Hired by Her Husband by Anne McAllister Page B

want juice?” she asked him.
    “Yes, thanks.”
    She poured him orange juice, then started washing the pans.
    “Aren’t you eating?” George asked.
    “I ate.” And she didn’t want to sit down with him, didn’t want more memories to come bubbling back. “And I need to go talk to Natalie. I do have work of my own, you know.”
    “I know that,” George said mildly, making her feel guilty for having flung her responsibilities at him. He hadn’t asked her to come after all.
    “Sorry, I—” She didn’t finish, just shook her head and hurried out of the room, tugging her mobile phone out of her pocket as she went.
    George, predictably, didn’t change his mind about going to teach. So feeling rather like a Sherpa carrying his briefcase while he maneuvered his crutches, Sophy trailed after him down the steps. She thought she might have to battle him about taking a cab, but all he said when they reached Amsterdam was, “We could take the bus.”
    “Not today,” Sophy said firmly.
    He didn’t reply. One point for our side, Sophy thought, waving her hand to flag a cab. She wondered if she should have fought harder to keep him home, though, when they got in the cab and he sat wordlessly, his head back against the seat, his eyes closed, all the way up to the university.
    “Which building is it?” she asked him when they got close to the university.
    He told her. And she told the driver so he could get them as close as possible. It was still something of a walk after they got out of the cab. George looked white. He even stopped once.
    Sophy bit her tongue to keep from saying, “All right, enough.”
    She dogged his steps, and discovered as they got close that she wasn’t the only one.
    “Dr. Savas? Oh my God!” A bright-eyed blonde coed came rushing up to them as George crutched his way toward the entrance of the building. “What happened?”
    She was joined almost at once by a bevy of other students—virtually all of them female—who fussed and fluttered and hovered around George, practically trampling Sophy in the process.
    Bemused, she stepped back, curious to see how George would react to this display of concern, how George would react to so many women all determined to take care of him.
    “Sophy!” She heard his voice suddenly ring out over the sound of feminine ooohs and awwws, and then the sea of coeds parted as he swung around on one crutch and very nearly sliced several of them off at the knees with the other until his gaze found her. Something that looked remarkably like relief passed over his features when their eyes met. And there was that smile again—maybe not as potent as it had been at breakfast, but definitely remarkable. The coeds were remarking on it, too, Sophy could tell. There was consternation and muttering going on.
    Then one of the girls tossed her hair and said, “Who’s she? ” as another one answered quite audibly, “Who cares? She’s old.”
    Sophy wasn’t going to bother answering them at all. But George did.
    “She’s my wife,” he said and shut them all up. Then hetipped his head toward the door. “This way,” he said and waited until she joined him before he nodded her ahead of him through the doors.
    A trail of disgruntled coeds followed. “I didn’t know he was married?” one grumbled.
    “Who cares if he’s married?” Sophy heard another say.
    Three or four of them giggled.
    George kept walking straight ahead. He looked hunted, though, by the time they got to his office. She took the key from him and opened the door. “Shut it,” he said when they had both gone in. And when Sophy had, he sat down heavily in his desk chair and let his head drop back.
    “Wow,” Sophy said, dazed. “College has changed since I went. Do they always act like you’re a boy band?”
    “Not always,” George said. “Not recently.”
    So they had, apparently.
    “The ones in my class think I’m tough as nails and the last instructor they ever should have