“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “You have a company to run. You shouldn’t be here for this.”
“Nonsense,” Sean said softly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate.
Without asking for permission, he reached out. His large, incredibly warm hand enveloped her cold, trembling fingers. His grip was firm and absolute, an anchor in the middle of her storm. He gently tugged her away from the car.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get this over with.”
He didn’t let go of her hand as he led her through the heavy glass doors of the clinic.
The reception area smelled sharply of antiseptic and fresh linen. Because of the exclusive nature of the clinic, they were attended to immediately. Rosália filled out the paperwork with a shaking hand, checking the boxes for a comprehensive STI panel. Every scratch of the pen felt like a physical admission of her husband’s absolute disregard for her safety and her body.
When the nurse finally called her name and led them back to a pristine, bright exam room, Sean followed right behind her.
The nurse, a kind-eyed woman in pale blue scrubs, prepared the vials and the needle. She glanced up at Sean, who was towering in the small space. “Sir, if you’re squeamish, you’re welcome to wait out in the hall.”
Sean didn’t even look at the door. He moved a plastic chair directly next to the examination table where Rosália was sitting. He sat down, his broad shoulders practically taking up half the room, and took her hand once again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he stated flatly.
As the nurse tied the tourniquet around Rosália’s arm, Sean leaned forward. He positioned himself perfectly so his broad chest blocked her view of the needle. He kept his dark eyeslocked entirely on her face, his thumb rubbing slow, rhythmic circles over her pale knuckles.
“Look at me, Rosália,” he commanded softly, his voice drowning out the clinical sounds of the room. “Just keep looking right here.”
She did. She anchored herself to the striking, rugged lines of his face, the silver threading through his hair, and the intense, protective heat in his gaze. She barely felt the sharp pinch in her vein. He held her hand the entire time, an unshakeable fortress of support while her blood was drawn into three separate vials to test for the consequences of David’s sins.
Twenty minutes later, they were walking back out through the double glass doors. The sharp, cold city air hit them, a welcome relief from the suffocating sterility of the clinic.
“How are you feeling?” Sean asked quietly as they stopped between their parked cars.
Rosália looked up at him. The wind ruffled his dark hair, and the sunlight caught the deep, distinguished lines around his eyes. She studied his face, a profound, aching confusion blooming in her chest.
How could she?Rosália thought, staring at him.How could Katherine possibly have the courage—or the absolute stupidity—to betray a man like this? A man who is so fiercely protective, so caring, so undeniably present?It made absolutely no sense. Katherine had traded a king for a coward.
“I’m fine,” Rosália finally said, offering a small, exhausted, but genuine smile. “I really will be okay, Sean. Thank you.”
Sean stepped closer. He didn’t ask; he simply reached out and pulled her into a deep, enveloping hug.
Rosália went willingly, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against the heavy wool of his coat. He smelled like expensive cedar, clean rain, and absolute safety. He held her tightly, one hand pressing firmly against her back, breathing her in.
“You can always count on me, Rosália,” he murmured against her hair, the words vibrating through his chest and into hers. “Always.”
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace seep into her frozen bones. When he finally, reluctantly pulled back, she forced a brighter smile onto her face, desperate to push the heavy gloom of the clinic away.
“So,” she said, changing the subject, her tone softening with a conspiratorial edge. “Are you ready for your big birthday weekend tomorrow?”
A dark, dangerous spark ignited in Sean’s eyes. The caring protector vanished, instantly replaced by the ruthless architect of their impending revenge. A slow, devastating smirk spread across his handsome face.
“More than ready,” Sean rumbled, his voice dropping an octave. He held her gaze, the air between them suddenly pulling taut with electric tension. “Are you ready, Rosália?”
Rosália thought of her husband. She thought of the lies, the video, the agonizing twenty minutes by the kitchen window, and the needle in her arm. A cold, fierce resolve hardened her spine.
She met Sean’s dark, predatory gaze and smiled.
“Yes.”
Chapter 8
Sean
