Chapter 43

Grace

In the midst of the bustling household and the preparations for the upcoming festival, the one thing I hated more than anything had piled up: laundry. Richard was out of onesies, separates, hats, and everything else that an infant could need. I didn’t even know if there were any bibs and burping blankets left in his drawers.

To be honest, I didn’t want to find out either. I was pretty sure that Cecil was down to two pairs of pants and no shirts, and I only had a bunch of old things from the back of my closet to wear. There was no more avoiding it: I had to do laundry.

With a heavy sigh, I grabbed my basket from my bathroom and headed down the hall t to Cecil’s room for hers, but it was empty. I frowned and shrugged. Maybe she was finally using the chute in her room. It had taken her a while to stop thinking that there were monsters down there that ate dirty laundry.

I chuckled, remembering how she made me promise not to let them eat her favorite tutu skirt. I went to the nursery, but the basket there was empty too. Odd, but maybe Charles had thrown it down the chute? He definitely wasn’t worried about laundry chute monsters. I sighed at the thought of the mountain of dirty clothes waiting for me downstairs and headed down to the ground floor and then into the basement.

As I entered the room, the scent of laundry detergent, freshly dried laundry, and the hum of the dehumidifier I kept down here to help dry hanging clothes filled my senses.

Then, my gaze was drawn to Charles, who was standing near the washer and dryer, shaking out what looked like a shirt. Surprise filled me, leaving me speechless and still in the doorway. This was not a sight I had expected to ever see. I hadn’t even remember telling him where the laundry room was.

Better than that, there wasn’t a pile of clothing waiting for me. The baskets I kept under the chutes from our rooms were all empty. On the folding table across the room were two baskets of neatly folded clothing that looked suspiciously like Cecil and Richard’s clothing, separated by type. The dryer went off, and Charles hummed to himself as he hung up his shirt on the rack near the standing fan with several others. Then, he went back to the dryer and opened the door, squatting down like it was the most normal thing.

And it was.

Yet, it wasn’t.

I couldn’t say why I couldn’t look away. He was just doing laundry, but my heart was speeding up, and a deep sense of need went through me.

Fuck. Was I getting wet over the sight of him hauling out clothes from the dryer? Maybe the scent of the laundry detergent was making me crazy, but there was something strangely captivating about the way he engaged in such an ordinary task, an alluring blend of strength and gentleness that resonated deeply within me. The image before me was a far cry from the regal Lycan King, and yet, it felt just as fitting.

Husband. Everything in me said.

I cleared my throat, breaking the spell of my silent observation. "Charles?"

He turned toward me, a faint smile touching his lips. "Grace. Didn't expect to find you here."

A soft laugh escaped me, a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Likewise. Laundry duty isn't something I usually associate with you."

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, even kings have to deal with laundry sometimes."

My gaze drifted to the washer, and I couldn't help but notice that one of them was filled with Cecil's tiny clothes.

"You washed Cecil's clothes?" I asked, my voice a mixture of surprise and gratitude.

“The rest of Richard’s are over there,” he said nodding to the folding table, his expression softening. "I noticed they needed washing, and I figured I could help since I was down here."

A genuine smile tugged at my lips as I moved closer to the washer. "Thank you, Charles. That's really kind of you."

He shrugged as if it were nothing. "It's no trouble."

“I really… expected you to have nothing but dry cleaning.”

He snorted. “My suits, maybe, but what about my exercise clothes?”

“Those too.”

He laughed. “What a waste.”

“Do those exist?”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I snickered as I hauled my clothes on top of the washer machine.

As I started to load the other washer machine, an unexpected sense of intimacy enveloped us. Here we were, in the most ordinary of places, sharing a moment of domesticity that felt remarkably intimate.

It struck me that I couldn’t remember Devin ever doing the laundry, though he always complained that I didn’t fold his clothes or sort them.

The sound of the washer’s buzzer broke the spell, and Charles turned his attention back to his task. He retrieved the last batch of clothes from the dryer and put them on the table before coming back to empty the washer of Cecil’s clothes and putting them in the dryer.

"You know," I began, my voice softer than I intended, "I never thought I'd find myself marveling at the sight of clean laundry. You sure you want to go back to your fancy castle?”

Charles chuckled, his eyes meeting mine. "I don’t think you could pay me enough to stick around and do laundry.”

I pouted. “Not even in cookies?”

“Not much of a sweet tooth…” He dragged his gaze over me. “Not exactly.”

I turned my head and let out a nervous laugh. "I’ll admit I've always hated doing laundry. It's one of those chores that never really appealed to me."

"I can't say I blame you. Laundry isn't exactly the most exciting task."

I glanced at the dryer as he threw in a few dryer balls and turned it on. It looked like he was drying every warm-toned thing Cecil owned, from her red socks to her pink tutu skirt.

"When I discovered the magic of washing everything on cold, my whole world grew brighter… so I hope you’re not judging me right now.”

Charles let out a hearty laugh, the sound music to my ears. "No judgement. All that matters is that it’s clean.”

I eyed him and finished loading my clothes before dumping in my usual amount of detergent and setting the cold wash settings.

“Where did you stash George?”

Charles paused for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "He’s out running errands.”

“I can’t believe the Lycan King does his own laundry back in his fancy castle.”

“Well, believe it. My quarters in the castle are more like a spacious penthouse, complete with a washer and dryer… a kitchen too.”

“But you have a private chef?”

He lifted a shoulder. “For special occasions and the rest of the castle, of course. I prefer to keep my personal staff as minimal as possible. It's a matter of privacy and security. The less people involved in my personal matters, the better."

Charles turned, loading the clothes he hadn’t finished folding into his basket. Some of them were folded, but most of them weren’t.

"Well, I should let you carry on,” he said, lifting the basket. "I'll see you later, Grace.”

A nagging suspicion began to claw at the edges of my mind, fueled by the way his demeanor had shifted so abruptly. Usually, he would have at least let me ask what he meant, or offered more information. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. His unfinished pile of clothes was a telltale sign. The fact that he seemed to be planning to leave Richard and Cecil’s baskets down here was another. Maybe he figured I would finish it up, and I would, but that wasn’t like Charles.

Why was he so hasty to leave? I bit my lip, listening to him gather his things. The thought crossed my mind that maybe he was growing distant, that perhaps my own uncertainty about our burgeoning feelings had put him off. But then again, his lingering gaze, the way his eyes met mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, made that unlikely.

That look he’d given me was hot and meaningful but more restrained than usual. My fingers toyed with the edge of a shirt, and I felt a sense of frustration gnawing at me. I wanted to understand. He was a man of complexities, his past and his responsibilities weighing heavily on his shoulders. I knew he had his reasons for guarding his emotions, for keeping a distance, but that didn't make it any less difficult for me to bear.

Just as I was about to muster the courage to approach him and ask what was truly going on, the sound of footsteps reached my ears. Jackson's arrival interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to see him entering the laundry room, his own load of laundry in hand.