After Hours by Dara Girard

body have to feel so hot and heavy? Why did her body seem to like it? She shook her head. She had to get out of there.
    “What happened?” he asked, sitting up, then wincing.
    “You need to be careful,” she said adjusting his pillow. “You fainted.”
    He stared at her alarmed. “No, I didn’t.” He tugged on his hospital gown. “I probably tripped on this stupid thing.”
    “It doesn’t go to the ground.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? I look like an idiot. I want--”
    “Your pajamas and slippers. I know.”
    “Not the--”
    “Fine knit cotton blend, but the silk ones.”
    A small smile touched the corner of his mouth and respect entered his gaze. “You do know me well, but of course you would.”
    Yes, she would. She’d helped him pack for business trips many times. But she knew telling him so wouldn’t make a difference.
    He reached for her hand again, she moved it out of reach. He looked at her confused. “I’ve disappointed you that much that you won’t even let me touch you?”
    “It’s not you,” she lied. “It’s...I’m still in shock. I was the one who found you. I was the one who cradled your head and watched your blood soak through my gloves. I had to talk to the police and admit that I didn’t know anything. If you know me at all, you know that I hate not being able to do something. You’ve been unconscious for two days, while Owen and I did as much damage control as possible. I’m exhausted and I just want to go home.”
    “You’re right. Everything is like a fog, but I never considered all that you’ve had to go through. I’ll make it up to you. Go home and rest.”
    Amera stood frozen for a moment. She’d expected an argument not his compassion. “Thank you si--uh--Curtis,” she quickly corrected when she saw his jaw tighten. Saying his name felt awkward on her tongue, but she stumbled over it and pasted on a smile, eager to leave. “Bye.”
    ***
     
    “Well?” Owen asked when Amera came out of Curtis’ hospital room.
    “You’re right it’s bad,” Amera said, fighting to keep her voice steady. She tugged on her blouse wishing she didn’t feel so hot.
    “He still thinks he has a wife?”
    “Yes.”
    “Who?”
    She cleared her throat. “Me.”
    Owen’s brows shot up. “ You’re his wife?”
    Amera shook her head. “No, he thinks I’m his wife.”
    Owen nodded looking pensive.
    Amera frowned. “This is the part where you burst into laughter.”
    He slapped his forehead. “Of course. Now it makes sense.” He grinned. “You were keeping it a secret.”
    “There is no secret.”
    “I overheard you talking about the ring. He gave it to you.”
    “As a joke.”
    “Bishop doesn’t joke.”
    “He did that night.”
    “So he proposed at night?”
    “He didn’t propose. It was just after dinner--”
    Owen’s eyes widened. “You had dinner with him?”
    Amera held up both hands. “It’s nothing, but a long boring story that--.”
    “It’s okay. I know what happened. You had to keep it from his father right? So you had a secret marriage and you were going to pretend that you were just engaged so that--”
    She hit him on the shoulder. “I am not his wife.”
    “Then why does he think you are?”
    She tapped the side of her head. “Because he’s suffered major head trauma.”
    “But he thinks you are. Just play along for a couple of days.”
    “I can’t do that,” Amera said in a sharp tone, trying not to remember his kiss, even though her burning lips wouldn’t let her forget. “I can’t even go back in there.”
    “You have to. You may be able to find out who did this. We both know it wasn’t random.”
    “I know.”
    “But even if someone tried to knock him off, we’d have a hell of a time finding out who. Everybody hates him and a lot of people would be happy to see him gone.”
    She sighed. “I know.”
    “You’d have a list of suspects the size of a dictionary.”
    “I know.”
    “You’d