TWELVE

 

Paul was just numb.

His emotions had taken such a battering in the last hour that he couldn’t seem to feel anymore. He sat stiffly behind his desk in the office of the apartment and tried to sort out options and possibilities in his head.

It was useless. His mind was a hopeless blank.

For long, agonizing minutes, he stared at his phone, which—over and over again—didn't ring.

He’d been worried for Emily went she’d gotten up to use the bathroom in the restaurant earlier. She wasn’t looking well. He’d been afraid she might be getting a fever. When ten minutes passed and she hadn’t returned, he’d gone to ask the hostess to check on her.

The other times he'd gotten someone to check on Emily in the restroom, she'd always eventually emerged. This time was different.

When the hostess came out to say that no one was there, Paul had simply barged in. That was when he’d seen her rings lying without explanation by the sink. That was when his concern had shifted into bewildered panic.

The bodyguard escorting him had moved into action immediately, searching the nearby area for Emily and ensuring she hadn’t been abducted. But Paul knew what had happened. She had left her rings behind in an obvious symbol.

She had left him on purpose.

He just didn’t know why.

He’d called her cell phone immediately, but she hadn’t answered. Then he’d kept calling, never getting an answer. He went on what might be called a rampage as he repeatedly dialed Emily's number and demanded information about Emily’s whereabouts from anyone who might know anything.

Jonathon Marks, the head of the security firm he used, had arrived when he’d been on the verge of shaking a man at the newsstand across the street who’d noticed Emily but couldn’t remember which direction she had gone.

Marks had convinced Paul to return to the apartment while the security team carried out the actual search.  Once he’d gotten there, Paul had begun making calls—trying to contact everyone Emily might possibly have turned to for help. No one admitted to having any idea where she was. They all had sounded convincing. Chris had seemed worried and offered to help.

After the calls had been made, Paul’s crisis mode had faded without warning, as if the panicked urgency was simply too much for him to sustain. There wasn’t anything else he could do, and thinking about it hurt too much.

He’d been sitting in his study ever since.

His eyes drifted from the silent phone to his clenched fist. He forced his fingers opened and stared down at the two rings in his palm.

Emily had loved her engagement ring. He still remembered the shocked awe in her eyes when he’d slipped it on her finger in the elevator two months ago. He’d never seen her without it since that moment.

The simple platinum wedding band he held was smaller and slimmer but otherwise matched the one he wore on his left hand.

Emily was supposed to be wearing these rings. She was supposed to be his wife.

He looked at the platinum wedding band on his own hand. He was used to it now. His hand would look naked without it. He liked the sight of the ring, the symbol that he was intimately tied to Emily.

He liked being married. He liked being a husband. And he loved Emily more than anything in the world.

He had no idea why she would have run away from him.

He imagined her finally getting tired of putting up with his tangled life and escaping somewhere she could find peace. He imagined her running away with another man, a man she genuinely loved. He imagined someone secretly blackmailing her over some dark secret and manipulating her into drastic action. He imagined her giving up on a life that was too short and a body that had betrayed her. He imagined every remote possibility that even flickered into his mind.

They all made his chest ache, but none of them were right. None of them were convincing. He just couldn’t believe any of them was why she was gone now.

He clenched his hand back over her rings. The large emerald poked him painfully in the palm, but he just squeezed over it more tightly.

Why didn’t she want his rings anymore? Why didn’t she want him?

It hurt too much. It scared him too much. His mind closes down in response to way too much. He just couldn’t feel anymore.

He was jerked out of his numb stupor by someone clearing his throat in the doorway.

“Talk,” Paul managed to force out, when he recognized Marks through the haze of his vision.

Marks was a professional, competent man in his fifties. He’d had an exemplary Special Forces career before he’d retired and gone into the security business. He was surprisingly distinguished-looking with graying hair and tailored suits, despite the obvious strength and power in his large build. “We’ve found a number of witnesses and have been able to trace her to the subway. We found a woman who, we believe, saw her on the train.”

“What was she doing?” Paul asked.

“According to this woman, she looked pitifully sick and was crying.”

Paul’s heart lurched viscerally at the image of Emily—his Emily—huddled up on the seat of some dirty subway car. Weak, feverish and heartbroken.

If Marks noticed Paul’s response, he ignored it. “We know where she stopped. We’re working on following her route from that point.”

Clearly, Paul’s mind was working much slower than usual because he just now thought of something. “Why can’t we track her through her phone?”

“She turned it off, sir.”

Of course, she had. Paul closed his eyes for a moment. She was sick. He’d seen she wasn’t feeling well this morning and should have paid closer attention, but evidently she’d looked sick to the woman on the subway. If she had a fever, she soon wouldn’t even be able to walk. She wouldn’t be able to take care of herself.

He needed to be there to help her.

“She would call someone for help,” Paul said at last, rubbing his forehead between his fingers and thumb.

“Yes, sir. We’ve checked the records on her phone and the landlines here. We can’t find any suspicious activity in the last few days.”

“A pay phone,” Paul said, opening his hands to look down at Emily’s rings again. “I’m not sure she planned this in advance. It feels…sudden. Check the payphones at the subway stations she used.”

“Yes, sir. We’re working on getting the LUDs on all of those phones. We’ve got contacts in the phone company. It will take a little time for us to receive them, but we’re hoping that will give us a new lead.”

Paul nodded blankly, faintly surprised that he was so slow right now that his security team was so far ahead of him in thinking things through.

He’d spent most of his life thinking more quickly than anyone else.

Trying to feel more normal—and not like this numb, dazed buffoon he’d somehow morphed into—Paul said curtly, “She should not have been able to run away at all. Who is to blame for that negligence?”

Marks didn’t even flinch. “I am, sir. I should have better directed the team who accompanied you and Mrs. Marino this morning.”

Paul stared at the other man, but he couldn’t seem to conjure up an appropriate response. He felt befuddled, almost like a child. It was so unlike him he couldn’t begin to understand it.

“If I can make a suggestion,” Marks began, his expression shifting very slightly. “It might help if you would search Mrs. Marino’s room. We’ve already done so, of course, but you knew her best. Perhaps there’s a clue to where she has gone that you can recognize but we wouldn’t.”

Paul nodded, ludicrously relieved to have something to do other than sit and stew. He should have thought of searching her room himself. He had no idea why he hadn’t.

“I’ll do that,” he said, standing up. His legs felt strangely sore and stiff.

“I’ll report again as soon as I know something more,” Marks said, leaving the study with a nod.

Paul was grateful to be left alone, since he didn’t feel very steady on his feet. He wasn’t usually like this—he usually excelled at handling crises. But Emily hadn’t been taken from him. There was no enemy to fight. There was no one to rescue her from. She had just left him.

She hadn’t wanted to be married to him anymore.

And there might not be anything he could do about it.

He couldn’t think about that reality for long, though, since it hurt so much it might break him. So he took solace in the convenient numbness and walked down the hall toward her room, still holding her rings in one hand.

Emily’s bed was neatly made, but she hadn’t slept in her bed last night anyway. She’d slept in his.

He saw her laptop immediately and pangs of anxiety broke through his numbness. She wouldn’t have willingly left her laptop behind. Maybe she hadn’t left on purpose after all.

He opened the lid to her laptop and frowned when the screen asked for a password. He pulled out his phone and dialed Marks.

“I was going to look through her laptop,” Paul explained when the other man picked up, “Do you have the password?”

“Yes, sir,” Marks replied. “We retrieved that.”

“I’m ready,” Paul said, poising his fingers over the keyboard. He typed out a long series of mostly numbers with a few capital letters and periods. “What is that?” he asked, when Marks had finished.

There was a brief pause. Then, “It’s the geocoding for the exact location of your wedding.”

Paul couldn’t speak as he processed this information. Then he mumbled, “Thanks,” and hung up the phone.

He searched her laptop, but there was no evidence in her email, her documents, or her browser history of any plans she might have made to leave him. Then he searched her drawers. She hadn’t taken many clothes, if any. He noticed an empty spot on her dresser, where he remembered seeing the music box he’d given her for her birthday.

If she’d taken that to the restaurant this morning, then she knew she was going away.

Her list was gone from the nightstand drawer where she kept it.

Paul stood up and walked over to her jewelry box. She hadn’t taken the black pearl necklace he’d gotten her yesterday. She hadn’t taken the antique necklace he’d given her on their wedding day, the one that went with her engagement ring. She hadn’t taken the emerald earrings he’d bought her in New York. But he couldn’t find the bracelet he’d had designed for her as a birthday gift.

He searched the jewelry box twice. Then he looked everywhere else. The bracelet simply wasn’t there.

Maybe she’d taken it with her, even if she hadn’t wanted her rings or all of his other gifts.

Or maybe she’d just left it in the master bedroom, since she’d been wearing it last night.

With nothing left to find in her room, Paul went into the master bedroom. Ruth must have been in earlier, since the bed was made up meticulously. She must have collected the laundry too.

Since there was no sign of the bracelet in the room, Paul wandered toward the kitchen and then into the large laundry room. There, in the pile of clothes that were to be dry-cleaned, he found the black dress Emily had worn the night before.

Paul picked it up. It smelled like Emily—faintly ginger from the lotion she used—and it smelled like sex.

She’d been wearing it last night when they’d made love. Twice.

His knees felt strangely weak, so he sat down on a bench, still breathing in the scent of her dress and remembering how she’d looked, sounded, moved, acted, felt last night.

In spite of all of his need and excitement, he had felt safe with her last night. He’d been able to let himself go, knowing that she would accept him—all of him. Knowing that she wanted him. He had started to wonder if she might feel for him a little of what he felt for her. As he’d held her in his arms just before he went to sleep, he had…hoped.

He should have known he was wrong. He should have known it was far too much to expect. Her living was as much of a miracle as he could ever hope for.

Because, no matter how soft and tender and hot her eyes had been in bed with him last night, the feeling couldn’t have been real.

Not if she’d left him this morning.

“Oh, Mr. Marino,” a familiar voice gasped, breaking into his painful brooding. “What is it? What’s the matter? Is it Mrs. Marino?”

Paul blinked across the laundry room at Ruth, who stood at the entrance looking shocked and distraught. He was hunched over on the bench, still holding the dress near his face so he could smell Emily.

“Is she…” Ruth’s voice broke. “She’s not…”

“No,” Paul rasped, realizing what she thought.  He wasn’t in the condition to sort through what was appropriate or not appropriate to discuss with her. He only knew that Ruth cared about Emily, and that seemed to matter to him.  “Not that. She…she left me.”

It was physically painful to say the words out loud.

Ruth’s expression changed. She looked almost angry. “No! No, sir. She never would’ve done that.”

Paul blinked. He straightened his spine and lowered the dress. “She did.”

Shaking her head insistently, Ruth said, “I don’t believe it. She wouldn’t—not because she wanted to anyway. She loves you too much.”

Paul sucked in a breath and stared at the woman, astonished but desperately craving to hear more. “What do you mean?”

Ruth looked a little confused but deeply sympathetic. “I’m sorry, sir. I know it’s not my place. I know maybe your marriage isn’t…isn’t a traditional one. But it’s a good one for both of you, and it’s plain as anything that she’s loving you more every day.”

Paul couldn’t speak. He just stared at Ruth, wondering, hoping, praying she was speaking the truth.

Ruth sounded more confident as she continued, as if she could see Paul wanted to hear what she had to say. “She never would’ve left because she wanted to. If she left, she did it for you. Sir.” The last word was a hurried afterthought.

Deep, frantic hope nudged at the numbed edges of Paul’s mind. He started to see a pattern here, a possibility—one that was actually convincing, one that felt right. “For me?”

Ruth made a small gesture with one hand. “Maybe she thought her leaving would make things easier on you. Whatever it is, it’s not because she doesn’t want to be with you. That I know for sure.”

He took a shuddering breath and made himself think clearly. Maybe…

He could think of one reason—one absolutely insane, ridiculous, nonsensical reason—Emily might think it would be easier for him if she weren’t around.

Paul stood up abruptly, compelled by a rising force of emotion that felt almost like rage. Surely she wouldn’t have …she wouldn’t have…

Ruth quickly got out of the way as he strode out of the laundry room, almost blind with the whirl of ideas and feelings that had just hit him like a wave.

If she’d left for him, then she was, for some reason, convinced she was going to die. And he knew she would still want to complete her list—she’d taken it with her, after all.

He remembered the few remaining items on the list. One was climbing the volcano. Two of them she wouldn’t have the resources to do on her own. One he preferred not to think about and had been ignoring since he’d originally seen it.

But there was one other item. One that made the final piece click into place.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and dialed Marks. When he answered, Paul said, “She has a former step-sister named Stacie…” He wracked his mind, trying to come up with the last name.

“Stacie Laurel,” Marks replied, “Yes, sir.”

“She might have—”

“Yes, sir.” Marks’s interrupting Paul was a clear sign that the man was unusually excited. “We just got the LUDs from the payphones and there was a call to Stacie Laurel made from one of them at 10:43 this morning. We have her address. Would you like to—”

“Get me over there,” Paul bit out, striding down the hall toward the main door and belatedly realizing he was still holding Emily’s dress.

He dropped the dress on his way out the door.  The rings he kept clenched in his fist.

***

Paul pounded on the door of Stacie Laurel’s small apartment in a much less affluent part of Center City.

It felt oddly surreal. By this point of the day, he was worked up emotionally to such an extent that the man—perspiring in the stuffy hallway and gripping two women’s rings in his hand—must be someone else, someone other than Paul Marino.

When no one answered immediately to his knock, he pounded on the door again and had to force himself not to shout to be let in.

Eventually, the door was swung open by an attractive, brown-haired, young woman with a slightly strained expression. She just stared when she saw who he was.

For just a moment, the stunned look on her face took Paul aback, and he wondered if maybe his conclusion was wrong. Maybe Emily wasn’t here after all, and he’d just tried to barge in on a random woman’s Sunday morning.

But then he saw that Stacie was holding a damp washcloth. And he knew.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“What are you doing here?” Stacie asked, sounding stressed and a little annoyed.

“I’m here to find my wife. Let me in.” Now that he was so close to Emily, he was having trouble controlling himself. He tried to walk into the apartment, even without an invitation.

Stacie blocked his way. “You can’t just barge in here,” she snapped. “This is my home.”

“And she’s my wife.” Paul rubbed his damp forehead in frustration. “She’s sick.  She needs me. You’re not doing her any favors by keeping me away from her.”

When Stacie just stood in place, Paul tried to shoulder past her, finally at the end of his patience. Emily was close. He could feel it. She was sick. He had to get to her.

But he couldn’t get through. Someone else was in the apartment, someone Paul hadn’t seen until now.

Chris Mason had moved in front of Stacie, blocking the doorway with his broad frame and putting a hand on Paul’s chest to hold him back by force. Chris and Paul were probably pretty evenly matched.

In outrage and disbelief, Paul practically growled. “Damn it, Chris. What are you doing? You knew how worried I was about her, and you lied to me anyway.”

“I didn’t know where she was when we talked,” Chris explained. “Stacie called me afterwards because she was worried about her.”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me?” Paul looked at Stacie over Chris’s shoulder. “I’ve been searching all over for her. Let me in!” The thought of Emily—sick, helpless, alone in Stacie’s bedroom—twisted his gut.

“Go away, Paul,” Stacie told him, looking even more strained. “This is my apartment. You don’t have the right to be here.”

Paul almost choked. “I don’t have the right—Damn it, I’m her husband. Of course, I have the right!”

Then he heard a familiar sound, coming from the room beyond the partly opened door across the living room. Emily was crying out in a muffled, anguished tone.

She was crying out for him.

Paul pushed against Chris’s restraining hand. “She’s asking for me,” he gritted out. “Get out of the way!”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Stacie objected, looking pained and slightly bewildered. “She said not to call you, no matter what.”

It hurt. Even though he thought he understood why she'd said it, it hurt and outraged him that Emily would have made such a point of keeping him away from her. He made himself move past the pain, though. She needed him.

“I don’t care what she said,” Paul began, almost shaking with frustration. He wanted desperately to hit Chris, but he knew it would only make things worse. “She—” When he heard Emily cry out again, he broke off abruptly. “Someone go help her, if you’re not going to let me!”

Stacie gave him one last torn look and hurried back into the bedroom.

Paul took a raspy breath. “Chris, she’s sick. She has a fever. She’s not thinking clearly. She needs me.”

Chris now looked as torn as Stacie had. He glanced over his shoulder at the opened door of the bedroom where Emily was lying.

“I love her, Chris,” Paul said, his voice thick as he tried again. He was going to hit his panic button in about thirty more seconds. “I love her. Let me in.”

Chris stared at Paul for a tense moment. Then he dropped his arm and stepped out of the doorway.

With a sigh of relief, Paul strode across Stacie’s living room toward the bedroom. Toward Emily.

When he reached the room, he barely registered the colorful curtains and bedding or Stacie leaning over the bed with a damp washcloth.

Paul only saw Emily, small, pale, damp, tossing in discomfort. So incredibly sick.

“Oh, baby,” he rasped, his heart aching with an almost unbearable pressure. He hurried over to the bedside. “Baby, I’m here.”

She whimpered and writhed restlessly, pushing down the sheet. Her hair was loose. It was falling in her eyes, sticking to her neck and her perspiring face. Her eyes were opened but she didn’t seem to see him. “Paul,” she mumbled, “Paul, don’t. Please don’t.”

“I’m here, Emily,” he said, reaching out to stroke her damp hair away from her face. “It’s all right.”

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t respond except with another pained whimper. Her eyes were seeing something that just wasn’t there.

Stacie was trying to cool her face down, but it wasn’t appearing to help very much.

“How long has she been delirious like this?” he asked.

Stacie gave a helpless shrug. “A couple of hours. She was sick from the beginning, but she was conscious. She said she wouldn’t need a doctor—she just needed to get through the fever. But when she got delirious, I was scared. I didn’t know what to do, so I called Chris, who I knew was her friend. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I wanted to when she started calling out for you, but she told me not to. I just didn’t know—”

Paul brushed off her words. He simply didn’t have the emotional energy to remain angry with Stacie. It was worrisome that Emily had become delirious so soon into her fever. The delirium usually didn’t happen until the very end. While she wasn’t as frantic and violent as she normally was, she was so completely out of it that his heart started to pound in growing panic.

“Do you have a bathtub?” he asked. At Stacie’s affirmation, he continued, “Can you draw a bath for her? Lukewarm—not hot but not too cold. That usually helps. And do you have a couple of those elastic band things to pull back her hair?”

Stacie got up immediately, handing him the wet washcloth and looking relieved that she wasn’t in the position of figuring out what to do anymore. She went to the bathroom, and Paul adjusted himself on the edge of the bed, learning against the headboard so he could reach Emily more easily. He wiped her hot face and had to resist the temptation to pull her into his arms.

When Stacie returned with the elastic bands, Paul pulled Emily’s hair into the two low ponytails that helped to keep it out of her face. Then he pulled down the sheet to expose Emily’s body.

She was wearing shorts and a tank-top, and her small body was obviously wracked with pain. Her limbs flailed occasionally, and she shook and shuddered as she kept babbling out mostly incoherently thoughts. She said his name a lot though, mostly in the context of trying to warn him off something, not to go somewhere.

“The bath is ready,” Stacie said, from the doorway of the bathroom. “Do you need help—”

Paul shook his head and gently pulled off Emily’s top. Her bare breasts were soft and round, and they bounced slightly with the motion. Under normal circumstances, Paul would have found her body highly distracting, but he was always too wrapped up in care and anxiety to think about sex when she was sick.

Emily’s discomfort seemed to grow quickly more intense. She started to arch up more dramatically and babble out more loudly. Paul had to struggle to get off the rest of her clothes.

“No!” Emily screamed, her voice suddenly so loud that Paul jerked in surprise. “No! Not there! Paul, no!” Her blue eyes were wild and focused intently on a blank spot in the air. “The fire! The fire!”

“It’s all right, baby,” Paul murmured hoarsely, trying to gather her writhing body in his arms. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

She struggled in his grip, frantic and uncontrollable. He didn’t know what had happened. She’d seemed delirious, but much calmer just a minute ago. One of her fists landed on his cheek, hitting him with so much force his eyes watered. “No! Paul, don’t! The fire! You’ll burn! No! Get out! Get out!”

She was screaming at the top of her voice and fighting like a wildcat. He couldn’t hold her still. She fisted one hand in his shirt and pulled it so hard it ripped the seam.

Paul’s eyes glazed over with rising panic, just as he always felt when she reached this height of fever-hysteria. But it seemed worse this time. It ripped his heart out. She used to fight him in her delirium. Now she seemed to be fighting to save him.

“I’m right here,” he rasped, trying to gather her again in his arms and hold her still enough to carry her to the tub.  She was so incredibly hot he didn’t think it was possible to survive it. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

She was unnaturally strong, contorting herself out of his grip. When he’d released her briefly to reposition himself, her spine arched up dramatically. Her eyes were wide open in terror, a shocking blue against her pale skin, and her mouth was wide open in a silent scream of anguish.

Paul couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand it. She was suffering so much, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. The pain was so sharp he just froze, staring down at her.

“Oh my God,” Stacie mumbled, coming over to the bed. There were a couple of tears on her face. “It’s just awful. The poor thing.”

Her words managed to distract Paul from his paralysis, and he bent down to gather Emily up again. This time, he was able to grip her tightly enough that he could drag her squirming form up from the bed and carry her to the bathroom.

She started screaming again, begging him to stay away, not to come close, to get out of the fire. At one point, when she kicked out against his grip, he almost dropped her.

He managed to reach the bathtub, however, and knelt down on the floor as he tried to lower her into the tepid water. She was still struggling, so he had to lean over until he was halfway in the tub himself in order to hold her still.

“Can you make sure she doesn’t bang her head or get her face underwater?” he asked Stacie, who was behind him. He was appalled to hear how weak and strained his voice sounded.

Stacie came over immediately and held Emily’s tossing head while Paul restrained her flailing arms and legs.

She was still screaming desperately—now it was mostly just, “Paul, no! Paul, no! Paul, no!” Over and over again.

“Why does she think you’re going to burn?” Stacie asked at one point, clearly deeply upset by the violent delirium.

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 so 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.

His body tightened almost immediately, and he kissed her long and deep.

When he finally pulled his head back, he breathed raggedly as he stared down at her.

Her eyes were hot, soft, and a little groggy. “I love you, Paul,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

He stifled a moan of pleasure as his hips gave an involuntary little thrust against her. “I love you too, baby.”

He kissed her again. They were still kissing and he was starting to unfasten his pants when he heard a familiar ringtone.

With a groan of frustration, he tore himself away from her warm, soft clinginess. “That’s security. I better see what’s going on,” he said, standing up as he connected the call.

He listened to Tim for a minute on the other end of the line. “Okay,” he said. “Just a minute.”

Emily was sitting up on the bed now, and her eyes were very wide. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” he assured her, “It’s fine. There’s no danger. I just need to take care of something.  I’ll be back in just a minute.”

“Okay.”

As he started to leave, he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his body and heart resisting the idea of leaving a passionate, rumpled Emily in bed, even just momentarily. But he made himself be reasonable. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine. Just come back soon.” She didn’t look annoyed, so he was able to leave the room without further apologies.

He was only gone for five minutes, and his body was still anticipating Emily waiting in bed for him on his return.

She was still in bed when he came back into the room. She was still looking irresistibly sensual with her loose hair and slinky nightgown. She was still sprawled out on top of the covers.

But she was also sound asleep.

Paul stared down at her blankly for a long minute, trapped between surprise, irony, and frustration. He was deeply tempted to wake her up so he could have the sex he desperately wanted.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She'd been so sick just the day before.

Instead, with a stifled groan, he went to take yet another shower.