by Noelle Adams
Paul just shrugged. He knew. He was almost certain he knew, but it wasn’t something he could tell a stranger. It wasn’t something he could tell anyone.
Emily thought that his loving her would break him.
She might be right.
* * *
The bath lowered Emily’s fever. After several long minutes, she grew quiet. Although she still shifted restlessly in the water, she stopped her frantic screaming and flailing.
Paul let her soak for a long time, relieved when her body finally softened and her eyes closed. She seemed almost unconscious now, but she was still breathing. And she was finally not actively suffering.
When the crisis had been averted, Stacie got up and said, “If you’re all right with her for now, I’m going to send Chris home.”
Paul nodded distractedly. He’d actually completely forgotten about Chris.
Paul stayed kneeling on the floor of the bathroom, leaning on the edge of the tub and wiping Emily’s warm face with a cool washcloth. She seemed almost peaceful now, and he started to hope that maybe this round of fever had broken completely.
If it had, its span had been incredibly short. And maybe—maybe—that was a very good sign.
He tried not to hope too much, but he desperately needed some sort of encouragement. Emily’s body was small and pale in the water. Her face looked delicate, almost childish, with her hair pulled into the two ponytails.
She wasn’t a child, though. She was an incredibly generous, strong, resilient, sunny, smart, loving, extraordinary woman. And he wasn’t sure what he would do without her.
“Paul,” she breathed, her eyes still closed, her thick eyelashes fanned out against her white skin. “Please don’t.”
“It’s too late,” he murmured. He didn’t know if she could hear him, if she could understand him. But he said it anyway, as he started to drain the water and lifted her gently from the tub. “It’s too late, baby. I already do.”
He dried her off as much as he could and carried her back to the bed. He searched the dresser drawers until he found an oversized t-shirt and pulled it over her head. Then he covered her up with the sheet and comforter.
Her skin felt a lot cooler. Her fever seemed to have broken completely. Maybe—maybe—it had.
Paul’s long-sleeved shirt was soaked and ripped so he just pulled it off, keeping on the white t-shirt he’d been wearing beneath it. It was damp too, but not unwearably so. Then he took off his shoes and stretched out on the bed beside Emily.
It was just early afternoon, but he was utterly exhausted. Emily was here, though, and she seemed, for the moment, to be all right.
So he allowed himself to indulge in the luxury of relaxing.
* * *
Emily woke up four hours later.
She’d slept peacefully for the most part, and her fever hadn’t come back. Her temperature was normal, which meant this round of fever had lasted for less than twelve hours, rather than the forty-eight plus hours that her most recent fevers had lasted.
“Paul,” Emily gasped, as she started out of her sleep.
Stacie had gone to buy some groceries so Paul was alone with Emily in the apartment.
“I’m here,” Paul murmured, his voice still hoarse from the strain of the day. He was beside her on the bed, so all he had to do was reach out for her.
She came into his arms willingly, her eyes still blurry from sleep. “Paul,” she murmured, this time in obvious contentment as she nestled against him.
His body was much warmer than hers was now, which was an immense relief. She was small and soft and clingy against him, and Paul held her as tightly as he could without hurting her.
She buried her face in his t-shirt and seemed to doze off again for a few minutes.
Then she woke up for real.
She stiffened in his arms and sucked in a surprised breath. “No,” she gasped. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I am supposed to be here,” he objected mildly, determined not to get impatient with her, no matter how stubborn and unreasonable she was going to be.
“I told them not to call you.”
“I know. That was very stupid of you.” He didn’t let her pull out of his arms like she was trying. “But you were feverish so I’ll forgive you this time. They didn’t call me. I found you on my own.”
“But—” Emily’s voice cracked with emotion. Her body was tightening. Then it was shaking. “But I didn’t want…I was trying…”
His heart twisted when she started to cry. She was struggling to get away from him, but he held her close. “I know what you were trying to do, but it wouldn’t do any good. I have to be with you.”
She choked on her sobs, and her body shook desperately against his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I never meant…I thought it would be better for you if…”
“I know what you thought.” Despite the raw ache in his chest, he couldn’t help but feel a warm wave of awed gratitude that someone—that Emily—cared about him so much she’d make such an outrageous, ridiculous gesture. For him. “But it’s just too late to pull back now.”
“No,” she sobbed, clutching at the fabric in the back of his shirt. “I never meant to hurt you. I can’t stand that I did this to you. I can’t stand that you’ll be hurt when I…when I…”
“Stop it,” he demanded, unable to listen to any more. He pulled back slightly and lifted her chin so he could see her wet face, twisting with deep emotion. “Listen to me! You didn’t do this to me. I went into this marriage fully understanding the situation. And why have you decided there’s no hope for a cure?”
“But the treatment didn’t work. And I got another fever.” She looked dazed, confused, but unexpectedly hopeful—as if things weren’t as desperate as she’d assumed.
“I know it didn’t work like we hoped, but how do you know they’re not close to a cure? This fever didn’t last nearly as long as they normally do. That seems to me to be a very good sign. Maybe the treatment had some effect. Maybe they’re getting close. You’re just going to give up?”
She blinked at him, tears poised on her eyelashes. “I never believed in miracles.”
“Me either. If it was a miracle, you’d already be cured after one try. It’s not a miracle. They’ve got a lot of information, and maybe they can do something with it. I’m not going to give up on a good possibility after just one try.”
“Oh.”
“Emily?” he prompted after a minute, not sure what her expression meant and a little afraid of the lengths he might go if she still decided she didn’t want to fight for her life or be married to him anymore.
She released a long sigh that he understood as acquiescence. Her expression relaxed, and her eyes were suddenly very warm and fond as she gazed at him across the few inches of distance. But her mouth twisted briefly before she said, “I never wanted you to…to…”
“Love you?” he finished for her, when her words trailed off in self-consciousness. “I do.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, and her body shook a few times in response.
Paul reached into the pocket of his trousers. “Do you think you can put your rings back on?” He showed her the engagement ring and wedding band in his left hand, where his own wedding band was still in place on his ring finger. “Please?”
She stared at the rings for a long moment. Then she nodded. “I’m sorry. I should never have taken them off.”
He reached under the covers until he found her left hand. He slipped on the wedding band and then the engagement ring, and he released a long breath when they were in place again there. “Please don’t leave me again.”
“I’m sorry,” Emily choked, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Paul. I thought it would be better for you. I couldn’t seem to think…I don’t know what happened.”
“You had a fever,” he said, his chest unclenching as he realized this was actually true. She hadn’t wanted to leave him. She hadn’t done s
o consciously or willfully. She’d been sick and desperate—and she’d been so afraid of hurting him. “You were scared. But please don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” she promised. “I’m so sorry if I hurt you.”
When he felt her relaxing against him, he began to relax too. They held each other for a long time in silence, on the cusp between grief and hope.
“Paul?” Emily breathed, finally breaking the silence.
“What, baby?”
“Maybe you already know. But I love you too.”
***
Paul was carrying Emily’s bag so, as they arrived at the apartment, he walked with her to her bedroom.
For some reason, it irrationally bothered him that she had her own bedroom in their home. It had been necessary at the beginning, when they weren’t sleeping together. Even now it made sense because she was so often ill, and it was convenient for her to have her own bed.
But it still bothered him. As ridiculous as it was to get hung up on such a thing at this moment, the idea nagged at him intensely. As Emily kicked off her shoes and sat down with a sigh on the edge of the bed, he was sorely tempted to suggest they move all of her stuff into the master bedroom.
Emily was still pale and there were dark circles under her eyes, which somehow looked too large for her face. “You all right?” she asked, her expression a little nervous.
He smiled as he set her bag onto the bed next to her. “Of course. Better than all right.”
She smiled back at him. “I’m trying not to get too excited. This new treatment might not work any better than the first.”
They’d stayed at Stacie’s apartment the night before, since Emily had been too weak from the fever to go home the previous evening. This morning they’d gotten a call from Dr. Franklin about another treatment he wanted to try.
It was experimental, of course, but the potential side effects were minimal and they had nothing to lose at this point.
Paul was allowing himself to hope. Things had never worked out perfectly in his life. Nothing ever came easy. And the people he loved left him. Or they didn’t love him back.
But Emily had said that she did love him, and part of him actually believed it was true. And now there was hope that she wouldn’t even have to die.
It was too much to process, so he had to force the swell of uninhibited hope back down into the safe, dark corners of his mind. He just didn't believe he'd be given quite so much—that he'd be allowed to have what he so desperately wanted. Which might be why he’d been obsessing about the much more inconsequential idea of Emily’s having her own room instead of sharing with him.
“Paul?” Emily prompted, when he hadn’t responded to her last comment. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” he told her. He swallowed and experienced a familiar resistance to speaking the truth openly to someone, to anyone—even though he knew it was safe with her. “I’m trying not to get too excited too.”
Her face relaxed into a grin. Then she started to pull things out of her bag—the Riverside Shakespeare, the music box he’d given her for her birthday, the clothes she’d worn the previous day.
The last two days had forced Paul into emotional overload, and he was too drained to process any feeling with intensity at the moment. It was only ten o’clock in the morning, but he felt like he could sleep for hours. Despite his mental and physical exhaustion, however, he was still oddly touched by seeing what Emily had taken with her when she thought she was leaving him for good.
It was another sign—however small—that she’d been telling him the truth when she’d said she loved him.
“I think I need a nap,” Emily said, starting to pull off her sweater with a yawn. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Paul said, trying not to get distracted by the sight of Emily in her bra. “You can rest all day. I need to catch up on some work anyway.”
She took off her bra and pulled on an oversized t-shirt. Then she pushed off her jeans and pulled on a pair of sweats. She wasn’t at all self-conscious. It was as if she’d barely processed the fact that she was undressing in front of him. She was obviously tired and still recovering from being ill, and she just wanted to get more comfortable to take a nap.
But Paul’s body didn’t make that kind of distinction. It just saw her taking off her clothes, saw her firm breasts and soft ass. He felt a sharp tug of interest in his groin.
“You all right?” Emily asked again as she climbed into bed. She looked a little concerned, probably wondering why he was standing stiffly and staring at her like an idiot.
“Yes,” Paul assured her, pleased he sounded somewhat natural. “Try to get some rest.”
He left her to her nap and walked toward the master bedroom. There, when it was clear that his body still hadn’t lost interest, he decided to take a shower.
He turned the water on hot, and he adjusted the settings so the rain shower head as well as the sixteen body jets were all spraying out on him.
For some reason, it felt like he’d run a marathon. His body was actually sore from the emotional ups and downs of the last two days. It hadn’t been very long since he’d had sex—it was Monday morning now, and just Saturday night he and Emily had had what might have been the best sex of his life—but his body needed yet another release, some way to channel everything he’d felt since then.
So, after he’d let the water beat down on him for several minutes, he reached down to pump his erection. He closed his eyes, picturing Emily beneath him, that soft affection in her gaze. He could see her eyes hooded with hot desire for him, her mouth supple and tender, her body arching up with need, her breasts bouncing shamelessly with her motion, her nipples tight and straining for his touch, her legs wrapping eagerly around him, her voice hoarse from screaming his name.
Paul came hard in the shower with a long, thick groan. His eyes still closed, the water still massaging him all over, he breathed raggedly and tried to relax. But the first climax wasn’t enough and he pumped himself again, imagining Emily wrapping herself around him, gasping out how much she loved him. The image was so powerful he came again without warning.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d never been like this in his life, even back when he was fifteen and thinking about sex every minute of the day.
He assumed his body would eventually become accustomed to wanting Emily so much and wouldn’t always act so ludicrously needy.
He stayed in the shower for a half-hour, which was something he almost never did, and he did feel a lot better when he finally got out.
Although he was so relaxed afterwards that he was tempted to take a nap with Emily, he went to his office instead. As soon as he checked his messages, his mind was immediately diverted, and he lost track of time as he quickly became wrapped up in work.
So he was surprised when Emily came into the office with a tray of food. A quick look at the clock told him the astonishing fact that it was almost one-thirty in the afternoon.
“I thought you must be hungry,” she explained. “You should eat some lunch.” She was still wearing the t-shirt and sweats she'd changed into earlier.
Paul rubbed his eyes and tried to pull himself out of the proposal he’d been writing. “Thanks. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
She smiled at him fondly, put a plate and a bottle of water in front of him, and sat down in the chair beside the desk. She’d brought a plate for herself too. “I figured,” she murmured, opening her bottle of water. “I’m impressed by your powers of concentration. I don’t think I’ve ever been so absorbed in work that I forget to eat.”
Her tone was teasing, and Paul couldn’t help but enjoy the affection in her eyes and her tone.
“Is everything all right?” Emily added, nodding toward his computer screen. “Did you get really behind?”
“No,” he said, after taking a bite of his sandwich. “It’s fine. Actually, it’s good. I was actually given something real to do. I’m putting together
a proposal now, and I’m to present it to the board on Wednesday.”
“Something real? So they’re giving you more responsibilities?”
“Maybe. I’m sure this is a test too, but if the board likes what I put together, then maybe...”
“Of course, they’ll like it!”
He gave a half-shrug, although her outraged tone made him smile. “Most of them still think of me as a boy—and not a very responsible one. They’re not going to be swayed easily.”
Emily frowned. “That’s ridiculous. They’ll see how great you are in no time.”
Paul smiled again at her indignant expression, touched that she was so defensive on his account. “Thanks. We’ll see.”
As they ate, they talked over what Paul was putting in his proposal. And she even gave him some good ideas about his strategy on a few points. When they’d finished lunch, Paul went back to work, and Emily said she was going to take it easy and read Shakespeare that afternoon.
Paul worked until Emily came in at seven o’clock that evening and dragged him out to have dinner on the terrace with her. Since he was almost done with the proposal, he went back to his office to finish it up after dinner. He finished and was rereading it for the third time when Emily came in at around eleven, wearing a slinky purple nightgown that was semi-transparent.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Are you ever coming to bed?”
Paul’s body clenched in desire as he stared at her luscious body in that gown. “I’m done,” he said quickly, saving his document and then shutting down his computer. “I’m done now.”
She frowned at him as they walked together toward the master bedroom.
“How are you feeling?” Paul asked, trying to look beyond her gorgeous body and tousled hair to see signs of whether she was fully recovered or not. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes still looked tired.
“Fine,” she told him. “Did you get your proposal done?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you can relax a little.” When they got into the bedroom, she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Paul kissed her back eagerly, lifting her up so her legs wrapped around his waist. He carried her over to the bed and eased her down so she was sprawled out beneath him.