"I don't want-"
"Anything else?" I ask. Neither Dr. Lisle nor I even glance Belle's way.
"Your wife asked to be discharged tonight," the doctor says. "She can go if that's what she wants, so long as you can promise she'll take it easy."
I purse my lips. I understand why Belle wants to leave. I hate hospitals too, but she just took a tumble down what had to be twenty yards of stairs at the Sterlings' mansion. Even if nothing's broken or permanently damaged, I prefer that she stay at the hospital overnight.
Belle is watching my eyes. "Elliot, I can't stay here. This place makes me … " She seems to grow paler and smaller.
I breathe out harshly. All right. "I'll take her with me, doctor. And I promise to keep her in bed and resting."
Belle sags in relief, and Dr. Lisle nods. "If you notice anything wrong … even something small, you need to bring her back. Immediately."
"Got it."
"Go do the paperwork or whatever to get me out of here," Belle says. "I'll get my things and meet you at the nurses' station." I hesitate, but she flicks her wrist a couple of times. "Please."
If she'd said anything else, I would've stayed, but the imploring please gets to me. Despite myself, I do as she asks.
Once we're in the limo and on the way to the hotel, she leans back with a long sigh, her eyes closed.
"Are you all right?" I ask.
She doesn't open her eyes. "I'm fine. Just a little bruised, no big deal."
I study the lines on her face and the tightly pressed lips. A little bruised, sure. I pull her until she's leaning against me, her back to my chest. She must be hurting worse than she lets on. I arrange her so she can rest her head against my shoulder, but she stiffens. I don't let go, though. I need to hold her and know she's okay … for my own sake.
"What happened?" I ask after a moment.
The muscles in her back and shoulders turn to stone. "Didn't you get the answer you want from the doctor?"
"Don't. I don't want to fight. I just want to know how it happened."
"What's there to know?"
"Elizabeth said one of the wait staff found you at the bottom of the stairs." I didn't hear the rest of what she said over the panic roaring in my head.
"Then you know what happened."
"Belle … "
"I don't want to talk about it. I'm banged up, and I'm tired."
Part of me wants to push until she tells me everything, but she feels so small and fragile in my arms. I notice a new bruise on the back of her neck, stark and ugly on the otherwise smooth skin. I'm afraid if I push too hard, she might shatter.
A hotel staff member opens the door with a warm greeting, and I climb out first and help my wife. Her hand is too cool to the touch. If her injuries shock the attendant, he doesn't show it.
Our overnight bags are whisked away, and we're immediately checked in. A sharp-looking woman in a black dress escorts us to our suite on the top level. She glances at my wife, but doesn't comment. Belle stares at the floor the entire time, unblinking. But I can sense her mind working. I just wish I could figure out what what's going on inside.
"If anything's not to your liking, please don't hesitate to let us know," the woman says in a robotically calm voice as she opens the door to show us in.
The suite is sumptuously appointed with pale, thick carpet, a plushy sectional sofa and an armchair before a huge TV. In the corner is a modern writing desk with a graphite-gray ergonomic chair. I immediately notice several vases of fresh flowers, which perfume the air delicately. Recessed lights set dim keep the large space looking intimate and almost romantic. Through the open, arched doorway, I see the bedroom; there's a huge California king with pristine white covers turned down invitingly. The light from the bedside tables casts a satiny sheen over everything.
"Thank you," I murmur.
"Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Reed. Enjoy your stay." The woman disappears.
My wife lets out a long sigh. Her legs wobble as she steps further into the opulent suite. Tired of watching her trying to be strong, I sweep her up. She lets out a small cry and immediately wraps her arms around my neck. I start carrying her toward the bedroom.
"Elliot … " She blinks up at me, eyebrows pinched together as though she's made up her mind about something. "I think someone pushed me."
Everything stills as I try to grasp what she's trying to say. The notion that somebody might've meant to harm her never crossed my mind. "You mean … at the stairs?"
"You probably don't believe me." The words are barely audible. She bites her lower lip. "Sorry. Doesn't matter." She speaks more loudly this time. "It was an accident."