“How long?” She didn’t look at George, only at Sam.
“Depends,” Sam said slowly, and she could see him go back into his doctor demeanor as he thought about it. “He needs to remain quiet. Besides the concussion, which he will still be feeling the effects of, he has a subdural hematoma.”
He went on at length about the blood spill between the dura and the arachnoid membrane, telling her it was impossible to know how extensive the bleeding could be, that it might organize itself in five to six days, that it could take ten to twenty for the membrane to form. The longer he talked, the more detailed and technical Sam became. Sophy heard the word seizure and felt panicky. She heard the word death and her sense of desperation grew.
“Then this is no small matter,” she summarized when Sam finally closed his mouth.
“No, it’s not. So far he’s doing so good. But we’re not talking about Mr. Sensible here.”
They weren’t? George had always seemed eminently sensible—sensible to a fault almost—to Sophy. She looked at him, then at Sam.
“I’m giving you worst-case scenarios.” Sam assured her.
“Thanks very much,” she said drily.
“But it’s necessary. It’s why I won’t let him go if he’s going to be alone.”
There was silence then. Sam waited for her answer. George didn’t say a word, just stared at her with that “is your word good or not?” look on his face. And Sophy wrestled with her conscience, her emotions and her obligations.
“So you’re saying it could be days,” she said finally.
“Honestly it would be better for him to have someone around for several weeks. Or a month.”
“A month?” Sophy stared at him, horrified.
Sam spread his palms. “The chances of him needing anything are minimal. They go down every day. As long as he doesn’t do something to complicate matters. I’m just saying, if he’s alone, how do we know?”
Indeed, how would they?
Oh, hell.
Sophy understood. But she just didn’t like it. Not one bit. And she couldn’t imagine George liking it, either. Not really. She shot him a glance now to see how he was taking Sam’s news. His face was unreadable, his eyes hooded, his expression impassive. His arms were folded across his chest.
“I can’t stay a month or two,” Sophy said. “I have a life—and work—in California. I can’t leave Lily that long.”
“Bring her,” George said.
“Who’s Lily?” Sam asked.
“Our daughter,” George answered before Sophy could.
Sam’s eyes went round. His jaw dropped. “Odd you never mentioned any of this,” he murmured in George’s direction.
“Need to know,” George said in an even tone.
Sam nodded, but he blinked a few times, still looking a little stunned as his gaze went from George to Sophy and back again.
He wasn’t the only one feeling a bit shell-shocked.
All she’d intended to do was drop into the hospital long enough to give Tallie the key to George’s house, say thank-you for the few hours sleep and say that Gunnar was fine. She hadn’t even expected to have to talk to George again. After the way they’d left things this morning, she couldn’t imagine he’d have anything more to say to her.
“There must be ‘wives for rent’ in New York,” she said.
Sam didn’t offer an opinion. He tucked his hands in his pockets and retreated into bystander mode.
“I’ll rent you a wife,” she offered.
“So much for payback,” George murmured.
Sophy’s fingers knotted into fists. “You’d be able to come home.”
George just looked at her. “So you’re saying you won’t do it.” His tone was mild enough, but Sophy didn’t have to imagine the challenge in his words.
She clenched her teeth to stop herself saying the first, second and third things that came into her head. She got a grip, reminded herself that he was not himself—even though, frankly, he seemed more like himself than ever. And then she reminded herself as well that she owed him.
Ultimately she might have resented what he’d done by highhandedly proposing marriage and taking over her life.
But she’d let him.
She’d let herself be steamrolled. Had said yes because she knew George was all that Ari wasn’t, that Ari—even if he’d lived—would never have been. And she couldn’t even put a finger on when she realized she felt about George far differently and far more intensely than she’d ever felt about Ari.
She’d desperately wanted their marriage to work.
Finding out that she was just another obligation, one more of “Ari’s messes” that George had had to clean up had hurt her far more than Ari’s turning his back on her and fatherhood in the first place.
But that wasn’t George’s problem. It was hers.
And before she could move forward, she knew she had to do what she’d told him she’d come to do—settle her debts—even if what she was doing reminded her of the old cliché about the frying pan and the fire.
As for why George wanted her to do it when he didn’t want to be married to her, well, maybe she’d find an answer to that. Maybe, please God, there would finally be some closure.
She straightened. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Sam’s eyes widened. George didn’t blink.
“But only for a month—or less if possible.” She met his gaze steadily. “Then we’re even.”
He wanted to just walk out then and there.
To get out of bed, dress and stroll out of the hospital as if he’d just spent the night in a not very pleasant hotel.
Of course it wasn’t as simple as that. He didn’t have any clothes, for one thing. His had been shredded and bloodied in the accident and cut from his body after. Getting out of bed hurt like sin. Strolling, of course, was impossible. He was on crutches and wearing a boot to give his ankle some support.
But at least Sophy couldn’t say he’d shanghaied her into staying under spurious pretenses.
What she did say, though, as he asked her to go buy him some clothes, surprised the hell out of him.
“Not necessary,” she said. “I’ll just go to your place and bring you some clothes back.”
“My place?”
She shrugged, dug into the pocket of her pants and held up a key. “Your house. I’ve got a key. It’s what I came to bring back to Tallie.”
His jaw dropped. He had to consciously shut his mouth. But he couldn’t keep it shut. He demanded, “She gave you a key to my house?”
Another shrug. “I was tired when I ran into her by the elevator. I hadn’t slept all night. And she had things to do. The kids. Baking. Stuff for Elias. She couldn’t spend all day with Gunnar. So she asked me to spend the day at your place instead of at a hotel—and get some sleep at the same time. I didn’t snoop around,” she told him tartly.
He didn’t expect she had. Why would she bother? He shrugged awkwardly. “I was just surprised.”
“Yes,