Foolishly Falling for You

13

Anita

The sheets are white. I'm in his bed. He sits at the desk his fingers steepled standing suddenly when I open my eyes. He sits down, before awkwardly standing again.

"I am very concerned about you." He states.

I nod. "I am fine. What you saw was just a treatment, like leeches or surgery. Sometimes it leaves scars. I am perfectly--"

"You have never told me of such treatment, your father did not tell me and I have never seen a doctor dark this door," he talks over me, "So that is not true."

I scoff. "You're not often home."

"I am home often enough to have noticed a doctor coming in every day for years. These...treatments seem frequent. Who is he? Who is this doctor?" He demands.

His hair is disheveled, he's still wearing yesterday's clothes, and there's a five o'clock shadow on his face.

"You can't desert your post," I murmur, sitting up, as a maid enters the room with clothes for me.

"I fear, at this rate, that if I were to leave you, you will perish," He proclaims. "With such fresh wounds, you should clearly be on bed rest."

I roll my eyes and wave my hands. "I told you I'm perfectly fine. I have episodes. They are short, I take my treatment, and as you can see I am back to full strength."

Lance crosses the room, looming over me. "I will not leave until I meet the doctor who's prescribed and administered this treatment."

I scoff. He can't hold back from royal orders for long. He's threatening his head on a spike, his honor, his title his station. It isn't like him.

"What is all this about?" He inquires. "Why do you have a scar there?" He reaches out to touch my head but I pull away. Lance frowns deeply.

"It's part of the treatment," I murmur.

He scoffs, pacing. "Treatment? Treatment?! We are living in the modern world, Anita! It is 1874 these...treatments belong in the dark ages. We must sue this doctor, he clearly took advantage of you--"

He never cares this much. He used to just take me at my word, none of this arguing. I put on my nightgown, sighing. 

"I will not discuss this with you--" I brush past him.

He draws me back, his large hands brushing up the silk of my nightgown, his fingers sinking into it, touching the flesh below.

"You will. We are going to get to the bottom of this today. If you require treatment I will find you treatment. We'll go to Spain they have doctors there,"

I push him back, but he doesn't let me. 

He holds me tightly, his arms around my shoulders.

I clench my jaw. I will not be affected by something like this. 

"Please." 

His voice is almost a whimper. I nod. "I will send for the doctor from my father's house. And then you'll go back to the field?"

He nods. "If all is well."

I nod back, shuffling away. "I will head down to breakfast. Try not to embarrass me in front of the staff any more than you already have,"

He rolls his eyes but nods, continuing his frantic pacing. He must be worried about what will happen when Admiral Mendoza does not show to a summons from the King.

I sit down to eat. The food is cold, but it's fine. The good news is, the family doctor makes this an easy fix. 

I feel better. I feel...good. Sometimes you need a little external pain. It quiets the mess in my mind when it gets too loud.

But I sense, already, Lance will not be pleased with that explanation. He wants things cut and dry, a diagnosis he can attempt to treat, that's just the way he is.

Always objective. Pragmatic. Practical. What is the easiest, most logical way to deal with this issue? Is what he'd say. 

He comes down after a few moments, bathed and dressed, but unshaven. There are dark circles under his eyes. He must've sat up all night.

He sits across from me, forking over his food in dismay. He seems so disturbed.

He looks up at me, his eyes grassy green. 

"You seem...well," he says awkwardly.

I nod. "I am. So return, before the King calls your sporadic trip what it really is: treason."

He waves his hand in dismissal. "Desertion. It's hardly treasonous. At worst I'd be considered a coward."

"At worse, you'd have your title taken away," I grit.

He looks up at me. "What was I supposed to do? I thought you were gone."

I narrow my eyes. "You should've gone to the damn war."

He scoffs and looks away. "I will not argue with a sick woman."

"You surely will not win an argument with a sick woman," I frown back. "You'll get in my way. I have things to do. Household matters--"

Lance stands. "Until I speak to your doctor, you will rest. I don't even know how you're moving with your wounds."

"It's called being a woman. Something like this is nothing. Now get out of my way."

Lance looks over me and sighs. "Well...I will get out of your way."

He steps aside, letting me pass. Finally. 

"I'll just be behind you. Who knows if you'll fall out and hit your head." He follows closely on my heels.

How annoying. His eyes are peering, burning into my back. God, is this his attention? I should've known it would be too much, he's intense with everything he slightly cares about.

"Must you step on my heels?" I grit.

He takes my hand. "Is this better?"

I sigh. "Not...really."