Chapter 379

[ 1,086 words ]

Julian’s POV

“Following orders,” I said, setting her down carefully on the edge of the tub, testing the water once more with my wrist before helping her in. “Aiden has assigned missions for the day. I am currently on mission one p>

She let out a small, tired laugh, the sound of it easing something in my chest that had not fully settled since the night before.

“Missions,” she said.

“Very detailed ones,” I said. “There is a notebook p>

I helped her settle into the water, keeping my movements slow and careful, mindful of everything Dr. Park had told me about how fragile she still was after the night before and how important it was that she rest and not exert herself in any way. I washed her hair gently, working the shampoo through in slow, careful passes, and she leaned back against the edge of the tub with her eyes closed, some of the tension I had watched build in her shoulders over the past weeks finally starting to loosen.

“You do not have to do this,” she said quietly, though she made no move to stop me.

“I want to,” I said. “Let me take care of you today. Just today p>

She did not argue further.

When I finally helped her out and wrapped her in a warm towel, guiding her back to bed, Aiden was waiting outside the door, practically vibrating with the effort of standing still.

“Is she clean?” he asked immediately.

“Very clean,” I said.

“Good,” he said, satisfied, then leaned around me to look at his mother properly, his whole face softening the moment he saw her settled against the pillows. “Mommy, you have to rest. The doctor said. And you cannot touch your phone. That is mission two, and I am in charge of enforcing it p>

“Enforcing it,” Katia repeated, amused despite herself.

“Yes,” Aiden said solemnly. “I already hid it in the drawer p>

I glanced at Katia, who looked equally startled and impressed by this development, and could not quite keep the smile off my face.

“He takes his responsibilities seriously,” I said.

“Clearly,” she said.

Aiden climbed up onto the bed beside her, careful the way he had been the night before, and pressed a small, carefulkiss to her cheek before scrambling back down.

“I am going to help Daddy make you food now,” he announced. “Do not move p>

“I will try my best, General,” Katia said, watching him go with an expression so full of quiet love that I found myself standing there a moment longer than necessary, just watching her watch him, before Aiden’s voice called impatiently from the hallway, already moving on to mission three.

In the small kitchenette attached to the suite, Aiden pulled a chair over to the counter and climbed up onto it without being asked, positioning himself directly beside the cutting board like a chef awaiting instruction.

“What are we making?” I asked.

“Soup,” he said immediately. “Because it is soft and easy for her tummy. And rice. Not spicy rice, the plain kind. Because spicy makes people sick, and Mommy is already sick enough p>

I raised an eyebrow at the confidence behind this diagnosis.

“Did you read that somewhere too?” I asked.

“I know things,” he said, with the wounded dignity of someone who felt his expertise was being unfairly questioned.

We worked together for the better part of an hour, Aiden directing operations with a seriousness that would have made half the executives at WEG uncomfortable, insisting the vegetables be cut smaller so they would be easier to swallow; insisting the broth needed more time on low heat because his teacher once said patience made food taste better; and insisting on carrying the tray himself even though it was clearly too heavy for him, until I finally convinced him to let me carry the actual tray while he carried the smaller plate of sliced fruit beside it, which he accepted only after negotiating for several minutes about which of us had the more important job.

When we returned to the bedroom, Katia was sitting up against the pillows exactly where we had left her, the phone still safely hidden in the drawer, though I noticed she had been staring at the drawer with a longing expression that suggested mission two was proving more difficult to enforce than mission one had been.

“Food,” Aiden announced, setting his plate down with exaggerated care on the nightstand. “Soup and rice. Not spicy. And fruit for after p>

“Thank you,” Katia said, and I watched her throat work for a moment before she managed to say it again, quieter. “Thank you both p>

Aiden climbed up onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle the tray, and watched with intense focus as she took the first spoonful of soup, waiting for some kind of verdict.

“Good,” she said.

“I helped make it,” Aiden said. “Daddy cut the vegetables wrong the first time, and I had to fix it p>

“I did exactly what you told me to do,” I said.

“You cut them too big,” Aiden said, unmoved. “I fixed it p>

Katia laughed, a real laugh this time, warmer than the tired one from the bathroom, and something in my chest settled at the sound of it, the same way it had settled every time I had heard it since we landed in this city.

She finished most of the soup under Aiden’s watchful supervision, ate a few pieces of fruit at his insistence that she needed the vitamins, and finally, when her eyes began drifting shut again despite her clear effort to stay awake and keep talking to him, Aiden climbed down off the bed without complaint and gathered the empty dishes onto the tray himself.

“She needs to sleep now,” he said to me, quietly, the seriousness returning to his voice, though softer now, less like a general and more like a boy who genuinely understood, in whatever way a child could, that something important was happening in that bed and he wanted to protect it.

“She does,” I agreed.

I carried the tray out while Aiden pulled the blanket up over Katia’s shoulders himself, tucking the edges in with careful, deliberate movements, and pressed one more small kiss to her forehead before following me quietly out of the room, pulling the door most of the way shut behind him.

“Mission accomplished,” he whispered, once we were safely in the hallway.

“Mission accomplished,” I agreed, and meant it more than he probably understood.

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