The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 178

Chapter 178

Mia's POV

I took her hand, squeezing gently. "Mom sent chicken soup. The magical cure-all kind that she used to make when we were kids."

"Your mom is a saint," Scarlett sighed, sinking back into her pillows. "Morton's been amazing, but he's clueless about the whole sick day thing. Keeps asking if I need a specialist or if we should go to the emergency room."

"He's worried about you," I observed.

Something soft flickered across her fever-flushed face. "Yeah. It's... nice."

This was new territory for Scarlett, who had always fiercely maintained her independence.

"When did you start feeling sick?" I asked, changing the subject before she could retreat behind her usual sardonic defenses.

"Yesterday afternoon," she admitted. "Just a headache at first. I thought it was from staring at spreadsheets too long. Then around dinner time, I started feeling achy all over. By bedtime, Morton said I was burning up."

"And you didn't call me?"

She had the grace to look slightly abashed. "You had just visited the children's center and dealt with those reporters. I figured you had enough on your plate."

I frowned. "How did you know about the reporters? I didn't mention that when we spoke."

Scarlett hesitated. "Thomas called Morton."

Of course. I should have known their network of communication would be active.

Before I could pursue that line of questioning, Morton returned with a tray bearing three steaming mugs and a small plate of crackers.

"Ginger tea with honey," he announced, setting the tray on the nightstand. "Dr. Klein recommended it for your throat."

Scarlett smiled up at him with surprising softness. "Thank you."

I watched their interaction with fascination.

"Can you help me sit up a bit?" Scarlett asked, and Morton immediately moved to adjust her pillows, his hands gentle as he supported her back.

"Better?" he asked when she was settled.

She nodded, accepting the mug he offered with careful hands. "Much."

Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and neither pulled away too quickly.

"I brought soup," I said, breaking the moment before I started imagining wedding bells. "Mom's special recipe. Should I heat some up for you?"

"Maybe in a little bit," Scarlett replied, bringing the tea to her lips for a cautious sip. "The tea is helping my throat."

Morton settled on the edge of the bed beside her, "Did you take more medicine?" he asked, placing a hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature.

She nodded. "About an hour ago. It's helping, I think."

"Your fever's down a little," he confirmed, relief evident in his voice.

"Told you it was just a bug," she mumbled, though she leaned slightly into his touch, contradicting her dismissive words.

Gas, perhaps sensing he was being ignored, whined softly from his position at my feet.

"Is that Gas?" Scarlett peered over the edge of the bed. "You brought my favorite furry nephew!"

"He insisted," I said, scratching behind his ears. "Wanted to check on his Aunt Scarlett."

"Come here, handsome," she cooed, patting the bed beside her.

Gas looked to me for permission, his tail wagging hopefully.

"Not on the bed, buddy," I said firmly. "Scarlett's sick. We don't want you catching anything."

"Dogs don't catch human viruses," Scarlett protested, but her voice lacked its usual force. "Do they?"

"Probably not, but let's not risk it," I said reasonably. "Besides, if he jumps up there, he'll never want to get down, and you need your rest."

She sighed, conceding the point. "Fine. But he gets extra treats next time you both visit."

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