I try to pay for them, but he won’t let me. Along with the gift of the paints, he keeps saying it’s the least he could do after he put me here.
Grumpy billionaire Ashton Carrington has a guilty conscience.
He also jumps at the opportunity to take me for walks, like I’m some sort of dog. I’d be offended if I didn’t enjoy it so much. And it’s not just the company—although that is still a surprise. Because of the cold and the snow, we stay inside, starting on the top floor of the castle and each day work our way down to another floor. It’s slow going and surprisingly tricky, since I have to retrain my foot how to walk without pushing off on my toes. Before this, I’ve never appreciated something as simple as pushing off your toes.
I did that once, and the flash of pain was so intense that I really try not to do it again. I keep my crutches with me for support. But each day my foot and my toes get stronger and hurt just a little bit less.
And I stop asking when I can go home.
During our walks, I revisit rooms I haven’t seen in years, hallways I haven’t walked through, and awaken memories I haven’t thought of in years. And we see people.
After the first week, my visitors drop off. Dad still pops in every morning and at the end of the day, and Spencer stops by when he has a minute, but Stella is busy and takes to FaceTiming me, usually when I’m eating. Lyra is away, and Kate is super busy, and while Fenella has shown up when she has a meeting at the castle, she mainly is there to talk to Ashton.
Because Ashton is there every day. And now stays for most of the day.
I guess that makes me his friend?
On our walks, we run into the castle staff, including Mrs. Theissen. She comes by to see me every day under the guise of asking if I need anything. Along with looking after the family, she’s tasked with making sure guests are comfortable, which includes presidents, businessmen, other royalty, and now me.
I’m here because I have broken toes, and no one trusts me with stairs. I definitely don’t deserve the same service as heads of countries, but Mrs. Theissen treats everyone the same.
Except for Ashton. She’s a little extra chilly with him.
But then again, Ashton is a little brisk with her as well. With most people. He still has a grumpy attitude with others, at times bordering on rude.
I’ve called him out on it a few times, and he seems surprised. I’m not sure if he’s surprised that I think that, or because I speak up. When it’s just the two of us, I’ve noticed Ashton is a little softer, like some of his rough edges have smoothed out. He’s still a grumpy billionaire, as the internet likes to call him, but he’s different around me.
It’s a week of inside walks before we reach the main floor. I feel stronger, but Ashton insists we still use the elevator. But on Friday, he lets me try the steps that lead down to the fitness centre, and the next day, our trip is to the gym. Gunnar and Stella meet us there,Gunnar to work out with Ashton, and Stella to keep my company because my sister does not do exercise.
But I have to. As well as my new, full-time companion, Ashton has taken it upon himself to make sure I do all the doctor-ordered exercises.
“Ankle circles,” he instructs after settling me on a weight bench at the back of the fitness centre. “And then the doctor says you can try the towel.”
The towel—the mystical therapy I’ve been hearing about. The first exercise that will really try out my toes and show me how much longer I’ve got until I can walk like a normal human being.
Ashton drops to his knees before me to carefully untie my shoe, pulling at the laces until I can easily slip my foot out with barely a hiss of pain. Then he drops a small white towel on the floor beside my foot. “Try,” he orders and leaves me with Stella to babysit me as he goes off with Gunnar to use the Pelatons.
“He’s a bit bossy, isn’t he?” Stella asks, frowning at Ashton’s retreating back.
I shoot a quick glance at my sister as I begin to rotate my ankle. It all goes well except when I get a little energetic and the motion tugs at the stiff tendons around my big toe.
I hiss. “You shouldn’t really talk about being bossy,” I say. Even a simple movement feels foreign.
Again, it’s just a toe. Two toes, and so much trouble.
Stella frowns at my foot—swollen, bruised, and still taped where the fractures were healing. “He’s hanging around a lot.”
I shrug and reverse the rotation. “I guess.”
“You don’t think it’s weird?”
“I guess? I mean, we weren’t really friends before.”
“Does he even have friends? I mean ones that aren’t in his tax bracket?”
I stare pointedly at where Ashton and Gunnar sit astride the Pelatons, legs pumping, clearly racing against each other. “They’re friends.”
“Gunnar is a prince. That’s different.”
