Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I lay her gently on the dock, quickly inspecting the sting. "I know. We need to neutralize the venom." I remember reading about jellyfish stings and the best way to treat them. I toss sand on her leg and rub to get rid of any residual tentacles, but I must get her back to the resort for first aid supplies.
I make quick work of carrying her back, and she’s brave about it. I can feel the tension from the pain, but she doesn’t whisper a word of complaint.
“What do you do for this?”
“We need something to neutralize the sting and toxins. There will be a first aid kit.”
I sit her on a stool in the kitchen and rummage through supplies, finding a small bottle of vinegar in the cabinet. “This will work. Put your leg out.”
She gasps as the vinegar makes contact. "Is it supposed to burn?"
"A little, but it should help," I assure her.
Tears well up in her eyes, but she stays strong. "Thank you, Lev."
I look at her, and I hate that she’s in pain. "I'm so sorry this happened. Let's get you situated. Some hydrocortisone will help.”
I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the living room and gently place her on the couch, propping her leg up. "I'll get some ice to reduce the swelling."
She gives me a weak smile. "You're really good at this, you know.”
I sigh. "I've had practice taking care of stubborn people."
As I apply the ice pack to her leg, she winces but then relaxes. "Thank you.”
I kiss her forehead. This is my job. I’m supposed to watch out for her.
Back in the room, she lies back with her foot elevated. "This is your fault," she says, but I can tell she doesn't really blame me. “If you didn’t throw me in the water…”
“If you weren’t a brat, I wouldn’t have had to throw you in.” I do feel guilty, though. "I didn't think there would jellyfish.”
"I guess you'll have to make it up to me," she says cheerfully.
"Seriously, how does that feel?" I ask, looking at her swollen ankle.
"I won't be running away from you anytime soon. I know you're devastated. But the good news is, I don't think I'm badly hurt. I'm fine. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's go cook dinner."
I anchor my hands on my hips and glare at her. "I'll go make dinner. You're going to stay right here with that leg elevated."
"I can stand just fine," she snaps.
"You are so fucking stubborn!"
"It takes one to know one," she snaps back. "I don't like people serving me. I like to cook my own food."
"Well, you're just going to have to get used to it."
"Or what?" She challenges me. Here we go again.
"I'm going to tie you to that fucking couch." I glare at her, absolutely ready to do it.
Instead of defying me, she pouts a little, which is more effective than I expect. “Lev, I am not helpless."
"Finally, just a tiny bit. Isabella, you’re my wife. Can you just let me fucking take care of you for once?"
She stares at me and doesn't speak for long moments. "You want to take care of me?"
"It's a little different than always trying to tell you what to do, isn't it?" I say.
"I guess it is. But promise me this."
"Yeah?"
"If you get hurt, you're going to let me take care of you. This works both ways."
"Sure. But I don't get hurt."
"We'll see about that," she says teasingly.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, Lev, let's cook dinner."
"Isabella," I say, exasperated.
"Please," she says sweetly. How am I supposed to say no when she asks me like that?
I bend down and lift her. To her credit, she doesn't protest that she can walk or anything; she just lets me.
"I like when you carry me," she says in a little voice, a hint of vulnerability that’s unusual for her.
I like it.
“Do you?”
"There's just something about a strong guy carrying me that makes me feel… I don't know, protected. And even I can't help but like that, at least a little bit," she admits.
"Well, I'm happy to protect you," I whisper, kissing her.
"I can help you cook," she says, her voice surprisingly steady. “I’m perfectly fine, Lev. It hurts, yes, but that doesn't matter. I don't care."
Is she really this stubborn? This is going to be my life with her. I have to admit, I like it. I'm not the kind of guy who wants things easy. I like the challenge, and I like to fight.
"I'm making dinner tonight, but I promise you'll get plenty of opportunities to cook for me. Maybe you can chop veggies on a stool or something.”
Her eyes twinkle, and her lips twitch. “Maybe you’re not that bad.”
I slide her into a chair. "Sit. Elevate that leg."