Page 48 of Anton's Grace

“Yes,” I said, kneeling on the bed beside her. “You were burning up with fever. I had to put you in cold water to help break it. Okay?” I asked, gesturing at the hypospray.

She nodded. “Thanks.”

I performed the injection then went to fetch her some water. “Here, drink this. You need to stay hydrated.”

Her grateful smile brightened the room. She drank it all down without pause. I almost told her to slow down. Eyelids drooping, Grace handed me the empty glass. I got back in bed and cradled her body against mine. She stiffened and opened her mouth as if to say something but was too lethargic. The injection probably contained a sedative.

“Sleep, Grace. We’ll talk later.”

She mumbled something before falling asleep again.

It was a little before six a.m. I didn’t need to be up for another couple of hours. When I woke next, I would cancel or postpone everything on my schedule. Too much happened in the past few weeks, and especially the past couple of days. I needed to reassess my situation.

Things that used to mean everything to me – honor, clan, acceptance – didn’t matter all that much anymore. William’s voice echoed in my mind.

“Even now, light years away, Braxia is still fucking with your life.”

And it was. For a smart man, it seemed stupid that I always accepted this as normal. Something had changed. I had changed.

No. I am changing.

More importantly, I couldn’t go back. Even though the uncertainty of what lay ahead scared me, I didn’t want to go back. Thankfully, I had five months to figure it all out. I looked down at Grace’s beautiful face as her head lay on my shoulder.

“I love when he’s affectionate like that. It makes me want to stay with him forever.”

“I will be,” I whispered. “From now on, I will always be.”

Sleep eluded me, but that was fine; I was used to functioning on minimal rest. Images of us dancing together replayed in my head and kept me company. By eight, I was up and about. First order of business; getting rid of that pet cushion. When I first acquired it, I convinced myself it was to put Grace in her place, humiliate her. But the truth was I feared her. The emotions she stirred within my soul terrified me. I avoided kissing her and refused to cuddle in a vain attempt to fight my attraction to her. The shame over my inability to resist the woman I should hate largely fueled my excessive brutality towards her. That knowledge burned like acid in my gut.

Pulling away from those somber thoughts, I cleared my schedule and canceled Grace’s training with Romero. Another two hours later, Grace’s eyes fluttered open. She squinted at me when I ordered her to remain in bed and brought her breakfast. Per my instructions, the cook prepared her a typical human breakfast she particularly liked; blueberry and walnut pancakes dripping with syrup and a mountain of fresh fruits with Chantilly cream. The pleasure I derived simply watching her devour the food struck me as odd. Once she finished, I carried her to the bathroom for her bath. The baffled look on her face made me chuckle.

“How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts. My neck is stiff and hurts a bit too. I’m feeling a little drowsy.”

Even sick and pale, Grace was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. From her frown and the way she studied my face, she clearly didn’t understand my behavior.

“I can bathe myself you know?” Grace said, bewildered.

“I know.”

“So… why are you?”

I shrugged. “Because you’re sick, and I want to.”

Her lips parted as if to question me further, but she frowned and leaned back in the tub. From the way she observed me, I could tell she expected me to grope her while bathing her. Keeping my touches gentle but clinical, I made quick work of washing her. As a selfish treat, I took extra time with her hair. Her confused look was comical.

I wrapped her in a Braxian-sized fluffy towel. It swallowed her slender body like a blanket. She remained stiff in my arms as I carried her to the bedroom. Her eyes drifted to the corner where her cushion used to sit. She stared up at me, blinking. I sat her at the edge of the bed and finished drying her off. Chewing on her bottom lip, Grace raised her arms to help me slip a sheer nightgown over her head. The silken fabric whispered against her skin. I didn’t bring her underwear – a man could only change so much.

Using a soft brush, I proceeded to untangle her hair. I loved her long, soft, and lustrous hair. I often wished to be planet-side with her to watch it swirl around her in the wind with the sun glowing through it. Would it bring out the reddish tinge even more?

“Wha… where’s my cushion?” Grace asked, bringing me out of my musing.

That wasn’t the question she intended to ask. Though she lowered her eyes as she spoke, I didn’t miss the glimmer of fear.

She’s afraid to say something that will anger me.

Shame and remorse clawed at me from within. It hit me how distant she had remained while I fed her, bathed her and even now as I brushed her hair. Before, every time I showed kindness or took care of her, she blossomed under my touch and looked at me with devotion. Grace always hungered for affection. That vulnerability touched something within me. I understood too well wanting to be loved and cared for. But today, she had a guarded look in her eyes and was closing herself off to me.

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