clothes?” Paul asked, still wiping her face with the cool, wet washcloth. “I think you’d feel better. I should have had you change earlier.”

  Emily wanted desperately to get out of her bra, and that was enough incentive to heave herself into a sitting position.

  The room whirled sickening at the change of position. For some reason, it made her realize something else.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she mumbled. She was horrified at the idea of walking all the way across the room.