course, if he regained his memory before coming home with her, it was likely they’d never get the chance to rebuild their marriage on stronger ground. She had to take the risk. She just had to. And she’d cope with Xander’s real world later. The world in which he worked and socialized was not hers anymore. Keeping his distance from his friends and colleagues would be easy enough, initially—after all, it’s not as if his bedside cabinet had been inundated with cards or flowers. Just a card signed by his team at the investment bank where he worked. Until he was strong enough to return to his office anyway. By then... Well, she’d cross that bridge when they got there.
Xander’s doctors had categorically stated he was in no condition to return to work for at least another four weeks, possibly even longer depending on how his therapy progressed. It should be easy enough to fend Xander’s colleagues off at the border, so to speak, Olivia thought as she sipped her tea and gazed out at the harbor in the distance. After all, with Xander in the high-dependency unit at the hospital, and with family-only visitation—which she understood equated to the occasional rare visit from his mother who lived several hours north of the city—it wasn’t as if they’d be up-to-date beyond the minimal status provided by the hospital. She’d call one of his partners in the next few days and continue to discourage visitors at the same time.
She felt a pang of guilt. His friends had a right to know how he was, and no doubt they’d want to visit him. But a careless word could raise more questions than she was comfortable answering. She daren’t take the risk.
It was at least two years late, but Xander’s amnesia was offering her another chance, and she was going to fight for him now. She just had to hope that she could successfully rebuild the love they’d shared. The fact that he woke today, obviously still in love with her, was heartening. Hopefully, they would have the rest of their lives to get it right this time.
* * *
Xander looked at the door to the hospital room for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. Olivia should be here by now. After a heated debate with Dr. Thomas about whether or not he’d go to a rehab center—a debate Xander had won with his emphatic refusal to go—the doctor had finally relented and said he could go home tomorrow, or maybe even later today. He’d used the mobile phone Olivia had left with him—his had apparently been pulverized in the accident and his laptop, as well, had been smashed beyond repair—to call the house and get her to bring him some clothes. He’d missed her, and she wasn’t answering her mobile phone, either.
He’d go home in his pajamas if he had to. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to their house. He liked to kid himself he could even see its green corrugated iron roof from the hospital window. It gave him a connection to Olivia in the times she wasn’t here.
It had been three weeks, but, God, he still remembered that first sight of her when he’d fully woken. The worry on her exquisitely beautiful face, the urge to tell her that everything would be all right. Sleep had claimed him before he could do anything more than smile at her. This damn head injury had a lot to answer for, he cursed inwardly. Not only had it stolen the past six years from his memory but it had left him as weak as a kitten. Not even capable of forming proper sentences on occasion. Each of the therapists he’d seen had told him he was doing great, that his recovery was progressing well, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until he could remember again and be the man he was before his crash.
He couldn’t wait to be home. Maybe being around his own familiar things in his own environment would hasten the healing process. He looked out the window and cracked a wry smile at his reflection in the glass. At least one thing hadn’t changed. His levels of impatience were right up there where he always remembered them being.
Xander caught a sense of someone in the doorway to his shared room. He turned and felt the smile on his face widen as he saw Olivia standing there. Warmth spread through his body. A sense of rightness that was missing when she wasn’t with him.
“You’re looking happy,” Olivia remarked as she came over and kissed him on the cheek.
Her touch was as light as a butterfly. Even so, it awakened a hunger for more from her. He might not be at his physical peak, but the demands of his body still simmered beneath the surface. They’d always had a very intense and physically satisfying relationship, one he couldn’t wait to resume. He laughed inwardly at himself. There was that impatience again. One thing at a time, he told himself.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I might be able to come home today. I tried to call you—”
“Today? Really?”
Was he imagining things or did the smile on her face look a little forced? Xander rejected the thought immediately. Of course she was as genuinely excited as he was. Why wouldn’t she be?
“Dr. Thomas just wants to run some final tests this morning. Provided he’s happy I should be able to leave here later this afternoon.”
“Well, that’s great news,” Olivia said. “I’ll shoot back home and get some things for you.”
Xander reached out and caught her hand in his. “In such a hurry to leave me? You just got here. Don’t go yet.”
Her fingers curled around his, and he turned her hand over before lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles. He felt the light tremor go through her as his lips lingered on her skin and her fingers tightened, saw the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
“I miss you when you’re not here,” he said simply, then examined the hand he held more closely. Her nails were short and practical, and even though she’d scrubbed at them, he could still see traces of paint embedded in her skin. It made him smile. “I see you’re still painting. Good to know some things haven’t changed.”
She bit her lower lip and turned her head, but not before he saw the emotion reflected in her eyes.
“Livvy?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine. I’m just worried I’m going to have to cart you home in those,” she said lightly as she tugged her hand free and pointed at his striped pajamas with a disparaging look on her face. “And yes, I’m still painting. It’s in my blood. Always has been, always will be.”
He laughed, like she wanted him to, at the line he’d heard her say so many times. He saw the strain around her eyes lift a little.
“Fine, you better go then, but come straight back, okay?”
“Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.
Xander leaned back against his pillows and watched her departing back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. They’d talked about him going home for days. Now that the time was finally here, was she afraid? He mulled the idea over in his head. It was possible. He’d been through a lot, and maybe she was worried about how he would cope on his reentry into the real world. She was such a worrier, always had been. He guessed that came with the territory of being the eldest out of four kids growing up on a farm without their mother. His Livvy was used to micromanaging everything around her so that nothing would go wrong.
When he’d married her, he’d silently promised himself that he would never be a burden to her—that he would never make himself one more responsibility she had to shoulder. Even now, he was determined
