Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Two Hundred and Eighteen

“You…can’t swim?” The surprise in his voice is almost comical. He stands there, half-naked, his jeans pooled around his ankles, a look of genuine bewilderment on his face. It’s a flicker, quickly masked, but it’s there. For a split second, the impenetrable Dr. Frost is…confused. And it’s the most human I’ve ever seen him.

I clutch the coat tighter around me, the thick wool suddenly feeling thin and inadequate. “Is that a problem?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended. The heat of the greenhouse, the humidity clinging to my skin, the sheer absurdity of the situation…it’s all making my head spin.

“Did you not read your contract?” he frowns.

“I didn’t realize ‘water play’ meant you wanted to fuck me underwater in the Amazon.” I gesture between us, encompassing the pool, the greenhouse, the entire bizarre reality of my life.

He raises an eyebrow. “Why can’t you swim?”

The question, so simple, so reasonable, ignites a spark of annoyance. “Because I wasn’t born a fish?” I retort. “It’s not exactly an innate human ability, you know.”

That and I almost drowned at a public pool when I was twelve.

“But it is a skill that could save your life. Maybe someone else’s.” There’s no judgment in how he says it. Just factual. Wisconsin isn’t exactly a flood-free place.

The annoyance fades as quickly as it comes, replaced by a strange vulnerability. I’m not used to revealing this much about myself to him, and I have to remind myself to tread carefully. Still, here I am, standing naked under a coat in a tropical greenhouse in the middle of winter, confessing my inability to swim to a man who routinely makes me question my own sanity. It feels…strangely liberating.

His blue eyes study me for a long moment, his gaze intense, unsettling. Then, without a word, he removes the rest of his clothing, folding it neatly into a pile and wades into the pool. The water barely ripples as he moves, his body sleek and powerful. He reaches the white buoy and turns back to me.

“Come here, Ramona.”

I hesitate, my bare toes curling against the stone path. The water looks inviting, almost seductive. Just like him. Which is what holds me back.

“I…I don’t…”

“You said you can’t swim,” he interrupts, his voice calm, almost soothing. “Not that you’re afraid of the water.” After our contract is up, I won’t be able to spell water.

But he’s right, of course. I’m not afraid of the water. I’m afraid of drowning. There’s a difference. A big one.

I breathe in damp earth and something subtly floral, sweet and unfamiliar as I shed the coat, kicking off the boots.

Lush tropical plants surround the pool, their broad leaves a vibrant tapestry of greens and yellows, glistening with moisture. Giant ferns unfurl their delicate fronds, casting intricate shadows on the stone path.

It feels like the plants are part of the live audience—I mean, they are alive—silently watching how silly I look folding a coat given the circumstance.

The water itself is a clear, aquamarine green, so vivid it almost looks artificial. It makes me wonder about algae…

Frost waits in the shallow end, watching me as I hesitate at the edge. “It’s a natural pool,” he explains, his voice patient. “Filtered by the plants and beneficial bacteria, not chlorine. That’s what gives it the color. The plants keep any algae in check. And it won’t ruin your hair.” He glances at the high bun I’d secured as instructed.

“No chemicals at all?” I ask, still a little skeptical.

He shakes his head. “None. The ecosystem balances itself. A closed loop, entirely self-sustaining.”

I peer into the water, trying to grasp the mechanics of this “closed loop.”

Goosebumps dot my skin despite the saturated air as I step forward, hesitantly dipping my foot into the water, gasping at the unexpected chill.

“Come on, Ramona,” Frost says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s not that cold.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, shivering. You’re already a cold-blooded reptile. Of course, you feel right at home.

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