Page 87 of The Masquerade: Room 2

Living with Pierce is overwhelming in the best possible ways. He’s a different man in his own space. I’ve been given carte blanche to redecorate the space as I see fit, and I’m more than happy to make some changes. The night after I moved in, I explored my new home and quickly realized that it wasn’t a home. It’s been a place where Pierce sleeps and nothing more.

There are no pictures of family or friends adorning the walls. His closet is clinical. The kitchen is nothing more than a staged area to reheat whatever takeout he had for dinner the night before. I’m not sure if he’s ever cooked a meal in it.

Don’t get me wrong, the apartment is stunning. It’s styled like it should be on the cover of a magazine. Every piece of furniture was clearly handpicked but not by Pierce. I’d bet my career he hired an interior designer. There’s nothing of his personality in the décor.

Although Pierce is a force to be reckoned with in the operating room and a commanding presence at Venom, there’s a lighter side to him at home, and I want to reflect that in the space. He’s funny—still a little grumpy—he watches Friends when he’s tired but doesn’t want to sleep. That’s rare, given I’m his bedtime distraction now, but when I’m exhausted and in need of some shuteye, I hear the television on low and his soft chuckles drifting in from the living room.

With every new tidbit of his personality, I find myself falling deeper in love with him. I thought the separation of work, personal life, and the club was necessary in the beginning, but now, I can’t imagine my life any other way. The whispers soon died down at work. Not because we’re any less of a topic of conversation but because Pierce read the riot act to some residents when they questioned his motives.

I’m focused on my training. I have access to the foremost neurosurgeon in the world, and I refuse to waste that on the off-chance one of my colleagues is butt hurt by it. I know my worth. I’ve earned my position on Pierce’s service, and I’m certain in the knowledge that if I left him today, he’d still be my surgical mentor. Above all else—and even though he doesn’t see it—Pierce is a man of honor. He’s a good, honest man. He prides himself on his career, and although others believe him to be cold and harsh at work, they don’t see what I do.

He cares for his patients. Their lives matter to him, and he will fight to the death for every one of them. He doesn’t believe in the term ‘inoperable.’ If someone comes to him for a second opinion, he will always put the decision in their hands. They know he’s their last chance at a meaningful life, and if they want to stand in front of the dragon that is their tumor and stay steadfast as he draws his sword, then he will try. There are no words to describe the victory that permeates from every fiber of my being when we manage to save one.

That’s what I want for my career. I want to slay the dragon and give someone back the life they thought was lost. It makes the losses more bearable, but they still take a piece of you. Char it. Claw it from your soul. But, to save a life is the greatest single feeling in life.

“What’s on your mind, little one?” Pierce asks as we scrub in for surgery.

“You’re a dragon slayer.”

“Come again?” He raises his eyebrows in question.

“You truly care about your patients. All of them. No matter how hopeless their odds. You stand and face the dragon.”

“And a lot of the time, I get burned. You know that.”

“And sometimes you slay the fucking dragon.” He’s surprised by my cussing. I rarely do it, but as I stare at him in his scrubs, he may as well be wearing knight’s armor. He’s badass, and together we stand united.

The smile on his face is everything.

“You’re cute when you’re inspired, little one.” I love that he still calls me his little one when we’re alone at the hospital.

“And you’re hot when you operate… Daddy. I’m seriously in love with you.”

He grabs my face with his hands, his lips crashing down on mine as he backs me against the wall, deepening the kiss as my arms wrap around his waist. When we come up gasping for air, my body is on fire.

“We’ll have to rescrub,” I whisper.

“Totally worth it.” He smiles against my lips. “We’re going to the club tonight.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

A nurse appears at the door, a frown marring her otherwise pretty face. “They’re ready for you, Dr. Harrison.”

“Thanks, Annette. We’re about to scrub in.”

“Very good, Doctor.”

I let my head drop against the wall as she leaves. “Great. One more person to hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just a stickler for time. It’s my fault for making us scrub again.”

I push up and plant a kiss on his lips.

“Totally worth it.”

We rescrub in silence, getting into the right mindset for surgery. The second we set foot inside the operating room, we are colleagues working together with the nursing staff and anesthesiologist to do our best for the patient and give our absolute focus.

When we’re all in place, Pierce gives the order, and silence befalls the room. “Ten blade, please. Making the first incision.”

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