Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 78: I’m not good at affection.

>Mallory

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was how quiet the room was. It’s been days since I was admitted, and my back already felt stiff from lying down too much.

It wasn’t the sterile hospital quiet that woke me. It was the kind that comes from someone sitting very still beside you. Like they’re afraid that even breathing too loudly might disturb you.

His hand was warm. The clasp around mine had loosened, resting against my palm instead of gripping it.

I pried my eyes open, blinking slowly as the light settled.

His fingers were laced with mine, loose but steady at the same time, like he’d been holding on for hours without tightening his grip once. I followed the line of his arm up to his face. His breathing was slow, chest rising gently, his cheek pressed against his bicep. He looked peaceful like that, especially with the sunlight slipping through the window and hitting his face, catching in his slightly messy hair.

As if he felt my gaze, he shifted. His brows twitched first, then his lids fluttered open.

"You’re awake," he said softly as he straightened, rolling his shoulder a little before sitting up. A small smile tugged at his lips.

I tried to swallow and failed, my throat dry.

"How long have you been watching me?"

It’s been like this for a few days now. He refused to leave my side unless he had to buy something for me or go get changed. It was starting to make me feel guilty.

"A bit."

I exhaled through my nose, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "You’re supposed to be at work."

Geez. I’m not dying.

The nurses were also so attentive it felt strange. I was so used to being ignored unless I was hovering near death.

Even half-drugged and tethered to machines, I couldn’t stop feeling guilty for taking so much of his time.

His lips curved faintly. Not amused, but fond.

"Good morning to you too."

I shifted, trying to find a better position, and immediately regretted it as my body protested with a dull ache. My fingers curled slightly against the sheets. I wasn’t even sure if the pain came from the medication or from what we did.

My face heated at the sudden memory.

Before I could say anything, he was already moving. He reached behind me, adjusting the pillows one by one, lifting my shoulder just enough to slide them into place. His movements were careful and unhurried, like he’d done this more than once.

"I can do that," I muttered. These days I was starting to feel better than when I first got here.

"I know," he said, and he didn’t stop.

That should’ve annoyed me. It usually did. The guilt of imposing always fought its way up. Instead, I went still and let him finish.

A nurse came in moments later. She crossed the room briskly, checked the IV, and adjusted the drip before explaining things I only half followed.

I watched how his gaze tracked every step she took. How he leaned slightly closer when she spoke. How he asked a quiet question when she adjusted the line. She answered him professionally, gesturing toward the monitor, and he nodded like every word mattered.

I didn’t remember half of what they said.

"Then I’ll be going. Rest well," she said before turning and marching out of the room.

When she left, my husband stood and reached for the tray of cut apples he’d prepared earlier. He pulled it closer, shifting the chair nearer to the bed.

"Here," he said. "Let me feed you."

"You didn’t have to."

He picked up a fork anyway, spearing a slice and holding it out, arm steady as he waited.

I tried to snatch it from him, lifting my hand weakly, but he leaned back just enough to dodge me. My arm dropped back to the bed. I didn’t have the energy to try again.

"Do what you want," I conceded.

I sighed and opened my mouth. He fed me the apple, watching until I finished chewing. A small smile played on his lips. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You’re enjoying this."

"Of course. I have to take care of my wife," he said, eyes softening as he reached for another slice. "And I have to make sure you’re eating."

I hesitated, lips parting slightly. Every instinct told me to refuse. I’d fed myself hours after giving birth before. I’d answered emails with IVs in my arm. I didn’t need this.

But somehow, when it was him, I didn’t pull away.

I let him feed me the rest of the apples, grumbling now and then while he chuckled under his breath. Each time, he waited for me to finish chewing before lifting the fork again.

"You didn’t go home?" I asked quietly.

"No."

"You didn’t go to the office."

"No."

I finally looked at him properly. "You haven’t left since yesterday, have you?"

His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a slow, absent motion. "I stepped out once. To talk to the doctor."

Something tight twisted in my chest. "What about your meetings?"

"Handled."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"Is Noel taking this well?" I asked.

"Like he had a choice?"

I frowned. Something didn’t add up. His phone sat face down on the table, unmoving. He always checked it, even at home.

"I already cleared my schedule," he said, answering the question in my head.

"Why? I can handle myself."

He shrugged slightly. "It’s my duty as your husband."

I scoffed weakly. "Yeah, right."

His gaze stayed on me. "Anyway, I found out Lola Seymour was behind everything. She confessed after I threatened her husband’s business."

"I see." I nodded once. But why would she do that?

"She refused to say anything else." he answered, answering the question in my head.

A small movement near the window caught my attention. Our son stood there on tiptoe, fingers pressed to the glass. When he noticed me looking, his face lit up.

He hurried over, pushing the door open carefully, and climbed onto the edge of the bed. He steadied himself with one hand before holding up his sketch pad in front of me.

The words written slowly.

Mama is awake now. Baby Asher played outside!

"Yes," I whispered. "I am."

He studied my face for a moment, eyes serious, then nodded once. He shifted closer and curled against my side without a sound, resting his head just below my shoulder. My husband reached over automatically, pulling the blanket higher and tucking it around him.

"I’ll have to go. See you tomorrow!" Mara said, leaning by the door and waving her keys.

When it was just the three of us left, I finally spoke, the heavy feeling sat on my chest. "I don’t like this."

My husband hummed softly. "Which part?"

"Being here. Being the one everyone’s worried about." I bit my lip.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my temple. "You carry a lot. Let us carry you for a bit."

I swallowed. "What if I tell you to go?"

"I won’t."

"What if I insist?"

He smiled, barely there. "Then I’ll sit just outside the door."

I huffed. "You’re impossible."

"Only with you."

My son shifted, reaching for my hand. I squeezed his fingers gently.

"I’m not good at affection," I said. "I might never be able to return everything you’ve done for me."

"That’s fine," my husband replied. "At least I’m taking up space in your head."

A quiet smile tugged at my lips.

I wasn’t sure yet, but I felt like I was slowly getting used to his presence.