Chapter 2: I'm not doing so great

Rita woke to an email that made her stomach drop.

The hospital had terminated her contract. Effective immediately. No explanation. No warning. She did not need one. She already knew Philip had made a call.

Anger rose sharp and bitter in her throat. It was not only about the money. The job had meant more than a paycheck. It had been her quiet way of staying close to the career she had never been able to claim for herself. She had chosen the hospital on purpose, taking whatever position was open, just so she could watch the doctors and nurses save lives. Just so she could stand near the career she had always wishe for.

Philip had taken that from her without asking a single question. He had decided the shape of her days as if she had no say at all.

That is what happens when you marry a billionaire, she thought, and the words tasted sour.

She moved through the morning in a foul mood. The house sat quiet around her, a sharp contrast to the storm turning in her chest. In the kitchen she made her favourite breakfast, something simple and warm. If Philip had been home she would have followed the timetable he preferred, cooking the dishes he liked. Today she cooked only for herself.

She ate alone at the long table, eyes drifting to the clock more often than she wanted to admit.

The hours stretched. She tried to fill them with movies and shows on the large screen, but the stories washed over her without settling. Her mind kept returning to the email, to the way Philip had spoken to her at the hospital, to the empty space beside her in bed the night before.

The doorbell rang at noon.

Rita stood so fast the chair scraped against the floor. She crossed the room quickly and unlocked the door.

Philip stood on the other side. Relief moved through her at the sight of him, soft and unwelcome. Then her eyes shifted. Blair leaned against his shoulder, long brown hair falling across one side of her face. Her skin looked pale. Her free hand rested lightly on his arm.

“Won’t you let me into my own house anymore?” Philip asked when Rita did not step aside.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Come in.” Rita managed a small smile and moved back.

Philip guided Blair to the couch and helped her sit. “Do you need anything?”

Blair shook her head and rested it against his shoulder the moment he settled beside her.

Rita took the chair across from them. Her hands rested on her knees. She kept her voice careful.

“How are you doing, Blair?”

“As you can see, I’m not doing so great.”

“I’m sorry. You will be fine.”

Blair’s eyes lifted to hers. “I hope you don’t have a problem with me being here. I don’t know what I would have done without Philip.” She wrapped both arms around his hand and held on.

Philip smiled at her. It was a soft, warm smile. The kind Rita had never seen directed at her.

“It’s fine,” Rita said. “I don’t have a problem with you staying here. We are more than glad to take care of you and our unborn niece or nephew. Whatever the gender may be.” The words felt stiff in her mouth. She forced a small smile to go with them.

Blair shifted. “I think it’s a boy.” She lifted Philip’s hand and placed it against her still-flat stomach.

“Phil, will you go with me for my gender reveal scan?” The question came with a small pout that Rita did not trust for a second.

Rita watched Philip’s hand rest there. Something hot and tight rose in her chest. She pushed it down. Blair had lost her husband. No woman deserved that kind of pain. Rita told herself she would not think too hard about the rest.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “Juice? Water?”

“I think I need a glass of water,” Blair said.

Rita stood and went to the kitchen. She filled a clean glass and brought it back.

Blair took it, lifted it toward her mouth, then set it down on the side table. A look of distaste crossed her face.

“What happened?” Philip asked. “Why aren’t you drinking it?”

“The glass is not clean.”

Rita’s brows rose. “I washed that glass myself.”

“Well, it’s not clean enough,” Blair said. “You don’t want to get my baby and me infected, do you?”

Heat climbed up Rita’s neck. She had washed the glass carefully. There had been nothing wrong with it.

“Just go get her another one, Rita,” Philip said.

Rita drew a slow breath. She picked up the glass and returned to the kitchen. This time she washed the new glass with extra care, even though she knew the first one had been fine. She filled it and walked back.

Blair accepted the second glass, brought it to her lips, and took a small sip. Then, when neither of them was looking directly at her, her fingers loosened.

The glass slipped. It hit the floor and broke into sharp pieces.

“Oh my goodness. It slipped from my fingers,” Blair said. Her face arranged itself into a look of mild distress.

Philip moved at once. He lifted Blair’s feet from the floor and held them clear of the glass. “Are you hurt?”

“No, Phil.”

Rita stood. “Let me get the housekeeper to clean this up.”

“No, please.” Blair’s voice stayed soft. “I will clean it myself. I don’t like having strangers around me.”

Philip set her feet back on the couch. “You don’t have to do that. You are pregnant. I will clean it.”

He left the room and returned with a broom and dustpan. Rita watched him bend to the floor, her billionaire husband sweeping broken glass while the housekeepers waited elsewhere in the house. She could not quite believe it.

“Ouch. My head. It hurts.” Blair’s sudden cry cut through the quiet. She clutched her temples with both hands.

Philip stopped at once. “What’s wrong, Blair?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel too good.”

“Should I take you back to the hospital?”

“No, Phil. I will be fine. I just need to rest.”

“All right. The guest room is upstairs. I’ll take you there.”

Blair nodded. Then she looked at Rita. “I don’t mean to offend you. I won’t be able to walk with this glass on the floor. Do you mind cleaning up?”

Rita’s jaw tightened. “Sure. I can clean up.” She forced the smile to stay in place. “I am not handicapped.”

“You don’t have to clean it, Rita,” Philip said. “I’ll carry Blair upstairs. You can call the housekeeper.”

Blair’s expression shifted for a second, something sharp moving under the soft look she usually wore. Then Philip bent and lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

A small smile curved Blair’s mouth as she settled against his chest.

Rita stood still and watched them. Philip climbed the stairs with Blair held close, the way a man might carry a bride. The image stayed with Rita long after they disappeared from view.

Tears pressed against her eyes. She blinked them back, but they kept coming.

The question from the night before rose again, quiet and stubborn.

Is Philip in love with his brother’s widow?

No. She was thinking too much. It was nothing. It could not be.

Or could it?