Chapter 29 Dimitri
DIMITRI
The blankets were suffocating.
Dimitri kicked at them frantically, shoving the heavy layers off his sweat-soaked body. Two blankets. Who had put two blankets on him? He was burning alive under there, his skin slick with perspiration, his clothes plastered to his body.
Air. He needed air. And water. Definitely water.
He grabbed the bottle on the nightstand and twisted off the cap, draining it in long, thirsty gulps. The liquid was room temperature, like everything on this godforsaken island, but it was wet, and it was wonderful, and he didn't stop until the bottle was empty.
Better. Much better.
He lay back against the damp pillow and took stock of his situation.
The fever had broken. That much was obvious from the sweat and the sudden clarity in his head.
He could think again and form coherent thoughts without them dissolving into feverish dreams and Russian nursery rhymes his grandmother used to sing.
Mattie. She'd been here. He could smell her in the air. He remembered her curled beside him at night, his arm wrapped around her. Then, as the fever claimed him, he remembered her cool hand on his forehead.
Where was she?
He turned his head, scanning the room.
The chair beside the bed was vacant, the basin of water still sitting on the desk, a pile of damp washcloths next to it. Signs of her care, but no Mattie.
He lifted his wrist and squinted at the watch face, trying to make sense of the numbers. It was almost two in the afternoon. Mattie's shift at the bar started at one.
She must have gone to work.
He sniffed the air, recognizing Petrov's scent. Industrial soap, sweat, and vodka.
He had been here. Dimitri's gaze landed on the pill container next to the empty water bottle. Petrov had brought those.
That explained the fever breaking.
There was also a container of soup on his desk, probably courtesy of Petrov as well, and three boxes of crackers.
Suddenly, the hunger registered, and Dimitri walked over to the desk.
He removed the lid from the container and, using the spoon he found next to the soup, shoveled it into his mouth until there was nothing left.
Next, he attacked the box of crackers, stuffing two at a time into his mouth until the gaping hole in his stomach felt a little less empty.
He was about to open the second box when he suddenly heard the water in the shower running.
What the hell? Had a pipe burst?
Walking over, he opened the bathroom door. Steam curled through, carrying with it the faint scent of the industrial soap the island provided, and beneath it a familiar, gentle whiff. It wasn't a burst pipe, it was Mattie.
She hadn't left.
He should probably close the door and return to bed, wait for her to finish and come out, but his bladder had other ideas.
The pressure had been building while he was gulping down the soup, and it was becoming impossible to ignore. He needed to use the toilet, and he needed to use it now.
"Mattie?" he called without looking in. "Is that you in there?"
He heard the shower curtain being yanked aside.
"Dimitri? You're awake?"
"I'm awake. And I'm sorry, but I really need to use the toilet." He pushed the door open before he could think better of it.
The bathroom was tiny, barely big enough for the toilet, sink, and narrow shower stall. Steam filled the space, making everything soft and hazy. And there, standing in the shower with water streaming down her body, was Mattie.
She squeaked, high-pitched and startled, and instead of closing the shower curtain, her hands flew up to cover herself. One arm crossed over her chest, the other hand pressing between her thighs, and her face turned crimson.
"I'm so sorry," Dimitri said, but he couldn't look away.
He just couldn't. She was beautiful—pale skin flushed pink from the hot water, blond hair darkened and plastered to her shoulders, blue eyes wide with surprise.
The scars on her legs, the ones she'd shown him that night in the staff kitchen, stood out against her skin, but they didn't diminish her beauty. Nothing could.
Then his brain caught up with his eyes, and he turned his head sharply to the side, staring at the wall.
"You're incredibly beautiful," he said. "Thank you for the peek. But I really, really need to use the toilet. Is that okay? I promise I won't look."
For a moment, silence. Then Mattie laughed, a nervous, breathless sound that echoed off the tile walls.
"Go ahead," she said. "Just don't look."
"I won't."
He heard the shower curtain pull closed.
He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the wall as he crossed to the toilet. The relief when he finally emptied his bladder was almost overwhelming. He must have been holding it in for hours, and the pressure had built to the point of no return.
"How do you feel?" Mattie asked after he flushed the toilet.
"Good as new," he said, and was surprised to find it was mostly true.
The fever was gone, the weakness in his limbs had faded, and he felt almost normal.
Strangely, his sense of smell had gotten sharper for some reason, and he assumed it was a side effect of whatever had gotten him sick. "Whatever Petrov gave me worked."
"He was amazing. He brought the pills and food, and he also went to the bar to tell Anil that I couldn't come in today."
Dimitri was surprised at his boss's initiative. "I owe him a drink, but since we don't pay for our drinks at the bar, perhaps I should reward him in some other way."
There was a full-length mirror on the bathroom door, and as he wiped the condensation from the glass with his hand, he was startled by his own reflection.
He looked terrible despite feeling just fine.
His face was pale, hollow-eyed, with a day's worth of stubble darkening his jaw, and his hair was sticking up in every direction.
The bandage on his neck was stained, but he wasn't sure if it was dried blood or sweat.
He could only imagine how bad he smelled after hours of sweating beneath two blankets.
He moved to the sink, becoming acutely aware of Mattie showering mere centimeters away.
"Can I brush my teeth?" he asked. "I promise I still won't peek."
There was a pause.
"I don't mind if you peek," Mattie said.
Dimitri's hand froze on the toothbrush. "What?"
"I said you can peek." The shower curtain rustled. "You can also get in here with me. You're covered in sweat and I can help you wash it off. You're probably unsteady on your feet."
Talk about shock. His brain short circuited.
Shy Mattie, the girl who blushed when he complimented her, who ducked her head when their eyes met, who had been so hesitant to show him her scars, was inviting him to shower with her?
This had to be a dream. He was still in bed, still burning up with fever, and his delirious mind was conjuring fantasies. Wonderful fantasies, but he needed to know whether he was dreaming or awake.
Dimitri reached down and pinched the inside of his forearm. Hard.
"Ouch!"
"What happened?" Mattie yanked the shower curtain aside and poked her head through the gap she'd made.
"I pinched myself."
"Why? What made you do that?"
"I thought I was dreaming." He stared at the red mark already forming on his skin, then lifted his head to look at Mattie's beautiful face. "I'm not dreaming, am I?"
Mattie laughed, and the sound was warm, full, and utterly delightful, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
"I'm not really as shy as the impression I work hard to give," she said. "I'm not a blushing virgin." A pause, and her cheeks turned even pinker. "Just blushing."