Page 22 of I Almost Do

"I'll get you some water and painkillers. You're going to need them," he says, heading for the door. "Call me if you need me."

"James, wait—"

"I'm sleeping on the couch."

"Of course," I say, irritated all over again. "But I need you to help me out of this dress first." I turn to show him the back. It's lined from the base of my spine to the back of my neck with tiny buttons. There's no way out of it without help unless I take a pair of scissors to it.

James makes a noise in his throat, but when I look back at him, his expression is blank. Like he's watching paint dry.

"It's not as bad as it looks," I say. "There's a zipper hidden under the buttons."

He mutters something under his breath. Then he's tugging on my zipper. It slides down my spine like a shiver, his knuckles brushing the exposed skin of my back. He stops when the zipper ends just at the crack of my butt. Then he backs away.

"Get settled for bed. I'll be back with the water and painkillers," he says as he shuts the door behind him.

I struggle out of the dress and shoes and garter, dizzy and nauseous now that some of the adrenaline has worn off.

Then I search through my suitcase in dawning horror, more frantic by the second.

Julia packed my suitcase for me… and she didn’t add pajamas. What she did pack has me breaking out in a cold sweat.

I use my thumb and index finger to pick up the sheer white babydoll nightie and thong Bronwyn gave me as a joke. I never planned to wear it, but Julia didn’t know that. All she knew was it was brand-new bridal lingerie shoved in my top drawer.

The only thing I have packed for tomorrow is a structured dress I can't sleep in either.

Naked or lingerie. Those are my choices. And James is going to be walking back in here with water and ibuprofen any minute.

I crack the door and call out, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I, um, forgot to pack something to sleep in. Do you have an extra T-shirt or something I could borrow?"

There's silence for a moment. Then he says, "Yes." There's some shuffling, and then he passes a white cotton undershirt through the crack in the door. It's warm in my hand and smells like him. Twenty seconds ago, this was on James's body. I hope he never wants it back because it's mine now.

I pull it on, then make my way to the bed. I don't get far when the nausea hits me.

I make it to the toilet. Just. I'm kneeling there, hugging the porcelain throne in a strange hotel room, wearing nothing but my white silk wedding panties and James's tank, puking my guts out, when he returns to the bedroom.

"Oh, shit." James joins me in the bathroom and puts a warm hand on my back. Then he gathers the strands of my hair that are hanging down toward the toilet and clinging to my sweaty face.

"Ugh," I sob. "I'm dying."

His voice is dry. "No, sweet girl. But you might wish you had in the morning."

I try to turn a scowl his way, but I can't hold it because I'm losing the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Again.

He holds my hair, then fidgets with it. He's removing my tiara. It was still on, loose and threatening to join the contents of my stomach in the toilet bowl. I lay my head on the rim, closing my eyes. James lifts me away from it and wipes my face, hands, and neck with a cool washcloth.

"All done for now?" he asks.

I nod, so he flushes the toilet, then lifts me up and sets me on the counter, handing me my toothbrush. I brush, and he holds a cup of water for me to rinse with. I spit awkwardly into the sink while he hovers to make sure I don't lose my balance.

James isn't wearing a shirt. He's barefoot, wearing only trousers, and he’s as fit and beautiful as I expected him to be.

My eyes catch on swirling tattoos rendered in black ink that stretch across his upper arms and chest. They don’t fit his CFO image at all. It’s like thinking you’re entering a room containing a cat and then realizing two steps in that the “cat” is actually a mountain lion.

I peer drunkenly at his half-naked body and notice something even more startling. The tattoos are covering scars, many of which are small and round.

"Now, take these." He hands me two pills and an open bottle of water. "And drink the whole thing."

I don't want to. But he sounds like the voice of experience, so I try. I’m so uncoordinated that I spill, and James ends up helping hold the bottle for me.

---