Chapter 4 Seven Days Until We're Strangers

Elena's POV

"Seven days?"

Elena turned back to Damian, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed.

"The lawyers will file the petition as soon as my grandfather's birthday celebration is over," he said. "Until then, we continue as we are."

"You mean I have to keep playing Mrs. Hawthorne?"

"You are Mrs. Hawthorne."

His tone left no room for argument, as if postponing their divorce were no different from rescheduling a meeting.

Elena didn't fight him. She had agreed to a three-year marriage. This was only seven more days.

"Fine." She released the doorknob. "We'll do it your way."

Damian's brow tightened slightly. Before he could respond, his attention shifted to her neck.

"What happened to your skin?"

Elena looked down. A red rash had appeared above the neckline of her robe. There were several more patches on her arms, warm to the touch.

"It's probably an allergic reaction. Nothing serious."

Damian had already picked up his phone. He told his private physician to make time for her that morning, then ordered the driver to bring the car around.

"I'm going to St. Catherine's today. I can get it checked there."

"Working at a hospital doesn't mean you can diagnose yourself."

"I'll see a doctor, but I'll arrange it myself."

He looked at her as if he couldn't understand why it mattered who made the arrangements.

"The result will be the same."

"No, it won't." Elena held his gaze. "It's my time."

His efficiency used to make her feel safe. Now she was beginning to notice how little room it left for her own choices.

Silence filled the bedroom.

Damian didn't argue. He simply placed the clothes he had prepared for her at the foot of the bed.

"We leave in twenty minutes."

Elena watched him walk out.

At the private clinic, the nurse glanced at Elena.

"Would you like your husband to come into the exam room with you?"

Not wanting Damian to become suspicious, Elena nodded.

After examining her, the doctor diagnosed an acute allergic reaction with no obvious cause. Since Elena wasn't having trouble breathing, she only needed medication and close observation.

When Damian stepped outside to take a work call, Elena lowered her voice.

"I'm six weeks pregnant. He doesn't know."

The doctor paused before confirming how far along she was and reviewing her condition again. Then she adjusted the prescription.

Damian returned just as it finished printing.

He scanned the page. "Only a topical medication?"

"Her symptoms are mild for now," the doctor explained. "Monitor her for the next twenty-four hours. If the rash spreads or she has any difficulty breathing, come back immediately."

Damian still frowned, but he didn't challenge the doctor.

"You were already unwell last night. Why didn't you tell me?"

Elena slipped the prescription into her bag.

"You had other plans."

That silenced him for a moment.

She didn't wait for a response. She picked up the medication and left the exam room.

The driver was waiting outside. When Damian joined her, he didn't get into the car. Instead, he called the housekeeper and ordered the staff to check all the toiletries and skincare products Elena had recently used, review her meals, and have a driver stay with her around the clock.

"Wait."

Elena reached out and covered his phone with her hand.

Damian looked down at it, then ended the call.

"What now?"

Elena took her medication bag from him.

"You can check the toiletries, but there's no need to change the menu or assign me a full-time driver. I know how to take care of myself."

"I've handled these things for the past two years. There's no reason to change your entire routine now."

"That was before."

She withdrew her hand and met his eyes.

"In seven days, where I live, what I eat, and how I get around will be my responsibility. I might as well start now."

Damian's jaw tightened.

"Elena, we're not divorced yet."

"I know."

"Then stop trying to draw every boundary at once."

"You're the one who asked for a divorce."

Her voice wasn't loud, but the air between them turned cold.

Damian's fingers tightened around his phone. After a moment, he spoke as though conceding the terms of a negotiation he didn't like.

"Fine. The driver won't stay with you all day, and the menu stays as it is. But you're keeping the follow-up appointment."

"I'll schedule it myself."

"I've been taking care of you for two years. One more appointment won't make a difference."

It sounded too much like concern, and Elena refused to read anything into it.

She stared at the open car door but didn't get in.

"After the birthday celebration, none of this will have anything to do with you."

Damian regarded her calmly.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, you're still my wife."

Elena finally got into the car.

Damian closed the door, walked around to the other side, and sat beside her. Out of habit, he took the medication bag from her lap.

Elena glanced at it but didn't ask for it back.

On the way home, Damian told the driver to head downtown instead.

"Aren't we going home?" Elena asked.

"My grandfather's birthday celebration was moved up, and we still haven't chosen his gift."

The car stopped outside a private antique shop.

Sebastian loved collecting antiques. In the past, Damian usually had an assistant select an appropriately expensive piece from an auction house. Whether his grandfather would actually like it rarely seemed to matter.

A sales associate brought out a nineteenth-century pocket watch. Damian examined it for a moment, then told her to wrap it.

"He won't like that," Elena said.

Damian looked at her. "He collects pocket watches."

"But his fingers have been stiff lately. He rarely winds them anymore."

Elena crossed to a glass display case on the other side of the shop.

Inside was a well-preserved first pressing from Sebastian's favorite jazz band when he was young.

"He told me this was the song playing the first time Grandmother agreed to dance with him."

Damian studied her. "He told you that?"

"Last Christmas. He'd had two glasses of whiskey."

Damian didn't answer.

For two years, Elena had selected Sebastian's holiday gifts. She remembered when he needed to take his medication and knew when he was only pretending to be stubborn and when he was truly unwell.

Damian rarely paid attention to those details.

His gaze moved from Elena to the record and lingered there.

Then he turned to the sales associate.

"Wrap the record. Find a restored player from the same period to go with it."

The woman was about to leave when the bell above the door chimed.

Vanessa walked in with a cane, accompanied by a rehabilitation aide. The sales associate immediately went to greet her.

"Ms. Sinclair, the gift you reserved for Mr. Hawthorne is ready."

Vanessa looked past her.

Her gaze settled on Damian and Elena.

She noticed the record on the counter, then the medication bag still in Damian's hand.

The soft smile on her lips froze for a fraction of a second.

"So this was your plan for today," she said quietly. "Shopping for a gift with your wife."