Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I try to sit up, but the room tilts, making me sway.
“Don’t,” a deep voice snaps at me.
A hand presses gently into my shoulder, anchoring me back to the bed. The touch is cool against my overheated skin.
“Easy,” the voice adds, lower now. “You’ll pass out.”
I blink. Once. Twice.
Lorenzo swims into focus in fragments.
“You’re . . . loud,” I mumble.
His mouth twitches despite himself. “You’re delirious. Don’t flirt. It’s unbecoming.”
“I flirt beautifully,” I say before I cough so hard my chest burns.
He swears under his breath and reaches for a glass on the nightstand. Then he does something I don’t expect. He slides an arm behind my shoulders, lifts me to a seated position, and presses the rim to my lips.
“Drink,” he orders.
I do. Because I’m too tired to protest, and in truth, I know my body needs it. Cool water spills down my throat, and I moan without meaning to.
Lorenzo’s grip tightens around me. “Jesus.” He makes a weird grumbling sound in his chest. “Try not to sound like that unless you’re fully conscious.”
I glare at him . . . which is hard to do in my current state, and I instantly regret it. “You’re disgusting.”
“You married me,” he replies, easing me back down.
My vision swims again, and if I weren’t already lying down, I’m sure I’d have fallen. This is awful. I feel like shit. My skin feels too tight, like it doesn’t even belong to me.
“I feel . . . like I’m dying.” I groan, and even that hurts.
“Unfortunately,” he agrees. “That’s usually how illness works.”
I scowl, or at least try to. I’m pretty sure I look like a wounded animal that someone should take pity on.
I expect Lorenzo to leave, but surprisingly, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he reaches for my wrist, and his fingers press lightly against my pulse.
His brows knit. “How bad?” I ask, my voice slurring around the edges.
“You’ll live,” he answers.
I huff weakly. “Wonderful.”
My eyes start to shut, and I swear I hear him whisper that he won’t let anything happen to me as I drift off to sleep.
Time ceases to exist.
I’m in and out of consciousness for hours.
Eventually, I wake to a cool cloth being laid on my forehead.
At some point, my stomach rebels, and I barely register being lifted and held steady as I sip soup. I also vaguely recall.
“Slowly,” Lorenzo orders, not gentle but not cruel either. “You don’t want to get sick.”
I follow his orders, and when I’m done, he wipes my mouth. At some point, when he moves, I grab his wrist.
“Don’t leave,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His body stills. “I’m not,” he says after a moment, voice lower. “Go back to sleep.”
I do.
When I wake again, it’s morning.
Pale light filters through the curtains. My body feels wrung out, but I do feel different. Better, maybe.
I turn my head slowly and freeze when I notice I’m not alone. Lorenzo is asleep in a chair beside my bed.
His head is tipped back slightly, jaw slack in a way I haven’t seen in years.
My chest tightens.
A thought springs to life in my head.
In another life, this could have been normal. Sick days and shared beds and someone staying up all night because that’s what you do when you love someone.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Lorenzo stirs.
His eyes open slowly and land on me instantly. “Good, you’re still alive.” His words don’t match his actions, and I know he’s full of shit when he says them. But I’ll play along.
“Disappointed?”
“Deeply . . .” He rubs a hand down his face. “I had plans.”
I smile. Regardless of our words, we are both full of it.
“You stayed,” I say quietly.
“I did.” He stands and rolls his shoulders. “You did ask.”
“True, but that didn’t mean you had to sleep there.” I point at the chair.
“Where else was I supposed to sleep?”
My cheeks warm as it hits me that the only other place he could have slept is next to me.
“Drink this.” His words cut through my thoughts as he gives me a glass of water. “And don’t move.”
“You know I don’t like to follow orders.”
“Yeah, I know, Little Bird. That’s why if you do, I’ll just chain you to the bed.” He smirks.
“Don’t threaten a girl with a good time.”
That makes him laugh. “Glad to see the fever broke and you have your personality back.”
I open my mouth to respond, but can’t think of anything to say, so I finally say what’s in my chest, which makes it hard to understand why he’s still here.
“I thought you hated me,” I say softly.
He looks at me then. Really looks.
“I don’t,” he answers without hesitation, before he turns to go.
“Lorenzo,” I say. He pauses without facing me. “Thank you,” I add, quieter. “For . . . last night.”
He nods but still leaves.