Page 110 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Five days. Then he’ll be out of my life.

Sitting here in the quiet of the penthouse, watching over him, I’m forced to confront the uncomfortable truth. I told Sabrina I was developing feelings for him. It’s not a lie. And a part of me, agrowingpart, doesn’t want this to end.

I carefully extract my wrist from his now-slack grip and stand.

His laptop catches my eye, open to a spreadsheet filled with resort specifications. I’d specifically closed that laptop. He must have opened it when I left the room to get his Tylenol.

Stubborn man.

In the corner of the screen, I notice a small calendar widget.

Today’s date is circled in red, with a simple notation: “Day 25.”

Our countdown.

Of course he’s keeping track too.

I turn away, throat suddenly tight, and go to order his soup. I set the delivery time to five thirty, so that he has a chance to rest.

The hours pass, and I settle into a strange routine of checking his fever, bringing fresh water, and making sure he takes more medicine when needed. I answer emails from my laptop, working quietly nearby in case he needs anything.

When the soup finally arrives, I wake him gently.

“Hey.” I touch his shoulder. “Food’s here.”

Dom blinks awake, his gaze unfocused for a moment before it settles on me. He looks marginally better. Still feverish, but more present.

“What time is it?” he rasps.

“Almost six.” I help him sit up, noticing how he winces at the movement. “You’ve been out for a while.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Should be working.”

“The world won’t end if Dominic Rossi takes one day off.” I set down the soup container and some crackers. “Here. Eat something.”

He eyes the food warily, but accepts. “Didyoueat?”

The question surprises me. “I’ll grab something later.”

Dom shakes his head stubbornly. “You always forget to eat. Sit. Eat with me.”

“Fine.” I retrieve a cup and some crackers from the kitchen, pour myself some of his soup, and settle into an armchair across from him.

We munch in companionable silence for a while. Dom manages about half his soup before setting the spoon down. Color has returned to his face, but exhaustion still hangs heavy in his movements.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly, his voice quiet but clear. “For... this.”

The simple gratitude catches me off guard. It’s perhaps the most straightforward, genuine thing he’s ever said to me.

“You’re welcome.” I pause, then add lightly, “Though I’m pretty sure taking care of your feverish self wasn’t in our agreement.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Consider it a goodwill amendment.”

“Is that what the lawyers are calling it these days?”

His smile widens, then morphs into another coughing fit. I’m beside him instantly, rubbing his back in small circles until it subsides.

“Easy,” I murmur. “You need rest.”

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