Page 70 of Obsessed Heir

I tap along the side of her calf, indicating the leg she should use. “It’s this one.”

“Oh, I wasn’t sure.” She giggles. “I thought they were both good.” She furrows her brow. “Bad foot. Bad.” Then she dissolves into another fit of giggles.

James smiles, his expression a little helpless. “Can we try again?” he asks, once she calms down.

“Yes. Let’s.” This time, Miss Opal pushes herself up from the wheelchair. With her assisting, he’s able to hold her up and move her to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Let’s have you lean against the pillows so James can get going,” I suggest, heading to the dresser for her pajamas.

Obediently, she scoots back to lie against the headboard. “Oh, Abby, you should’ve come to dinner with us.” Her eyes open wide as I return with her nightclothes. “The champagne was absolutely delicious. The food too,” she adds as an afterthought.

James turns to me with concern. “Did you not go out to eat this evening, Miss Abby?”

“Um, no,” I admit, a flicker of embarrassment warming my cheeks. I was too busy reliving the moment from the mortifying photo shoot incident to even consider food.

“The kitchen staff can prepare something for you, if you’d like,” he offers politely.

Saliva pools along the sides of my mouth, making me feel queasy. I shake my head, setting my hand to my tummy. “The rougher water isn’t sitting well with me.” I don’t need the added humiliation of getting sick on top of everything else that’s happened today.

“The doctor left some seasickness pills in case I needed them,” Miss Opal pipes up, pointing an unsteady finger toward the dresser.

“You might consider taking some of those tonight,” I remind her as I gently pull off her slippers and set them aside.

“I didn’t use them last night,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper that’s anything but quiet. “So there should be nenough—” She cocks her head as if she’s trying to figure out what went wrong with the word. “E-nough,” she corrects with an exaggerated pronunciation, “for both of us.”

“You might want to consider taking the medication,” James agrees with a nod. “I’ll let the doctor know to bring more.”

I draw in a shaky breath, my stomach roiling. “That may not be a bad idea,” I concede.

James steps around me, striding to the dresser with purpose. He returns with the envelope containing the seasickness pills and two bottles of water.

“These will also help you relax and get some rest,” he murmurs, opening the envelope and peeking inside. “What might help is concentrating on a flat line, to mimic the horizon. Just keep it in your mind as you close your eyes.”

I hold out my hand, and he pours two small white pills. I promptly swallow them down with some water.

Meanwhile, he gives Miss Opal the remaining pills before removing the lid on her water bottle and handing it to her.

“Thank you.” Taking a couple of pills to settle my stomach and let me sleep through the rocking of the ship sounds incredible.

“Yes, thank you, James,” Miss Opal echoes, setting the bottle on the nightstand.

“Are you sure I can’t get you some dinner as well, Miss Abby?” he asks again.

“I’m fine, really,” I try to reassure him, though my voice doesn’t sound convincing even to my ears. The truth is, I’m ravenous after not eating anything substantial since breakfast. But the thought of food is still making my stomach churn in an unpleasant way.

“I stocked the suite’s refrigerator at Mr. McClelland’s request. You have fruit, cold cuts, dessert cups, and soft drinks.” He ticks off each item. “He’s keeping odd hours with managing the club. When he went last night, he didn’t return until just before seven o’clock this morning.”

“Oh,” I reply, surprised to learn that Barron had been out so late. The news he’ll be gone for several hours does more to put me at ease than any medication ever could.

“Would there be anything else?” James asks once Miss Opal is settled in bed, her eyes already drifting closed.

It occurs to me he might be able to help with my current situation. “Actually, do you know when the laundry might be delivered?”

“I can take any laundry with me and return it tomorrow morning,” he offers helpfully.

I fight to keep a blush from my face. “Well, um… Holly gave the clothes I was wearing earlier to one of the girls at the spa. She asked her to send them to the laundry and then be delivered here.”

“Likely they weren’t picked up until the spa closed for the evening,” he says, more to himself than to us. “But I’ll check into it first thing in the morning.”

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