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“Look,” I sigh. “I’msosorry about this. You have no idea how embarrassed I am. I didn’t realize until I woke up just now.”

“This… this is all you?” he asks slowly.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll wash the sheets myself. Or… or buy you a new set?—”

“Is this from last night? Were you hurt?”

My brows knit at his question. He thinks it’s his doing?

“I wasn’t hurt. I… I got my period early. It happens often. I have this… this condition and sometimes my periods are unpredictable… and very heavy. Again, I’m so, so sorry. I’ll pay for them.”

I trail off feeling ridiculous, wishing I could evaporate into thin air.

My skin burns with embarrassment and I can barely look him in the eye. The moment’s practically giving me flashbacks of Lincoln. After a while, I grew tired of his bad attitude about it, but the very first time it happened was like this.

I was ashamed and mortified.

Rafael says nothing, still eyeing the damage I’ve done to his thousand-thread-count sheets. He sticks both hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants and then starts toward me.

I take half a cautious step back, my pulse picking up. “I’ll see myself out. No need to escort me?—”

“Are you alright?” he cuts me off, reaching out to cup my cheek.

I blink at him, confused to the core. “What?”

“This is a lot of blood,” he says. Then he glances down the front of my body, still wrapped up in his flat sheet. “I have a private physician who can check you out.”

“Oh. Oh, no. That’s okay. There’s nothing they can do. I’ve seen dozens of doctors. But aren’t you… don’t you care that I ruined your sheets?”

His expression shifts to mirror my confusion, his thick brows drawn close. “Why would I give a fuck about bedsheets? I’m a grown fucking man,dolcezza. A little blood has never scared me away. Sheets are replaceable. You are not.”

The intense humiliation burning me up vanishes.

It takes me a second to adjust, processing what he’s said and the fact that I jumped to conclusions. He couldn’t care less that his sheets have been ruined. He’s not even turned off by the fact that it’s from my period.

In my thirty-two years of experience, most men tend to be weird about women’s periods. They don’t want to hear anything about them and almost act offended if the topic comes up too frequently. Lincoln was certainly like that our entire marriage.

My endo diagnosis changed nothing. Except maybe made him a harsher critic whenever I struggled.

“It’s more than a little blood,” I mutter almost jokingly.

Rafael shrugs. “I love the female form. All of its curves, quirks, flaws, and imperfections. All of its beauty. Part of that happens to be a menstrual cycle. It’s part of what makes you different from men. That’s a good thing.”

He leans forward and presses his lips to my brow, then turns away to finish telling me about breakfast. He insists I ignore the mess that is the bedsheets. His staff will come in and strip the bed.

“I will arrange for them to bring up some things for you. Some change of clothes and feminine care products.”

No less than ten minutes later, it happens.

I’m provided a bathrobe, some brand new panties and both pads and tampons. I join Rafael on the terrace as he sits down to the breakfast that’s been delivered for us.

Eggs prepared various ways, from poached to a spinach frittata that looks amazing.

There’s different kinds of bread and pastries to choose from. The same goes for the array of colorful fresh fruit waiting to be chosen.

I take a sip from the coffee and groan at how good it is. It’s so potent and rich that I can tell it’s high quality.

Rafael smirks, sipping from his own coffee cup. “Did you sleep well? All things considered?”