Page 174 of Diego

They arrived without asking, occupied my house as if they owned it, and left it more prepared for Blair’s recovery than it was when they came.

I had planned to work while she slept, and technically I still could. My laptop is in the office, my phone has enough unanswered messages to occupy me for the next hour, and there are several things at Conti Enterprises that actually require my attention.

My phone vibrates in my pocket with a message from Blair.

Where are you?

A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.

Downstairs. Coming up.

Her answer arrives almost immediately.

Okay.

Work can wait. I head back upstairs.

Chapter Thirty

Blair

Two days of resting have taught me something important about myself: I am terrible at it.

I know I am feeling better. That does not mean I am back to normal, and I am trying very hard to remember the distinction because Dr. Mehta had been specific about what she wanted from me.

I am supposed to take it easy, stay off my feet the majority of the time, avoid anything strenuous, and generally give my body a chance to recover.

I understand all of that. I have followed the instructions with admirable patience, in my opinion, especially considering the fact that my entire life usually involves crossing Chicago several times a day in heels while answering calls, reviewing listings, walking properties, meeting clients, and thinking about three different things at once.

I am also slowly losing my damn mind.

The bedroom is gorgeous. I knew that when I showed Diego the house, and spending several days in it has not changed my mind. The lake fills the windows, the bed is absurdly comfortable, the sitting area is large enough to qualify as a living room in any other home, and the private terrace has become my favorite place to sit when the weather cooperates. I have spent hours out there wrapped in a light blanket, looking over Lake Michigan while answering personal messages, reading, or simply watching the water.

But there are only so many hours a person can admire a lake.

I have also walked around the bedroom enough times to know exactly how many steps it takes to reach every piece of furniture. I go to the bathroom on my own. I shower without Diego hovering directly outside the glass, although I suspect he is usually somewhere close enough to hear if I fall over.

I have wandered onto the terrace, crossed from the bed to the windows, sat in the chair near the fireplace, returned to the bed, and repeated the entire circuit until I started feeling like an animal pacing an enclosure.

If I spend another full afternoon in here, I may lose my mind.

I am sitting near the foot of the bed now with my phone abandoned beside me, listening to the quiet house and trying to decide whether boredom qualifies as a medical emergency. Probably not.

More importantly, I know I am supposed to be moving around a little. Dr. Mehta did not tell me to remain flat on my back indefinitely. She specifically said she did not want complete bed rest unless something changed. Bed rest is the old-fashioned way of doing things and has not been shown to improve those with my condition.

Gentle movement around the house is hardly reckless, especially after two days without any more bleeding and with the cramps having settled into something so occasional and mild that I barely notice them.

That is the medical argument.

The personal argument is that I want a sandwich.

Not one made by someone else. Not one brought to me on a tray. Not one that I eat from the comfort of the bed. I want to stand in an actual kitchen, open an actual refrigerator, and make myself whatever sounds good in the moment like a functioning adult.

Diego is somewhere in the house. I assume he is in his office because he disappeared about forty minutes ago with his laptop and phone after making sure I had water, asking whether I wanted anything, and checking whether I was comfortable.

He has barely left my side since the hospital, and he has not left the house at all.

I have told him repeatedly that he can go to work. Emilia is here if I need something.