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“She met the prince!”
Again, I pause. And then I almost laugh at myself for the thought that follows.
So did I.
Nope. Not even going to begin to go there. I didn’t meet The Prince oranyprince or nobility—I met The Devil in an expensive suit and promptly spilled champagne all over him.
And instead of Happily Ever After, I got… whatever this is.
You got your back blown out. Your toes curled. And your vagina permanently ruined for any other man.
That’swhat you got.
I give myself a little shake to clear my head before the aching heat has time to build deep in my core. I’ve never been one to actually want sex—and God knows I’ve never experienced “lovemaking”—so the fact that I’m physically craving Demyen’s touch is weird to me.
Weird, and yet… not entirely unpleasant.
I just wish it wouldn’t pop up at the worst possible times. Like right now, when I’m on top of a ladder trying to clean and pay attention to my daughter at the same time.
“Mommy? Moooommyyyyy…”
“Huh?” I must have zoned out there for a second. “Sorry, sweetie. What’s up?”
“Do you need any help?”
Oh, boy. I want to be honest and say that yes, I do, because help really would be great in balancing these heavy books. But just one of these is almost as big as she is, so the correct answer is, “Thanks baby, but I’m good.”
Willow scrunches her little face at me. “Are you sure?”
I flash her a genuine smile. She really is a sweetheart. “I’m sure. Thank you, though.”
I return to pulling the books off the shelf, stacking them on the next rung down as well because they’re so thick, they won’t all fit on just one.
One of the heavy books starts moving in the corner of my eye. When I look to see if it’s falling, I realize it’s Willow trying to “help” by nudging it closer and closer to the edge.
“Willow! No!”
The book tumbles from the rung, right on top of her head.
But instead of striking her, it lands on the floor—because a man’s arm shoots out of nowhere and yanks her out of the way.
She trips over her own foot and stumbles into an end table, knocking a vase to the ground instead. The ceramic shatters, water spills, and Willow starts crying.
I barely have a second to register that I, too, am falling off the ladder before I’m wrapped up in very familiar, strong arms. And breathing in his all-too-familiar scent.
Demyen’s eyes meet mine and, again, I see something new in them that isn’t anger or irritation or hatred. He actually looks… concerned?
Not possible. Maybe that book fell onmyhead.
He sets me on my feet and quickly turns to Willow. She’s trembling, sobbing, and cowering behind the toppled end table. Shards of ceramic float among the spilled water and broken flower stems, staining the expensive wood floor.
Oh, God. No. No, no, no, no, no.
I’m ready to launch myself in front of Willow to take his anger, but before I can, Demyen steps over the broken vase and crouches in front of her.
“Are you okay?” he gently asks.
Willow doesn’t want to look at him. She’s so scared. But he sees that, and ever-so-lightly tucks a finger under her chin to make her meet his gaze.
