Phoebe's POV
I reached over, my fingers finding his shoulder as concern flickered through me.
My voice came out with that familiar stubborn edge—half complaint, half teasing. "How did you get knocked down so easily?"
I knew perfectly well Harold was putting on this pathetic act to earn my sympathy.
Harold seized his chance, his arm snaking around my waist as he whimpered, "It's not that I'm weak—it's that my wife hits like a freight train."
"Your act is falling apart." I pulled my hand back. "I'm starving. Do we have food here?"
"Absolutely. Had the housekeeper set everything up before you got here. Come on, let me carry you down for dinner." His grip tightened around my waist, and suddenly I was swept off my feet, heading toward the door.
"Act? What act?
"Is it edible?
"Will it make my wife smile?" Harold shot back with mock confusion.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, panic flashing across my face. "Wait, stop—don't go out yet... You're completely naked."
