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Louis-Cesare ignored them. “You’re being unfair,” he told me.
“Unfair?” I stared at him. “What about that was unfair?”
“All of it!”
“Then give me a reason—a better reason—”
“I don’t have to give you a reason!”
The healer gasped.
“Oh, son,” Bahram said, wincing and shaking his head. “How long have you been married?”
“At least not here,” Louis-Cesare amended.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and got unsteadily to my feet.
“Here.”
“Dory—”
“Now.”
“You can’t ask me—”
“I damned well can.”
“You shouldn’t need to!” The blue eyes, pained a moment ago, suddenly blazed. “Look at you.” He grasped my shoulder, the one that still had clothes covering it, but carefully, as if he was afraid that I might break. “Look at you! Mon Dieu, have you seen yourself?”
“No, and that’s not the point—”
“It is exactly the point!” I found myself crushed to a chest that was breathing hard, despite the fact that he didn’t have to. His hand started to cradle my head, and then jerked away. “Your hair,” he whispered. “Half of your hair is gone.”
Was it? Shit. “It’ll grow back—”
He did not seem to find that very reassuring. “I could have lost you.”
“Then I was right. You think I’m not strong enough—”
“No—”
“That I can’t do my job without her—”
“You’re taking this the wrong way—”
“How else am I supposed to take it? You think I’m weak!”
“This isn’t . . . you’re taking this the wrong way—”
“Then how should I take it? You said—”
“I know what I said!”
“Then what else could you have meant?”
“That I’m weak!” He pulled away suddenly and turned his back on me. “I’m the weak one! Is that what you want to hear?”
I stood there, feeling seriously unwell but also nonplussed. “What?” I finally said.
