Page 48 of On His Bride's Terms

Primo’s voice came. ‘I’ll take her home. I can take better care of her there.’

Home. The word floated around Faye’s head but she couldn’t pin it down. It felt comforting, and also slightly scary.

She was given some medication, and water to drink, and that helped to cushion the various symptoms.

At some point—she wasn’t sure how—she found she was dressed and on a plane with Primo, shivering.

And then they were in a car, and there was a blast of cool air before she felt weightless again and realised Primo was carrying her.

She lifted her head. ‘Hey, I can walk.’

‘You’re going straight to bed.’

Faye frowned. ‘You have a one-track mind, mister. I told you I don’t want...’

But the words disappeared out of her mouth and her head and Faye fell into a fractured sleep, punctuated by moments when someone held her up and made her swallow tablets and drink water. Other moments when she would feel boiling hot and cold all at the same time.

There were voices...but the main one she listened out for and found absurdly comforting was the deep one. It was never far away.

At some point Faye woke up. Suddenly her mind was relatively clear and she wasn’t drenched in sweat. But she was weak.

She came up on one elbow.

‘You’re awake.’

A large shape detached itself from a chair in a room that Faye dimly recognised. Primo. He was wearing a shirt and jeans. Bare feet. Hair mussed. Stubble on his jaw.

‘Where am I?’

He sat on the bed. ‘My apartment. Manhattan.’

She struggled to focus. ‘But we were in Boston.’

‘Two days ago. We came back here. You have the flu pretty bad.’

‘I need to go to the bathroom.’

Primo stood up and pulled back the covers.

Faye realised she was in a set of her own sleep clothes, shorts and a matching button-down top. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Primo put out a hand, but Faye said, ‘It’s fine. I’m sure I can—’ But when she tried to stand, she promptly collapsed again.

Primo put his arm around her and supported her on cotton wool legs into the bathroom. Faye held on to the sink. She felt weak and shaky. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Pale, but with two bright red spots in her cheeks. Hair long and lank. She groaned inwardly. If this wasn’t one way to potentially end this marriage, she didn’t know what was.

Primo was hovering.

Faye said, ‘I think I’ll be okay.’

Primo backed away reluctantly. ‘I’ll be right outside the door.’

Faye managed to go to the toilet without incident, and washed her face and brushed her teeth. Those small activities were enough to make her feel as if she’d run a marathon.

Primo knocked. ‘I’m coming in.’

Faye didn’t have the energy to tell him not to, and it was a relief when he scooped her up and took her back to the freshly made bed. Daylight was streaming into the room now, and the French doors to the terrace outside were open, curtains fluttering a little in the breeze.

The housekeeper was just leaving with the bundled-up sheets and Primo said, ‘Maybe we’ll try some chicken soup?’

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