Chapter 14 #2
“Because you have been avoiding me.” He pouts.
“I’ve been busy.” I put my fork down and cross my arms over my chest.
“Bullshit.” A laugh teases his tongue.
“Can you leave, please?”
He opens his mouth then closes it again. “Is that what you want?”
I can tell he is hurt but I needed to do this. “Yes.” I turn my face away from him and watch the singer again who just begins playing a new song.
“Fine.” He pushes back on the chair and storms away, not once looking back.
My heart aches in my chest but it was done for the right reasons. This wouldn’t have been good for either of us.
Finishing my last glass, I pick my knife and fork up and tuck back into my food.
Then I continue drinking another two bottles of wine.
Which was a mistake.
Huge.
Stumbling home, the fresh air knocks me for six making the three bottles of wine I consumed hit me, hard. I don’t even know how I made it home. I see two of Alexandré who rushes over to me. I pat his chest and tell him he is a nice man. He mutters something in French and walks me to the lift.
I try and get away but how it goes in my head and how it goes in real life are two different things.
Walking me into the lift, he follows behind and presses the floor for the penthouse.
“Is Mr Lexington home?” I slur and he gives me a soft nod.
“Oh goodie.” Sarcasm drips off my drunk tongue and I roll my eyes.
“Mademoiselle.” He ushers me forward and leads me towards Creed’s door.
“You have to be quiet, Alex, he will be asleep.” I think I am whispering, but the way Alexandré winces, I’m certain I am not. “You don’t mind me calling you Alex, do you?”
He sighs heavily, pushing a smile on his lips before he presses the doorbell.
“Shhhhh.” I press my finger to my lips and that’s when the door swings open, a pissed off looking Creed framed by it.
He eyes me, then Alexandré. They converse in French and then Creed takes me from Alex, wishing him goodnight and thanking him.
Alex scarpers down the hallway and into the waiting lift.
“Hello, Mr Lexington,” I sing, and he grunts in response as he swoops me up with one of his arms, and I throw my arm around his neck, accidentally hitting him in the jaw as I do. “Oopsie.” I giggle and he growls.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re observant.” I bury my face into his neck and inhale. “You smell really good,” I admit, sniffing him again.
He ignores me, but I can feel his chest vibrating and I am sure he is chuckling lightly to himself. Walking me through to my bedroom, he drops me down onto the bed.
“I’ll get you some water and painkillers.” His lips twitch as he looks down at me.
“Ah, my hero.” I place my hand over my heart, and he shakes his head, tutting on his way out.
The room is spinning, my belly churns and I am annoyed now that I drank so much. Silly, silly, girl.
He is back, still looking grumpy and handsome and no doubt still smells amazing. Leaning over, he places the iced tap water on the side table and then pulls me up so I am sitting on the edge of the bed as he drops two painkillers into my palm.
“Take them,” he orders and he stands, arms crossed waiting for me to swallow them down.
“You’re bossy.” I roll my eyes and just as I am about to put them in my mouth, I heave, my eyes widening before I throw up.
All down myself.
Tears stream down my face, blinking at him. His hardened expression changes, softens slightly.
“It’s okay,” he utters, “I’ll be back.” He walks out of the room and I am still sitting there, crying in my sick covered clothes, and I have never felt more humiliated than I do now.
Hot tears roll down my cheek, and I am silently begging that he will walk through the door and take this all away from me. The sound of his footsteps approaching has me looking up, eyes red rimmed, bottom lip trembling.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, scooping me from the bed and carrying me in his arms. One is locked around my back, the other is under my knees and I cling onto him like he is my lifeline.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter through my silent sobs, but he says nothing.
We step into the large bathroom, it’s modern and sleek. My eyes peek from his chest as I scope the room. Floor-to-ceiling light grey tiles, large mirrors hanging on the wall, free standing bath by a large window and a walk-in shower with his and her sinks.
Placing me down, my feet touch the fuzzy bathmat and I shudder before my whole body begins to tremble. He looks down at me, full of pity and I can’t stand it.
“Can I?” His hand hovers by the straps of my dress, and I nod, a lone tear trailing my cheek.
He tucks his fingers under the straps and then lets them skim down my arms. I should be ashamed, but I am not. Not that he is seeing me in my underwear. I am more ashamed that I have been sick in front of him and cried.
I step out of my sick covered dress, Creed’s hand steadying me as I do. He lowers himself down and unstraps my sandals, taking them off one by one and tossing them by the door. He looks up at me from his knees, green eyes burning into mine and my body heats under his gaze.
“Let’s get you in the bath.” He stands slowly, his hand wrapped in mine as he walks me to the bath.
I can’t say anything. I am mute, but I can’t stop staring at him. The way he is looking at me. He has just peeled my sick covered dress from my skin and there wasn’t a single gag in sight. The man has the stomach of an ox.
“I’ll leave you be,” he mutters before tucking his head down and walking out of the room. I don’t move, just stare at the door.
I have no idea why, but I hurt. Like there is a pain in my chest, like it’s caving in on itself.
Finally, my legs no longer feel like lead, and I can move ever so slowly as I remove my underwear and then steady myself into the bath. The hot water causes goose bumps to erupt all over my skin before my body submerges under the bubbles and that’s where I stay until the water is bone cold.
Pushing myself out, I reach for the warm towel that is on the large rad and wrap it around my body, pulling it tight. I hadn’t even noticed but he has taken my sick covered clothes and my sandals and replaced them with cotton pyjamas.
My brows knit as I look down at them. I have never seen them before. Soft cream with dusty pink bows.
Cute. A ghost of a smile lifts my lips before I begin to dry myself and dress in my pyjamas.
Folding the towel up, I place it back on the towel rail and slowly emerge from the bathroom. The hallway is dimly lit and I pad down there, cautiously. Inhaling heavily, I see him sitting at the breakfast bar.
His eyes swipe over me then slides me a black coffee. “Drink that.”
I scoop it into my hand and hover, not sure what to do with myself. I am trembling; I’m not cold, I just think it’s the shock of what happened this evening. Bringing it to my lips, I take a mouthful and wince. It tastes dry and bitter.
“It’ll help.” He gives me a weak smile.
“I don’t think anything will help.” My stomach coils. “I feel really unwell.” I sniff, my chin wobbling.
“Have a few more mouthfuls, then I think you need to sleep it off.”
I nod as I try and take another mouthful and my stomach flips. Sighing, I look over to my room and my brows knit together, lips pursing.
“You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch,” he says as if it’s no big deal, when in fact, it was a really big deal.
“No, I’ll take the couch,” I insist as I place the coffee down on the breakfast bar, pushing it far away and shaking my head.
“No, you won’t.” He stands up, placing his own coffee down. He towers over me, and I find myself shrinking. He laces his fingers through mine and walks me down towards his bedroom.
“Creed, please.” My voice cracks but he says nothing.
Dropping my hand, he pulls the duvet back, pats the mattress.
“Don’t be a brat, Ana?s.” His lips twitch and I roll my eyes at him, tapping my foot onto the floor. He looks down at me, a disapproving look flashing across his stupid, handsome face.
“Fine,” I spit through gritted teeth, and I am fully aware I am being, as he said, a brat about it, but I don’t like being told what to do.
Getting into bed, tug the covers towards me and turn my back on him. Oh my God, I was being such a bitch.
“There’s a good girl,” he says low and slow and I pull the cover above my head to try and block him out. “I’ll bring your water in.” His voice drifts away as he walks out the room and I feel rotten.
My stomach throbs and churns, my head is pounding, and my mouth is as dry as the dessert.
Peeking a look, he has disappeared, and I let out a huge sigh, slapping my hands into the luscious duvet.
The room is spacious, not as big as the one I am in, but still a decent double.
The walls are light, with a huge window which is currently blacked out.
There is another door, which I am assuming is where the en-suite is hidden.
Letting my eyes slowly track the ceiling, I pray for a good night’s sleep, so I wake up fresh as a daisy.
I did not need a hangover.
I am such a baby when it comes to those or illness. I want to be waited on hand and foot, to have someone at my beck and call, I want feet rubs, and body massages, and romcoms and food. Lots and lots of food.
The sound of Creed approaching has me looking towards the door, a cute smile on his face as he places the water next to me. Then, he looks down at me, amusement painted on his face.
“You don’t look good, Ace.”
“I don’t feel good,” I grumble, pulling the duvet back over my head.
“Try and get some sleep, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning.”
My bottom lip begins to tremble, my shoulders shuddering as I try and hold in my sobs. He catches me though. Peeking under the cover, his eyes are all worried as he traces my face.
“What’s wrong?” The softness of his voice has fresh tears rolling down my cheeks. He inhales heavily.
“I am just sad,” I admit, because that’s the truth. “And I don’t want to be alone.” I hate that I am showing this vulnerability, but this is who I am.