Page 66 of You're The One
Real smooth. Might as well wear a hat that saysI have a favorite.
I add in a frozen hot chocolate, the same one I got last time. Maybe Summer really was sick and Mia caught whatever it was. Nice to have a non-caffeinated option. Just in case.
A little over an hour later, I step through the front door of the mansion with a tray of drinks and baked goods. Bodhi’s already there, chatting with a couple of the girls. I say hi to everyone… except the person I actually came to see.
She’s not with the group.
I scan the room again, just to be sure.
Nothing.
Summer’s the last person I greet. When I pull back from our hug, I lower my voice. “Where’s Mia?”
“Oh, she’s in bed. She’s beensick.” Summer adds finger quotes, but the word still twists something sharp in my gut. “I think she’s just in a funk. Hasn’t been sleeping well. So, she’s taking a nap.”
“All right. I’m going to check on her. I brought breakfast.” I hold up the latte, the chocolate drink, and the muffin like I need to prove my case.
Summer smiles, and I get the sense she knows more than she’s letting on. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. Upstairs, to the left. Last door on the right. I’ll try to keep everyone distracted out here, but you better hurry before they try to mic you up.”
“Shit. Good call. Thanks.”
I take the stairs two at a time, careful not to spill the drinks. Every step amps up my nerves.
She’s probably just tired. Or overwhelmed.
Or done with me.
By the time I reach her door, I half expect to get intercepted by the crew. But the hallway is empty.
I knock once.
Then again.
No answer.
I hesitate, then ease the door open.
TWENTY-THREE
“Mia?”Dominic’s voice cuts through what was shaping up to be an epic nap.
I try to keep my breathing deep and steady, pretending to sleep, but I can practically feel his gaze burning a hole through the covers. Sure enough, when I crack one eye open, then reluctantly the other, there he is. Hovering at the side of my bed like some overprotective mother goose.
I don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed about him seeing me like this.
Or to hold on to the anger from the other night. The little anger I can muster is currently fully reserved for my brain, for the way I’m feeling.
“Hi.” My voice comes out small, even to me.
“Hey.” His tone is quiet, like he’s trying not to disturb the air around me. “I was worried.”
He doesn’t mention the no-show to our morning walks, but I know that’s what this is about. He’s probably playing it safe with what he says, even though I’m pretty sure the mics in the bedrooms aren’t live when the crew’s around. I ran into them this morning when I braved the kitchen for a glass of water.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want you to worry… I justcouldn’t?—”
Couldn’t meet you. Couldn’t get out of bed. Couldn’t shower. Couldn’t bring myself to even care about not functioning like normal.
My hair’s oily, and I probably don’t smell all that great. But when the dark cloud rolls in like this, even basic life feels like too much.
