Claimed by My Ex-Husband novel · Chapter 2 of 48
Chapter 2: Thirty Days
With a sprained ankle and a fourth-floor walk-up, Tala accepts Angelo's offer of thirty days as his wife before he signs; his thumb on her foot says the rules are already bending, until Noelle walks in with a key.
The urgent care doctor said grade-three sprain, two weeks in a boot, no weight on it, and no stairs.
Angelo stood in the corner of the exam room with his arms folded and asked three questions I hadn't thought to ask.
How long before she can stand at work. Whether the swelling meant a torn ligament. Whether the boot came in a smaller size, because my feet were small.
The doctor answered him like he was the patient's husband.
I was too busy staring at the wall to correct anyone.
My phone buzzed in my lap.
Dessa.
"Why did the hospital text me that you're there? What did he do?"
"Nothing. I fell. I'm fine."
"Where are you going after?"
"Home. Your place."
"Tala."
I could hear her sneakers squeaking on a hospital floor.
"I'm on nights till Sunday. Our apartment is on the fourth floor, with no elevator."
"I know," I said.
"So how exactly are you getting up there?"
I looked at the boot on my foot.
"I'll figure it out."
"Figure it out on your butt, one stair at a time, with a grocery bag? Call me when you've eaten something."
She hung up.
Angelo was holding the door open with one hand and my crutches in the other.
In the car, he told the driver an address I knew by heart.
"No," I said. "Take me to Dessa's."
"Fourth floor, no elevator, and she works nights."
"You were listening."
"Dessa talks loud."
"Then I'll book a hotel."
"You can do that," Angelo said. "And on Monday my lawyer won't file anything, and you'll stay married to me for as long as the court takes to schedule the next hearing. I can make that a year."
I turned all the way around in my seat.
"That's blackmail."
"It's an offer."
His voice stayed level, and his eyes stayed on the window.
"Thirty days in my house, as my wife. On day thirty I sign whatever you put in front of me. No lawyer, no delay."
"Thirty days."
"You're hurt. You need someone to carry the groceries. Let me carry them."
"Why?"
"Because you'd rather hate me from a place where I can see you."
I opened my mouth to tell him that was the most arrogant thing anyone had ever said to me.
Nothing came out.
Because what I wanted most was a date written down at the end of this.
A day thirty, with his name on it.
"Separate rooms," I said.
"Fine."
"You don't touch me."
"Fine."
"I mean it, Angelo."
"I heard you."
He agreed too fast.
I should have noticed that.
It was our old house on Vallejo Street, the narrow one with the green door and the lemon tree I had talked him into planting.
The lemon tree was alive.
Somebody had kept watering it for five months.
He carried me up the front steps and I let him.
The crutches were still a puzzle to me, and the steps were steep.
Inside, the hall smelled the way it always had.
Nothing had moved.
My blue mug hung on its hook above the coffee machine.
My boots were still lined up by the door, behind his.
He set me on the living room couch and went out of the room, and I heard the freezer open.
I called after him that I was sleeping in the guest room off the kitchen, because I couldn't do the bedroom stairs.
He came back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel and knelt on the rug in front of me.
"I said no touching."
"The doctor said ice every two hours." He didn't look up. "I'm following the doctor."
He unfastened the straps of the boot.
His fingers went under the heel, and he lifted my foot onto his knee.
It was already purple around the bone.
He pressed the towel over it.
The cold made me gasp, and then his thumb moved along the arch of my foot, once, slowly, under the towel.
That was not ice.
Heat went up the back of my leg so fast I forgot what I'd been about to say.
He felt it, because he went still.
Neither of us said a word.
"Ice," Angelo said at last, and his voice was lower than I remembered. "Two hours."
"Take your hand off my foot."
"It's on the towel."
"Your thumb isn't."
He moved his thumb.
Slowly.
The front door opened.
I heard keys, then a pair of heels in the hallway, and a woman's voice, bright and breathless.
"Oh good, you're already here. I brought dinner."
Noelle walked in with two grocery bags and a warm smile.
She took one look at the two of us on the couch.
She set the bags down without a flicker of surprise.
She'd had a key.
And she had walked in like she had done it a hundred times.
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