A few minutes later, breakfast is brought up to our room and placed on a tray table. I’m about to get up, but the look Giselle gives me makes me freeze mid-motion. I pretend I was just shifting to get comfortable.

“At least being injured has its perks,” I murmur when my wife leans down enough to place a tray of food on my lap—and gives me a perfect view of her nightgown's neckline.

“You’re such a pervert,” she scolds, rolling her eyes.

“Not my fault. You came to me, and I may be ...