That was a good question—and Julian actually had an answer. He just didn't say it. Instead, he moved closer and lifted his hand to her face. Alex jerked instinctively, but when he gave her a questioning look, she stilled. His fingers brushed her cheek as he gently pushed her hair aside, revealing a small, fresh cut.
She shivered when his touch lingered, and he showed her the faint smear of blood on his fingertips.
Alex jumped off the bed and hurried to the mirror. "Shit," she muttered under her breath.
"That's fresh," Julian said, watching her rummage through the drawers.
"Yeah. I fell on the stairs when I woke up," she replied casually.
Julian frowned. How hadn't he noticed? He'd been too busy preparing for a fight to see she was actually hurt. A small pang of guilt twisted in his chest—strange and unfamiliar.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"Duh, maybe something to clean this?" she said dryly.
"Wait." He left the room and returned moments later with a small first aid kit.
Alex chuckled. "This isn't that serious."
Julian ignored her protest and gently guided her back onto the bed. Sitting beside her, he opened the kit and began cleaning the wound with cotton and spirit.
"Why are you making such a big deal out of this? It's just—ouch!" she hissed when the spirit stung.
"It doesn't matter," he murmured without looking up. "My wife can't have a single scratch on her."
Alex glanced at him, almost smiling. There was sincerity in his voice—something she didn't expect. But she couldn't resist teasing him.
"Really, Blackwood? What about the scars I had before I became your wife?"
He looked up, his eyes unreadable. "If they can't be erased, then I'll bear them like my own."
Alex blinked. She studied him closely. Just minutes ago, this same man had handed her a ridiculous list of marriage rules, but now he was treating her wound and saying something… unexpectedly beautiful. He was impossible to figure out—one moment a jerk, the next, someone she almost liked.
"Why are you staring at me?" he asked.
She snapped out of her thoughts and looked away quickly. "I wasn't staring. I was just—thinking. Thanks, by the way."
Julian grunted a short reply, tossed the used cotton into the bin, and sat back down beside her.
"And now that you know I wasn't trying to attack you?" he prompted.
Alex considered snapping back, but instead sighed. "I'm sorry."
He smiled, pleased—but the smile faded as fast as it came.
"What now?" she asked, noticing his sudden frown.
"I'm hungry, that's what," he muttered.
She chuckled. "Do you always eat this early?"
"Yeah, but it's not that early anymore, is it?" he replied dryly.
"Hey, don't blame me. If you wanted me to cook something for you, you should've asked."
His lips curved into a sly grin. "If I had, would you have done it?"
Alex tilted her head. "Yeah—probably not. But still, cooking would make it seem like we're in a real marriage."
"And you don't pretend," he said simply. "I get it."
Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten. It sounded too calm, too accepting.
"Instead of seeing it as pretending," he added quietly, "why not see it as trying to get along?"
She eyed him suspiciously. "Hmm. That's cunning of you, Blackwood—but fine. I'll cook. Only when I feel like it."
Julian nodded. "Acceptable."
"Uh-uh," she said quickly. "Don't even think about it. I don't feel like it now."
Julian looked mildly disappointed. Alex thought for a moment. "How about toast and eggs?"
He considered. "No side dishes?"
She rolled her eyes. "Side dishes? What are you, royalty?"
He smirked. "Probably. Maybe a pastry?"
Alex groaned. "Pastries take forever, and they're not side dishes."
"They are for me."
She laughed. "You're impossible. Fine, make do with toast and eggs for breakfast, and I'll cook something fancy for lunch. Deal?"
Julian nodded. "Deal."
"Perfect." She rose from the bed and headed to the kitchen.
By the time she finished, Julian was already waiting by the door, arms folded. Alex carried the plates toward the dining room, but he stopped her.
"That's not necessary. I'll eat here."
Who was she to argue? She set the plates on the kitchen table. He was surprised when she grabbed a plate for herself.
"What?" she asked. "I'm hungry."
"You already ate pancakes this morning," he said accusingly.
"So? I'm still hungry. And how did you even know I had pancakes?"
He shrugged. "It was obvious. The smell practically tortured me. I have a thing with food."
Alex smiled despite herself. "Noted."
They ate in a comfortable silence. When they finished, Alex washed the dishes before he could even finish his tea. They left the kitchen together, their earlier tension replaced by a quiet calm.
"So, what now?" Julian asked as they sat in the living room, both pretending to watch the TV.
Alex yawned. "I think I'm gonna go to bed. I'm really tired."
He studied her for a moment—her drooping eyelids, the faint exhaustion in her voice. "Come on," he said softly.
She followed him upstairs and collapsed onto the bed. Julian tucked her in before heading to his own room. Sleep didn't come easily, so he called the office.
"Hello, boss," came his PA's cheerful voice.
"How's work?"
"Everything's fine, sir. Nothing to worry about."
"What's on my schedule?"
"Nothing, boss. Mrs. Blackwood called. She cleared your calendar. We all want you to rest."
Julian groaned. His mother could be infuriating. "Are you sure everything's fine?"
"Of course, sir. Have a nice holiday!"
Julian hung up, glaring at the ceiling. A whole day with nothing to do—and a wife he barely understood. This was going to be a long three days.