#Chapter 5: Wedding Dates

The ambulance arrives quickly, probably thanks to the fact that it's the Alpha's son who calls for one. Elena, the little girl, is carefully lifted onto a stretcher. Her mom flutters anxiously beside her, and they're both gently led to the waiting ambulance.

 

Marcus catches sight of Martin, his photographer, hovering over his shoulder with the film running.

 

"That's enough footage," he says. "We don't want to overdo it, Marty. We need to strike a good balance between 'heroic Alpha's son assists glamorous doctor during medical emergency' and 'exploiting an impoverished kid and invading her privacy for political clout.'"

 

Martin nods. "I'll try to minimize how much of her face gets shown, too," he says. "You're right – this is a great opportunity to show people how involved you are in your community, but we don't want to overdo it and piss people off. We can settle it in tomorrow's meeting."

 

Marcus agrees. "Take off for the rest of the afternoon, put something together for me to review, and we'll talk at the meeting tomorrow." He waves a hand as Martin leaves. "Thanks, Marty."

 

Then, Marcus turns to smile at me and give me another wink, before extending his hand to help me off the floor.

 

---

 

After the ambulance leaves and things calm down, Marcus and I find ourselves in the kitchen, washing dishes. The awkwardness between us has vanished in the crisis, and we pass the plates back and forth companionably. We work well together, I catch myself thinking.

 

"How are you recovering from that war injury?" I ask. He gives me a sidelong glance, and I smile. "Don't pretend to be surprised. I know you recognized me."

 

"I did," he smiles back. "The fighting on the border has subsided, I'm proud to say. I haven't been back since you patched me up so admirably." He bows, and I laugh.

 

But I can see from the way he's washing the dishes that his shoulder must be bothering him, and I say so.

 

"There are some stretches I can recommend that will help with the stiffness," I offer. Then I flush, realizing how suggestive that sounded. Pull it together, Nicole, I tell myself. He is not going to be interested in someone like you.

 

"It's fine, really," he says, but his expression turns mischievous. "Of course, if you wanted to give your professional opinion, I wouldn't mind. Here, feel my arm as I wash the dishes."

 

I take a deep breath, trying to ignore how hard my heart is thudding in my chest. I hope my face isn't as red as it feels. He's wearing a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, gleaming against his dark skin.

 

I definitely want to get my hands on him. It's hard to remember to keep it professional.

 

Drying my hands, I step behind him, reaching up to squeeze and test his range of movement as he scrubs. My god, this man is ripped. His biceps feel like liquid steel under my probing fingers. His shoulders are broad and smooth, coiling and flexing beneath the silk of his shirt.

 

I shake my head silently and try to pay attention to what I'm supposed to be doing. Focus, Nicole! He's your patient. Well, sort of.

"Your left shoulder is stiff," I say. "I can feel the limitations in how you move. I can't believe your fancy Dr. Tom hasn't caught this; you should've been doing physio this entire time, and something tells me you haven't." I move around him to give him a stern glare, using my best disappointed doctor voice.

 

Marcus ducks his head sheepishly. "You caught me, Dr. Nicole," he says. He puts down the dish he's washing and wipes his hands. "But don't blame 'Fancy Dr. Tom,' because I haven't told anyone about the shoulder pain. There's just been too much else going on."

 

I shake my head and reach for his arm again, gently moving it through a few simple motions. I'm standing so close to him that his scent is almost overwhelming, the heat of his body soaking into my hands and warming me to my core.

 

Marcus groans in relief. "My god, Dr. Nicole, that feels amazing. Can you come to my apartment and do this every day?"

 

I blush and bite my lower lip. "I'd love to, but it's not really necessary. I can easily teach you how to–" my words fade as Marcus leans a little closer to me, slipping a hand over mine on his shoulder. I freeze.

 

As if sensing he's maybe taken a step too far, Marcus drops his hand and goes back to the dishes. "How's work at the hospital these days?" he asks. "I've been lucky enough not to have to go back, so I haven't had a chance to catch up with you before now."

 

I hesitate, fumbling over my words. "Oh, I'm not at the hospital anymore. I'm, um, working independently now."

 

"Oh?" Marcus sounds surprised. "Well, in that case, I know that Tom has far more patients than he can realistically keep up with. I could introduce you to several potential clients, if you'd like?"

 

Oh god, I wish the floor could just open up and swallow me whole. My face feels like it's on fire as I focus too hard on drying the next dish Marcus hands me.

 

"Actually, I–I don't practice medicine anymore," I say. "I–it's a long story, and I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay."

 

Marcus pauses, turns to peer into my face. "Of course it's okay, Nicole. Is there anything I can do to help you? I mean that very sincerely, I'll add. You're a fantastic doctor; I'd really like to help you if I can."

 

He looks so earnest, so kind, that I feel my throat closing up. All I want right now is to get Charles to pay for what he's done to me. Charles, Darlene, my father, Becki, the Robinsons – all of them. I want them to pay. I want them to go to hell.

 

"I–" This is going to sound insane, but it's probably my best shot. "Could I get an invitation to your sister's wedding?"

 

Now Marcus looks really surprised. I hasten to add an explanation that won't sound unhinged.

 

"It's just–I've always wanted to see a fairytale wedding," I explain. "I used to be engaged to my ex-boyfriend, you see, and it didn't, um, work out. I thought mine would be the fairytale wedding, but since it won't be, I'd love to see someone else's. Probably my best chance, a real Alpha family wedding and all."

 

Marcus hands me another plate, his hand brushing against mine. I jump – his touch against my bare skin feels like an electric shock. In a good way. I try to shake it off – focus, Nicole.

When I glance up, Marcus is staring at me intently, like he's puzzled by something that he just can't quite put his finger on. I blush and start to retract my request; it's too crazy, he's going to guess why I want to go, this will never work–

 

"Of course you can come to the wedding," Marcus says casually, turning back to the soapy water in front of him. "But on one condition: you have to be my date."