Page 65 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love
DONATELLO
The painkillers wore off halfway through the cab ride home, turning the dull ache in Donatello’s side into a steady throb, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.He leaned on Andromeda as they climbed the few steps to his front door, her arm wrapped around his waist.She was careful to avoid his bandaged wound, but it still hurt.Even through the fog of pain, he marveled at how naturally she fit—her body against his, her scent surrounding him, her strength supporting him.For a man who had spent years believing he was better off alone, the realization that he never wanted to be without her again was both terrifying and exhilarating.
“Almost there,” Andromeda murmured, fishing his keys from his pocket.The casual intimacy of the gesture—as if she’d been doing it for years rather than days—sent a pleasant warmth spreading across his chest.
His house welcomed them with stillness and the lingering scent of that morning’s coffee.Had it been only this morning that they’d stood in his kitchen, trading kisses between sips of espresso?
“Straight to bed,” Andromeda ordered, navigating him toward the bedroom with determined efficiency.
“You’re bossy when I’m injured,” Donatello observed, a smile tugging at his lips despite the pain.“I like it.”
“I’m always bossy.And you always like it.”She helped him onto the bed, arranging the pillows behind him with surprising gentleness.“Stay put.I’ll be right back.”
Donatello tracked her movements around his house through sound.Cabinets opening, running water, pottery clanging.The domesticity struck him dumb—Andromeda Swan, the woman who’d hexed his hair purple, now making herself at home in his space, caring for him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She returned minutes later, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl and a glass of water.
“Soup?”He raised his eyebrows as she set the tray across his lap.
“Soup,” she confirmed, perching on the edge of the bed.“It’s good for you.”
Donatello peered into the bowl, sniffing the savory broth with its floating bits of chicken and vegetables.“I don’t have the flu, Swan.”
“No.”She pushed a spoon into his hand.“But you’re still going to eat your soup like a good boy.”
He caught her wrist before she could withdraw, his thumb brushing over her pulse point.“What if I wanted to be bad?”The words came out rough around the edges.
Andromeda’s eyes darkened, but then she scowled.“Sorry, you’re not in good enough shape to play bad cop,” she replied, despite the slight catch in her voice betraying her receptiveness to the suggestion.
Donatello made to pull her closer, to prove her wrong.But the movement sent a fresh spike of heat through his ribs, making him wince and sag back on the pillows.The embarrassing sound that escaped his lips was somewhere between a groan and a gasp.
“I rest my case,” Andromeda said, raising a single eyebrow in that infuriating I-told-you-so manner he was coming to adore.She was scolding him, but her hand came up to brush the hair from his forehead with a tenderness that softened the smugness.
Donatello smiled up at her, refusing to be deterred.“I’d take the pain.”His eyes never left hers.“It’d be worth it.”
Andromeda didn’t miss a beat.“You’ll take the bed rest instead.”She adjusted his pillows, turning the nurturing gesture into both a concession and a command.
He mock-groaned, letting his gaze slide down her body before returning to her face.“And here I was, eager to test if blondes did it better.”
Her laugh filled the room.“After last night?You should have a pretty good idea of how much better blondes do it.”
“Now you’re torturing me with what I can’t have.”He pouted.
“Be patient.”She softened, her hand finding his and squeezing.“We have all the time in the world.”
The casual promise in those words caught him off guard.Donatello stared at her, taking in the slight shadows under her eyes from the stress of the day, the way her hair curled at the ends where it had escaped her loose bun, the freckles scattered across her nose that became visible only when you were close enough to count them.This fierce, brilliant, infuriating witch had become essential to him in mere days.
“I want you in as much of my time as possible,” he whispered, the admission easier than he would have expected.
Her eyes widened as if surprised by the sudden sincerity.But then her expression softened, and she leaned forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead.
“Eat your soup before it gets cold,” she instructed, but her words had no edge.They carried only warmth.
Deciding to behave, Donatello spooned soup into his mouth while Andromeda disappeared into the kitchen again.She returned with a bowl of her own and settled at the foot of the bed, cross-legged, at a safe distance from his injured side and eager hands.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, exchanging glances that carried entire conversations.Even with a hole burned through his torso by dark magic, Donatello had never been happier.Andromeda’s presence made the pain more bearable.
When they finished eating, Andromeda collected their bowls and carried them to the kitchen.He was already half-dozing when she returned, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor.
