Page 277 of Love Me in the Dark
Waiting.
That makes it worse.
I sit up slowly, legs sore, chest raw with something I don’t want to name. He wraps a robe around me, ties it with reverent fingers, then lifts me like I weigh nothing. Like I’m his, and always have been.
The bathroom is already warm. Candles flicker on the counter. The tub steams gently, water scented with lavender and something sweet I can’t name.
He sets me down beside it, kneels, and unties the robe.
“I can do it myself,” I whisper.
His eyes lift to mine. “I know.”
But he does it anyway.
Eases it off my shoulders, folding it neatly beside him.
Then he helps me into the tub. The water is perfect. Hot enough to sting at first, but it settles fast. My body sighs into it, boneless and exhausted.
Roman kneels there still, not taking anything from me. Washes my arms with a cloth.
Cups water to pour over my shoulders.
Rinses my hair with care that borders on worship.
And not once does he try to touch me the way he did before.
He just… cares.
When I finally look at him—really look—his expression is calm. Focused. But there’s a tightness in his jaw. A fracture behind the control.
“You think this means something,” I say, voice low.
“Itdoesmean something,” he replies, without missing a beat.
“For you,” I murmur.
He dips the cloth into the water again, wrings it out.
“No, Ivy. Forus.”
After the bath, he dries me gently. Dresses me in silk again. Carries me back to the bed as if I’m something precious, breakable.
I lay still beneath the covers, wrapped in warmth and luxury and something far more suffocating.
Care.
His care.
Roman disappears into the closet. I hear the soft rustle of clothes, the click of a drawer. Then he returns, no longer shirtless. He’s dressed in dark slacks, a cashmere sweater rolled to his elbows. Still barefoot, as if he wants to look comfortable. Approachable.
The illusion works too well.
He brings me tea. Places it on the nightstand. Sits beside me without touching.
Not until I reach for the cup.
Only then do his fingers graze mine.
