Vincent remained seated beside Gabrielle, who had curled into herself in a tight, childlike ball. She clutched her own arms as though the world were something she needed shielding from. She was entirely unaware of the way her husband's hand hovered, trembling faintly, over her shoulder—afraid to leave her, afraid to touch too roughly, afraid of whatever had struck her down so suddenly.
The doctor, who had arrived with commendable haste, frowned deeply as he checked the thermometer. Vincent watched every slight shift in the man's expression with growing dread.
Her temperature was far too high.
The stethoscope pressed against her back next, cool metal against burning skin. The doctor listened intently to her breathing, lips pursed.
"I'll need a blood test, Mr Walton," he said at length. "Her fever is alarmingly high."
"Can you tell me what's happening to her?" Vincent's voice roughened with urgency. "She was fine—she was perfectly fine—only hours ago."
"Does she have any medical history I should know of?"
"Allergies," Vincent replied quickly. "But she's never been... like this. Never ill."
"Well..." The doctor exhaled heavily, glancing down at Gabrielle's trembling form. "It may be a severe flu, but I cannot say with certainty until we have her test results—and until she is awake enough to tell me exactly what she feels."
"She was screaming about her head," Vincent said, voice cracking. "Screaming. And then her nose—blood everywhere—she was fine this afternoon, Doctor, we were playing with the children—"
The doctor murmured reassurance and performed his examination in steady, practiced motions. He tied the elastic around her arm, drew her blood, sealed the vials.
"I recommend hospital admission," he said gravely. "I'd prefer to observe her closely."
"No hospital..." came a faint whisper.
Vincent's eyes snapped to her. "Bella—!"
He leaned in immediately, hand cupping her forehead.
"D-don't... bring me..." she breathed, curling tighter, her voice thin with pain.
"It's my migraine..."
The doctor stepped closer. "Mrs Walton, your symptoms—"
"I'm not... sick," she murmured.
"Gabrielle," Vincent burst out, exasperation cracking under fear, "your fever is so high I could fry an egg on you; your nose bled like a crime scene—of course you're sick! We're going to the hospital!"
He reached instinctively to lift her, but she flinched and sobbed.
"D-don't shout at me!" Her cry was so small, so broken, that Vincent froze. Her fingers wrapped around his hand weakly, her heat searing him.
His anger vanished in an instant.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice thick, forehead pressed to hers. "I'm only frightened for you."
"Don't take me... Vince... it's just migraine..." she pleaded, gripping his wrist with surprising strength. Tears slipped down her reddened cheeks.
"Doctor... we flew..." She fought to speak through uneven breaths. "From London... then New York... no rest... it triggers... this."
Her voice wavered, exhausted.
"It's just migraine. I only need rest..."
Vincent swallowed hard, torn between fear and helplessness.
YOU ARE READING
Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)
RomanceNOT-FOR-BELOW-18-STEAMY CONTENT! He was perfect... That's what everyone thought, at least. He has everything a man could ever ask for... But like a very funny joke, he had too much of everything. His life turns upside down as he was forced to have...
