Chapter 149 His Devotion
The following days were a slow, agonizing exercise in distance. Luke’s devotion was transparent, noticed by Peach, inducing a strange sting in her.
Luke remained in the room, a permanent fixture in the corner chair, reacting to her every call. She could feel the weight of his guilt.
Every time he tried to adjust her pillow, she would flinch. Every time he offered her water, she would take the cup with a trembling hand, avoiding his touch as if his skin were made of ice.
Luke’s eyes shrunk, indirectly pleading with her to not treat her like this. But, to no avail.
Yet, he refused to accept silence and sparked a conversation.
"Peach, the doctor says you are recovering quickly," Luke’s voice was forced, hopeful, though his eyes were hollow with exhaustion as he let out a brief smile.
“I told them my wife is a fighter.”
“Are Arabella and William gone?” Her voice trailed off.
Peach didn't even turn her head. She watched a single raindrop track down the windowpane.
Luke sighed, “Yes. They came to visit before leaving.”
“I see. Did Arabella say something?”
Recalling her advice, Luke also ended up following the trail of her gaze and stared out the window, curling his lips in an empty smile.
“Nothing.”
“I see.” She let out a relieving sound, closing her eyes that Luke noticed and became strenuous.
“Did she say something she shouldn't?" He asked.
“No… Nothing hurtful compared to what you said,”
Luke stood up, his throat tight, unable to look at her cold expression for another second.
"I... I need to go speak with the lead surgeon about your discharge papers. I’ll be right back."
He lingered at the door for a heartbeat, waiting for her to ask him to stay, but she remained motionless. With a defeated slump of his shoulders, he stepped out into the hallway.
A few minutes later, a middle-aged nurse entered to check Peach’s vitals. She moved with a gentleness, humming softly as she adjusted the IV drip.
"He is a devoted one, that husband of yours," She said in accented English, nodding toward the empty chair Luke had just vacated.
Peach let out a bitter, hollow breath, "He’s just doing his duty."
The nurse stopped, her hand resting on the bed rail as she looked at Peach with a knowing, weary smile.
"Duty does not keep a man awake for forty hours straight, cara. Duty does not make a man weep into his hands while he thinks you are sleeping."
Peach’s gaze flickered, her brow furrowing slightly upon knowing the condition that explained the exhaustion in his eyes.
"He didn't leave this room. Not once. Not even to eat." Elena continued, checking the monitors.
"I have been a nurse for twenty years, and I have seen many 'guilty' men. He was not just guilty. He was terrified of a world that didn't have you in it."
The nurse patted Peach’s hand who was in utter shock, staring into nothingness as a sting traveled to her core.
"You are lucky to have him. Not everyone is blessed with a devout partner. He was worried-sick, child. Truly."
Elena finished her rounds and slipped out, leaving the room in a ringing silence.
Peach lay there, the cold armor around her heart suddenly feeling too heavy. She looked at the empty chair. She felt a constriction in her chest, the recent incidents flashing in her mind.
She thought of Luke’s bloodshot eyes and the way his voice had broken when she woke up. All of it increased her headache.
The piercing truth, the reality of their marriage, the heartbreaking image began to blur. Pressed her head harder into the pillow, her lips quivered.
When the door creaked open again and Luke stepped back in, looking small and defeated, Peach didn't look away.
"Luke,"
He froze, his hand still on the doorknob, his heart jumping at the sound of his name without the coldness, "Yes?"
"Sit down," she whispered, her eyes fixed on his trembling hands. "Just... sit down."
“The surgeon says Friday,” He smiled feebly, sitting beside her, his voice low, indicating the drained energy, “For the discharge.”
Peach watched him. She saw the fraying threads of his button-down shirt and the way his collar sat crookedly against his neck. He looked unraveled.
“You haven’t slept,” she noted, it wasn't an accusation, just a flat observation of the wreckage in front of her.
“I didn’t want to miss you. In case you needed…” He stopped, the word me dying in his throat. He settled for, “…anything.”
“I see.”
He tried to speak expectantly, “We can also go back-”
“Who says I want to go back? This is our honeymoon. There is no way I am going to waste my days here.” She muttered.
Holding her hand out to him which he held without a second thought, his thumb caressing her knuckles softly.
“Though I need to recover before returning. I don’t want anyone to know what happened or how.”
“But, you will take time to recover.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t go out.”
Relaxing when she started demanding, regaining her usual graceful composure, he smiled widely, “Okay. If that’s what you want,”
Soon a brief silence came between them. Luke glanced at her from time to time, lips forming in a thin line, searching for words to make more talk.
Peach noticed and called him again, “Luke.”
“Yes?”
She ordered, “Get me a juice. Apple juice.”
“I.. uh.. I will ask the nurse if I can give it to you and be right back.” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck, and got up once again and went to ask the nurse.
When Luke was gone, she stared at the ceiling with a wretched thought, ‘How could I tell you that… I knew?’
Hesitation began to overflow in Peach as a screen of tears formed in her eyes. Curling her hand in a powerless fist, Peach recalled the time she met with Arabella who told her… EVERYTHING.