By night, Natalie was moved out of the ICU and into an obscenely expensive private ward, one Dion knew he would never see in his lifetime if their roles were reversed.
And right now, he was fussing over her like a mother hen.
"You sure you're okay?" Dion asked for the fourth time, already lifting the cup of water again. "Your throat might be dry."
Natalie gave the look as he carefully held the straw to her lips. "Dion, I promise I won't evaporate if you stop hovering for five minutes."
He waited until she'd taken a few sips before lowering the cup. Then, as if he remembered something urgent, he adjusted her pillow, fluffed it once, then gently shifted the blanket higher so it covered her properly.
"That's really not necessary," she said, heat creeping into her cheeks.
"I know," he replied simply. "But I want to."
That made her pause.
