“I don’t even have words for how perfect that was,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Me neither.” I smiled sleepily, exhaustion suddenly washing over me.
Oliver kissed me again before making his way to the bathroom. He cleaned us both up then crawled back in beside me, pulling me close to his side. We were both sound asleep within moments.
I tried to shield Adelaide from the blowing snow as I helped her out of the black sedan. After a couple of weeks of mild weather, winter had returned with a vengeance with this late March storm. With any luck, it would be our last blizzard before spring arrived.
Adelaide wore a black wool coat paired with light blue gloves and a matching scarf. She laced her arm through my own as we walked toward Wexstone Children’s Hospital, located on the outskirts of Altborn.
“Watch your step there,” I said as I pointed to a patch of ice on the walkway.
She adjusted her gait and carefully picked her way over the icy patch. “Thank you. These heels aren’t made for this weather. I don’t know what Dash was thinking when he insisted on them today.”
“Oh, he was definitely doing me a favor.” I winked.
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure he knows that I can’t resist looking at your ass and the way it moves when you walk in your heels.”
“Oliver!” She swatted my shoulder, pretending to be scandalized, but her stern face broke into a laugh as we approached the hospital’s entrance.
I loved making her laugh. She may have thought that I was teasing her, but I was dead serious. She was stunning in everything she wore, from sweats and baggy T-shirts to formal gowns, but I was particularly grateful for her love of high heels and the favors they did for her delectable ass.
“Welcome to Wexstone Children’s Hospital,” a light voice greeted.
Oliver, get your mind out of the gutter and focus on the task at hand.
I nodded at the lithe woman with warm skin and a head full of dark curls dressed in a beautifully tailored navy pantsuit. “Thank you for having us.”
“We are so honored to have you here. My name is Caroline and I’ll be your host today. My colleague will take your coats and then you can follow me to the conference room where we can get you some tea or coffee.”
We handed our coats to a man in his early twenties and followed Caroline down the corridor to an elevator. Today’s agenda included a meeting with the hospital’s board regarding their plans for the following fiscal year. They already had the capital they needed, but they wanted to get our buy-in on their proposals in hopes that we would partner with them, thus bringing the hospital ongoing positive press.
Our visit was scheduled to start off with the board meeting, followed by a tour and visit with some of the patients. There would, of course, be the requisite photo op along the way, though we had convinced the hospital’s public relations team to take the photos and send them out to journalists later, rather than allowing the press inside of thehospital and disrupting things for the children and their parents.
The elevator opened and Caroline led us to a large conference room lined with windows along one wall, the opposite decorated with photos of children and their families ringing a large bell.
“These are lovely pictures,” Adelaide complimented, taking her time as she looked over each one.
Caroline paused beside her in front of a photo of a little boy, his hair and eyebrows missing from chemo, grinning from ear to ear as he rang the bell. Beside him, his parents’ eyes shone with tears as they watched him, a mixture of pride and wonder and gratitude on their faces. “Thank you. When children are done with treatment, no matter if it was a one-night stay or they have been in and out of the hospital for years, they get to ring the Champion Bell. They love it, and it’s a great reminder to the staff of why we do what we do.”
“Oh.” Adelaide laid her hand over her chest. “I love that.”
We made our way to the table, and I pulled out a chair for Adelaide. Down the center of the table sat an array of breakfast pastries, fruits, cheeses, and spreads. A smaller table in the corner held coffee, tea, and juices. They had pulled out all the stops for us this morning.
I placed a Danish and some grapes on a plate for Adelaide and poured her a cup of tea, leaving it black, before pouring myself a cup, stirring in sugar and a splash of milk.
The board members filed in, bowing to me and greeting Adelaide before taking their seats around the table. I typically found these types of meetings exhausting; they often became more of an exercise in ass-kissing than anything else.
Adelaide, on the other hand, was clearly all in. As theboard members presented their plans to improve the hospital and how they planned to allocate their funds, she took detailed notes and asked a number of questions. I was in awe of her and the passion she brought to this.
As they broached the topic of facilities, Caroline spoke up from where she was posted up in the corner of the room. “It may help to give His Majesty and Ms. Levy a tour so they can better picture the proposed changes, if that is of interest?”
“Yes, absolutely,” Adelaide agreed.
Following a quick set of photos with the entire board, Caroline began our tour, joined by the board chair—an older, balding gentleman by the name of Mr. Bugley—and the executive director—a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Corksmith.
We stopped at a dimly lit room filled with beanbag chairs, soft cushions, and baskets of stuffed animals and fidget toys. Along one wall hung a large panel with a variety of gears to turn, laces to tie, sequins that changed color when brushed in different directions, and zippers to play with. A swing with what looked like a fabric cocoon hung in one corner, and a projector lit the ceiling with a multicolored galaxy simulation. Soft music filled the room from a speaker by the door.
