Page 116 of The Temptation

Frank: I made the mistake of saying her lasagne tasted different in front of her mother.

Me: Dumb move, my friend.

Frank: Yeah, I know that now. The lasagne wasn’t bad, it just didn’t taste like the way she usually makes it. But, apparently, in her eyes, ‘different’ means I can cook for myself for the foreseeable future and sleep alone indefinitely.

Frank: Chicks are crazy. I should’ve stayed single.

Frank: Do you want us to make Romeo’s mum disappear?

Me: No, leave her. I’ll sort it out.

Despite the heaviness in my chest, I manage a short laugh as I slide my phone back into my pocket.

I can picture Arabella reacting the same way, with her sharp tongue and a cold shoulder, but she’s powerless to my charm, so she never stays mad at me for long.

I’m sitting with my head buried in my hands when someone touches my shoulder. My head snaps up to find a man dressed in blue scrubs standing before me.

“Hi,” the guy says. “I’m the doctor who operated on Mr De Luca.”

I run my flattened palms down the front of my trousers as I stand. “Hi, doc,” I say, extending a hand. “How is he?”

He raises an eyebrow. “The operation went well. But he’s ... less than thrilled now that he’s come out of the anaesthetic.”

“So he made it through?” I ask as the weight in my chest lifts a little.

“It was touch and go for a while. He’s still not out of the woods. The wound was deep, and just millimetres from his kidney. He was very lucky. We had to give him six units of blood. He lost a hell of a lot.”

I nod slowly as the relief I just felt dulls.

“I’m concerned that his current state of mind might set him back. He’s demanding to see his wife. He even tried to rip out his cannula to go find her.”

I rear back slightly. “His wife?”

The doctor glances around, almost cautiously. “Yes … is she here?”

“He doesn’t have a wife,” I say flatly.

“Oh.”

I study him. “Could he be hallucinating? Still a bit out of it from the drugs?”

The doctor lifts a shoulder. “That’s a possibility.”

My brother swore I was off my chops after my op, when I got shot. He claimed I said all sorts of ridiculous crap, which I still deny. I don’t remember a damn thing from that night.

“Can I see him?”

“Do you think you’d be able to calm him down. I’d prefer not to sedate him, but I will if needed.”

For some reason, I feel nervous as I follow the doctor into the recovery room where Romeo is. I could hear him yelling from down the hall.

The moment the door opens, he growls, “I swear to fucking God, if you people don’t let me see my wife, I’m going to walk out of here with my bare arse hanging in the breeze!”

The nurse looks exasperated but amused when her eyes dart to me. Romeo’s half-sitting, half-flopping in the hospital bed, one arm flailing weakly while the other’s taped up and strapped, keeping the IV in place.

It’s a sight I can tell you. I’m so relieved to see him conscious and breathing that for a second, I almost feel like I might cry.

I move to the side of his bed, but he hasn’t noticed me yet.