And Jesus Christ, she looked like she'd been through a blender. Her hair was a disaster. That perfectly styled look from last night had been replaced by something that screamed, "I've been in a hospital bed for nine hours trying to explain to medical professionals why I'm attached to a man who isn't my husband." Her makeup was completely gone, leaving her face pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes that made her look like she'd aged about 10 years overnight.
But it was the way she was moving that really sold the whole I've-made-some-very-poor-life-choices aesthetic. She was shuffling like each step was agony. Her legs were slightly apart in a way that suggested sitting down was going to be an adventure for the foreseeable future. Her dress, that sexy black number she'd put on to seduce Leo, was wrinkled and stained with what looked like hospital-grade antiseptic.
"Morning, honey," I said, not looking up from my tablet. "How was your night? You came in pretty late." She froze in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights, probably trying to remember whatever story she'd prepared during the ambulance ride.
"There was an emergency at work. A client crisis. I had to stay late to handle it." An emergency. A client crisis.
Well, she wasn't wrong. There had definitely been an emergency, and it had definitely created a crisis, just not the kind she was implying. "That sucks," I said, finally looking up with my best concerned-husband expression. "You look exhausted."
"And is that—are you walking funny? Did you hurt yourself?" The look on her face was priceless. Here she was trying to maintain the illusion that she'd spent the night dealing with spreadsheets and conference calls while simultaneously trying to explain why she looked like she'd been in a medieval torture device. "I... I fell at the office."
"Down some stairs. Twisted my back. Fell down some stairs." Right.
That was definitely one way to describe being surgically separated from your lover after a superglue incident. I had to admire her creativity, even if her execution was lacking. "Oh no. Did you go to the hospital?"
"You should probably get that checked out." "I did," she said quickly. "I mean, I went to urgent care. They said it was just a strain."
"Gave me some... some medication for the pain." She was limping toward the bedroom now, probably desperate to get out of that dress and into something that didn't smell like medical disinfectant and poor decisions. But before she could escape, there was another knock at the door. I got up to answer it, even though I had a pretty good idea who it was going to be.