Page 22 of No Escape

Chapter Twelve

Lexi Carmichael

We both looked over in alarm and saw Carlo, the chef, looking at us in concern. “Are you well?”

“Oh, Carlo, good evening,” I said, trying to block his view of Oscar. “We’re perfectly fine. We’re just…getting some fresh air.”

“Is everything okay with the dinner?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s fantastic. So…amazingly tasty.” I could hear Oscar choking behind me and sensed my stomach squeeze in sympathy. “Thank you for checking on us. Oscar and I are just getting acquainted. We’ll be right back in. We wouldn’t want to miss dessert.”

Carlo nodded a bit uncertainly but walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, Oscar threw up over the side again. I joined him. This was turning into a nightmare. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get ourselves together enough to go back inside.

“Cara?”

Slash had somehow appeared beside me, moving so quietly I hadn’t heard him. Of course, I’d been making a lot of noise, so he could have walked like an elephant and I might not have heard him. He looked over my shoulder in alarm. “Oscar, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t ask,” Oscar said, leaning back against the balcony. “It’s a long story.”

Slash looked between his stepfather and me as if he were trying to figure things out. I decided to help him.

“You didn’t tell Oscar I’m a sympathetic vomiter.” I held my stomach and leaned my head against his shoulder. “So, now he knows.”

“Mio Dio,” he murmured in shock, putting an arm around my shoulders, steadying me. “What happened with you two?”

“Dinner,” Oscar said. “It was a bit spicy for me. Lexi came to check on me and unfortunately saw me in action. Apparently, she has a condition that compels her do the same if she sees someone vomit. So, here we are. Jolly good on us.”

Slash closed his eyes, and I wished more than anything I’d stayed safely in my dinner seat.

“I think I’m finished, though,” Oscar said, trying to be upbeat but not quite succeeding. “Which should be a good thing for you, Lexi. Right?”

“Right,” I quickly agreed.

“Are you okay,cara?” Slash asked, tipping my chin up and studying my face in the moonlight.

“I think so,” I said. “Luckily I didn’t get anything on my dress… I hope. Can you check?”

Slash turned me toward the light and examined me. “You look fine. Oscar, are you steady?”

He sighed. “Actually, I’m a bloody wreck, but I’ll manage.”

Slash handed his stepfather a handkerchief from his pocket, a gesture I found both heartwarming and sweet.

Oscar took the handkerchief and wiped his face and hands. “Much obliged.” He tucked the cloth in his pocket and straightened, fiddling with his tie. It was a losing battle, but to his credit, Slash didn’t say anything or try to fix it. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to your mother.”

“My lips are sealed,” Slash assured him.

“Mine, too,” I added. “As long as there’s no more vomiting. Deal?”

“Deal,” Oscar said as we headed back inside.

Slash and I hung back a little, and he pulled me in closer to his warmth. “This isn’t my fault,” I whispered before he could say anything. “I actually thought dinner was good. Maybe alittlespicy, but not that bad. Oscar doesn’t like spicy food. He left and was gone awhile. Since your mother was talking to my mother, and I didn’t want to interrupt, I went to check on him. As soon as I saw him barfing over the balcony, well, it was all over at that point.”

“How long have you two been out here?” he asked.

“Five minutes? Twenty? Hard to say. Feels like a lifetime.”

“I thought you’d gone to the bathroom. I should have checked sooner.” He muttered something to himself in Italian.

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