A R I A N A
Dante smirked, running a hand through his damp hair. "Like what you see, wife?"
I nearly dropped the tray. "Does being sick make you cheeky?" I muttered, marching inside before he could see how red my face was.
I set the tray on the bedside table with more force than necessary. "Eat, then take your medicine."
Dante didn't move from his spot. "Feed me."
I gaped at him. "What?"
"You heard me." He folded his arms, making his biceps bulge. "I'm sick, weak and can’t possibly hold a spoon."
I pointed at his very obviously strong arms. "You're not weak!"
Dante coughed dramatically, swaying slightly. "Fever...so dizzy..."
"You're impossible!" I threw my hands up but when he wobbled again for real this tim —I sighed. "Fine! But only because I don't want you dyin
