Alexander’s POV

“Alexander?” My wife calls, stopping me just before I step down from the platform raising the bed.

I turn over my shoulder, staring at her pale face. She blinks sluggishly and puts her hand out.

“Where are you going?” Her voice cracks.

“To see who’s at the door,” I answer, clenching my jaw as I bend over to take her hand.

Images of that Briton stealing glances at her breasts at the Thorne Foundation 50th anniversary party and touching her every chance he got ...