“Wait!”
I stop. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, and it further proves just how much of a fucked-up bastard I am when I feel my dick twitch in my jeans.
“It was nice to meet you, Luca.”
Hearing my name come from her lips again doesn’t help my fucking situation. Theo should beat my ass, then do it all over again. And again. And again. Especially since Jules and I have already met, and there’s no way she’d be saying it was nice to meet me if she had any inkling of what I’d done.
“It was nice meeting you too,” I mutter.
Before she can say anything else, or I do something stupid, I turn and leave the room.
As I make my way out of the hospital, the truth hits me. Jules is a part of Theo’s life, meaning she’ll be a part of mine.
Which also means I really need to get my shit under control before I go fucking insane.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jules
MY HANDS TWIST nervously in my lap as I sit on the hospital bed with my legs crossed Indian style. My back is ramrod straight, aching from being so stiff, and the inside of my bottom lip is raw from biting on it so much. I’m so freaking nervous as I wait for Theo to come back into the room.
Today is the day I get to go home. Or rather, Theo’s home. I had no choice but to go home with him, since my parents still haven’t called me back. That knowledge still burns deeply, but it also makes me angry. Who in the hell just ignores their daughter who’s been in a coma for seven years? How could they be so heartless? So cruel?
I push thoughts of my parents away. I have enough to worry about right now without adding that to the mix. Like wondering what Theo expects of me. We’re married, but I don’t remember him. I don’t know how to be a wife. My last memories are of me graduating high school only months before. I was just entering adulthood. I worked part-time jobs during high school because I wanted that experience and the chance to earn money on my own. I know the basics of cooking, but we ate out most nights. We had a housekeeper come in a couple of times a week who kept the house spotless and tidy. I mean, I know how to clean, but I don’t know how to run a household.
It’s not really the domestic side of marriage I’m worried about though. That I can learn as I go. It’s the physical part. More specifically, the sexual aspect. Does Theo expect me to sleep with him? Have sex with him? He’s been nothing but a gentleman the last few weeks, but I’ve seen the way his eyes roam over me when he thinks I’m asleep or not looking. The desire in their depths scares me. The last I remember, I was a virgin. We were married, and Theo doesn’t seem like the type to wait for marriage to have sex. I know we must have slept together, which means I must have trusted him. I hope he doesn’t expect that of me yet.
It would be so much easier if I could just remember him, but even with that thought, I’m still unsure if I want those memories back. Something niggles in the back of my mind, warning me to be cautious.
Footsteps have me looking up from my lap to see Theo walking into the room with a nurse pushing a wheelchair following him.
“You ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Theo asks with a smile, coming to stand beside the bed.
Although I’m more than ready to leave the hospital, I’m not ready to go with Theo. However, not having any other choice, I nod.
My anxiety lessens at his charming, boyish smile, but it’s still there, eating away at my nerves. I ignore his offered hand to help me from the bed, pretending I don’t see it, and get off on the opposite side from where he’s standing. I slip my feet into the dark gray flat shoes he brought me, grab a small bag that has a few things in it, and walk around to the nurse. She explains my at-home care instructions, passes me a paper that has my next physical therapy appointment, and cautions me that even though I’m well enough to go home, to still take it easy for a while.
The strength in my legs is better, and I can walk on my own with minimal trouble, but per hospital policy, I’m required to be escorted out via a wheelchair. I feel like an invalid as we navigate down the hallway.
When we walk out of the doors, there’s a dark blue car pulled to the curb. Theo walks ahead of us and pulls open the passenger side door, then holds his arm out toward it.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
I laugh at his goofy behavior, and more tension eases away. He must sense my turmoil and is trying to abate my stress, something I’m grateful for.
When he reaches his hand out to help me from the chair, I make a split-second decision and place my hand in his. As soon as our hands touch, I regret it. Sparks travel up my arm, eliciting goose bumps, and a weird feeling settles in my stomach. The heated look in Theo’s eyes tells me he felt something too. Something I’m not ready to acknowledge yet.
I ignore the desire to pull my hand away and let him lead me to the car. Theo’s my husband, so I need to get used to his touch, even simple touches like holding hands.
“You take care of yourself, Miss Rozero,” the nurse calls once I’m seated safely inside the car.
I smile. “Thank you for everything, Mary.”
She turns, and she and the wheelchair disappear back inside. Theo closes the car door and while he puts my bag in the back seat and he walks to his side, I buckle my seat belt.
Seeing my tight grip on the shoulder strap of the seat belt, Theo reaches over and puts his hand on top of one of mine. I know he’s only trying to calm my nerves, but it does just the opposite.
“Are you okay?”