My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(113)

It was so cold, she wore layers for her short walk across the lawn to her residence.

My nostrils flared. “She probably wore a baby doll and sandals there.”

Hettie laughed. “Knowing her, probably.” She waved to me and Oliver before leaving.

I remained rigid for a few more beats while Oliver ogled me.

He ladled his spoon inside the dish, gulping down a bite. “You can just call her, you know.”

I could.

But she wouldn’t answer.

I suspected she didn’t like that I’d disappeared the last few days.

“I’m going to grab a coat and scarf for Jared to drive to her.” I shook my head, feigning exasperation, though I was more worried than infuriated. “I’ll be right back.”

On my journey up the stairs, I reminded myself I owed Dallas nothing. We’d always been an arrangement, and she knew it.

So what if we hadn’t seen each other for days? She hardly sought me out, either.

When I reached Dallas’s room, I was surprised to find her still inside it. Even more so that she laid in bed.

Shortbread didn’t contemplate sleep before one in the morning. Yet, a neon-red seven glared at me from the alarm on her nightstand.

The rose beside it had wilted, with only two more petals clinging on for dear life. I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t gotten rid of the stupid thing by now.

“Let me guess.” I tromped into her room. “You hired someone to stand in line for you, so you wouldn’t have to move your precious ass—”

The rest of my sentence died in my throat as I finally caught a full glimpse of her.

Probably for the first time in her life, Dallas Costa looked terrible.

A cherry flush stained her cheeks, but all color had drained elsewhere, leaving her as pale as her dying rose. White flakes peppered her lips, depleted of moisture, while a dull glaze coated her eyes.

I rested my hand on her forehead.

Furnace-hot.

“Jesus.” I pulled back. “You’re burning up.”

She was too narcoleptic to speak. Or move.

How long had this been going on? Was she like this yesterday? Had I missed her illness in my quest to prove to my brain that my dick wasn’t the one behind this train wreck’s wheel?

I touched her forehead again. It sizzled.

“Sweetheart.”

“Please get out.” The words clawed past her throat.

“Someone needs to take care of you.”

“That someone definitely isn’t you. You made that clear these past couple days.”

I said nothing.

She was right. I hadn’t bothered to check on her. Perhaps I’d wished she’d check on me.

In truth, she’d already gone beyond any expectations in trying to make whatever it was between us work.

Meanwhile, I’d shut her down. Repeatedly.

“Shortbread, let me get you some medicine and tea.”

“I don’t want you to nurse me to health. Do you hear me?” She must have hated that I’d seen her like this. Weak and ill. “Call Momma and Frankie. It’s them I want by my side.”

I swallowed but didn’t argue. I understood she didn’t want to feel humiliated. To be taken care of by the man who ensured she understood her insignificance to him.

How did her bullshit meter not fry? How could she think I really felt nothing toward her?

“First, I’ll get you medicine, tea, and water. Then I’ll call for Hettie to stay with you. Then I’ll notify your mother.” I tugged her comforter up to her chin. “No arguments.”

She tried to wave me out, groaning at the slightest movement. “Whatever. Just go. I don’t want to see your face.”

I gave her what she wanted, though as always, not in the way she expected. The sequence of actions didn’t proceed as promised.

First, I contacted Cara to dispatch the private jet to Georgia.

Then I called my mother-in-law and Franklin—separately—demanding their presence.

Only then did I enter the kitchen to grab water, tea, and ibuprofen for Shortbread’s fever.

Naturally, like the chronic idler he often proved to be, Oliver still sat at the island, now enjoying an extra-large slice of red velvet cake I was pretty sure was meant to be consumed by Dallas.

“What are you still doing here?” I demanded, collecting the things I needed for her.

He scratched his temple with the handle of his fork, brows pulled together. “You invited me here. You wanted to watch a soccer game, remember?”

I did not remember. I didn’t even remember my own address right now. “Get out.”

“What about the—”

I snatched the plate from his fingers, admitting to myself that I’d treaded into feral grounds. “This cake wasn’t for you to eat.”

“You’ve gone insane in the ten minutes you were gone.” Oliver gawked at me, wide-eyed. “What happened to you? Did Durban not get her hands on the latest Henry Plotkin book and take her anger out on you?”

Shit.

The Henry Plotkin book.

I shoved Oliver out with a fork still clutched in his grimy fist, dialing Hettie with my free hand.

She half-yawned, half-spoke. “Yes?”

“Dallas is ill. You need to come here and take care of her until my in-laws arrive in about two hours.”