Chapter 164 The Smell Between Husband and Wife
"Pretty serious, but you know military guys—they're in great shape. He's recovering quickly."
"I see." In that moment, Matilda thought of Wentworth. But she dismissed it immediately. Even if Wentworth were injured, he'd be transferred back to Phoenix City for treatment. The Gonzaga Group had an excellent private hospital, and Dr. Dwight was a top-tier surgeon.
Thinking about Wentworth made her chest tighten again.
Prof. Morales didn't elaborate further. "I'll send you my current research topics later. You can write a paper based on them. If it gets published, it'll really help with your career advancement."
"Thank you, Prof. Morales." Matilda excused herself.
Nason walked her out again.
"So, are you joining my research institute?" Nason asked with a grin.
"I can only work part-time temporarily," Matilda said.
"That's fine. Most people here are part-time anyway."
Since it was structured like an association, doctors could sign contracts without conflicting with their day jobs. Like chess associations or writers' guilds—members had their regular work but could still join these groups to network with peers.
"What's the process for signing on?" Matilda asked.
"I'll get you a form. Just fill it out."
"Don't you have an association secretary? Just give me her WhatsApp. I can contact her directly. No need to bother a busy guy like you."
"If you prefer to keep it formal, sure."
Either way, he'd see her information.
"I need to head back. Still have things to do at the hospital," Matilda said.
"I'll drive you."
"I'll get a cab. I'm not used to your sports car."
"Ride in it a couple more times and you will be."
Matilda refused anyway. As a visiting doctor, she should keep a low profile. If colleagues saw her arriving in a sports car, there'd be gossip.
Nason didn't push it. But today his fondness for her had grown even more. That cool, aloof quality of hers was incredibly attractive.
...
At TrustCare Hospital, Wentworth felt himself improving. His arms had more strength now.
That day, he tried to push himself up to a sitting position. But halfway up, he lost his strength. Just as he was about to fall back, a pair of hands caught him. Those same delicate yet resilient hands.
The softness was natural, but the strength came from determination—the hands of a woman with convictions and ambition.
Once he was steady, he caught a whiff of her scent. Gardenias.
He didn't remember Matilda smelling like that. But these past days he'd been catching the scent of gardenias drifting in—there must be gardenia bushes outside the window. So naturally her clothes would carry that fragrance.
He reached out, wanting to touch her waist. The moment he made contact, she jolted away like she'd been shocked.
Unable to hear, he felt confused. But moments later, she came close again and gave him a brief hug. The movement was tentative, her body soft.
It didn't quite feel like Matilda.
He blamed his blindness and deafness. Maybe there were other people in the room, so she was shy about physical contact. Or maybe with his mother present, her movements had become stiff.
Wentworth knew she was proud and independent, so he didn't press.
He stayed sitting up for a while, but then pain surged through his body. He had to lie back down. Then came his mother's familiar presence as she wiped his sweat and massaged him.
These past weeks, Wentworth had truly felt Amelia's motherly love. Seeing him like this, she must be beside herself with worry. If his body recovered this time, she'd definitely force him to retire from the military.
...
That evening, Matilda went to the research institute to pick up the materials Prof. Morales had for her. Prof. Morales wasn't there—probably too old to pull late nights anymore.
She'd just grabbed the materials and was heading out when she ran into Prof. Morales at the entrance.
"Professor, you're still here so late?"
Prof. Morales looked exhausted, but he patiently answered her question. "Remember that injured VIP I mentioned? He's been having frequent pain lately. Probably nerve-related."
Matilda felt concerned. "What can be done?"
"The expert team is working on it. For nerve damage, acupuncture combined with other treatments should help."
Prof. Morales pulled out his phone to show her. "Look, these are his X-rays. You can see the bones are slightly misaligned, which is definitely affecting the nerves..."
The moment Matilda saw the X-ray, she knew it was a male patient. Very tall. Her chest inexplicably tightened.
Because of the small phone screen, she didn't notice the patient's name—she just looked where Prof. Morales was pointing.
"This patient is severely injured. His eyes are currently blind, his ears temporarily deaf. If not for his strong will, he might not have survived," Prof. Morales said.
Matilda said sincerely, "That's military discipline for you—iron will."
"I'll compile this patient's case information for you to study as well."
Matilda nodded quickly. "Sounds good."
...
Wentworth was scheduled for more physical therapy. Unable to hear anything, he only felt different hands touching his body each day. Surgeries of various sizes continued. Needles inserted all over.
No matter how much it hurt, he didn't make a sound.
He knew someone stayed by his side constantly. One pair of hands would grip his whenever pain made him break out in sweat.
Matty.
He held tight to her hand. Her hands had always been small and delicate, almost boneless, with a little softness to them. Though oddly, maybe because of the hospital environment, these hands felt cooler than usual. He remembered her hands always being warm, especially the palms.
Sometimes he wondered—could this not be her?
But if not her, then who? Aside from his mother, what woman would stay by his side constantly? Washing him, giving him water, doing such intimate things?
Sometimes when pain made him vomit, she didn't seem to mind and would clean him up.
Watching Wentworth grow more dependent on Juliana, Amelia was absolutely delighted. If Wentworth's condition improved, he'd surely be grateful to Juliana. Maybe he'd realize Juliana was the better match for him.
...
These past weeks, Juliana's heart had been tangled in constant conflict. She felt what she was doing was despicable. She lived in fear of Wentworth seeing through her.
Wentworth came from a military background—he was vigilant, experienced in reconnaissance. If her hands weren't so similar to Matilda's, he would've caught on the moment he held them.
Plus he was severely injured, his sight and hearing compromised, his body in constant pain. Otherwise, he'd only need to smell her once to know she was an impostor.
While Wentworth was in physical therapy, Juliana stepped into the hallway and looked down at the gardenia bushes below. Married couples were sensitive to scent. These past days, she'd deliberately worn gardenia perfume to mask her own smell.
Amelia followed her out.
"Juliana, what's wrong? Are you upset?"