I don’t reply, shaken by how domestic this all is.
I make my way slowly down the stairs, heading to the kitchen island and pulling out one of the barstools. Before I’ve even sat down, she’s placed another glass of purple liquid in front of me and put a thin blanket over my shoulders.
“You’re shivering.”
The feel of her cool hand against my forehead is wonderful, and I pull away, trying to work through the foreign feeling of contentment. Part of me wants to pull her against me and never let her go.
I tug the blanket around my shoulders more tightly, watching her go back to cooking.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“It’s chicken soup,” she says, handing me her phone, which is open to a recipe. Without meaning to, I lock it, and when I click the button to open it again, I see a photo of Amelia and a younger woman on her lock screen. They’re both gorgeous, grinning at the camera.
“Is that your sister?” I ask, and she quickly takes the phone back again.
“Yeah.”
“What’s her name?”
There’s a slight hesitation before she answers. “Annabelle.”
That’s all she says, but I’m pretty certain there's something going on she’s not telling me about. I’m curious, but I don’t press.
There’s a throbbing in my ears, and I’m beginning to sweat. I’m thinking about going back to bed when the doorbell rings.
God, I hope that isn’t my mom.
“Want me to get it?” Amelia asks.
“It’s okay, I can do it.” I get off the stool and walk to the video phone on the wall. As the screen flickers to life, the familiar face of Roy, the concierge, comes into view.
“Mr. Crawford, I have a Mr. Crawford here to see you.”
My brother Charlie’s face looms into shot. “Hey, big bro, been sent to check you’re still breathing.”
I groan, rolling my eyes. “Thanks, Roy, send him up.”
Turning, I quickly remove the blanket from my shoulders and glance at Amelia, who’s ladling soup into a bowl.
“It’s my brother. I need him to think I’m okay. My mom worries, and I donotwant her coming here.”
“You have a fever, Mr. Crawford.”
“IknowI have a fever, and you can call me Lucas when you’re in my damned house.”
Why the hell did I say that?
She blinks at me, coming out from the counter. “Is he on his way up?”
“Yes. I need to change.”
I turn to go up the stairs. “Seriously?” she says, sounding exasperated. “Your brother will understand if you’re sick. People get sick, you know.”
“You don’t know my mother, Amelia. If he tells her I’m under a blanket like some pathetic loser, she’ll be here within half an hour. I can’t deal with her right now.”
I jolt back as a strong hand curls around my arm and yanks me back onto the barstool. I’m so shocked, I don’t say a word.
“Stay where you are. If youinsiston acting stupid, I’ll get your clothes. Wait here, and drink some water.”
