Page 99 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

She managed to get up and go in the direction of the banging and pulled the door open. She was looking at a broad, bare chest that was vaguely familiar. Primo.

He put a hand on her forehead. ‘Faye...you’re burning up.’

Faye wanted to say,Give it a rest, Primo, you’re not that amazing.But she felt herself become weightless, and then she was being deposited on a bed.

She realised that it wasn’t her bed, and struggled to sit up, croaking out, ‘Primo, I told you—’

‘Yes, a doctor, please, ASAP.’

Faye sank back down. Oh. He wasn’t trying to make love to her. He was calling a doctor. For some reason Faye found that momentarily hilarious—until she laughed and it hurt her ribs.

Everything seemed to happen in a bit of a blur after that. A doctor came—a nice lady, who poked and prodded Faye and looked at her throat. Faye’s head was clearing marginally, and she heard the doctor say, ‘It looks like you’ve picked up this virulent strain of flu going around.’

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.

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