Page 96 of His Prince

Sounds like horseshit to me.

Angel reaches out and taps him on the shoulder, and Jake stands up, brushing his hands off on his jeans. Some of his hair falls from the bun on top of his head and he swipes at it, smearing dirt across his cheek in the process. Not that he seems to care. His grin widens when he takes in Angel, and he pulls him in for a hug.

I don’t like this guy. He smiles too much. And is far too touchy.

He shouldn’t be hugging my husband.

“Jake, this is my dad and Tatum.” He waves his hand toward Teddy and Viktor and adds, “And their bodyguards.”

He is trying to sign and speak at the same time, and takes far toolong to do some movements with his fingers, but fuck, it’s impressive. Since when has he been learning this language? I don’t know my husband at all.

Jake is patient through it all, nodding and signing as he speaks, “Nice to meet you,” before looking at Teddy, his grin widening. Teddy blushes and shuffles on his feet, his ears turning the color of an apple. What the fuck is going on?

“Nice to meet you too,” Jake says, and Teddy replies in sign language—a long string of words from what I can tell—and then he blushes even deeper as his hands fall to his sides.

“Oh my god,” Tatum cries out, and Teddy is now beet red. “I didn’t know you knew sign language!”

“Me either,” Angel says and then nudges Teddy, touching him more than he has me all day. “I didn’t know you signed.”

Teddy glances from Jake to Angel and then Tatum before shrugging and focusing his gaze back on the horizon. But Jake doesn’t look away, obviously excited someone can communicate with him in his language.

I get that.

It’s always nice to be able to speak to someone in Russian. It’s a camaraderie of sorts.

As everyone follows Angel around the garden, I stand silently, watching him. Everything is alive and colorful, just like the house he redecorated. There are even rose bushes and two raised planters with fresh vegetables sprouting.

My grandmother would love this place.

I fucking love it too.

Fuck Angel for making me want this again and then not even looking at me all day.

What have I done? What the fuck have I done wrong?

Angel drags Tatum and Anthony into the greenhouse, and as soon as I enter, I hold my breath for fear of making any kind of discernable noise. Because there are the pots I ordered him, filled with budding plants; one boasting a gigantic tomato plantand another with some kind of exotic plant with pink blooms. I have no idea how he’s managed to get it all to grow like this in such a short time, but he has.

Angel seems to be possessed by a magic of some sort.

Anything is possible. I don’t know anything anymore.

“This is amazing,” Tatum says, his fingers trailing over every petal and leaf he can touch. Angel looks pleased, so fucking proud, and my chest swells as I watch him.

He’s done something tremendous here. Even my grandmother couldn’t do this. She toiled over it too with not nearly as much success. And yet Angel has managed it.

He’s managed so fucking much.

“He has quite the green thumb, no?” Anthony asks, and I nod, tearing my gaze away from his son and forcing my face to remain impassive.

“He does.”

“He puts his heart into it. As he does with all things he cares about. I hope you’ve noticed this.”

I swallow. “I have.”

But have I really? Have I noticed how much care he’s given me? I shove my hands in my pockets and watch as Angel and Tatum chat happily. When we finally leave the greenhouse, my bodyguards are waiting for him, smoke billowing around them. Like eager pups waiting for their mother.

“Little husband,” Felix shouts, almost sounding relieved at his appearance.