Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44

BIANCA

Over the next few days, I settled into a routine that felt almost like belonging.

Mornings started with Louis’s enthusiastic wake–up calls and expensive breakfasts that Rivera insisted were “not a suggestion as it was essential for recovery.” I’d discovered he was an excellent cook–not just competent, but genuinely skilled, creating meals that were both nutritious and delicious.

Afternoons were quieter. Louis would go to his room for “quiet time” that usually involved him building increasingly complex LEGO structures while I rested in the library Rivera had mentioned.

It was a beautiful room–floor–to–ceiling bookshelves filled with everything from classic literature to modern medical journals. True to his word, Rivera had stocked it with medical texts, including several specialized volumes on curse–breaking that must have cost a fortune to acquire.

But it was a small notebook I’d found while Louis was showing me his room that had truly broken my heart.

I’d been helping him organize his LEGO collection when it fell from his bookshelf, landing open to a page titled in careful, childish handwriting: “Things To Do When I Have A Mummy.”

The entries had made my eyes burn with unshed tears:

*1. Bake cookies together*

*2. Read bedtime stories*

*3. Go to the park and swing*

*4. Have someone at school plays*

*5. Learn to tie shoes*

*6. Someone to kiss scraped knees*

*7. Make breakfast together*

*8. Have tea parties*

*9. Someone to tuck me in*

*10. Someone who stays*

Someone who stays.

I’d closed the notebook carefully and put it back, pretending I hadn’t seen it. But the words haunted me, especially number ten.

Louis had started calling me “Mummy” when Rivera wasn’t within earshot. The first time, I’d tried to correct him gently.

“Sweetheart, I’m not your-

“I know,” he’d interrupted, his small face serious. “But can I pretend? Just for a little bit? Until you have to go?”

How was I supposed to say no to that?

So I let him pretend, let him take my hand at every opportunity, let him curl against my side during afternoon story time, let him show me his treasures and tell me his secrets and look at me like I hung the moon.

And I desperately triednot to get attached.

Chapter 44

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This was temporary. Just until I was strong enough to stand on my own. Just until I could find my own apartment, establish myself at a new hospital, build a life that didn’t depend on anyone else’s charity.

Getting attached to Louis would only hurt us both when I inevitably left.

Getting attached to Rivera would be even more foolish. But Rivera made it difficult for me to distance myself from him especially with his quiet care, the way he anticipated my needs before I voiced them, how he’d rearranged his entire life around my

recovery.

His phone rang constantly–at least a dozen times a day–and he always took the calls in another room, his voice low and serious through the closed door. I’d tried to figure out what he did for work, but the pieces didn’t fit together.

He never seemed to leave for an office. Never mentioned meetings or deadlines or any of the normal markers of employment. Yet he clearly had substantial resources–this house, the expensive medical texts, the ease with which he’d arranged my clearance papers and hospital position.

“What exactly do you do?” I’d asked one evening while we were cleaning up after dinner.

Rivera had paused in the middle of loading the dishwasher, his expression carefully neutral. “Various things. Investments, mostly. Property management. Some consulting work.”

It was vague enough to be meaningless, and we both knew it.

“That’s very mysterious,” I’d said lightly.

“Not mysterious. Just boring.” He’d smiled, but it hadn’t quite reached his eyes. “Trust me, the details would put you to sleep faster than any of those medical journals.”

I’d let it drop, but the question lingered. Who was Lucian Rivera, really? And why did I get the sense he was hiding something significant?

A week and a half after arriving at Rivera’s home, I was finally feeling strong enough for short outings. When Louis begged to go to the grocery store–apparently they needed ingredients for a “super special secret recipe” he wanted to make—I’d volunteered to take him.

“Are you sure?” Rivera had looked concerned. “You’re still recovering. I can go—”

“I need to start rebuilding my stamina,” I’d insisted. “And it’s just the grocery store. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words.

The store was crowded for a weekday afternoon, filled with the usual chaos of people rushing through their shopping. Louis held my hand tightly, chattering about the recipe he wanted to make–something involving chocolate chips and peanut butter that sounded both delicious and potentially disastrous.

We were in the produce section, Louis carefully selecting the perfect apples, when I turned and bumped directly into an older woman reaching for the same bag of oranges.

“I’m so sorry,” I said automatically, stepping back. “I wasn’t watching where I was

The woman’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. Her eyes which were pale green, and full of intensity were locked onto my face with an expression of shock that bordered on fear.

“Elara?” Her voice came out hoarse, trembling. “Elara, is that you?”

My blood ran cold. Elara. My mother’s name. My mother who’d been dead for seven years.