Remington clearly had enough of her sarcastic comments. Without another word, he scooped her up, intending to tuck her into bed.
Instinctively, Lizetta wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering, "I really need a shower."
"No, you can't do that. The doc said you can't shower today," Remington firmly denied. "You're not a doctor."
"I asked the doctor!" he asserted with conviction, clearly having done his homework.
Lizetta felt a twinge in her heart.
She had thought Remington was like Hanna, only caring about whether Joy could save Joseph's life; and she thought that's why he chased her down. Maybe she had him all wrong.
After all, he didn't push Hanna to get tested and even took the time to ask the doctor about these precautions. It all told that he did care about the baby.
"I just want to wipe down a bit. I feel like I'm starting to stink," Lizetta muttered softly.
Having spent a long day dancing at the troupe, she planned to shower in the evening. However, after being rushed to the hospital and sweating out of stress, she felt grimy.
Unexpectedly, Remington leaned in, deeply inhaling her scent.
Lizetta turned her head away in embarrassment, "Stop sniffing!"
Looking at her slightly flushed ears, Remington felt his irritation dissolve into thin air.
With a slight smirk and a raised eyebrow, he teased, "What's the rush? It's not like you're in front of your fans. Or do you still care about keeping up appearances in front of me?"
Lizetta was speechless. Her dance videos on Twitter, though faceless, had indeed attracted a male following. She didn't realize Remington knew about that.
Caught off guard, Remington laid her down on the bed, patting her head, and added, "Can't you relax around your husband?"
Lizetta turned her head away, muttering, "Not for much longer."
This time, Remington didn't get mad; instead, he let out a cold chuckle, "Dream on about the divorce."
"But we've already filed for it. In twenty-three days, we can officially part ways."
"You've got it all figured out, huh? But let me tell you straight, even when that day comes, I won't be there. Give up on the idea of divorce," Remington said, then ruffled Lizetta's hair, adding, "You don't stink; you still smell sweet. Just relax, stop thinking about doing what you shouldn't."
His words had a double meaning, from not wanting a divorce to not letting her shower.
He had everything under tight control.
Lizetta had never found him so infuriating. After staying barely at peace for a moment, she felt ready to explode again.
She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at Remington, "Are you also going to say that the Dashiell family doesn't allow divorces, only widowhood? Stella's back, so why cling to me, your stand-in? You might enjoy it, but I have my pride, Remington. I won't be your substitute!"
Fuming, Lizetta didn't stop with the pillow; she reached for the water glass on the nightstand and threw it at him too.
She thought she'd miss, given Remington's agility.
But unexpectedly, he stood still, as if struck by paralysis, and the glass hit him squarely on the forehead before rolling off to the floor. Thankfully, the thick carpet prevented it from breaking, but a red welt quickly formed on Remington's forehead.
Feeling momentarily panicked, Lizetta sat up. "Why didn't you dodge? Just hearing Stella's name makes you lose your senses? Is she so important that you fall apart at the mere mention of her?"
Feeling jealousy and upset, Lizetta was about to get up and check his forehead when Remington suddenly grabbed her arm; under his furrowed brows, his gaze was intense.
"Who told you that you're just a stand-in?"
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