Chapter 12: Matters of Life and Death
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We found Vivienne and my stepsister Camille in the waiting room, both looking surprised at our rushed entrance—and even more surprised at Thorne's obvious concern.
"What happened?" I demanded.
"Collapsed during lunch," Vivienne said, eyeing Thorne suspiciously. "They're saying heart complications. He's in surgery now."
"Why wasn't I called immediately?" I felt Thorne's hand on my arm, steadying me.
"We tried. You were... unavailable." Vivienne's gaze flicked between us, noting our rumpled clothes and the protective way Thorne positioned himself beside me.
"How serious is it?" Thorne asked, his CEO voice taking over—calm, authoritative.
"They're not sure he'll make it through surgery," Camille said, seeming almost pleased to deliver the blow.
My knees buckled. Thorne immediately pulled me onto his lap, arms encircling me as I struggled to breathe.
"He's a fighter," he murmured against my hair. "Like his daughter."
The hours of waiting were excruciating. Thorne never left my side, sending Finnegan to bring food I couldn't eat, coffee I barely tasted. When Vivienne made a cutting remark about "contractual obligations," Thorne's response was immediate and ice-cold.
"My concern for Lyra has nothing to do with any contract," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And everything to do with who she is to me."
The words hung in the air, their implication clear. Vivienne's eyes widened slightly before she retreated, pulling Camille with her.
"You didn't have to say that," I whispered once they were gone.
"I did," he replied simply. "Because it's true."
When the surgeon finally appeared, I gripped Thorne's hand so tightly my knuckles turned white.
"The surgery was successful," the doctor announced. "It was touch and go, but he's stable now. The next 48 hours will be critical."
Relief made me dizzy. Thorne was already asking questions about recovery, specialists, rehabilitation options.
"I want the best care team available," he told the doctor. "Whatever it costs. And when he's ready to be discharged, he'll come to our home. We have the resources to care for him properly."
Later, sitting beside my father's bed watching his chest rise and fall, I felt the weight of everything that had happened. Thorne had gone to make calls, giving me time alone with Dad.
"He's quite something, your husband," my father said weakly, surprising me. I hadn't realized he was awake.
"He is," I agreed, adjusting his blanket.
"Not what I expected when Vivienne told me about this arrangement." His eyes, so like mine, studied my face. "This isn't just an arrangement anymore, is it?"
I couldn't answer, my throat tight with emotion.
"I see the way he looks at you," Dad continued. "And how you look at him."
Before I could respond, Thorne returned. To my amazement, my father reached for his hand.
"Thank you," Dad said simply. "For taking care of my girl."
"She takes care of me too," Thorne replied, his eyes finding mine.
Later, while Dad slept, I stepped into the hallway for air and found myself fighting tears. The emotion of the day, the fear of losing my father, the realization of how deeply I'd fallen for Thorne—it all crashed over me at once.
"Lyra?" Thorne's voice was soft as he wheeled toward me. "What's wrong?"
I turned, wiping my eyes quickly. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind: How our marriage was supposed to be temporary. How my father's recovery might mean the end of our arrangement. How terrified I was of losing Thorne now that I'd found him.
"Nothing," I lied. "Just relieved about Dad."
Thorne studied my face, clearly not believing me. He took my hand, pulling me gently onto his lap.
"Whatever you're not telling me," he said quietly, "know that I'm here. Not going anywhere."
I rested my head against his shoulder, wondering if he could feel my heart breaking at the thought that someday, I might have to let him go.
