Broken fingers

CHAPTER 21: BROKEN FINGERS.

RACHEL'S POV

I get off my bed a little bit late at night because before going to bed last night, Beatrice had sent a message to those of us who worked for the event to take two days off to rest and resume on Monday. That is quite a huge relief.

This is why I appreciate and respect her because even though we might not be close, she knows how to take care of those assigned to her.

  I freshen up and head to the dining table while thinking about how I will spend my day productively.

   "Good morning, Marco." I greet him with a smile.

   "Good morning. Yesterday's event must have been tiring for you seeing how late you woke up!" He exclaims and I chuckle, "It is almost noon."

I nod, " I am not even exaggerating when I say that it was kind of tough to pull but we did it. I deserve the rest." I respond.

   "Yeah."

   "What about Noah? Has he left yet?"

  "He hasn't stepped out of his room since he entered last night."

Huh...that is strange. 

   "Will you check in on him?" Marco asks me and I hesitate for a while because he has warned me not to step into his room. I am not so sure if he will react well if I go there. He might even have the door locked.

   "Don't overthink the situation, Rachel," Marco calls me out of my thoughts and I stand up to go and check up on him.

When I get to his door, I exhale before knocking on the door but I get no response. I repeat the knocks, but nothing changes, so I decide to leave. However, I feel the nudge to check one last time, and this time, I go for the door handle, which I press down, and the door opens.

Wow. His room's view comes to light. It is a huge master bedroom, but now isn't the time to start admiring how beautiful his room is when he is lying on the bed like a dead human, so I enter and move closer.

   "Noah?" I call his name softly but he doesn't respond.  

   "Noah, are you okay?" I am now standing next to his bed with a frown. He moves his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut even further. I become worried and lean to touch him. 

Noah is sick.

I didn’t think much of it at first when Marci mentioned that he was tired. He was always serious, always carrying himself with a level of restraint that made it impossible to tell when something was wrong. I thought it was just his usual aloofness with coldness. But now, as I stand in his room, staring at him in this state, there’s no denying it anymore.

His shirt is damp with sweat, strands of his dark hair sticking to his forehead. Even in sleep, his expression is tight, like he’s fighting off the discomfort. I press the back of my hand against his face, and my stomach clenches at the heat radiating from him.

A fever. Why is he this hot?

I exhale sharply, pushing away the unease curling in my chest. It’s fine. I’ll handle this.

Without hesitation, I move around the room, grabbing a damp cloth from the bathroom and placing it against his forehead. He shifts slightly, a low, almost pained sound escaping his lips, but he doesn’t wake. His body must be too drained to resist.

For the next hour, I do what I can. Marco had come in earlier when he didn't see me downstairs. He also helps out. He helps me lift Noah's body so I can wipe his body with the cold wet cloth which should fight against the hotness. I firmly press the cloth on his upper body, wiping it as gently as I can.  After I am done, I adjust the blankets so he’s comfortable and make sure there’s water on the nightstand in case he wakes up. 

Marco goes to bring something light that he can eat. I don’t know why I’m going through all this trouble. It’s not like Noah would do the same for me. Or would he?

I shake off the thought, sighing as I take a seat beside the bed.

  "You should eat something, Noah. You need to take these medications." I say to him, and after much persuasion, he takes a few bites and uses the medications before going back to sleep.

   "You really need to learn when to stop pushing yourself," I mutter, knowing he can’t hear me. "Not everything has to be a battle. You also need to rest, okay?"

He worked himself out and here is the result. 

He shifts slightly, a deep crease forming between his brows as if he’s dreaming about something unpleasant. My eyes flicker to his face, studying the way his usually sharp features seem softer in sleep.

He looks… different like this. Less like the cold, unreadable man I married and more like someone who—deep down—might be capable of something other than indifference.

I use the time to take a look around his room. 

Noah's bedroom is spacious but minimalistic, with dark wooden furniture and deep gray walls that give it a sophisticated feel. A bookshelf stands neatly stocked near a leather armchair by the window, where thick curtains drape to block out the city lights. Everything is in perfect order, reflecting his disciplined nature.

A faint knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I frown, standing up and making my way over, careful not to make too much noise as I crack it open.

Marianne.

I hold back a groan at the sight of her standing there, dressed as if she didn’t just attend an entire event. Her hair is perfectly in place, and her lips are pressed into what I assume is supposed to be a concerned expression.

   "Rachel?" Her voice reflects the disapproval that she has after seeing me in Noah's bedroom.  I am unfazed about it because she gives no other reaction than that.

   "What are you doing here? Where is Noah?"

I wanted to tell her, "I am in my husband's room, and what are you doing in a married man's room?" but I restrained myself. It won't end well saying that. 

So. I step out slightly, keeping the door partially closed behind me so she won't get to go in. "He’s resting."

She blinks as if she wasn’t expecting me to be the one answering the door. 

   "I see." Then she attempts to pass through but I block her. 

    "What are you doing? Why are you in my way?"

 I tilt my head with a look that asserts my dominance at this point. Noah is sleeping and likely has no idea what is happening. By nature and by paper, I am his wife and even though I have tried not to make his business my business about women, I am going to make this one mine.

It is time for me to take my revenge on her for what she did last time.

    "I told you that he is resting,"

     "So what?"

    "So you should leave and come back when he is done resting in two days," I replied.

     "Are you sick?"

   

    "Noah is the sick one, not me."

   "What kind of nonsense is this? Have you forgotten your place in this house, you lowly worker? Who do you think you are to block my way?" she argues fiercely while I rub my ear with a finger.

   "You shout too much. Lower your voice, Noah is resting because he is sick. If he wakes up, I won't hesitate to chain you down and beat the hell out of you."

Her face reddens from anger as her mouth goes open with no words coming out at the initial moment.  She is about to raise her hand and hit me when I stop her,

   "Don't even try it. This is not some kind of soap opera, okay? If your hand lands on my face right now, I will have each finger broken, and you will end up in the hospital. So stop behaving like a brat and come back later like I said. It is a simple instruction. Obey!" I smile and take a step back in before slamming the door against her face. 

I wait a little while and ensure that she is gone before  I chuckle. I feel so proud of myself and also satisfied that I pulled that through.

With a quiet sigh, I go back to sitting next to Noah, my gaze falling on him once again. He’s still sleeping. Did he perhaps hear what has happened between Marianne and me?

I am not too sure. I don't even know where the boldness to speak to her like that comes from. I guess my bottled-up anger against her took a strong hold on me. 

I will see how this plays out when he wakes up.