Page 18

PIPER

E verything hurts. Each muscle from my eyebrows down to the tips of my toes.

This always happens when I come out of my curse.

It’s from days spent shivering and clenching my body.

My mouth is dry, and my head is fuzzy. The bed is soft under my back and the sheets are really nice.

This doesn’t feel familiar. I’m not in my bed.

What happened right before my curse kicked in?

Ambrose.

Memories of what Ambrose did to me moments before the sickness took over come screaming back into my head.

Holy crap. I’m not at my place. I’m not in my bed.

I’m at Ambrose’s house. Ambrose, who every time I cracked my eyes open, was sitting next to the bed.

He never left my side for more than a few minutes.

He helped me walk to the bathroom and waited outside the door for me.

Crone help me.

I turn my head and hold back the groan of pain. Ambrose is sitting in a hard-backed chair, his chin on his chest and his arms crossed. His legs are kicked up on the edge of the bed, and it doesn’t look comfortable.

His clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is a mess.

He looks tired. My heart pangs in my chest. He never left my side.

Why did he stay? A lock of golden hair falls forward over his brow and I take a moment to observe him while he’s sleeping.

Long straight nose, defined cheeks and jaw.

Little creases in the corners of his eyes from smiling so much.

He’s such a beautiful man. But it’s not just his physical appearance.

Ambrose is kind and supportive. I think he might be as damaged as I am, but he never shows it to the world.

I hate that he has to hide parts of himself away.

“You didn’t have to stay here.” My voice is rough, and I clear my throat. Ambrose's head jerks up and he blinks a few times while his eyes focus. It looks like he doesn’t know where he’s at either.

“Piper?” He sits up straight, his feet falling to the ground. “You’re awake. What do you need? Something to drink? You’re probably hungry.” Ambrose stands up, looking ready to bolt out of the room, but I reach my hand out to him.

“How many days has it been?”

“It’s been three days. Three days of you barely being conscious and then thrashing around like a fish on land.” Ambrose looks haunted. I don’t want to tell him that three days isn't bad. Recently, I’ve had bouts that have lasted over five days.

“Let me get you some water.” Ambrose picks up a glass from the side table before sliding his arm under my shoulder and lifting me to take a drink.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, even though I’m weak. I’m not sure I could’ve sat up by myself yet.

“Do you always wake up so grumpy?” Ambrose lifts a sly brow as he helps me back down and sets the water on the bedside table.

“Yes.” I’m a notoriously deep sleeper and am usually pretty grumpy when I wake up.

Ambrose stands over the bed with his hands on his hips. “What else do you need? Food. Bathroom,” he says to himself, like obviously that’s what I need. And he’s not wrong.

Do I want Ambrose carrying me into the bathroom, though? No.

“If you could just help me walk to the bathroom.”

Ambrose tsks. Before I know it, he has one arm under my knees, the other around my shoulder, and he’s lifting me out of bed. I gasp and cling to his neck. I'm not tiny by any means.

“Put me down. You’re going to drop me.”

“So little faith in me.” Ambrose shakes his head.

“You’re not the problem,” I huff out, but Ambrose ignores me and sets me down once I reach the bathroom.

“If I hear a clunk, I will be coming in.”

Ignoring him, I shut the door before slowly making my way over to the toilet. It takes me far too long to pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth, and get the door back open, but Ambrose is waiting patiently for me on the other side. He scoops me back up in his arms and takes me straight to bed.

“Stay right there.” Ambrose points to the bed, as if I’m going anywhere, and then disappears into the hallway.

I don’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going.

I let my head flop back on the pillow and assess my body.

Whenever my curse hits, I always ache for a few days after.

It’s sort of like getting hit by a bus, or at least what I imagine that would feel like.

I’m always tired afterward, and a little foggy.

Ambrose comes rushing back into the bedroom with a tray full of bottles of water, juice, and sports drinks. He also has some crackers, an assortment of chips, and it looks like he made sandwiches. I don’t know how he's juggling everything without dropping it.

Ambrose sets his collection of food and drinks on the nightstand, and then stares at me. I run a hand over my hair, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. I’m sure I look horrible. I’ve been sweating and rolling around until my hair is a tangled mess.

In all honesty, Ambrose doesn’t look much better. He follows my gaze and looks down at his rumpled clothing with a frown.

“I need a shower. You need a shower.”

I shake my head. Is he hinting at what I think he is?

“I’m not going to take a shower with you.”

“Not for fun reasons, Piper. I’m not a monster. Let’s conserve water. Be good stewards of the land.”

Laughter bubbles up from my throat. “I can barely stand, Ambrose.”

“Exactly why you need me there to help. I’ll wash all your hard-to-reach parts.”

“Ambrose.” My laughter is full and raspy since my voice hasn’t been used much in the past few days.

Ambrose places his hand over his heart. “Piper, I promise I won’t do anything untoward. Let’s get cleaned up, then we can have some snacks, and watch some really bad reality television, in between napping for the rest of the day.”

That sounds incredible, actually. Before I come to my senses, I tell him okay.

This time when Ambrose tries to pick me up to carry me to the bathroom, I push him away.

“If I can’t stand on my own, then I’m not ready for a shower.”

Ambrose looks like he’s ready to fight me. Instead, he walks beside me as if he’s expecting my legs to crumble underneath me at any moment. They might.

The shower is a beautiful tiled affair with multiple shower heads.

Ambrose turns on the water, sticking his hand under the stream to test the temperature.

I meant what I said; this is just a shower to clean up, but I’m not dead.

I can’t help but watch as he pulls his shirt over his head and drops his pants.

“If you look at me like that, Piper, I might not be able to keep my promise of behaving.”

My eyes snap up to the ceiling. I lift my shirt up and groan as my muscles scream in protest. Ambrose is there in the next second, helping to guide my arms through. I try not to blush as he pulls my pants down and helps get first one foot and then the other out.

The water is perfect as we step into the shower.

I close my eyes and let it rain over me and wash away the remnants of my curse.

I peek out through slitted eyes as Ambrose clicks a bottle shut and then his hands are in my hair.

The moan that comes out of my mouth is obscene, but the way his fingers knead my scalp as he washes my hair is incredible.

We’re face-to-face, and I reach out to hold his waist so I don’t fall forward.

Ambrose doesn’t do anything except wash my hair, gently tipping my head back to rinse out the soap, and then repeating the process with conditioner.

Then his hands are soaping up my shoulders and gliding down my chest, where he cups my breasts.

I open one eye and lift a brow. He smiles at me.

“I’m only human.” He chuckles and continues his way down my body.

“No one has ever taken care of me like this,” I whisper.

“Good thing you’ve got an amazing husband, then,” he says as he kneels in front of me, washing my legs all the way down to my toes.

My hands are on his shoulders now, and I squeeze gently. “Yeah, I do.”

I stand under the spray while Ambrose quickly washes his own hair and the rest of his body.

“Stay there,” he says again as he shuts off the water and disappears.

He returns a second later with a thick, fluffy towel.

I stretch out my hand to grab it from him, but he snatches it away from me.

I give up and let him dry me off, complete with squeezing the extra water out of my hair.

Once he’s satisfied with his job, he finally hands over the towel.

I wrap it around my body and practically sigh with relief when Ambrose wraps a towel around his waist. I don’t need to see any more of his muscled ass.

“Sit.” Ambrose leads me to a little seat that’s pushed under a vanity in the bathroom.

At this point, I’ve given up trying to protest and plop down in the seat, already feeling worn out.

It’s interesting because, technically, he’s giving me commands, but his intention isn’t for me to obey.

I could fight him if I wanted to, but I don’t.

Ambrose produces a brush and begins untangling my long hair. I watch him in the mirror, shocked by his careful attention to everything. Even the way he’s brushing my hair is gentle, so he doesn’t pull at the snags that are absolutely still there.

“You’re good at this.”

“Odie used to make me brush her hair when we were younger. She’s kind of a diva.”

“No, she’s not.” I laugh because Odie is anything but a diva.

“Fine, it was Bram. He went through an eighties hair band phase. I got really good at combing out his teased tresses.” I watch him smile through the mirror.

I laugh. “Now I know you're lying.”

My eyelids sag, and I’m more relaxed than I can remember being in my entire life. Ambrose’s gaze finds mine in the mirror and the way he stares leaves me breathless. With a blink, he smiles and pats the top of my head.

“All set. Let’s go rot our brains with bad TV.”

I take a deep breath and shake my head to dispel the crazy direction my heart just went. Ambrose might be my husband–temporarily–but he’s not mine.