Chapter 173 Want to Have a Baby?
Ignoring whatever was going through his mind, Zoey thrust her phone at him. "Look, this one."
Her account featured mostly classic songs. Usually her videos got a few hundred thousand likes. But yesterday's upload had hit several million.
Charles took the phone. In Zoey's videos, she only showed her body and chin—her face stayed off-camera. Sometimes she wore a veil. Unless you knew her well, you'd never recognize her.
He'd always thought of Zoey as kind of... sweetly naive. If she sang at all, it would be pop songs. He never expected her to nail a classic like this.
She'd deliberately lowered her voice, adding a husky, world-weary quality that perfectly captured the song's melancholy ebb and flow.
"This is really good," he said, genuinely impressed. "You're talented."
Better than his ex used to sing, actually. More emotion behind it.
Then he got hooked, sitting there listening to one song after another.
Zoey watched him, unable to suppress a smile.
---
Wentworth remained on the front balcony. Alone.
When one of the facility's doctors made rounds and found him sitting there by himself, concern flickered across her face. "Why are you out here alone?"
Wentworth's response was matter-of-fact. "My wife hasn't given me permission to come back inside yet."
"But you're the patient."
"I'm mostly recovered. I'm a normal husband now."
The doctor bit back a laugh, suddenly understanding. Marital spat—none of her business. She asked if he'd taken his medication. Wentworth confirmed he had, so she reminded him to rest and not catch cold before continuing her rounds.
Not long after she left, Matilda appeared.
She'd overheard his exchange with the doctor. Exasperation and amusement warred in her chest.
"When did I ever say you couldn't come inside?" Matilda asked.
Wentworth looked up at her. "You didn't. But I was worried you were still angry."
She couldn't help laughing. Most of her irritation dissolved on the spot. Walking over, she began wheeling him back inside, scolding as she went. "Look at you, sitting out here in the ocean breeze until your nose is running. Get back in the room."
Wentworth reached back, his hand finding hers on the wheelchair handles.
She didn't comment, just kept pushing until they were inside and he was settled on the bed. Then she finally spoke.
"How did you turn her hand red from gripping it?"
Wentworth looked at her and smiled. Matilda being jealous actually made him happy, though he wasn't sure what to say.
"Grab my hand," she instructed.
He took her hand gently.
"Harder. You can't turn it red without some force."
He obeyed, tightening his grip.
Her eyes suddenly welled up with tears.
"You must have been in so much pain. That's the only reason you'd grip someone that hard."
Wentworth's heart clenched. He pulled her into his arms. "It's over now. I'm almost completely better."
"No, you're not. Lie down. Let me work on you."
"Didn't you already do that this morning?"
"More sessions mean faster recovery."
"But your hands—"
"My hands aren't red. I need to make up for all the time I couldn't take care of you."
---
Charles had to return to Phoenix City. He was the CEO of a major corporation—he'd been gone nearly a month. The ship needed its captain.
Wentworth and Matilda both insisted he go back. Charles excelled at strategic planning and executive decisions, not bedside care. He'd just be wasting time here. Besides, with Matilda looking after Wentworth, there was nothing to worry about.
They'd considered bringing Wentworth home, but the long flight would be too taxing. Better to stay at the rehabilitation center.
Wentworth loved the ocean breeze here. So did Matilda. Phoenix City was technically a coastal city, but Matilda had spent her whole life studying hard—she'd never really experienced the ocean. This place felt like a vacation. It let them both breathe.
Charles left, but Zoey stayed behind.
Her reasoning: the house felt too empty. Once Charles went to work, she'd be alone all day. Since getting married, she'd barely kept in touch with her college friends. She had almost no social life anymore.
She might as well stay here, help keep an eye on Wentworth, keep Matilda company.
Charles didn't force her to return. He respected her choice.
When the car arrived to pick up Charles, Matilda wheeled Wentworth to the entrance to see him off. Zoey came along too.
Charles gazed at his brother with obvious reluctance. "Take care of yourself. When you're fully recovered, I'll come get you."
Wentworth nodded, waving him off. "You stay safe too."
Charles turned to Matilda. "Thank you for everything."
"It's what I should be doing. No thanks necessary."
Finally, he looked at Zoey. "You're really not coming back with me?"
Zoey smiled. "You go ahead. When I've had enough of this place, I'll come home naturally."
Charles crossed to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Take care of yourself here. Don't wander off, and don't cause trouble."
Zoey pouted. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child. I'm not a kid."
Charles climbed into the car. Zoey stood staring after it long after it disappeared.
Matilda teased her. "You obviously don't want him to go. Why not go back with him?"
Zoey laughed. "Distance makes the heart grow fonder."
"You still haven't told him?"
"No. I'll tell him when we're back in the States."
Matilda couldn't quite understand why Zoey was keeping something this significant from Charles. But then again, Zoey might seem carefree and naive on the surface, but she had her own way of thinking things through.
---
"What's going on with Zoey?" Wentworth asked once they were back inside. "Is she hiding something from Charles?"
Matilda smiled. "You tell me."
Wentworth grinned, making excuses. "The doctor said I shouldn't overwork my brain. Bad for recovery."
Matilda huffed. "Two completely oblivious men."
"Zoey seems less energetic than usual," Wentworth observed. "She's lost weight too."
"Well yeah, she barely eats. Of course she's losing weight."
"Why isn't she eating?"
"Probably just doesn't feel like it," Matilda said vaguely.
Wentworth didn't push further. He took Matilda's hand and just smiled at her, his expression almost dopey.
It startled her for a second—he looked worryingly vacant, like someone suffering cognitive decline after a stroke. If that were the case, his recovery would take much longer.
But his expression cleared almost immediately. "You're so beautiful."
"You've known me for a while now. You're just figuring that out?" She blushed despite herself.
"I was thinking... what our children would look like."
"Your body hasn't even fully recovered and you're already thinking about kids?"
Wentworth's hand traced her face, his expression turning melancholy. "When I couldn't move, couldn't hear, couldn't see—I thought about a lot of things. I kept wondering, what if I died? What would happen to you? Or what if I died after we had kids? Would it be too hard for you, raising them alone..."