My Strict, Old-Fashioned Doctor

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I married a stern, old-fashioned doctor.

He always claimed I was too young, yet he was willing to unbutton his own coat to keep my sister warm.

Heartbroken and utterly discouraged, I turned to walk away. He let out a soft sigh. If you want to talk, Luna, could you at least button my shirt back up first?

So, I packed my bags and ran.

He tracked me down at a hotel, cornering me in the dim room. "Running away just to elope with that little punk? Does he know you can't sleep unless you're wrapped in my arms every single night? Speak to me."

That night, I was terrified.

I had never seen Liam lose control like that.

I woke up at six-thirty in the morning.

By my calculations, Matthew should be wrapping up his shift right about now.

Hey handsome, off shift yet?

Can I come pick you up and drive us home?

They just opened a new bakery on the strip. The cupcakes look absolutely gorgeous! I'm dying to try one. Look!

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I set my phone down, got out of bed, and started on my makeup and outfit.

An hour slipped by.

My screen remained a graveyard of one-sided chatter. No response from Matthew.

I patted my cheeks gently in the mirror, whispering a little pep talk to myself. It was fine. Matthew was a surgeon. His schedule was brutal. I couldn't expect him to be attached to his phone.

With a sigh, I decided to just head over to the hospital and surprise him.

But as I reached for my keys, my phone blared. It was my mother.

"Luna, where are you?" her voice vibrated with panic. "Get to the emergency room right now! Your sister has been in an accident!"

When I burst into the hospital, the first person I saw was Matthew.

My sister, Blythe, was weeping, her shoulders trembling as she spoke to him.

He let out a soft sigh. Then, unbuttoning his own heavy coat, he draped it gently over her shivering frame.

My feet froze to the linoleum floor.

"Luna! Over here!" My mother spotted me and called out.

Forcing my face into a mask of calm, I hurried over. It was only then that I noticed the crimson splatters coating Blythe's clothes.

"Blythe! Oh my god, are you hurt? What happened?"

Her pale face managed a fragile, reassurred smile. "I'm okay, Luna. It's not my blood. Don't worry."

She had stumbled upon a multi-car pileup on her way back. Being a doctor herself, her instincts had kicked in, and she had performed emergency triage on the asphalt. My mother had seen a local news broadcast showing her covered in blood and had panicked, calling me in a frenzy.

Blythe wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Honestly, thank god for Matthew. He coordinated the incoming trauma bays. I don't know what I would have done without him."

Matthew shook his head, his expression characteristically neutral. "Just doing my job."

"But some of them," Blythes voice cracked, her eyes pooling again, "we couldn't save them. There was nothing we could do."

She broke down into quiet, choked sobs. Matthew pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to her. "You did everything you could."

I wrapped an arm around my sister's shoulders, murmuring soft comforts.

Only then did Matthew finally turn his gaze toward me, as if just realizing I was standing there. "Why are you here?" he asked.

I blinked, momentarily thrown by his cool tone. "I came to pick you up."

"No need. I have a late-night surgery scheduled. Head home first."

His voice was a flat, even line, devoid of the warmth he had just shown my sister.

"Oh. Okay."

Before I could say anything else, he turned and strode down the corridor. Blythe quickly dried her eyes and stood up. "I don't have anything pressing. Let me know if you need an extra set of hands in the OR!" she called out, hurrying after him.

I watched their retreating figures, moving in perfect, synchronized harmony.

They looked so right together.

It was past midnight when Matthew finally unlocked the front door.

True to his usual routine, he headed straight for the guest bedroom.

Six months of marriage, and he had yet to touch me. Every time I tried to bridge the distance, his answer was always the same: You're still too young, Luna. Be good.

But tonight, I didn't want to be good.

I kicked off my covers and crept down the hallway, slipping quietly into his bed.

Matthew had just stepped out of the bathroom. A white towel was slung low on his hips, and droplets of water clung to his collarbones, catching the dim light.

I swallowed hard.

"Come here," he murmured.

I padded over like a fool.

He immediately stepped out of his slippers and nudged them toward my feet. "Barefoot again."

At a moment like this, who cared about shoes?

I lunged forward, wrapping my arms tight around his torso, my hands sliding over the firm, hot planes of his chest. The touch of his abs and the sharp dip of his waist sent a shiver straight down my spine.

Matthew's breath hitched, and he gently but firmly pried my hands away. His gaze darted downward, suddenly tense. Beneath the terry cloth of his towel, a very distinct, rigid contour had formed.

Flustered, Matthew took a step back. "I need to take another shower."

I didn't let him escape. I threw my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his damp shoulder blades.

"Are you going to run from me forever, Matthew? Either make this a real marriage, or give me a divorce. You choose."

Matthew went completely rigid beneath my touch.

His skin felt simultaneously burning hot and ice cold. My small hands felt like matches, sparking miniature wild fires wherever they brushed against his skin.

"Luna, please. You're too young."

"I'm not a child anymore. I graduate next spring."

I stepped around him, forcing him to face me. The dark depths of his eyes held a storm of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. Reaching up, I cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at me.

"Don't you want me, Matthew?"

The next second, the sky fell.

His mouth slammed onto mine, a desperate, crushing kiss that swept away my breath. He lifted me effortlessly, my feet dangling as he carried me to the bed. Cool droplets from his hair fell onto my bare collarbones, stinging slightly, but the heat of his body quickly vaporized the chill.

The tenderness was gone, replaced by a fierce, raw possessiveness. It hurt a little, but it was intoxicating. For a man who was always so composed, so utterly unshakable, this unbridled hunger was a revelation. He wanted me. Desperately.

The night stretched on, a blur of heavy sighs, tangled sheets, and a fire that refused to be quenched.

When the first rays of dawn finally filtered through the blinds, I was utterly spent, whimpering softly into his chest.

"Say it," he rasped, his voice rough and low against my ear. "Tell me who I am."

"Husband," I breathed, my voice practically gone.

He pressed a fierce, lingering kiss to my shoulder, his teeth scraping lightly against my skin, before I finally drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I woke up, the space beside me was already cold.

A neat note sat on the nightstand: An emergency trauma came in. I'll try to be home early. There's breakfast warming on the stove. Make sure you eat.

I let out a long, shaky exhale, pulling the duvet up to hide the colorful marks blooming across my skin. I rolled over, intending to steal a few more hours of sleep, when my phone began to vibrate violently.

It was Carter, my childhood best friend.

I dragged the phone to my ear. "What?" I rasped, my voice sounding like a rusted hinge.

Carter gasped on the other end. "Jesus, Luna, did you catch the plague? Why do you sound like you've been screaming at a rock concert?"

I flushed crimson, thinking of exactly why my throat was raw. "Never mind that. What do you want?"

"Oh, right. That background check you asked me to run on Matthew and your sister. I finally got the files."

"What files?" My brain was still half-asleep.

"You know, when you suspected there was some history between them before you guys got married. You forgot already?"

My heart did a sudden, violent downward plunge. The memory of Blythe weeping in the ER flashed in my mind.

"What did you find?"

Carter let out a heavy sigh, his tone uncharacteristically somber. "Luna, are you sure you want to hear this? If you want to back out, now's your last chance."

Matthew came home earlier than usual that evening.

Normally, the moment his key turned in the lock, Id be waiting by the door, demanding a welcome-home kiss. He would always frown, gently nudging me away with, "I haven't washed my hands yet, sweetheart. It's dirty."

"I'm not kissing your hands," I would pout, and though he'd look exasperated, he would always bend down and kiss me anyway.

But tonight, I didn't move. I remained curled up on the sofa, staring blankly at the television.

I heard him pause at the entryway, a beat of hesitation in his footsteps before he changed his shoes, washed his hands, and walked over to me.

He gently pulled the throw blanket up to my shoulders. "How long have you had the AC blasting? Aren't you cold?"

I didn't answer.

Matthew picked up the remote and raised the temperature. On screen, the main characters of the romance drama were finally confessing their love, sharing a tearful embrace. My own tears began to slip silently down my cheeks.

Matthew pulled a tissue from the box and offered it to me. I ignored it.

With a soft sigh, he sat down beside me, gently turning my face toward his to wipe my wet lashes. His eyes searched mine, but I kept my gaze fixed on the screen.

"They finally made it," I whispered.

"Yeah," he murmured softly.

"They were college sweethearts. They fell in love at university, but they separated because of a misunderstanding. Now they've found their way back to each other, and they're going to get married."

Matthew let out a soft chuckle, his thumb stroking my cheek. "It's just a TV show, Luna. You're more invested than the actors."

"Matthew, who was your first love?"

The question caught him entirely off guard. His frame went rigid. I leaned forward, burying my face in his chest, clutching his shirt. "I mean, you were my first everything. What about you? And don't you dare lie and say it was me. I won't believe it."

Before he could answer, his phone buzzed.

Probably the hospital. He reached for it, but I clamped my hand over his. "Is there really no other surgeon in that entire building besides you?"

"Luna, don't be difficult."

I clung to him, pressing my lips against his collarbone, nipping lightly until I felt his breath hitch and his grip tighten on my waist.

But he answered the call anyway. Because I was pressed so close to him, I could hear the voice on the other end loud and clear. It wasn't the hospital administrator.

"Matthew? Are you busy right now? Could you come over for a bit?"

It was Blythe.

A sudden wave of mischief and resentment washed over me. I began tracing slow, agonizing circles over his chest through his thin cotton shirt. He was incredibly ticklish there.

His hand shot out, capturing my wrists to still my movements. He stood up, the tips of his ears flushing a deep crimson.

"What's the emergency?" his voice remained perfectly cool and professional, but his eyes were dark.

He took a few steps away, and I could no longer make out Blythe's words. I could only watch as his brow furrowed, the flush on his ears draining away to leave him pale. His expression turned incredibly grim. "I'll be right there."

He hung up and turned toward the door.

I grabbed his wrist.

"Luna..." Matthew paused, dialing Blythe back quickly. "I have to go. Let's talk when I get there." He hung up and looked down at me. "Luna, the hospital..."

"I don't want you to go."

It was the first time I had ever thrown a tantrum.

Matthew blinked, slowly sitting back down on the edge of the sofa, trying to coax me. "Be a good girl, Luna. I'll be back before you know it..."

"Don't bother." I didn't look at him, keeping my voice as cold as ice. "Either you stay here tonight, or we get a divorce. Choose."

Matthew didn't choose.

He simply patted my shoulder and murmured, "Luna, don't throw that word around so lightly."

And then he walked out the door.

He actually left.

Furious, I hurled the remote control at the door.

Fine. If he thought I was just making empty threats, I would show him.

I stood up to go pack my bags. But as I passed the dining table, I froze.

Sitting there was a beautifully wrapped cake box. It was from the exact bakery I had messaged him about the day before.

All my random, silly messages... he had actually read them. He had remembered.

I pulled out a chair and sat down slowly. Unwrapping the cake, I took a small bite.

Liar. It wasn't sweet at all.

Two hot tears spilled over my lashes, dripping onto the pristine frosting.

I went back to my mother's house.

For three days, I lived like a coddled princess, doing nothing but lounging on the sofa. As I was mid-bite into a tub of ice cream, I heard the front door open. I didn't turn around, mostly because I didn't want to face my mother's inevitable interrogation.

"Mom, if I told you I wanted a divorce, would you still let me live here?"

The sound of keys clattering to the floor made me whip my head around. "Mom, I was just kidding, don't be"

The words died in my throat.

My mother was indeed standing there, but Matthew was right behind her.

My mother looked incredibly anxious, while Matthew remained completely unbothered, carrying several heavy grocery bags. "Let me help you put these in the kitchen, Mom," he said smoothly.

"Oh, thank you, Matthew."

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, my mother rushed over, her voice a harsh whisper. "What on earth are you talking about? Divorce? Did you two have a fight?"

"No." I pulled a throw pillow over my face, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into the cushions.

My mother let out a frustrated sigh. "Matthew spoils you too much. It's made you utterly lawless."

I pulled the pillow down slightly. "Mom, Blythe is older and still single. Why did you insist on me marrying Matthew instead of her?"

"Your grandfather and Matthew's grandfather made that pact decades ago. It was always meant for you and Matthew. Besides, weren't you head over heels for him? What is this sudden nonsense?"

I wasn't the only one who loved him.

I offered a bitter smile, stood up, and retreated to my old bedroom.

Matthew was exasperatingly good at playing the perfect son-in-law. Within an hour, the scent of a gourmet dinner drifted through the house, and I could hear my mother laughing merrily at something he said.

I curled up on my bed, refusing to go out.

A quiet knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," I mumbled, burying my face deeper into the pillow.

Matthew stepped inside, stopping just across the threshold, maintaining a polite distance. "Are we going home tonight?"

The front door chimed again. Blythe was home.

"Mom, what smells so good?"

"Matthew made dinner!"

"Matthew? Why is he here?"

Footsteps approached my room, and Blythe appeared in the doorway. She froze when she saw the two of us. "Luna, you're back too?"

"Yeah. Just staying for a couple of days." I brushed past them both, heading to the dining room.

The table was laden with dishes. There was the sweet-and-sour pork I loved, the chicken broth my mother adored, and...

A plate of garlic-roasted potatoes. Blythe's absolute favorite.

He really was incredibly thoughtful.

"Blythe, I thought you avoided garlic like the plague these days?"

My sister had been quietly reaching for the roasted potatoes throughout the meal. Even my mother had noticed.

Blythe flushed slightly, offering a shy smile. "It's been a while. I suddenly had a craving for them."

I let out a silent, bitter laugh.

In the years before we were married, how many times had Matthew made those exact potatoes for her?

Ever since we were kids, because Blythe loved potatoes, that dish had always belonged to her. By habit, I never touched them. Just as the sweet-and-sour pork was always reserved for me.

But tonight, I didn't touch a single bite of my favorite dish. I simply drank two bowls of soup and stood up. "I'm full."

Matthew set his fork down, his gaze tracking me as I walked away.

"She's just throwing a little tantrum," my mother whispered loudly. "Go on in and coax her. She'll soften up."

Matthew nodded politely and followed me into my room, closing the door firmly behind him.

My childhood bedroom was small, and his tall frame made the space feel instantly cramped. I sat at my old desk, staring at the wall. "What do you want?"

Matthew didn't answer. He picked up a small photo frame from my desk, his eyes lingering on a picture of me laughing as a teenager. "I came to take you home."

"What home? You made your choice, Matthew."

He finally set the frame down and took a slow step toward me.

I felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of nervousness. "What are you doing?"

His eyes were dark and unreadable. "Luna, it seems I haven't made myself clear."

"What?"

He stepped close, his hands cupping my face. "Didn't I tell you never to say those two words again?"

The warning signs were there, but my stubborn streak won. "I'll say it if I want to. I want a divorce, Matthew! A"

His mouth slammed down on mine, cutting off the word with a punishing, bruising kiss.

It was just like that nightwild, intense, and laced with a quiet fury.

"Stop... mmm... my family is right outside..." I gasped, trying to push against his solid chest, but he only pressed closer.

The doorknob clicked.

"Matthew, Mom wanted to ask you..." Blythe's voice cut off instantly. "Oh. Sorry."

The door clicked shut again as she fled.

Matthew didn't even pause. He lifted me easily, tossing me onto the soft mattress of my single bed.

"Are you out of your mind? We're at my mother's house!" I hissed.

A slow, dangerous smile crept onto his lips as he began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time.

"Isn't this exactly the kind of thrill you like, baby?"