Page 65 of His Fated Luna

It all made sense now.

“Josie, I’ll do everything I can for Aiden and for this pack,” I said softly. “Don’t worry.”

Even if it tortures me to be so close to him, knowing I can’t have him. I’ll play my part for as long as I’m needed.

Aiden's POV

It was past midnight. I was sitting on a stool by the marble countertop, a bowl of cereal in front of me, lost in my own brooding thoughts. Why did I always mess everything up when it came to Rose?

“You’re still up?” a new voice asked. I could hear how hesitant she was.

I turned around, surprised to see Rose standing before me, an empty plate in her hands. My eyes traveled over her without meaning to—the silk shorts and matching tank top catchingmy attention. I recognized them immediately. One of the new pajama sets Hilda had picked out for her using my card. It wasn’t lost on me that she’d chosen to wear it tonight. Maybe a kind of truce, on her part. Like she was acknowledging, in her own quiet way, everything we’d done for her.

If she expected me to react, I didn’t. I just turned back to my cereal.

“I was hungry. Not all of us can have hot meals sent up to our rooms,” I replied dryly, realizing Mom must have brought her up a plate of food so she wouldn’t go hungry tonight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her wince at my tone. She knew I was still upset over how she’d talked to me earlier.

“Well, that’s just because I’m Josie’s favorite,” she teased, trying to lift the heaviness lingering between us.

I didn’t respond, biting back a smile. She was right though. She was Mom’s favorite. I clinked my spoon against the edge of the bowl in silent agreement.

“I can warm up something for you, if you want,” she offered, stepping toward me.

“No… no… I know how to warm up my own food, Rose.” My voice came out quieter than I meant, almost pensive.

She moved over to the sink, rinsing her plate. I heard her pause when she tried to open the dishwasher, surprised it was already running.

“Mom turns it on at night. Lorraine takes out the dishes in the morning,” I told her without looking up.

“Oh,” she murmured.

“In our home, the dishes are cleaned and put away almost immediately after dinner.” Rose gave an explanation and moved toward the washbasin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her scrub at her plate. I wasn’t even touching my cereal anymore—just staring at her, stuck in my thoughts.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it,” she said gently, looking back to glance pointedly at my uneaten cereal before resuming the cleaning of her plate.

I looked down at my bowl for a fraction of a second before sighing and looking back up at her. I didn’t even know why I was about to share this with her, but here went nothing.

“Do you know what hyperemesis gravidarum is, Rose?” I asked, my voice low.

She nodded hesitantly, clearly unsure why I was asking. “It’s when pregnant women get really sick. They’re always throwing up and are at risk for dehydration.”

She placed her plate on the rack, drying her hands with a towel.

I gave a tight nod, my eyes back on the cereal.

“My mom had it when she was pregnant with Dylan. She couldn’t keep anything down. Spent most of the pregnancy in bed. Dr. Danvers prescribed bed rest, but even then, she ended up in the hospital more than once.”

I fell silent for a moment, waiting to see if she’d connect the dots. When she didn’t, I kept going.

“When Dad didn’t know what else to feed us for dinner, he’d just fix us bowls of cereal. Tony and I didn’t care. He’d tell us once Mom got better, we’d all go out to our favorite restaurant. Mom wasn’t much of a cook to begin with. The cook used to leave leftovers for us when she had her days off, but when the cook wasn’t around, it was just Dad in the kitchen. And Dad… well, he was worse than Mom when it came to cooking. Couldn’t even defrost something properly.”

I shrugged, gesturing at the cereal in front of me. “So…”

“So when your mom was sick, and the cook wasn’t there, you guys ate cereal,” Rose said softly, like she finally understood.