Page 40 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 20

ROYAL

The worst timing of phone calls seemed to always happen to me. The phone call that ruined the date with Bianca, not that it was really going well, to begin with. The phone answering that halted her lips from touching mine. And the call shortly after that from Bianca’s father, asking for another loan. Another loan? Because the first loan he took hadn’t taught him a lesson at all?

I didn’t bother to mention it to her, at least at the moment, but I knew at some point she needed to know. I’d give Frank the money; I would give him all the money I had if she asked, but the decision was all hers. Did she want me to support her father’s habits or prohibit them?

She was asleep when I finally made it home, but she was a trooper and stayed up throughout the fights, watching behind plexiglass slightly above the arena. It was after the excitement wore off that she crashed, hard. One minute she was talking to me, the next minute, she was curled into a ball in a chair, her long hair over her shoulder partially covering her face as she slept.

I let her sleep as I finished working, then when three A.M. rolled around, I scooped her up and carried her to the Hummer, ready to take her home. She hadn’t even batted an eye until we pulled up to our house. “We’re home?”

Her voice was groggy and so fucking sexy I wanted to lean over and kiss her sleep away. “We just arrived. Want me to carry you in?”

I would have done it. I would have done anything she asked me to do, always, but my wife was stubborn and so fucking independent, she refused. I liked that about her as much as I loathed it because I really wanted to prove I could be her knight, but it was nearly impossible when she was always battle-ready.

I watched as she got out of the vehicle, almost stumbling on her wobbly legs before catching herself and trotting up the stone steps to the front door. I followed closely behind her, my keys out ready to open the door. With the door open, her heels were instantly shed the moment she passed the threshold, and I picked them up before she got the chance and carried them for her as we went straight to our room.

In our short relationship, I’d never been at this point with her. I usually joined her in bed a few hours after she’d been there, and I got up earlier than she did, but after watching her stumbling out of her jeans, remove her blouse, and stand in front of me as she brushed her teeth wearing only a camisole and her panties, I’d officially made it a point to schedule a bedtime earlier at least twice a week.

She didn’t say much to me, obviously too tired to function past the necessities needed before falling into bed, but when she fell into bed with her rabbit in her arms, and I fell in right after her, I couldn’t help the satisfaction that flooded through my body when her arm reached out and rested on my chest. It wasn’t exactly intimate, but . . . it was a start.

I left early the next morning, knowing that I had a lot of preparations to assist with for Paul’s funeral. But I also needed space. Not because I didn’t like being around Bianca and her annoying little furball, but because I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how I was supposed to act when there was more than just myself to worry about.

Assisting in the fine details of Paul’s funeral took a lot out of me. He wasn’t just an employee, he was a good friend, and although most people just assumed I didn’t feel much in many situations, their assumptions would be wrong, I felt too much, too hard.

Like she knew my soul was weighed down, my phone dinged.

You left early.

I smiled down at the message like a love-sick schoolboy.

You miss me?

I knew she would deny it, but I waited anyway, anticipating some sort of snarking response.

Actually, sort of.

My heart jolted at her confession.

Really?

I watched the three dots dance on my screen as I waited for her reply.

Yes, I can’t remember where you put my heels last night, and if you were here, it would have saved me a lot of time searching.

There it was, my snarky girl.

The trunk by the window.

There was a knock at the door, and Troy strolled in, his face red and his body strung with anger. He plopped down in the chair right in front of me, silently steeping his fingers. I stared, waiting for him to offer me his problems like he had so many times before. When he didn’t say a word, I audibly groaned. “What’s wrong?”

He looked up at me like he forgot I was there when he was the one who walked into my office. “Nothing.”

Yeah. I was sure it was nothing. “Troy.”

My tone had an underlying warning to it, one he knew not to push. It wasn’t often I used that tone with him, but fuck, I was an hour away from burying a friend, and I didn’t want to be dealing with additional issues. “I have to bring Genie.”

My brows scrunched together. “To a funeral? Why?”

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