Page 128 of The Temporary Bride

“Hey,” she says, her eyes full of concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I reply, managing a small smile. “Ready to get out of here.”

“Good,” she says, coming over to help me with my things. “Because I’ve got a list of about a million movies I want to get through while you’re at my place, so we should get started.”

The nurse returns with a wheelchair, and I’m carefully helped into it. As we head to the front desk to finalize my discharge, I’m so grateful for Ivy that I don’t know what to do with myself. She’s been my rock, and I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without her.

When we reach the desk, the nurse handling the paperwork glances up at me. “Everything’s all set, Mrs. Thorne. Your husband has taken care of all the bills.”

My pulse stutters. “He… he did?”

“Yes,” the nurse replies, smiling. “He insisted that all the bills be sent to him. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

I nod, feeling a complicated assortment of emotions. Anger, frustration, loss… but also something that feels embarrassingly close to relief. I asked for space, and Tristan is still taking care of me in his own way.

As we head outside into the bright sunshine, Ivy wheels me toward her car. She looks at me, her expression sympathetic. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice shaky. “It’s just… he’s still trying to take care of me, even now.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Chloe,” she says. “He loves you. He’s trying to show it the only way he knows how.”

“I know,” I whisper, tears pricking at my eyes. “But it doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t change how I feel right now.”

She nods. “You need time. And that’s okay. Let’s get you home, and you can figure it out from there.”

She helps me into her car and then returns the wheelchair. I’ll be on crutches for a while to take some of the pressure off my injured leg, but since the hospital provided the wheelchair, I’m glad we used it. It was nice not to have to hobble on crutches all the way to her car. I’m still sore as hell.

The drive to Ivy’s place doesn’t take long. The salty breeze drifts through the car’s open windows, and I close my eyes, letting the sound of the sea and the fresh air soothe my frazzled nerves. It works for a few minutes—until I remember Tristan’s arms around me as I fell into the waves, the color of his eyes reflecting the sea. Then the ocean stops being a balm, and it hurts just like everything else.

As we pull up to Ivy’s beachfront condo, I feel some of the tension ease. She helps me out of the car and grabs my bag, then we make our way inside. The condo is bright and inviting, and the décor perfectly matches her sweet, bubbly personality.

“Oh, this is so cute,” I comment as I hobble in on my crutches, smiling in spite of the heavy feeling. “I love your place.”

“Aw, thanks.” She flushes, looking pleased. “You can take the guest room,” she adds, leading me down a hallway. “It’s all set up for you.”

I make my way slowly into the room, still getting used to the crutches. The walls have hand-painted floral designs, and a vase of fresh lavender sits on the nightstand, filling the room with its calming scent.

Ivy sets my bag down on a chair and turns to me with a small smile. “Take your time getting settled. I’m going to make us some tea. Chamomile sound good?”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, giving her a grateful smile.

As she heads to the kitchen, I take a moment to look around the room again. It’s cozy, with sunlight streaming in through the windows, casting patches of light on the floor. I rest my crutches against the wall and settle onto the edge of the bed, tracing the soft quilt with my fingers as I let out a small breath. My cracked ribs make breathing a bit painful, but it’s not as intense as it was at first.

A few moments later, Ivy returns with two steaming mugs of chamomile tea. She hands me one, and we sit together in silence, the heat of the tea seeping into my hands.

“Thanks, Ivy,” I say quietly, taking a sip. “For everything.”

She waves a hand. “It’s nothing. That’s what friends are for, right?” Her smile eases some of the tightness in my chest. “Honestly, it’s the least I could do. You’ve been through the fucking wringer.”

I huff a humorless laugh, nodding. I can’t deny that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ivy’s voice is soft.

I hesitate, staring into my tea. “I don’t even know where to start,” I admit.

“Start wherever you need to. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

I find myself spilling everything to Ivy, the words tumbling out in a flood. As I recount the confrontation with Tristan, the accident, and the aftermath—Tristan at my bedside, pleading, and the news of Genevieve’s betrayal—my voice cracks, and tears stream down my face.