Page 181 of Bleed with Me

“Of course not,” Nina answered before I could even open my mouth. “He’s a prince. Princes don’t wipe floors.”

“Says the princess who doesn’t know how to make fried eggs,” I countered, shrugging nonchalantly when she flashed me a murderous glare. I held her look, absurdly relieved she had enough energy to argue with me.

“Are you really?” Aryna interrupted our staring contest, and we both turned to her. “Prince and princess?”

“No.” I shook my head with a wide grin stretching across my face. “And I actually know how to wipe a floor. I just didn’t think I’d be doing it tonight.”

“Sorry.” Aryna looked at me so innocently that I couldn’t be angry at her, even if I wanted to.

“You’re forgiven, little angel.” I poked her adorable nose with my index finger and turned to leave, but before I reached the door, Nina’s words reached me.

“You’re not,” she ground out, her stunning dark eyes narrowing at the edges.

My lips twitched despite myself. She was still furious, but at least she didn’t ignore me. I quietly retreated before she found another reason to murder me, mentally adding a mop and a handful of rags to the list of things I needed tonight.

An hour and a half later, Aryna slept in our bed because she simply refused to leave, claiming there was enough space for the three of us. Nina tried to get her to another bedroom, but the girl won on every front. And when she told Nina, with all the innocence in the world, that if she didn’t like her idea, she could sleep elsewhere, I almost died laughing at my wife’s expression.

She looked at Aryna as if she’d just been out-negotiated by a seasoned lawyer. Still, Nina's battle for our bed was heartwarming. She didn’t plan to rip my head off if she wanted us to sleep together, right?

Maybe she’ll sleep with your corpse, the demon snickered in my head. She’d probably cuddle it.

“It’s one of her best traits,” I mumbled, laughing at that irrational thought, but deep down, I knew my gorgeous wife would surely do that with a wide smile on her face.

Anyway, after wiping down the bathroom, I took a quick shower and tiptoed out of the bedroom, where Aryna was quietly snoring. I found Nina in the living room, her feet on the coffee table, scrolling through her phone. Her hair fell into her face, covering much of it, but I still noticed her focused expression. She didn’t even notice me approaching her until I was about three feet from her.

“Everything okay?” I asked, glancing between her and an open bottle of expensive red wine. Nina lifted her gaze from the screen, her brows furrowing.

“You think?” She put the phone away, looking at me expectantly.

With a sigh, I grabbed the glass of wine and plopped beside her, throwing it back in one generous gulp. The wine rolled over my tongue, rich and velvety, carrying notes of black cherries, dark chocolate, and oak. Under different circumstances, I would’ve appreciated every layer. Tonight, it barely registered. It took the edge off just enough to remind me I needed something much stronger if I wanted to survive whatever conversation was about to happen. Preferably whiskey.

“I don’t want to argue, Nina,” I said after a long pause, setting the empty glass on the coffee table beside her feet. “Your father is alive, and he promised to tell us everything about Giovanni and the debt.”

“And the gunshot wound?”

“Stitched up.” I leaned into the couch. “We’re meeting him tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She put her feet down and turned to me. Her eyes were darker than usual, anger mixing with relief in them. But her usually expressive face remained painfully stoic. “How about explaining the execution of my father’s men?”

I bit the corner of my mouth.

“Don’t look at me like I didn’t have every right to do that,” I said, angling my body toward her. “They kidnapped you.”

“Dino Monteverde kidnapped me,” she corrected exasperatedly, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I’m keeping my knives sharp for his throat, too.”

Nina rolled her eyes, her fists clenching, but she kept her temper under perfect control.

“Just tell me what the fuck happened to you back there.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “That wasn’t you.”

I held her gaze for a long moment, searching for accusation, disgust… anything that would’ve been easier to answer. Instead, I found worry. My wife was worried about me despite the fact that I murdered people right in front of her. I didn’t know if I should be grateful or terrified.

“Maybe you don’t know me that well,” I whispered, my heart climbing somewhere into my throat.

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, searching my face before she spoke.

“I know you enough to know how out of character that was.” Her hand gently brushed against mine, her long fingernails grazing my skin and leaving tingles in their wake.