The doctor leaves. I don’t even know what they agreed upon, but I know Lyam doesn’t back down, so that was probably an interesting compromise.
“I’m bringing you home,” Lyam finally says. “You’ll rest better there.”
They ask if he wants a wheelchair, but he declines. He’d rather carry me. I close my heavy eyes and hear him mutter an apology to the nurses for scaring them. It isn’t enough, but it’s something.
Ah. So Dr. Martindidget through, at least a little.
He nestles me back in the passenger seat of his car, and this time, the ride home is less frantic. He doesn’t want to jostle me. I close my eyes, half in and half out of sleep, until we get back to Le Marquise and he leads me upstairs.
I fall asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.
When I wake, sunlight streams through the windows and Lyam’s on his phone, his back to me.
“I know,” he says in a hushed whisper. “Motherfucker. We’ll do what we have to.”
I see his shoulders slump, and then he pinches the bridge of his nose. Nausea rolls through my belly. I need food.
When he turns to me, my heart squeezes. He looks haggard and tired, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.
“Come here,” I say softly. “Lie down.”
He turns his back to me and speaks in a low voice into the phone.
“I gotta go. Cosette’s up.”
He hangs up the phone, tosses it aside, then walks over to me.
“You didn’t sleep last night?” I ask. I reach my hand to him and gently touch his face.
When he reaches over to cradle my head, I close my eyes. Inhale. Exhale.
We’ve been through a lot.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is raspy from lack of sleep.
“Nauseous,” I whisper. “Shaken, but better. You?”
“Yeah. I got you food.”
He helps me sit up and arranges a tray with breakfast on it.
“Don’t you want to lay down? You look so tired. I only want a little to hold me over.” I nibble a croissant, then lay back down on the bed, exhausted.
Wordlessly, he climbs into bed next to me. Takes the croissant from my hand. Feeds me little bits.
“So. You said something about me being yourwifelast night? Would you care to elaborate on that, Mr. Gerard?”
He looks at me as if I just sprouted a second head. “Of course you’ll marry me,” he says sternly. “You’re having my baby and I love you. Why wouldn’t you marry me?”
He loves me.
“I love you, too,” I say, my voice trembling. “But you didn’taskme.”
“I need to ask?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Yes!”
When he shoots me that boyish smirk, my heart turns in my chest. “Cosette. I love you. The best way I know to protect you and care for you and our baby is to marry you. Will you marry me, or do I have to steal you away to Vegas and find an Elvis?”
