Then I roll my head and see Rhys asleep on my couch. He’s not slumped or awkwardly draped like a man who passed out on duty. He’s stretched out like he purposely stayed and made himself comfortable. One arm is folded behind his head, the other dangling off the side, his knuckles brushing the floor.
There’s an empty glass on the cocktail table. The knitted blanket, the one with embroidered violets that my favorite nanny gave me, is draped over him. A humidifier that came from somewhere is humming between the sofa and my alcove. And of course, my plants are all leaning subtly in his direction. Traitorous little stalkers.
Rhys is now the alpha energy and the light.
I’ll be answering questions about this one for days.
I swallow and cringe at how sandpapery my throat feels. But it’s my heart that I’m worried about. It’s beating in my chest in a way I’ve never felt before.
I sit upright, wanting to get closer to Rhys. Overall, I feel a little better than yesterday. I’m not burning up. I shivered so hard my teeth hurt. All while Rhys’s firm hand held the thermometer steady under my tongue.
The way he murmured, “Easy, love,” while tucking a cool cloth to my forehead.
How he coaxed me to drink a special blend of tea hemade just for me.
How he stayed.
All night. That’s not just boyfriend behavior. That’shusbandbehavior.
One step at a time, I tell myself.
I don’t have the exact memory of when Rhys asked me to be his girlfriend. Things are often spotty when I spiral, and when I took the meds, I forgot things. I wrote the whole thing in my journal the day I figured out my handsome neighbor was my boyfriend.
Sighing, I push out of bed. Tiptoeing past Rhys sleeping on the sofa, I pad into the kitchen. There, I smile at the orderly destruction he left behind. His special-blend tea bags lay strewn on the counter. I lift one to sniff, and the mint and citrus tickle my excitement. My honey jar stands at the ready for another pilfering. One single used spoon is drying neatly in the rack.
Even sick and delirious, I remember Rhys bustling around my kitchen to take care of me. I still can’t believe he skipped being with his family for me. The thought makes my stomach swoop alarmingly.
I brace my hands on the counter, cold against my palms. My father won’t be happy when I bring Rhys home for Christmas. But I do not want to marry Kosta. No, I’ll show up with Rhys and take the chance that my father will see he is better for me.
And if he refuses to break the agreement with Kosta, Rhys will protect me. I can only do so much with my shovels.
A creak behind me makes me spin around.
“Morning.” Rhys’s voice sounds thick from sleep, but low and warm enough to brush over my spine like velvet.
He moves from the doorway, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, and eyes on me like he owns me after last night. Perhaps taking care of me was some ritual that bonded usfor an eternity.
Yes, please…
“You stayed,” I blurt.
His lips curve, faint but devastatingly beautiful. “You were sick. Of course, I stayed.”
‘He snores too loud,’Basil blurts like he’s been holding in his grumpiness.
“That’s—” I stop and swallow. “That was a very sweet thing to do.”
He arches a brow and pads forward until he’s close enough that I can see the shadow of stubble on his jaw. He smells like my violet blanket now. With sleeves rolled up, tattooed forearms bared, he mutters low and sultry, “I wasn’t leaving you alone, sick like that, Fallon. I couldn’t.Wouldn’t.”
My heart makes a peculiar fluttery motion in my ribs.
He looks tired, but his body screams that he’d do it again without hesitation. “How did I do taking care of you?”
“Perfect,” I whisper.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Yeah, I should eat.”
