The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(89)

“Come on, Zahra. You’ve got to eat something.” Rowan’s voice sounds far away like he’s on a different kind of radio frequency.

I shove his arm away from my shoulder and sink further into his silky sheets. I’m drawing a blank on how long I’ve been using his house as an infirmary tent. All I know is his bed is a hundred times better than mine and I never want to leave.

I’m pretty sure my sinuses make up three-fourths of my brain by now, and my left nostril hasn’t felt fresh oxygen since yesterday when Rowan picked me up from my apartment.

“Zahra.” He turns me toward the edge.

“Go away,” I mumble.

He flicks me on the forehead. My head pounds in response, and I wince. I open my eyes to find a distressed version of Rowan. I’ve never seen him look like this before. His hair is unkempt and he has purple bags under his eyes.

I trace his unusual stubble. “You need to shave.” My voice croaks before I let out a wet cough.

Ugh. Disgusting.

“You slept through breakfast, lunch, and—” He checks the time on his watch. “Dinner. It’s time to get some food in you before you pass out.” The rare high pitch of his voice makes my head throb harder.

“Shh. Talk lower.” I place a finger against his lips. “Wake me up in another—” My sentence is cut off by my body attempting to expel one of my lungs through my throat.

“Here. Take a sip of water. Please.” His voice cracks. He all but shoves the metal straw in my mouth.

I take a sip. “Happy now?”

He frowns. “No.”

“I feel like I’m dying.”

His grip on my chin tightens. “Don’t be dramatic. You have a cold.”

Is that worry I hear in his voice?

“Okay.” I turn over and give him my back. “I’ll be up in an hour. I promise.”

“I’m going to call a doctor to come check on you.”

“Doctors still do house calls?”

“For the right price.”

I cough again, but this one doesn’t stop. My chest rattles from the sheer intensity of it. There’s a sharp stabbing pain poking me in the lungs, and it takes every ounce of energy to breathe.

His hand stroking my hair freezes. “Shit. I’ll be right back.”

Rowan places a kiss on my forehead before tugging his phone out of his pocket and exiting the room. His murmurs carry through the door, but it takes too much effort to listen in on his conversation.

I shut my eyes and give in to the darkness pulling me under.





I wake up to someone opening my eyelids and shining a flashlight on my face. I try to put some room between us, but I only end up falling back on my shaky elbows.

“She’s been sick for three days straight already.”

“Three days?!” I regret the loud shriek as soon as it leaves my mouth. My head and lungs work, revolting against me one cough at a time. The pulsing intensifies the more I hack.

“In my professional opinion, she needs to be taken to a hospital.”

“Hospital?” Rowan and I both speak at the same time. He practically spits the word out.

I look over at him. He looks almost as bad as I feel, with days’ worth of stubble covering his face. The bags under his eyes stand out even more now because of how red his eyes are. He looks like he might keel over any second.

My chest aches for an entirely different reason than my illness.

The doctor stands and packs up his medical bag. “She’s severely dehydrated and needs proper medical care.”

“Anything else you suggest?”

“Based on the symptoms you described and what I see and hear, it’s probably some kind of viral pneumonia. Her tissues are covered with green mucus and she has a fever. If you don’t take her to the hospital tonight, she’s going to end up in the back of an ambulance soon enough.”

Pneumonia? Shit. No. That sounds scary. The only person I know who got pneumonia was one of my parent’s friends and he didn’t make it.

I want to cry, but I don’t think I have enough water in my body to produce tears. I sweat it all out on day two.

While Rowan sees the doctor out, I sit up and fumble for my phone. I should call my parents and let them know about how sick I am. Except I can’t find my phone anywhere within the sheets or on the nightstand.

Did I leave it in the bathroom? I slide out of bed and stand on weak legs. My walk to the bathroom steals all my energy, and the room spins.

I grab the handle for stability and push the door open. My legs give out at the same time, and all I see is black.





42





Rowan





I dismiss the doctor and shut the front door.

Pneumonia? How the hell did Zahra go from making snow angels in Central Park less than a week ago to a nasty case of pneumonia? She went from the sniffles to bedridden faster than I’ve seen anyone decline.

Something thumping against the floor makes the ceiling vibrate.

“Zahra?” I bolt up the stairs and throw open the bedroom door at the end of the hall. The pulse point at my neck throbs to a wickedly fast beat as I walk into the empty bedroom. The sheets are nothing but a haphazard mess, empty of the severely ill woman who should be sleeping.