ELEVEN

 

Emily could feel the tension coiled in Paul’s body.

She was leaning against his side as they sat on the leather couch in Jack Martin’s office. Her own stomach twisted with a mixture of nerves and faint hope, and she realized Paul must feel the same. The muscles of his shoulders and abdomen were tight, and the arm he’d wrapped around her was gripping her just a little too hard.

It was strangely comforting—knowing Paul was just as anxious as she was.

“I don’t understand,” he said, sounding much more composed than she knew he felt. “How did this information just suddenly materialize now?”

Martin shrugged. He was a big man who was handsome in a laidback, unshaven way. Emily liked him. “I don’t know. The report surfaced last night, which is why I called first thing this morning. It’s a very complete report on an engineered virus that was being developed in your father’s research facility. It fits with what Mrs. Marino might have.”

“And you hadn’t found it on your earlier searches?”

“No. I had my computer guys search again, in case we missed something the first time, and it was only then they discovered this report.”

“Why was it missed the first time?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know. It shouldn’t have been. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t think it would have been missed. My people are careful.”

Emily looked over at Paul and saw he was thinking the same thing she was.

Instead of speculating, however, he asked, “What does that mean?”

“Two options,” Martin replied. “One is that someone in your father’s organization is leading us on a wild goose-chase. The report was planted so we’d waste our time on a false lead.”

“But why would they bother?” Emily asked. “It’s not like we were close to finding a cure or anything. All they need to do is wait for me to die, if that’s what they want.”

Paul’s arm tightened around her briefly, and she knew what she’d said had bothered him.

“You’re right,” Martin confirmed, his brown eyes surprisingly kind for such a no-nonsense man. “I don’t think they’d waste their time on something like that.”

“And the second option?” Paul prompted.

“You have a friend in your dad’s organization, pointing us in the right direction.”

Emily glanced over and met Paul’s eyes. His expression looked strangely frozen, for some reason. Not the reaction she’d expected.

“I know you need some time to process all of this and think over possibilities,” Martin continued, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got some experts who are evaluating the report right now, so they’ll be able to tell us if it looks genuine. Assuming it is, all I need to know is whether you think the information in this report is worth pursuing.”

When Paul didn’t answer, Emily did. “There’s no reason not to pursue it, right? I mean, if it can help the doctors figure out what this virus is, then maybe that would help in coming up with a cure. And, if it’s not, then no harm done.” She glanced up at Paul. “Right?”

“Right,” he agreed, still looking a little stiff.

She shifted on the couch. “We have nothing to lose—even if it’s just a waste of time. And maybe you do have a friend you didn’t know about.”

“Right,” Paul repeated. “There will still be a lot of work left to do, won’t there? Interpreting the research results and then developing an anti-viral medication or whatever they’d do?”

“The report was very complete. It’s all Greek to me, of course, but my smart folks told me right away that it looked there was enough there to development some sort of treatment.”

Emily felt a flare of hope, but she couldn’t really let herself believe it. Nothing ever worked so easily, so miraculously for her.

“You’ll look into who might be responsible for planting the report?” Paul asked Martin.

“We’re already on it.”

Martin stood up when they did and shook their hands as they left his office.

In the car, Emily reached out to put a hand on Paul’s arm. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

She didn’t believe him. He’d taken this news in a very strange way. “What are you thinking?” she asked, not wanting him to sink into silent brooding.

 He didn’t answer immediately, but finally he admitted, “I went to visit my dad two days ago.”

“What?” she demanded, too sharply. She tempered her tone as she continued, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were just getting over being sick. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I can’t believe you would just—” She bit back her instinctive frustration over being left out of something so important to him, since this was hardly the time to address it. Resolving she’d get into that issue at another time, she asked in a different tone, “How did it go?”

“About how you would expect.”

“What does that mean? What did he say?”

“He said he had nothing to do with your getting the virus.”

She thought for a minute before she responded. “Paul, what if he’s telling you the truth?  What if this mysterious friend is him? He could have steered us to the report we needed. All he would have to do was make a call.” When Paul made a face, she added, “He could be trying to help you.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. He always has an underlying agenda.”

“Then who else would have done it? The timing of this is just too perfect. Maybe he really is trying to—”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think it’s even possible that you might be wrong about him?” When she saw his face, she hurried on, “Not in anything he did, but in how he feels about you.”

“If he wanted to help me, he could have just told me directly about the virus and where to find the report.”

“But maybe he thinks someone in his organization is responsible for giving me the virus. If that’s the case, then he’d have to be careful about what he gives away. Paul, I don’t know. There could be any number of reasons why he’d do it underhanded this way. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit he was wrong. I’m not saying it’s a sure thing, but maybe we can hope.”

She let out a shaky breath when he didn’t answer. “If the report is from him, then maybe what’s in it is real. Don’t you think that’s worth hoping for?”

“Of course it is.” His tone had changed, and so had the expression on his face.

He didn’t believe her about his father—she could see that—but that didn’t mean the report was a fake. He was going to let himself hope for that, at least.

Emily had lived the last few months knowing she was going to die—shaping everything she did, felt, and said around that irrevocable fact. She wasn’t sure how to even process the hope that she might live, and she had no idea what it meant for her relationship with Paul.

One thing she knew, however—something she’d never dreamed would be possible when she accepted his ring two months ago.

Paul wanted her to live. He wanted it deeply, with all of the fierce intensity of his nature.

She could feel it in his body, hear it in his voice, see it in his face.

“It’s better than no hope at all,” she added.

He reached out and pulled her against him in the backseat of the car. “It’s much better than no hope, baby.”

Emily sighed hoarsely and buried her face briefly in Paul’s shirt, breathing in the warm, expensive scent of him and loving the way he called her “baby.”

It a few panicked pangs through her heart, however. At first, she’d thought the endearment just slipped out during sex or when she was really sick. She’d assumed it was just one of those things guys said.

But Paul called her "baby" all the time now, and it seemed to signify that he meant it.

He shouldn’t—he just shouldn’t—mean it.

***

In just a week, Dr. Franklin had a treatment he wanted her to try, based on the information found in the report.

It was a long-shot. Just a preliminary attempt—an established treatment for another virus that had similarities to the one described in the report. Even if it didn’t work, the treatment shouldn’t have any significant negative side-effects, so he thought they might as well try it right away.

Emily went to the hospital and was hooked up to an IV for several hours, and she and Paul went back the next day so they could check the results.

Evidently, the treatment hadn’t worked the way he’d hoped. She could see it in Dr. Franklin’s face before he actually said the words.

They would keep trying, he said. The report had given them a number of invaluable leads. There would be another treatment to try soon.

It was still early.

But she and Paul were quiet as they headed back to the car. When they climbed in the backseat, Emily wasn’t sure what to say. She felt kind of crushed, even though she knew it was ridiculous to feel that way. So she also felt annoyed and impatient with herself for giving into such an irrational despair.

She darted a look over to Paul. He stared out the window blankly as the driver pulled away from the curb. His expression was composed but she knew—she knew—he was crushed like she was.

For some crazy reason, it helped. It gave her a purpose, something to do. She didn’t want Paul to feel sad or bleak or despairing. Not because of her. She couldn’t stand for him to feel that way.

“This is silly,” she said, smiling at him—just a little wobbly—when he turned to look at her in faint surprise. “We shouldn’t be acting like this is the end of the world. Dr. Franklin is right. There’s no reason why their first attempt would work. We’re going to be total wrecks if we’re like this after every treatment for the next several weeks.”

Paul actually gave a huff of amusement. “Speak for yourself. I make a point to never be a wreck.”

She giggled at his irony. “Good to know.” She reached over and curved a hand around the back of his head, pulling his face down toward hers. She kissed him lightly on the mouth.  Marveled that she was entitled to do so. “Let’s not get depressed yet. Okay?”

Paul’s lips seemed to cling to hers, and he twined his fingers through her loose hair as he deepened the kiss. When their lips parted, he leaned his forehead against hers and murmured, “Okay.”

Emily’s chest overflowed with something like sweetness, but then it was followed by those pangs of panic again. She’d felt this way before—like when they were making love under the stars on Prince Edward Island and Paul had seemed so incredibly overwhelmed by the experience.

Part of her craved the deep feeling, the neediness she sometimes sensed from him, but part of her absolutely hated it.

It wasn’t what their marriage was supposed to be about. It would mean they should never have gotten married at all.

She just couldn’t leave Paul grieving when she died.

She leaned back against the seat of the car and twisted her engagement ring over her wedding band on her finger nervously.

“Emily?” Paul asked, his voice sounding different—more like his normal protective concern than the strained way he’d sounded most of the day today. “What is it?”

She shook her head, forcing back the brewing fear. Paul was just a passionate man. He’d always been that way, even though he tried to hide it. His behavior probably didn’t mean what she sometimes thought it might mean.

“We should do something fun today,” she said brightly, successfully pushing back her anxious thoughts. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m up for anything. What do you want to do?”

Emily shook her head with a half-smile. “Don’t give me that. It doesn’t always have to be about me. You should choose today. What would be fun for you?”

Put on the spot, Paul looked momentarily perplexed.  Then he gave her a grin that was almost predatory. “Since you’ve asked…”

“Uh oh.” Emily shifted in the seat, suddenly sure he was going to take ruthless advantage of her insistence on doing what he wanted.

He chuckled. “We should go out tonight. Dinner, dancing, something like that.”

She brightened. “That sounds fun.”

“So we should find you a new dress to wear.”

She gasped, suddenly realizing where this was going. “I don’t need a new dress. I have that beautiful dress you got me in New York!”

“I think you’ll need another one for tonight,” he said, with ostensible nonchalance, although a tiny corner of his mouth was twitching just slightly.

She glared at him in outrage. “This is a trick. A sneaky, malicious trick! You just want to make me buy more clothes, despite my very rational arguments against doing so!”

Paul threw his head back and laughed at her indignation. “You did say I could choose what I wanted to do this afternoon.”

Emily tried to organize her very rational arguments against spending Paul’s money to buy clothes she didn’t need, but she had trouble making any of them very convincing.

At least she’d succeeded in dragging Paul out of his bleak mood.

“Fine,” she muttered, shooting him a dark look. “But the dress is not going to be expensive, and there will be no fancy accessories to go with it.”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

Emily ended up buying a gorgeous black dress. Paul also insisted on picking out for her a double-strand choker of black pearls that matched perfectly, which she begrudgingly accepted, only because he kept capitalizing on the fact that she’d said he could do what he wanted that afternoon.

Despite her complaints, she was feeling pretty pleased with the purchases that evening as she got dressed. She’d taken a long bath and had even taken the time to paint her fingernails and toenails a striking dark red. Plus, she spent forever on her hair until she’d managed to convince it to stay in soft, bouncy waves around her shoulders, instead of frizzing like it had an annoying tendency to do.

Her dress was black, with cute cap sleeves. The hem fell above her knees, and the silhouette tightened just under her breasts in the most adorable vintage bow. It could masquerade as a classic “little black dress,” but it was too quirky to be elegant in any traditional way. Emily loved it, even though Paul had to bully her into even trying the dress on at all.

She wasn’t sure where Paul was going to take her tonight and—ridiculously, since they’d been married now for two months—it felt like she was going out on a date with him.

She was peering at herself in the mirror with a kind of giddy thrill at how she’d managed to look both gorgeous and like her at the same time when she heard a tap on her bedroom door.

“You ready, Emily?”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to clasp the diamond and emerald bracelet Paul had given her for her birthday on her wrist with one hand.

Paul opened the door and came in. He looked absolutely scrumptious in his black suit and tie, which he wore with his typical effortless sophistication.

He stopped when he saw her, his eyes reflecting a mingling of heat, possessiveness and awe. She’d seen that look in his eyes before—mostly notably when they had sex—and she recognized it now as admiration. “Very nice,” he murmured, just a little thickness in his voice.

It was the thickness, of course, that convinced her he meant it. He must really like how she looked.

She tried not to preen, although her cheeks were a little too pink. “Thanks. I do love the dress, although I still don’t approve of your sneaky tactics in buying it.” To distract herself from that very particular look in his eyes, she picked up the black pearls.

Before she could put them around her neck, Paul stepped over and took them from her hands. He gently moved her hair out of the way and clasped the necklace for her, his fingers warm against her skin. “I should be able to buy my wife a few things without resorting to sneaky tactics.”

“Whatever.” She frowned slightly and raised her left hand. “Do you think the bracelet looks all right with the necklace? Maybe I should—”

“It looks perfect.” His eyes were strangely hot as he stood behind her and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

She wasn’t sure the pearls really looked perfect with the diamonds and emeralds, but she liked how the jewelry looked anyway.

And she liked that Paul liked how it looked.

And she really liked how she and Paul looked together in the mirror.

Like a couple.

“Okay,” she said, trying to pull herself together and not turn around and kiss Paul hard. If nothing else, it would mess up her makeup. “I’m ready.”

He put a hand on the small of her back as they walked out of her room. She loved how it felt there, somehow both protective and possessive.

She wondered if this was how any wife would feel when she was about to go out for a night on the town with her husband.

* * *

It was several hours later—well after midnight—when they returned to the apartment.

Emily clung to Paul’s arm with one arm and with the other she cradled a bouquet of pink tulips that he’d bought for her from a market they’d passed on the way to dinner, after she’d randomly mentioned that she loved them and that she’d carried pink tulips on their wedding day.

She was laughing hysterically over a dry comment he’d made on the elevator ride up. Her head was spinning, and she was flying on a giddy high. All worries and anxiety from earlier in the day had completely vanished from her conscious thoughts. She'd barely thought about them all evening.

“I have something to announce,” she said, enunciating every syllable with what she believed to be impressive articulation. “It’s important.”

Paul had started to loosen his tie, even before they’d made it past the entry hall. He looked warm and relaxed and slightly flushed, but still yummy in his suit. At her words, he paused and gave her a questioning look. “What is it?”

She met his eyes soberly. “These tulips desperately need water.”

He laughed softly, evidently finding her words funnier than she did. She’d thought it was a serious subject, since the flowers were beautiful, beloved, and must be carefully preserved.

“Then we should find a vase for them.”

She followed him into the kitchen, since she assumed he knew where the vases might be stashed in the apartment. He pulled a simple crystal vase from a cabinet and then watched as she cut the stems, fill the vase with water, and arrange the tulips in it.

When the flowers were suitably arranged, she stepped back and admired them, darting her eyes over to Paul to make sure he was admiring them as well.

He was looking at her rather than the flowers, but his eyes were soft so she couldn’t bring herself to complain.

“I have something else to announce,” she declared, as the knowledge hit her like a wave. She'd realized why her mind was a little fuzzy.

“What’s that?” Paul's lips were tight again, like he was suppressing a smile.

“Those fancy places you took me to tonight should have their license…licenses…their licenses revoked for serving so much alcohol to an eighteen-year-old.”

Paul chuckled. “You didn’t drink that much.”

She closed her eyes and tried to cast her mind back on how much she’d drunk. She’d had a glass of red wine with dinner. Then some champagne at the place they’d gone to dance and have dessert. She’d never finished her glass, but it had been topped off a few times by their attentive server.

“True.” She leaned forward to add in a stage whisper into his ear, “But I believe I might be a tiny bit buzzed.”

Paul laughed again and pulled her into a soft hug. “I think you might be right.”

She hugged him back eagerly, loving how hard and lean and masculine he felt against her. “I had fun tonight,” she told him, her voice muffled by his suit jacket.

“Good,” he murmured, holding her tightly against him. “I did too.”

When she pulled away, she fiddled with the tulips a little more until they looked appropriately gorgeous in the vase. Then she started to pick up the vase to bring it into the living area, but Paul took the vase out of her hands and carried it for her.

She suspected he (wrongly) believed she might drop it.

He placed the tulips on the coffee table, and then readjusted their placement on the polished surface three times at her instructions.

That duty accomplished, she went to the bathroom. As she washed her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were deeply flushed, and her hair and dress were a little rumpled, but she still liked how she looked. She looked pretty, elegant, somehow womanly. She took off her pearls, since they felt too tight around her neck.

She nodded in satisfaction at her reflection before she returned to Paul in the living area.

He’d turned on some music and was sitting on the sofa, reading something on his smartphone.

She frowned at him. “No work tonight.”

He smiled and put the phone down. “Just checking email.”

“That’s work.”

Then she noticed the music. It was just instrumental music, but it was very compelling—and it had a slow, sensual beat she loved. She sighed in pleasure.

“I loved dancing with you tonight,” she told him as she started dancing, mostly just swinging her hips, in the empty space between the furniture grouping and the doors to the terrace. The lights of the city were spread out beautifully from the vantage point of the apartment, and they seemed to be pulsing, dancing with her. “Thanks for taking me.”

“You’re welcome,” Paul said from the sofa behind her. She wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t know what his expression was, but his voice was low and very nice.

She closed her eyes and let herself go, enjoying the music and the freedom of shedding some of her normal inhibitions. “You’re a good dancer.”

“So are you.” His voice seemed to be closer than it had been before, but she didn’t turn to investigate. The placement of his voice didn't seem particularly important.

So she was surprised when she suddenly felt Paul’s arms around her, turning her around so she faced him. He’d fallen into rhythm with her, and he gently pulled up her arms so they were wrapped around his neck.

She sighed in pleasure again and pressed up against him, moving with him instinctively in an unstructured slow dance.

They’d danced like this earlier in the evening, and Paul had made her feel like she was the only woman in the room, his warm eyes never straying from her, despite the gorgeous people all around them.

He really was a very good husband to have.

They danced for a long time in the living room without talking. Eventually, the dance became more intimate than anything they’d done in public. Emily’s body was completely relaxed, almost like she was melting. She rubbed herself against Paul’s lean body so she could better enjoy the sensations of being so close to him.

Paul’s hands had lowered to her bottom, which he was cupping possessively. He was also pressing her pelvis against his, and she gradually felt him grow hard against her middle. It all felt natural, sensual, instinctive. Nothing confusing or shocking or with hard edges.

When he started kissing her, that seemed instinctive too. She responded eagerly, letting the pleasure and the deep feeling pulse through her body with her blood. She raised her hands from his neck so she could stroke his hair, and when she heard him moan into the kiss, she moaned back.

Their mouths parted eventually, and she dropped her head backward, closing her eyes and releasing a sigh. “Feels so good,” she breathed, pressing herself against the bulge of his arousal as their hips moved together to the rhythm of the music.

“Mm hmm,” he murmured, leaning down to mouth her jaw and then her throat, which she’d exposed to him.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, as she felt the pressure of his lips on her neck. “Feels so good.”

“Mm,” he hummed against her skin. His hands had started to bunch up the fabric of her skirt at the back until he’d pulled her dress up far enough to caress the back of her thighs and her ass.

She suddenly realized arousal was throbbing between her thighs, and she wasn’t really very buzzed anymore. Her mind was a little blurry, but it was from desire rather than any significant effects of the champagne.

They weren’t really dancing anymore. Just embracing. She raised one leg to wrap around his thighs so she could rub her arousal against him. Since she was still wearing very high heels, her pelvis was better aligned with his than normal.

He grunted and lifted her slightly so her center could find the bulge in his trousers. Their grinding against each other was enthusiastic, if a little clumsy, and Emily huffed rhythmically in effort and pleasure as the friction developed into the beginnings of an orgasm.

Paul groaned and released her, taking a step back.

She whimpered in disappointment and reached out to grab him again.

“If we keep it up, I’m going to lose it,” he said thickly. When she gazed up at his face, she saw his eyes were hot and urgent, and his skin had broken out in a sheen of perspiration.

“That's okay. I wanted to come.”

“Come here, then,” he murmured, sitting down on a chair and drawing her onto his lap.

She came willingly, her body throbbing with arousal and her mind whirling with feeling and sensation. The music still sounded a slow, sensual backdrop, and Paul’s body was so hot he seemed to burn her.

But she loved it—she loved all of it. She let him adjust her in his lap until her legs were draped across his thighs, and she was leaning sideways against his chest. His hand slipped under her skirt and then under her panties until he was fondling her intimately.

“Yeah,” she gasped, as his touch triggered sharp ripples of pleasure. “Please, Paul!”

He slipped two fingers inside her and massaged her clit with his thumb. And after just a few moments, she let her head fall back as she groaned, a climax building quickly inside her.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Paul murmured hoarsely, his hand working between her legs, and his eyes never leaving her face. “So sweet, so beautiful.”

His words turned her on as much as his touch. She tried to ride his fingers with her hips. “Oh God,” she choked out. “Gonna come.”

“That’s right, baby. Come for me.” He bent his neck so he could kiss her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids. He murmured between kisses, “So beautiful, so sweet.”

She came hard, shuddering on his lap and in his arms as the pleasure ripped through her. She gasped out her pleasure and then released a broken cry as his hand kept working, bringing her to a second orgasm on the heels of the first.

When the sensations had worked themselves through, she relaxed into a boneless, sated sprawl on top of him.

He held her tightly, almost tenderly, brushing kisses into her hair—even though his body was still tense and aroused.

In the dazed blur of orgasmic aftermath, she felt cherished. Couldn't begin to understand it.

“Oh God,” she moaned, when her mind started working again, “That was better than any buzz from champagne.”

 “It better be.”

She pulled away from him so she could see his face. His eyes were blazing with something she barely recognized. It took her breath away.

When she felt the beginnings of those panicked pangs from the implications of the feeling conveyed in his gaze, she ruthlessly stifled them. She wasn't—just wasn't—going to worry about that tonight.

Partly as a means of distraction and partly because she noticed something in Paul's eyes she wanted to encourage, a teasing impulse took hold of her without warning. She summoned the will to pull herself out of his lap. “Thank you,” she said, desperately trying to hide a smile. “That was wonderful. I really appreciate your doing that for me. I’m kind of tired now, so I think I’ll go to bed, if that's all right.”

Paul just stared at her blankly and held himself perfectly still.

She burst into a ripple of delighted laughter at his expression and, since her knees felt a little shaky, dropped down to sit on a nearby ottoman.

Evidently realizing he was being teased, Paul narrowed his eyes at her with an impressive coolness, despite the way he was obviously overcome with desire.

She laughed again and gave him a playful look. “Were you thinking we would do something else?”

Something changed in his expression. It suddenly became almost predatory. Paul smiled slowly. “Are you trying to taunt me?” he drawled, a thrilling and almost dangerous note in his voice. “I assure you—it won’t go unanswered.”

She shivered, feeling a new clench of excitement between her legs, despite her previous orgasms. She’d never felt this way before—sexy and playful at the same time. She would never have believed she’d have the right to act this way with Paul.

For the moment, none of the anxiety and uncertainty surrounding their situation mattered. All that mattered was he was her husband, and she was his wife, and he needed this tonight. As much as she did.

He was about to chase her, to carry her to bed, to take her the way he wanted. She could see it in his eyes, in his coiled stance.

It was exactly what she wanted.

She adjusted her legs so she’d be ready to flee, since it wouldn’t do to give in too easily, since she somehow sensed Paul needed the chase as much as the sex. Her position on the ottoman wasn’t exactly elegant, but she couldn’t seem to care. “If you’re just going to talk,” she teased, “then I really am going to go to bed.”

Paul made his first stalking move toward her.

Emily jumped up and ran.

It didn’t take him long to catch her, since she was hampered by her high heels.

She squealed when Paul grabbed her around the waist and swung her up so she was draped over his shoulder in an undignified way. She squirmed wildly and tried to denounce him as a Neanderthal, but she was laughing too hard and too turned on to do either very effectively.

She felt his shoulder beneath her middle shaking with amusement, even though he managed to maintain a mostly militant composure.

He carried her into the master bedroom, and Emily started to shudder with anticipation. It wasn’t particularly comfortable to be slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain, but she’d be lying if she claimed it didn't excite her.

Determined to not submit too easily, however, she pounded him with her fists on his back—the only part of his body she could easily reach—and tried to wriggle out of his hard grip, calling down creative maledictions on his cruel, caveman ways.

Paul responded with a crisp pop on her ass.

“Oh!” she cried, absolutely astonished by a sharp clench of desire at the feel of his swatting her ass. Or maybe it was just the friction from the way she was writhing in his grip.

When Paul reached the bedside, he swung her down off his shoulder and deposited her on the bed. His eyes were hot and excited, and he gave her a predatory smile “Did you like that?”

Emily couldn’t help by squirm as her body rippled with pleasure. “Of course not,” she managed to say. “I don’t respond to caveman tactics. But I'm very generous and I forgive you. So get down here.” She grabbed his tie and pulled him down on top of her.

They kissed, hard and urgent, with Paul pressing his hot weight on top of her. She was so aroused she rubbed her hips against his, shamelessly loving the tight bulge she felt in his trousers.

She loved that he was so turned on. Just as turned on as she was.

They kissed and rocked together with increasing eagerness. Then Paul turned Emily over so she was lying on her stomach, and he raised her hips so her bottom was higher than the rest of her body.

She panted frantically against the pillow, her whole body shaking in anticipation. She looked over her shoulder to see Paul fumbling with the zipper of his trousers. They both were still mostly dressed. She even still had her shoes on. But the clothes just made the whole thing sexier and somehow naughtier.

They’d only had sex a few times, and those times had always been missionary.

Emily blood raced at the thought of his taking her from behind.

“Is this all right, baby?” he asked, as he lifted her skirt, moved aside her panties, and lined up his erection at her very wet entrance.  His expression was hot and intense and fierce somehow. She’d never seen him look quite like that before.

She smothered a giggle at how sweet he was—still concerned about her even when he was supposed to be a caveman. “Oh, God, yeah. Please.” She wriggled her butt a little, dying to feel him inside her.

He closed his eyes as he pitched his hips forward. The penetration felt different—deeper, more intense—than it had in the previous position they’d used. She choked on a whimper of deep pleasure as the pressure intensified.

It didn’t hurt. It just felt like so much. And she desperately wanted it.

Paul gripped the soft flesh of her hips as he began to thrust in a fast rhythm, pushing her body forward on every thrust. He was already more out of control than she was used to seeing him, but she loved it, wanted it, needed it.

It seemed to match the way she was feeling too.

She fisted her hands in the bedding and tried to push her bottom back toward his thrusts, but she didn’t have much leverage in this position. Her cheek was pressed against the pillow, and she panted hotly as the sensations intensified implausibly fast.

Paul was grunting rhythmically, primitive and animalistic. She knew he needed this, needed to let himself go. And that knowledge gave her as much pleasure as the physical stimulation. The feelings spiraled up, blurring her vision and tightening her chest.

Their sex wasn’t really rough—at least, not by regular standards—but Paul was being less gentle than he’d been with her before. They were shaking the bed now with their motion, and their skin was slapping together. The carnal sounds made the whole thing even hotter.

She heard herself making little sobbing sounds as the sensations got more and more intense. Paul’s grunting was getting louder too, and his hands tightened almost painfully on her hips.

He was about to come. She knew it, and she didn’t want his pleasure to be dampened by the knowledge that he’d come before she did. So she squeezed one of her hands beneath her body so she could rub her clit.

She cried out loudly as she massaged herself, causing her body and the pleasure to tighten down.

“Come, baby,” Paul choked out. “Come now.” He was visibly trying to hold himself back.

Her body rocked with a hard orgasm. She smothered a cry with the pillow.

Paul came too with a loud roar, his hips jerking clumsily against her ass as he rode out his climax.

They were both still shaking in the aftermath when he kind of collapsed on top of her, his weight suddenly descending on her back.

She grunted in surprise, but it wasn’t unpleasant. She liked how overwhelmed and replete and boneless he felt on top of her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up enough to turn her over onto her back, and then more gently easing his weight down on top of her.

She gathered him into her arms, spreading her legs so he could settle more comfortably between them. He was hot and sweating beneath his evening suit, and he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, pressing a few clumsy kisses against her skin.

“That was so good,” she murmured, softly stroking his back. “God, Paul, that was good.”

She didn’t expect a response. Not yet. She would have thought that, as he got used to having sex with her, he wouldn’t have been so leveled by the completion. But, if anything, it seemed to affect him more now than it had at the beginning. It was like he poured all of himself into it, and it took a while to gather himself back.

She loved it and feared it both.

After a few minutes, she started to feel a little uncomfortable. He had come inside her, and she felt a little sloppy because of it. Plus, he was kind of heavy. She tried not to shift beneath him, however, since he was still breathing raggedly and hadn’t yet lifted his head.

Her hand strayed up to his neck.

He released a sound like a low, long moan as she caressed him there. His breath was hot against the skin of her throat.

Since he seemed to be enjoying it, she kept stroking the nape of his neck. He moaned again. Then she felt another, different sensation. One that surprised her.

“Oh,” she said, stiffening slightly as she felt him growing erect again against her thigh. “That was quick.”

“Mm hmm,” he murmured, mouthing her pulse in a way that felt more intentional than before.

A little spark of the playfulness she’d experienced earlier hit her again, and she said with impressive sobriety, “That’s really quick, isn’t it? I thought men slowed down on recovery time when they got older.”

Paul stiffened palpably and lifted his head to glare down at her. “Just how old do you think I am?”

She was hard-pressed not to giggle, but she managed to keep her face still. “Twenty-three, right? Isn’t this a quick recovery time for someone your age?”

He took a raspy breath as he seemed to swallow his indignation. But then his expression suddenly changed. “You little tease,” he muttered, his eyes sparking with affection and amusement, even as he tried to maintain his cool disapproval. “You’re taunting me again.”

Emily burst into rippling laughter and pulled him down into a hug. “Sorry. You need to be teased sometimes, though.”

“Do I?” He kissed her softly. Then again.

“A little teasing is good for someone of your advanced years,” she explained, her heart overflowing with something nameless, something she didn't dare to analyze closely.

Paul laughed out loud, and then he kissed her again. As they kissed, his hand explored between her thighs.

“We can go again,” she gasped, breaking her lips away from his for long enough to suck in air as her body responded to his fondling. “I want to.”

He stifled a groan and claimed another kiss. And he was still kissing her as he lined himself up and sank inside her once more.

This time, their lovemaking was slow, sensual, tender. They kissed almost constantly as they rocked together, and pleasure rose slowly, inexorably inside her from all of the stimulation mingling into her rising emotion.

She was still, for some reason, wearing her high heels, and she toed them off so she could wrap her legs around Paul’s hips, wanting to feel him even more deeply.

Only at the end, when their motion became more urgent, more needy, did their mouths break apart. She panted against his cheek and he panted against hers as their hips worked together in matching passion.

Paul started to murmur out rough endearments as he neared climax, choppy, disconnected words made up of “Baby,” “Good,” “Sweet,” and “Love.”

The words washed over Emily, as powerful as his flesh inside her. She whimpered and arched up into them, into him, as her pleasure finally broke.

He came with her, and then they were both gasping and shaking as they came down, their bodies finally replete.

Emily held his hot, relaxed body on top of her as long as she could. But she was sore now—after two rounds of sex—and their combined fluids inside her was uncomfortable.

Since Paul still hadn’t pulled himself together, she gave him a quick kiss on the temple and then eased herself out from under his weight. He rolled over to let her go, and she ran to the bathroom to clean up.

When she returned, Paul was still sprawled on the bed in his rumpled suit. He looked adorable and incredibly sexy. His eyes were open, and he smiled at her with an inexplicable softness.

She smiled back, but the panic in her chest returned with full force as she started to understand the implications of…everything.

She couldn’t misunderstand what had just happened, what Paul had revealed in the way he’d made love to her just now.

He’d been making love to her—which was something he never should have done. She’d never dreamed it was really possible, and so she hadn’t worried about what would happen to him after she died.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she told him, grabbing a pair of pajamas and going back into the bathroom. She mostly just needed to get away from him for a minute. When she’d changed, brushed her teeth, and washed her face, she went to grab a bottle of water for the bedside table, since she was thirsty.

By the time she returned, Paul had found the energy to heave himself up and get ready for bed too. As soon as he turned off the lights and climbed back into bed, he pulled her into his arms.

She lay in his arms, in his embrace, her cheek resting against his bare chest and her arm draped over his belly.

She felt him relax, felt his breathing even out and slow down, felt some of the hot tenseness leaving his muscles.

She couldn’t deny the way he felt against her at the moment—like he needed her, like he felt safe with her, like he could finally, finally let down some of his defenses.

In any other circumstances, the knowledge would have thrilled her. That Paul needed her as much as she did him. That he cared for her as much as she did him. That he wanted her—all of her—as much as she did him.

But it just wasn’t supposed to happen with them.

It couldn’t happen.

He brushed a few sleepy kisses in her hair and murmured a goodnight. Then she felt him fall asleep.

Emily was absolutely exhausted so it didn’t take her very long to fall asleep too.

But her slumbers were tense and restless, and sometime in the middle of the night she was hit with a stark revelation. Maybe she dreamed the conclusion, or maybe she just finally put the pieces together in her sleep.

But she woke up knowing for sure.

No matter how unlikely, implausible, ridiculous. No matter how much such a thing should never, ever have happened. No matter how ludicrous it was to think that a man like Paul Marino—a man who had learned to protect himself from being hurt—had actually fallen for his dying wife. No matter....

She knew—she knew—he had.

He’d even been mumbling out the words to her just before climax as they’d been making love the last time. She’d heard them but hadn’t fully processed what they meant until now.

She sat up in bed with an anguished gasp, pulling out of the arm Paul was still holding her with in his sleep.

She gasped again as the terror and horror coursed through her.

It was wrong. It was so incredibly wrong.

What had she done to him? How could she have been so incredibly heartless as to bind him to her emotionally when she was only going to be ripped away in the end?

He would grieve. He would be devastated. He would be broken when she died. She knew better than most how deeply emotions ran in Paul, how intensely he felt everything.

She couldn’t bear the thought of it. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.

With a flare of panic, she scrambled to the side of the bed, desperately sucking in air in an attempt to ease the suffocating clench of her chest. Her body was washed with waves of heat, and she felt for a moment like she might literally faint.

She leaned forward, dropping her head between her knees, and tried to force herself to breathe in the dark silence of Paul's bedroom.

Her bedroom now, as much as his.

Tears squeezed from her clenched eyes as she forced in breath after pained breath. Eventually, the wooziness passed and her chest unclamped.

But then her shoulders started to shake with emotion she tried desperately to stifle.

She didn’t want to wake up Paul. He needed to sleep. He needed to be taken care of. He needed to live a long, happy life. He needed not to be left broken when his wife died.

He needed to never have married her at all.

She choked on the rising sobs and nearly lost it when she heard Paul shift on the other side of the bed.

“Emily?” he asked hoarsely. “Baby, what is it?”

She couldn’t answer. Just shook in tight, silent sobs.

He was getting out of bed now. Coming around to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. He wrapped a warm arm around her and pulled her against his side.

“Please don’t cry,” he murmured roughly, wrapping his other arm around her as well so he was holding her in a tight hug. “Please don’t. I can’t stand it.”

She sobbed into his chest, still repressing the emotion so she was barely making any sound. But that was as much as she could suppress. The horrible reality just ripped through her.

She had done it to him. She had asked Paul to marry her, assuming he’d never be emotionally invested, assuming her death would barely be a blip on his emotional radar.

It never should have been anything else.

She’d been so incredibly wrong.

The grief and pain lodged hard in her heart when she was finally able to control her sobs. She leaned against his bare chest and tried to think of some way to explain her breakdown.

He wasn’t going to accept a refusal to answer.

“Emily?” he prompted, gently stroking her messy hair. “You need to tell me.”

“It’s just…” she choked, terror keeping her from speaking her deepest grief out loud, “It’s just everything.”

He seemed satisfied by this response. He hugged her more tightly. “I know. I feel the same way.”

She hugged him back. She couldn’t help it. Despite everything, she still needed to comfort him and to take comfort from him.

Eventually, he pulled away and peered down at her face in the dark room. “Are you okay? Can you come back to bed?”

She nodded and crawled back under the covers as he climbed into bed beside her. He pulled her into their normal position, and she didn’t try to pull away.

But she wanted to. Every time he touched her—every look and the sound of his voice—seemed to affirm the awful realization she’d come to.

She wasn’t sure how she’d missed it before.

But she knew it now, as she felt him hold her for a long time and then relax into sleep again. He needed to sleep. She was happy he was able to.

She needed to too. But she didn’t. Not at all. Not until dawn.

She lay awake in the dark, in his arms, and came to a few bleak conclusions.

If there was any way for her to stop this—to keep this from happening—then she would have to do it.

Even if she had to break him a little now to keep him from breaking completely when she died, then she would have to do that too.

Sometime in the night, her head started to throb. Maybe it was just the overload of emotion, but maybe she was getting sick again. Her last fever had ended less than two days ago.

It was the final sign she needed.

The treatment hadn’t worked. Even with the information on the virus in the report, they weren’t going to find a cure. She knew it with absolute certainty.

And there was something else she knew now, as she felt Paul clutching her even in his sleep.

He loved her—he loved her—and she was going to die.

* * *

Emily must have dozed off around dawn, and she woke up feeling achy and overly hot.

She blinked at the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.

It was after nine, she realized, and Paul must already be up.

She rolled out of bed, feeling the heavy sinking of her heart as she processed the revelations she’d come to last night. She wandered down the hall, instinctively seeking him out.

She found him in his office. He’d been working on his computer, but he turned to her with a fond smile when he recognized her presence.

“Hi. Did you sleep all right?” he asked, his eyes taking in her rumpled pajamas, her sleep-flushed face, and her messy hair.

She nodded, even though she hadn’t slept well at all. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to sleep so late. Did you get up early?”

He gave a half-shrug, which she took as an admission that he’d risen at some ungodly hour.  “How do you feel?” His eyes were sharp, as they always were.

“Fine,” she lied. “Kind of groggy. I must have drunk too much last night.”

His smile widened. “Maybe. Do you have a headache?”

“A little one. No big deal. I’ll take some aspirin and drink coffee.”

“You can take it easy this morning. There’s nothing we need to do.”

It was a Sunday morning, and she’d learned something last night that had changed everything.

Still too hot and kind of blurry, Emily suddenly realized what she needed to do. A plan came into her mind fully formed. “Actually, I kind of feel like waffles for breakfast.”

“Sure. I can ask Ruth to—”

“No, I really wanted those big Belgium waffles from The Cracked Egg. But, if you’re too busy with work, I can have your driver take me—”

“Of course I’m not too busy,” he said, glancing at his watch.  He looked a little surprised—since she wasn’t in the habit of asking for special outings first thing in the morning—but not unduly so. “Get dressed, and we’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”

She smiled at him, as brightly as she could. She'd somehow known he would agree. “Thanks!”

She got coffee, took some ibuprofen, and then went to get dressed. She took a cool shower, which seemed to help ease some of the heat from her skin. Her fever couldn’t be too high yet, since she was still able to function. It was so important that she hide this from Paul. If he knew she was feverish, then her plan would never work.

Her whole world had narrowed down to one bleak reality. There was only one thing left for her to do.

She got dressed quickly and carefully applied makeup, making sure to use blush so she wouldn’t look so sickeningly pale. She grabbed her biggest purse—more of a tote than a purse—and put in it her toiletry case, her phone, her wallet, and a change of clothes. Since she had room, she put the lovely music box Paul had gotten her for her birthday in the bag too. She looked longingly at her laptop, but she knew Paul would notice and wonder why she was carrying it with her.

She had to leave everything. Almost everything. Or he would know.

Her chest ached ruthlessly as she slipped off her rings. She kissed the engagement ring. Then the wedding band. Then she laid them delicately on the counter next to the sink in her bathroom. She couldn’t take the necklace either—since Paul had given it to her on their wedding day—but she couldn’t seem to leave the bracelet.

It had been a birthday present. It wasn't a symbol of their marriage like the rings or necklace. Surely she didn’t have to leave it too.

She zipped the bracelet into an inner pocket of her bag, her eyes blurring over with emotion and rising fever.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

The world was hot and aching and confusing and so, so hard.

With a gasp, she went to the bathroom to put on her rings again, belatedly realizing that Paul would notice she wasn’t wearing them.

She sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. She could do this. She would do this.

She couldn’t do anything else.

She took her folded, well-worn list and put it in the zipper pocket next to Paul’s bracelet.

As she was leaving, her eyes fell on Paul’s old edition of Riverside Shakespeare on her dresser. It would fit in her bag, but it would look bulky and call attention to the size of her bag.

But she couldn’t bear to leave it behind. All of Paul’s notes in the margins made her feel like he was reading it with her.

She grabbed the book and hugged it to her chest, deciding she could come up with a suitable explanation for bringing it with her.

She found Paul in the entry hall, talking on the phone. He was talking to Jack Martin.

He smiled at her absently and gestured her toward the door. She was actually relieved that he continued the phone conversation all the way down the elevator and out to the car. That would mean less time for her to hide from his searching eyes.

He didn’t seem to be talking about anything new—mostly just rehearsing what they already knew. Emily realized suddenly that Paul had been talking to Jack Martin when she overheard him on the phone at the inn on PEI.

When he’d said it was the most important thing, Paul had been talking about her.

It hurt. So badly.

After settling into the backseat of the car, Emily opened up her Shakespeare and pretended to read as Paul finished his conversation.

She glanced up with a smile when she heard him disconnect the call. “Everything all right?”

“Yes. Nothing new.” He looked tired, but he smiled at her anyway. “Getting into Measure For Measure?”

“It’s really pretty good,” she told him, forcing her voice to sound perky, even though she felt anything but. “But I’m mostly getting excited about getting to the end. I only have six more plays to read.”

“That’s impressive,” he murmured. “Almost done.”

Paul’s eyes were soft on her face. She couldn’t help but smile at him, even though it felt achingly bittersweet. The emotion in his expression seemed so obvious to her now. He wasn’t even trying to hide how he felt.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t known yesterday that he loved her.

She couldn’t believe she was leaving him today.

She almost strangled on the swell of painful emotion but masked it by pretending to cough.

Paul eyed her with his characteristic observation but didn’t appear unduly worried.

When they got to the restaurant, Emily stumbled as she got out of the car, feeling way too hot and dizzy. She managed to smile and even laugh a little, as if she were amused by her clumsiness.

She just had to make it a few minutes longer.

“Are you sure you feel all right?” Paul asked, peering at her as they walked in. His hand even reached out to feel her forehead.

She swatted his hand away before he touched her. He would know in an instant if he felt her face. “I’m fine. Don’t fuss. It’s just a little headache. Maybe this is what a hangover feels like.”

He chuckled. “But you still feel like waffles? Why aren’t I surprised?”

She liked his fond, teasing tone, even as it threatened to rip her heart out.

The restaurant was packed, but the hostess still managed to secure them an immediate table, much to Emily’s relief. She stuffed Shakespeare into her bag before she dropped the bag on the floor next to her chair.

Their server brought over two big glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice before they’d even asked for it. Emily gulped hers down gratefully, her mouth feeling hot and dry. They put in their orders, and then Emily figured she’d waited long enough.

“I’m going to run to the restroom,” she said casually. “Too much coffee.”

Paul raised his eyebrows but didn’t question her statement. Emily managed to keep her legs steady as she made it across the large room and then down the hallway to the ladies room.

She’d chosen this restaurant for a very particular reason. There was a window to the outside in the women’s restroom.

It wasn’t very large, but it was large enough for her to crawl through.

There was someone else in the restroom, but she just hid in a stall until the other woman left. Then she came out and stared at her pale face and overly bright eyes in the mirror. She pulled off her engagement ring and wedding band and placed them on the counter next to the sink.

It was a risk, but Paul was likely to come look for her after not too long. At least, when he saw the rings, he would know she hadn’t been kidnapped. He wouldn’t be scared. He would know what happened right away.

That would be better.

She desperately wanted to leave a note, to try to explain something. She hated for him to be hurt. But that would soften it. It would be better if he was angry, if he hated her.

Hurting him now would hurt him less than he would have hurt later, when she died.

Then, not taking time to think or indulge second-thoughts, she climbed up on the sink—feeling suddenly dizzy as she did so. She held on desperately until she got her balance back, and then she unlocked the window.

It pushed open easily and she crawled out, dragging her heavy bag with her.

She was clumsy and uncoordinated—probably from the fever—and she scraped up her hands and banged her head pretty bad on the window frame. She ignored the pain, though, and jogged quickly down the alley as soon as she’d gained her feet.

It was these first minutes that were most critical.

She ducked into the closest subway station, just a block and a half away. Then she stumbled her way to the underground level and got on the first available train.

She just needed to get far enough away that Paul and his security wouldn’t find her, wouldn’t catch her, when they realized she was gone.

She experienced a blinding panic as she huddled into a seat of the mostly empty train. This was surreal, crazy. What the hell was she doing? The fever must have addled her brain to make her think that running away was the best option.

But she kept coming back to one aching truth. It would hurt Paul less if she left now.

And he was the one she had to think about.

So she hugged her bag to her chest and tried not to cry. Her fever, for some reason, wasn’t rising as quickly as it had last time. She could still walk, although her head was pounding now and she was aching all over.

But she had a plan, and she was going to go through with it.

Ten minutes after she’d crawled through the window, her phone started to ring. She knew it was Paul, so she ignored it.

When it kept ringing, she just turned the phone off.

She couldn’t help but imagine what Paul was doing, what Paul was thinking, what Paul was feeling right now.

And she started to cry.

As she struggled to stifle her tears, an elderly woman sitting across from her asked, “Are you all right, honey?”

Emily nodded wetly and managed to answer, “Yeah. Thanks, though.”

Recognizing one of the approaching stops, she got up to exit the train. When she stepped off, she was stumbling, her knees buckling on every step, but she managed to make it to a pay phone.

She couldn’t use her cell phone or Paul would know who she’d called.

When a female voice picked up on the other end, Emily rasped, “Hi, Stacie. It’s me. Emily.”

There was a long pause. Then. “Emily? Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Then she shook her head. She could barely see through the blur of her vision. “No. Not really. Can you come get me? I know it’s a lot to ask after…after everything. But I need help.”

There was another pause, but not as long as the first one. “Sure. Sure, I’ll help. Where are you?”

Emily told her and then hung up the phone. She found an empty bench and huddled in a corner of it, praying Stacie would get here soon.

She hadn’t seen her former step-sister in over six years.

When her father had married Stacie’s mother, the girls had been best friends, but that friendship had broken when the marriage fell apart.

It had been a grief—a real grief—to lose Stacie as a friend, but loyalty to her father was more important.

Emily lost track of time, falling into a feverish stupor, barely able to hold herself upright. Her hair was bothering her, but there was nothing she could do about it. She didn't have the coordination to find an elastic band in her toiletry case.

Stacie found her like that on the bench, and her normally sharp, clever features softened when she saw her. “Oh, hon, what happened?”

“I’m sick,” Emily said, hoping she was speaking lucidly. “Can I stay with you?”

“Of course.” Stacie reached down to help her up. “Come on. Let me get you out of here.”

Emily leaned on Stacie until they’d reached her car. Then she slumped into the passenger seat, still hugging her bag to her chest.

“What happened, Emily?” Stacie asked, as she pulled her car away from the curb. She’d been parked quite illegally in a loading zone. “I thought you were married.”

“I was. I am. I was.” Emily rubbed her face and tried to think. Of course, Stacie deserved an explanation. “It’s not working. I just need somewhere to stay.”

“You can stay with me.” Stacie glanced over at her. “I feel bad about never getting in touch with you, after I heard…after I heard about everything. But I thought you’d still be mad at me, and I didn’t want it to seem like I was…”

“I understand,” Emily mumbled, brushing away a few stray tears. She didn't even know where they had come from. “It’s all right. I was going to call you anyway. I was going to do it before I die.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her folded list.

After she unfolded it, she put her finger under the second item from the bottom. It said, “Make up with Stacie.”

Stacie had stopped at a traffic light, and she read what a twelve-year-old Emily had written there. Her face twisted briefly. “Shit, Emily. You’re gonna make me cry like a girl.”

Emily half-laughed, half-sobbed. “I’m sorry. I should have apologized a long time ago.”

“Me too,” Stacie said, brushing at her eyes impatiently. Her smile was sharp and almost teasing despite her obvious emotion. “I should have reached out to you. I’ve always been the bigger person, after all, and I should be a role model for you in maturity and beneficence.”

Emily huffed softly at her cousin’s attempt at humor and felt a little better.

“So why didn’t things work out with your husband? I was really surprised when I heard you married him, since I always thought him a spoiled, entitled asshole, but—”

“No,” Emily choked, glaring at Stacie in outrage. “He’s not. Don’t call him that. He’s…he’s…wonderful.”

Stacie’s brows drew together. “Then why did you leave him?”

Emily shook her head and couldn’t answer. She just felt too bad to have this conversation, and it hurt too much to think about.

“We can talk about it later,” Stacie murmured, evidently recognizing that Emily wasn’t up to it. “You look like you feel like crap.”

Crap was an understatement, although her fever still hadn’t risen as much or as quickly as it had during her last round of fever, just a few days ago.

“It’s gonna get bad, Stacie,” Emily mumbled, tossing her head restlessly against the headrest. “Sorry to do this to you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Stacie replied. “I want to help. I should have helped a long time ago.”