My Peace (Beautifully Broken 5)

“Mr. Tate, you’re changing the subject. I really think you should rest.”

“And I really think you shouldn’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I’m fine.”

“You have a full schedule tomorrow.”

“And how would you know about that?”

“Sasha sends me your schedule every evening for the following day. It’s how your grandfather did it.”

“Huh. So if I forget something, I can ask you?”

“Exactly.”

“That will come in handy,” I admit. “What do I have tomorrow?”

“You have a meeting with Peter at eight a.m.”

I picture Peter’s stern face and pinched nose.

&nbs

p; “Fuck.”

“So, bed then?” she asks brightly, holding out her hand to help me up. I growl at her, but she’s right. I sigh.

“Yeah.”

She hefts me out of the car, and I even lean on her a little as we climb the handful of stairs leading out of the garage. My leg feels heavy and awkward, and I almost use her as a crutch. Something about her feels familiar, and it makes me comfortable. I can’t put my finger on it.

We’re just coming through the doorway when Mila bumps into us.

She’s wearing a robe, her hair is disheveled, and she’s horrified.

And that’s when I realize how this must look.

12

Chapter Eleven

Mila

I stare aghast at my husband, who is walking arm in arm with our new house-keeper out of a darkened garage. She’s wearing a robe, and he’s wearing a t-shirt and underwear.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Pax says quickly, and my heart… it thumps so loudly in my chest that I think he can probably hear it.

“No?” I ask, and my lips seem to be frozen.

“No,” Natasha stammers. “I just knew Mr. Tate was up, and so I went to check on him, and…”

“You went to check on him in the garage?” I ask, and I know I sound cold, but the girl is still holding onto my husband’s arm. She sees my gaze and releases him.

“Yes, m’am,” she acknowledges. “In the garage.”

“I was sitting in Danger,” Pax tells me, and I think he actually looks pale. “I was listening to the radio. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to wake you. And why are you out of bed?”

“Because you were gone,” I tell him evenly. “And you didn’t come back. I waited for an hour, and then decided to come looking for you.”

“God, I’m sorry, babe,” he tells me and he touches my arm. I back away.