A R I A N A

Dante smirked, running a hand through his damp hair. "Like what you see, wife?"

I nearly dropped the tray. "Does being sick make you cheeky?" I muttered, marching inside before he could see how red my face was.

I set the tray on the bedside table with more force than necessary. "Eat, then take your medicine."

Dante didn't move from his spot. "Feed me."

I gaped at him. "What?"

"You heard me." He folded his arms, making his biceps bulge. "I'm ...