He removed the blanket and her clothes with careful hands. He cursed when he saw how much blood was on her legs. He surveyed her grimly. “You are certain this is only period blood?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He simply bent and lifted her from the bed. As gentle as he was, the movement still jarred her and brought on a wave of dizziness as pain overcame her again.
She moaned.
He cursed. “This cannot be normal, cara.”
“Didn’t say it was normal,” she muttered, her eyes shut, her head lolling against his shoulder.
Strangely he didn’t ask what it was.
“I’m surprised,” she said.
“About?”
“You aren’t demanding answers.”
“You do not have any idea how terrible you look, do you?”
“I look terrible?” she asked, a fresh spate of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Ugly?”
“Ill, you foolish woman. You are as white as paper and you look like even a weak wind would blow you over.”
“I hurt.”
“I know.” And he sounded like the knowledge was tearing him apart, but that had to be a trick of her hearing.
Why would he care if she hurt when he hated her?
Only the way he held her was not the cruel grip of hatred or even the impersonal grip of a stranger. He held her to him like she was precious in some way and even if it was a delusion, she clung to him, needing the comfort and too weak to pretend otherwise.
She didn’t realize where they were headed until he stepped into the already steaming shower with her and then she understood why he’d gotten naked, too. He planned to hold her while she bathed. Tears of relief seeped from beneath her closed eyelids as the hot water cascaded over her skin.
He hadn’t left her alone to face her pain and she felt pathetically grateful. She kept her eyes closed, not caring that some sprayed her face. He directed water over her legs, balancing her on his knee so he could wash the blood away.
“There’s so much,” he repeated in a subdued undertone.
“It gets worse every month,” she said, wondering at her lack of embarrassment to have him caring for her like this.
But then how many times had she wished he was there to take care of her, that he cared enough to notice how hard her monthly had become and comforted her because of it? Such thoughts had always been in the realm of fantasy before, but now it was a reality and she had a hard time taking it in.
He took care of her with an efficiency and instinctual understanding she couldn’t help but admire.
She didn’t know how long they showered, but at some point he said, “I think you’re safe for the whirlpool now. The bleeding has either stopped or slowed down considerably.”
“It comes in fits and starts,” she said tiredly as she let him carry her dripping wet to the whirlpool bath.
He didn’t drop her into it like she expected, but climbed the steps and stepped down into it with her still in his arms. She made a sound of protest.
“You cannot bathe by yourself in this condition.”
“I only plan to lie here.”
“And so you will…in my arms.”
She didn’t argue any further as he settled her between his legs with his arms around her torso so that she did not have to worry about staying afloat or staying put. He took care of it all for her. She sighed contentedly, the meds beginning to take effect and leaned back against him peacefully.
She should probably feel guilty for letting him take care of her like he was taking care of everyone else right now, but it felt too good…too right for guilt. And resting in a whirlpool was not a bad thing for him, either, a voice inside her head told her convincingly.
As the pain receded and her sense of well being increased, she let herself relax totally. “This is nice.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “But we’ll have to get out soon.”
“Why?”
“I may start bleeding again.”
He sighed. “We have established that this is not a normal period.”
“No, it’s not.”
“What is going on?”
“I tried to tell you on the plane from New York, but you didn’t want to hear.” Which was an accusation, not an answer, but it still hurt he’d been so ready to dismiss their marriage that he hadn’t even cared what her reasons were for believing it had to end.
“No. I would remember.”
“Yes, I did.”
“When did you try to tell me about this awful bleeding and pain?” he asked, still sounding as if he doubted her.
“When I wanted to tell you why we have to end our marriage, but then you told me you wanted it over anyway and it didn’t seem to matter.” Try as she might, she could not make herself treat it lightly.