Shannon cranes around Declan, trying to get a look. “No kidding!” she chirps. “Where was that?”
“In the bathtub, with the gerbils and the—”
“Security has a report of an unattended fainting goat that is loose in the building as well, sir.”
“A what?” I snap.
“A fainting goat.”
“How do you know it faints?”
“Guests continue to report a dead goat. Surveillance footage shows that it’s just fainting.”
“What a relief,” Dec says. “Because a fainting goat is so much better than a dead one.” He turns to me. “When did your suite become a petting zoo?”
“Shut up.”
I’ve had enough. More than enough. I’m still dehydrated, and there’s not enough headache medicine in the world to take care of my hangover. Add in my brother, the Sultan mess, and a menagerie of animals that are relics from a night I can’t even remember—plus these damn wedding rings—and I’ve had it.
“OUT!”
“That’s not going to work this time,” Declan informs me.
Fine. “Then be useful.”
“How?”
“Meet us for coffee next door.”
He brightens. “At my new chain?”
“At your new—oh, damn it.” I forgot he bought the place. He’s going to be insufferable for a while.
And by “for a while” I mean forever.
“Glad to see you’re admitting it’s better than this place.” He sniffs.
Shannon gapes at him. “You are such a cocky bastard.”
I knew I liked her for a reason.
The carpet is littered with feathers, Cheeto dust, empty liquor bottles, candy wrappers, and small piles of detritus that could be dissected, but are better left untouched. I can’t stand the mess. It distracts me, like an itch. A visual itch that can only be scratched by leaving.
And then I hear it.
Over the noise of the shower running, there’s another sound. Since I was a small child, I’ve had the kind of hearing that drives parents batty. Mom used to say that if working in the family business didn’t pan out for me, I could find a career as a human hearing aid.
And right now, I hear Amanda, sobbing, in the bathroom.
“Out,” I repeat, this time with a deadly growl, turning away from Declan and entering the bathroom, holding the door open just enough to slide in sideways.
Where I discover, to my chagrin, that I am right.
This is one of those rare moments when I do not want to be right.
She is sitting on the edge of the tub, crying softly, fingers buried in her hair, the room completely overtaken by steam.
“Hey.”
She sniffs but says nothing.
“It’s not that bad,” I say, bending in front of her.
“Are you insane? It’s not that bad? If this isn’t that bad, how the hell do you define bad?”
I let that sink in.
“Bad,” I finally reply, “is when your brother has to choose between you and your mother.”
She gasps.
“Bad is when your mother thinks the father of her child has killed her in a drunk-driving accident.”
She sobs.
“This? This is a situation, Amanda. This can be managed.”
“You have a very stark way of putting things in perspective.”
“That’s my job.”
“I might be married to one of three men! One of whom faints at the sight of vaginas!”
“I’d like to be very clear that I am not that man,” I say, clearing my throat.
“A fainting goat would have a better chance of remaining conscious than Josh looking at some pink.”
“Or orange.”
She gives me a weak smile. “Ha ha. We have no memory. How do we manage this?”
“One shower at a time.”
Unexpectedly, she reaches down to her left forearm with her right hand and riiiiiiip!
“What are you doing?”
In one smooth move, she grimaces and tears the worn bandage off her left forearm, revealing a network of animal claw scratches. Amanda does the same with her right forearm, leaving me stunned.
“I’m ripping off the Band-aid,” she says, her voice filled with pain.
“You still need to see a doctor.”
“No. I need a shower, a gallon of ibuprofen, more coffee, and you.”
“Me?”
“You.”
We stand and I pull her into my arms, her naked body soft and sticky against my skin and open robe.
“If I have to be married to anyone, I hope it’s you,” I whisper, before kissing her softly. My blood pounds against my skin, my breathing slow, as the scent of her fills me. Her shoulder is so soft against my chin. She relaxes against me, so delicate, yet strong. Less than a week ago, I watched her nearly drown, a part of me dying as seconds ticked by underwater and I couldn’t free her fast enough. Sheer determination got her to the surface in time.
Overriding instinct takes a terrible toll on the body.
And it’s even worse on the heart.
“Considering the options, I’m not sure whether to be flattered or to hit you.”
“Trust me. It’s a compliment. Besides, I’m not sure I can handle any more pain right now.”
Steam surrounds us, making my lungs fill slowly. The warmth helps, but being alone, upright, with her in my arms is the best medicine right now. So much remains unspoken between us. The vocabulary just isn’t there.
I wonder if that’s the whole point of committing to one person: you have the rest of your lives to figure out how to say what you feel. You build a language for two. Fluency isn’t optional.