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The sterile, bleached-white walls of the Los Angeles Medical Center usually felt cold, but today, the sunlight streaming through the window made the room feel almost hopeful. It was discharge day.
Ameya moved with efficient grace, folding Rico's designer hoodies and stowing his toiletries into a sleek leather duffel. She didn't need to look at him to know he was watching her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rico sitting on the edge of the bed, ostensibly scrolling through his phone. Every time she turned her head, he'd snap his gaze back to the screen, his thumb moving with feigned intensity.
When she finally turned around to zip the bag, Rico didn't look away in time. He slid off the high hospital bed and sauntered toward her, his movements still a bit stiff but regaining that characteristic swagger.
Feeling his presence close behind her, he reached out, arms widening to pull her into a back-hug. Just as he leaned in, Ameya spun around with a precision that caught him off guard. She stood with her arms crossed, one eyebrow arched high. Rico froze mid-reach, his arms awkwardly hovering in a "hugged" posture with no one to hold.
He looked at his empty hands, then at her, his face flushing a faint pink.
"Looking for something?" Ameya asked, her voice dry but not unkind.
Rico cleared his throat, pulling his hands back and rubbing the back of his neck. "Just... stretching. Hospitals make you stiff."
Ameya didn't buy it. She reached onto the chair, grabbed his fresh change of clothes, and thrust them into his chest. "Change. Now."
Rico snatched the clothes from her, a playful, lopsided smile breaking through his embarrassment. "Yes," he murmured, before disappearing into the changing room.
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The humidity of LA hit them the moment they stepped out onto the hospital entrance curb. Ameya checked her watch, then scanned the line of sleek black cars.
"Where is your driver, Rico? He should have been here ten minutes ago," she said, looking back at him.
"He called. Said he's on the way. Traffic on the 405 is a nightmare," Rico lied smoothly. In reality, he had told his driver to take the long route. He needed a moment.
As they stood there, Rico's mind raced. How do I do this? he wondered. Should I just apologize? 'Hey Ameya, sorry for being a jerk.' No, that ruins the image. I have a reputation to uphold. He stole a glance at her profile. She looked focused, independent, and entirely too far away.
"What are you thinking about? You look... pale. Are you okay?" Ameya asked, turning toward him with genuine concern.
Rico saw his opening. He suddenly winced, his hand flying to his stomach as he let out a sharp, hissed breath.
"Rico!" Ameya was at his side in a second. She instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him.
Rico didn't hesitate; he draped his heavy arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer under the guise of needing support. Down in the shadow of her shoulder, a small, triumphant smile played on his lips.
"Is it that bad?" she asked, her eyes searching his. "Maybe we should go back inside and find the doctor."
"No, no," Rico said quickly, leaning his weight into her just a little more than necessary. "It's... it's usual. The doctor said I'd feel pain if I stood for too long. I just need to sit down."
He leaned closer, his face inches from hers as he breathed in the scent of her hair. Before she could protest or question him further, his car pulled up to the curb.
Ameya carefully guided him to the door, keeping her hand on his waist until he was safely slid across the leather interior. She climbed in beside him in the passenger seat, the door clicking shut and sealing them away from the noise of the city.
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The drive from the hospital was long, but as the iron gates swiveled open, a magnificent, modern villa emerged from the lush landscaping. It was a sprawling masterpiece of glass and stone, gleaming under the California sun.
As the car pulled to a stop, Ameya looked at Rico, her brow furrowed. "I thought you were staying at the hotel? You said your office was right next door."
Rico nodded, leaning back against the leather seat with a staged sigh. "I was... because it was convenient. But I can't stay there now. Not while I'm recovering. This place is more... secluded."
They stepped out of the car and entered the grand foyer. The hall was silent, echoing with the click of Ameya's heels. She looked around at the pristine, empty space.
"Rico, where are the staff? Why are there no workers here? Do you come here often?"
Rico blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He recovered with a smooth, practiced smile. "I don't usually stay here, so I don't keep a full-time staff. It's my private retreat."
Ameya walked over to a marble console table and ran a single, suspicious finger across the surface. She held it up—not a speck of dust. "You said there are no workers... but the place is spotless."
Rico chuckled, stepping behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Because they just finished a deep clean before we arrived. They don't stay here full-time, Ameya. They just come occasionally."
In his mind, a flashback flickered: Rico frantically texting his assistant from his hospital bed, ordering every maid, chef, and gardener to vacate the premises immediately. I can't have witnesses to my plan, he had thought with a smirk. This is the only way I can keep you here with me.
"I don't think I can stay here," Ameya said, snapping him back to reality. "Don't you have a friend or someone else to take care of you? My shooting starts the day after tomorrow. This villa is too far from the set."
Rico's eyes widened, his face falling into the expression of a kicked puppy. "What? You're going to leave your boyfriend here? Alone? In my condition?"
Ameya started to grin, but quickly masked it with a serious look. "Rico, I have a schedule. I can't reach the location on time from here."
"I have drivers!" Rico insisted, following her as she walked further into the hall. "They will drop you off right on time, I promise. Just... please stay. Say yes."
Ameya sighed, finally nodding. "Fine. Go rest in your room. I'll bring you something to eat."
------
Rico went to his room, but he wasn't resting. He was pacing. He sat on the edge of the bed, rehearsing. "Look, Ameya, I'm sorry... I had no choice, I had to lie about the memory loss..."
"No, that's terrible," he muttered, grabbing a pillow and hurlng it toward the door in frustration.
The door swung open just as the pillow hit the floor—right at Ameya's feet. Rico jumped. "You!"
"I forgot to ask what you wanted for lunch," she said, eyeing the pillow.
"Anything you make will be tasty," Rico said, trying to regain his cool.
Ameya smirked, deciding to play along. "In that case, I'll make spinach soup. It's very healthy. And maybe some mac and cheese."
Rico's face twisted in immediate distaste. "Mac and cheese is fine... but spinach soup? Maybe we can do mushroom soup instead? Much better option."
Ameya scoffed, turning for the door. "You said whatever I make is tasty. No. Spinach soup is final."
"Ameya! Wait!" Rico groaned, but she was already gone.
Unable to sit still, Rico wandered down to the kitchen. Ameya was busy boiling water for the pasta. When he stepped up behind her, she turned around so quickly she freaked out. The hot lid in her hand brushed against Rico's palm.
"Aw!" Rico hissed, pulling back.
"Oh no! Rico!" Ameya panicked, dropping the lid and grabbing his hand. "Why did you come in here? Why are you sneaking up on me?" She began blowing on his red palm, her face pale with worry.
"I... I came to talk," Rico stammered. As he looked down at her, seeing how gently she was holding his hand and how much she cared, his eyes softened.
"Where is the first aid kit?" she demanded.
"Living room... drawer," he murmured.
She led him to the sofa and made him sit. She returned a moment later with ointment and gauze, applying the cream with incredibly gentle strokes.
"Ameya," Rico said, his voice barely a whisper.
She looked up, her face inches from his. Before he could lose his nerve, Rico leaned in and kissed her lips—a quick, gentle, desperate spark. He pulled back just as fast, the words tumbling out of his mouth at a hundred miles per hour.
"I'm sorry! I faked the memory loss! I had no other choice to keep you with me and I'm sorry!" He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the explosion.
Silence.
He opened one eye. Ameya was still applying the ointment to his hand, her expression calm. "I know," she said in a normal tone.
Rico's jaw dropped. "You... you aren't pissed?"
Ameya looked him in the eye. "Oh, I am. But I also know why you did it. I know you love me... and honestly, I was overwhelmed before." Her voice was soft, almost teasing.
Rico started to smile, a wave of relief washing over him. But before he could celebrate, Ameya reached out and pinched his ear, hard.
"Ow! Leave me! Sorry!" Rico yelped.
"It was still wrong to act like you lost your memory," she scolded, letting go.
Rico rubbed his ear, looking at her with wide, disbelieving eyes—like a giant baby who had just been scolded. Ameya couldn't help it; she burst into a smile at his cute expression. Rico, seeing her laugh, finally let out a genuine smile of his own.
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To be Continued........
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