“You’re not going anywhere,” I say firmly. “You’re in no position to go back to work. You need to lie down and wait until your strength is back up.” I point her towards the bed.
“This is completely unnecessary,” she complains with a pout. But she lets herself be led to the bed. Still, she doesn’t get in. “I’m not sure. Are you sure you don’t mind me being here?”
“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I minded.”
I realize that Jessa is the only woman I’ve ever brought to this room. Marina and I used to share a bedroom on the second floor when we were first married.
A few months later, the fractures in our relationship started to show, and I moved my things here. I’ve been here ever since.
Her hand trembles slightly, but I notice right away.
“Lie down.”
She gives a little defeated sigh and sits down on the very edge of the bed like she’s trying to take up the least amount of room possible. Rolling my eyes, I grab her feet and hoist them onto the bed.
I expect her to make a fuss, but she just lies there quietly and watches me. She still looks too pale. There’s a sallowness to her skin that I don’t like.
“Maybe I should get a doctor in to see you.”
“Like a house visit?” she asks. “If I don’t feel better soon, I’ll just take myself to the hospital.”
“We’ll see,” I say, not interested in arguing with her. “I’m going to go get you some lemonade. It’ll help with the nausea.”
“I’m the chef, remember?” she says. “There’s no one else to prepare it.”
I smirk. “If children can run lemonade stands, I think I can manage.”
She balks at me. “You’re going to make me lemonade?”
“Yes, I’m going to make you lemonade. I’m not a fucking genie, am I?”
“Seriously?”
“Why is that so shocking?”
“Because… I just… I don’t understand why you’re here,” she says finally. “Taking care of me, I mean.”
“Didn’t expect that from a cold-hearted murderer, did you?”
She blinks at me with her wide, innocent eyes. “Well… no.”
“There’s more to me than meets the eye.” I turn for the door. “I’ll be right back.”