Page 9 of His Forever Princess

He'd thought being separated from Alessandra was the hardest thing he'd been through.

This was worse.

Now she was close enough to touch, but she still wasn't for him.

He had to get through this. Keep her alive. Keep his emotions to himself.

Deliver her back home.

Do the job.

ChapterThree

Gideon woke disoriented.

His pillow smelled like Alessandra and in the hazy, half-awake place, he only knew that he ached for her. He reached out and his hand encountered only cool, empty blankets.

Instantly, he came awake. Everything snapped into place in his brain.

His wife.

The danger.

The cabin.

He sat up, rubbing one hand down his face. He ached, but it was the physical pain in his side, not the fanciful imagining his sleep-addled brain wanted him to believe.

Something was sizzling quietly, and he shook his head, still trying to clear his thoughts.

Alessandra stood at the stove, a rubber spatula in hand. She was watching him over her shoulder. He read the concern in her face.

"Are you all right?"

He cleared his own expression, just in case any lingering pain might be visible. "I'm fine."

He was always fine. The bitter thought was quickly shoved away.

He stood up and pretended he wasn't staggering those few steps past the cast iron, pot-bellied fireplace to the bathroom. He'd grown older when he wasn't paying attention. He couldn't go days without sleep. Not anymore. His body was fit for his age, but he wasn't kidding himself that he could go up against a twenty-five-year-old without risking injury.

His most important weapon now was his brain. And he intended to use it.

He splashed his face with icy water and rubbed his skin briskly with the rough hand towel. His side pulled, but he ignored it. He'd pop an ibuprofen along with the antibiotic the doctor had prescribed. He could handle this.

When he re-entered the main room and caught sight of Alessandra scraping scrambled eggs onto two plates, he almost turned around to duck back into the tiny bathroom.

Seeing his royal wife doing such a domestic chore brought him right back to those early days, when she'd found herself sequestered on the Triple H with a bunkhouse full of rowdy cowboys. She was as bad with inaction as Gideon. She’d cleaned the ranch house top to bottom. Cooked for them. Made the house a home.

The ranch house still bore some of her touches, but nothing was the same without her there.

He pushed those thoughts away as he joined her at the counter, reaching for the chipped coffee mug she pushed toward him.

"Thank you," he gruffed. She'd always called his rough morning voice his bear growl.

Would the hits keep coming this morning?

"You're welcome." She was watching him, her gaze curious. Checking to see if he was really all right?

He raised his mug. She did the same, taking a delicate sip.

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