The Forbidden Throb Chapter 76

Emma's POV:

Daniel pushed open his office door, fruit basket in one hand, his other hand warm around mine.

The casual intimacy of the gesture made my pulse skip.

"Come on," he said, leading me toward the nurses' station at the end of the corridor.

The central hub of the cardiac surgery floor was exactly what I'd imagined a hospital gossip mill would look like—a semicircular desk where several nurses in navy scrubs suddenly became intensely focused on their computer monitors the moment they spotted us approaching.

One straightened a stack of papers that didn't need straightening. Another began typing with exaggerated concentration. A third studied a patient chart as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

The shift from animated conversation to industrious silence was so abrupt, so theatrical, that it was almost comical.

"Afternoon, ladies," Daniel said, setting the fruit basket on the counter. "My wife brought these for the department."

The silence that followed was so absolute I could hear the soft hum of the computer monitors.

Four nurses froze mid-motion. Their eyes widened in perfect synchronization, like a choreographed reaction shot.

*Your wife?*

The words hung unspoken in the air, practically visible in the shocked expressions around us.

The charge nurse recovered first. She blinked once, twice, then her face split into a warm smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"Your wife! Dr. Prescott, congratulations!" She moved around the desk with surprising speed for someone who'd been standing still moments before. "We had no idea—when did this happen?"

"Recently," Daniel said smoothly, already unwrapping the cellophane from the basket. "We've known each other for years, but the timing finally worked out."

"That's wonderful," another nurse chimed in, her initial shock melting into genuine enthusiasm.

She reached for a pear, then seemed to remember her manners. "I mean—thank you so much for thinking of us, Mrs. Prescott."

"Just Emma is fine," I managed, releasing Daniel's hand to gesture toward the basket. "There are strawberries, grapes, some apples... I wasn't sure what everyone liked."

"An impeccable timing, it seems," a deep voice cut through the warm atmosphere like a scalpel through tissue.

I turned to find a silver-haired man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit approaching the nurses' station.

He moved with the kind of measured authority that came from decades of command.

"Dr. Morrison," Daniel said smoothly, and I caught the subtle shift in formality. "I didn't expect to see you on this floor today."

"Well, Daniel, when word spreads through the hospital grapevine that our most eligible cardiac surgeon has suddenly acquired a wife..." Morrison's pale blue eyes gleamed with something between amusement and calculation. "One does feel compelled to investigate the rumor in person."

He turned his assessing gaze fully on me, and I felt the weight of it like a physical examination.

"So this is the young lady in question," he said, and there was a studied casualness to his tone that immediately put me on guard. "Mrs. Prescott, I presume?"

"Yes, this is my wife, Emma," Daniel said, his hand returning to the small of my back. "Emma, Dr. Alexander Morrison, Chief of the hospital."

I caught it immediately—the fractional tightening around Morrison's eyes, the way his smile remained perfectly fixed while something cold flickered beneath the surface.

Polite veneer over quiet disapproval.

*He doesn't like me.* The realization hit me.

And then I remembered.

A conversation overheard weeks ago. Two nurses discussing Dr. Morrison's daughter—Vanessa, wasn't it? Recent return from a fellowship in London. The Chief's not-so-subtle hints about introducing her to Daniel.

*Oh.*

Understanding clicked into place like a key turning in a lock.

I was the interloper who'd stolen the role meant for someone more suitable. Someone with the right credentials, the right background, the right last name.

*Well then.*

The realization steadied me somehow, clarified what needed to be done. This was exactly what I'd signed up for, wasn't it? To be Daniel Prescott's wife in the eyes of everyone who mattered. To play the role convincingly enough that no one questioned it.

Time to earn my place in this performance.

I shifted closer to Daniel, sliding my hand around his arm with easy familiarity, letting my shoulder brush against his in a gesture that spoke of comfort and intimacy.

"Dr. Morrison," I said, and this time my smile held genuine warmth. "It's wonderful to finally meet you. Daniel speaks very highly of your leadership at Mass General."

The moment my hand curved around Daniel's arm, I felt it—a fractional stiffening in his muscles.

But Morrison wasn't even looking at me. His attention had shifted entirely to Daniel, dismissing me as nothing more than decorative wallpaper.

"I must say, Daniel," Morrison said, his tone carrying that particular blend of paternal concern and professional assessment, "I'm surprised by your choice. Not quite what I would have expected from you."

The words hung in the air, ostensibly benign but loaded with implication.

Morrison continued, his gaze finally flickering back to me—a brief, dismissive assessment before returning to Daniel. "In my experience, successful partnerships require a certain... equilibrium. You understand what I mean."

The euphemism was so transparent it was almost insulting.

At first, I'd understood Morrison's coolness as simple disappointment—a father's thwarted matchmaking plans, the natural deflation when reality doesn't align with expectations.

Uncomfortable, yes, but understandable in its way.

But this wasn't disappointment. This was deliberate dismissal, wrapped in the language of professional concern but sharpened into something actively hostile.

Heat crawled up my neck, not from embarrassment but from rising anger.

I opened my mouth, ready to respond with the same polished steel I'd wielded just moments before.

"You're absolutely right, Alexander," Daniel said before I could speak.

The words stopped me cold.