“What’s really the matter, Thérèse?”
“I told you. We aren’t in a proper marriage and we oughtn’t to assume those responsibilities for each other.”
“And when you are not talking to me as a lawyer?” He raised an eyebrow and waited for her response.
She sat down again and wiped her hands on her jeans. She couldn’t look at him. “I screwed up.”
He didn’t say anything. Theresa looked up.
He was laughing.
He was laughing at her.
“Bravo, chérie.” He chucked the coffee cup into the bin. As she’d predicted, a shower of coffee droplets landed on the bed and the floor. “When was the last time you had to admit that to someone?”
“It’s not funny.”
He held his thumb and forefinger close together and winked at her. “It is a little bit funny, no?”
“No! Emile, we got married. To irritate my mother.”
“And to get me back in Gatz’s good books. And to stop Prada from stalking me. Which, by the way, is working perfectly. She hasn’t telephoned once.”
“Well, that’s something, I suppose. But we shouldn’t have done it.” Why couldn’t he see that?
“Of course not. Is this where I say I told you so?”
She pushed the chair back and began to pace around the room. “Probably. I know it was a crazy idea, but you were the one who took it seriously.”
He frowned, as if trying to remember. “Yes. I think you promised to get naked.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You don’t marry women just to get them naked. Besides, you’d already got me naked the night before.”
“I don’t think I remember that,” he said, with a wicked look. “Could you maybe give me a reminder?”
“No. Can’t you be serious for one minute?”
He shrugged. “Only if I have to.”
What on earth had put him in such a good mood? “You have to now. Look, we can’t get divorced until the end of a year. There’s no way around that. But we can end everything else. I’ll tell my parents we realized it was a huge mistake. We’ll send out a press release or something. There’s no reason to keep pretending we’re together.”
“So, what, you’re saying we can’t have sex anymore?”
She let out a long breath of frustration. “Can’t you think about anything except sex?”
“Not when I’m looking at you, no.” He winked.
“Sex doesn’t make a marriage, Emile.”
“No. But sex is definitely one of the things that’s allowed when you’re married. I checked.”
“We’re not married!” she blasted at him, just as the nurse opened the door.
Emile raised his eyebrows at her.
“Fine. Sorry. I’m sorry,” she added more calmly, addressing the nurse. “It’s been a difficult couple of days.”
“My wife has a syndrome,” Emile said in a stage whisper, pretending that she couldn’t hear him. “She is a compulsive liar. She can’t help it. You should always assume she means the opposite of what she says.”
“Thank you, darling,” she said through gritted teeth. “So kind of you to share that with everyone.”
The nurse looked from Emile to Theresa, then shook her head. “You two carry on with your bickering. Give me your arm, duck.”
Emile held out his arm while she checked his pulse and blood pressure. Theresa turned away to stare out of the window.
She waited until she heard the nurse leave. “A syndrome?” she said, with all the outrage she could muster.
He grinned. “You don’t want her to go running to the papers that our marriage is a sham, do you?”
She shook her head, laughing despite herself. He was outrageous, but she couldn’t stay cross at him. “You are shameless.”
“Come here.” He held out his hand to her. She crossed the room to sit beside the bed, but she didn’t take his hand, so he curled it around her shoulder instead. “Is it so very dreadful being married to me?”
“It’s not you,” she said. “It’s being married. It’s not what I was expecting.”
“No. For me as well.”
“I’m sorry.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
She looked up, startled.
He tilted his head. “It has its compensations, no?”
And when he curled his hand around her head and pulled her down for a long, sweet kiss, she had to admit he had a point.
An hour later, the doctor entered Emile’s room, swiftly followed by two other men who Emile introduced to her as the Woolwich manager and the team’s chief doctor.
“Chief doctor? You mean there’s more than one?”
Emile’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “It’s a very dangerous game, you know.”
“Evidently.”
The hospital doctor was checking his charts. “Any headaches? Lapses in memory? Problems with speech?”
“No,” Emile said.
“Well, no more than usual,” Theresa added.
The doctor smiled and continued his examination. “Vital signs all back to normal. What about the foot? How much pain?”
“It’s fine.”
Theresa rolled her eyes.
“On a scale of one to ten, how much does this hurt?”
She watched closely. Emile bit back most of a gasp but she could see the strain in his jaw. “Three,” he said.
“That’s at least a seven,” she interpreted for the doctor.
“I’m fine.”
“What if I do this?”
She couldn’t see what the doctor did to his foot, but judging from Emile’s reaction, it was bad.
“Good,” said the doctor. “No sign of nerve damage.”
“Excellent,” Emile said through gritted teeth. Theresa reached for his hand and was shocked by how tightly he gripped it. He was hurting a lot more than he was admitting.
“What’s the prognosis?” Gatz asked.
“Six weeks of complete rest, then we’ll start on physio and see how that goes. Another six weeks if we’re lucky.”
“And if not?”
The doctor shrugged. “Hard to say.”
“I’ll be back before the end of the season.”
The extra pressure on her hand as he spoke told her how much it had cost Emile to smile while he said it.
“We’ll see.” Gatz’s expression didn’t give anything away.
“He might struggle with balance,” the team doctor said. “First metatarsal isn’t the best.”
Gatz and the other doctor nodded.
“Why not?” Theresa asked since everyone but her seemed to know.
“The big toe is more important than most people realize, even just for walking.”
She nodded. That was going to be tough for Emile.
“I’m writing you a prescription for some better painkillers,” the doctor said to Emile. “Don’t try and be a hero. There aren’t any prizes for suffering needlessly. If it hurts, take the pills.”
Emile smiled briefly. “Sure.”
“I mean it. And when I say complete rest, I mean that, too.” He turned to Theresa. “He’ll need help around the house, especially while he’s getting used to the crutches.”
“You’ll have to help me shower, chérie.” Emile winked broadly at her.
“I think you’d better hire a professional for that.”
He roared with laughter. So did the doctors. Even the dour team manager produced a hint of a smile.