Page 68 of Wicked King

He smirks, the tight set of his shoulders finally relaxing. The man has been a walking ball of tension for days. Judging by the bits and pieces of conversations I’ve overheard, Marco is nowhere near finding out who was responsible for the shooting. And it’s killing him.

“So, horror, then?”

“That sounds about right.” Dropping the magazine back on the nightstand, I snuggle beneath the down comforter Marco had Nicky bring from the penthouse.

As he scrolls through Netflix, he folds his massive frame onto the small couch. I don’t know how he’s been sleeping on it for days. It’s no wonder he hasn’t actually slept. Then again, compared to the floor of my studio, it’s a step up.

God, I’ve really put him through hell since we met. A hint of guilt creeps up.

His head swivels to mine, distracting me, as the pointer pauses on a familiar title. “Scream? It’s a classic.”

“Sure, nothing like a light horror flick to get over a near lethal injury.”

Marco’s face crumples, and I immediately regret the bad joke. “We can watch something else?—”

“No, it’s fine. Just put it on.” I try to sit up straighter and wince, the movement jostling the stitches. Marco is beside me before I can blink, readjusting my pillows. “You don’t have to do that. I’m okay, I promise.” He skulks back to the couch and lies down, his feet dangling over the edge.

Another stab of guilt pricks at my wound, and this time, it’s not the stitches. For a hospital bed, mine is remarkably roomy. Before I can think on all the reasons why this is a bad idea, I scoot over to one side and pat the empty half. “Why don’t you come lie down?”

His dark brows shoot up, nearly reaching the tumble of wild locks falling across his forehead. A long minute of silence fills the cold room. “Nah, I don’t want to accidentally squish you or something…”

“You won’t; I’m not some fragile little flower. Just get over here. I can’t stand seeing you so uncomfortable.”

He snorts on a laugh. “Me? You’re the one that was shot, Jia.” The bitter edge to his tone lingers in the air between us.

“And I’m on plenty of pain meds,” I hiss. “Now get your ass over here, honey, so I can squeeze your hand at the scary parts.”

The hard set of his jaw softens, the tempest of emotions in that dark gaze settling. Painstakingly slowly, he rises, eyes intent on mine, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind. After hovering beside the bed for an eternity, he finally folds onto the mattress beside me. He’s so close to the edge I’m scared he’ll roll off if he breathes too hard.

So I thread my fingers through his and tug him a little closer. “I’ll warn you now, I have a tendency to dig my nails into skin when I get scared.”

His gaze pivots to mine, and a slow smile melts across his face. “Do your worst, spitfire. I can handle it.”

Bright sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the soaring peaks of downtown Manhattan’s sleek skyrises. An entire week later, and I’m finally home. As Yéye leads me into the penthouse, I can’t believe I actually just called this place home. Maybe I hit my head when I was shot?

No, it must be the endless days stuck in that hospital room—or rather, the suite my overbearing husband had insisted upon. He’d also insisted on spending every night on the tiny pull-out couch. Despite the high-end suite, after a week, those four walls were starting to close in on me.

Marco watches as Yéye leads me to the pristine white leather couches of the living room. Those intent eyes follow me everywhere. I don’t think he’s let me out of his sight for more than an hour this entire week. He worked from the hospital room the past few days, conducting conference calls from the bathroom, had elaborate dinners delivered, and even hired an aesthetician to give me a facial in bed.

To say he’s been doting on me would be an understatement.

I’m fairly certain he’s going above and beyond to make up for the fact he still hasn’t figured out who tried to kill me.

Or him.

The infallible Marco Rossi doesn’t allow anyone to touch what’s his and live to tell about it. And yet, here we are a week later with no answers. It’s done a number on his pride.

I sink into the soft leather, and a twinge of discomfort purses my lips. Even after all this time, the wound is sore. I’d only been released after my husband flashed his million-dollar smile and fat wallet. Gemini Corp is one of the hospital’s biggest donors. The doctor had made me promise to take it easy for at least another week.

Yéye folds down beside me and offers a smile. “I am happy you are home, baobèi.”

“Me too.” And it’s actually not a lie. A familiar scent fills my nostrils, and a smile instantly threatens to surface. A vase filled with jasmine blossoms sits on the coffee table, perfuming the air, much like the one that had been delivered to the hospital. Did my new husband know they were my favorite?

Marco’s heavy footfalls slap across the marble as he approaches, and a prickle of awareness skates over my skin. It hasn’t escaped my attention that this will be the first night we’ll spend alone together in our bedroom since our wedding. And we have yet to consummate our marriage.

“I have an important call I need to take in my office, but I’ve already ordered lunch. It should be here any minute.” He ticks his head at the imposing male standing by the entrance. “Nicky will get the door.”

“Okay, thanks.”

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