Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 144696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 723(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 482(@300wpm)
“Be sure you do something naughty in it, in my absence,” he whispered, as though the nurse wouldn’t hear, and she snorted a laugh.
I kissed his cheek. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Once I was outside the room, I pretended not to see the “no cellular phones” sign and called for the car. Our driver in London was a very professional, very humorless man. I wished we could have used some of Neil’s billions to move Tony over with us. His easy New York humor would have been a lifesaver at the moment.
Neil’s nurse ended up catching the same elevator down as I did. She gave me a pitying smile. “It’s going to get easier, leaving him here.”
I wanted to snap, “No it won’t, bitch!” and storm off the elevator, but I restrained myself. If I lashed out every time someone made a comment about how his recovery would go or how I should handle it, I was going to get real tired, real fast.
It was strange, staying at Neil’s house without Neil. It was big and empty, and I would have preferred the haunted feeling of Langhurst Court. At least a ghost would have been someone to talk to. I ended up in our big bed far earlier than bedtime, cuddling his pillow like a puppy wanting her master’s scent.
I wanted my Sir’s scent. I just wanted him with me.
I left the television on all night, and the lights, which didn’t make for the best night’s sleep ever. After the alarm went off, the morning crawled, with every task seeming to take up too much time. I wasn’t going to be happy again until I was with Neil.
I was brushing my teeth and staring at myself, unattractive toothpaste goatee dripping from my mouth, when I realized that for the next few months, this would be normal. Sleepless nights, worrying and waiting and being separated from Neil when all I wanted was to be with him.
When I got to the hospital at the eight AM start of visiting hours, I was shocked to see Neil already dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed, coat looped over his folded arms. He didn’t look like a cancer patient. He looked how he always looked, just a little bit more tired. I don’t know if I was expecting him to lose all his hair and eyelashes overnight or what, but I was so relieved, tears sprang to my eyes.
Was it a bit dramatic to run at him and throw my arms around his shoulders? Probably. Did he mind? Not at all. He squeezed me back and whispered, “I missed you, too.”
“We should be able to spend a single night apart, don’t you think?” A tearful laugh burbled up my throat. “This is kind of pathetic.”
“This is different than a night apart. That, I can handle.” He chuckled. “No, that’s a lie. I used to hate Sunday nights in New York. Sunday nights were the worst, when you went back to your apartment.”
“So, you’ve had more practice missing me than I’ve had missing you.” I kissed his cheek and stepped back. “What are we waiting on?”
“Dr. Grant wants to see me before I go.” Neil shrugged. “I feel fine. A little tired. But I thought this was going to be terrible.”
“It will be.” Dr. Grant insinuated himself into the conversation easily as he stepped through the open door. “Everything looks fine. We’re going to send you home with some literature about what you can expect for the next few days. Your staff has my number, yes?”
“Yes. I have a live-in nurse and one part time to fill in the gaps for when the poor man has to sleep,” Neil explained. “And Sophie may contact you, as well, if something goes...”
“At any hour.” Dr. Grant scribbled something on the sheaf of papers in his hand. “This is my private cell number, call should the need arise.”
I was expecting the horrible side effects I’d read about, but when we returned home that afternoon, Neil was fine. A little nauseated, but otherwise, Neil-as-usual. He went to bed early, and the next morning he went to work in the home office.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked him, lingering beside his office door.
He looked up from his computer screen and nodded. “I feel fine. Thank god. I have no idea what Butler’s doing with Auto Watch since I’ve been gone, but the March cover is atrocious.”
“You know,” I began, carefully picking my way around a stack of papers that were, god help us all, dusty. “This is insane. You need to take some time off to take care of yourself. If you weren’t here having chemotherapy, you’d be caught up in Porteras business and not worrying about Auto Watch or any of your other magazines. You hired the people who are running them for a reason.”