Page 27 of Fierce Protector

“Honestly, patients keep giving me the damn things and it’s the only room in the house that they survive in.”

A loud, boisterous laugh bursts out of me. “Well, that certainly makes a lot more sense.”

She brings a hand to her chest in faux offense. “Are you accusing me of being a terrible plant mother?”

“I would never,” I say, holding my palms up in surrender.

“I’ll have you know I only killed the first ten or so before I figured out that they’re more likely to survive in there,” she says, gesturing towards the bathroom before returning her attention to massaging a new product into her skin.

“How many moisturisers does one person need?” I ask, gesturing towards the collection of bottles in front of her.

“I don’t do this because of some need to look young or live forever,vecchietto. I do this to unwind. It’s my little ritual, and it’s for me and no one else.” She reaches for a flat pink stone and starts to drag it along her collarbone.I have no clue what it’s for, and as she so rightly pointed out, it’s for her benefit, not mine, therefore none of my damn business. She moves the stone leisurely across her skin, the tension melting away from her body and a sense of calm settling over her.

Walking over, I bend and kiss her forehead. “As long as you know, I think you’re stunning either way.”

She lets out a contented sigh, that same blush blossoming up her neck and into her cheeks. “Thank you.”

I press my lips to hers, careful not to disturb whatever products she’s applied, and leave her in peace.

I head downstairs to unpack what I brought with me and start on dinner, getting lost in my own ritual. I’m by no means a master chef but I remember every recipe my mother taught me, and cooking brings me peace. I’m making a simple ragu with pappardelle pasta, but I’m cheating a little. Digging through the cooler, I find the container I need. Working for a criminal organisation means I’m rarely able to predict when I’ll be home. It’s not like we work regular business hours, so I’ve been known to batch cook.

Who am I kidding? My freezer is full of food. If anyone ever needed to hide a body in a chest freezer, mine would never be the one to use. It’s full to the brim.

After grabbing a saucepan, I turf out the slow-cooked beef ragu, setting it on a low heat to defrost and cook through. I ready the oversized pasta pot, letting it simmer gently with the lid on, ready to throw in the fresh pasta when Katerina comes down.

I finish emptying what is only a fraction of my pantry stores into her barren cupboards. When she’s on shift, Iknow she frequents the canteen most days. It’s one of the places we added to our rotation of public dates in order to keep tongues wagging about us. From the sheer volume of menus in the junk drawer, it would seem she survives on a variety of local takeout restaurants.

“What’s that amazing smell? And how is it coming from my kitchen?”

I look up to find her leaning against the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other at the ankles, emphasising her insanely long legs. She’s changed into a loose-fitting loungewear set and she’s wrangled the haphazard hair I undoubtedly left her with into a set of thick braids.

Is she trying to kill me?She looks adorable and simultaneously sexy as fuck. There’s a glint of desire in her eyes as she watches me stirring the ragu and I’m sure I’m reflecting the same expression right back at her.

“It’s just something I had at home. Beef ragu and pappardelle,” I say as I throw the pasta in to boil. We spend the next few minutes dancing around each other in the kitchen. She fetches the plates and cutlery while I drain the pasta and start serving.

“Can we eat in the lounge?” she asks a little sheepishly. “I know you’ve cooked this wonderful meal, but I’d love to kick back and relax on the sofa. This looks like the perfect comfort food.”

I’m nodding and picking up the pasta bowls before she’s even finished. However she wants to eat is fine by me. As long as she’s well fed, well fucked and well looked after, that’s all that matters. Fuck standing on ceremony.

As I follow her into the living room, I smile when she shuffles back into a mountain of cushions in thecorner of the couch. Pulling her legs up, she sits cross-legged before hauling one of the cushions out of the pile and placing it on top of her legs like a makeshift table.

She’s snatching the bowl with grabby hands before I know what’s happening and gesturing for me to sit down beside her. There’s a selection of remotes on the side table and within a few moments, she’s dimmed the lights and queued up something to watch.

Katerina turns her head and eyes me warily. “This is where I find out if you have a sense of humour or not.”

“So, this is a test? I see. Press play then and let’s see if I pass.”

I’m worried when I don’t recognise the title. Honestly, you’re more likely to find me reading a book and listening to music than you are watching television, but it doesn’t take long for me to get into it and concede that it’s hilarious.

“What is this?” I ask between mouthfuls, softly nudging her arm.

“Schitt’s Creek. It’s hilarious and quite frankly if you hadn’t liked it, it would have called this whole ‘real dating’ thing into question. I have no qualms fake dating a Schitt’s Creek hater, but being with one for real, it could never be me.”

I chuckle and glance at her expecting to see her giggling right back at me, but she’s side eyeing me. “I’m not joking,vecchietto.”

She nearly has me fooled until she bursts into fits of giggles. “Seriously, though, I would have judged you. This is my comfort watch.”

“In that case, I’m glad I haven’t disappointed you,” I say, leaning over and kissing her temple.

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