“Yes.” There’s amusement in his voice. “You’re good at that. But there will be more parties. Don’t think about it.”
“Mhm. Okay.”
“I’ve canceled our schedules for tomorrow.”
I blink my eyes open. “Our schedules?”
“Yes. No meetings, online or in person.”
It takes me a moment. There were some calls I needed to make. “But… I… really?”
“Yes.” He uses gentle hands to adjust the towel over my forehand. His hand slides down, and it’s cool against the base of my neck. “Damn it. You’re burning up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Damn. That’s how I know you’re truly sick. You’reapologizingto me.”
“I’m polite,” I protest and sink deeper into the pillow. It’s hard to maintain a conversation.
“No, you’re not,” he says. There’s another wet towel placed along the back of my neck. It feels heavenly. Like taking a bath on a hot day. “Damn it, Paige. Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad earlier today? Or yesterday?”
“It wasn’t important,” I murmur, my eyes drifting closed. “I felt fine.”
“Of course it is. When you’re sick, when you’re hurt, you tell me. Youtell me, Paige.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Why?” His voice is tight, but the hand brushing over my face is careful. “Because it’s my job to take care of you.”
“No. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t put that on you.”
He scoffs. “Put it on me? You’re my wife. Even if you seem to forget it all the damn time. But I’ve never, not for a second since we stood in that courthouse, been able to forget that I’m your husband. So you tell me. When you’re hurt, or sick, or in pain. Okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur into the pillow.
“Good.”
My lips curve up. “Great.”
He’s silent for several minutes. I almost drift off completely. But then the bed shifts beside me, and his voice appears, farther away.
“I’m going to find a doctor,” he says.
I blink open my eyes to find at him shrugging into a jacket. I don’t want to be alone in here. It’s a strange hotel room and it’s so very, very quiet. Nothing but my own spinning head.
“You’re leaving?”
He nods. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“How soon?”
He turns back to his bag. I watch him rummage for a few seconds before he turns back, a dark-red box in his hands. I recognize that color. It’s Artemis’s color.
“I won’t be gone longer than an hour. Here…” He sets the box down beside me and tears open the packaging. “I was going to wait to give… it’s not important.”
He hands me a watch.
It’s an Artemis Jewel model with a custom face. Behind the ticking hands is a beautiful artistic wave. It looks like a version of my tattoo, but better, more artistic. The band is dark brown leather.
