Nia Mitchell shot up in bed, her hand flying to her small nose.
"Mmph..."
Maxwell Peary immediately stopped dressing. He picked up a tissue from the bedside, handed it to her, and then effortlessly lifted her from the bed, carrying her toward the bathroom.
"You talk tough, but just look at how honest your body is."
He picked her up, sat her on the washstand, and took a damp towel to wipe her small nose, all the while gently patting her smooth forehead with his wet palm.
"I just have a cold and I'm running a bit hot."
Nia Mitchell defended herself stubbornly while wiping the water trickling down from her forehead.
"Oh, please."
Maxwell Peary lightly tapped her on the forehead.
"You're hopeless."
He couldn't resist poking her forehead. Getting a nosebleed just from looking at her own husband.
The main point was, why hadn't he ever seen her get a nosebleed before?
"I…"
