I shake my head, and he visibly relaxes. But then as he looks me over in my balled up position, his jaw loosens, and he lets out a little “oh” sound.
“You’re not sick, it’s just your…” He lets the word period hang in the air.
I nod, not even feeling embarrassed. It’s so much more than just my period, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He looks at the tray then back to me, concern etched across his sharp features. “You should still eat the soup and drink the electrolyte water. It’s good for you.” His eyes flick to my lips, and I feel it down to my toes. Or maybe I just need to go to the bathroom again. “Do you, uh, need anything else?”
My stomach gurgles, and I’m sure of it. “Nope. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” I move around in bed until I’m shoving at him to get up. He doesn’t hesitate. “Now leave.”
Knightley does as I ask. When he shuts my door, I throw the blankets off me and hop out of bed, but dizzinesssweeps over me, and I fall toward the floor, hitting the edge of the tray on the way down as I fight to catch myself.
As the thankfully lukewarm soup and water cover me, Knightley swings my door open, pauses, then he rushes over to me, falling to his knees and moving the dishes off of me.
“You’re not handling yourself well, Emma.” His tone isn’t condescending or mean. It’s full of concern and fretfulness. “What’s going on? I’ve seen women on their cycles who function just fine. You aren’t functioning.”
I brush noodles from my chest as he pulls them from my hair. “It’s different for every woman. I get dizzy sometimes. That’s all. Low iron and sugars and such.”
“So dizzy that you collapse?”
“I got out of bed too fast. That’s all. Speaking of, I need to go to the bathroom.”
He stands and offers his assistance. After he lifts me up, I attempt to take my hand back, but he doesn’t let go. In fact, he’s squeezing a little too tightly. I glance from his death grip to his face, prepared to make some comment about how he must revel in holding my hand. But his eyes are nowhere near mine.
That’s when I remember I’m in my pajamas.
A little pink matching tank top and shorts set.
Made of silk and lace.
Because it made me feel good when I felt so terrible.
I continue to watch him gape at me, and I don’t think he realizes what he's doing.
And why does his unbridled attention cause a sudden heat flash?
No, not him.
Must be the PCOS flare.
I yank my hand away, which causes me to stumble backwards just from the force. He snaps to attention, grabbing my arm.
“I wasn’t falling.” I place my hand on top of his, ignoring the pooling warmth in my stomach. The next words slip unbidden from my lips in an awfully coquettish tone. “At least not yet.”
No ma’am. No playing flirty games with your older male friend today. Not dressed likethis.
Knightley coughs, but doesn’t let go of me. He looks at my lips again, and I’m left wondering ifhe’sokay.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I reiterate.
In all seriousness, he says, “Let me walk you there.”
“I’m fine, Knightley. I promise. Please just leave. Thank you for helping me. I’ll get this cleaned later.” I force myself to make my voice soft and gentle so he knows I’m all good.
“I’m going downstairs to talk to Henry and to send someone up to clean this. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to check on you.” And with that, he spins on his heel and walks back out my door. I rush to the bathroom and take care of my business. When I come out, it’s like the mess was never created.
And my bed sheets are new.
With a bag of strawberry Lindor chocolates sitting on my pillow.
