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His presence was a balm to my aching body and troubled mind. I squeezed his hand weakly, feeling a sense of peace despite the feverish haze. With Oliver by my side, I knew I could endure anything.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Oliver said.
“My back hurts. It’s been four days. I can’t stay in bed any longer.”
“Put on some socks at least,” he insisted.
I’d been in bed for the past few days, and I was going stir crazy. Oliver waited on me hand and foot, even canceling conference calls just in case I needed him. He was the perfect nurse.
I went to the closet and opened my sock drawer on my side, taking out a pair of white ankle cut athletic socks. My feet weren’t cold, but I wanted to appease Oliver. When I came out, he was cradling the phone against his ear while he prepared me a bowl of soup. I was sick of soup and wanted something more substantial. After four days of being sick, my appetite had returned with a vengeance. I tapped his shoulder before he pulled the tab on the can and shook my head.
“What do you want for lunch?” he asked.
“Not soup.”
Oliver concluded his phone call. “Henri, email me the information. I’ll be in touch.”
He took the phone in his hand and disconnected the call before he took me in his arms.
“You feel much cooler. Did you take your next dose of antibiotics?”
“I’m not due for another hour.”
“Good girl.”
I hated when he patronized me because it felt more like I was his child than his fiancée. He’d been so agreeable the past few days that I let it go and pulled open the refrigerator.
“I can get you lunch. What do you want?” Oliver asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, which is why I’m seeing what you have.”
“We have.”
“Excuse me?”
“What we have. This is your home too.”
A week ago, Oliver had had his staff clean out my things from my old apartment. Finley asked Sadie to live with him permanently and we put our furniture in storage. Oliver graciously paid off the lease. I know it was a big sigh of relief for him to know I would be safe and under his roof. He still hadn’t said a word about the real reason why he wanted to protect me.
“Our home. Happy?”
“Very. Now, what do you want to eat?”
I decided to bust Oliver’s chops and asked for poached eggs on English muffins. To my surprise, he started to get everything out on the counter.
“I was kidding.”
“Do you doubt I can cook?”
“Not one bit.”
“What do you really want to eat?” Oliver asked, his eyes searching mine.
I thought for a moment, savoring the idea. “Wagyu burger with sautéed mushrooms and Gruyère.”
“You haven’t eaten much in days. A burger will give you a tummy ache,” he cautioned.
“I’ll be fine. Please?” I batted my eyelashes at him, hoping to sway his decision.
