Wrong (16 page)

"Luke bought it for me," she replies and opens her own clutch.

I guess we're not done being catty. "Okay," I say and roll my eyes. This woman is something else.

She smirks at me in the mirror. "Luke bought me the nicest jewelry when we were together. I’m looking forward to seeing what he comes up with for my second engagement ring.”

I look at her for a moment. "So you're crazy then?"

She arranges her face into a pout and examines her reflection in the mirror. "That's not kind, Sophie. I don't think Luke would want you calling his patients crazy."

"I'm not. I'm calling
you
crazy," I say. And as I do, as the word leaves my mouth, I realize she's his patient.

Why in the ever-loving hell would he agree to treat her? I'm almost blind with rage, that's how angry I am.

"Your plan is to win him back by having him treat you for infertility?" I'm dumbfounded. How does this make sense?

I can't think straight, I'm so pissed about Luke touching her. I know he's a doctor, I know this. Encountering women at events that he's treated is weird enough, but his ex-fiancée?

"Something like that," she replies with a smug smirk.

I want to strangle this bitch with my bare hands. What's involved with fertility treatment? He's probably inseminated her. I wonder who her donor is. I'm picturing her flat on her back with her feet in stirrups and Luke between her legs.

Can I kill her with a lipstick tube? What else do I have in my clutch?

"Why is he helping you?" I'm incredulous. I know they're colleagues, but she's his ex-fiancée. Why wouldn't he refer her to another doctor?

"You don't know anything, do you?"

What don't I know? "I know Luke is leaving here with me and I know you're crazy."

"Wrong and wrong," she laughs. "I'm very fragile, Sophie, from all the fertility drugs." She actually sniffs. "And Luke will be leaving with me. In the next ten minutes."

I'm so worked up I feel queasy again. "Get out," I tell her. "Get the hell out of my sight, you crazy bitch."

"Tsk, tsk. Language, Sophie." Gina breezes out the door. She's not gone a second too soon, because tears fall down my cheeks a second later.

What is going on? What is he doing with her? I feel stupid. Left out and stupid. I've spent my limited adult life dating a man who was attracted to men, a man who wanted to film me without my consent, and Luke. Clearly my character-judging skills are off.

I grab some tissue and clean myself up. I will not have a breakdown in this bathroom. Gina's probably lying, yet things are starting to fall into place. I remember her stopping by Luke's condo the weekend after Thanksgiving in tears and Luke telling her to call his office the following week.

Forget it,
I tell myself. I am not thinking of this right now. I am going back out there with a smile on my face and I'll talk to Luke about all this later.

I exit the bathroom and cross the corridor to the ballroom space and swing open the door.

I'm so disheartened with Luke right now. I don't think I know him at all. I feel… misled somehow.

I enter the ballroom while taking a deep breath. Maybe he has some social disorder that prevents him from realizing that he's wrong about Gina.

Two steps into the room I almost trip over my stilettos. Luke's seat is empty, because he's walking away, with his hand on Gina's back.

I turn around and exit the door I just came through and start walking. I'm not sure where I'm going except in the opposite direction of Luke and Gina. I have to get out of here. We arrived through an event entrance, that's the direction that Luke and Gina are walking. I'm sure I can catch a cab at the main entrance so I won't have to bump into them. I check my clutch to reassure myself that my ID and credit card are still there. I can get home with that.

I keep walking until I find my way to the main lobby of the Ritz Carlton and head straight outside for a cab, only then realizing I don't have Meredith's shawl. Luckily there's a line of cabs out front waiting for fares and the bellhop has me in one in moments.

I feel like I should cry, but I'm numb.

"Where to, miss?" the cab driver wants to know as he pulls into traffic and my cell phone starts ringing.

"Spruce and 38
^th
," I tell him, giving him the directions to my dorm while glancing at my phone, the screen indicating a call from Luke. I hit ignore and then turn the phone off and toss it back in my bag.

I
bawl
my eyes out in the back of that cab, big ugly tears that have the driver staring at me though the rearview mirror until I lie down on the seat so he can’t see me anymore. I'm tired. When did my life become so derailed? I'm graduating this spring with an honors degree from an Ivy League college. I am not a trophy fuck.

"Which building, miss?" the cabbie asks, turning onto Spruce.

I sit up and wipe my face with my hand. "Jacobsen, ahead on the left." I slide my credit card through the card scanner attached to the Plexiglas window separating the driver from the back seat.

I move as fast as I can on heels to the front door of Jacobsen in my short sleeveless dress, chilled instantly in just a few steps. Does this classify as a walk of shame if it's still evening? I feel conspicuous dressed like this surrounded by a sea of jeans, Uggs and down-filled jackets. My heels clicking across the lobby floor sound like gunshots to my ears. I can't wait to get to my room and replace them with comfort socks and crawl into bed.

I'm about to jab the elevator button when I catch something from the corner of my eye. Mike. He's on one of the sofas in the lobby charming a girl I know from the building. I see red. There are plenty of girls on this campus, plenty of dorms other than mine where Mike can troll for gullible girls. I can't help them all, but I can help this one.

I stomp over to the sofa intent on interrupting. "Saylor," I call out, getting the girl's attention. She's a sophomore. I've tutored her in freshman accounting.

She looks up, surprise crossing her face before being replaced with concern. I'm not sure if the concern is for me or her, since I'm a disheveled mess with mascara streaked down my face.

"Sophie, are you okay?" Saylor pushes away from Mike and scoots to the edge of the sofa closer to me.

"I'm fine," I reply, glaring at Mike. "Are you with him?"

"Oh my God, are you two together?" Saylor's head goes back and forth between us. "I thought you were available," she says to Mike.

"I am, baby," Mike replies and tries to catch Saylor's hand. "Don't listen to her. We hung out months ago, that's it."

"That's it?" I shriek, then lower my voice and address Saylor. "Mike likes to video himself having sex with different girls.” I pause. “And he has a very large collection."

A look of shock flashes across Mike's face, as if he can't believe what's coming out of my mouth. Then he turns on the charm. "Saylor, baby, don't listen to her. She's upset because I dumped her."

My jaw drops. "Should I call Paige down here? Or maybe I should just take a survey on campus?"

Saylor stands up. "Thanks, Sophie," she says, then turns to Mike. "Sorry, you're not worth this kind of drama. And I believe Sophie over you anyway. Later."

Mike turns to me as Saylor takes off with rage in his eyes. "You bitch."

"Grow up," I retort and leave him to fume by himself.

I pass the elevators for the stairs. I’d rather jog up stairs in these heels than spend another minute in the lobby with Mike. I hope that Jean is out. I want to sulk in peace and quiet. I shove open the stairwell door and start jogging up the steps, adrenaline from my confrontation with Mike fueling me. I hear the stairwell door swing open again as I’m rounding the third floor landing and look down to see Mike taking the stairs two at a time.

“Go away, Mike!” I shout behind me and increase my pace.

“I just want you to listen to me, Sophie.”

“I don’t think so!” My heart is racing so fast I'm afraid I'm going to black out. The stairwells are not used that often and I really do not want to be alone with him. I contemplate exiting onto a lower floor in the hopes of not being stuck alone with Mike, but before I can, I trip over my heels and then I'm falling.

L
uke's thumb
is rubbing back and forth across the back of my hand. It's nice. I love it when he does that. I turn my head towards him and open my eyes.

"Sophie?"

Wait. We're not at Luke's and Luke is not in bed with me. He's sitting next to the bed, wearing scrubs. I blink my eyes as I piece together that I'm in a hospital. I remember fighting with Mike, and then nothing.

"Sophie, how do you feel?" It's Luke. He's standing now, trying to look into my eyes. I shut them.

"It's too bright," I complain. "Where am I?"

"You're at Baldwin Memorial," Luke says, as he reaches over and hits a switch on the wall, dimming the lights. A moment after that the bed is moving, adjusting me so that I'm sitting up.

"Stop, you're annoying me. I'm sleeping."

"You're awake and I need to check your pupils."

"You're a gynecologist."

"I can give you a pelvic when we're done if you like," he replies. "Open your eyes."

I do, and I notice he looks exhausted. He's got a five o'clock shadow and his eyes are red. I love the scrubs though. I've seen him in a lab coat, but never scrubs.

"My head hurts," I tell him.

"I know. Follow my finger," he says, holding it up and moving it left and right, then up and down while I follow with my eyes.

"How long was I asleep?" I ask.

"It's Sunday morning."

"I slept all night?"

"You were unconscious, not asleep, Sophie," he says sharply as he wraps a blood-pressure cuff around my upper arm and inflates it, before unwrapping a stethoscope from around his neck. He places it on my arm and listens as the air is released from the cuff while keeping an eye on his watch. The stethoscope is turning me on so I guess I'm feeling better.

"Why is my ankle wrapped?" I say, catching sight of my leg.

"It's not broken, just sprained," he assures me. "We did an X-ray when you were brought in."

A nurse comes into the room then, moving quickly, her sneakers squeaking across the linoleum floors.

"Good morning, Sophie, we've been waiting for you to wake up. I'm Stacy, I'll be your nurse today. I need to get your vitals."

"I already did," Luke interrupts her, and takes the chart from her hands, writes something in it and hands it back to her.

Stacy looks shocked, and like she might disagree, but decides better of it. "Page me if you need anything, Dr. Miller."

"Bring me the release paperwork, please."

She pauses midstep on her way out the door. "I think Dr. Kallam wanted to see the patient first, Dr. Miller."

"Tell Dr. Kallam I'll have the patient follow up next week."

I look between them, sensing tension, but unsure of what's going on. The nurse leaves without another word and Luke turns his attention back to me.

"What do you remember?"

"I, uh…" I stall. What do I remember? "I remember you left the party with Gina."

"Really, Sophie?" He turns around and walks over to the window and stares at the shitty view from my room for a minute before turning back to me and crossing his arms across his chest. "As fascinating as your childish assumptions are, I’m more interested in how you ended up unconscious in the stairwell of your dorm."

I raise my hand and rub it over the back of my head where it made contact with something—a railing, the floor, I don't know. "He was angry at me," I begin before Luke cuts me off.

"Who was angry?"

"My ex-boyfriend, Mike. He was in the lobby when I got back to the dorm flirting with a girl who lives in my building. I interrupted them and told her what kind of guy he is. He didn't appreciate the interruption."

"Go on," Luke prods.

"I was jogging up the steps, in my heels. That’s all I remember.”

“Did he touch you?” Luke’s face is calm but his voice betrays him.

“No.” I shake my head. “No. He was a floor or two behind me. I think I tripped. I should have taken the heels off.”

The door swings open then and a tall blonde wearing a lab coat strides in with a chart in her hands. "Dr. Miller, I hear you're trying to release my patient without me?"

Luke looks like he's had enough of this day and the sun hasn't even finished rising. "Last I checked you reported to me, Dr. Kallam."

"
My
patient," she retorts.

"Kristi," he says warningly.

"Luke," she replies, seemingly unfazed by his ire.

They have a silent battle then, over what I do not know.

"Sophie, how are you feeling?" This is directed at me from Dr. Kallam.

"I think I'm okay," I respond. "I'd really like to leave," I add, in case I have any say in this standoff.

Dr. Kallam shifts her gaze back to Luke and tells him, "One week," on her way out the door.

W
e're
in Luke's car shortly after that. They wheeled me out in a wheelchair, which I would normally find embarrassing but it turns out I did twist my ankle pretty badly, so I'm not sure I would have been up for a long walk anyway.

"Wait, where are you taking me?" I ask when it's clear Luke is not driving in the direction of campus. It's Sunday. I always go home on Sundays.

"I'm taking you home," he replies testily.

I assume he means his home, but his attitude is not encouraging questions at this point, so I give in and lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. When I open them Luke has already parked the car and he's opening my door to help me out. He scoops me up as soon as the door is closed and carries me to the elevator. I'm in scrubs and an oversized Baldwin Memorial Hospital sweatshirt from Luke's office.

I'd freaked out when Luke had brought me the scrubs to wear home, realizing I must have been wearing Meredith's dress when I was brought in. I'd asked Luke if he'd returned the dress to Meredith and he'd said yes, that he'd called her to the hospital the second I was admitted to pick it up. He was being sarcastic, obviously, but his tone did not brook further conversation.

So here I am, in scrubs. My weekend bag is still upstairs, left there before the gala.

"I'll send for your things," he says as he sets me down on his bed after carrying me from the elevator.

Send for my things? Jesus, he's formal sometimes. "My bag is still here from yesterday," I say, pointing to it on the chair in the corner of the room. "Can you bring it to me, please?" I pull the thin hospital socks off and dig through my bag looking for comfy socks, coming up empty-handed. Luke hands me a pair of his giant tube socks and I grin as I pull them on. Luke's the best. Why was I being such an emotional bitch yesterday?

I should apologize, but when I look up, he's gone.

I riffle through my bag. I have clean clothes, but that makes me realize I want a shower. I slide my legs over the side of the bed and and I'm pulling the scrub top off when Luke reappears with a glass of orange juice.

"Sophie, sit down," he says, handing me the orange juice and directing me to drink it.

"I wanted to take a shower."

"Fine, together," he tells me, pulling the top over my head. Then he scrubs me down and washes my hair without copping one feel.

"I’m sore all over," I complain.

"You can have two Tylenol," he says, settling me on the couch in the great room.

"Two Tylenol?" I scoff. "I'm dating a doctor and I can't even have the good narcotics?"

He looks at me strangely before replying, "No."

He makes me eat something before Everly and Jeannie show up with a few things from my dorm and my cell phone. Luke says he has calls to make and leaves the three of us to talk without him.

"That man is crazy in love with you, Sophie," Jean says the moment her behind hits the couch, and then fills me in on everything I missed while unconscious.

Apparently I did tumble down the stairs. Mike called for help and Jean was about to get in the ambulance with me when Luke showed up. He tossed her his car keys with instructions for her to meet the ambulance at Baldwin and then hopped in the ambulance still in the tux from the benefit and made them bypass the closer hospital for his. I assume so he could call the shots, like he did this morning with Dr. Kallam.

After they leave I turn my phone on and see the texts from Luke. Worried about me, wondering where I went. The voicemails are worse. He never left the gala, he was walking around looking for me.

I stand up, wanting to find Luke. I walk slowly, finding the kitchen and den empty before moving to the center hallway and calling out for him. I know he didn't leave me here, but where is he?

He appears, coming from the hallway off the front door, the one that leads to the three empty bedrooms. "What are you doing?" I ask him, nodding toward the hallway he just came from with a tilt of my head.

"Thinking," he replies, and shrugs, hands in his pockets. He looks me in the eye then and pauses. "Anything you're thinking about?"

"Um, yeah. I wanted to apologize." Shit, this is hard. "I don't know why I assumed that you left with Gina. It was really childish of me to leave and not answer your call. I'm sorry."

He nods. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay. Anything else?"

"No." I shake my head.

He picks me up then and carries me to bed to rest. He lies next to me and rubs my back while I drift in and out.

T
here's
no class on Monday. School is closed for Martin Luther King Day. The extra day off is great—I don't think I could have managed campus.

"I'm going to class today," I tell him Tuesday morning. "And you're going to work."

"Am I?" he asks, sipping a cup of coffee and leaning against the island in the kitchen.

"Yes." I take in his appearance. He is dressed for work, so he must be planning on going. "I'm sure women are ovulating and in need of your services."

"I'm sure," he responds dryly.

"You're not going to fight me about leaving the house today?"

"No, I'm going to drive you to class myself."

Huh, that was easier than I thought.

"You will stay on campus and I will pick you up at the end of the day." He pauses. "Got it?"

"Got it, big daddy."

"Cute. Are you ready to leave?"

H
e drops
me off at the door of the Hymer building and picks me up at the campus library at the end of the day.

He opens the passenger door of an SUV and I pause, staring at the car. It's a huge Land Rover. "You bought a new car today?" I question as I slide in. He closes the door and walks around to the driver's side.

"I did."

"Is this supposed to make me feel safer than the Mercedes?"

He glances at me. "No, not particularly."

"You just decided today was the day for a new car?" I ask.

"The Mercedes wasn't very practical."

Practical? For what? "Did you save it for me?" I tease.

"Do you want to be driving a two-seater car, Sophie?" He looks like this concerns him.

"I'm joking, relax," I laugh. "My grandparents are giving me their old Honda for graduation. I won't be able to afford an apartment and a car payment."

"Right." He pauses as he turns the car on. "Right."

We drive to Rittenhouse Square in silence and Luke leads me straight into the kitchen when we arrive. "Mrs. Gieger left us dinner," he says, pulling open the warming drawers under the island countertop. "Sit," he tells me and slides a plate of lasagna in front of me.

I slump into one of the chairs at the island. "I'm exhausted," I admit.

"It'll pass," Luke says. He doesn't sit, instead leaning against the opposite counter with his plate, watching me.

Is he just going to watch me eat? He's been so weird the last few days.

His phone rings and he answers it as I finish eating. It's a work call and he heads into his den to finish it as I place my plate in the dishwasher and head to his bedroom to grab my cell phone charger. I think I left it plugged in next to the bed. I grab it and turn around to take it to the television room but I stop short as I pass the empty closet closest to the bedroom door, because it's no longer empty.

There are two walk-in closets in this room. An empty one near the door and a second across from the bathroom filled with Luke's things. But now the empty one is filled with my things. I walk inside and look around. It's the entire contents of my dorm room. It doesn't even fill the closet, that's how little I own. But it's all here. My textbooks are stacked neatly on a shelf probably meant for sweaters. My meager wardrobe is hanging on wooden hangers, my shoes neatly lined up in a row underneath. My cosmetics and shower caddy are on another shelf.

Has he… moved me in with him? What the ever-loving hell? Who does that? Someone took all my stuff and moved it into Luke's house without my consent. What did he say the other day?
I'll send for your things?
Was that asking me to move in? I'm so stunned I don't know what to do next. I exit the bedroom and walk down the hall to his office and stop just inside the doorway and stare at him. He's off the phone now, typing on his laptop. He pauses when I don't say anything.

"Yes?" he prods.

"Do I live here now?" I ask him, radiating attitude. "Do I get a key too? Or will you be driving me to school and picking me up every day like a child?" Jesus, transportation. How does he expect me to get to and from school every day? "Wait, are you really thinking you're going to drive me to school?"

"For the time being, yes, I was thinking exactly that." He closes the laptop and leans back in his chair.

"Did we discuss this while I was unconscious? Because I don't remember having a conversation about moving in with you."

Luke rubs his bottom lip with his thumb before answering. "Logistically I thought my place made the most sense."

Logistically? Sense? Nothing he's saying makes any sense. "Why is Gina your patient?" I ask. If he wants to have a crazy talk, let's do it.

"She's not," he says, opening his laptop back up. "Not any longer."

"But she was," I say and I know my voice is not neutral.

"You know that I can't confirm that due to doctor-patient confidentiality, but since you seem to already know, and in the interest of ending this conversation, yes, she was my patient. And she is not anymore."