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“It’s too easy.” Vivian’s smile faded when she faced me again. Her eyes swept over my face, lingering on the nasty cut above my eye. “You should ice your bruises and clean that cut, or it’ll get infected.”
“I’ll be fine.” They weren’t my first or worst injuries from the ring.
“Ice and disinfectant,” she said firmly. “Now.”
“Or what?” I shouldn’t be indulging her, but she was so endearing when she tried to boss me around that I couldn’t resist.
Her eyes narrowed. “Or I’ll place every candlestick in this house at uneven intervals and make sure your foods touch every. Single. Meal. Greta will help me. She likes me more than you.”
I took back what I said about her being endearing. She was fucking evil.
“Meet me in the guest bathroom. I’m getting the ice.”
I didn’t take well to people telling me what to do, but a reluctant wisp of admiration curled in my chest as I headed to the bathroom.
I leaned against the counter and checked my watch. I had a mountain of paperwork to review, and God knew I should stay the away from Vivian until I sorted out my aggravating feelings toward her. Yet here I was, waiting for a goddamn ice pack.
My injuries didn’t even hurt. Much.
The door opened, and Vivian entered carrying two small ice packs.
“I told you I’m fine,” I grumbled, but a spark of pleasure lit in my chest when she brushed gentle fingers over my jaw.
“Dante, your skin is purple.”
“Purple black.” A smile tugged on my lips at her cutting look. “Precision is important,mia cara.”
“Are you trying to get a matching injury on the other side of your jaw?” she asked pointedly, pressing one of the packs against my face. “If so, I can help with that.”
“It’s not very sporting of you to threaten bodily harm while patching me up. Some might even say it’s hypocritical.”
“I don’t like sports, and I’m an excellent multitasker.”
“Yet Asher Donovan and Rafael Pessoa, two sports stars, are on your dream husband list.”
I used to be a fan of both. Not anymore.
“First of all, youhaveto let that list go. Second of all—hold this over your eye”—Vivian pushed the second ice pack into my hand while she dampened a washcloth”—don’t deflect from the main issue here, which is your utter refusal to ask for help.”
“I can handle a few injuries. I’ve been through worse.” Still, I didn’t resist when she dabbed the cloth on my wound.
“Do I want to ask what you mean byworse?”
“I broke my nose the first time when I was fourteen. Some asshole was bullying Luca, so I hit him. He hit me back. It got ugly enough I had to go to the ER.”
Vivian winced. “How old was the other kid?”
“Sixteen.” Fletcher Alcott had been a real piece of work.
“Asixteen-year-oldwas picking on a nine-year-old?”
“Cowards always pick on people who can’t fight back.”
“Sadly true.” She retrieved a bandage from the medicine cabinet. “You said that was the first time you broke your nose. What happened the second time?”
My mouth curled into a grin. “Got drunk in college and fell on the sidewalk.”
Vivian’s laugh washed through me like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. “I can’t imagine you as a typical drunk college student.”
