“What?” Sam exploded, and he heard Colby sigh on the other end of the line.
“She’s been receiving them intermittently for the last month or so,” the woman continued, and Sam rubbed his fingers over his forehead, trying to ward off the headache that was forming.
“Why did no one tell me?” he growled.
“Because you were out of commission. Quite frankly, I didn’t want to tell you now, but Chambers was concerned about the threat she received last night. Somehow the note was slipped into her underwear drawer. Chambers has put extra security on her house and two more CPOs on her.”
Lally had been receiving death threats again, same MO as Marshall Weathers, the fucker who had stabbed Sam, but that bastard was still in jail and awaiting trial.
“It could be Weathers,” Sam suggested, “getting someone to do his dirty work for him.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Colby said, “and the police are investigating that angle, but the general consensus for now is that it’s possible but not likely.”
“Fuck it,” Sam muttered beneath his breath. “Okay, tell Chambers to keep the extra security around her house and the additional CPOs on her. Do not let her run roughshod over him. Cancel all public appearances, aside from concerts, until the police have concluded their investigation into Weathers’s activities in prison.”
“She’s not going to like that.”
“I don’t give a single fuck what she likes or doesn’t like. We’re taking this seriously, especially since she’s already been attacked once. I’ll get packed up and head back—”
“No.” Colby’s tone was frosty, and Sam’s mouth dropped open.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked incredulously.
“You heard me, you’re not coming back early. You pay us to solve problems. We have it under control. But Chambers has a point about your needing to know about it.”
“How fucking commendable of you to allow me to know about the shit going on with my own company.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” Colby said agreeably, and Sam glared at the wall at her response. “Look, if we think the place is going to fall apart without you, we’ll let you know. For now, we have it in hand.”
She gave him updates on a few other contracts before ringing off, after another stern admonishment that he was not to come home.
Sam stared at the lit screen of the phone for a long moment before putting it aside. He felt strange. He knew that if he’d heard this news just a few weeks ago, nothing Colby said would have prevented him from packing his bags and heading home. Injuries be damned. But today, the threat to pack up and go back had mostly been posturing.
Because he wasn’t ready to go home.
He had poker with Bertie and the guys on Sunday. He had promised Mrs. Beecham at the retirement home that he would teach her and a few others the Viennese waltz next week. Trevor—he had started to accept the dumb name for the dog because the animal was so mild mannered it actually suited him—was learning to sit and stay. Sam and Spencer were planning a Fast and Furious marathon on the weekend after the women left.
His thoughts stuttered to a halt.
Lia. There was Lia.
They were nearly a month into their fling, and it was still nowhere near over. He had stopped asking her to stay every night . . . but he hadn’t stopped wanting her to stay. Watching her leave every night was becoming increasingly difficult. He wanted to keep her with him—he was starting to resent every moment she spent apart from him. She would be going away with her mother, Daff, and Charlie on the weekend, and Sam was dreading the prospect of not having her around for two days.
So yes, Sam wasn’t quite prepared to leave Lia yet. Not at all.
He threw his head back against the sofa cushion and stared at the vaulted ceiling of the cabin.
“What the fuck are you doing, Sam?” he asked himself beneath his breath. “This is not the life for you, mate.”
“Talking to yourself, Sam?” Lia’s soft voice asked from the kitchen, and he sat up, startled. She smiled at his reaction.
“Ha! Did I manage to sneak up on you, Mr. Special Ops Close Personal Protection Man?” she teased, clearly delighted, and despite himself, Sam felt his lips quirk upward in a smile. She was so fucking cute.
“Close protection officer, sunshine,” he corrected.
“You know what I meant,” she said, airily dismissive. He jumped to his feet and walked toward her, loving the way her eyes stayed on his as he drew closer. He hooked an arm around her waist and tugged her into his embrace, dropping his mouth onto hers for a hungry kiss.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growled when he lifted his head. “Strawberries? Where’s the bubblegum?”
She laughed and pushed at his chest until he released her.
“I’m out of bubblegum lip gloss. I thought I’d give the strawberry flavor a try.”
“You taste good no matter what,” he said truthfully, and then allowed his eyes to drift over her neatly dressed body. “And no matter where.”
He grinned when his words elicited a blush.
Predictable—he adored that about her.
The thought made him start, and his eyes widened. He had once thought her predictability would become boring, but he now recognized that he hadn’t once found himself bored with Lia. Not with Lia, nor with her family or the people she knew. And not with the town, which he was starting to explore more now that he was getting better. It was a beautiful place, and the ocean called to him. He wanted to try out the surf as soon as he was stronger.
He liked it here. He hadn’t ever expected to like it here.
“Sam?” Lia snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, and he shook his head and smiled at her. “Where did you go?”
“Just down the road a way,” he joked.
“I don’t feel like cooking this morning. MJ’s for breakfast?” she suggested, and he frowned.
“Are you okay?”
“A bit of a headache and a bit wheezy. I think I’m getting a cold, that’s all,” she dismissed. Sam looked at her again—she had shadows under her eyes, and despite her immaculate appearance, he could see how tired she was. It was as close to frazzled as he’d ever seen her.
“Why don’t I fix you something?” he offered.
“You can cook?” she asked, surprised.
“Not as well or as prettily as you, but it’s edible. Sound good?” She nodded and trudged to the living room. There was none of the usual crisp pep in her step, and she sank to the sofa and kicked off her shoes. Usually Lia would remove them and neatly place them side by side. For her to not even care where they landed was very uncharacteristic.
He watched as she curled up onto her side on the sofa, tucking her hand under her cheek to watch him.
“What are you going to make?” she asked, and, trying to put aside his concern, he forced a smile.
“Eggs and bacon. To expect anything more than that would be to tempt fate.”
“Sounds good.”
She was asleep by the time he finished, and he walked over to the sofa to look at her. He’d seen her sleep before; sometimes she dozed off while he held her after sex. But that was always a restless nap. Nothing this deep or peaceful. She looked young and vulnerable asleep, with her pretty mouth slightly open and her hair obscuring half of her face. Sam absently massaged the center of his chest as he watched her. God, she was so beautiful. He ran the tip of his finger down the smooth curve of her cheek, edging her silky hair behind one pretty ear.
“Lia,” he called softly, going down onto his haunches in front of her so that he wasn’t hulking above her when she woke up. Her brow furrowed, and she sighed. “Come on, sunshine, time for breakfast.”
Her eyes opened without warning and immediately found his. For a split second, in that vulnerable, naked space between sleep and wakefulness, he could see her every emotion. Trust, hope, helplessness, and something that looked uncomfortably close to love. He didn’t know how he recognized these emotions, he just knew with absolute certainty what they were. And it terrified him. If she felt these things for him, she would get hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted.
She blinked and the moment of vulnerability passed, her eyes now only revealing pain and confusion.
“I don’t feel well, Sam,” she whispered, and he felt a flare of panic. She was pale, but an unnatural flush was beginning to form on her cheeks. He dropped a hand to her forehead and the flare developed into a full-blown explosion of absolute terror.
“Jesus, Lia, you’re burning up!” he said, his voice shaking. “How long have you been feeling ill?”
“Felt funny this morning,” she said. “But it’s worse now. I feel . . .” She sat up and clutched a hand to her mouth. She pushed him out of the way and leapt to her feet to run to the guest bathroom downstairs. She barely made it before he heard retching sounds.
Sam shoved his hands through his hair, his fingers digging into his scalp as he tried to calm his anxiety. He followed her into the bathroom and dampened a towel. She wasn’t throwing up anymore but was still hunched over the commode, her slender body trembling violently. Sam gently swept her hair to one side and stroked the cool towel down the nape of her neck.
He helped her to her feet and wiped her face before urging her to rinse her mouth. She complied weakly and leaned heavily on him as he led her back into the living room and to the sofa. She felt like a furnace, and her high temperature scared him. How could she get this sick so quickly?
He left her sitting on the sofa and rushed to the kitchen and grabbed his cell phone to call Daff. He didn’t have her number programmed on his phone and had to consult the list on the fridge. He was shaking so much he misdialed twice.
“Hello?” she answered on the third ring, and Sam swallowed as he tried to find his voice.
“Daff. It’s Sam. We have to get Lia to a doctor. Something’s wrong. She seemed fine when she got here, just said she had a headache. But she’s been here about an hour. She napped on the sofa while I was cooking. She’s fucking burning up. She threw up.” He heard his voice rising in increments and wondered if he sounded as completely terrified to Daff as he did to himself. “Please. I-I’m not sure what to do.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d admitted to not knowing how to resolve a situation. Sam always knew how to fix things. How to make it better. How to save lives. And maybe—if it had been anyone other than Lia—he would have known what to do this time as well. But all he had to do was look at her curled up on the sofa, so small and vulnerable, and all rational thought fled.
“You’re at the cabin?” Daff asked in her no-nonsense voice.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll be right there.”
“Hurry.”
They took her to the emergency room, and as Sam sat waiting with her family, he vaguely registered that he was wearing track pants without a top and socks but no shoes. He didn’t care—all he could think about was the paramedics putting a respiratory mask on Lia’s face as they transported her into the back of the ambulance. Daff had climbed into the back with her, Sam had gone with Spencer and Charlie, and they had all met Dr. and Mrs. McGregor at the hospital.
Daff had joined them about an hour after their arrival, saying that the doctor was with Lia. Sam had wanted to drill her about Lia’s condition, but everybody else was already asking all the questions he wanted to, so he sat quietly and listened. She was fine, no worse, doctor seemed relaxed, with no sense of urgency about him, which Daff seemed to think was a good thing. But the information only made Sam want to hunt the doctor down and shake some urgency into him.
“Brand?” Sam stared dazedly up at Spencer, not sure how long the man had been standing in front of him or what he had asked.
“Do you want some coffee?”
Sam nervously rubbed his hands together and shook his head. “No.” He paused before belatedly tacking on, “Thank you.” He averted his eyes as he comprehended just how much Lia’s sweet, polite manners were starting to affect his own behavior. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that and right now he didn’t care. All he wanted was to see Lia and to know that she was safe.
As if in answer to his desperate thought, the waiting room doors opened and an older man in a white coat looked around the room.
“McGregor?” Everybody surged to their feet and surrounded him, and the man held up his palms in surrender. He was grinning, which made Sam breathe a bit easier.
“Your girl has a touch of the flu. A particularly nasty strain of H1N1. It’s been going around and she tells me she works at a preschool, so that’s probably where she caught it. I’ve had a few little ones in here over the last week. She had some difficulty breathing, but nothing to be alarmed about. We’ll keep her for a couple of hours before discharging her, just to monitor her. But with proper care, medication, and a lot of rest, I have no doubt she’ll make a full recovery. I take it you’ve all been exposed to it? She would probably have become contagious yesterday.”
“We haven’t seen her in a couple of days,” Mrs. McGregor said.
“Same here,” Daff said. “Well, I suppose the ride in the ambulance with her counts, but I’ve had my flu shot.”
“It’s transmitted through sneezing or coughing. But if you’ve had the shot, you’re probably okay. If you don’t show any symptoms over the next two or three days you should be fine.”
All heads turned to Sam, and he stared back at them awkwardly, trying very hard to avoid Lia’s parents’ eyes.
“Suffice it to say I’ve been pretty thoroughly exposed,” he said, his voice ironic as he comprehended the unintentional double meaning to his words.
“Well, that answers a couple of questions,” Dr. McGregor muttered beneath his breath, leveling a steely-eyed look at Sam.
“Bus-ted,” Daff singsonged softly, then yelped and glared at Spencer when he tugged a lock of her hair.
“Well, there are ways to avoid getting it if you’ve already been exposed,” the doctor said. “I suggest you pick up a pamphlet at the nurses’ station before you leave. I wouldn’t recommend visitation, unless you’ve already been exposed or have had the shot. She’s going to be pretty miserable for the next few days, and it will be best for her to have someone around to keep an eye on her, at least for the first day or two. It will run its course between three and seven days. Scary morning, I know, but she’ll be fine.”
He went on his merry way, actually whistling as he left the waiting room. Sam sat down heavily and once again listened to Lia’s family talk around him. Discussing what the best course of action would be.
“We’ll have to postpone the weekend, of course,” Daff was saying. “I’ll see if we can get a refund on the airfare. I’ll stay with her, since I’ve had the shot. The rest of you should get yours, too, by the way. Seriously, people, am I the only sensible person in this family?”
“Why postpone the weekend?” Sam was shocked to hear himself say. “I’ve already been exposed, I’ll stay with her over the weekend and you can still go on your trip.”
Daff planted her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and gave him a long, assessing look.
“I’ll be looking for a wedding dress, Brand. I’d like my maid of honor to be present.”
“We could set up a Skype connection or something so that she can see everything and give her opinion on the dresses.”
“It won’t be the same,” she dismissed curtly, and he shrugged, letting it go, but at the same time wondering why he felt so fucking disappointed by her refusal to consider his suggestion.
All he knew was that he probably wouldn’t be seeing Lia for a week—and he found the prospect completely abhorrent.
“Daff,” Mrs. McGregor said softly, “don’t dismiss his idea out of hand. Planning another weekend like this with everybody’s busy schedules will be quite difficult, especially if you definitely want that October wedding. You want to get the dresses organized sooner rather than later.”
Daff looked torn and hesitated before shaking her head.
“Let’s discuss this later. I want to talk to Lia about it first. Since I’m the only one who can, I’ll go and check on her now.”
Sam pushed himself up and moved to stand beside her, and she looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline.
“What are you doing, Brand?”
“I’m going with you.”
“I don’t fu—fricking think so! I don’t want—”
“Daff.” Spencer’s deep voice interrupted whatever she’d been about to say, and she stopped abruptly, glaring first at her fiancé and then at Sam before she turned and flounced toward the door. Sam nodded gratefully at Spencer, met Lia’s father’s eyes for an uncomfortable moment, and followed Daff out of the room.
“Hi, sissy.” Lia smiled when she saw Daff enter the room; she felt shockingly weak and extremely hot one moment, then ice-cold the next. “I feel so stupid. All this drama for nothing.”
“Don’t be silly, Lia,” Daff admonished in that no-nonsense way of hers and came farther into the room. She was followed by Sam, and Lia’s eyes widened at the sight of him.
“Sam, where are your shoes?” she asked, finding it hard to talk when her throat was on fire. “And your shirt? You should have put on a shirt.”
“And deprive you of the sight of all this manly magnificence?” he teased. It was a half-hearted attempt at humor, but Lia smiled for him. Because he looked like he needed it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was so looking forward to your breakfast.”
“Nah, it would have disappointed you, and I, for one, am happy you upchucked before you ate, because my ego would never have recovered if it was after breakfast.”
She laughed and then coughed.
“Ugh. I feel so gross,” she complained. “When can I go home?”
“This afternoon, they’re just making sure you have no respiratory issues before discharging you,” Daff said.
“I can leave now. I want to sleep. I can’t sleep here. The nurses are always buzzing around me.”
“Soon,” Daff promised, stroking Lia’s damp hair back from her forehead.
“You guys are going to get sick.”
“I had the flu shot, and Brand will probably get it anyway on account of all the spit you guys have been exchanging.”
“Jesus,” Sam muttered, sending Daff a glare before going around the other side of the bed to take one of Lia’s limp hands in his. “I’m glad you’re okay, Lia.”
“I’m so not okay,” she complained. “Everything hurts, I’m tired, I hate coughing, and I hate being here.”
“Jeez, she’s so rarely sick, I forgot what a pain in the butt she is when she’s not feeling well. I may take you up on your offer after all, Brand. Let you deal with her miserable ass.”
“What offer?” Lia asked curiously, her eyes going from one to the other.
“That’s not important right now. Just rest and don’t worry, you’ll be home before you know it.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be better before Friday,” Lia said morosely. She had been thinking about the shopping trip to Cape Town. They were supposed to fly out on Friday evening, which was just two days away. And Lia was definitely not going to make it.
Daff winced and met Sam’s gaze.
“What? Why are you guys sharing secret looks? I’m sick, not dead,” she said irritably. Being sick was bad enough, but having people keep secrets from you just because you happened to have a touch of flu was insufferable.
“I was thinking of postponing,” Daff said. Lia sat up and the wonderful, uninterrupted flow of oxygen cut off as she unintentionally pulled out her nasal cannula.
Sam growled and she met his glare with her glower but allowed him to tug the cannula back into place. She was irritated, not stupid. She was enjoying the oxygen too much to willingly sacrifice it at the altar of righteous indignation.
“What do you mean, you’re thinking of postponing?” Lia gasped and then coughed, thanks to the scrape of air over her vocal cords.
Crumbs! This was the absolute worst.
Daff grabbed a glass of water and handed it to her, and she took a thankful sip.
“Daff, you can’t postpone,” she said, her voice raspy after the bout of coughing. “There’s no time. Send me selfies and stuff, keep me involved . . . there are ways I can be there without really being there.”
“There’s always Skype,” Sam suggested with a hint of smugness—why smugness?—in his voice. Lia nodded and pointed at Sam, too tired and her throat too sore to actually verbalize her approval.
“You’re knackered, aren’t you?” Sam asked, while tugging free some hair that was trapped between the cannula and her cheek. She nodded again, feeling like a limp noodle. And her head felt huge and like it was floating somewhere above the bed, staring down at everybody.
“Tell nurses . . . ,” she managed, her voice sounding wheezy. “Sleep.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, Brand,” Daff said, her voice low and urgent as they both watched Lia drift into unconsciousness.
“That makes two of us, Daff,” he admitted tiredly. “Look, just think about going ahead with this dress-shopping business. Lia took care of me, I’d like to return the favor.”
“Is that all this is? Repaying a debt?” Sam considered her question thoughtfully, then glanced down at the way he was dressed—or undressed, as it were—and grinned wryly.
“You know it’s not,” he said quietly.
“No. It just is, okay? Can we leave it at that for now?”
“I worry about her. After Clayton, she shut down emotionally. It took her months to actually start behaving normally again. It made all of us a little overprotective. We don’t want to see that happen to her again. I’m not sure she could recover a second time. She’s . . . she feels things deeply.”
“Was she in love with that prick?” Sam asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. He looked down at Lia, at her pale, exhausted face, and knew with absolute certainty that she would not agree to marry someone unless she had strong feelings for him. The thought of her in love and having her heart broken was absolutely maddening. How could anyone crush something so precious?
“You know I can’t answer that. It’s something you should ask her.” Sam sighed. Daff turned to leave the room and paused at the door when she noticed that Sam hadn’t moved to follow her.
“Are you coming?”
“I’ll stay awhile longer,” he said. “Can you call the retirement home? They’ll be expecting her for their Wednesday social mixer.”
Daff looked somewhat startled by the request, and her eyes narrowed as she gave him another penetrating look before she nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll call them. Since you’re so familiar with her weekly routine, are there any other cancellations I have to make?” Sam thought about it for a moment.
“Maybe give the animal shelter a heads-up. And I think she was going to do that Books Are Fun thing at the library today. Not sure, but it won’t hurt to call them anyway.”
“Right,” Daff said, her eyes still calculating. “Anyway, after I do that, I have some stuff to discuss with the family. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave.”
“Thanks,” Sam muttered, his eyes glued to Lia’s face. He wasn’t going anywhere until Lia was discharged, and if that meant sitting here shirtless for the rest of the day, being ogled by curious nurses, then so be it.
“Lia, have some of this soup, come on,” Sam coaxed, and Lia peered at him through one swollen eyelid.
“No.” Her voice was embarrassingly croaky and completely unappealing at the moment. “Can’t taste it. Don’t want it.”
“God, I think you’re a fucking worse patient than I ever was,” he complained, exasperation peppering his voice.
“Can’t eat. It’s like swallowing razor blades,” she said, and he winced in sympathy and set the soup bowl aside. It was the third day of her illness. Her mother, Daff, and Charlie had left for Cape Town earlier that day, and the knowledge just made Lia crankier. Spencer had dropped Sam off on her doorstep after four that evening. And Sam had brought a bag, because he claimed to be staying with her for the weekend.
Lia hadn’t agreed to him staying over. He had some nerve to just move in for two days. She was angry about it—nobody had informed her that she would be getting a new minder after Daff left. After two days of Daff’s not-so-tender care, Lia had been looking forward to mooching around her house alone. But Daff had been replaced by Drill Sergeant Brand, who had only been there for four hours but kept ordering Lia to do things.
Eat this! Drink that! Sleep there! Take these!
Ugh.
But there were other perks to having him here. He gave great back rubs and foot massages, and even when she was being unreasonable, he remained infinitely patient and tried to fulfill her every need. She would never have taken him for a nurturer, but Sam Brand just kept on surprising her.
She curled up on her side on the sofa, and he covered her with a blanket. He lifted her feet and sat down, dropping them into his lap and absently rubbing them through her socks. He reached for the remote control and put on the TV, and Lia fell asleep to the comforting drone of some sci-fi movie or other playing in the background.
Sam kept one eye on the movie and the other on Lia. She seemed fine. In discomfort, cranky as hell, but leagues better than she had been on Wednesday. Still, he couldn’t stop looking at her, touching her, reassuring himself that she was fine, that she was breathing easily, that she was just sleeping and not unconscious.
She was such a quiet sleeper—she barely moved and her breathing was so faint he often paused the movie and leaned closer just to hear that reassuring rasp of her breath.
By the time the movie had ended, he was ready for bed as well. Much earlier than he was used to, but it had been an exhausting day. He carefully, so as not to disturb her, lifted Lia’s feet from his lap and went into the bedroom to change the bed linens. It wasn’t anything he’d ever found himself doing before and it probably took him a lot longer than it should have, but in the end, he was proud of the result. He turned down the covers and went back for Lia.
He was a little annoyed with himself for not being strong enough to lift her yet, because he really didn’t want to disturb her. But in the end, he had no other recourse than to gently shake her shoulder.
“Lia, time for bed,” he coaxed, and she sighed.
“I’m sleeping,” she said, her voice cranky while her eyes remained closed.
“I know, but you’ll be more comfortable in bed. Come on.” It took some doing, especially with her being irritable and reluctant to move, but he managed to get her to the bedroom. She was wearing thick, fleecy pajamas that he couldn’t imagine being very comfortable to sleep in, so he eased her out of them. He couldn’t find anything really appropriate-looking for her to sleep in. Just endless amounts of long, bridal-looking lacy nightgowns.
“Jesus, Lia,” he muttered beneath his breath. While he would love to see her in some of these overly feminine, almost Victorian nighties—just so that he could have the pleasure of peeling them off her—they didn’t look very practical. Surprising, considering what a practical soul Lia was. He shook his head and rummaged through his own bag before finding a well-worn, much-loved vintage X-Men T-shirt. He dragged it over her drooping head and fed her arms through the short sleeves before tucking her beneath the covers.
He did a quick security check around the house before brushing his teeth, stripping to his boxer briefs, and climbing into bed beside her. She was already asleep, which he was grateful for, since it curbed any pointless arguments about him sleeping with her.
He draped an arm around her waist and tugged her back until he was spooning behind her. Of course, they’d cuddled this way before, but this was different—she was asleep and it kicked his every protective instinct into hyperdrive. She was asleep and vulnerable, and it was his duty to keep her safe. He couldn’t imagine never doing this again, of leaving her to sleep on her own on Monday when he now knew how small and defenseless she was in her unconscious state.
He sighed and buried his face in her hair; it smelled hot and sweaty, with lingering traces of her shampoo still present. As he felt himself start to drift toward sleep, he found himself acknowledging that Lia was right—sleeping with someone was different. It was intimate.
It meant more.
The urgent buzzing of his phone jarred him awake just an hour later. Sam turned his head and glared at the lit-up phone as it vibrated on the nightstand. He reluctantly lifted his arm from around Lia’s waist to reach for it. Colby’s name was on the screen, and he swore beneath his breath.
“Brand!” he snapped.
“Boss, we have a problem,” Colby said in greeting, without any of the usual pleasantries. Brand only half heard her, because Lia stirred and then coughed. The sound was harsh and grating and made him wince.
Fuck! That didn’t sound good at all.
“Colby, as you so succinctly informed me the other day, I pay you to solve problems. So fucking deal with it! I have more important things to worry about at the moment,” he whispered.
“But—” Lia’s coughing was getting worse, and he disconnected the call before Colby could complete her sentence. He switched off the phone and tossed it aside before easing his arm under Lia’s back and helping her to sit up.
“Deep breaths, sunshine,” he instructed, keeping his voice calm. “I’ll get you some water and some of that cough syrup, okay?”
She groaned in response, the coughing relentless. He rushed to get her water and her medication. Anxiously watching while she swallowed everything down and then curled up into a miserable ball as the violent paroxysm of coughing continued. He wrapped himself around her, gently stroking her back and murmuring comforting little words that made no sense into her hair. Eventually the coughing fit subsided, and he reached for a tissue to dab the tears from her face and then gave her another one for her streaming nose.
“Not a pretty sight, I’m sure,” she croaked. Her throat sounded absolutely lacerated, and he gave her another sip of water. Her eyes were red rimmed and the tip of her runny nose was pink in her pale face, her full lips dry and chapped. Not her finest hour, to be sure, but all Sam saw was his adorable Miss Priss.
“You’re always gorgeous and you know it,” he responded, and she half coughed, half laughed in response.
“You’re such a liar. You’re finally getting your way, aren’t you?”
“How so?” he asked.
“Sleeping over. Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”
“Well, there’s more wheezing and snoring than I anticipated, but it’s right up there with my first kiss”—with you—“and the first time I had sex”—with you.
Because, while he hadn’t known it at the time, both of those moments had irrevocably changed his life. He wasn’t entirely sure how yet, but he definitely wasn’t the same man he had been a mere seven months ago.
“I don’t snore,” she protested weakly, and he grinned.
“Sure you don’t. Now get back under the covers and try to get back to sleep.” She curled up on her side without protest, and he slid in behind her to spoon her again.
“What am I wearing?” she asked drowsily.
“My favorite T-shirt. You’re welcome. And no, you can’t have it.”
“I have nightgowns,” she pointed out.
“You have nightgowns straight out of Downton Abbey. They don’t look comfortable at all.”
“You watched Downton Abbey?”
“It was inescapable. Stop talking, your voice is making my eyes water.”
“Not sexy?”
“Sure it is, if you find frogs sexy.” Her breath hitched in her throat, and a tiny, delightful sneeze escaped on the exhale. It was followed by two more.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked, and she reached for another tissue to noisily blow her nose.
“I sneezed. It’s polite to say ‘gesundheit’ or ‘bless you,’” she informed him, sounding like her old self, despite the exhausted slur in her hoarse voice.
“It sounded like fairy farts, I wasn’t sure what I was hearing,” he teased.
“Shut up,” she said grumpily.
“How rude, Miss Priss, your manners are slipping,” he goaded, dropping a kiss on her temple.
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For being here.”
“No place I’d rather be, sunshine.”
And wasn’t that the absolute truth?
Lia felt marginally better the following morning when Sam set her laptop up on the coffee table. He placed a box of tissues on the easily accessible side table and a bottle of water and a roll of throat lozenges on the table beside the laptop.
After that he retreated to the kitchen to do some tidying up, and Lia settled in to watch Daff try on dresses.
The video image was thankfully clear, and Lia grinned when she saw the four faces pop up on her screen.
“Hi, Lia!” they all squealed in unison, and she grinned, waving excitedly in reply. Her voice wasn’t great after her constant coughing the night before. She had woken up coughing at least three times during the night, and Sam had patiently helped and comforted her through each horrible convulsive attack.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” her mother asked.
“Better,” Lia whisper-croaked in response, and everybody winced at the sound of her voice.
“Ugh, don’t talk, okay? You sound like an old man who’s been smoking a pack a day for the last eighty years.”
Ah, Daff. Ferociously descriptive as always.
Sam, who could hear everything, snorted in amusement, and Lia shot him a glare. He widened his eyes and lifted his shoulders, obviously battling a grin.
“So what’s the plan?” Lia asked, ignoring her sister’s previous comment.
“Daff has to tell us what kind of dress she has in mind. I’m thinking something princessy and poofy.” Daisy grinned.
“Over my dead body!” Daff dismissed.
“I want to see you in a poofy dress, Daff,” Charlie piped up. “It’s always been my dream to get married in a poofy dress.”
“Your dream, kid,” Daff said pointedly. “Not mine. And you’d better not let your brothers know you’re dreaming about wedding dresses already. Spencer will shit a brick and then badger me for information about any secret boyfriends you may have.”
“Well, what’s your dream wedding dress?” Daisy prodded, and Daff rolled her eyes.
“A bikini . . . in Thailand!”
“You wouldn’t dare,” her mother gasped, sounding genuinely terrified that Daff would follow through on her words.
“Nope. We’re doing this thing,” Daff said grudgingly. “So I suppose I’m looking for something simple and elegant. A bit vintage.”
“And boring,” Charlie pouted. A shop attendant, who had been listening to the exchange, directed them to a rack of stunning crystal-encrusted designer gowns, all gorgeous and elegant. They picked out a few to try on, and Daff disappeared into the dressing room to get changed. Another attendant brought a bowl of fresh strawberries and champagne for the ladies—sparkling grape juice for Charlie. Sam, who was remaining discreetly in the background, but also seemed to be following the flow of conversation, brought Lia some sparkling water in a champagne flute. She giggled appreciatively when he presented the glass with a flourish.
Daisy was holding the phone and all Lia could see were feet and floor as the other ladies looked through the dresses while waiting for Daff.
The attendant announced that Daff was ready to show the first dress, and everybody scrambled to sit down. Lia made a frustrated sound when Daisy’s camera skills left a lot to be desired. Her hand kept moving, her finger partially obscured the view, and she kept muffling the speaker with her hand. Sam peeked over her shoulder to see what the problem was and swore.
“Hey, Daisy! Hand the phone over to Charlie—her camerawork is bound to be better, she spends so much time taking selfies.”
“Hey!” they heard Charlie protest, and Daisy’s hand wobbled.
“Is that Brand? Why is Brand with Lia . . . What’s going on?”
“We’ll explain later, now hand the phone over, Daisy. Daff will be right out. I don’t want Lia to miss it,” their mother urged impatiently.
“Fine,” Daisy muttered, sounding disgruntled, and there was a moment of confusion as the phone exchanged hands. Sam was right—the girl was a much better camerawoman than Daisy.
“Thanks,” she murmured, then shooed him away. This was a girls-only affair. He winked at her and retreated again, just in time.
Everybody inhaled collectively when Daff entered the room. Or rather, she trudged into the room. She looked far from happy.
“This looks like a frickin’ nightgown, doesn’t it?” she complained. “The collar is also way too high, and all this lace is really scratchy.”
Womp, Womp, Womp, Womp!
Lia stared at her glass of water and really wished it was alcohol, because she sensed this was going to be a long day.
It was on the sixth dress that the nascent bridezilla stepped out of the dressing room, looked at her reflection, and promptly burst into tears.
Everybody else was sighing and sniffling, too, because Daff looked absolutely beautiful.
It was a slinky silver-white 1920s-style dress, with intricate, scalloped beadwork, a modest V-neck, and sheer, beaded butterfly sleeves. It had a dramatically low scoop back and a slight chapel train, also with that intricate embroidery and beadwork to give it that extra wow factor.
“Oh my God, you look amazing,” Daisy breathed reverently, breaking the hush that had descended over the group.
“Isn’t it too much? It’s too much, right?” Daff lamented, unable to take her eyes off her reflection. “Spencer won’t recognize me in this. It’s . . . it’s . . . Oh my God, I love it. How can I love it? It’s just a dress.”
“It’s so pretty,” Charlie said. “You look like a movie star or something.”
“Mom?” Daff’s voice was questioning, and Charlie swiveled the phone to focus on their mother, who was fanning her face with one hand and dabbing at the tears on her cheek with the other.
“You look beautiful and you know it’s the right dress. We all know it.”
“It’s so expensive. We could use the money for our honeymoon or something, it seems a waste to—”
“Your fiancé is rich AF,” Daisy reminded her, and Daff frowned.
“I don’t want him to pay for my wedding dress, it’s—”
“Your father and I are paying for it, Daff,” their mother interrupted her in a no-nonsense voice.
“But . . .”
“No buts. Now, do you want that dress?” Charlie turned the phone back to Daff, who was running her hands over the beadwork. She turned to look at her back.
“My butt looks amazing in this,” she joked and then giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m actually getting married. To my gorgeous Spencer.” She squealed and covered her face. “Of course I want the dress!”
Everybody cheered and Lia, who couldn’t stop smiling, swallowed past the lump of emotion in her throat. She so wished she could be there with them in this moment, but she was grateful she got to share it even if the circumstances were less than ideal.
She looked up at Sam and discovered him staring at her. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but he smiled when their eyes met.
You okay? he mouthed, and she nodded. And she was fine. She felt only elation for her sister. None of that envy and no residual “it should have been me” sense of entitlement.
It was wonderful to finally be free of those destructive emotions. But staring at Sam, it soon dawned on her that those feelings had just been replaced by something much stronger and potentially a lot more destructive.
She had broken the number one cardinal rule of a successful short-term fling. She had stupidly gone and fallen head over heels in love with Sam Brand.