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“Yep,” he says before lowering his cheek to the top of my head.

His dick is trapped between us, and he’s as hard as he was when he first stripped – I’ll analyze what turned him on later – yet he hasn’t made any move to fuck me or even attempted to seduce me.

Nope. He’s simply taking care of me. He’s making sure my skin is clean of Denis’s blood and that I’m in the right headspace.

“I’m not freaking out about that, either,” I admit, nuzzling my cheek against his wet chest as though I can possibly get any closer.

“Why would you? This is something that should have happened twenty years ago.” He pulls back and presses his lips to my forehead before reaching behind me and ending the spray.

“Really? We should have gotten married when we were three?”

He shrugs his wide shoulders. “Fine. Ten years ago. I knew you were mine the first time I got a boner thinking about you.”

I pull a face, but I can admit while mildly pervy, it’s kind of romantic. Especially since I’ve been in love with him for just as long.

Maybe longer since girls mature faster than boys and all that.

But ten years ago would have put me at thirteen, and I know I sure as hell wasn’t ready to be married at that age.

Twenty-three is still considered a little young to some people in society, but it isn’t uncommon for parents in our world to push their kids into marriage even younger if it’ll build their power or earn themselves an ally.

Hell, I was always prepared for my father to sell me to someone in the Bratva to further his power. I can’t be the only one who sees how badly my father wants to be the Pakhan.

Not a chance. He’s not strong enough, not smart enough, and far too many soldiers are loyal to Roman.

Maddox grabs the hunter green towel from the rack and begins to rub it over my skin.

“I’m curious – who picked the color,” I say, nodding my head at the towel.

And, oh my gosh…are his cheeks pink?

“I did,” he admits softly.

My big nutjob is blushing because he not only remembered my favorite color but made sure there was something of that color in my room.

“I bought a bedspread in the same color for when the new room is finished,” I say, taking the towel from him and squeezing the excess water out of my hair before twisting it around the bulk.

Maddox grabs another towel and scrubs at his skin before wrapping it around his waist.

Of course, his boner creates a delicious outline, but he’s yet to actually do anything about it.

Warmth spreads from my chest out to my fingertips. He’s genuinely concerned, as in he thinks I’m moments away from having some kind of meltdown.

I’m more concerned that I’m not moments away from crying or puking.

“Were you telling the truth?” he asks as he glances in the mirror and finger combs his wet hair.

I frown at him through the mirror as I start my skincare. “About what?”

When he plants his hands on the vanity and hangs his head, there’s a beat where I’m actually a little worried. I run the events from downstairs through my head; is it possible that him seeing proof that I’m no longer the sweet girl they fell in love with might be too much for him?

“You told that prick the doctor said not to get your hopes up about getting pregnant.” His tone is so soft. So sad.

Putting the jar of serum back in its place, I turn my head to look at him. “Yes. That was the truth.”

I don’t want to have this conversation in nothing but a towel, but I can’t exactly stay mad at them if I continue holding shit back from them.

“They did a blood test to see if I’m already pregnant. I don’t know the answer yet, but the doctor said it’s highly unlikely because of how long I’ve been using the implant, and there was more damage to my uterus than I realized since I didn’t receive proper care after losing the baby. If I can actually conceive, there still is no guarantee I’ll be able to carry to term.”