18. That’s flawless #2
And thankfully, we have a long tasting menu to get through, with wine pairing, so I get to do this for at least two hours.
By the end of our meal, the sun has set and the lighting in the restaurant is a golden, tender hue.
After agreeing not to talk about my family, our conversation went smoothly from university memories to work stories of hilarious clients and customers we’ve encountered.
She talked about her friends and shared that she doesn’t have anyone like that in London, but she enjoys her team.
I find it so hard to imagine her without a group of friends that adore her as much as the designers on her team.
“Aiden,” she says, her voice croaky, her brow knitted. What’s this expression? “Um, I don’t know how to say this.”
Her voice is weak.
I lean closer, adrenaline rushing through me with the uncertainty of what she’s about to say.
“Mark said he’s worried about you giving up on finding someone special and that’s why you lied to your mum.”
Oh, I didn’t expect that.
“Mark said that?”
She nods. “I feel like—” She stops herself and furrows her brow even deeper. “Aiden.”
“Yes?” I shift to the edge of my seat.
“Oh, fuck.” She closes her eyes, pinching them shut.
“What is it, Linnea? You can tell me anything.”
“I feel…” she whispers, but her eyes flick down, as if it’s hard to say. I move my chair to the side of the table to be closer. I think she’s trying to tell me something important, and she doesn’t have the courage. My stomach prickles and flutters with excitement.
“What are you feeling?” I put a hand on her shoulder, and that’s when I realise.
“I feel sick.”
Her skin is cold but clammy, and she finally lifts her gaze to mine. Her eyes are glossy.
“It’s going to come out.” Her voice is barely audible. “But I’m not sure which way,” she whispers and presses her lips together.
“Oh,” I say. There’s no time for awkwardness here—we’ve had a large meal, some items raw, and I didn’t keep track of everything she had by the river. “There’s a hotel across the street. We’ll get a suite. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of everything.”
“Can we go now?” she rasps.
I make haste. I’ve had food poisoning once in my life and it’s not something I’d like to repeat, and I wouldn’t wish it upon my Linnea who I can see is trying to hold herself together.
While paying for the meal, I give a call to my chief of staff, who gets paid well enough to help me late on a Sunday.
We make it out the door of the restaurant, Linnea leaning into my side, and once we’re on the pavement I shift her swiftly into my arms to a small huff from her (luckily not in a state to complain about being carried, as I’m sure she’d love to), and stride across the street to the hotel I spotted earlier.
My staff has already sorted out a room for me and, understanding the situation, the concierge is quick to set up the room key and show us to the lifts.
“One room?” she mutters.
“Don’t worry, you have your own bed and ensuite. Full privacy.”
“Brgh,” is all she says and when the lift doors ding, I pick up my pace. She’s nearly green now, sweat on her forehead, her hair clinging to her skin. I need to get her to a bathroom.
The concierge helps us into the double-roomed suite on the top floor. There’s enough privacy here for Linnea to be sick without making her uncomfortable, and for me to stay close enough to take care of her.
“Grazie-mille,” I say to the concierge and he nods and steps out of the room. I’ll tip him generously later. “Here you go,” I say, gently putting Linnea down in front of the ensuite and rush to find a robe for her. “Turn around.”
She does as she’s told and I unzip her dress at the back, and drape the robe over her shoulders.
“Can you shimmy out of your dress and into the robe? You’ll be more comfortable.”
Again, she does as I ask, but the second she shrugs the robe on, she heaves and runs to the toilet.
I follow because, as she rushes through the door, her hair flows around her shoulders.
She’ll need help holding it up.
So that’s what I do for the next few minutes while she returns her entire Michelin dinner and her riverside street food, until there’s only clear liquid left.
“I’ll get you water and a hair tie,” I say, and rush to the mini-bar for a bottle of water, and then quickly search the most obvious drawers in the bedroom for hair products. There are none to be found, so I remove the sash from the unused robe and use it to bind her long hair back in a ponytail.
“Thank you,” she croaks, accepting the bottle and leaning back against the wall next to the toilet. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. Don’t think about that.”
She takes a large gulp of water.
“Small sips, Linnea,” I say, putting a hand on hers instinctively.
“Oh my god,” she says into her bottle. “Please get out.”
Her eyes are wide.
“Going.”
Just as I close the door to the living room section of our suite I hear her groaning and I wince on her behalf. Poor thing.
This is not how I pictured this evening going. Although this trip happened so fast, I hadn’t pictured anything at all. The best I can do now is to make sure she’s alright—drinking water, getting some electrolytes in.
The phone rings in her purse, vibrating angrily as if it’s been ringing for a long time. I pick it out of the bag and see the name Jamie on the screen and decide to answer it to make sure they know Linnea is okay.
“Linnea’s phone,” I say.
“Oh, who are you? Where’s Linnea?”
“I’m Linnea’s boyfriend, Aiden. You must be Jamie, as far as I can tell?”
“Boyfriend? Are you the Aiden she works for?”
So she hasn’t told them anything. Not even the fake story? I can only assume she didn’t want to lie to her friends. She said they live in New York, maybe they don’t have to be pulled into all this.
“Yes. It’s a long story, which I’m sure she’ll tell you when she gets a chance. She’s got a spot of food poisoning so she’s indisposed at the moment.”
“Oh god, poor thing.”
“Can I tell her you called?”
“Yes, please, let her know we’ll be coming to London in a couple of weeks. Sophie’s uncle died so we’ll come for his funeral and to visit. I suppose we’ll meet you too, then? Aiden Aurellan, right?”
“That’s correct. Sorry to hear about Sophie’s loss, please pass her my condolences. But I’m sure Linnea will be glad to hear you’re coming. She misses you a lot.” It doesn’t take a psychologist to read between the lines, despite Linnea’s well-composed face.
“Yeah, we’ve been worried about her.”
I pause.
“Because of Henry?” I ask. Or is there something I’ve missed?
“Yes. I’m sure she’s told you about him.” She sighs. “You better be a good one, Aiden.”
The sound of her voice as she says this, there’s such an emotion, a thickness in her throat, like she’s about to cry. It hits me right in the chest. Just how terrible was he? Is there more?
“She’s told me bits and pieces. But she’s reserved, you know. Doesn’t share everything right away.”
“Yeah…”
“And yes, I’m a good one, Jamie. I care for Linnea a lot.”
Fuck, I really do. It hurts my stomach how much I mean those words.
There’s the sound of a door closing in the bedroom.
“I have to go check on her now, but I’ll tell her you called.”
I hang up and rush into the room and Linnea’s on the bed in a ball, hugging her arms around her waist.
“How are you?” I say, approaching carefully.
She groans in response, and then rolls back off the bed and into the bathroom.
More vomiting. I sit down on the bed, worried she’ll need me and I can’t hear her from the living room.
While I wait, I look up her symptoms online.
From what I can tell, it’s classic food poisoning, and this can go on all night, maybe longer.
With the different meats and sauces we had, anything could’ve caused it.
I should call a doctor to make sure we’re doing the right thing.
Regardless, it seems it’s time to hunker down.