19. Fever dreams
CHAPTER NINETEEN
fever dreams
LINNEA
It’s light out when I open my eyes. My body aches from all the vomiting and violent diarrhoea, I’m not sure I’ll ever dare look at Aiden again after that.
But I can hardly move. There’s no way I can do anything on my own.
I turn, with great effort, to my other side tucking my robe with me, and am met with the sight of Aiden, sleeping at a crooked angle in an armchair next to my bed, his head dipping far to the side.
Ouch, poor thing. He’s been here with me all night?
Since the restaurant, it’s all hazy. It was the longest night of my life, but now it’s all a blur.
“Water,” I whisper to myself, but Aiden startles.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice hoarse with morning grogginess. “How are you?”
“I feel like I was hit by a train, and it drove straight through me and out of my butt.”
He chuckles and hands me a fresh bottle of water.
“I spoke with a doctor and had electrolyte drinks and tablets delivered. You should alternate. Small sips, still.”
“Thank you, Aiden.”
“Of course,” he says, and stretches his arms, cracking his neck to both sides.
“A couple of updates.” He sits back in his chair.
“Your friend Jamie called, they’re arriving next week.
Also, I’ve spoken with Venetia and your main designer Olga, so they know you’re sick and will be out for a few days. ”
“Days?” I blink and take in the bright hotel room. Oh fuck, of course, we’re still in Florence.
“The doctor said it’s best for you to stay put for two days after your last symptoms.”
I grimace. Oh god, where’s a hole for me to crawl into when I need one? Please let’s not talk about my symptoms.
“What about your work?” I ask instead.
“I have my phone, I can get an impressive amount of stuff done here, and I’ve got excellent staff.”
A shiver runs through me and I wrap the sad little sheet over my shoulder.
“I’ll get you a blanket, I saw one in the wardrobe.”
“Did you say Jamie called?”
“Yep, how about you call her back when you’re better,” Aiden says, tucking the heavy blanket on top of me.
I must dip in and out for the next few minutes or hours, I have no idea. All I know is I’m comfortable, there’s water nearby, and I’m elated it’s staying inside my body for now. The worst is over.
Aiden’s voice travels through the crack of the door. I enjoy listening to him speak Italian a little too much.
The door closes. Did he leave? I get chills as I tense up and tuck the blanket around my shoulders.
There’s the unmistakable hiss of what can only be him opening a fizzy drink. So he didn’t leave.
Phew. It must have just been a delivery.
Knowing he’s out there relaxes me again. It’s weird how quickly he’s grown on me. I’ve kept him at arm’s length for two years, and now I’m as comfortable in his company as I am with my closest friends.
That’s probably more about his way of being than me, it’s not how I usually do relationships of any kind. Even friendships take time. But Aiden is warm, and I kind of want him to cuddle me but it’s just because I’m not well.
I lie back on my pillow, thinking back to yesterday and my decision to follow Aiden here instead of coming up with all my regular excuses. It feels good to be able to say yes to this. I’m free.
The memories of Aiden talking about his father return. Is he sharing more with me than he has with his lifelong friends? He took me here, to Florence. As if he wants to share. With me.
Ugh, I need to be careful.
I should stick to my rule, not get too close. But this budding friendship means more to me than I expected it would. It’s thawing the ice in my stomach I’ve been carrying around since well before the divorce. But it hasn’t been obvious to me how lonely I’ve been until I’m not.
Aiden knocks. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
He pops his head through the door and I give him a tired smile.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“I heard you rustling, thought I’d give you this before I have a shower.” He shows a golden, structured paper bag. “I had some new clothes picked out and delivered for us. It should be everything you need, and some soft pyjamas if you want them.”
I nod, and he enters the room. He’s in a robe. My ears burn red, and I’m sure he can see it. There’s nothing to hide them with—my hair is tied back with a sash.
The one he needs to keep his robe closed.
Right now he’s holding it together with his free hand and he’s doing a terrible job of it.
He carefully places the bag on the bed, the edges of the robe gaping, and the view of his tan chest makes my ears flush harder.
Jesus Christ. Again.
“See you soon,” he says.
In my mind, I reach out to grab him, because I need a cuddle. I need his warmth. But my hand isn’t moving, it’s too heavy. So are my eyes. Aiden smiles. Mmm. I like his smile.
I wake up from a hand on my ankle. Weird, I’m naked and sprawled on my bed, but I’m comfortable like this.
It’s like it’s my bed but we’re in Florence.
And I’m not sick anymore. The hand feels familiar, and I lift my head, finding Aiden by the foot of the bed in his trousers but no shirt, just like in the shop.
There’s a hunger in his eyes as his gaze roams over my naked body.
I say nothing. He says nothing. I just open my legs for him, and he licks his lower lip, biting it. I want him to touch me so badly, I’m aching for it. If he doesn’t touch me soon I’ll need to touch myself. I writhe on the bed, and he chuckles.
“So ready for me,” he rumbles. He glides his hands up my legs and as he crawls up on the bed I realise he’s naked, but I can’t see him clearly.
Oh fuck, I didn’t shave, I just remembered, but when I glance down I’m smooth as if I’ve just had a wax.
That’s handy. Aiden kisses his way up from my knee and I spread my legs more, writhing. I need him to touch me now.
“Aiden,” I whimper. “Please.”
He growls, his mouth so close to where I’m aching for him.
“Please, Aiden.”
“Linnea,” I hear him say but I can’t see him talking. “Linnea, are you okay?”
That’s when I really wake up and Aiden sits on the side of my bed. Fully clothed. The only thing that’s real is the intense throbbing between my thighs, and the sweat on my forehead. I move an arm and thank fuck, I’m not naked like in my dream. My robe is on, my blanket covers me. Phew.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he asks. “You were writhing. I thought it best to wake you.”
“Fever dreams,” I say, my voice raspy.
“Here are some simple foods you can try to eat. A banana and some plain toast.” He shrugs. “It’s what my mother got me when I was sick as a teenager. I got nasty food poisoning from this oyster stall in Chelsea.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re quite flushed.” He touches a hand to my forehead and I tuck my head in to avoid it. The move makes him wrinkle his brow, but I can’t tell him I don’t want him to touch me right now because my clit is on fire. For him. Or at least, in my dream that was the case.
Jesus Christ, what’s happening to me?
I’m not supposed to be attracted to Aiden.
Sure, it was hot as hell when we danced at the engagement party, but that was an in-the-moment thing. And now, it’s just because he’s being so sweet. Because I need the warmth and care I never got when I was sick as a child.
Yes, that’s all it is.
Right?
I look at him. Really look at him.
The tousled hair that is entirely on purpose. A hint of grey on the sides. His steel-blue eyes that can see straight into my soul. Those full lips. And that dented chin, now with more stubble than usual. It really suits him. I could do this forever.
Wait, what?
Oh, fuck.
My heart practically ricochets inside my ribcage from the force of the realisation. My lungs constrict and my vagina clench so hard, I think I’m imploding.
I’m fucking fucked.
He reaches out and brushes a hair away from my forehead, and I close my eyes, trying to calm the storm in me.
“I’ll let you eat in peace. Small bites. Be gentle with yourself.”
“Okay.”
He gets up and is about to leave the room when it hits me that I don’t want him to. He’s taking his warmth with him.
“Aiden.”
He turns, waiting for more.
“Can we watch a movie or something? I need to distract myself.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll just get into the pyjamas you got me and I’ll come out there.” I nod towards the living room he’s been hanging out in alone while I’ve been sleeping. And having a very sensual dream about him. Will I ever get over that?
I have to.
This is dangerous territory. Confusing and dangerous.
I open the golden bag Aiden placed here for me, and inside are clothes wrapped individually in white branded tissue. Gold swirly letters saying … Casa Aurato.
There’s a box at the bottom of the bag. Taking care, I open it, and inside are multiple sets of underwear. Gorgeous lace. Super soft to the touch. Did the signora from yesterday pick all this out?
There’s a new summer dress in here, and a pair of pyjamas as promised. It’s the softest fabric I’ve ever felt.
An unexpected sensation creeps into my chest, nestling around my heart. This is so thoughtful. Aiden has been caring for me in a way I’ve never experienced and I can’t seem to catch a full breath.
While stepping into the light blue pyjama trousers and matching long-sleeve shirt made of cotton and black magic, I remind myself: this is for my company, we’re just friends. I owe it to myself to be careful, to not repeat my mistakes.
I take the tray of food he brought me and walk into the living room.
I’ve never been in a hotel room this big before.
The view of Florence stretches out below us.
Red roofs, blue sky, and a winding river cutting through the city behind a large brown cathedral dome.
Holy fuck, what a place. I need to come back here and see all this properly one day.
“Oh shit, I should’ve taken that,” Aiden says, getting up to help me with the tray and I collapse into the leather couch. It’s squashier than it looked and I sink into it, exhausted by the walk from the bedroom.
“Thank you for the wonderful clothes,” I say, brushing a hand over my thighs. “And everything.” Finally forcing myself to meet his eyes, I’m fully aware my ears are on fire again.
“Goes without saying, Linnea.” His arm is around the back of the couch. He’s in a t-shirt and his biceps is right there. It looks soft and hard at the same time and I resist the sudden urge to lean my cheek against it.
“No, it doesn’t,” I whisper. He’s clearly never met someone like my parents. Not that I was mistreated. When I was sick I had a bed and TV, but not the softness and care I ached for. I was just a nuisance when I was ill. “I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice is low, his full lips relaxed in a small smile.
“Do you want to snuggle up?” he asks, gesturing to the available space next to him.
“As friends.” A chuckle escapes him. “I just know I loved a hug from Mum when I was sick, but maybe that’s just me.
” His deep voice rumbles through the couch, and I imagine what it would be like if my ear was pressed to his chest instead.
“No, I’d love to,” I whisper and allow him to tuck me closer and wrap his arm around me as I nestle into the side of his chest with a long sigh.
We start a movie but I fall asleep again, and somewhere in my dream I’m certain he kisses my head and I kind of love it. But it’s just a dream and I need to keep it that way for my own good.