IRIS
The second earring drops from my fingers as I lunge for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I'm vomiting, my whole body heaving over the bowl while I grip the sides with white knuckles. It comes in waves, each one worse than the last, until I'm just dry heaving with tears streaming down my face and my throat burning.
Sitting back on the tile floor, I press my forehead against the cool porcelain and try to catch my breath, my stomach still churning, then force myself up to brush my teeth and splash water on my face, fixing the mascara smudged under my eyes and reapplying my ruined lipstick.
I walk out of the bathroom and find Ilay waiting for me in a dark suit that fits him perfectly, his hair pushed back, and his eyes immediately scan my face before his expression shifts. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The lie comes out automatically.
"You look pale."
"I'm fine."
"Iris.'' A sigh escapes me as I lean against the doorframe, my legs still feeling shaky. His jaw tightens and he crosses the distance between us in two strides, one hand coming up to cup my face while his thumb brushes across my cheekbone. "If you're not feeling well, we stay home. I'll cancel everything."
"No." I shake my head, making his hand drop. "You already planned something, and I don't want to ruin it."
"You're not ruining anything. If you're sick—"
"I'm not sick, I'm fine." I force a smile that probably looks as weak as it feels. "Really. Maybe I'm just stressed. I jumped back into that case I'd been putting off and it's been a lot."
He doesn't look convinced, his eyes searching my face like he's trying to read something I'm not saying.
"This job of yours—"
"Uh uh." I cut him off before he can finish, pushing off the doorframe to stand up straighter. "You promised. You promised I could keep my career, so don't you dare take back your words now."
He stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"I mean it, Ilay. You can have everything else, but this is the one thing I'm asking you not to take from me."
His mouth curves into a smirk. "So, your family dying is still on the table?" I smack his chest hard and he laughs. "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It's really not."
He catches my wrist before I can pull away and brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles while his eyes stay locked on mine.
"Fine. Your career stays, but right now I'm giving you two hours to rest. I'll go downstairs and get you some medicine, you're going to take it and lie down, and then we'll see how you feel. Okay?"
I want to argue because I hate being coddled, but the truth is I still feel like garbage and two hours of rest doesn't soundterrible. "Okay." He leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet, then pulls back to study my face. "You're so beautiful." Another kiss, then another, little pecks all over my face—my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, my eyelids—and I can't help but smile. "Brighten up that smile, angel. You're about to make me the happiest man in the world, and you're about to be the happiest woman on the planet."
"That's a big promise."
"I always deliver." One more kiss, before he steps back. "Now rest. I'll be back." He disappears out the door and I crawl into bed and close my eyes.
• • •
Two hours later the medicine has settled my stomach and the rest took care of the dizziness, so when Ilay comes back to check on me, I'm sitting up in bed and ready to go. "Feeling better?" he asks, and I nod.
"Much."
He holds out his hand with that look in his eyes that makes my pulse quicken despite everything. "Then let's go."
• • •
The beach is private, a stretch of sand that looks like something out of a dream with the sun already set and the sky dark and dotted with stars, lanterns lining the path to the shore with their warm glow flickering in the evening breeze, and there's a table set up near the water with white linens and candles and flowers, and behind it all, an entire orchestra waiting with instruments ready.
