Page 173 of Capuleto

"How do you see me?" My father smiled.

"Like a Capulet in love." He ruffled my hair the way he used to when I was a kid. "I'm going to get your amore."

"How do you know what Nikita and I call each other in private?"

"A father knows everything. Even those kinds of things." Why didn't I doubt it? "Oh, and just so you know, Adriano keeps asking about you."

"What did you tell him?"

"You know how creative your sister is."

"Then we'd better wait until I'm discharged and have time to think. Bring my wife; I need her more than the air I breathe."

"Worthy son of your mother..."

"And yours, since I know you used to write her poems."

"I'll deny that part in any court. I won't be long."

72

Villains fall in love too

The twenty-seven minutes and thirty-three seconds it took to remove the mummy from the room and for my goddess to appear at the door felt like an eternity.

My heart was pounding in my throat, and my mind was racing a mile a minute. I couldn't afford to make a mistake in what I said or how I said it.

I was a wreck; the painkillers were helping me control the pain in my side, and the corticosteroids were reducing the inflammation. I felt a certain swelling, and I don't mean in my groin, but in the abdominal area, a result of all the medication. I hoped I didn't look like a toad instead of the prince a woman like the one who had just walked through the door deserved. She remained silent and expectant. It was logical, after all I had put her through. Although it was true that Nikita hadn’t acted well, I wasn’t exactly an example either. The difference was that she had more than redeemed herself.

"Be good," commented the nurse as she and the orderly settled my wife into her new bed. "You are forbidden from having sex until your wounds have healed, so practice contemplative love, as difficult as that may be. Those looks you’re giving each other will set off the fire alarm at the slightest touch, and I wouldn’t like to see anything inappropriate. At my age and without plans for the coming years, it would make me envious."

My nurse was a riot; if I hadn’t been so nervous, I would have joked along with her. The orderly let out a low chuckle, and I sensed a wink from him at my wife that almost made me get up and remind him of his childhood, when he had supplied the Tooth Fairy with enough teeth to fill her sack for a month.

I controlled my anger by giving the guy a look that wiped the smile off his face. They both left the room, and I went to stand up.

"What are you doing?" my roommate questioned, noticing my intention.

"I still don’t know how to teleport, so I'm trying to get up to go see you."

"Don’t even think about it," she stopped me. "You heard the nurse. You in your bed, and me in mine."

"I didn’t intend to have sex, if that’s what you thought."

"That’s not what I meant. I imagine touching me is not one of your priorities." If I told her I was dying to kiss her and would give anything to be well enough to do just that, would I come off as a creep? I didn’t move, evaluating the possibilities. Nikita resumed the conversation. "I’ve thought a lot about us, and I just want to tell you that I accept."

"Accept what?" I asked, confused.

"That I want to sign the divorce papers." That I did not expect. It was worse than Will Smith’s slap at the Oscars. A smack to my ego with an open hand. When I suggested the possibility of divorce, I was 99.9% sure she would accept my proposal to marry me for love. I thought she realized that what we had went beyond an agreement and that she was just afraid to admit her feelings. Now, I wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea. My signature was on those documents, and if she signed, I would lose her forever.

"You want a divorce?"

"Of course, she wants a divorce, you are idiot! She almost died for you twice."

"Yes, I’m decided," she responded firmly.

Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t have moved. Nikita did it instead. She got up, put her feet on the ground, and dragged that kind of silver stand with the transparent IV bag hanging from it. If there was a person who could make that shitty gown look like a freaking runway model, it was my still-wife. Now the swelling below my waist was definitely going down. If the nurse walked in at that moment, she’d jab me with a muscle relaxant like a dart in a bull.

With the feline calm of a cat walking along a railing on the 70th floor of a burning building, she reached my bed. She sat on the edge without asking permission, giving me a privileged view of her figure. The gown bunched up at the edge of her thighs. I struggled to swallow and not let my jaw drop to the parking lot.