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I think my moan, or the movement, or the rattlesnakish cat in the room is what wakes Sebastian because I see him sit up, throwing the blanket off as he stumbles to my sofa.
“Elianna? Are you all right?”
His voice is extra dark and melty and full of concern. In the darkness, I can make out his form above me, and he leans closer to gaze at me. That’s when I can take in his features.
“I’m great,” I say, but my requisite cheerfulness sounds dull in my ears, like I’m a puppet in a play, my voice detached from my body.
He tests my forehead with his palm. He sighs and swears. “Definitely a fever.” My mind is caught on his choice of choice words, so it takes me a moment to process what he said after.
“No, it’s just hot in here.” At that, I shiver, as what feels like a tall, skinny cup of ice is poured down my back.
He kneels down in front of me, and I think he’s either going to propose or recite a sonnet. That’s when I know I really am delusional . . . and maybe better acknowledge this rapidly moving crush I’ve developed on my boss.
On second thought, can I wait a day or two before I process anything? Because thinking hurts. And breathing hurts. And I really have to pee.
“Found them!” Sebastian’s voice is far too animated for this time of . . . night? Or is it technically day?
His hand is warm and firm as he picks up one foot and carefully slides my shoe on my foot. “Tickly,” I say and nuzzle my head into his hair. And no, I’m not nuzzling on purpose, I just feel so icky, so strange, that there’s simply nothing else to do, but use Sebastian’s head as a very hard pillow.
He takes me by the shoulders and presses my torso back down onto the bed. “Shhh. You just rest.”
I obey him, and maybe even fall asleep again because I don’t remember him sliding the other shoe on. But suddenly I’m in the air, properly shoed on both feet, a slight breeze in my hair as he walks.
I’m cradled in his arms. “Did you just pick me up?” I look up at him, and I might see the barest smile.
“I did.” He kisses my forehead. It makes me feel treasured. And also, a little like he’s branded me with his kiss. Heat blisters break out all over me.
I’m so secure in his arms, I fall asleep once again. I wake to a blast of cool night air as the resort doors open. That catlike snake must have followed us out here because I hear her again.
“Don’t worry, you’re okay,” he says. “We’re in the parking garage. We’re going to the hospital.”
“What? Hospital?” At least I think that’s what I said. I can’t be sure with the pounding in my head.
“This fever is high. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
The threat of visiting a hospital has the cobwebs beginning to clear. “I can’t go. I won’t go to the hospital.”
“We just need to make sure you’re okay. They can give you fluids.”
“Sebastian, no!” I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but when I can’t get down, my mouth somehow finds his wrist.
“Did you just bite me?” He’s amused, which I find so odd, and a laugh threatens to bubble up. The problem is, I think if I did actually laugh, I’d never get over the dizziness and disorientation that would ensue.
I open my mouth to speak, and that’s when he stops and gently moves the arm that’s holding up my legs down so that I’m standing. Or trying to stand. He places his hands on my waist and steadies me against a wall, which I can only assume is the parking garage wall.
“Elianna. Look.” His voice is soft and sweet—a thick and dark blanket. “You’re very sick right now. But I’m not going to force you to go to the hospital.” He sighs and his gaze flits over me so quickly, wildly. “I guess I maybe overreacted? I’m . . . worried about you. And it wouldn’t hurt anything to just check and see how you’re doing. The hospital is the best place for that in the middle of the night.”
I swallow hard and wish that I hadn’t. It burns. “No. I mean. I have a thermometer at home,” I whisper. “If it’s like a hundred and ten, I’ll let you take me in.”
“If it’s a hundred and ten, I’d be planning your funeral.”
“Awww, if I died, you’d plan my funeral for me?” I do not, and will never, understand why, but suddenly, my eyes fill with hot tears that threaten to spill over.
His bass laughter fills me up, like it always does. Somehow, but probably only because I’m delirious with sickness, I feel like that laugh is a special one for only me.
He’s on the phone now. “Can you find a thermometer for me, please? I’ll be there in a minute.”
In one swift move, he’s got me in his arms again and I hear his loud, staccato footsteps on the cement floor.
