If the devil wanted a fight, I’d bring back his crown just to set it on her curls.
31
I blink at the ceiling,stretch under the covers in Anton’s bed, and hope to hell it’s not super late. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet. I turn on my side toward where my big lug of a man should be and…he’s gone.
We fell asleep here together. Or at leastIfell asleep here.
I touch his side, and it’s cold.
I push upright, rubbing my eyes. The soft light outside the window suggests that the sun is only just beginning to rise. The room is still dim, shadows pooling in the corners.
I didn’t even notice him get up.
Anton doesn’t rest easily. He sleeps like someone who’s spent a lifetime expecting bad things to happenin the dark. And last night, between the Braxton Hicks scare at the Marshalls’ and everything with the investigation, he was wound up tighter than usual.
I hope he’s okay. I really don’t think that man gets enough rest.
I’m scraping a bit of crust from the corner of my eye when the door opens.
Anton’s holding a mug of tea. “Hey, beautiful.”
I smile lightly. It’s a generous greeting, considering I still have my silk bonnet on, my eyes are puffy—thank you, water retention—and I’m probably not the picture of seduction. But Anton always looks at me like I’m easy on the eyes.
Unfortunately,helooks like death walked across his face sometime in the night and didn’t bother wiping its boots. He’s still gorgeous, of course, just not himself.
Dark circles shadow his eyes. His shoulders are locked. And his hair, normally perfectly rumpled in that lethal way, looks like he ran his fingers through it fifty times.
His eyes meet mine, and I instantly know something is wrong.
“Morning.” I push myself up in the bed and take the tea carefully from his hands.
He sits on the edge of the mattress and watches me as I drink, but he’s running script lines behind his eyes.
I lower the mug. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
I arch an eyebrow.
He huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. “No. Not really.”
The honesty hits like a soft punch to the chest.
“Okay.” I put the mug on the bedside table and rest my hand on his. “Talk to me. You look like you haven’t slept. And even though I know you usually don’t sleep much, you never look like…this.”
“Shit, that bad?” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, muscles flexing under his shirt.
I pinch a bit of his T-shirt fabric between my fingers and tug gently. “You’re still hot as hell, but…what’s going on?”
His aquamarine gaze hits me square in the chest. He’s struggling.
“You’re scaring me a little, Anton…”
He sighs roughly. “Rio came by last night.”
I blink. “Rio?” I must’ve been out cold. I didn’t hear a damn thing. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He looks down at the floor, inhales, and then lifts his gaze to mine with a weight I’ve never seen.
