Stuck with you

Chapter Six

Marcus's POV

I didn't need anyone to tell me whatever was cooking would be delicious — the aroma hit me the moment I stepped into the residence.

The soldiers went their separate ways, a few maids stopping to greet them as they passed.

It was always like this. Tank shifted beside me, and I looked up to see Leah approaching.

She reached us with a smile, pulling her husband into a hug so tight she seemed to forget I was standing right there.

Once she let go, her gaze landed on me. She took my hands. "Well done, Colonel," she said.

I smiled. Leah was one of the strongest, most genuine women I knew.

"Whatever that is, it smells incredible," Tank said, glancing around.

"That would be Kate," Leah said, releasing my hands and looking at me. "She's done well so far, from what I've seen." Maybe she expected me to be surprised. I wasn't.

"Wow," Tank said, clearly impressed.

"Come on, you need a shower so we can celebrate properly," Leah said, pulling her husband close.

"Okay, darling."

They both glanced my way before heading off. I'd expected that too.

"I'll send a maid up to you," Leah called back.

"Don't trouble yourself, Leah — just send her if she's free," I told her, though we both knew exactly who I meant.

"I'll see Kate right away, Marcus," she said, already pulling Tank along with her.

I watched Tank laugh at whatever she'd said. He was happy — genuinely, easily happy. I'd known him my entire life, and some part of me wished I could have what he had.

I suppose my story is different.

I made my way toward the lobby, then up the stairs to my room.

Kate's POV

"You asked for me," I said, standing in front of Colonel Marcus Steele. He sat on the bed, a book in his hands, clearly absorbed in it.

He looked up, setting the book aside. "How was your day?" he asked.

I almost laughed. I couldn't believe he was actually asking.

"Fine," I replied, though it felt strange to say.

For a moment, I let myself believe maybe he'd decided to be a little kinder toward me — his helpless little kitten, as he liked to call me.

"I need my bath ready in five minutes."

It took me a second to catch up to the shift in his tone.

Still the same, I thought.

I brushed a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself.

I ran through everything Leah had taught me about preparing his bath, though the reluctance hadn't fully left me.

Without another word, I turned and headed for his bathroom.

The elaborate setup still irritated me, but I pushed the door open anyway.

I stood in front of the shelves, taking a slow breath before starting.

Bath salts first, I reminded myself, recalling Leah's voice from that morning. Just a small handful — not too much, or it'll irritate his skin. I measured out exactly what she'd shown me and let it dissolve beneath the running tap.

The water. I checked it carefully this time, adjusting the temperature until it sat just below scalding — the way Leah said he preferred it, hot enough to ease tension in his muscles after a long day, but not so hot it would sting.

I left the cologne untouched on its shelf this time, resisting the urge to even look at it too long.

Instead, I found the small glass vial of bath oil Leah had pointed out — sandalwood, understated, nothing like the overwhelming scent I'd drenched the tub in before. Just three drops, swirled gently into the water.

The shaving kit stayed exactly where it belonged, far from the tub, untouched.

I folded two towels the way she'd shown me and set them on the heated rack near the door, waiting for them to warm through properly before laying them within reach of the tub.

When I finally stepped back to look at my work, the bathroom smelled faintly of sandalwood and warmth, steam rising gently off the water's surface — nothing like the chaos of foam and cologne from before.

I allowed myself a small breath of relief.

Maybe I actually did it right this time.

I opened the door to let him know it was ready, half-expecting to be second-guessed, corrected, mocked even. Instead, I found him already waiting nearby, arms crossed, watching the doorway like he half-expected another disaster.

"It's ready," I said, stepping aside.

He walked past me without a word at first, studying the room the way he always seemed to study everything — carefully, missing nothing. He dipped two fingers into the water, testing it.

Smelled the air. Glanced at the towels.

For a long moment, he said nothing at all.

Then, finally: "Better."

Just one word. But something about the way he said it — quiet, almost surprised — settled a strange kind of warmth in my chest, one I didn't fully understand and wasn't sure I wanted to.

"Thank you," I said softly, unsure if I was thanking him or Leah more.

He glanced back at me before I turned to leave, that same unreadable look on his face — the one that always left me with more questions than answers.

"You're learning," he said.

It wasn't much. But somehow, it felt like enough.

I turned to leave, but something made me stop. I looked back at him — he was still there, his gaze fixed on me.

I began to wonder if he wasn't satisfied with the bath after all, though I knew I wasn't going to make another.

Not me, I thought

I started to speak. "Is there…"

"No. You may leave." He cut me off, his tone final.

I decided not to read too much into it and headed out.

_____

Marcus's POV

She stood in front of me the moment I looked up from the book — the same defiance in her posture that I'd noticed since the first day, even now, even after everything.

"You asked for me," she said.

I set the book aside. "How was your day?" I asked, and I caught the flicker of surprise across her face before she could hide it.

"Fine," she answered, though the word came out uncertain, like she wasn't used to being asked at all.

For a moment, I let myself consider it — softening, easing whatever wall I usually kept between myself and the people in this house. But that wasn't why I'd called her here.

"I need my bath ready in five minutes."

I watched something shift in her expression — disappointment, maybe, or just the familiar frustration she always wore whenever I reminded her of what she actually was here to do. She said nothing, just turned and made her way toward the bathroom.

I gave her five minutes. Then I made my way toward the door myself, half-expecting another disaster — cologne in the water again, perhaps, or some other creative failure. Some part of me, I'll admit, almost hoped for it. There was something entertaining about her chaos, even if I'd never say so aloud.

Instead, I found her stepping out to meet me, saying simply, "It's ready."

I walked past her, studying the room the way I studied everything — searching for what was out of place, what had gone wrong. But nothing had.

The water sat at the right temperature. I dipped two fingers in to confirm it. The air held a faint trace of sandalwood — subtle, nothing like the overwhelming mess of cologne from before. The towels were folded properly, warmed on the rack exactly as they should be.

I said nothing for a long moment, unsure, oddly, of what to say at all.

"Better," I finally told her. One word. It was all I trusted myself to give.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and I couldn't tell if the gratitude was meant for me or for whoever had actually taught her this.

I looked at her a moment longer than I should have.

"You're learning," I said.

She turned to leave, but something made her stop. She looked back at me, and I realized I was still watching her, still hadn't looked away.

I could see the question forming before she even spoke it.

"Is there…"

I cut her off before she could finish. "No. You may leave."

She didn't push. She simply turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind her.

I stood there a moment longer, alone with the quiet hum of the water and a feeling I didn't particularly want to name.

This isn't supposed to happen, I thought. Not again. Not after Jane.

But some part of me — quiet, stubborn, inconvenient — was starting to disagree.