Page 33 of Not Part of the Plan
“Go away.”
“Did you throw up again?”
Silence.
“Emmaline, don’t make me come in there again,” he said sternly.
He gave her until the count of three and, just as he was about to bust in, the knob turned.
She was at least standing. Sort of.
“Happy?” she grumbled.
There was a fresh sheen of sweat on her pretty, pale face, and it looked like it hurt her to stand.
“Baby,” he crooned. “Come on. Back to bed.” Niko tucked an arm around her waist and guided her back to her room.
“D-d-did Julia say how long this th-th-thing lasts?” she asked through chattering teeth.
“It’s a short one. About twelve hours,” he lied easily. “In fact, you should be feeling better soon.” Hope was never wrong to give. He’d just hide her nightstand clock.
Niko helped her back into bed and tucked the covers around her tight. He used the washcloth to wipe the sweat from her face.
“Niko?” she shivered out his name.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to shoot the wedding?”
“Go to sleep, Emmaline.”
She kept her eyes closed, but the muscles of her face slowly started to relax, and when he was sure she was asleep, he slipped back downstairs.
He pulled out the spray bottle of suspect brown liquid and unfolded the handwritten instructions Elvira had given him on how to use her special cleaner. “What the hell does ‘agitate until cloudy’ mean?”
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Emma woke to an earthy spiced scent. She opened an eye and spotted a stick of incense sending lazy curls of smoke toward the ceiling that glowed yellow with the late afternoon sun. Carefully so as not to dislodge her head from her neck, she rolled to check the time, but her clock was missing. In its place was a glass with a sticky note that said, “Coconut water. Sip slowly.”
Two capsules sat on their own sticky note. “Take me.”
Nikolai. The memory of him holding her hair during Vomit Fest had her scraping her hands over her face. She hated being vulnerable in front of people, and at the given moment, there was no situation that she could imagine that was worse. She’d hurled in front of Niko, a man who looked like he was created just to torment women. And now every time he looked at her, he would be reminded of her barfing her guts out.
She would never live this down. Not that it mattered what he thought of her. They were just friends. Even if she thought he was too beautiful to look at. Just friends. Ugh. Her brain was too feverish to think straight.
Testing her body, Emma worked her way into a seated position and was pleased to find she no longer felt like vomiting into unconsciousness. She took a testing sip of the coconut water, and when her stomach didn’t immediately rebel, she took a chance on the ibuprofen.
Easing her bare feet to the floor, Emma took stock of her body. She was still alive. The nausea was mostly gone, along with the chills, but the aches were still fighting for keeps. Her head pounded, and her bones hurt. With the careful moves of a ninety-nine-year-old, she hobbled into the little hallway.
She paused in the bathroom doorway, sniffed. It smelled like eucalyptus and something herby. The countertop and tile floor gleamed.
Had someone broken into her house and cleaned it?she wondered.
Carefully, Emma eased her way down the stairs.
“What the hell, Niko?”
Barefoot and at home in her kitchen, he stirred something on the stove. Her teapot whistled from the back burner.
