CHAPTER 208: THE ACT AND ART OF LOVING YOU

I pulled into the secondary garage, the Aston Martin’s engine purring to a stop. Thomas was already waiting by the door, a team of staff assembling behind him, their expressions a mix of professional alertness and bewildered curiosity at the sheer volume of bags I was personally hauling.

"The chairs have been changed to soft ones, Sir," he informed me, his voice a low hum. "And the kitchen is already preparing the revised breakfast menu."

"Good," I nodded, relief coursing through me. "The herbs?"

"Delivered to your room, sir. And the house temperature is being adjusted as well."

"Excellent." I began walking inside as a few younger footmen quickly moved to unload the car, following me with its content.

*****

ISABELLA’S POV

I sat on the toilet, elbows braced on my knees, staring at the floor tiles like they might give me answers. The cramps twisted low in my belly, sharp but familiar, and the faint sound of Adrien’s voice still echoed in my ears—calm, steady, utterly unbothered.

I should’ve felt humiliated. Instead, I just felt... awkward. Out of place. Like a guest overstaying in her own body.

He’d left in a rush, phone in hand, his tone clipped and decisive—already giving orders about some stuff like this was another corporate crisis. My lips twitched despite myself. Only Adrien Walton could make a period sound like hostile takeover prep.

I shifted, wincing as another wave rolled through. "Herbs," I muttered under my breath. "What’s he going to do, brew me a potion?"

The thought almost made me laugh, but then I caught myself pressing a hand to my stomach, waiting for him. The silence in the bathroom was vast, making me feel smaller and more isolated. My initial embarrassment had cooled into a dull ache of anxiety. What was he doing? Why had he left for so long? Every worst-case scenario flitted through my mind: he was grossed out, he was calling someone to deal with this for him, and he’d decided I was too much trouble.

A moment later, footsteps sounded in the bedroom. After a while, everything went quit.

Then, the bathroom door clicked softly, and I looked up from where I’d been perched on the toilet, knees hugged to my chest.

Adrien filled the doorway, his hair tousled from the early morning wind, carrying not just a large, crinkling paper bag, but also a thick, plush towel he must have pulled from a warmer.

The scent of lavender and something sharp and clean—ginger—filled the space. He didn’t look at me immediately. He simply moved with that cool precision of his, setting the bag down on the marble counter before turning to the enormous, sunken tub and turned the heavy chrome taps. Water rushed into the basin, the sound echoing off the tile.

I watched as he filled it, pouring in herbs from a small linen pouch, steam rising as its scent filled the air. The sharp edge of my cramps seemed to soften just from the scent.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a low murmur beneath the sound of the running water.

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I watched as he tested the water with his wrist, his movements economical and certain. He was building a sanctuary for me, piece by piece, and it was undoing me.

"You didn’t have to do all this," I whispered, gesturing vaguely at the tub, the herbs, at him. "It was my mess. I should have just..."

"Just what?" he prompted, his gaze unwavering.

He shut off the taps, and the sudden quiet was deafening. He walked over to me, stopping so he stood between my knees. He lifted a hand, not to my face this time, but to gently push a stray strand of hair from my shoulder. His touch was feather-light, but it grounded me.

"I told you I want all of you," he said, his voice dropping lower still. "That wasn’t a platitude, Isabella. It wasn’t a line I use when things are easy and clean. It’s for the moments like this. The messy, the human, and the moments you try to hide." He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes closing for a second. "The only thing that distresses me is seeing you in distress. Everything else is just... logistics."

Tears I didn’t know were still there welled up and slipped down my cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away. He just stayed there, sharing my space, my breath, letting me feel it all.

"Why are you like this?" I finally choked out, the question that had been screaming in my mind. "Anyone else would have been... grossed out. Annoyed, at least."

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. A flicker of something dark and old passed through his expression. "Because I grew up in a world where any sign of weakness, any crack in the facade, was a vulnerability to be exploited," he said, his tone flat and cold, a stark contrast to his gentleness with me. "Illness, pain, emotion... they were liabilities. I learned very early that the people who are supposed to care for you are often the first to turn away when things get complicated."

He took a slow breath, the coldness receding as his focus returned entirely to me. "I will never be that person for you. Your pain is not an inconvenience. Your body is not a liability. It’s the home of the woman I..." He stopped, his jaw tightening as if the word was a physical effort. He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. The truth of it hung in the steamy air between us, potent and terrifying and wonderful.

He straightened up, his professional mask sliding partially back into place, though his eyes remained soft. "The bath is ready come on."

"I can do it myself—" I started, but the protest died as he bent and lifted me gently, careful of every movement. He set me down at the tub’s edge, his hands steady even when mine trembled.

"I know you can. Arms up," he said simply.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Adrien—"

He didn’t waver. "You’re in pain. Let me help."

Something in his voice—quiet steel wrapped in tenderness—made resistance pointless. I obeyed, and he stripped me out of my clothes with a clinical sort of care that was somehow more intimate than anything else he’d done.

He lowered me into the water, and the heat wrapped around me instantly, easing the ache in my stomach and legs. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I sank down until the water was up to my chin, the steam curling around my face, my body melting into the fragrant steam.

Adrien knelt beside the tub, then reached into the bag. One by one, he pulled out packages—pads, tampons, liners, even small boxes I didn’t recognize at first glance. He set them neatly on the counter like an array of tools.

"I didn’t know which... products... you preferred," he admitted, a faint hint of color rising on his cheekbones. "So I got everything." His eyes flicked up to mine. "I should’ve known. I should’ve asked. I’m sorry."

I stared at the neatly arranged arsenal of feminine hygiene products, then at him. My lips trembled somewhere between a laugh and a sob as my hands flew up to cover my mouth. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but one born of sheer, overwhelmed tenderness. A strangled giggle escaped against my palms, breaking on a sob. My vision blurred through a fresh layer of tears, but I could still make out the genuine concern etched on his impossibly handsome face.

"Everything?" I managed, my voice a watery whisper. A tiny, hysterical giggle escaped me. "Adrien, did you clear out an entire aisle?"

A faint flush touched his high cheekbones, barely perceptible, but it was there. "It seemed... prudent," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the water swirling around me. "To ensure all contingencies were covered."

I reached out a shaky hand, my fingers brushing against the cool, smooth skin of his wrist. He flinched slightly, a momentary stiffness, before relaxing into my touch. "Boyfriend... it’s fine. Really." I paused. "And you definitely don’t have to apologize. How could you have known?"

"You just called me boy─" He stilled at the word. The air in the room, thick with steam and the scent of lavender and chamomile, seemed to crystallize around us.

His gaze, which had been fixed on the water, lifted slowly to meet mine. The vulnerability I’d seen flash in his eyes earlier was now a raw, open thing. My fingers were still on his wrist, and I could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his pulse quicken against my skin.

A slow, devastatingly soft smile touched his lips, a rare and precious sight that seemed to rewrite the usual stern lines of his face. "Did I?" he asked, his voice a low, wondrous rumble.

My own cheeks flamed, warmer than the bathwater. "I... I suppose you did," I whispered, my thumb stroking a gentle arc over his wrist.

He turned his hand, his fingers sliding between mine, linking us. His grip was firm, real. "Say it again," he murmured, the request not a command but a plea. He brought our joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to my damp knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Boyfriend," I repeated, the word firmer this time, laced with a newfound courage that his reaction had given me.

He made a sound in the back of his throat, a soft, satisfied hum that vibrated against my skin. "I like the sound of that from you." He kissed my knuckles again. "I would love to make it husband though."

My heart thudded once—hard—like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. Husband. The word echoed, loud and impossible, ricocheting off the bathroom tiles.

Hold on.

Wait, what!!?

My mind reeled, a sudden, dizzying lurch that made the comforting warmth of the water feel utterly alien. Husband? The word echoed, loud and impossible, in the sudden silence of the bathroom. I stared at him, my eyes wide, searching for any hint of a jest, a misspoken word, a trick. But Adrien’s gaze was solemn, intense, an open book I was only just learning to read. The same terrifying, wonderful vulnerability was still there, now overlaid with a desperate plea. We’ve been dating for like a month or so...

Oh my goodness is this a movie?

Am I in a fairy tale?

I’ll chalk it up to steam-induced hallucination.

As if he hadn’t said anything, he reached into the bag one last time and dropped a smaller box on the counter. Black panties, simple and soft.

"When you’re done, clothes are on the rack at the far end." His voice had returned to that commanding calm. He reached for the bundle of clothes I’d been wearing earlier, lifting them from the floor. "These—I’ll take care of."

And with that, he left the bathroom, the door shutting softly behind him, leaving me surrounded by steam, lavender, and the faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air.