Chapter 18

Alistair’s POV

I couldn’t sit still. I paced the length of the sunlit drawing room, mind churning with worry. The bathroom door at the far end stood unwaveringly shut, and every second of silence felt like an eternity. She’d been in there nearly twenty minutes—far too long for someone her size to bathe. Was she crying again? My chest tightened at the thought. I hated that I couldn’t be there to comfort her.

I circled once more, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The morning light filtered through the sheer drapes, tracing golden patterns on the Persian rug beneath my feet. I glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Ten minutes. Fifteen. My heart thudded louder with every tick of the second hand. She shouldn’t take this long. What if she slipped in the tub, or worse, retreated into tears? I stepped closer to the door, my fist twitching in midair. But I told myself to be patient—she might just be lost in thought.

Finally, a gentle click. The do