If he had known she'd pull something like that, he would have just let her crash into him.
Reading the dark expression on his face, Lizetta knew exactly what he was thinking.
She frantically yanked the blanket up to cover her legs and glared at him.
"You better be glad you dodged. If you let that woman touch you and taint you while I'm right here in the room, I'd actually roll over in my grave and wake up just to yell at you!"
Remington looked up, gently tapping her forehead in fond exasperation.
"Stop talking nonsense."
He hated hearing her joke about dying.
Lizetta laughed, catching his hand in hers.
"Alright, alright, stop frowning. If you don't press on it, I don't even feel it. Plus, you ripped her off me instantly. I heard her crash into that table—she hit it hard. You already got my revenge."
Whatever damage Stella took from hitting that table was definitely worse than this little bruise.
But to Remington, it wasn't nearly enough. His eyes darkened as he placed Ron onto the mattress.
"I'm going to get some ointment."
He turned on his heel and walked out before she could argue. Lizetta opened her mouth to tell him not to bother—the bruise would probably fade by tomorrow anyway—but she stopped herself.
Ever since she woke up, Remington had treated her like spun glass. If letting him apply some cream eased his guilt and made him feel better, she would let him.
She turned her attention back to Ron, tickling him playfully.
"Did you miss me? Can you say my name? Say 'Liz.' Liz~"
Lizetta exaggerated the shape of her mouth, trying to get him to mimic her.


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