Page 53 of Broken Bonds

There it is, the proverbial bucket of cold water falling on us, tearing us apart.

I hear him growl something that sounded like, “You’re such a tease,” as I run to see what happened to what I had so carefully mixed.

“You’re lucky your head is still in place because they’ve only just started to cool down,” I accused, pointing a finger at him.

“Okay, Red Queen,” he teases. “Put me to work, so I can have you all to myself quicker.”

We don’t waste time. Acting fast, we pour the mixtures into the molds. I can do it by myself, but with his help it makes it really quick.

“Push slowly but firmly back there,” I instruct him. Lionel is behind me helping with the longest circular mold, which is tricky.

Lionel holds the wooden tube into which I slowly pour the mixture, taking care there are no bubbles. I like my soaps smooth, showcasing the purity of the ingredients, after all, they are organic and of the highest quality.

“And I thought that the sweet spot for kinky stuff was after the first year of marriage. You surprise me, Stella.”

His body is glued to mine, so much so that I swear he can feel how fast my heart beats.

God, who turned off the air conditioning in the house. I don’t remember it being so hot.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” I change the subject to something easier to handle.

“You’re tired, you’ve been at it for a long time. Why don’t you let me take care of that?”

The pitcher in my hands, which helps pour the mixture into the mold so that it doesn’t spill, almost falls out. Luckily, Lionel reacts quickly and balances the mold with his hand.

But something is very clear. Cooking isn’t his thing.

“What are we going to have for dinner? Frozen lasagna?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, smiling a little.

He makes a face, pretending to be offended. “Why, Mrs. Kral…” I love when he calls me that. “This old lion has his tricks. I’m a prodigy at making PB&J, as well as pressing the microwave buttons. You just relax, and I’ll take care of it.”

Rather than putting everything in perspective, the attack has completely changed him. The person in front of me is a new man. I love this amended, edited, and deluxe version. Not to mention his hard, defined muscles.

“Let’s get this over with first,” I tell him, moving the container a little so the mixture reaches the bottom. “We’ll talk about relaxing later.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he says with a gentlemanly bow.

What I’ll give for him to undress and present his sword.

A girl can dream.

Half an hour later, we’re finished filling the molds that I had ready earlier. Like every night after dinner, Lionel helps me clean, only this time instead of food, there are essential oils and other supplies for soap-making.

As we organize the things on an empty shelf in the pantry, Lionel, as curious as ever, starts to open the essential oil bottles.

“This smells great,” he says, with the bergamot essential oil bottle in his hands. “What’s it for?”

My plan has been unveiled.

“I’ve been thinking about creating a line of soaps for men,” I confess. “Not necessarily for Alexandra’s party, but in the future. It may turn out well. Don’t you think?”

He smells the vial again, this time with more interest. “Do you know what you’re going to blend it with?”

“Mint and bergamot mix well, and honey, of course.”

Lionel closes the bottle and smiles, staring at me. “Well, I’ll be your guinea pig then.”

“You want to smell like me?” I ask him, the double meaning does not escape either of us.

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