Leilani wants to slap him, but she forces herself to remain calm. There’s no use getting angry with him. She takes the mug and blows gently to cool the hot milk. The milk is as white as the clothes she wears, and she’s pulled her long hair into a side ponytail. She looks enchanting as she blows gently on the milk.
Waylen suddenly grips his iPad more tightly. Then he reaches out his hand and knocks the sandwich to the floor.
“It’s none of your business,” he growls.
Leilani glances at the sandwich.
“I should have known he’d be like this,” she thinks, “He must blame me for ruining his chances with Diana. The next six months are going to be long and terrible.”
Her eyes string from the heat of the steam. She gently extends her arm and offers him the mug.
“Drink it while it’s still warm. When it cools it won’t be good for your stomach,” she says.
“It’s none of your business,” he says again.
“We were husband and wife, can you please find a way to control your anger?” Leilani asks.
She’s still offering him the milk, but he refuses to take it.
“We were husband and wife,” Waylen says with emphasis.
He raises his hand and knock the cup from her hand. The milk splashes a scarlet cashmere blanket.
“Technically, we’re still husband and wife for the next six months,” Leilani says, “You said so yourself.”
Waylen grabs the medicine and gulps it down.
“You practically want me dead,” Waylen scowls, “Why are you feigning such concern for my health now? What game are you playing?”
She looks at Waylen and he glares back at her. His eyes are fiery, as if he wants to burn her to ash with his gaze.
“Are you unhappy about the divorce?” she asks quietly.
“Of course not,” Waylen scowls, “I’m happy with it.”
Leilani doesn’t know how to respond. If she’s honest with herself, she realizes that she’s not happy. Waylen smiles scornfully.
Suddenly the plane dives violently. Vases, cups and magazines fall from the table and scatter across the ground. The glass and china shatters. Robert and some of the bodyguards have grabbed seat backs and safety bars. Those without seatbelts or something to hold onto are thrown violently to the ground. Leilani desperately reaches for the table, but she’s thrown sideways against the wall.
The plane shakes violently and begins to tilt dangerously to the left. Broken glass litters the aisle. If Leilani falls to the floor, she’ll be badly hurt. With a swift motion, Waylen jumps from his seat and hugs her protectively. Just as he reaches her the plane tilts again and he falls to the floor, pulling her on top of his body.
The shards of glass pierce his back and he makes a soft, pained sound. Though Leilani is slender, her weight on top of him has forced the glass even deeper into his back. Leilani tries to scramble up so she’s not hurting Waylen, but he holds her tightly and protectively.
“Mr. Bamford,” Robert yells.
The plane steadies and Robert and the bodyguards rush to help lance. Robert helps Leilani up and a bodyguard pulls Waylen to his feet. Dozens of shards of glass pierce Waylen’s back, and blood seeps into the back of his shirt.
“Sit down, fasten your seat belt, and don’t bother me,” Waylen commands, pushing her into a chair.
“What the hell happened?” he asks Robert.
“We’ve hit a gale-force storm, and the plane may be damaged,” a bodyguard says, running from the c.o.c.kpit, “The pilot says we have to land. We’re near Pleasure City, so the pilot is going to try to make it into the airport there.”
“Mr. Bamford, there’s alcohol on the plane. I’ll help you clean your wounds,” Robert says.
He glares at Leilani.
“Maybe this divorce is a good idea,” Robert thinks, “Being near her seems to be dangerous for him. He’s either upset or sick or injured.”
“Let me help him,” Leilani says, unfastening her seatbelt.
“Do none of you have common sense?” Waylen roars, “The plane is landing. Sit down and fasten your seatbelts. Do you all have a death wish?”
“Mr. Bamford, the wound should be cleaned quickly to prevent infection,” Robert says.
“It can wait until we get to a hotel,” Waylen growls.
Robert knows he can’t argue with his boss so he sits down. He also knows that Waylen’s outburst was directed at Leilani. In spite of the divorce, Waylen cares deeply for Leilani, but he’s too proud to let her see his concern.
The rain is torrential, blocking the noon light and making the day as dark as night. Lightning and thunder crash violently all around them. The plane lands, and a bodyguard informs Waylen that the roads are flooded, making travel by car impossible. They’ll have to risk a helicopter.
There is a big lido on the roof of the five-star hotel—and it’s widely regarded as one of the most beautiful and luxurious in the country. Luscious, tropical plants surround the pool and sway precariously in the wind. The water of the pool is whipped into waves by the ferocity of the storm. In spite of the rain and wind, a line of black-suited hotel staff lines up to meet the helicopter.
The helicopter touches down and Robert, Waylen, and Leilani emerge with a few bodyguards. The hotel staff bows deeply to Waylen. Though the hotel is a famous luxury resort replete with Michelin starred restaurants, ballrooms, and casinos, Waylen is one of the most distinguished guests they’ve ever had.
The hotel staff shows them to the presidential suite. Though Waylen is bleeding profusely, no one notices because the dark color of his coat disguises the bloodstains. Moreover, no one dares to look at him long enough to see that anything is wrong.
Robert immediately summons a doctor to the room and helps Waylen take off the coat. Waylen’s shirt is torn and dark with blood. With careful gestures, Robert takes a pair of scissors and cuts the cloth of the shirt away from Waylen’s back. The shards of glass glint menacingly in the light, the blood has already started to coagulate on his skin. Leilani turns away from the wounded back.
“Mr. Bamford, we need to pull the broken glass out,” the doctor says, “Some of them are in quite deep. When I pull them out, it will be very painful. I recommend using the anesthetic.”
“No anesthetic,” Waylen says.
Leilani hears Waylen’s heavy breathing and the soft plink of the shard’s landing in a tray. She squints her eyes shut and tries to ignore the sounds. She doesn’t understand why he acted that way on the plane—using his own body to shield her from harm.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she thinks, “I’m divorcing him, and he knows there’s nothing left he can get from me. What were his motives for saving me, then?”
Against her better judgment, she turns to look at him. She finds that he’s staring intently at her. His expression is unreadable, and it makes her anxious.
When the doctor finishes removing the glass, he applies alcohol to the wounds. Some of the punctures are deep and he has to stitch them. Waylen’s body tenses and stiffens as the needle and thread pierce his skin, but he doesn’t make a sound. His whole body emanates coldness.
Leilani looks at the wounds on his back, and his defiant expression and she feels a wrenching sensation in her chest. Gently, she takes his hand in hers.
“You need to be careful with these wounds,” the doctor advises, “Keep them clean and avoid getting them wet. You also need to avoid any activity which could strain the stitches or reopen the wounds. You can apply salve to the smaller wounds, but be careful with the larger ones.”
The doctor passes Robert an antibacterial cream and leaves.
“Mr. Bamford, the weather forecast calls for torrential rains and storm force winds for the next three days, so we’ll have to stay here,” Robert says.
Waylen nods unhappily and stands up. His back is covered in gauze, but his chest is bare. He drops Leilani’s hand and walks into the dressing room as if she’s not there. Robert rushes after him, but after a few minutes, Leilani can hear Waylen roar, “Get out!” and Robert reappears looking distressed.
Leilani looks at Robert, “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Bamford thinks I’m too clumsy to help him, but he can’t put a shirt on by himself. Can you please go help him?” Robert asks.
Leilani walks into the dressing room quickly and sees that Waylen has a shirt on one arm. He seems unable to pull it onto the other. Since he refused the anesthetic, even the lightest touch on his back causes him great pain.
“Let me help you,” she says with a sigh.
Waylen roughly pushes her away.
“I’m not going to ensure your meddling just because we were once husband and wife,” he snarls.
“Waylen Bamford, your back is hurt because of me, and I’m going to help you put that shirt on,” Leilani scolds.
She approaches him but he pushes her away again. She knows that the force with which he’s pushing must be straining the stitches. She’s scared he’s going to tear his wounds open again.
“You don’t need to pretend to be nice to me just because you have a guilty conscience,” Waylen says, trying to put his arm in the other sleeve, “Just leave me alone.”
He fails to get his arm into the sleeve. Hesitantly, Leilani approaches him and grabs the sleeve, gently guiding his arm into it.
“According to Robert, the other rooms are fully booked,” she explains, “Since the rain prevents me from leaving, you’ll just have to settle for ignoring me.”
Though her tone is stubborn, she feels guilty. The information upsets Waylen.
“You really can’t bear to be in the same room as me?” he asks
“You asked me to leave you alone,” Leilani says with frustration, “What do you want me to do?”
She sighs. It’s typical for Waylen to ask for something and then blame her. She has to admit, she would prefer to be in a separate room. Waylen curls his lip and calls for Robert.
“Are there any other rooms in the hotel?” Waylen asks Robert.
“No, all the rooms are booked because of the storm. Only chambers for hotel staff are available.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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