Chapter 22: The Fifteenth

Scott's POV

Eleanor looked at the two of us from her pillow, pale and cross.

She had already told three nurses her gown was an insult.

"Go home," she said. "Both of you. Separately, together, I don't care. I'm sleeping, and I won't do it with you hovering."

Marcella checked her monitor anyway.

I stood at the foot of the bed and said nothing.

I had learned that it was sometimes the best thing I could do.

In the elevator Marcella looked at the floor numbers.

"You're coming to my place tonight," she said.

I turned my head.

"Marcella."

"It's the fifteenth." Her cheeks were pink. "I thought we'd do it differently."

The door opened on the lobby.

She walked out first, and I followed her out.

Her apartment was a one-bedroom over a bakery, with a radiator that banged and a lamp with a green glass shade.

She shut the door behind us and turned on the lamp.

Then the overhead light.

Then the little one in the kitchen.

"The rules are mine," she said, with her back against the door.

"Yes."

"The lights stay on. You stay until morning."

"Yes."

"You say what you want, out loud, every time. And you don't leave until I tell you to."

"All of it, Marcella."

"Then take off your coat."

I did.

My hands were not quite steady.

She watched them, and her mouth softened.

She crossed the room and took my tie in her fist, and pulled me down until our faces were an inch apart.

"You're shaking," she said.

"I've wanted this for three years."

"Say what."

"You," I said. "Your mouth. Your hands on me. I wanted you to be loud. I wanted to see your face when you came and I wanted you to watch mine."

Her breath caught.

"And?"

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