Page 78 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
Byron nodded once, jaw clenched, but said nothing. He was pale beneath the stubble, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.
When Ana was finally moved to the private room, she looked like herself again, albeit pale, bandaged, and with precisely zero patience.
The first thing out of her mouth was a croaky "Byron, go get me them pancakes."
He blinked. "What?"
"Fluffy, syrup-soaked, double-stack, with blueberries. Chop-chop."
He crossed his arms. "You just had spine surgery. You're not getting pancakes. You're getting clear fluids with a straw."
Ana groaned dramatically and rolled her head toward Cadi. "He's trying to starve me to death. Cadi, please. He's being cruel and abusive. I need pancakes."
Cadi laughed despite herself.
"You've got some numbness, but the surgeon said it's nothing alarming. It will resolve before you know it," Cadi explained to Ana.
Byron arched a brow. "Which, in my speak, means stop whinging like a baby and man up."
Ana grumbled, "I will just have to be satisfied, imagining your head explode like a watermelon. Wait until I am up and running. "
***
Four weeks later, Ana was up and about. Stubbornly, defiantly mobile.
And Byron, being Byron, had insisted on hiring a nurse and a private chef and then promptly ignored them both and did everything himself.
He fussed, hovered, and glared at anyone who dared suggest she so much as lift a mug.
“I will have you know I am not a complete nutter. I have investments, ya know. We can retire anytime.”, he replied casually when Ana worried about the cost.
And on the day after the surgery, when she was still hoarse, groggy, and loopy on meds and telling him how sexy he was, he'd knelt by the bed and slid a massive solitaire onto her ring finger.
Ana squinted at it, dazed. "What the fuck is this doing here?"
"I have rights. These were the conditions you agreed to," Byron said simply.
She wiggled her fingers. "Can I get two more? You know, it would make a cool knuckle duster."
"You're a difficult patient and impossible to please," he muttered.
"Still want to be married to me, don't you?"
***
The barbecue had been postponed twice-first because of Ana's surgery, and then again when Gray pulled a hamstring during a friendly game with the other consultants and insisted on grilling while on crutches. But now it was finally happening. The sun was out, the beers were cold, and the air smelled of grilled meat and citronella candles.
Ana stood near the patio with Cadi, sipping lemonade that she insisted had no bloody personality without a splash of something stronger.
She was glaring daggers across the yard at Byron, who was manning the grill alongside Gray and James' dad.
"Oh, don't act all innocent, you absolute tosser," Ana shouted, arms crossed. "I saw that little rugby groupie bunny grab your arse on live television."
Byron groaned, flipping a sausage with exaggerated care. "Ana, for the last time, I was mid-interview. I didn't even see her coming."
"Oh, but the whole world did! Congratulations, you're now officially on the STD express, you bloody wanker."
Gray snorted. "You're not going to win, mate. Just take the loss."
