Page 7 of Awakened On Her Royal Wedding Night
Maybe the scrapes could be covered with makeup, she thought wildly. As the water soaked through the bandages, she peeled them away, finding long red streaks and skin scraped raw. It would scab even worse before it healed.
The soap stung like living hell, but she scrubbed anyway, trying to erase the scratches and scuffs with the fluffy white cloth only to stain the soft cotton with fresh blood.
Would the pageant even pay to fly her home? Francois would probably accuse her of walking away and disqualify her. He’d been furious when she had fought off his advances.
“Do you want to win or don’t you?”
What should she do? Report him? Who would believe a prince had left her to die in the open sea?
She cringed, realizing that even if she could convince anyone she’d been on his speedboat at all, he would only turn it around and claim she had come aboard intent on seducing him to try and win the pageant. That she was a cheater. How had she been sostupid?
“Claudine.” There was a firm knock.
She ignored him and kept scrubbing.
“Stop that.” Felipe entered. “You’re making it worse. Stop, Claudine.Stop.”
He came right into the shower, ignoring the rain of the spray that soaked his clothes and landed on his gold watch. He snapped off the taps and stole the cloth from her hand, throwing it to the floor with a plop. Then he stepped away and reached for a towel. He shook it out and wrapped it around her trembling body, seeming to take no notice of the fact she was absolutely naked.
As he had done on the beach last night, he easily picked her up and carried her to the bench where he left her soggy and bedraggled and freshly bleeding.
“Give her new bandages,” he said irritably as he walked out.
Claudine swallowed a lump in her throat. She was so irrationally bereft at his leaving she almost called out for him to come back.
A man she presumed was the nurse, since he wore scrubs and carried a tray of tape and bandages, used a second towel to dab her shoulders and arms and face and feet. He was efficient and kind, covering each of her injuries again, then offering a comb before saying, “I’ll fetch a clean gown.”
As she struggled to work the tangles from her hair while keeping her towel in place, he returned with a clean, dry hospital gown and an over-the-counter headache tablet.
“Would you like help dressing?” he asked after she had swallowed the pill.
“She can wear these.” Felipe arrived wearing a dry shirt and fresh trousers. He carried a pair of silk pajama bottoms in dark green with a plain, navy blue T-shirt. “It’s good you’re almost as tall as I am. Leave us. I’ll help her.”
The nurse closed the door behind him.
Felipe lowered to one knee as he began to thread the pajama bottoms up her calves and thighs. “Stand,” he ordered.
With a small catch of her breath, she did, bracing a hand on his shoulder to hold her balance.
He pushed the waistband the rest of the way up, reaching under the towel with that same dispassionate expression. He stood and lifted the drape of the towel to tie the drawstring, then gathered the T-shirt and slipped it over her wet head. He guided one arm and the other through the sleeves then waited for the shirt to fall down and cover her chest before he dragged the towel away.
“My slippers.” He set them in front of her bare feet. “Now we’ll eat breakfast. I sense you’re the type who is grumpy until you’ve had your coffee.”
He wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t why she shuffled so resentfully behind him, wincing with every step.
The warm shower and moving around, along with the tablet, were gradually easing some of the ache from her muscles, though.
He took her through an empty ward of a half dozen beds, then past a series of offices where faces glanced up before quickly getting back to whatever they were doing. There was a grand hall of some kind with sunlight streaming in through a dome of colored glass that drew her eyes upward. Stairs curved down from a gallery, but he ignored them. There was a mosaic in the floor beneath their feet, but she didn’t get a chance to study it.
They arrived at a pair of open doors where guards stood sentry. He led her through a small foyer that let onto a parlor, then through a huge, formal dining room.
“Are we there yet?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Soon.” He didn’t even glance back at her, but after passing through a small breakfast room, they finally emerged on a shaded terrace where a table was set for two.
Half a dozen staff hovered, eager to pull out chairs and pour coffee and lift silver lids to reveal poached eggs on beds of chopped peppers with herbs and olives atop toasted bruschetta slices.
Claudine was so hungry she barely made herself wait until Felipe waved an invitation for her to tuck in. Flavors of basil and butter and salt exploded on her tongue. Blood oranges appeared with grapes and fresh figs. She gobbled them down, then chased them with a sweet pastry and a second cup of coffee.
