Hana Du Rose

by K T Bowes

  “Do you think she’s psychotic?” Hana sniffed into her wrist and Logan retrieved a handkerchief from his jeans pocket.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. We never worked as a couple because it always became toxic. She operated in a world of mind games and attention seeking and I never understood.”

  “Why did you almost marry her?” Hana’s voice sounded tiny in the big bed. She asked the question without wanting to know the truth. Logan’s eyes took on an opaque quality.

  “It’s a long story, Hana. She needed cash and wanted the Du Rose name. It suited us both at the time but I’m glad it didn’t happen.”

  “Did you ever love her?” Hana watched his brow furrow and he turned towards her.

  “Would you think less of me if I said no?”

  Hana swallowed and gauged her own reaction before speaking. “I think I would.” She sighed. “There’s no doubt Caroline loves you. I don’t like to think of you sleeping with her and not at least feeling something.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t like to think of you sleeping with her at all.”

  Logan’s lips twisted into a grimace. “I can’t change that, Hana. I’m sorry.” He turned on his side and reached out to coil a strand of her hair between his fingers. “I’ve spent my life on hold, waiting for you. Anyone else served as a distraction.”

  “So, I should feel flattered?” Hana wrinkled her nose and Logan smiled.

  “Yeah.” His brows knitted into a line. “About her baby Hana; it’s not mine.”

  “Logan, I’m tired.” She saw the expression of hurt cross his face as she denied him the opportunity to make his case. She struggled, pained by her inadequacy next to Caroline. Truth gnawed at her insides and she ached to share her suspicions with her husband and halve the burden. Taking a deep breath, she chewed her lower lip. “I think Boris is the father.”

  “What?” Logan sat up so fast he banged her hand. She cried out and he cursed his stupidity and stroked her hair as she tensed her body and waited for the pain to pass. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “What can I get you?”

  Hana dispatched him for tea and painkillers while she recovered. “You changed the sheets,” she said on his return. “It smells clean.”

  “I’m house trained.” He set her mug of tea on the bedside table and helped her into a sitting position. When he perched on the edge of the bed, she knew he sought an explanation.

  “You want to know why I think Boris is the father?” Logan nodded and she licked her lips. “It’s instinct and it’s the best I can do right now. He believes he’s the dad, even if he isn’t.”

  Logan squinted at a speck of ink on his middle finger. “You think Boris would be so disloyal?” He gritted his teeth in a hard expression.

  “Yes. I saw his face the day she accosted me at school. She mentioned pregnancy and he went white. When I puked on her shoes in the carpark, he helped to get me into the car so he could deal with her. He has a vested interest and I might be wrong, but he thinks the child is his.” Hana pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She tried to interpret the dangerous look in his eyes. “Are you jealous?”

  Logan snorted and jerked his head backwards. “Hell no!” He rolled his eyes. “But I don’t appreciate disloyalty in my friends. He knew how she tried to sabotage us and if I find he still went there, I won’t pull any punches.”

  Hana sighed. “He’s a big boy, Logan. He behaved like a sweetheart when you and I weren’t getting on.”

  Logan raised his eyebrows. “Really? Perhaps I underestimated his appeal with the women. Cunning bugger.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Hana handed him her mug and slid down the bed whilst supporting the cast with her left hand. “You have a dirty mind.”

  Logan didn’t smile and Hana grew nervous. “Do nothing, Logan. I shared this with you in confidence.”

  A vein in his neck twitched and he gave a small nod. “I won’t go near him.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t either.”

  Hana sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m stuck in bed, Logan. I won’t see anyone ever again at this rate.”

  “You can see Pete.” Hana squinted up to see Logan grinning.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “He doesn’t want to live in the Gordonton house alone. He’s asked to move in with us if Boris doesn’t get his visa approved.”

  “What? No way! He moves in and I move out!” Hana scrabbled to sit up again and Logan rested a hand against her shoulder.

  “Don’t rip your nightie. I told him no.”

  “You already ripped it for me.” She grumbled at his use of the colloquialism, glaring at her ruined sleeve.

  Hana slept the evening away, sitting up only to swallow the medication Logan handed her with a glass of water. She woke in darkness, sensing the earliness of the hour. Laying on her back, her arm ached and her shoulder felt tight. The pillow she’d gone to sleep resting the cast on disappeared during the night and scrabbling with her feet didn’t deliver it. Logan’s gentle snores reminded her not to wake him.

  The child did somersaults in her womb, kicking her full bladder without regard. Hana lay still and steeled herself for movement, anticipating the inevitable agony of getting up.

  Cradling her arm with care, she tried to use her stomach muscles to sit. She failed and the jolt as she flopped back caused her to grit her teeth and gasp. Trying again, she swung her legs sideways but couldn’t touch the floor. Her exposed feet felt the freezing air outside the warm sheets and she shivered. Scooting her bottom forwards, Hana turned her body and found the rug beneath her toes. She waited and weighed up whether to use her good arm to push herself upright or support her cast. For the first time since leaving hospital, she wished for the button which altered any part of the bed she required.

  “Steady.” Strong hands slipped behind her shoulders and supported her as she sat. Logan squeezed her upper arm. “I’ll get your robe. It’s freezing.” Hana heard his feet pad across the floor to the wardrobe.

  “Thanks.” She yawned. “I need to pee.”

  Logan waited outside the bathroom while Hana coped with washing her hand. “You should come back to bed,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I don’t need to be up for another couple of hours.”

  Hana flexed her jaw and readied herself for a fight. “I’m going back to work early,” she said and watched his eyes darken. “Today.”

  “Come back to bed. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Hana shook her head. “I’m sorry I woke you. If you can help me get that plastic thing over my arm, I’ll take a bath and wash my hair. You go back to bed.”

  Logan studied her face until Hana found his scrutiny painful. She looked away and he conceded. “I think I remember how it goes on.”

  Hana splashed around in the bath, not enjoying the experience once she managed to get in. Climbing out proved even harder. Logan hung around, appearing every time she decided she couldn’t cope alone. He caught her shuffling in the empty bath on her knees, trying to work out how to stand up without the use of either arm. “Don’t say it,” she groaned as he raised an eyebrow at her predicament. “And don’t laugh.”

  “I wasn’t about to do either.” Logan slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her upright. He kept hold of her wrist while reaching for her towel.

  “Why?” Hana narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “It’s not like you to pass up an opportunity to put me straight.”

  “Harsh.” Logan swaddled her up in the fluffy towel and helped her over the side of the bath. “If you’re done in here, I’ll take a shower.”

  “Okay.” Hana yawned and buried her face in the towel. She headed to the bedroom and shivered in the chill air. Half an hour later after several mishaps, she wore lipstick on much of her face and mascara in her hair. When she stamped in temper, she jolted her arm and wasted time bending double and holding her breath. “I bloody hate my life!” she grumbled.

  “Charming.”
Logan walked through the door bearing a mug of tea and laid it on the dressing table. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for work.” Hana stuck her chin in the air, fixing a defiant look on her face. Narrowed eyes invited him to challenge her.

  Logan smiled at the mess on her face. Then he held his hand out. “Give me a wet-wipe and I’ll clean you up. I can’t promise that I’m a makeup artist to the stars but I’ll do my best.”

  Hana pinked with embarrassment at the concentration on Logan’s face. His fingers on her skin sent prickles of appreciation darting through her stomach. He took care to clean the mess from her cheeks and chin, reapplying the lipstick with care. A soft pink tongue poked from between his lips as he concentrated and Hana blinked at the love in his face. “I’m so lucky,” she breathed as he brushed her eyelashes with mascara. “I don’t deserve you.”

  Logan pushed the brush back into the mascara bottle and kissed the end of her nose. “No,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “You don’t. But if you tell anyone I did your makeup, we’ll fall out.”

  Hana smirked. “I won’t, I promise. But only because I want you to do it again tomorrow.”

  Logan snorted. “In your dreams, babe. That was a one-time-only event.”

  Hana’s mood changed as she realised she needed Logan to help her into her clothes. He enjoyed sliding her into her underwear, a devilish smirk on his lips. “Stop it!” she complained as he smoothed his fingers over the clasp at the back of her bra in light, fluttery movements. “You’re supposed to do it up, not enjoy a good grope.”

  “This is too difficult,” he grumbled. “It’s unfair.” His fingers strayed around her stomach and over the bump of his child. “Let’s stay home,” he whispered, lowering his head and scratching her neck with his beard growth.

  Hana turned into his embrace to protest and he bit the delicate skin beneath her jaw. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the thrill of his attention, feeling their marriage fight its way back to stability. His hands on her body communicated his need and she bent to his will, finding herself naked against his work pants and shirt. “I love you so much,” he whispered, steering her back towards the unmade bed.

  Hana looked in the mirror half an hour later, her hair in a wonky ponytail and a grimace on her face. “I look like a weirdo,” she grumbled, staring down at her strange attire.

  Logan shrugged on his jacket and smiled. “If you’re determined to go to work today, you’ll need clothes you can manage. You said you couldn’t pull tights up and down one-handed and trousers are just as hard.”

  “You managed.” Hana glared at him in accusation.

  “Yeah, but I can use both hands better than you use your left.” Logan bent to zip up her boots and Hana wiggled her toes against the lumpy socks trapping her feet. “I’ve broken enough bones to get the practice.”

  “I haven’t.” Hana peered at her long skirt and the denim jacket with its flapping, empty sleeve. “I look like a primary school teacher.” She pouted and Logan laughed.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “I don’t want to go dressed like this.” She stamped her foot and watched a vein begin to tick in Logan’s temple. He gave her a sideways smile.

  “Don’t go then. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “No!” Hana trotted behind him as he headed for the garage steps. “I see your game, Du Rose!”

  A watery sunshine rose over Hamilton as Logan drove along the expressway. He tapped the steering wheel in concentration. “I’ll drop you at the main entrance and hide the car in one of the surrounding streets,” he said. He raised a hand against Hana’s protest. “Please babe, just do what I ask.”

  Hana climbed the steps to her office, the sling already aggravating her neck and her handbag clanking against her legs. Her email inbox overflowed with organisations desperate to secure a space at the expo. “I thought we already allocated spaces,” she called to Sheila, clicking through the frantic messages on screen.

  “We did!” Sheila bustled from her office, a worried expression drawing lines across her forehead. “But the council cancelled the local event and the presenters haven’t stopped pestering me. They’re trying to join ours and we don’t have room.”

  Hana wrinkled her nose. “We could use the gymnasium and the new classrooms near the boarding house. Then you can allocate more spaces. What if we charged a fee for latecomers?”

  Sheila’s eyes glinted and a slow smile broke across her face. “What a great idea.”

  “The enquiries are all from companies. They shouldn’t mind paying a last minute fee and they’ll understand why we aren’t charging the colleges.”

  “Awesome.” Sheila’s brain whirred with possibilities and she retreated to her office to thump numbers into her calculator.

  The sound of the school bell jarred Hana’s nerves and she tensed at the jolt against her sore arm. Noise surrounded her as six hundred boys moved around the site like a herd of elephants. An eerie silence followed the slam of the final classroom door. Hana rested her chin in her hand, knowing it would all begin again in an hour. Her head ached and she wished she’d listened to her husband and stayed at home. The stilted one-handed typing sullied her mood further.

  Logan appeared half way through interval, carrying a take-out cup of steaming hot chocolate and a shop bought sandwich. “You didn’t take lunch,” he said, perching his neat bum on the corner of her desk.

  “Thanks.” Hana sipped the drink with a groan of gratitude. “I’m not enjoying today. Typing is impossible.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said, waggling the fingers of his left hand. The movement looked sluggish as he flexed his arm. “I told you to stay home.”

  Hana shrugged. “It’s no fun without you.” She narrowed her eyes into a lascivious smile and Logan grinned. His wink reminded her of their passion earlier and she pursed her lips and blushed. “I need a hug,” she said, placing her cup on the desk and standing. She pushed herself into Logan’s body, drawing comfort from his proximity. He slid his arm around her left side and nuzzled her hair.

  “If someone comes in, you’ll jump in guilt and hurt yourself,” he whispered.

  “I don’t care.” Hana closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

  “That’s a relief.” Logan’s voice against her neck sounded husky. “It’s too late if you don’t.” He groaned at the sound of Pete’s distinguishable screech drifting along the corridor. “Fantastic. Here comes trouble.”

  Before the door smashed against the radiator, Hana sat in her chair and resumed her drinking. Logan rested against the corner of her desk and eyed the doorway with suspicion. “It’s the Du Roses,” Pete yelled, throwing his arms wide. Sarcasm dripped through his words and Hana narrowed her brow, darting a startled look at Logan. Her husband folded his arms and his muscles bulged through his shirt. Pete ignored the warning and barrelled across to his desk, throwing objects aside in a pretense of searching for something. “Anything either of you want to say to me?” he demanded, glaring across at them both.

  “Like what?” Hana looked from him to Logan and back again.

  “Like sorry!” Pete’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Sorry for getting me bashed on the head.” His bony fingers fluttered towards his crown, gliding over his wispy hair and settling over a large piece of medical tape. He’d parted his hair at the back to accommodate it and from the front wore two wispy, straw coloured horns.

  “I already said sorry.” Hana’s voice wavered and she stiffened.

  “Did you forget, Pete?” Logan sounded casual and Pete’s brow knitted.

  “Maybe. Concussion makes you forget heaps. I’m sure if you say it again, it’ll come back to me.”

  Logan rose to his feet and raised his arms above his head in a stretch. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah.” Pete took a step back. “I think so.” Hana sensed static electricity in the atmosphere and shook her head at Logan.

  “Plea
se don’t get into a ruck here.” She glanced at Sheila’s closed door. “I mean it.”

  “You remember how I asked you to drive my wife home?” Logan put his arms down and Pete’s lips parted in fear.

  “No. It’s the concussion. I don’t remember.” He took a giant gulp and waved towards Hana. “I’m sure you must have apologised. It’s okay. I forgive you.”

  Logan glared at him, his eyes as black as coals. He took a step forward, but a glance at Hana diverted his anger. “You’ll keep,” he hissed at Pete. “You won’t always have women around you.” He bent to kiss the top of Hana’s head, drawing satisfaction from the way Pete scooted aside as he walked towards the door. Behind Hana’s back, Logan made a throat cutting motion with his index finger and the colour left Pete’s face.

  “That was close!” Pete slumped into his chair and Hana pulled her lips back into a snarl.

  “It serves you right!” she snapped. “I already apologised and you know it. You wanted to make me squirm and it failed.”

  Pete muttered to himself and Hana ignored him, clamping her earphones over her head and typing notes for Evie one-handed. It took her twice as long and she delivered the finished letters to the guidance counsellors’ suite. She glossed over details of her injury and avoided further questioning by pleading busyness.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon sticking dots to a floor plan under Sheila’s direction and then peeling them off again. “Oh, bloody hell!” Sheila groaned, slapping her forehead with her hand. “Move the university to that room. Oh, no, put them in the hall. No, they can’t go there because they draw too big a crowd and there won’t be room for anyone else.” She sagged in the chair and shook her head at Hana. “Let’s look at this again tomorrow.”

  Hana nodded. “Yeah. I feel shattered. I’ll think about it overnight.”

  Sheila stood and helped her shrug the denim jacket over her shoulders. “No, it’s fine. You just concentrate on not falling down any more stairs.”