CHAPTER 177
The water was relentless against the smooth tile, the steam so thick it turned the edges of the shower into a blurred limbo.
Lucian stood directly under the spray, his head bowed and his hands braced against the stone wall. The water was hot enough to turn his skin a localized shade of crimson, but he didn't seem to feel the scald.
He remained motionless, Isabella watched him through the shifting veil of mist. Usually, their silence was a comfortable space where words weren't needed.
But today, the silence was a bit heavy by the lingering tension of the East Wing and the metallic tang that still seemed to haunt the back of her throat.
She picked up the sponge while stepping into the direct path of the spray. When she pressed the lathered mesh against his shoulder, he didn't flinch, but she felt the muscle beneath the skin ripple and lock into a defensive line.
