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“I’m not willing to take a chance. Hey, don’t cry.” I wipe her cheek. “You’re okay.”

“Don’t be mad.” She sips, looking at me with big doe eyes. Who can resist that?

“I’m not mad at you.” I point to myself. “See? I’m absolutely calm.”

“I don’t mean that.” She presses her cold cheek to the mug. “I went out there to meet Hunter.”

Her body is freezing next to mine, but in an instant, heat infuses the mattress. She feels it too because she squirms away from me.

“Let me explain.” She winces.

“Yes, you will explain, but first, what happened to your knee?” I ask.

“Nothing really. I rammed it on the edge when I fell through the ice.” She scoffs. “You’d think being in icy water would count as icing it.”

“We’ll take a look at it in the morning. For now, increasing your temperature is our main concern.” I don’t mean to sound so militant. But having a plan to make her better is the only way she survives. “Why did you put yourself in danger tonight?” I take her empty cup and set it on the nightstand. When she doesn’t move, I reach for her waist and bring her closer to me. I can’t stand being away from her. I need to feel her beating heart next to mine. “Why were you meeting Hunter?”

“I wanted to see Dad.” She pauses. “He said Dad is not doing well. I got so worried. I didn’t think. It was stupid.”

“None of this would’ve happened if you had waited for me.” I grit my teeth.

“None of this would’ve happened if you had let me go to him when I asked you to in the first place,” she fires back.

“Be grateful your ass is in no condition for taking another spanking.” I hold her tight. “Go to sleep.”

“Here?” She looks up at me in confusion. “In your bedroom?”

“Yes. Here.” I flex my jaw. “From now on, I wantmywife to sleep inmybed.”

“You’re not mad?” Her eyes flutter closed.

“I am. But not at you.” And that’s the fucking truth.

Only a fool marries a woman, thinking he can keep her and his heart.

Hours later, her skin feels cool next to mine, but I know that’s normal. I run hotter than most people. I’ve watched her sleep so many nights. But this feels different because she knows I’m here. I’m not a dream or a shadow in her room. I refuse to be that man for her anymore. I want to be her husband. I still don’t know if I can be. But after tonight, I’ll be the biggest bastard if I don’t try.

“My ballet shoes,” she pouts. “They got dirty.”

“Shh.” I cup her face. “It’s just a dream,” I whisper on her temple.

This isn’t the first time she dreams about dirty ballet shoes. I find it odd that she dreams about that because from what I can tell ballet shoes are the most disposable items performers own. They go through them like nothing.

When she settles down, I slip out of bed to check on my wound. Earlier I saw the blood stain on the sheets. Now that the worst is over, the sting on my shoulder is getting uncomfortable. I pad to the bathroom and run the shower. Turning my back to the mirror, I examine the wound. The beast came at me with his teeth, but I managed to side-step it when I punched it on the snout. I’m ninety-five percent sure this slash came from his claw. Hopefully, I won’t need a rabies shot.

I grab the rubbing alcohol off the medicine cabinet and drench the area. “Fuck.” I lean on the counter, gripping the edge. I do it again to make sure the wound is clean, then wrap it in bandages. It’s a shoddy job, but it’s all I can manage for tonight. One problem at a time. For now, I have to find out for certain what Paloma and Hunter had planned.

I take a quick shower, then head back to the room. Paloma is not going anywhere tonight. But I still have this need to keep an eye on her. I stop at the foot of the four-poster bed, towel-drying my hair. She looks good in my room—our room.

Now that the pink has returned to her cheeks, I can focus on what I need to do next…Hunter. I rummage through my wet clothes on the floor until I find my phone. Months ago, Gardenia hacked into Paloma’s phone and paired it with mine. Every text, every email, or social media posting that goes through her phone shows up on mine.

I open the snooping app and click on her message app. Sure enough. Hunter and her texted today. And that can only mean one thing. Paloma searched through my desk and found her goddam phone. And not only that, she texted Hunter. Of all the fucking people in the world, she texted Hunter, the ex-boyfriend.

My stomach rolls as I read their exchange. I make a mental note, and it’s really an IOU, of every single insult he dishes her simply because he feels entitled to her time and her body. He calls her my whore in one breath and then tells her he misses her in the next. When I see him again, I will make sure he can never smell anything ever again, especially not my wife.

I grip my phone tight and bring it to my forehead. “Why did she text him?”

Slowly, a smirk pulls on my lips. The asshole is probably still waiting for her. They were supposed to meet at the Senator’s old mansion, but she never showed. Instead, she’s here with me. I almost lost her tonight. If she hadn’t fallen through the ice, she would’ve left with him.