Page 25 of Sinful Bride

Like he’s handling all this so much better than I am.

“I’ll go set her down,” he says as he closes the door behind us. “You get comfortable. Your smoothie is in the kitchen.”

“My smoothie?” I don’t know if I want to leave Taty alone, but I shake off that thought. That fear.

She’s not alone. She’s with her father. You know, the man who brought her back?

Just as he said, there’s a fresh smoothie on the kitchen island. My favorite “very berry” flavor, too. He must have called ahead and had one of the guards deliver this while we were filling out discharge paperwork at the hospital.

I have to admit, being back in a familiar setting is starting to calm me.

No, not just “familiar.” At some point along the way, this place really did become my home. This became my kitchen, and that’s my living room around the corner. That’s my blender. My toaster. My stool at the counter.

Home.

I take my smoothie with me as I wander through the penthouse, trying to follow the sounds of Pasha cooing and babbling with Taty. I find them in the master bedroom; he’s changing her diaper on a beautiful changing table tucked in the corner.

“Hey.” I try to softly announce my presence in the doorway so I don’t startle either of them. “Where’re the pain meds? I think I’m due to take some.”

Please, God, let it be time to take some.

I think I’m recovering—physically—pretty well. But walking while stitches hold my vagina together isn’t the most pleasant experience.

Pasha nods at the drink in my hand. “Already covered.”

“Huh?” I glance down.

“In your smoothie. Dom picked up your prescription and I had him add them to your smoothie. They’re crushed and blended so you don’t have to taste them.”

There goes my heart again. Doing stupid things like squeezing and yearning for him.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He shrugs. “I know you don’t like popping pills, so…” He finishes zipping Taty up in a fresh onesie and scoops her up.

She looks so tiny in his hands. So small and fragile, and watching her only makes me more furious with the people I once knew as my parents. How could they? To her?

“I should go unpack.” I focus my gaze at the smoothie. “Which guest room do you want me to use?”

“None of them.”

Nausea coils low in my gut. “Oh.” I force myself to glance up at him. Just to ask where it is I’m supposed to go.

But then I notice my pajamas.

On the bed.

His bed.

No… our bed.

“If you’ll give me a second to put her down, I’ll help you get that on.” Pasha presses a kiss to Taty’s brow before easing her into the bassinet. Once she seems like she’s not going to worm her way out of her blankets, he saunters around the bed over to me.

“I can manage?—”

“I’m sure you can. But you’re still recovering.” He takes the hem of my shirt and slowly, carefully eases it up my waist. “Nothing wrong with getting a little help.”

I don’t know how to respond. Except for crying, and I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot these past few days. So I simply lift my arms and allow him to peel my shirt off.

---