Page 50 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
My sense of time is all out of whack. Vale’s wedding could have been a week ago, or it could have been yesterday.
I retch again.
No, it was yesterday. I might not be totally aware of my surroundings, but I recognize the bathroom. I’m still in the guesthouse, which means it isn’t time to leave yet.
A wet towel appears in my periphery. I grab it and use it to wipe my mouth, noticing that it smells like cucumbers.
“That’s nice,” I mutter to Cleo, sitting back on my butt and hanging my head between my knees. “Reminds me of the spa at the Ritz.”
“You’ll have to take me there while I’m in New York.”
My eyes fly open. That’s a male’s voice. And not just any male.
Ras.
I must be hallucinating. Am I dying? Am I already dead? I must have gone to hell.
That seems fundamentally unfair. It’s not like I thought I’d get off scot-free given my family, but I didn’t think I’d be judged this harshly.
A sob escapes me. Is this my punishment? Throwing up for eternity while—
“All right, all right. I get it. I’ll go there on my own, no big deal.” A warm palm lands on the center of my back and starts to move in soothing circles.
I blink at the floor, and a tear falls off my eyelash.
“Is this real life?” I ask tentatively.
“What else would it be?”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “Hell.” It’s hot enough for that to be the case.
There’s a long pause and then a low chuckle. “You really think the world of me.”
With effort, I lift my forehead off my knees and twist my neck to look over my shoulder.
Ras looks back at me. He’s in a low squat, one arm balancing on his left knee while the other is rubbing my back.
I let out a confused groan. “I don’t understand.”
He drops his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and back in bed.”
If there’s an opening to push him away, I miss it. Even my blinking feels sluggish.
He hooks his forearms under my armpits and hauls me up like a rag doll against his freakishly hard chest.
“Jesus, you’re still burning up,” he mutters as he leads me back into the room. I resist the urge to put my feet on top of his own so that he can do the walking for me too.
I’m truly pathetic at the moment.
My gaze scans the bedroom. “Where’s Cleo?” Her bed isn’t made, but the enormous T-shirt with Britney’s face that she sleeps in isn’t there either. Where’s her suitcase?
“Not here.”
“Get me Vale.”
“She’s not here either.”
He turns me around and sits me down on the edge of the bed. His touch on me is firm but gentle.
