48. Lavinia
FORTY-EIGHT
LAVINIA
Being sick is the worst. I thought being heartbroken was the worst, but being sick takes the cake and eats it too. The idea of eating has my stomach roiling again. At least, I haven’t thrown up in three hours, maybe because there’s no food in my body to expel.
I’m too hot and too cold as I lie star fished on the bed, half my body covered with a blanket. It’s the most comfortable position I’ve found since I woke up two nights ago, puking. At this point, it’s starting to feel like I’ve literally puked my guts out.
Jules comes into the room, her phone pressed to her ear. “Yes, she’s right here.”
Weak hope blooms inside my chest that it’s Roman again. Hearing his voice was like a soothing balm to my soul, I almost sobbed on the phone.
“It’s your Mom,” Jules says, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the bed beside me.
“Mommy,” I sob.
“Oh, baby,” Mom croons. “You sound terrible. Have you taken cold medicine? Drinking plenty of fluids? Let me look up your address and I’m going to send you a care package. How about Daddy and I come up to New York? Would you like that? Let me find him. Aiden…”
My mother’s voice trails off as she goes in search of my father. My input isn’t required. I look at Jules, not having the energy to roll my eyes. It’s brief, but there’s a wistful look on her face, and I reach forward, brushing the tips of my fingers against her thigh.
I’ve always relied on my family for their support, and I can’t imagine not having it.
Either one or both parents showed up to Drew and my games in high school and college.
Both were present for each Olympic game which won me a medal and supported me in my career with the PWHL.
They have always been the loudest and proudest parents.
People like Jules and Roman didn’t have that.
They didn’t have parents showing up for them and supporting their endeavors and their choices.
Hell, Jules has to hide her career because writing gives her peace and if she tells her parents, it’ll quickly become something toxic.
They’re stronger than I can ever be because in many ways, I’ve never needed to be strong on my own.
Jules smiles at me and says, “What are the chances they actually come here?”
“I’d say in the high nineties.”
The doorbell rings and Jules and I both exchange surprised glances. It’s a little past five and it’s already dark outside. We’re in a very fancy apartment building in the Upper West Side.
It’s an apartment owned by one of the execs of the beauty brand for which I did the ad, and he uses it for ‘out of town guests’, which Jules thinks is code word for his sexual partners. He was more than happy to let us use it for the week.
“Do you think they’re already here?” Jules whispers.
“No, that’s too crazy for even my parents.” It’s the flu, and I have Jules here. My mother will calm down once she’s talked to my father and he’s explained to her that flying out here will be for nothing.
“Axe murderer?”
I grip the bedsheets, rolling over in bed and kneeling up. My head swims and I start to fall, but Jules quickly grabs me, holding me steady.
“What are you doing?” She demands.
“I’m not going to let you get killed by yourself.”
Her face softens even as she shakes her head. I get out of bed and wrap the blanket around me like a cape. I clutch her phone with one hand and wrap the other around her arm as we shuffle out of my room and into the living room.
“We have 911 on the phone,” Jules says loudly. “The police are on the way so if you’re here to kill us, you better run now.”
“Oh my god! What’s happening?” Mom’s voice crackles through the speaker. Of course, she chooses now to return to the call. “Lavinia? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Mom. Everything’s fine.”
“Jules, it’s me. You just told the doorman to let me up.”
“Roman?” I glance at Jules.
She winces. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.”
Steadying me against the foyer table, Jules shuffles forward to the door and pulls it open. My husband stands on the other side, looking tired, but bright eyed, and carrying so many things I can’t even figure it all out.
“Roman? Is he there, Lavinia?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, Ma. He’s here.”
I can’t stop looking at him. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen him for two weeks, but he looks even more handsome than he usually is. I mean, no wonder women send him naked selfies. He has a naked selfies worthy face and the personality to match.
Jules steps aside and waves Roman in.
I hand the phone to Jules and shuffle over to the couch, falling onto it. My eyes close as I listen to Mom and Jules talk. Something brushes my hair, and I open my eyes to see Roman crouching in front of me.
Seeing his handsomeness up close reminds me that I haven’t showered in two days, and I had my head hovering over a toilet hours ago. I groan, pulling the blanket over my head to hide myself.
“What are you doing here?” I ask through the blanket.
“I spent an entire morning thinking the worst had happened because you didn’t answer my texts or calls,” Roman says. “I’ve never been so afraid in my life.”
My heart melts and I lower the blanket to below my eyes. Roman’s gaze is tender as he watches me and there are so many hidden emotions in his eyes that I’m either too stupid or too sick to realize.
“I wanted to see you with my own eyes,” he whispers.
“I’m hideous.”
His mouth quirks up into a smile. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Roman shows me the care package he brought for me, with ten varieties of cold and allergy medication.
A sage candle. Chocolates. Soup from Kita.
Crackers. A teddy bear. A variety of herbal teas.
I hug the teddy bear to my chest under the blanket, sniffling, and taking one of the tissues Roman offers me.
He’s also bought me a new weighted blanket.
“Do you want me to warm up the soup, sweetie?” Jules asks, leaning over the back over the couch.
“I feel too disgusting to eat.”
Roman brushes some hair off my clammy forehead. “Do you want to shower before you eat?”
The thought of a nice, hot shower makes me moan. I think about having to get up and drag my weak body to the shower and standing under the spray and it makes me cry.
“I can’t move.” I sniffle, wiping my nose with a tissue.
Cool fingers rest on my forehead, and I hum in pleasure. “I’ll help you.”
Opening my eyes, I look at Roman. His hair is mussed, hazel eyes lined with worry, his brows dipping in. Reaching a hand out of my cocoon, I smooth it over his brows. Seeing it as an opportunity, Roman takes my hand in his and pulls me up until I’m standing, and then he sweeps me off my feet.
“Second door on the left,” Jules tells him.
“You have to quit manhandling me,” I grumble. “Good boys don’t do that.”
He gives me a sardonic look. “You’re the only one under the impression that I am.”
Entering the bathroom, Roman sets me on the counter and goes to turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature so it’s perfect for me. When he’s satisfied, he comes back to me.
“Alright, arms up.”
I raise my arms and Roman removes my shirt and then helps me remove my pants until I’m standing naked in front of him. I must be worse off than I thought because Roman doesn’t even sneak a peek. Every time I take off my clothes, Roman looks at me like it’s his first time seeing a woman naked.
He makes quick work of his own clothes, and I do take the time to admire. Even in my weakened state, there’s a part of me which whispers, I’d do it .
If he wants, I’ll bend over this countertop right now. I let my eyes slowly trail over his body, over his wide shoulder, every single one of his tattoos leading down the hard wall of his chest and abs, which look carved from marble. Right down to one of my favorite parts.
“This is tragic,” I say.
“Can you not say that while looking at my dick?” Roman’s tone is sardonic.
I look up and see his amused gaze. “No, I mean I’m too sick and tired to even think about sex, but my body’s still considering it.”
Taking my hand, Roman guides me into the shower and under the spray of water.
I shiver as hot water sluices over my body and Roman steps in behind me, wrapping one arm around my waist as he rubs my arms with his other hand.
I turn my face up, resting my head against his shoulder so the water hits my face.
“Good?”
“So good,” I whisper.
Roman reaches for my body wash, slowly lathering it over my body.
He takes care to wash every inch of me. Gentle fingers running over my arms, my chest, down my legs.
Even though he doesn’t linger, my body still responds, awakening under his touch.
My nipples pebble and Roman’s eyes heat, causing satisfaction to course through me.
Grinding his jaw, Roman turns me around and under the spray of the shower again.
“Excuse me, I was enjoying myself,” I protest.
“A little too much,” he says, drily.
“I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
He gently nips at my shoulder. “And we both know how many needs you have. Am I your boy toy?”
“If you want to be.”
His fingers are in my hair, massaging gently as the scent of my shampoo fills the shower. I moan, bracing a hand against the shower wall to steady myself. His fingers are magic, softly working the lather into my scalp, putting enough pressure to make my eyes roll into the back of my head.
Roman chuckles lightly and I open my eyes, tilting my head back to look at him in question.
“The sounds you’re making will make Jules think we’re doing more than showering in here.”
I close my eyes. “She’ll be proud.”
There’s something incredibly strange in having him take care of me. Something my heart shies away from because I don’t want to examine the hurt around it too closely. I always tell myself that having my family is enough because most people don’t even have that.
But that icicle of loneliness which used to crawl along my spine hasn’t been present since Roman came back into my life. Loneliness is a funny thing. It creeps in when you least expect it and somehow, it’s always when you’re surrounded by people.
My last memory of someone washing my hair is my mother. I might have been around nine or ten and we were at the beach. I kept running into the water, chasing Drew, throwing sand at him when he wouldn’t listen to me.
By the end of the day, we were both covered in sand and Mom took me into the shower, carefully rinsing and washing it out of my hair. I remember the feeling of absolute love, safety, and comfort which surrounded me on that bright sunny day.
It felt a lot like what I feel now, and I can’t stop the swell of emotions which rises in me.
“You didn’t have to come here,” I say, choking back my tears. “Jules has been an excellent nurse.”
Roman rinses my hair, squeezing out the excess water. He reaches for the hair conditioner, running it through my hair and scrunching it up.
“I’ve never taken care of anyone, Lavinia. I’m not sure how I’m going to fare as a nurse. One thing I do know is I’m not going to sit back and let someone else take care of you because I can’t be fucking bothered to learn.”
He puts me back under the spray, rinsing out the conditioner.
“When I couldn’t get in touch with you, I imagined the worst scenarios and with each one, my heart beat a little faster.
I didn’t care what was wrong or how I could help.
All I knew in that moment was I needed to be here with you.
To help you, to take care of you. I said in sickness and in health, and no one is taking that right away from me. ”
Softly, he presses his lips against the spot where my shoulder meets my neck. I fall back into him, my back meeting his solid chest.
“Sometimes you say the sweetest things.”
“Only sometimes?” I hear the smile in his voice.
“Other times you say the dirtiest things.”
He’s being so gentle with me, like I’m made of spun glass. My heart squeezes until I feel like I can’t breathe anymore.
“Fuck, baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
I turn, wrapping my arms around him and snuggling into his chest. His arms are like a vise around me, holding me together. When we made this agreement, I never expected to have this tsunami of emotions roiling inside me.
It’s tight and uncomfortable and makes me want to scream and laugh with uncontrollable joy. I feel so steady that nothing can shake me, and at the same time, I’m so light my body can float away with the lightest of breeze.
Is this what being in love truly feels like?
Roman pulls back, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes are lined with worry as his thumbs swipe away the tears.
“Baby, please don’t cry,” he says softly. “I hate it when you cry.”
I’m sure he does, the soft good boy that he is. I know he’s done a good job of making people think he’s bad, but anyone who really knows him knows he’s anything but. Instead of replying, I hug him, pressing a kiss against his neck.