Stealing Her (Covet 1)

I clenched my fists as my heels clicked loudly against the cheap blue-and-white hospital floor. Back and forth I paced, and somehow I managed to chew off my thumbnail as I waited.

I’d overheard the doctor telling Edward that the only possible outcome didn’t look good.

I didn’t ask what that was.

I finally slumped down into a chair and hung my head in my hands. My pink nail polish was chipped beyond repair. I couldn’t contain my nerves.

Panic rose up in my chest as I listened to the low hum of the lights above me, the sounds of nurses talking, people walking by and laughing.

And all I wanted to do was run.

Yes. I was a horrible person. And hell didn’t scare me, only the thought of seeing him in the afterlife suffering alongside me made me want to repent.

Julian’s stepmom, Marla, had been on and off the phone talking in hushed tones the minute he went back into surgery. I was only three years younger than her, and at thirty-three she was already the perfect trophy wife. Marla often acted like I was her competition, and of course I always fell short of whatever was expected of me.

It had been six hours.

And still I waited.

The fluorescent lights flickered again, creating a throbbing pain at my temples as I searched through my white Birkin bag for aspirin, realizing that the bag was just another thing he had given me when I would have taken a hug instead.

Hands shaking, I finally located a stray pill bottle and clutched it between my fingertips just as the doors to Surgery 1 opened.

I stood, clutching the pills in my sweaty palm as the doctor removed his mask, his expression unreadable. Sweat collected on his brow. He looked too young to be the sort of guy who would put people’s bodies back together again. His face was grim as he looked past me and straight at Marla. “I need to speak to Edward Tennyson.”

“I’m his wife.” She turned up her nose. And then the crazy woman looked over at me and sniffed like I was offending her by standing too close. “She’s not family. Not yet, anyway.” She tried to say it sadly, but my ears were attuned to the competitiveness in her voice. I had the younger version of what she was married to. Mine didn’t need Viagra to get it up. Edward was a good-looking man, but he was in his early seventies and he enjoyed fine dining and whiskey too much.

“Do I have your permission, then, to speak in front of—”

“Absolutely not,” Marla scoffed. “Anything that needs to be said can be said to me in private. Besides, this place is crawling with reporters.”

He gave me a brief glance before turning to her. “I understand.”

“You should go.” Marla’s leopard heels clicked against the linoleum floor as she pulled me in for a hug and very discreetly whispered in my ear, “We’ll be in touch. Julian needs his family now more than ever.”

I wanted to scratch her eyes out.

“We’re engaged.” I swallowed thick tears building in my throat. “I have a right to know he’s okay!” I never raised my voice at her. I must have shocked her silent, my chest heaving as I pleaded with the surgeon. “Please, is he okay? Is he alive?”

Marla gripped me by the shoulders and tugged me against her. “Poor thing’s distraught.” She clung to me longer than I could tolerate.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can only release Mr. Tennyson’s medical information to family,” the surgeon said softly.

Right.

Family. Only.

“Marla, please keep me updated.”

She inclined her head with a fake smile that basically conveyed she’d rather die than send me a text and take the chance of breaking a nail, then turned back toward the doctor. “Let’s go find a private room.”

I almost snorted at that.

I knew her games all too well.

That poor surgeon had no idea what he was in for. He was about to be rewarded very nicely for either saving Julian’s life or for letting him die on the table, making one less claim on the Tennyson fortune.

Tears streamed down my swollen cheeks as I watched them go, uncertain about my fate and about the man on the other side of those thick doors.

I numbly walked to my waiting black BMW 7 series, just like I numbly buckled my seat belt and drove slowly toward the penthouse I’d been sharing with Julian.

I walked into an apartment that felt empty already.

The TV was off, and the maid had left something that looked like a casserole in the fridge with instructions. I kicked off my heels and pulled my hair into a ponytail as I made my way into the master bedroom.

To find my bed occupied.

By that same maid, naked.

In a pair of my silver heels.

And nothing else.

“Shit!” She pulled my down comforter to her bare chest. “Where’s Julian?”