Chapter 32 Treating Him
It's so late that even Ann has gone to bed, and waking her at her age would be too much.
And there Arthur stood in the entryway, looking absolutely disheveled, clearly in serious need of someone to take care of him.
Aria sighed in resignation.
"Can you handle this yourself?"
Arthur tried to lift his left arm, his brow furrowing tight, which pulled at the wound on his right arm and made it hurt even more.
"Do I look like I can handle this myself? There's still glass in my back, and I can't see it."
Aria pressed her lips together.
Fine.
"Go to the bathroom first," she sighed in resignation. "Take off those dirty clothes. We need to rinse the wounds."
Arthur didn't move, just looked at her with that infuriating smile that made Aria want to punch him.
"My hands don't work. How am I supposed to take them off?"
Aria glared at him. "Arthur, don't push your luck."
"I'm injured," he emphasized loudly, with a rather shameless tone. "And I got hurt protecting you!"
Aria took a deep breath. "Fine, I'll help you."
She stood in front of him and reached out to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt.
Her fingertips inevitably touched the skin of his chest—warm, almost hot.
She could feel his muscles tense instantly, and his breathing suddenly become heavier.
Button by button came undone, the bloodstained shirt fell open on both sides, revealing his well-built upper body.
The bloody wounds were now fully visible before her.
Especially the wound on his back—long and deep, with reddened, swollen skin around it, and tiny glass fragments embedded inside.
Aria's gaze trembled.
Her hands helping him remove his shirt couldn't be more careful, her movements couldn't be more gentle.
Finally, the shirt came completely off and was tossed aside.
Arthur stood before her, bare-chested. The light cast a golden glow on his body, and somehow the wounds and bloodstains took on a strange intensity.
Aria suddenly felt her ears grow hot. She coughed awkwardly and looked away.
"Let's go to the bathroom."
"My pants aren't..."
Before he could finish, Aria shot him a fierce glare, and he had to swallow the rest of his words.
The two went upstairs one after the other and entered the master bedroom's bathroom.
The bathroom was large, and even the lighting was much brighter than downstairs.
Aria turned on the faucet and adjusted the water until it felt right, then said, "Turn around."
Arthur obediently turned his back to her. The water flowed over his tense back muscles, running down along the hollow of his spine and his waistline in pale red streams.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"It's okay," Arthur's voice sounded a bit muffled. "Of course, it would be even better if you could help me take off my pants while you're at it."
Aria ignored him.
Once most of the blood was rinsed off and the glass fragments were washed away, she turned off the water and picked up a clean soft towel, dampened it, and wrung it out.
"This might hurt a bit. Bear with it."
The towel dabbed at the wound. Arthur's muscles tensed, and his breathing grew heavier.
The bathroom filled with steam, the air hot and humid. Somehow, Aria noticed her own breathing had become much rougher too.
Despite how busy Arthur usually was, he'd clearly spent time managing his physique.
Broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular chest, well-defined abs, tight and smooth muscle lines.
She swallowed, trying not to look at those things, keeping her eyes focused only on the wounds.
But even so, she couldn't control her flushed cheeks and racing heart.
After a while, the moisture on his body was dried.
She said, "Okay, let's go out. I'll apply medicine for you."
This process needs no further description. In the car earlier, it had been just a quick patch-up job, too hasty.
But now, applying the medicine was much more meticulous. She didn't miss a single wound, carefully applying ointment to each one. Then Aria took the bandages and practically wrapped Arthur's entire upper body.
When the treatment was finished, Aria let out a long breath, a thin layer of sweat forming on her forehead.
Looking at the time again, it was already past the middle of the night.
She packed up the first aid kit, left a quick "Rest well," and was about to leave when Arthur called out to her.
"It's so late, you're still going back?"
Aria said irritably, "I'm going to the guest room." She paused, then added in an almost mocking tone, "You don't actually expect me to lie in the same bed with you, do you?"
What would be wrong with that?
These words surged to Arthur's lips but ultimately weren't spoken aloud.
He switched to a more tactful approach.
"The guest rooms haven't been tidied up yet, so you should..."
Aria wasn't buying it at all. "No need to tidy up. My things are still here anyway."
Arthur could only fall silent.
-
Aria had been busy for half the night and was exhausted.
Especially with some cold symptoms, she fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
She slept for a long time and was woken up by hunger.
No choice—she was pregnant. The slightest bit of hunger made her stomach unbearably uncomfortable.
When she got up and checked the time, it was almost noon.
After washing up and going downstairs, Arthur was already sitting in the dining room, changed into a black short-sleeved shirt. Only the bandages wrapped around his left arm showed beneath the sleeve, looking quite conspicuous.
Ann was busy in the kitchen. Seeing her come down, she smiled and said, "Mrs. Grant, you're up? Mr. Grant just woke up too."
"I've prepared pasta, and the roast will be ready soon. Is there anything special you'd like to eat, Mrs. Grant?"
"Anything's fine. I'm so hungry."
Soon, the food was ready and brought to the table.
Arthur glanced at Aria, watching her eat mouthfuls of pasta and meat. His face remained impassive as he struggled to grip the fork with just his index and middle fingers, carefully trying to scoop up some pasta.
Predictably, before the pasta reached his mouth, it scattered all over the table.
He deliberately made some noise.
Aria looked at him but said nothing, silently eating her own food.
Arthur tried again and cried out in pain, as if he'd pulled at his wound. "Didn't you see? I can't lift my hand."
Aria looked up. "Yeah, I saw. What do you want?"
"Feed me," Arthur said. "After all, I got hurt protecting you."
This line really worked every time. No matter how much Aria didn't want to deal with him, she could only obediently pick up the fork, scoop up some pasta, and bring it to his mouth.
Only then was Arthur satisfied. He opened his mouth and ate, but his eyes never left her.
His gaze was too direct. Aria felt uncomfortable under his stare. When feeding him the second spoonful, her movement was a bit quick and nearly poked his chin.
"Slow down," Arthur swallowed, saying leisurely, "It's hot."
Aria forked up some meat, blew on it, and brought it to his mouth.
Arthur simply found a comfortable position and leaned back in his chair.
"Actually, you do care about me, don't you?" He smiled, looking at Aria.