Page 75 of How to Date a Prince

ChapterTwenty-Six

Thomas fusses over me like an overly protective mother cat with an injured kitten. Except substitute prince for kitten in this scenario.

At the hospital, I’m delivered under the cover of midnight darkness, courtesy of a wheelchair and Thomas’ arm, into a waiting sedan with the requisite tinted windows. He loads my suitcase and has a bag of meds and instructions for my care.

I closed my eyes most of the way to Thomas’ flat, the nighttime lights I ordinarily love so much turning my stomach at their obscene brightness, combined with the disconcerting motion of the car. The fact I was sick only once—into a waiting bag—is exceptional, I think.

At Thomas’, I wash my face and brush my teeth with a brand-new toothbrush set out for me, using one hand as best I can. It’s the first time I’ve properly seen myself in a mirror since the accident.

I blearily frown at my reflection, squinting under the bright bathroom lights. A week’s worth of dark blond stubble lines my jaw. My fingers touch my jawline, the ache of my bruised cheekbone and scratched nose.

With one hand against the marble counter, I lean forward slightly. As for my hair, it’s a disheveled, wavy mess, not in a good way. I haven’t had a proper shower since the accident. I feel disgusting, though the nurses helped me wash in bed. Maybe I’ll be able to have a shower tomorrow. I’m wearing a button-down shirt and joggers, which is a curious fashion combination, along with the cervical collar I wear. Lauren wouldn’t approve. I can’t say I approve either.

I put my other hand on the counter edge as the room sways ever so slightly. It’s not enough to be truly alarming, but it’s unnerving. Like this high-rise is swaying with the wind.

“Auggie?” There’s a soft rap at the bathroom door. Thomas remains hovering outside the bathroom door. “You okay in there?”

“I think so.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Give me a minute.”

After exactly a minute, Thomas opens the door. I haven’t made any progress in the moving department. I give him an apologetic smile in the mirror. “Sorry. I was taking in my new look.”

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight.” Thomas shakes his head. “C’mon, the bed’s all made up for you. I can sleep on the sofa.”

“You only have one bed?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “How many of me do you think there are needing beds?”

“On a regular day, I’d say just one. But today, at least double.”

He frowns.

“I’m joking. Sort of.”

Thomas carefully takes my arm. He leads me into the sleek modern bedroom with the incredible view. It’s too much for me right now. I falter.

“Don’t look outside,” Thomas instructs me. “Only at the bed.”

The headboard has a soft, backlit illumination, the only light in the room. And the white bedsheets are turned down. It’s like a cloud, all white and soft. There’re a delightful number of pillows. With his help, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t realize how out of it I actually am. When I agreed to stay, I didn’t think I’d turn you out of your bed.”

“Nonsense. Besides, who says I’m being evicted. This is at least a king-sized bed,” he quips. “Enough for a party of four.”

“Who else are you inviting?” I peer at him. “King-plus is definitely prince-sized, then.”

“Ha. It’s a hypothetical orgy, by the way.”

“Good to know about your hypothetical orgies. I’m taking note.” I squeeze my eyes shut. My headache is ratcheting up again, and exhaustion comes over me in waves.

“Enough about orgies. Let me help you change your top, and you can sleep.”

I carefully take off the soft neck brace and slowly unbutton my shirt. My fingers are clumsy, especially with the cast. It’s silly something so simple can feel so complicated. Earlier, he helped me in and out of my shoes. I feel entirely useless. Thomas rummages through his drawers for a zip-front hoodie.

“You know they call these Elizabethan collars? My ancestors might have an opinion,” I say.

He gives a wry smile at the neck brace beside me on the bed. “Top points for making a valiant effort to break your neck. Quite a way to ride to the top of the leaderboard.”

“Dramatic, right? I bet Gisele loved the footage.”

Thomas sways. Or I do. He kneels in front of me to help me finish unbuttoning my shirt. His cologne is soothing.

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