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As if June didn’t do everything in her power to make sure that wouldn’t happen.
The woman nearly died for him to secure that win, and he repays her by lying to her and being secretive as fuck.
He claims he’s doing it to protect her—that this is what’s in her best interest—but Dom can be a giant fucking idiot sometimes.
I flip the very last pancake and turn off the burner. My phone buzzes from a notification that one of the people I've hired for today is pulling into the driveway. I grant them access, send a quick message, and rush to the front door to unlock it. I go back to the kitchen and finish arranging the breakfast I've prepared for my sleeping beauty. Once I've tweaked things about twenty-seven times, I grab hold of it and carefully walk toward the stairs.
“You can set up downstairs,” I tell the woman who comes through the front door. “It’s straight through there to the left.”
She nods and carries a long table at her side.
I’m not supposed to let strangers into the house, especially when times are tough like they are now, but I spent hours between—and even during—meetings vetting numerous companies and ensuring this one would pass Dom’s insane security protocol. Okay, maybe notpass, but close e-fucking-nough.
I go the rest of the way to June’s room, nudging the door open with my elbow and stepping inside.
She stirs and opens her eyes, blinking a few times and rubbing at them. “You’re home still. What time is it?”
“About eight.” I place the full tray on her bed and sit on the edge. “Breakfast for my princess.”
“This smells fucking heavenly.” She sits up but then focuses her sights on me. “What if I was craving something else for breakfast?”
My heart skips a beat. “That could be arranged.” I lean over and kiss her cheek.
She turns toward me and catches my lips with hers. "Thank you." June focuses back on the assortment of food and beverages. She picks up the steaming cup of coffee and takes a cautious sip. "When do you have to leave?" A sort of sadness lingers in each of her words.
“I took the day off for you.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Deadly.”
“The whole day? How?” She pops a green grape into her mouth and chews it slowly, her gaze fine-tuned on mine.
“I insisted.”
“And Simon?”
“He has the day off, too, to do whatever he pleases.”
“Interesting.” June drinks more of her coffee and holds out her arm. “Pinch me, I must still be dreaming.”
I skim my hand along her skin but when my sights trail down to her hand, my stomach drops. “What happened to your knuckles?” I rush over and flip on the light then make my way back to her. I trace my thumb over her bruised and swollen hand. I turn it over and take in the small cuts on her palm, too.
“Nothing.” June tries to pull away but I latch onto the other hand, examining it, too.
“That’s not nothing.” I try to remain calm even though my first initial response is to burn the whole world to the ground. “Please, tell me what happened. I won’t be mad, I promise.”
For a second I worry that she isn’t going to give in, but she surprises me by sighing and turning both palms toward me. “I got mad.”
“So you punched something and dug your nails into your palms.” It’s not a question but more of a clarification of the damage that’s been done.
“Yeah,” she confirms.
I push around the edges of her knuckles. “Does this hurt?” I move her fingers to make sure everything is where it should be. “I can have our doctor come to the house and check this over.”
“No, I’m fine, really. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.”
How can she not realize that her health and well-being is our main priority? But in being so focused on her overall safety, we’ve neglected and ignored how she was actually feeling.
