Page 82 of His Prince
“I do. You’re my husband. In sickness and in health.”
His wet lashes flutter slightly and then he looks away, letting me wash him in silence.
When I’m happy that he’s clean, I help him out and wrap him ina towel before leading him to the bed, tucking him in despite his grumbles.
“I’m fine. I need to get back to work.”
“Not until George clears you.”
He leans back against the pillow, and I stand up to move, clad only in a towel wrapped around my waist, but he reaches out and grabs on to my wrist, holding me in place.
“Stay, sólnyshko.”
I feel my bottom lip wobble and I pull it between my teeth, keeping the emotion at bay. I will not cry. I fucking won’t.
Thankfully, George appears seconds later, striding in with a very serious look on his face.
“Got hit on the head again? You must be more careful.”
Mikhail glowers at him, and when I try to move so that George can have better access to him, Mikhail’s grip on me tightens.
George’s eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing else, just begins the examination while I’m held in place by Mikhail, his fingers tightening on my wrist. One by one, I peel them away and link my hand with his, and he seems to relax slightly, my thumb stroking over the back of his hand.
“You should refrain from getting hit in the head again this week.”
“He didn’t plan it, George. Someone was in the tunnel with him.”
Mikhail says something in Russian, and I frown.
“I’d really prefer it if you’d speak in English so I can know what you’re saying.”
George looks at me just as Bane stumbles into the room, completely covered in filth and waggling something around in his hand.
“Oh, hi there, handsome.”
George ignores him, but I can make out a slight clench of his jaw.
“Anyways, I found something when I went back into the murder tunnel.”
He holds out his hand, and it’s then that we see it.
“It’s a dying rose. It was just lying there on the ground, and I definitely didn’t see this the first ten times I went down there.”
Mikhail stares at it, his face paling, his hand squeezing mine so tightly it hurts.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, leaning toward him.
“Take that out of here. Take it the fuck out.”
Bane stares at it and then places it behind his back. “I will if I can get your number.”
George peers over his shoulder at him. “Never.”
Bane sighs and then inches closer to him. “I mean, anything else you’d like? Anal? Blow jobs? A nice handy? I’d also settle for a spanking…”
“Bane,” I chastise. “Enough.”
He shrinks back and looks almost sheepish. “It was worth a shot.”