Page 16 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

16

DEX

T he morning sunlight pierces through the curtains, forcing me awake with its intrusive brightness. Ellis is still asleep—a small miracle I should be grateful for—but my mind can't focus on gratitude. It's too busy replaying last night.

Maya's skin beneath my hands. The taste of her. The sounds she made when I?—

I scrub my face with my palms, my horns catching the edge of my pillowcase. The bronze rings jingle softly, a cheerful sound at odds with the knot in my stomach.

Gods, what have I done?

I swing my legs over the bed, my hooves making a soft thud against the wooden flooring. The quiet house surrounds me like an accusation. Somewhere down the hall, Maya is waking up. Or maybe she never slept at all. Maybe she's been lying awake all night, regretting every moment.

The thought is like a knife between my ribs.

I move through my morning routine like a minotaur possessed. Water from the basin splashes over my fur as I wash my face, dripping down my chest. I don't bother drying it. The cold is clarifying, at least.

In the kitchen, I start the kaffo brewing. The rich aroma fills the space as I stare at the pot, willing it to brew faster, as if the bitter liquid might wash away the memory of Maya's thighs trembling beneath my mouth.

"Stop it," I mutter to myself, ears flicking in irritation.

A floorboard creaks behind me. I know it's her before I turn. Her scent—herbs and honey and something uniquely Maya—reaches me first.

"Morning." Her voice is quiet, controlled. Nothing like the breathless way she called my name last night.

"Morning," I echo, my own voice too loud in the stillness. I keep my back turned, focusing on pouring the kaffo. "Sleep well?"

Stupid question. As if either of us slept.

"Fine."

One word. Just... fine.

I turn, finally forcing myself to look at her. She's wearing the same practical clothes she always does, her silver-blonde hair freshly combed, her gray eyes carefully avoiding mine. The scar on her right hand stands out stark against her skin as she reaches for the mug I offer.

Our fingers brush. She flinches.

The gap between us yawns wider.

"Ellis still sleeping?" she asks, taking a step back, creating physical distance to match the emotional one.

I nod. "Miracle of miracles."

In the silence that follows, I can almost hear the unspoken words hanging between us. I want to reach across the divide, to tell her that last night wasn't a mistake, that I want more—all of her. But the words stick in my throat.

She's leaving. She made that clear from the beginning. This arrangement was always temporary. And what did I do? I complicated it. Made it messy.

Maya sips her kaffo, her eyes focused on the window behind me. "I need to check on my shop today. Make sure everything's in order."

Translation: I need space away from you.

"Of course." I force brightness into my tone, the jovial mask I've worn for years slipping easily into place. "Take whatever time you need."

Her eyes finally meet mine, and there's something in them—hurt? Regret? I can't read her the way I thought I could.

"Dex—"

Ellis's cry interrupts whatever she was about to say. We both turn toward the sound, relieved for the distraction.

"I'll get him," I say, already moving past her.

She nods, stepping aside to let me pass. The space between us feels like leagues.

In Ellis's room, I lift my nephew from his crib, cradling his small body against my chest. "Morning, little one," I murmur, brushing my snout against his soft fur. He quiets almost instantly, his tiny hands reaching for one of my horn rings.

At least someone still feels comfortable with me.

I change him and dress him, taking more time than necessary. The longer I stay in here, the longer I can avoid facing Maya again. Avoid facing what I've done.

But I can't hide forever.

When I finally emerge with Ellis, Maya is washing her mug at the sink, her back straight, shoulders tense. The morning light catches in her hair, turning the silver-blonde strands almost luminous. My chest aches at the sight of her.

I want her. I want her to stay. I want more nights like last night, and mornings where she doesn't look at me like I've broken something precious.

But she's not staying around. She made that clear.

And now I've gone and made everything worse.

Ellis fusses in my arms as I heft him onto my shoulder, attempting my third lap around the kitchen in as many minutes. The little one refuses to settle, just like the churning thoughts in my head.

"What is it, little one? Missing her too?" I murmur, my large hand patting his small back. My bronze horn rings jingle softly with each step, a sound that usually soothes him. Not today.

Four days since that night. Four days of careful politeness, of Maya slipping from rooms when I enter, of conversations that never venture beyond Ellis's feeding schedule and her shop inventory. Four days of torture.

I pause by the window, looking out at the garden Maya started planting last week. The sight of the little green shoots struggling upward sends a painful throb through my chest. She's put down roots here, however temporary.

"Your mom would know what to do," I tell Ellis, the mention of his mother making my throat tighten. "She was always better at these things than me."

Ellis babbles something incoherent and tugs hard on one of my ear tufts.

"Ouch! Watch the merchandise, little one." I pry his fingers loose, my lips quirking despite everything. "You're right. Self-pity doesn't suit me."

But gods, do I miss her. Even though she's been here in my home, it's like she's gone. It's killing me not to have her.

Not just the physical—though my body aches with wanting her again—but the easy companionship we'd built. The way she'd roll her eyes at my jokes while fighting a smile. The surprising depth of her laugh when I finally cracked through her serious exterior. The smell of her hair when she'd bend over Ellis's crib, that strange mixture of herbs and something uniquely... Maya.

"Hopeless," I mutter to myself. "Absolutely hopeless."

Ellis finally dozes off against my chest, his small weight warm and trusting. I should put him in his crib, but I linger, savoring the quiet moment. These are becoming precious commodities.

Eventually I place him in his bed, tucking the blanket around him with more care than my large hands seem built for. I stand there watching him sleep, putting off the inevitable return to the stilted atmosphere waiting downstairs.

When I can't delay any longer, I make my way to the kitchen. Dinner needs preparing, and Maya mentioned she'd be working late at her shop today. One more silent meal to look forward to. At least with Ellis asleep, I can drop the pretense of being my usual jovial self.

I grab bread from the pantry, cheese from the cold storage, and pull out a cutting board. The knife sits heavy in my hand as I stare down at the loaf, my mind elsewhere. How did we get here? One moment of weakness—no, not weakness. One moment of giving in to what we both wanted. And now this... this chasm between us.

I'm still standing there, knife in hand, when I hear the soft footfalls behind me. Her scent reaches me first—those familiar herbs mingled with the earthy smell of her garden work. I don't move. Can't move.

Maya steps up beside me, close enough that I can feel her warmth, though we don't touch. She says nothing at first, just watches me stare at the bread like it contains the secrets of the universe.

Then, softly, she bumps her shoulder against my arm. The gentle contact sends a jolt through me.

"Stop looking like you've been through a battle," she says, her voice low.

I blink, startled out of my stupor by both the touch and the words—the most direct she's been in days. I turn to look down at her, and what I see makes my breath catch.

Her gray eyes hold something different today. The careful distance is still there, but behind it, something softer, less guarded.

"I—" My usual quick words desert me, leaving nothing but honest confusion in their wake.

She slides the knife from my grip, her fingers brushing against mine deliberately. "You're useless in here. I'll handle it." She gestures for me to move with a flick of her wrist, her expression bemused rather than dismissive.

For the first time in days, I feel my face crack into a small, tentative smile. The tightness in my chest eases just enough to let me breathe properly again. She's still here. She hasn't pushed me away completely. The wall between us has a hairline crack now—small, but real.

"You're probably right," I concede, stepping aside to give her room at the counter. "Ellis and I would likely starve without you."

Her lips twitch and it warms my chest. I know she won't be around long and I shouldn't have crossed that line. I just need to figure out how to fix this.

"Good thing I'm here." But the words are tinged with words we both don't speak.

For now.