“Fine,” she said.
Chandler looked between us. “You two are a formidable couple.”
“We are not a couple,” I said automatically.
Belle glanced sideways at me.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Chandler said.
Geoffrey cleared his throat gently. “Will you require transportation to the doctor, Mrs. Renault?”
The title hung in the air. Belle inhaled sharply. Her eyes flicked to mine.Mrs. Renault.I did not look away.
“Oh, I’m not changing?—”
“Yes,” I interrupted her.
She swallowed.
“Fine,” she said softly.
The room settled. As Belle shifted her weight on the crutches and looked at me with something that wasn’t fear, and wasn’t resentment. It was something else. I realized this no longer felt procedural. It felt significant. I had married her for stability. And as she turned toward the door, I felt something entirely illogical take root.
12
BELLE
The waiting room smelled faintly of antiseptic and stale coffee. I sat in a molded plastic chair that was trying very hard to be ergonomic, my crutches leaning against my leg, and tried not to think about the wordspecialist. Across from us, a television mounted in the corner played muted daytime talk. An older man flipped through a fishing magazine. A woman in scrubs walked briskly past the open doorway every few minutes.
Beside me, Raphael radiated displeasure. Not loud displeasure, just that tightly coiled, controlled irritation that made him look like he was preparing to litigate the entire building. His jaw was set. His shoulders were squared. His gaze tracked every nurse who passed.
“You’re scaring the ficus,” I murmured.
“It appears overwatered,” he replied without looking at me.
I bit back a smile.
He hadn’t hesitated when I told him he didn’t need to come in with me. He hadn’t even entertained the possibility. He’d simply taken a seat beside me like this was the only logical outcome.
I had expected that to irritate me. Instead, it was . . . steadying. There was something oddly comforting about having him there, all growly and hyper-focused, like the entire medical system was about to personally answer to him if it mishandled my knee.
I shifted slightly in my chair, adjusting the angle of my leg. The accidental contact of my thigh against his sent an unexpected zing up my spine. I had been able to keep my physical attraction for him contained in a box. It only ever pressed its face up against the glass, panting when his forearm muscle rippled, or his crisp dress shirt pulled over his strong bicep. But after that kiss, as innocent as it was, my desire had houdini-ed its way out of the box. I needed to find a way to get it back in.
“You don’t have to look like you’re preparing for battle,” I said quietly.
“I’m just making sure they do their job,” he answered.
“It’s an orthopedic clinic.”
“Yes.”
I glanced sideways at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I do not enjoy incompetence.”
