Catherine didn't have much time to worry about her traitorous cousin. Her stomach cramped, and twisted and dull pain seized her lower back. Her periods were usually painful, but the progesterone seemed to be making this one so much worse. Wrapped in the bedsheets, she climbed out of bed and walked toward the ensuite bathroom.

She walked toward the medicine cabinet under the sink. The marble floors were cold under her knees as she knelt down to look. The shelves were completely empty. She groaned and headed toward the walk-in closet.

And then, Catherine was shocked to find the closet full of clothes. An entire wall was devoted to dresses: cotton sundresses, glittering cocktail dresses, a few gowns with designer tags dangling from the shoulders. She turned to look at the next wall. It was lined with shelves made of glass. Each shelf was lined with shoes, and small light bulbs cast halos on each pair of shoes. She gasped and turned to the third wall: drawers full of shirts and pants, lacy underthings, silk scarves, and glimmering jewelry.

She examined the clothing—looking at the tags to see the size. It was all her size. She checked the shoes and then the bras—they were all her exact size. Even more surprising, they looked like her own clothes. Catherine had never had such an extensive wardrobe, but each of the items was something she would have chosen for herself.

"What kind of man is Sean?" she wondered as she fingered a pink lace bra. "He barely knows me, but he's prepared this fantastic wardrobe for me."

Hope fluttered in her stomach, but she squashed it immediately. Just because he wanted her to look good didn't mean he'd treat her well. Many famous and powerful men enjoyed showing off gorgeous bejeweled wives in public, only to humiliate and torture the wives at home.

After a few minutes, it was clear she wouldn't find a tampon. She dug around in the lingerie drawer looking for a plain, cotton pair of underwear, but everything was made of lace and silk. It seemed a shame to ruin them, so she headed back to the bed—the sheet was already stained.

She rang the PA button on her nightstand, but no one answered. Exhausted and stressed, she collapsed into the bed and drifted off to sleep. She opened her eyes as a horrible pain seized her stomach. She curled into a fetal position as hot bile shot up her throat. The feeling passed, and a large hand stroked her hair, pulling the sweaty strands away from her face.

"Sean?" she asked.

"The servants said you were groaning in your sleep," he said. "What's wrong?"

"It's just my period," she whispered. "It hurts. But I'll be okay later."

"Oh," he said, sounding uncomfortable. "I see."

Without saying another word, he stood up and left the room, leaving Catherine clutching her stomach. Half an hour later, someone knocked at the door.

"Come in," Catherine groaned.

A short, muscular woman with close-cropped black hair marched into the room carrying a large plastic bag. Catherine vaguely recognized the woman as Macy Jeffords, one of Sean's female bodyguards. Her thin eyebrows knitted together in annoyance as she thrust the bag at Catherine.

"Mrs. Blair, this is for you," she said.

Puzzled, Catherine peeked into the bag. She wanted to burst into laughter at what she saw: ten boxes of tampons in different sizes and with different applicators and ten packages of pads in all shapes and sizes. Macy cleared her throat with annoyance.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said. "I really appreciate it, but what kind of woman needs this many tampons and pads?"

For a second, it looked like Macy might crack a smile. She cleared her throat again and said, "Mr. Blair insisted I get every single type—he wasn't sure what you preferred."

"He could have sent a servant to ask me," Catherine said, searching for her usual brand in the bag.

"He insisted that no one bother you," Macy said, looking uncomfortable.

"I see," Catherine said. "Well, thank you. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go clean myself up."

She carried the bulging bag into the bathroom and left it on the floor. She unwrapped the dirtied sheet, balled it up, and tossed it into a corner before stepping into the steaming shower. The warm water blasted her from all her directions, and her aching stomach relaxed. She sighed with relief and wondered about Sean. What kind of man sent his bodyguard to buy his wife tampons in the middle of the night? And what kind of man insisted that the guard buy every possible kind.

She smiled to herself, it was such a small gesture, but its sweetness surprised her. For a moment, at least, Sean had wanted to make sure she was comfortable and cared for.

***

Sean scrolled to the bottom of the page and shut his laptop with a click. According to the hospital website, dysmenorrhea was a common and painful condition that caused some women to faint or vomit. The website said that there wasn't a cure, but hot baths, warm compresses, and tea helped some women.

He stood and marched down to the kitchen. The cook seemed surprised to see him.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Blair?" she asked.

"Yes," Sean said. "Ginger, honey, lemon, and a pot of water."

The servant looked baffled, but she sprang into action, racing around the kitchen to collect the ingredients he asked for. He grated the ginger and squeezed the lemon into the water. Then he bent over the steaming pot, stirring the hot liquid until a spicy, warm aroma filled the air. He ladled it into a porcelain teacup patterned with roses and carried it upstairs.

Catherine looked pale in the moonlight. Her lips were tight with pain, and sweat glimmered on her furrowed brow. Dark purple bruises covered Catherine's neck, and Sean clenched his free hand into a fist.

She looked far too weak to be a woman on her period—he'd have to call the doctor to check her again in the morning.

***

Catherine woke as the bed shifted beneath her. Someone had sat down next to her. The bedside lamp clicked on, and a gentle hand pulled her up into a sitting position. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. Sean was sitting at the edge of her bed, holding a porcelain mug.

"Drink it," Sean said, passing her the steaming mug.

She accepted the mug and took a cautious sip. It tasted warm and gingery, and she took another bigger sip. The warm liquid relaxed her, soothing some of the pain in her abdomen.

"How did you know ginger tea helps?" Catherine asked.

Sean shrugged.

"Did you make it?" she asked again.

"No," he replied in short.

"Well, please give my thanks to the chef who made it," she said between sips. "I'm feeling much better already."

Sean's eyes flashed, and his mouth twitched. Catherine took another sip, wondering why he was still in her room. It was weird enough that he'd personally brought her the tea. Why was he hanging around?

"It tastes very good," she said. "Thank you."

He smiled and said, "I'm glad."

Between sips, she looked at Sean. The lamplight silhouetted his regal profile and shone in his hair. He turned to look at her, and his eyes seemed gentle and sad.

"Go to sleep," he murmured.

Soothed by the ginger tea, Catherine sank down into the warm bed, pulling the quilt up to her chin. The painful ache in her abdomen relaxed, and her mind wandered. How did Sean know her so well? Was that how he'd known she'd try to run away with Marco?

She drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling warm and safe for the first time in a long time.

***

Sean waited for her to fall asleep, and then he tugged his pants off and slid under the covers, pulling Catherine's warm body against his.

She was soft and gentle in her sleep, almost like a doll. She murmured something quiet and wiggled up against him.

Sean smiled and kissed the back of her head.

"Catherine Stewart, you must behave yourself," he whispered. "You're mine now."

The golden sunlight slanted into the room through the gap in the curtains. Catherine groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. A warm arm tightened around her waist and pulled her against a muscular chest. She froze and opened her eyes.

The person holding her took a deep breath and relaxed his grip. Catherine rolled onto her side and came face to face with the sleeping Sean Blair. Her head spun—what was he doing in her bed? Did he spend the night with her after he brought the tea?

He moaned quietly and blinked his eyes open. His skin seemed to glow in the morning sunlight, and she reached up to stroke his jaw without thinking anything. He responded quickly, claiming her mouth with a kiss.

Catherine kissed him back, yielding to his strength. He pushed her onto her back, pressing into her. She wrapped her hands around him, feeling the tension in the muscles on his back. His muscles shifted beneath her hands, and he guided her hand under the covers and into the tops of his boxers.

He was hard, and his skin was scalding hot. She pulled her hand away and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Wait," she gasped. I'm still on my period."

Sean groaned and bit her neck hard. She squirmed with a mix of pain and desire.

"Don't move," he whispered. "Or I can't guarantee what will happen."

Catherine froze and closed her eyes. A part of her didn't care about the blood either, but the embarrassment would kill her. What if he was disgusted by her and never wanted to look at her again? What if it smelled bad?

"Fuck," he groaned. "How can you do this to me and then say no?

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back to his organ, pressing her palm against its length. It jumped at her touch, and he curled her hand around it.

"This is what you do to me," he whispered.

Catherine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn't want to anger him by refusing, but she didn't want to encourage him either. The warm weight above her lifted, and she heard him sigh.

She cracked her eyes open. He was sitting at the edge of the bed with his back toward her, and she couldn't help but notice the powerful lines of his shoulders and arms. She wanted to reach out and stroke them, to kiss along the banded muscles, but she forced herself to stay still.

"Did you spend the night here?" she finally asked.

"You didn't notice?" he replied.

"I was exhausted," she said. "My period usually exhausts me. If the pain doesn't keep me up, I sleep very deeply."

"Well, it was still our wedding night," Sean said. "Even if we couldn't make love, we're supposed to sleep together."

Catherine felt her cheeks grow hot as she blushed. She tugged the sheets around her, trying to hide as much of herself as possible.

"I have to go," he said. "It's late now."

Catherine heard his belt clink as he pulled his trousers on, and then the soft padding of his footsteps as he crossed the carpeted room. The door creaked open and clicked shut, and she exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath. She climbed out of bed and rushed toward the closet, choosing a pair of light wash jeans and a thin navy blue sweater. She slipped on a pair of slippers and tested the door to the hallway—it was unlocked. She crept down the hall and tiptoed down the stairs.

A chorus of servants called, "Good morning, Mrs. Blair. Ready for breakfast?"

A row of servants stood outside the dining room, waiting for Catherine. Some smiled warmly at her, and others glared—Catherine wondered how much they knew about the wedding.

Squaring her shoulders, Catherine marched into the dining room. Sean already sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee while he scrolled through his phone.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blair," said a servant. "What would you like to have for breakfast?"

"I'll have whatever my husband is having," she said.

She sat down beside Sean and smiled at him. Without asking for permission, Catherine reached out and grabbed his mug from the table. She took a long sip and almost gagged on the bitter liquid.

"My god," she spluttered. "You don't put any sugar or milk in it."

Sean smiled with amusement and took his mug back, "Don't drink it if you don't like it."

A servant rushed over, carrying a tray with several glasses of juice and milk. Catherine selected a narrow crystal glass filled with fresh orange juice and took a large sip. Another servant leaped forward, carrying a steaming mug of black coffee.

"Here you go, Mr. Blair," the servant said, offering him the coffee.

"What do I want with that?" Sean asked coldly.

"I thought since she—and germs—" the servant stammered and fell silent under Sean's icy glare.

Catherine looked between the servant and Sean, trying to understand what had just happened. She'd just taken a small sip of her husband's coffee—why was everyone making such a big deal about it?

"You know, you shouldn't drink too much black coffee," she said to Sean. "It's bad for your stomach."

Sean lowered his cup and raised his eyebrows. She felt her face grow hot, and she looked down at the sizzling omelet a servant slid in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I have no right to tell you what to do. Sometimes I speak without thinking."

She glanced up through the steam of her omelet and saw Sean regarding her with the same steady gaze.

"Okay," he said. "I'll try to limit myself."

"Right," she said. "Sure."

She busied herself, cutting the spinach and cheese omelet into pieces. Though she didn't have much of an appetite, she forced herself to chew and swallow each piece until over half the omelet was gone.

Turning to one of the servants, Catherine said, "May I speak with the chef?"

The servant glanced at Sean, and Sean shrugged without saying anything. Then he bustled through the swinging door and down to the kitchen. A moment later, he returned, followed by a red-faced cook in a pristine white apron.

"Thank you for the tea last night," Catherine said. "I was in so much pain, and it made me feel better almost instantly."

The chef looked confused, "But Mrs. Blair, I didn't make—"

"Yes," Sean said, interrupting the chef with a cold glare. "Thank you for making the tea."

The chef's face went redder as she looked between Sean and Catherine. Finally, she nodded and mumbled, "It's my pleasure," before slinking back to the kitchen.

"So you feel better now?" Sean asked Catherine.

She nodded, "Much better."

"Good," he said. "You certainly look better."

Levi cleared his throat from the corner, "Mr. Blair, Madison Stewart wants to see you."

Sean's face darkened, "I don't want to see her."

Catherine twisted her napkin on her lap and looked between Sean and Levi. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "Actually, can I talk to her?"