“Go. Away.” She peeled her forehead off her palm. “If you don’t get out, I will kill you once I have the strength.”
Jules faced him and mouthed, “What do I do?”
Get a mask? Stay on a bed in the living room? Camp out on the pool deck?He didn’t know. Dealing with a sick Abigail was as much fun as dealing with an angry rottweiler with a bee sting on its ass.
Abigail jerked from the chair, rushed to the sink, and vomited.
Rhys stepped back.
She rested her forehead on her forearm, blindly reaching across the counter. She snagged a box of herbal tea and chucked it in their general direction. “Get out.”
“Maybe we should give her space,” Jules whispered.
“You think?” Abigail staggered toward the bedroom again.
“Abs, I don’t want to—”
“I’ll hate you forever if you don’t leave.”
Jules turned to him. “What do I—”
The bedroom door slammed hard enough to make the framed pictures shift.
“We’ll get you a room,” he suggested. “Or you can have my place, and I’ll go wherever they have available.”
A knock sounded on the front door.
He checked the peephole. Two women waited outside. One was in scrubs, her braided hair tied into a knot on top of her head. Another was dressed business casual, with thick locks hanging heavy over her shoulders.
Rhys opened the door.
Both greeted him with kind smiles. “I understand someone is under the weather. I am the doctor on call. This is my nurse. May we come in?”
Jules inched behind him. “My sister is really sick—and she’s really not easy to be around when she’s that way.”
The doctor stepped inside. “No one wants to feel bad on holiday.”
“After you meet her, if you want to run away, it’s completely understandable.” Jules led the doctor and nurse toward the bedroom.
Rhys stepped outside and dropped onto the top step. He hated that Abigail was sick. She had to be miserable, away from the comforts of her home and her belongings. He wished there were something he could do for her, but knowing Abigail, he was sure the one thing she wanted was to be left alone.
He tipped his head back. The stars didn’t hold the same luster as they had on the beach. He couldn’t believe he’d kissed Jules. What the hell had he been thinking? Rhys pulled in a deep breath and tried to understand what had snapped—or clicked—and changed the way he saw Jules.
Returning to the way they’d been would be impossible. That ship had sailed, and the bridge had been burned. They’d screwed everything up. But since they had, it’d be ridiculous not to continue with Sloane’s plan.
Sea salt floated on the breeze. He couldn’t see the water but could hear it. They were in paradise. Mistakes could survive a tropical honeymoon.
Jules stepped outside, still wearing his jacket, and shifted a beach bag on her shoulder. “Those women are miracle workers.”
He glanced at the door as though they might push their way out and run away. “They’re staying?”
“For a bit. Abigail will talk to them but wants nothing to do with me. So I tidied and packed.”
He nodded at the beach bag. “Overnight bag?”
“Yeah. Staying there on a rollaway bed was not an option.”
He reached for her bag and tossed it over his shoulder. “Let’s go figure out where we’re all sleeping tonight.”
