Chapter 31 Alexander
Alexander
Something was off with Ivy tonight. I asked her if she was okay, and she said she had a little headache the food should fix, but it seemed like more than that.
I hope she isn’t regretting coming. I mean, she didn’t act like she regretted anything.
But she didn’t seem at all like herself either.
I think perhaps she was lost in her thoughts.
I just hope they weren’t sending her in the opposite direction from me.
I showered, and returned a few messages I received during the day, then went to bed.
And now, I’ve been lying here for half an hour or so, but something within me will not settle.
I turn on my side and try to focus on the good things, instead of worrying about what may be going on with Ivy.
I remember the smell of the lavender coming underneath the bathroom door, and the feeling of domesticity the whole situation gave me.
How real and right it felt, settling into a room with her.
To wait as she filled the room with a floral scent as she got ready for bed.
I reach for my phone to check the time and find a message from Ivy sent fifteen minutes ago.
BEAUTIFUL IVY
Need you come help my please
I don’t bother with a shirt; I just grab my key, sprint to the door, and fling it open. When I knock on hers, it's several agonizing moments before the door opens. Ivy must have been leaning on it a bit because she collapses into my arms.
“Alex.” Her voice is so small and so weak; it crushes something within me.
“Shhh,” I soothe, as I pull her up fully into my arms and walk her to the bed. “It’s gonna be alright, darling. I’m here now and I’m gonna do everything I can to make you well again.” I lay her down as gently as I can, then smooth her hair out of her face.
“Alex.” Ivy reaches out her hand and grabs hold of my bare shoulder.
“I’m here, darling.” She drops her arm and I place a soft kiss on her forehead. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? What can I do?”
“Migraine.” She takes a deep breath. “I need you to find medicine somewhere.”
“Okay.”
I don’t have anything, but I call down to the front desk and see if they happen to have some or know where I can get some. The inn itself doesn’t, but the woman at the desk has some in her purse and says she’ll bring it right up.
I fill a cup with water and help Ivy sit just enough to be able to take the pill.
“I’m sorry. You should be sleeping right now,” she says. In the darkness I can barely make out the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“No, darling, this is what I should be doing. I only wish you weren’t going through this.
” I wipe the tears from her cheeks and hold her face in my hands.
“It will be better soon.” I kiss her cheek, then rest my forehead against hers, wishing there was some way I could take this from her.
Transfer her pain directly from her head to mine.
There is a soft knock at the door, and I retrieve the medicine, thank the woman profusely, then go back to Ivy’s side. I consult the bottle and realize I have no idea if she has any allergies. After confirming she doesn’t, I help her take the medicine, but then I’m at a loss for what else to do.
I’m reaching for my phone to search for how best to help people with migraines when Ivy speaks.
“Can you rub my head and neck?”
“Of course.” I look at how she is lying and consider where I should go.
Ivy starts moving toward the center of the bed. “Lie down.”
She doesn’t offer any explanation and simply waits for me to obey.
I do.
Once I’m settled, Ivy rolls toward me, resting her head on my chest. The feel of her cheek and her wild hair against my skin threatens to take me to places I don’t need to go.
She wraps her arm around my middle, and I think I want to be the one to help her through any and everything she ever has to go through.
I want to be at her side to love and support her through everything she does. The good and the bad. Everything.
“Can you reach my neck and head like this?”
“Yes.” My voice sounds broken, and I hope she doesn’t notice. I bring my right hand to her neck and my left to her head. I’m not sure where on her head to massage, and I’m about to ask when I feel her relax against me. That’s got to be a good sign.
She lets out a relieved breath, and I can’t explain how it makes me feel to be able to help her like this.
I close my eyes and fight a shiver as her thumb starts softly brushing the skin at my side.
I thread my fingers through her hair—like I’ve wanted to so many times—but with the goal of helping relieve any tension in her scalp.
She hums and relaxes further, her thumb still branding me with the fire of her touch.
I think I should get her name tattooed on that spot, so it will always be hers.
“Go to sleep, darling,” I whisper, before placing a slow kiss on the top of her head. As if she needed my permission, she snuggles closer, it takes some time, but eventually I notice her breathing change as she drifts into dreams.
It’s not long before I follow, hoping to meet her there.
I wake up cocooned with Ivy. She’s facing me and I have her pulled against my chest. Right where she belongs. It feels like everything a morning should be. We’d gone to sleep on top of the sheets with the quilt pushed to the side, but apparently at some point in the night, we pulled it over us.
It’s going to be hard to come back from this to anything pretend, so I hold onto her as long as I can. I stretch the night as far as it will reach, hoping that when those clear green eyes greet the morning, they will see me in a new light.
I’m on the verge of falling back into a contented sleep when I feel Ivy begin to move within my arms. I open my eyes, needing to watch her awaken.
“Would it make things more difficult if I said I never want to move from here?” Ivy closes her eyes again and runs her hand down my spine. It’s all I can do to keep from kissing her.
“Probably. But if you’d like, I’ll ask to buy the inn.”
She laughs and rolls onto her back. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“For you? Absolutely.” I prop my head up on my arm to look at her. “Migraine gone?”
“It is. Thank you. Actually, I normally wake up a little hungover after a night-time migraine, but I’m feeling surprisingly refreshed. I’m sorry I called you from your room, though.” Ivy turned her head toward me, an apologetic smile on her lips.
“Trust me. I’ve never been less bothered by anything in my entire life.”
“You slept okay?”
“Hmmm … now that you mention it …” I sigh dramatically. “I slept better than ever.”
Ivy rolls her eyes and whacks me with one of the many extraneous pillows, then turns to her side, laughing, her back to me.
I wonder how she’d feel if I slid closer and held her that way, but I don’t get the chance to try.
She sits up and stretches, her little flamingo tank top showing off bits of her perfect, creamy skin.
“It’s so nice not to have a migraine,” she says, arms over her head.
“I guess the food didn’t fix your headache.”
“No. It got worse and worse.”
“I wish you’d told me before I left. I could have found medicine before it got too bad.”
She stands and turns to look at me. Her morning hair, illuminated by the window behind her, is a sight I know would always make me smile.
“If I had, you wouldn’t have ended up in here. Do you really wish that?”
I sit up, leaning against the headboard. “If it would have spared you any of your misery, yes, of course.” Then I sigh. “And, also, it was a lot of work for me. I’ve never been a nurse before.”
“You poor thing.” She walks around the bed and sits on it by my knee.
I sigh again and shrug like I’m really put out but trying to act like it’s no big deal. “I wouldn’t say that you owe me, but if you felt you did, I would understand that.”
Ivy suppresses a smile. “You know, I really do feel that way. And it just so happens that I have the perfect way to pay you back.”
“Do you?” I’ll take it. I don’t care what it is.
“I seem to remember ...” She rises and approaches to sit closer, then glides her hands excruciatingly slowly from my jaw to my neck and hair.
“Your lips on me here.” She slowly kisses my forehead.
“And here.” Her fingertips caress my neck as she kisses my cheek, then she stands, taking her hands from my neck and sitting them on my shoulders.
“And here.” Ivy kisses the top of my head.
I cannot help the earsplitting smile on my face as she straightens. I don’t know what has got into her this morning but sign me up. “Are you sure that was it? I think my lips might have touched your lips.”
“I’m sure they didn’t.”
“You were pretty out of it.”
“I wasn’t that out of it. Something tells me the feel of your lips on mine would be far too memorable.”
And there was our problem. Or hers. I could live with only the memory. If I had to.