Page 69 of Obsessed Heir

“Aaaah-beeeee, I’m home.”

I jolt upright in bed at hearing Miss Opal call out my name. Although the singsong tone doesn’t sound like her at all.

I throw back the covers and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, looking for shoes that are nowhere to be found. I shove my hands into the pockets of the robe, the thick terry cloth pressing against my bare skin.

Suddenly, I feel exposed and a bit self-conscious. I couldn’t change into other clothes, even if I wanted to. I have nothing else to wear at the moment.

“Here we are, Mrs. McClelland.” James’s voice carries from down the hall.

I scramble to the door, tucking the robe around me to make sure everything is properly covered. I add a second, tight knot to the belt for good measure.

I haven’t done more than wash off most of the heavy makeup from earlier. I need makeup remover, but I didn’t want to go through Miss Opal’s cosmetics case until she returned to her room.

I step out into the hallway and tiptoe toward the voices. I straighten my shoulders and take a fortifying breath before I turn the corner and walk into Miss Opal’s bedroom, pretending nothing’s wrong.

“Abby.” Miss Opal glances over her shoulder, giving me a lopsided smile. “There you are.”

“Miss Opal,” I reply cautiously, studying her flushed face. From the sound of her, she’s more than a little tipsy. “Are you okay?”

“I was bringing her to the suite after dinner,” James explains, with a pained expression. “When we passed the piano bar, she asked to go in because they were playing one of her favorite songs.”

“It was Neil Diamond.” Miss Opal starts humming the melody, her shoulders swaying from side to side.

Yes, she definitely would have stopped for Neil Diamond.

“Mr. McClelland said it was okay to stop,” he clarifies. “While we were there, she had another glass of wine or two.”

“Another?” I ask with concern. Oh, this can’t be good. Normally Miss Opal stops at two glasses of wine because she gets giggly at three. Even then, two glasses are sometimes a bit much for her petite frame, depending on the vintage and alcohol content.

“I’m not exactly sure what to do.” James’s expression falters, a flicker of uncertainty clouding his features.

“I’ve got her,” I assure him, stepping farther into the room. “Thank you for bringing her back.” I turn to Miss Opal. “Let’s get you into bed.”

“Yes, please,” she readily agrees, but she doesn’t make a move to leave the chair. Instead, she closes her eyes. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The ship is moving,” she mumbles.

“Yes, it is,” I confirm, hiding a grimace.

“But it’s movingmorethan it should,” Miss Opal insists, sounding distressed. The ship’s movement must be exaggerated for her with the alcohol in her system.

“We’re going through a bit of choppy water at the moment, Mrs. McClelland,” James explains in a soothing tone. “That’s why you’re feeling the ship’s motion so much.”

“Well, I don’t like it.” She opens her eyes and pouts.

“Um, I may need some help getting in bed,” she admits, as if she just realized she was supposed to move earlier.

“We should be in calmer waters by morning,” he says, trying to reassure her.

“Can you give me a hand with her?” As petite as Miss Opal is, I doubt I can manage it alone. In her current state, she won’t be offering much assistance.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course.”

He sets his arms around Miss Opal, bracing himself to lift her. He pauses when she doesn’t push off from the chair.

“Come on, Miss Opal,” I encourage with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. “You need to help us by standing. Just put your weight on your good foot.”

“Oh,” she says, her brow furrowing as she glances down at her legs and feet in confusion. “Which one is my good foot?”

Dear Lord, this is turning into a mess.

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