Chapter 242

How to Tame My Beastly Husband — Chapter 242. Less Guilty (1)

Raphael had not left the mansion since. He wandered outside Annette’s door, restless as a faithful hound. Sometimes he would clench his teeth when he heard her coughing, or moaning with pain.

He didn’t understand himself.

After some time, her wracking coughs turned to sobs. The sound was muffled, as if her face was buried in a pillow, but Raphael couldn’t stand listening to it. He felt like he was losing his mind.

Finally, he opened her bedroom door, and Annette lifted her face, wiping away her tears. Her face was flushed, as if she had a fever. Raphael observed this impatiently and then grabbed a wet towel from the basin beside the bed.

“Lie down,” he ordered.

“Please call a maid,” Annette replied. “You don’t have to…”

“Lie down!” Raphael repeated, louder. He didn’t know how to coax or negotiate, only to dominate, and Annette’s eyes filled with tears.

“I–I mean…there are no maids outside,” he stammered involuntarily. “So lie down. I’ll clean you up…”

Not even he knew what he was trying to say, so he stopped trying to convince her with words. Reaching out an arm, he laid her down, and used the wet towel to wipe down her face, neck, and limbs.

It only confused Annette. There was a wide gap of affection between them, and she was deeply uncomfortable with him. She stared at him as he washed her.

Why? Why now?

His manly face was beautiful, but unreadable. She couldn’t guess what he was thinking, and then she winced as the wet towel chafed her delicate skin.

Usually, it was the maids that tended her, and she didn’t understand why it hurt her. But then she glanced at the wet towel and realized what was wrong. The towel in Raphael’s big hand was bone dry. He had wrung it out so hard, all the water was gone.

“Hahaha…”

Raphael scowled. He thought she was laughing at his inexperience, but he would ignore it for now, if it meant she stopped crying. She seemed a little more comfortable.

Annette watched his back as he put fresh sheets on the bed. On the nightstand, the medicine he had brought her gently steamed.

It wasn’t just that she couldn’t eat. She had not properly taken her medicine either because of her damaged insides. The last time she had drunk that medicine, she had vomited all over Raphael. The memory of that humiliating moment prompted her to tell him,

“You don’t have to do that. Don’t worry about me.”