“Yes,” she said, her voice strained. Like her sister, I detected a slight English accent. “Nice to…to meet you.”
“Well, let’s see what’s causing you an issue, and then we’ll decide that, hm?” I joked, scrolling through her chart. I glanced at the board on the wall. “Has the nurse been in since eleven?”
The older sister shook her head, biting her lip.
“And where are you hurting? At the incision site?”
The girl nodded quickly, rubbing her hand over her gown where the appendectomy scar was covered by gauze.
“Well, you’re not quite ready for your next dose, but it’s possible you’re metabolizing your pain medication a bit too quickly and it’s worn off early. I’d like to try a different type of pain medication, something similar to what you’d get over the counter to see if we can combat that pain a bit until we can safely get you something stronger. I’d just like to take a look first if that’s okay?”
“Su-sure.” She winced as I laid her bed back a bit more, and lifted her gown just enough that I could see the gauze. I pulled it back gently, looking over the incision. She sighed with relief as the pressure was taken off her wound. “That feels better.”
I smiled. “If your medication was wearing off, sitting in that position may have been putting too much pressure on your wound. Let’s keep you laid back for the rest of the day if we can. This all looks fine,” I told her, placing the gauze back over the wound. “It looks like Dr. Martin was your surgeon?”
She nodded, looking at her sister with a wide, goading grin. The eldest girl’s face flushed crimson, and she covered her mouth.
“What’s funny?” I asked, pulling my gloves off as I adjusted her blanket and put in an order for her medication. I was thinking of Luke at the mention of his name, though I tried to avoid it.
Siobhan shook her head, looking back at me from the bed with a smug grin. “Is Dr. Martin married?”
My blood ran cold at the question. “No. No, he’s not. Why do you ask?”
“Stop,” the older sister begged, her face even darker red than before.
Siobhan wrinkled her nose at her sister, the pain apparently all but subsiding. “Told you.” She turned her attention to me. “Emma thinks he’s hot and he was totally flirting with her, but she said anyone who looks like that must be married.”
My body tensed, and I took in the girl’s appearance closely. She was young—half my age—and beautiful, there was no doubt. Her sleek, dark hair, even tied back in a messy ponytail, was to die for, while mine was thinning and frizzy from years of bleaching. Her skin was creamy smooth and wrinkle-free, and even here in the hospital where she’d no doubt been up all night, she was still wide-eyed and awake. I’d gotten eight hours and had been yawning all morning.
“He was, hm?” I tried to seem more casual than I felt.
“Well, he asked if I was from around here,” she said, crossing one arm around herself. “Though I’m sure he was just being polite.”
I started to agree, but Siobhan cut me off.
“He asked if you’ve tried that restaurant called The Pharmacy, and when you said no, he said you should go some time. He said we, as in you two, should go some time.”
Emma narrowed her eyes at her sister, though she didn’t argue. Surely Luke was just being polite. He wasn’t hitting on a young patient’s anxious family member, was he? There was no way. I’d never seen him be anything less than professional with patients.
“I made a complete fool of myself anyway,” she said with a sigh.
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t…” I cocked my head to the side. I should’ve wanted her to, but I couldn’t. She seemed too sweet to have ill will toward. She reminded me so much of my sweet baby cousins—the closest things I had to nieces or daughters.
“I did. When he said it, I said I’d love that, but my voice was so high and squeaky I nearly choked. It was mortifying. He didn’t say anything else at all.”
“I told you, he’ll come back,” Siobhan pointed out.
“No, he—”
“Actually,” I spoke up, but immediately regretted it, “he will. He’ll want to check on your sister once before the end of his shift. Dr. Martin is very nice. I’m sure he was just trying to make you feel comfortable.”
Emma nodded, her expression visibly shifting from hopeful to embarrassed. “I’m sure you’re right. God, Siobhan, you’re so embarrassing.” She cast her gaze back to me. “Thank you for…for taking care of my sister.”
“It was my pleasure,” I said, a small, forced smile on my face. “A nurse will be in shortly to administer your medication. If you have any issues, just push that button there near your head and someone will check on you.”
“Thank you,” Siobhan said, a winning grin on her face as she looked back at her sister. I rushed out of the room, struggling to breathe and maintain my composure all at once.
I wanted to believe it couldn’t be true, but there was nothing in the girls’ expressions that resembled a lie.
Was Lucas growing bored with me? Could he be considering cheating?
Chapter Fifteen
Alaina
I ran the brush over the canvas, painting the pale peach color of my skin onto the aqua blue background. My brush twisted and twirled with every curve of my body. I traded brushes, dipping the next in black and tracing the outline of my breasts, my hips, my fingers, my legs. I traced around my jaw, drawing the place where my ears connected with my head, the bends of my fingers against my thighs, the line where my lips connected, separating just so in the middle.
I paid special attention to the areas I wanted him to notice most, the areas I wanted to be burned into his memory.
When I was finished, when my body was lined in detail, shaded, and painted onto the canvas, I stood back and admired the work. Six hours had passed with my music roaring in my ears, lulling me into a quiet place of serenity while I worked. It was my favorite place to be—inside my own head with no one around to bother me, no noises to distract me, so deep inside my own subconscious that the music itself had dulled to white noise.
I looked over my work, noticing the places where it could’ve been stronger, but my legs were beginning to shake and my mouth was dry. I pulled my apron over my head and laid it on the bed, walking down the hallway with one hand resting on my stomach. I was tired, and though I hadn’t changed much physically yet, my stamina had changed dramatically. The long painting sprints I’d once enjoyed so much now took it out of me. I had to be more careful, but of the paintings I’d done in recent years, today’s was the one I was most proud of.
If I’d done well enough, perhaps it would bring Lucas back to me. Perhaps he would realize how much he missed me. Since the pregnancy, our time together had become less and less, to the point that I rarely saw him at all anymore. He was pulling away from me, and if I didn’t do something, if I didn’t act quickly, I was going to lose him forever. While, at one point, I didn’t think that scared me so much, I now knew differently. The trip had changed something in me. It made me realize how badly I needed him. I didn’t want to do this alone. I didn’t want to be a single mother, a starving artist trying to raise a child on my own. I wanted Lucas. And, more importantly, I wanted Lucas to want me.
I filled a glass with water and sipped it as I made my way back down the hall and toward the bedroom, resting against the bed as the paint began to lose its sheen, drying against the canvas.
When it was nearly dry and my water was gone, I set the glass down and lifted my phone from the top of the dresser, pausing the music I’d forgotten to when I removed my headphones.
Lately, whenever I glanced at my phone, there was a sickening feeling of hope that I’d have a new message or missed call from him, but as per usual, the screen was blank.
I swiped my thumb across the screen, opening the camera, and held it out to snap the picture. The bad lighting and low-quality camera didn’t make for the best picture, but it was good enough. If he wanted to see t
he real thing, he could come over. I considered adding that to the message, but changed my mind. My art would speak for me.
I took a deep breath, wondering what his reaction would be. Would he rush over, shove open the door, and gather me in his arms while overcome with desire? Would we someday hang both of our portraits on the walls of our bedroom for our own private viewing? A girl could dream, I supposed.
I took a deep breath, my thumb hovering over the green arrow. Once I hit it, things were out of my hands.
The ball would be in his court.
Send.
Chapter Sixteen
Naomi
Somewhere across the room, Lucas’ phone buzzed. I opened my eyes slowly, hesitantly, with sleep blurring my vision. Most nights, he kept his phone on loud in case he got called into work. It was only on a very rare night that he silenced it. Still, we were both used to waking up at the slightest noise from it, signaling that someone needed his help. Signaling that, soon, I’d be on my own again.
“Who is it?” I asked, glancing over toward his side of the bed with a closed eye. I sat up. Where is he?
To my surprise, my husband was nowhere to be found. His screen lit up the ceiling with its reflection, and I threw the covers off my legs, scooting across the bed. I lifted the phone, pulling the charging cord from its port and glanced at the screen.
A?
The image on the screen was small, and I couldn’t quite make it out, though my sleep-coated eyes were no help. I leaned forward, typing in his password—his birthday—and opened it. There were no messages from the saved number aside from the small picture in the inbox. I clicked on it, pulled it up, and gasped.
The picture was of a painting, badly lit, but beautiful nonetheless. The woman painted on the canvas was completely naked, with intricate detailing across every nook and cranny of her well-formed curves. I stared at it closer—she had short, raven hair and small facial features and one hand was placed against a flat stomach.
What is this?
It looked as though the painting was freshly done, still sitting on a canvas in a dimly lit room. Who had sent this? What did they want? Who was A?
I clicked on the contact and repeated the number in my head. It was local. Since when was Lucas interested in art?
My stomach was in a tight knot, everything in me screaming that something wasn’t right here. I went back to the picture again, staring at it closer. The woman’s eyes held mine, startlingly realistic in their rendering. There was seduction in her expression…so why had it been sent to my husband? A sickly feeling washed over me as I moved around the bed quickly, typing the number into my phone and then deleting the picture from his.
I hurried back around the bed as I heard him on the stairs below, headed my direction. I plugged his phone back in and placed it back on the nightstand, launching myself onto the bed and throwing the covers over me, my heart racing, as the door swung open.
He walked across the room, staring at me strangely. “Everything okay?”
“Mhm,” I said, breathless. “Why?”
“I thought I heard you walking around from downstairs.”
“I just…” Needed to slow my heart. “Had to pee. Where were you?”
He lifted his phone from the nightstand, and I held my breath, watching him closely. He eyed it for a moment, then laid it back down and sighed before climbing into bed. “I was thirsty. I went for water.”
I rolled over, my heart still thudding so loudly I was sure he could hear it from just across the bed. My phone was still clutched in my hand, though I didn’t dare move to put it up.
“Good night,” he whispered, and I felt the bed moving as he rolled away from me. I sighed, my thoughts jumbling as I tried to piece together exactly what had happened. Perhaps Lucas had just been searching for a piece of art, but why the initial? Why did he have the ‘A’ saved without a full name? If it was someone random, why was the number saved at all?
A for art, maybe? It was a possibility, but it seemed far-fetched.
No. Something else was happening. I felt it in my bones and, though I wasn’t sure I could put a name on it just yet, I knew it wasn’t good. Could Lucas have been cheating on me? I’d never suspected him of being unfaithful before. His job kept him so busy, he’d never have the time. Was I wrong? I’d need to get to the bottom of this, and I was making it a priority to do so.
Whoever you are, A, I’m going to find out.
Chapter Seventeen
Clara
“In you go,” Luke whispered in my ear as I took a seat at the kitchen table. He pushed my chair in behind me before making his way around and sitting as well.
“Thank you.” I lifted the bottle of wine and poured it into both our glasses.
“This looks delicious,” he said, cutting out a slice of lasagna and placing it on my plate carefully before serving himself. “Did you make the—”
I stood up and hurried toward the stove, where my bread was likely burning. “Yes, I almost forgot.” I opened the oven and grabbed the dish towel from the counter, pulling out the pan.
He followed me over, wrapping his arms around me as I worked to move the bread from the pan to a plate. I only prepared meals like this when Luke was around. Ordinarily, I preferred microwaved meals, and I’d never cook anything just to put it in another bowl to serve it. But with Luke, I wanted everything to be special. I wanted him to feel like he deserved the best, because he did.
He grabbed the last piece of bread lightly, lifting it to his lips and taking a bite.
“It’s going to be hot,” I warned, though he already had it in his mouth. He sucked in a breath, trying to cool it down as he chewed.
“I know, but I can’t wait.” When he swallowed, he put the bread down and spun me around to kiss my lips. “Would you still love me if I had garlic breath?”
I giggled. It was one of his games. Would you still love me if… “I’d still love you no matter what, you know that.”
He pressed his lips to mine, his hands wrapping around my waist as he trailed kisses from my lips to my ear and down my neck. I gave in, closing my eyes and losing myself in his touch as I leaned back into the stove, pushing in one of the knobs accidentally. The gas began to pop, threatening to ignite a burner, and we jerked away, laughter exploding from my chest.
“Okay, come on, before dinner gets cold,” I told him, lifting the plate from the counter and walking it toward the table.
“Dinner might just have to wait,” he teased, patting my bottom as we sat down. He was in an exceptionally good mood that evening, and I had no idea why. I liked to think it was because of me, but I could never be sure.
“How was work today?” I asked, changing the subject. As much as I wanted to be with him, my stomach was growling. I needed to eat something.
“Same as usual,” he said, tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth again. “How was your day? What did you do?”
“Cleaned up a bit, I’ve been driving myself crazy over the shower, so I finally had a chance to clean it up and catch up on laundry.”
He reached for my hand, running his fingers over my knuckles. “I missed you.”
I lowered my brows at him. “What’s gotten into you?” I teased, though he tensed at my words and I instantly regretted it.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re in an awfully good mood.”
He smirked. “I’ve just had a good day, that’s all. And I’m glad to be ending it with you.”
“How’s Naomi?” I asked. I was usually careful not to bring her up, especially when he was in a good mood, but I had to ask. After our last conversation about her, if I wanted to push for him to move in with me, now was the chance.
“Naomi’s Naomi. No change really.” He shrugged then changed the subject. “Is this a new sauce?”
“Same as always,” I said, running a fork over my lasagna before taking a bite. “I meant to tell you, I had a patient ask about you the other night. She said she thou
ght you were flirting with her.” I smiled, trying to show him I was joking, but I truly wanted answers.
“What patient?” he asked, looking at me as if the suggestion was absurd. Of course it was.
“Well, it was the sister of a patient, actually. Emma something.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” he said with a snort.
“Do you make a habit of flirting with a lot of Emmas?”
He frowned, laying down his fork. “I don’t make a habit of flirting with anyone but you, and you know that. Why would I need to? I’ve certainly got my hands full already.”
I was shocked by his words. “Do you?”
He moved to lift up his fork but stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I took a bite, chewing my food to allow myself time to think. “I just…I mean, it’s not like I take up very much of your time, do I?”
“What are you saying, Clara?”
He leaned forward, and I recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d seen him give patients when he was listening to their concerns while really mentally checking out. He was finished with the conversation before it had even begun.
“I just mean that…well, we aren’t all that serious, are we? I love you, of course, but it’s not like we live together. We don’t see each other outside of work more than once or twice a week most weeks.”
“Our schedules are crazy. You know I see you as often as I can.”
“I know that,” I said, reaching for his hand. He turned his over to allow me to hold it. “I do. Of course, I do. But…if we lived together, if we were married, we’d see each other even more, without having to try. Mornings, evenings, days off. Don’t you want that for us? Wouldn’t it just be easier?”
He drew in one side of his mouth, glancing down. “It would be easier, sure. It would be a dream, Clara. But dreams don’t always work out as they should. What if we move in together and realize we don’t like each other as much as we thought? What if it doesn’t work out?”
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