Butterflies

The door opened on a soft hiss of hinges.

Naomi glanced up from the tray on her lap. She was sitting upright against the pillows, hair still damp from the sponge bath the nurse had given her, hospital gown gaping a little at one shoulder. She’d been scrolling idly through her phone but her thumb froze when she saw who came in.

Damon.

He filled the doorway in his black coat, one hand carrying a small overnight bag. His tie was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up. His eyes found hers immediately and softened.

But he looked way better than he did earlier that morning before she dozed off into a medical induced sleep. She had told him to go home, take a shower at least and maybe pack a few change of clothes for himself if he plans to spend every day with her at the hospital.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“I’ve been awake,” she replied. “You’re late.”

She gave him two hours to get done and be on his way back. She didn't want to be alone. Not when they were yet to find out who tried to kill her..

“I wanted to pack you some things,” he said, lifting the bag. “Clothes. Your lotion. That ridiculous lavender soap you like.”

Her mouth curved. “How did you know that?”

“Because I'm obsessed with that smell on you,” he said simply.

Naomi chuckled and the nurse attending to her cleared her throat, refraining from laughing.

The nurse straightened from adjusting Naomi’s IV. “I’ll be done in a moment,” she said, ducking her head. Damon stepped aside, watching as the nurse finished checking vitals, scribbled something on her chart and wheeled the stand closer to the bed.

“Pain level?” the nurse asked.

“Less than yesterday,” Naomi said. “The headache’s still there but not as bad.”

“Good. Try to eat more of your lunch.” She gave a brisk smile, then excused herself, the door clicking shut behind her.

Damon dropped the bag at the foot of the bed and rolled up his sleeves another notch. “You look better.”

“Do I?” Naomi arched a brow. “This gown is not exactly flattering.”

He sat on the edge of the mattress. “You could wear a paper sack and still look breathtaking.”

She laughed, a real laugh this time, surprising herself. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grinned. “You’re just out of practice hearing compliments.”

She reached for the bag. “What did you bring?”

“Clothes. Your silk robe. Something for your hair. And…” He pulled out a small box and set it on her lap. “...your favourite chocolate..”

Her eyes flickered up to meet him again. She wanted to ask him how he knew but decided not to. She had the entire fridge stocked with this brand, of course he noticed!

She opened the lid. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Nobody is telling them anything.,” he said. “Eat.”

She broke a piece, popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Okay, maybe you’re forgiven for being late.”

“Maybe?” He feigned offence. “I drove across the city in traffic for that chocolate.”

He had checked the fridge but she must have finished the entire pack already, it was empty. Not even a wrapper left.

Naomi laughed again. It felt strange and good, like stretching after a long time curled up. For a few minutes they were simply a couple, not a CEO and a wife under attack, not a woman with bruises and a man with rage sitting in his chest. Just them.

He watched her nibble another square. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am resting. You’re the one fussing.”

“Someone has to fuss.”

“Not like this,” she teased. “You’re acting like a mother hen.”

He leaned closer, eyes narrowing playfully. “I would have preferred a different term.”

“Mother hen.” Naomi teased again.

Damon lunged suddenly, hands wrapped around her waist pulling her close. Her eyes flickered wide open, glancing back at the unlocked door and then the man in front of her.

“What are you doing?”

“Mother hen? Really? You couldn't find a different term?”

“Someone could walk in.”

“On what? Me making love to you right here?”

Her eyes only got wider. “Damon Sinclair!” She cautioned.

“Yes ma'am.” He replied

“Don't say things like that! I'm a patient.”

Damon tilts his head. “That doesn't disqualify you from a good backshot.”

“Damon!”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling as she stared at him. Naomi held back her laughter,hoping her warm cheeks would give her away..

Her heart gave a little twist. “You’re too sweet today. It’s weird.”

“I’m always sweet.”

“Liar.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. For a moment they just looked at each other, something warm passing between them. Outside the window the afternoon sun slanted across the skyline, gilding the rooftops. Inside, for the first time since the fall, Naomi felt almost safe.

Damon’s phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the spell. He glanced at the screen. “Patrick. I have to take this.”

Naomi waved a hand. “Go. I’ll survive.”

He rose, tucking the phone to his ear as he stepped toward the door. “Yeah, Patrick?” His voice was already changing, shifting to that cold, controlled tone he used for business and war. “Tell me.”

Naomi watched him go, his shoulders rigid as the door clicked shut behind him. She leaned back against the pillows, exhaling. The chocolate melted on her tongue, bittersweet.

She reached for the overnight bag again, pulling out the silk robe he’d packed. It smelled faintly of home..their home; lavender and something warm she couldn’t name. For a moment she pressed it to her face, eyes stinging. She hated hospitals. Hated being weak. But Damon had thought of this, of her comfort. That meant something.

A sound at the door made her smile. “Back so soon?” she called without looking up. “Did Patrick find something?”

Silence.

She frowned and lifted her head.

The door had swung open again but it wasn’t Damon standing there.

Amanda.

She was framed in the doorway like a photograph, one manicured hand still on the handle. Her hair was perfect, her perfume sharp even across the room. Her expression wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was bright, almost eager.

Naomi’s breath caught. “Amanda?” Her voice cracked on the name. “What are you doing here?”

Amanda stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The smell of her perfume spread, heavy and sweet.

Naomi’s fingers tightened on the edge of the robe in her lap. The room suddenly felt smaller, the sunlight cooler. She forced a smile she didn’t feel.

“I thought visiting hours were over,” she said.

Amanda’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes and it made Naomi feel chills run down her spine…