I lifted my arm out of the water and took one look at it. I was redder than a sunburnt lobster. The skin so shiny and brilliant it almost glowed. “Fuck.”
William was scouring the ingredients label but I was in no mind to wait for that. I jumped out of the tub and shuffled as best I could while trying not to slip across the slick stone floor. I needed the shower and I needed it now.
I frantically scrubbed every inch of my body with soap—which made it sting—when William approached, his entire body tense with anxiety. “It definitely has jojoba oil in it. Why did I not know that you are allergic to that?”
“Because I never had a reason to tell you. You’ve never purchased any of my cosmetics or bath products. And I check everything meticulously.”
“You need something. Tell me what you need. I’ll go to the store.”
“I need some antihistamine. But there’s a medicine cabinet...”
Before I could say more, William was at the medicine cabinet, tearing everything out of it and poring over the labels. Apparently, there wasn’t anything there he could use because he then bolted from the room. He was buck naked, so I had no idea where he was expecting to go from there. I’d go after him, but my skin was a shit show right now. I’d been submerged up to my shoulders in that water, but fortunately, it had never touched my neck, eyes or face. There was some comfort in that, at least.
The rest of me was red, inflamed, and a rash was forming. I had turned the water temperature down to tepid. I moaned with every painful throb.
Suddenly someone called from the doorway into the bathroom.
“Jenna? Are you okay?” It was Mia.
Well it looked like William had called in the cavalry. “Just a minute!” I called. “I’m naked. Let me grab a towel.”
After making sure the soap was all gone, I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around me—but couldn’t pull it tight. Wherever the terry fabric touched my skin, it hurt. And I was beginning to get a headache. Even my hands felt swollen.
Mia took one look at me and her eyes bulged. She went into doctor mode immediately, reaching up to press her fingers to the sides of my neck. “Do you have any risk of anaphylaxis? How allergic to jojoba are you?”
“I’ve never had an anaphylactic reaction before. I just get redness, sometimes rashes.”
Her hands were still on either side of my throat. “Swallow.”
I did as she asked. Then she turned to flip on all the lights and examine my skin. “Your hands are swollen. We need to get you some antihistamine, stat.”
“That’s what I told William... did he run and fetch you?”
She glanced up at me, then she put her thumb to my eyelid to hold my eye open and asked me to look left and right. “He ran out of your room shouting.”
“Was he—was he naked?”
Her brows crunched together, and she looked at me funny. “No, he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, why?”
I shook my head and waved her off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m worried about him.”
She shook her head. “He was very worried, but when I heard you were having a reaction, I raced in here and didn’t really pay much attention to what he was doing. You washed all the substance off? Are you feeling any lesions? I see a bit of rash forming.”
“Yeah I washed it all off.”
Mia lowered her hands and stood up from sitting beside me on the bed. “There’s a first aid kit in the bar. The concierge pointed it out our first day here, and I inventoried the contents to make sure it was good. I remember seeing some antihistamine tablets in there. I’ll go grab them and a bottle of water. You might want to find something loose-fitting to wear or just slide under the sheets. The meds are going to make you sleepy anyway.”
“Please, can you find out if Wil is okay? I’m worried that he’s going to blame himself for this. It’s my fault. I didn’t tell him I was allergic to jojoba.”
Mia was almost out the door already. “I’ll put Adam on it.” She left the room at a run.
I chose to pull the towel off my body—it felt like prickly sandpaper by now, and just slide into the sheets naked, but not before performing a brief inspection of my skin. A small rash of little red bumps was starting to form, but there were no lesions. Thank goddess.
Nevertheless, everywhere my body touched the sheets was painful, and my joints ached like I was arthritic. With a loud groan, I settled back against the pillows, and by then, Mia was back by my side with a bottle of water and the pills. I swallowed them gratefully.
She opened another foil. “Take these, too. Painkillers. You’re going to need them.”
I did as she asked, and then looked up at her with pleading eyes. “William?”
Her mouth thinned. “Well, I couldn’t find Adam, but Jordan told me that William was so frantic he practically ran barefoot out into the snow to buy your medicine. Adam jumped on it, got him to put on his shoes, and they went out together. I can’t text Adam to tell him to come back because he doesn’t have his phone. But we have everything you need right here. I’m not sure what shape William’s in, but I’ll make sure to sit him down and explain everything to him when they’re back.”
I blinked. “Okay.”
“Feeling sleepy yet?”
I nodded lazily. “Yeah.”
“Good. You’re going to need to sleep this one off. I’ll let everyone know you’re out for the night’s activities. And I’ll make sure someone stays here to keep an eye on you.”
I think I muttered a reply, but I can’t remember. Sleep, blissfully, was overtaking me, and the burning of my skin was just a distant awareness now.
Sometime later, I stirred, aware that I was painfully thirsty. I said as much aloud to the room, as if there might be an entire audience waiting with bated breath to serve me at my beck and call. In truth, there was just one. A vigilant knight perched on the edge of the bed, holding my hand and watching me carefully. Before I could even finish the request, he held out a cold bottle, carefully tipping it toward my lips so I could swallow it with a minimum of effort.
“Thank you,” I whispered, letting my head fall back against the pillow as he replaced the bottle on the nightstand. “What time is it? It must be late. Why don’t you come to bed?”
“I need to make sure you’re all right. Mia said you need more pills, every four hours, and it’s almost time. Will you be awake for seventeen more minutes?”
I smiled. “I think it’s okay if you give them to me now. But first...” I reached out and took his hand. “I want you to promise me you’ll get up and tend to yourself, and for goodness sake, go to sleep. I’m not a baby. You don’t need to fuss over me all night.”
“I did this.”
“You didn’t. Stop it.” I struggled to sit up but his large hands went to my shoulders, holding me down. “What do you need? I’ll do it for you.”
“You can’t. I have to pee.”
There was some hesitation, as if he were devising some way that he could do it for me, but I gently batted his hands away and got up. I felt ever so much better. The reaction had mostly passed, with only the most minute soreness in some of my joints, vestiges of the inflammation.
When I returned, William held out the pills and the glass again. “I guess you can take it nine minutes early.”
I thanked him and took the pills and water. He asked if I was hungry, and I said no. “Have you eaten dinner?”
William shook his head. “They brought back some food for both of us from their dinner out but I haven’t wanted to—”
I pointed to the door. “Go. Now. Eat. If you don’t, I’ll be upset, and I might break out in hives again.” A total untruth, but I knew enough about my stubborn sweetie to know that he wouldn’t leave my side while he thought I was ill. “Or better yet, put it on a tray and bring it back here. I’ll lie next to you, and you can eat your dinner and be right beside me, okay?”
I was forever devising compromises for him. And they worked and made us both happy. It help
ed him feel more comfortable and more likely to give on things he might have stood his ground for, otherwise. These little tricks of the trade I’d devised to keep our relationship running smoothly—I suspected that he had devised many of his own, too.
Were we actually being grown-ups in a real and honest, fulfilling adult relationship? Why yes, yes, we were.
But I still couldn’t fathom why it was so important for me to hear those words from him. I knew in my deepest heart of hearts how he felt. But I hadn’t heard those words in over a year.
He returned to bed with a tray of food, immediately offering me some. I declined again and he started wolfing down his sandwich, obviously famished. And yet he’d only reluctantly left my side, and only because I’d insisted. If I hadn’t woken up, he might have never had anything to eat for the night. Likely no sleep, either.
I could feel the pull of sleepiness from the new dose of medicine, my lids growing oh so heavy. As William finished his sandwich and leaned back against his pillow, I reached out and covered his large hand with my own. Here I was in a cocoon of warmth and security and guarded fiercely by my love. I’m so lucky.
“Promise me something, please?”
“What?”
“No, promise me before I tell you what you are promising.”
“Um, what does that mean?”
“It means I’m making you trust me by promising to promise me something. Just do it and don’t ask questions.”
His head jerked toward me. “Promising to promise you—?”
“Wil, just do it.”
“Um, okay. I promise. Now what am I promising?”
“Promise me you’ll sleep tonight, right here, next to me. I’ll be okay, but I don’t want you to be exhausted. Tomorrow, I’ll feel much better and want to do things with you, go out and enjoy nature and just be together. Promise me you’ll go to sleep and not stand guard over me.”
He sighed.
“You promised to promise me.”
Even he laughed at that. “I suppose I did. Okay, I promise I’ll sleep, and we’ll go out and enjoy nature tomorrow.”
“And each other. Enjoy each other.”
He turned his hand upward to wrap around mine. “I always enjoy being with you. Except maybe when you are forcing me to promise to promise something and I’m confused what that even means.”
My fingers curled around his big, callused hand. My mind was already drifting off to that warm fuzzy place. My lids drooped. “I love you, Wil.”
He didn’t respond. But his hand squeezed mine tighter. I have no idea when he stopped holding my hand, whether it was five minutes or longer. Knowing Wil, he probably sat like that for hours, reluctant to pull his hand away to even change his clothes for bed. Stubborn man.
Stubborn, sweet, adorable, and unique man. My man.
Chapter 22
William
“So when do I get to see the project you’ve been working on?” Jenna asks me with that tone in her voice and the familiar glance—the one where she’s trying to make it look like she’s not forcing an issue, when she actually is. She peers at me out of the corner of her eyes without changing the position of her head.
“You’ve had opportunities to look at the book when I leave it unattended. Haven’t you tried to look?”
Now she does turn her head to face me, her mouth open in shock.
We’re trudging through the snow early in the morning, just after breakfast. No one else was even stirring besides Jordan, who’s always up around sunrise anyway. He’d been sipping at his coffee quietly while reading financial reports on his phone.
I have to admit, I wasn’t thrilled about the suggestion when it started snowing, but Jenna excitedly jumped up and down when she saw it.
“Fresh snow!” she’d exclaimed, and though I dreaded the thought of walking out in the cold again—and seeing the puffs of air escape my mouth with every breath—I humored her, dressed, and we went out. Now we were holding gloved hands and trudging through the fresh snow—
another thing I didn’t like. Walking in snow was worse than walking in sand at the beach, only cold. And wet. At least I have the excuse to once again wear the scratchy, imperfect scarf that she made just for me with her own pretty, elegant hands.
Jenna stared at me, shocked by my suggestion that she would have peeked at my work. “I’d never look at your sketch pad without permission, Wil!” But there’s something about the flush in her face, and it isn’t just from the cold, that makes me think that she’s at least entertained the idea. Regardless, I trust her implicitly. She’s never lied to me, and I don’t think a small issue such as this would be the reason she would start.
However, I don’t want her to be curious about this. It’s a surprise, after all. But something has been bothering her. She’s been acting different since just after we got here. It’s subtle, but for me, easy to detect.
She stopped beside an empty lot on the lane. “You know what we must do in fresh snow, right?”
I frown. “Go inside and sip hot chocolate?”
She snorted, the air escaping her nose like stream from a dragon’s snout. She is beautiful, as always, but that image is not. I don’t like seeing the breath coming out of her face, either.
“Snow angels! C’mon, Wil. There’s the perfect spot, right beside that cluster of trees. Fresh and untouched.”
“That’s because people aren’t meant to touch snow. The reason for gloves and scarves and jackets and...”
But she’s got me by the hand, and she’s tugging me toward the fresh mound of snow. Reluctantly, I allow her to pull me toward it. The moment we get there, she drops into the snow, laughing like a gleeful child, waving her arms and legs back and forth. “Make an angel with me.”
With a long, drawn out sigh—every inch of which I see stirring around my face—I drop down beside her and imitate her movements. Admittedly, I have much less enthusiasm than she is showing. But it makes her happy, as she laughs some more, and I have to admit that I crave the sound of her laughter. I’ll do anything to make her laugh some more—especially after the disaster that was yesterday. Today, I’m inclined to do whatever she wants whenever she wants it. I am her courtly servant in every way, not just as knight protector, after all.
But making a snow angel is making me absolutely miserable. First of all, I started out cold, and this makes me colder, even though I’m wearing my jacket and scarf. Snow has slipped down the back of my jeans. And second of all, I’m now wet, which makes the cold even worse. And wet clothes are utterly intolerable. As with yesterday and the fiasco of the bath, we’ll be returning to the cabin in wet clothes. At least I know better than to start a bubble bath, that’s for sure.
Jenna has completely bounced back from that horrid experience and there’s no evidence whatsoever of a rash or even any type if illness. She’s got more energy than ever. And while I love that about her, I hate that she’s always wanting to be outside.
I love nature and the outdoors as much as she does. I’ve done many a camp-out with our reenactment group and have even slept under the stars a few times, but mostly I prefer my pavilion tent. Most of all, I prefer to be warm. I don’t like cold. I don’t like wet. She knows this. But I’ll do anything to please her, so I’ll do it for now.
It doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it, though.
“Oh, you made an amazing angel!” she says, sitting up to examine my handiwork. “A very large, amazing angel. Here, let me help you up so you don’t ruin it getting out of the snow.”
She weighs only a little more than half what I do, but she leans back, gaining leverage, and helps me out of the snow. I’m now soaked down to my boxers, snow under my jacket and shirt. I’m extremely uncomfortable.
“Ahhh look, isn’t it fantastic! Your snow angel.”
“It’s an imprint of my body in the snow, and it hardly resembles an angel.”
“Use your imagination! It’s great. C’mon, let’s walk a little more.”
I was afraid she
’d suggest that. When do I get to suggest hot cocoa and a warm blanket—in dry clothes—by the fire? Maybe next time Mia decides to do a big friend retreat together, I’ll suggest a tropical island. But that means sand, and I hate sand, probably as much as Anakin Skywalker.
I begin to think of other warm places that don’t have sand that won’t annoy me as much as being wet and cold does.
“Wil? Can I ask a question?”
“I’ve never prevented you from asking me questions.”
She laughs. “Yes, I know. I was just saying that to, you know, get a new conversation started.” We’re holding hands now and making our way up the street toward the hot springs. If it didn’t mean getting wet—and then getting back out into the frigid air—I might even consider swimming in anything hot. Maybe not soup, but—
“I wanted to ask you... please don’t laugh. Do you love me?”
I frown, unsure I heard her question correctly. Then I look at her to make sure she’s not making some kind of joke. Sometimes I’m slow picking up when people are joking.
But this must be a joke, because she knows damn well. She’s serious—no smile. It’s not a joke. But how? She already knows the answer to that question.
I blink. “This is a ridiculous question, Jenna. And I fail to see the humor in it.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not joking. I just... I need to... I want to know what you’re feeling. Right now, right at this moment.”
“Cold and wet, and now that you’ve asked me that, irritated.”
“Irritated? By me?”
“Why ask a question to which you already know the answer?”
She frowns, her blond brows knitting together on her forehead under her fluffy pink cap. “I’m not saying I doubt you, Wil. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“That’s good. Then there’s nothing to talk about anymore.”
Now that we are no longer walking and a slight breeze has kicked up, I’m beyond cold. Even the muscles on my neck are involuntarily contracting to join with the full body shiver that’s happening. I hate being cold. And I hate being wet. And I hate unnecessary questions.
For The Holidays (Gaming The System Book 9) Page 12