Page 111 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“I need to finish reviewing—”

“Nothing. You need to finish reviewing nothing.” I take the tray from his lap. “The only thing you need to finish is recovering.”

He gives me a look that would probably intimidate a boardroom full of executives, but does absolutely nothing to me.

“You’re bossy when you’re nursing,” he observes.

“You’re a terrible patient.”

“So I’ve been told. Bed?”

I help him stand, surprised when he leans on me more heavily than I expected. His body radiates heat through his t-shirt, and I can feel the faint tremor in his muscles, betraying just how weak he really is.

Navigating to his bedroom takes longer than it should, his normally purposeful stride reduced to a careful shuffle. By the time we reach his king-sized bed, he’s breathing hard from the effort.

I help him sit on the edge of the mattress, then hesitate. “Do you need help changing?”

He shakes his head. “I can manage.”

I nod, relieved and oddly disappointed at the same time. “I’ll get you some water and more Tylenol.”

When I return, he’s managed to change into clean pajama pants and a fresh t-shirt, though the effort has clearly cost him. He’s sitting against the headboard, eyes closed, face drawn with exhaustion.

“Here.” I place the water and pills on his nightstand. “Take these before you sleep.”

He opens his eyes slowly. “Still playing nurse?”

“Just finishing my shift.” I try for a light tone, but something shifts in his gaze.

“Tatiana...” he begins, then stops, seeming to search for words.

“What is it?” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.

He looks at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing mine where they rest on the bed.

“Thank you,” he says again, but this time it feels heavier, weighted with unspoken meaning. “I’m not... good at needing people.”

The admission hangs in the air between us, strangely intimate. More intimate, somehow, than all the times we’ve spent together in this very bed.

“I’ve noticed,” I reply softly.

His fingers curl around mine, warm and sure despite his weakened state. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

I look down at our joined hands. “I did.”

Something passes between us in that moment. An understanding, perhaps, or a recognition. A quiet acknowledgment that whatever this is between us has grown beyond the confines of our agreement.

And it terrifies me.

“You should get some rest,” I say, gently pulling my hand from his. “Call if you need anything.”

I turn to go, but his voice stops me at the doorway.

“Tatiana?”

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