Don’t Mind If “I Do” by Everly Ashton
Fourteen
Mazzy
I wake with a heavy feeling in my limbs and a groggy head. Before I even open my eyes, I recognize the feelings for what they are—the aftermath of a vertigo attack. I’m lying on my right side in the same position I always lie when I have one of these—the one that allows me to feel as though my head isn’t swimming. With a deep breath and a small prayer, I slowly roll over to the other side to see if it feels as if my brain is shaking or whether I’m back to normal.
My eyes are closed when I manage to make it to my left side. I don’t feel as if I’m going to throw up or like the ground is trying to swallow me, so I let out a relieved breath and open my eyes.
My body jerks when I find Nick lying beside me, perched on one elbow, studying me. He’s shirtless and his broad chest is on display—along with all the muscles on said chest. My gaze can’t help but follow the treasure trail that starts under his belly button and leads to the edge of the sheet. God, am I dreaming?
That’s when everything that happened comes rushing back. City hall, me almost falling, Darius and Nick in some kind of weird tug-of-war over me, and Nick insisting I return to his place with him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, sounding as if he might actually care about the answer.
“Better, thank you. Just really tired and groggy.” My throat is rough like sandpaper.
“I hear one of those attacks can really take it out of a person. Not to mention the drugs you’re on contribute to the fatigue.”
“Right. Thanks again for getting me a prescription.”
He shrugs. “Perks of being engaged to a doctor.”
That reminds me—he told Darius he was my fiancé. I don’t have to worry about Darius telling anyone—he’s trustworthy—but I am going to have to deal with that sooner rather than later. He’ll be wondering what the hell is going on.
I manage a small smile. I hate when people see me have an attack. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all this.”
“The only casualty was a navy blue Henley. Could’ve been worse.”
As mortification sets in, my cheeks feel as if someone just struck a match on them. I cover my face with my hands. “Oh my God, I threw up on you.”
“That you did. Though I suppose maybe I deserved it a little.”
I peek at him through my fingers.
“I was an asshole earlier today. We have an agreement and I plan on sticking to it. There’s no reason it has to be more miserable than it’s already going to be.”
My heart pinches, though his words should come as a relief to me, I suppose. But the fact that he thinks this whole thing will be miserable hurts. I give him the out he’s probably looking for. “It’s strange after all these years… we’ll get used to it.”
“Yup. And by then we’ll probably be getting divorced.” He rolls out of bed and I see for the first time that he isn’t naked. He’s wearing a pair of black pajama bottoms. “You hungry?”
I slowly sit up. I’m always hesitant to move after an attack, because very often I can still be a little dizzy, even if I’m no longer falling over. “What time is it?”
“Nearly ten p.m.”
My eyes widen. “Wow. I didn’t realize it was that late.”
“You conked out pretty good.”
“Yeah, that usually happens.” I force myself to look away from his bronzed chest.
“So, hungry?”
“I could eat, sure.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
I nod, and after he’s left, I move to the edge of the bed and gingerly step down, holding on to the edge in case I feel dizzy. After taking a few steps, I find I’m not one hundred percent, but I’m way better than before. I just have to move a little slower than normal. By morning, I should be fine.
I make my way to the bathroom, do my business, and wash my hands, and once I open the master bath door, I see Nick is already back with a tray of food.
“Careful,” he says as he watches me walk back to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better than earlier. A little dizzy still, but nothing I can’t deal with.”
He nods, then once I’m seated in bed, he comes around to my side to place the tray in front of me. On it is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a green apple cut in slices with a small bowl of peanut butter beside it. My heart stumbles over a few beats and I glance at him.
He shrugs. “Figured you probably still liked it.”
“I do,” I just about whisper.
When Nick and I were growing up, this was my favorite lunch. PB&J sandwiches were my favorite, and I’ve always loved dipping my apple slices in peanut butter. I used to have to beg our chef to let me have it for lunch on the weekends. The chef would usually let me as long as I promised not to tell my mom—my mother found it too juvenile. I can’t even remember the last time I had this though.
What means more than the pleasure of seeing my favorite comfort food when I’m not feeling well is the fact that Nick remembered. But I don’t think he’d appreciate the way my eyes are watering, so I put my head down and dip one of the apple slices in the bowl of peanut butter, scooping out a large amount.
“Mind if I turn on the TV?” Nick settles on his side, leaning back against the upholstered headboard.
I shake my head since I’m chewing and turn my attention to the screen. He turns on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix and I nearly choke on my apple.
“You watch Grey’s Anatomy?” I ask.
“Just so I can complain about how much they fuck up the medical shit.”
Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense.
“I see.” I pick up the sandwich and take a bite, moaning in pleasure when the mixture of fresh bread and peanut butter and strawberry jam hits my tongue. “This is so good.”
“I’ll give your compliments to the chef.” He doesn’t turn his attention away from the episode.
“I haven’t had one of these in forever.”
That must grab his attention because he turns the volume down on the TV and looks at me. “Why not? They’re not your favorite anymore?”
I swallow the bite I’m chewing. “No, they are. I guess I just… I don’t know. Just stopped eating them, I suppose.”
He looks at me for a few beats then changes the subject. “How long have you had Meniere’s disease?”
I look at my plate. “Since I was twenty-nine. I tend to have an episode, then nothing at all for months and months.”
He nods. “Any hearing loss?”
I don’t know why I didn’t assume this medical questionnaire would be coming. The man is a doctor, after all. “None yet.” And hopefully never if I’m lucky.
“Any tinnitus?”
“Sometimes. Not too often. Is this going to turn into a full-on medical exam? Do you want me to change into a hospital gown?”
“Sorry, it’s the doctor in me.”
“No, it’s fine. Sorry.” I set down my sandwich and pick up a piece of apple, dipping it in the peanut butter. “You’ve been so great in helping me out today. Ask away.”
“Nah, that’s your business. Sorry if I was prying.”
“Can you pass me my purse?” I point toward the end of the bed where I see it. “I should call Darius to come get me after I’m done eating.”
Nick looks as if maybe he wants to say something but then changes his mind, leaning forward to reach the purse then passing it to me.
“Thanks.” I pull out my phone and see that Ava has messaged me a bunch of times. She’ll have to wait. After I type a message to Darius and receive a response that he’ll be here in under an hour, I put my phone back inside my purse and set it between the two of us.
Time passes, and we quietly watch Grey’s Anatomy, punctuated occasionally by the crunch of my apple. Eventually I set the tray away from me and stand beside the bed.
“Do you mind if I give these back to you on Friday?” I hold up the oversized T-shirt I have on.
“Sure thing. Speaking of Friday, when do you plan on moving some things in?” He climbs out of bed and walks over to pick up the tray.
I’d forgotten about that part. I don’t plan on taking much from my house—whatever clothes I want, some personal items, and that’s about it. I shouldn’t need much else. “I suppose I can bring it with me on Friday. I won’t have too much.”
“That works.”
I grab my purse and follow him out of the room.
“Careful on the stairs. Make sure you hang on to the bannister.”
The doctor never quits.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, he heads to the left toward what I see is the kitchen and I continue to the front door, where I slip on my heels.
“You look ridiculous,” he says, coming out of the kitchen. “You’d better hope no one snaps a picture of you when you get home. I’m sure the local gossip sites would love nothing more than to get a picture of Mazzy Pembrooke wearing a man’s T-shirt and athletic shorts and a pair of heels.”
“Don’t worry, once we’re married, I’ll be sure to keep my appearance up to your standard. Though I can’t say I’ll ever get the tits your nurse friend has.” The image of the woman he was making out with at the hospital comes to mind. Is that what he likes?
His gaze drops to my chest. While not small, it doesn’t have the surgically enhanced look the nurse has. “That’s all right. I prefer them natural anyway.”
Headlights shine in the window and pull my attention away from Nick, and I look through the side glass of the door to see that it’s Darius. “Well, thanks again for all your help today. I really do appreciate it.”
He nods, not saying anything, so I swing open the door and walk out onto the porch.
Only once I’m at the top of the stairs does he actually speak. “I’ll see you Friday.”
I turn and nod at him over my shoulder, then hold his gaze for a moment. There’s trepidation in his eyes. He’s not the only one. I mean, what could go wrong? I’m marrying my ex-best friend turned enemy. Easy peasy, right?