I know the woman standing across the room from me is Tessa Lulach, but I barely recognize her. The woman I met ten days ago was dying. But this woman ... this woman is thriving. Her skin has lost its yellow tinge, and the whites of her eyes are actually white like they’re supposed to be.

My liver did this. My liver gave this woman pink cheeks and clear eyes.

That realization brings a huge smile to my face. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so big, not even when a wave pulled down Marco’s swim trunks on a public beach a few years ago. I warned him the water was too rough, but he ignored his wise older brother. The whole world got a peek at Marco’s junk, and for a while, his nickname was Prince Prick.

Better him than me.

“Hi,” Tessa says.

“Hello. I was just thinking about you.”

I give myself a mental slap on the forehead. I had no intention of admitting that, but the words slipped past my lips anyway.

I don’t want Tessa to know I’ve thought about her almost incessantly since I met her. I think a lot about those moments just before the hospital staff wheeled us into surgery ... when she reached for my hand. Every time I think about it I get a weird feeling in my chest. 

“Mind if I join you?” she asks.

I wave my hand. “Please, do.”

With her fingers wrapped around the IV pole, she slowly moves forward. Intent on helping her, I rise from my chair. I feel only a slight pull across my stomach where the incisions are.

I’m still receiving intravenous morphine to manage my pain. It was pretty bad for the first three days, but it’s much better now.

Grabbing my own IV pole, I make my way to her as quickly as I can. As I get closer, I notice her hair, a gleaming mix of auburn and bronze waves. There aren’t a lot of redheaded Alsanians. Most of us have dark hair.

When I reach her side, I’m surprised by how short she is. I don’t know why I thought she’d be taller, but the top of her head is even with my pecs. 

“Let me help you,” I say.

She looks up at me. For the first time, I realize her eyes are green like the olives I prefer in my dirty martinis. They’re pretty—her eyes, not the olives.

“Thanks,” she replies. “The walk down here was a little more strenuous than I thought it would be.”

Her honesty is refreshing. In my opinion, it takes a lot of strength to admit to weakness. I spent five years in the military with people who refused to do so, mostly because they were afraid of how others would react.

Making sure to avoid Tessa’s upper stomach—I assume she has the same scar that I do—I gingerly hook my arm around her, just a little below her waist. She feels tiny under her thick robe, and I wonder if she’s normally petite or if she lost weight because of her illness.

I make a mental note to ask Mena about Tessa’s eating habits. I want to make sure she’s receiving the right amount of calories and optimum nutrition. Of course, the nurse won’t tell me anything about her patient because it violates Alsania’s health privacy laws.

When I finally came around after the surgery, my first thought was of Tessa. To my frustration, no one would tell me anything.

I’m not used to people denying me anything, especially not information. I was on the verge of calling the minister of health to demand answers when Mena told me about her neighbor, an adorable florist whose car broke down. The nurse said it took a while to find the right replacement part, but now the woman’s car is running again.

At first I was baffled and annoyed by Mena’s inane chatter. But then I realized what she was really telling me, and I became incredibly interested in everything her neighbor said and did.

“How are you feeling?” Tessa asks.

“Surprisingly good, given that my liver is half the size it was. How ’bout you?”

“So much better,” she answers with a smile.

“You look better.”

And again, the words slipped out without me meaning to say them. It must be the drugs.

Her smile widens. “No more Dijon mustard?”

Returning her smile, I say, “No more Dijon mustard.”

After a moment, I realize we’re just standing there, staring at each other and smiling like fools. Definitely the drugs.

“Do you want to play a game?” she asks.

My eyebrows draw together. “A game?”

She points toward the stack of board games. I can’t remember the last time I played anything other than poker, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.

I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”

After getting Tessa settled at the round table in the corner, I stop in front of the selection of board games. They look new—like no one has ever played them.

“What do you want to play?” I ask her.

“I should probably warn you...”

I glance toward her. “Warn me?”

Her lips lift into a teasing smile. “I’m really competitive, and I always win.”

“Always?” I repeat doubtfully.

“Always.”

“You play a lot of board games?”

She nods. “Every Tuesday is family game night.”

“Sounds fun.”

From what I’ve witnessed, Tessa’s family is close-knit. Her parents and sister have been regular visitors over the past week. My parents and Marco have visited too. Apparently, they wore hats and snuck in the back to prevent anyone from seeing them.

I bring my attention back to the games. There’s no Monopoly, Risk, or Clue.

“I don’t recognize any of these.”

“What are our options?”

I slide the top box off the stack. “Run, Fight, or Die,” I read aloud.

“Oh, I like that one. The goal is trying to survive the zombie apocalypse. You move from location to location, trying to amass food and weapons.”

I shake my head, wondering why the entire world is enthralled with zombies. They’re scientifically impossible.

“No zombies.” I shove the box back on top of the stack and grab the one below. “What’s Pandemic?”

“I like that one too,” Tessa says. “It’s more collaborative than competitive because you and the other players are trying to save the world from four viruses that have broken out. The goal is to find the cures.”

I shake my head and return Pandemic back to the stack. “During the most recent Ebola outbreak, I attended meetings with the World Health Organization to prepare Alsania for a pandemic. That’s not a game I want to play.”

“Since you’ve done the real thing, you have a better chance of winning the game,” she points out.

I pick up a square box, hoping it has a more enjoyable premise than the end of mankind as we know it. “Have you played Hive?”

“Yes. It’s like a simpler version of chess. The objective is to surround your opponent’s queen bee without jeopardizing your own.”

As I flip the box over, I say, “You have an unfair advantage since you’ve played these games before.”

Tessa’s husky laugh makes me want to smile. “Are you a bad loser, Leo?”

Other than my family, no one ever calls me by my given name. Suddenly, all I can think about is Tessa whispering Leo into my ear ... calling out Leo when I make her come.

I shake my head, stunned and appalled by the direction of my thoughts. Inside my thin pajama pants, my cock begins to thicken.

What the hell?

Am I really getting hard over Tessa—a woman who was on the verge of death just days ago? She doesn’t look sick now, but still...

It’s true I haven’t been with anyone in a long time—more than a year. Regardless, my response is more than a little extreme. Maybe it’s a side effect of the pain meds? I’ll have to ask Mena about them when I get back to my room.

Playing a game with Tessa suddenly sounds like a bad idea. I return Hive to the bookcase.

“What about Scrabble?” She snickers. “I won’t have an unfair advantage since you can spell.”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to play. I’m going back to my room.”

As I start toward the hallway, Tessa calls out, “Wait!”

I ignore her plea, but then she says something I can’t ignore. “Leo, I need...”

Stopping in my tracks, I look over my shoulder. “What?” 

“I...” She rises from the chair, a grimace of pain flickering over her face. “I need to tell you...”

“What?” I ask impatiently.

“Thank you.” Her hand clenches around the IV pole. “Thank you for saving my life. You have my undying gratitude.”

Gratitude. That’s the last thing I want from her. I want something else entirely.

But even a prince can’t get what he wants all the time.