“Yeah,” I said. “Didn’t think so.”
He paused at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on me in that way that always felt like being stepped into. Not in a bad way. In a this man sees too much way.
“You’re disappointed.”
“Of course I’m disappointed.” I didn’t bother smoothing that over. “I like you.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. The rest of his face stayed bleak.
“I’m disappointed,” I added, softer. “Not mad.”
“You should be mad.” He dragged a hand down his face. “You plan work all week so you can get away and then… this. You deserve a normal person. A normal weekend that isn’t interrupted by death threats.”
“I would be so bored with a normal person.”
That got a real exhale out of him. Not quite a laugh, but closer.
“I’m still sorry.”
“I know.”
He was still standing there, like he didn’t know where to put his hands.
Vincent Crow, who could walk into a war room and make ten men flinch with a raised brow, looked genuinely lost in his own bedroom because he had to go to work and leave his girlfriend in bed.
Not girlfriend. Sub. That was the word we kept wrapping around this. Daddy and sub. Dom and sub. Crow-language for something that felt suspiciously like husband and wife in training.
He looked wrecked anyway.
I pushed the sheets back and crawled toward him, until I was close enough to wrap my arms around his waist.
He didn’t make me pull. He folded down immediately, arms coming around my shoulders and crushing me to his chest.
“Baby.”
“It’s fine. It sucks. But it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I get you for two days and I’m about to hand the second one over to a bunch of assholes who couldn’t handle Luca’s first warning.”
I thought of Luca’s “first warning” and decided whoever was on the other end had, in fact, made a very stupid choice.
“I was already planning what we’d do tonight.”
“Yeah?” His voice dropped. “Tell me.”
“I was going to win the argument about movies vs documentaries.”
“You were never going to win that.”
“And I was going to steal one of your shirts.”
“You already stole three.”
“You were going towatchme steal another one and pretend you didn’t like it.”
He exhaled against my temple. “Madeline.”
“I’m allowed to be sad,” I said. “You’re allowed to be guilty. None of that changes the fact you need to go.”
