by Melody Eve
That’s when I realize how very dark it is, not twilight but middle-of-the-night dark. “What time is it?”
“10:00 p.m.”
“Ten? Oh my God, I was unconscious for hours.”
“Yes, I know. I’m glad I didn’t decide to stay out all night, or you would have lay there until morning. You could have died before I got the chance to make you my wife.” His words are playful but there is a hint of seriousness that puzzles me. I’m surprised after this morning that he’s still trying to use that stupid tactic on me.
“I’d rather die than marry you.”
“Ouch. Is that any way to talk to your future husband, and the man who just saved your life?”
“It is if he’s you.” He slides into bed behind me. “I thought you said you’d sleep on the couch.”
“That was before you had a serious, life-threatening head injury that requires supervision. You were unconscious for hours, Aria. I’m not going to leave you alone again. Part of me wonders if this was really an accident. Does your ex still mean something to you?”
What’s he getting at? Does he think I’m suicidal over David? That’ll be the day.
“Do you think I tried to kill myself with a bottle of wine and a slip in the shower? Because that’s ridiculous, I couldn’t have planned what happened today if I tried. I’m over David, what he did to me is unforgivable, but he hasn’t broken me. I’m stronger than that.”
He moves closer, and his warm, naked body presses up against mine. I inhale and hold my breath while my mind searches for how to respond. “Roman…” He rests his hand on my hip.
“I’m going to lay here all night and watch you breathe. Don’t tell me to go away. Don’t tell me you don’t want me here because I don’t care. Close your beautiful eyes and go to sleep.”
The combination of his warmth and the medication have made me more pliable. I don’t ask him to go away, and I don’t tell him I don’t want him here because I think I do want him here. Even after his abrasive, overbearing punishment this morning, I feel more attached to him than I ever did with David.
“Roman?” I say slurring slightly from the medication.
“Yes, love.”
“No more punishments.”
“No more swimming naked.”
“Okay.”
“Good girl. Now off to sleep with you.”
My eyelids are suddenly heavy as lead. I give in to the struggle and allow his tenderness to envelop and sweep me away into the darkness of sleep.
Chapter 9
“Someone’s knocking,” I say before I open my eyes. Roman has an arm around my waist lightly so as not to disturb my fire-engine-red skin.
“I know, I didn’t want to wake you. But since they’ve done that for me, I’ll get up and see who it is.”
“Is it 8:00 a.m.? The doctor said he was coming back.”
“No, it’s only 7:00 a.m.” He rolls away from me and pulls on a robe to answer the door. I hear muffled voices, and then they return together.”
“Good morning, Aria,” Dr. Rosenthal says entering the room.
“Morning,” I answer, sleep still heavy in my voice.
“I’m sorry to wake you. I forgot I have an appointment at 8:00 a.m., and I thought you might wake with quite a headache, so I brought your pain pills early.”
I open my eyes and work to focus on the doctor. He’s got a kind face, round and compassionate. He’s dressed in a suit today instead of the blue linen pants and shirt from last night. He looks the part of someone going to an appointment.
The light in the room hits my eyes, and pain shoots through my already aching head. I close my eyes and moan.
“Looks like you already need some. Here.” I hear him shake two pills from a bottle and set it down on the nightstand. He puts the glass of water from last night in my hands and encourages me to take the medicine. I do it without opening my eyes.
“On a scale of one to ten, what do you rate your pain right now?” he asks.
“Nine,” I say without hesitating. “Ten when I open my eyes.”
“Is the pain an ache all over your head, or is it mostly the laceration?”
“All over.”
“We should probably get her to the hospital for a scan.”
“What? Is something wrong?” Roman asks sounding panicked which is alarming. I’ve known Roman to be several things so far in our short relationship, and they are number one—bossy, number two—sexy, number three—angry, number four—concerned, number five—tender, and number six—bossy, wait, I said that already. That’s because he’s very bossy.
I’ve yet to see him panic over anything.
“I would expect her wound to be hurting, but with an all-over headache like she is experiencing and a fall like she’s had, I would like to get an MRI and a CT scan to make sure there’s nothing else going on.”
“How far is the hospital?”
“Not far, you can follow me. My appointment is there, so I’m going anyway. I’ll call ahead and order the scans so you won’t have to wait.”
“Fine, let me get her dressed. Where are you parked?” Roman asks.
“At the front entrance. I’ll wait for you there.”
I’m lying here listening to the two of them make arrangements for me like I’m unconscious again. “Um, excuse me, do I have a say in this at all?”
They both speak at the same time. Roman says, “No.” Dr. Rosenthal says, “Yes.”
“Doctor, do you think more pain medication and rest might help?” I ask already knowing the answer but wanting to have some say in the situation. I don’t think it’s a bad idea to have my head looked at. It’s hurting like hell, but I’m stubborn.
“The scan is necessary at this point, Aria. If you’d woken up with pain from the wound and nothing else, I’d say that would be fine. But that’s not the case, is it?”
“No. All right.”
I listen to the doctor leave the suite and Roman rummaging around in my suitcase in the living room. “You need new clothes,” he calls out.
I have the urge to roll my eyes at him, but I don’t due to the pain in my head.
“How many of these prairie skirts do you own, anyway?” he asks when he returns.
“A lot, they’re comfortable.”
“They look like they came from the Goodwill.”
“Maybe they did. What’s wrong with that?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he sighs and pulls back the covers to help me sit up. I’m naked and vulnerable, and the position change has caused the pain to worsen. I hate this. I’m never drinking again, and I’m never going out in the sun unless I’m slathered with SPF 1000.
“I’ve got a black… dress, I think. It’s like a giant sack. Do you need a bra with it?”
My black maxi dress… ah, that’s perfect. Big, baggy, soft, and flowy. My burned skin won’t even touch it. “No, no bra. I couldn’t if I wanted to with this sunburn.”
“Panties?”
“Yes, please.”
He taps my ankle, and I pick up my foot. He guides it into my panties and then the other. Then he stands in front of me. “Arms up.” I do as he asks, and he very carefully slips the dress over my tender head, and I poke my arms through the armholes. I feel him slide a pair of flip-flops onto my feet, and he stands before me again.
“Ready?”
“I guess. Shouldn’t I brush my teeth?”
“Wait here.”
I listen as he goes into the bathroom and puts toothpaste on my toothbrush and holds it under the water. When he returns, he puts it in my hand. “Go easy, it’s probably not going to help your headache.”
I follow his advice and brush softly removing the nasty taste the alcohol left there last night and replacing it with minty freshness. I hold out the brush and feel the edge of a glass against my lips. I take a sip of water, rinse, and spit back in the glass.
“Good girl.”
I’m not sure I like him saying that to me. Part of me felt like
a child when he said it last night. I wanted to yell at him. I’m not a damn child! But another part of me takes it as a compliment, which is how I believe he means it to be. I don’t say anything. I don’t want to argue when my head hurts so much.
He takes my hands, and just when I think he’s going to guide me out of the suite, he steps to my side and scoops me up into his arms. “I’m sorry if that hurt.”
“It did.”
“I want to get you to the hospital quickly, and it’s a long walk to the front entrance. Rest your head against me and keep your eyes closed.”
I do as he asks, and it reminds me of the night we met when he picked me up and carried me back to my room. Such a Neanderthal.
I can feel people’s curious eyes on me. I hear the murmurs, and I wonder how bad I look. At least I was clean when I fell last night, but I am badly sunburned, my head has a gash sewn shut with ten plus stitches, and I’m wearing a giant, black cotton sack according to Roman who says I need a new wardrobe.
God, I’m pathetic. I want to cry, but I refuse. It’ll only make my head hurt more and make me look like a blubbering idiot instead of just a sunburned, injured idiot who can’t dress.
We reach the front entrance where the sun is so bright, I swear it’s shining right through my eyelids. There’s no way to escape the light, and my headache intensifies.
He places me in the front seat of a car, buckles my seat belt, and hands me a blanket. I hold it up over my face while he leans the seat back a bit. “How’d you know?” I say from under the blanket. Somehow, he knew I needed to block out the light when he handed me the blanket.
“I’ve had my share of migraines. I could tell the light was too much when we came outside. You have some sharp fingernails.”
I had been digging my nails into his arms when we exited the resort. “Sorry.”
“It’s nothing. Let’s go,” he says and quietly closes the door to the car. A few seconds go by, and he is sliding behind the wheel on the other side of the car. We drive for no more than ten minutes to the hospital in silence. As awkward as it is, I appreciate the quiet.
He stops the car, I assume in front of the hospital, but he doesn’t get right out. “Aria, I want to apologize for yesterday morning. Not for dragging you off the beach, I’ll never apologize for that, but for the sex. I can see how much it’s upset you, and I won’t use that tactic again, I promise.”
“Thank you.”
Inside the hospital, Roman puts me in a wheelchair rather than carry me to the area where they do the MRI and CT scans. I don’t want to complain about the ratchet wheelchair, but I’m forced to when my mouth begins to water, and I know I’m going to vomit.
“Roman, I’m going to be sick.”
He makes a hard right, and I hear the sound of plastic rustling right before he hands me a bag to vomit into. Good grief, that’s twice he’s seen me vomit in the almost two weeks we’ve known each other.
“Sorry.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Apologizing. You’re sick. I’m here to take care of you. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
A woman meets us in a small, quiet room, and she tells Roman he will have to wait in the waiting area during the test. The room fills with tension. It’s rolling off of Roman when I reach my hand up to find his. “I’ll be fine,” I say.
“You’d better be. Be careful of her head,” he snaps at the poor woman who’s taking me away from him.
“Of course. I’ll have her back as soon as possible,” she says and wheels me away as fast as possible.
When we are safely behind the closed door, I hear her breathe a sigh of relief. “He’s not as bad as he sounds,” I say.
“That’s good to know. You’re a lucky woman to have someone like that in your corner. He’s intimidating. I bet not many people tell him no.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
She chuckles and introduces herself. “I’m Rosa. I usually introduce myself right away, but your husband got me flustered.”
“Oh, he’s not my husband.”
“Boyfriend then, whatever, you’re a lucky woman. He looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him. Most women would kill for that alone, but then you go and add his good looks and your beauty, and you’ve got yourself a movie-star couple.”
She sighs and asks me if I’m wearing any jewelry or hairpins. I tell her no, and she helps me onto a cool table describing what’s happening now and what will happen next. I lay on my back and feel the table move. Then a whirring sound fills the space around me, and I hold very still the way Rosa has instructed me. When it’s over, I feel the table move again, and Rosa is helping me back into my wheelchair.
“Here’s your blanket for your eyes,” she says placing the small blanket in my hands. “I’ll take you out to the waiting room, and the doctor will come get you with the results.”
“Thank you, Rosa.”
In the waiting area, I hear a chair scoot when Rosa wheels me in, and Roman is there taking control. “I’ve got her,” he says, and I can only imagine Rosa’s expression. She probably rolled her eyes or shook her head. I know because that’s what I would do if I were her.
“Goodbye, Rosa.” I wish I could give her a hug and speak louder. All this moving around is making me nauseous again.
“Goodbye, Aria. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“How did it go?”
“Fine, I guess. They don’t tell you anything. The doctor’s supposed to come out with the results.”
“Good. Well, they’d better hurry. You can’t be sitting around out here. You need to lie down and rest.”
We wait together and someone else whisks me off for an MRI and returns me to Roman who is going out of his mind at this point. “This is ridiculous. You need to be in a room with a bed not hanging around in the waiting room in a wheelchair.”
I reach out my hand for him and feel his close around it. “Shush, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.” I’m only partially kidding. I’ve seen him get upset, the veins that bulge from his temples are menacing.
“I’m in perfect health,” he grumbles, and I can’t help but smile. Stubborn, just like me.
We wait for fifteen more minutes. I know because Roman gives me a time update every five before he goes storming off to find a doctor. When he returns, I’m feeling worse, and I’d give anything for a place to lie down.
“Hello, Aria, I’m Dr. Lang. We’re going to go to my office to talk about your scans, okay?”
“Roman?” I ask reaching out to make sure he’s here.
“I’m right here.” He takes my hand, and the doctor wheels me a short way down a hall to his office.
The men sit, and Roman speaks first. “Is it safe for her to fly? I would like to take her home to Chicago.”
“I believe that would be fine. There’s no sign of a fracture or bleeding, but you do show signs of a concussion. I spoke with Dr. Rosenthal, and he said he stitched you up. Take care of those, don’t wash your hair for a few days, take the pain medication he prescribed, drink plenty of fluids, and rest. Do you have a history of migraines?”
“I’ve had a few, not regularly, though. I don’t take anything for them.”
“I think that’s what you’re experiencing now as a result of the concussion. You might be dehydrated as well with that sunburn. We can give you some IV fluids before you go if you’d like.”
“Is that necessary? Can I get the same results by drinking water?”
“Sure, if you can take a liter today and maybe another half-liter tonight you should be feeling better. I think going back to Chicago is a good idea as well, Mr. Forrest.”
“Good. Can we go now?”
Wow, he’s not trying to score any points with this guy. Blunt and to the point, that’s Roman Forrest.
“Yes. It was nice to meet you both. I’m sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.”
“
Thank you,” I say, and I feel Roman moving me out of the office. He doesn’t even bother to say thank you or goodbye. I get the feeling he doesn’t like hospitals much. Or maybe Dr. Lang is attractive, and he didn’t want me to open my eyes and see him before we left. That thought makes me smile.
“What are you smiling about?”
“You didn’t seem to like Dr. Lang very much.”
“And that’s funny to you?”
“No, I just wondered why.”
“I don’t dislike him, he’s fine. I just wanted to get out of this place. I hate hospitals. They give me the creeps.”
“Why?”
He is quiet for a moment before he answers. “My Nana died in an old hospital like this one. It brings back bad memories.”
“I’m sorry, Roman. I didn’t mean to drudge up bad memories.”
“It’s all right. I just want to get you out of here and back to the resort so you can rest. I’ll have my jet ready to take us home in the morning.”
“You have a jet?” Here I was trying to book an eight-hundred-dollar flight in coach home yesterday, and he has a jet on standby.
“Yes, you’ll be able to lay down and rest on the way home.”
“A jet with a bed, must be rough.”
“I’m a successful man, I need a jet. What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that your carbon footprint is probably off the charts. You’re killing the planet with your carbon dioxide use, you know?”
“No, I didn’t. You’re a tree hugger, aren’t you?”
“I resent that terminology. I’m pro-environment if you need to put a label on it, and you should be, too, if you want your children to grow up on the same beautiful planet you did.”
“So, you’d prefer if I bought coach tickets on a commercial plane?”
“No, you’ll still be flying. I just think that if you own a private jet, you probably fly more often than is necessary because it’s convenient.”
“You know what they say about people who assume, don’t you?”
“Never mind, can we just get back to the resort? I want to go to bed.”
“Finally, something we agree on.”