Page 29 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 15

BIANCA

The ring Royal left me when he left this morning, weighed down my bag like chunks of cement. It was such an odd gesture, something so final and permanent for our measly arrangement. Wearing it seemed like I was committing myself to him, and even though we had a legally bound agreement, I just didn’t know if I wanted to commit myself on all levels.

It was at lunch when I received the text that the business meeting I was going to accompany him on was postponed until the following weekend. That was a relief. I would have gone out of obligation, but the tension I suddenly felt in his presence had my nerves on edge.

I went the whole day at work pretending I didn’t have the weight of the ring pulling me down when in reality, it was all I could think about. I did procedures, exams, and reviewed Xrays, pretending like my world wasn’t changing when it was actually moving so fast, I could do nothing but hold on tight and pray I didn’t fall.

By the evening, I had actually overworked my mind to the point I was happy to go home, even if the home wasn’t my own. I was exhausted, my temples throbbed, and when I was greeted by complete silence, I couldn’t help the relief I felt. Kicking off my shoes, I scooped them up before walking straight up the stairs to my bedroom.

Peter was lying in the middle of the bed, his little nose twitching. “Hey baby, mama looked forward to seeing you.”

I leaned down, rubbing my nose against his, my fingers running through his fur. “Daddy looked forward to seeing you, too.”

I jumped, my whole body going rigid at the sound of the voice behind me. My back straightened as I turned, Royal’s knowing smirk taunting me. He was freshly showered, his fresh dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, displaying some well-formed arms. I swallowed—hard. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

In truth, I never expected it. He tended to come home late and left early. “Work got a bit messy, I needed a shower.”

He didn’t have to elaborate on what exactly a bit messy was. I could tell by the swollen, bruised knuckles that whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. “Are you staying for dinner?”

I mentally begged him to say no, but instead, his knowing smile appeared. “Are you cooking dinner for me, Amore?”

Fuck. No. I just wanted to stay cuddled up to my bunny and pretend that today had not happened at all. That I didn’t carry the weight of his offering around in my bag all day, debating if my lust for this man outweighed my potential hate for his existence. It shouldn’t be a decision, not really. Although he owned me physically, why would I give him the approval to own me fully? Yet, I couldn’t decide, and I was blaming it on the lust, on my desire to see every part of this powerful man crumble to my will, like women and men both seemed to crumble at his feet.

“I wasn’t planning on even eating dinner.” It was true, I was exhausted, and nothing sounded more appealing than crashing.

He frowned like he didn’t approve of my confession. “Then why ask if I was staying?”

“I panicked, okay. I came home, saw my sweet innocent rabbit, and thought, ah . . . I’m going to lay right here and crash for the night. And suddenly, you’re there, and I was caught off guard. I didn’t expect you to be home, and I blurted out whatever to make it less awkward. But guess what?” I paused, waiting to see if he would guess.

“You made it more awkward.” He made the confession with a straight face, but the twinkle in his dark eyes did nothing to hide his amusement.

I nodded my agreement,. “I made it more awkward.”

“Then, I guess I’m cooking dinner. Dinner’s at eight.” He turned on his heels and left, completely ignoring me as I deepened my voice and mocked, dinner’s at eight.

The mere statement reminded me of the first night here. Had it really been less than a week? It felt like a lifetime. No, it had to be a lifetime. I waited until I heard his feet hit the tile on the floor below us before speaking to Peter again. “He isn’t your daddy, baby. Don’t let him confuse you.”

I kissed his little nose before I even realized how ridiculous I sounded, then I pushed off the bed and stalked to my closet to put my heels away and get out some clothes. If my husband—I tried not to choke on that thought—wanted to feed me at eight, it gave me plenty of time to shower, paint my toes, and maybe give myself an impromptu spa night.

Grabbing my fuzzy robe, some fleece pants, and a shirt, I left my closet. Turning on the water, I stripped off my clothes while waiting for it to get hot, then stepped under the heavenly spray. The shower alone was enough to make me never want to move back to my poor, old, little house. Done in one single, solid slab of slate, it had shower heads cascading down in multiple directions, leaving water to fall onto my body in a soothing caress. I held nothing against my poor, single-spray tile shower, with grout that I was sure at one time used to be white, but now held a murky brown color, but water spraying from every side of me definitely was the way to live.

Forcing myself out of the shower, I wrapped my hair in one of Royal’s luxurious towels—another plus of living here—before drying off and putting on my robe. With time to spare before dinner, I could paint my toes, do a mask, and if I had a few minutes to spare, I would definitely be blow drying my hair.

With my face mask applied and in the process of working its magic, I pulled out a box of nail polish I had previously placed under the sink. I chose a dark blue, which may or may not have been a reflection of my spouse’s name, but I wasn’t going to let my desire to repel him hinder my desire to be pretty. Besides, he wouldn’t notice my toes anyway.

I had just put the lid on my polish and adjusted the little foam spacers between my toes when I heard a throat clearing. I jumped. Damn it! That was twice in one evening that he snuck up on me, and I wasn’t too pleased about it. I looked up from where I sat on the floor in the bathroom, for the first time really taking in his height. I lowered my gaze down his body then swallowed hard when I realized I may have gone too low. It was too late now; I could hardly peel my eyes away from his thick, powerful thighs and the thought of what would most likely be an amazingly sized package.

“It’s as impressive as you might think,” he offered when I still hadn’t looked away.

Ugh! Why did this man alter my brain cells? “If I let myself think about you or your—” I stumbled at my wording, “—member, in any capacity, I would be assuming it’s subpar, your reassurance on how impressive you are only solidifies my thoughts that you obviously are compensating.”

He took a step forward, and I forced my head back so I could look past his towering height to his face. “I could show you.”

“I’d rather you not,” I informed him as my body nearly shivered at the thought.

He reached down, his long fingers skimming a piece of hair that had fallen out of my towel before he pushed it behind my ear. “It’s only a matter of time.”

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