Julia’s POV
I woke up to the voice of a news reporter, a rather uncharitable sound for someone coming out of a three-week coma. But the content of the report made me sit bolt upright.
"The world is mourning the death of Julia Watson, beloved heiress of the Watson empire—"
A pillow flew across the room, knocking the remote off the table and silencing that i***t. "Excuse me? Dead? Really? I think not!"
The door swung open, and there he was—my husband, George. His eyes were wide, a smile as broad as the Grand Canyon on his face. He rushed to my side, smothering me with kisses. "Julia! You’re awake! Does your head hurt? Are you hungry? Do you need anything?"
"George, George, I’m fine!" I said, pushing him away gently. "Just tell me this whole 'dead' business was a bad dream."
"No, no," h
