Chapter 23
Dominic
The sound comes earlyin the morning, before the sun is even fully visible in the sky.
My eyes flutter open, and I sit up. I’m not used to living with someone else. Despite the house being a sprawling eight thousand square feet, every foreign sound wakes me up.
Recently, Mila rushing to the bathroom at the ass crack of dawn to throw up wakes me.
I invite myself into her room and perch in the doorway of her bathroom. Mila is sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and black panties. Neither of which is particularly flattering. Of course, I think Mila could wear a brown paper bag and look good. If she wasn’t retching into a toilet, of course.
“Rough night out?” I ask, but she doesn’t startle. She knew I was standing here. I guess she’s used to living alone too.
“I didn’t drink if that’s what you’re implying,” she answers gruffly as she pivots on her ass to sit facing me. Even as she wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist, sweat matting thelittle hairs framing her face to her forehead, she’s beautiful. Stunning even.
“I’ve seen how Brynn and her little follower’s party. The Blue Olive, right?” I ask, heading over to the sink to grab a washcloth for her.
“And Club One O’ One,” she says, closing her eyes as she leans against the wall.
“Oof,” I shake my head, crouching down to hand her the cold, wet cloth. “We’ve all been there. I’m not here to judge,” I say with a small smile.
Mila’s eyes flash open and she stares at me. “I’m not hungover. It takes alcohol to be hung over. I’m—” she stops. Her face flushes and she throws up again.
“You’re sick,” I say, and she nods. I give her a moment, and then I lean down and scoop her up.
“What are you doing?” she asks, more startled than defiant.
“Taking you back to bed,” I answer, padding over to her bed and laying her down. I pull the covers up over her and go to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. It’s 4:30 in the morning and the stars are still out. I’m tired, but I don’t mind.
“You don’t have to do any of this,” she moans when I come back to the room. “I know I’m kind of disgusting right now.”
“Well, I’m not going to leave you to die in my house,” I tell her. “I’d be responsible. It wouldn’t look good. Bad publicity, you know?” I tease, and she manages an eye-roll. Good to know her sass mouth isn’t gone even when she’s so sick.
“You’re funny,” she says sarcastically as she takes the water glass from me.
“I try,” I shrug, sitting next to her on the bed. I’m in my underwear, but it doesn’t feel sexy. It also doesn’t feel awkward. “Also, you’re not disgusting. You could never be disgusting,” I tell her. I take the water glass from her so she can lie back down. I lay down beside her.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” she says. “I might be contagious.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I say, getting comfortable. A small smile spreads across her perfect lips and her eyes grow heavy. Within moments, she falls into the rhythm of sleep, and I just watch her. Her expression is soft when she sleeps. No sign of sarcasm. No guard up.
I brush the hair from her face, tiny locks that had escaped her bun. For a moment, all of this feels crazy. This entire situation. She uprooted her life to play along with it. Even if I have promised her money, I know well enough that money doesn’t mean everything. She quit her job. She moved out of her apartment. As sleep slowly takes me, I wonder what else matters to her. What else did she give up? I drift off, wanting to know a lot more.
I wake a few hours later to the smell of coffee and a cold bed next to me. I run my hand through my hair and yawn, blinking a couple times before looking at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 9:00 AM, later than I usually wake up, even on my days off. Of course, I don’t usually spend the wee hours of the morning taking care of a sick girl either.
After slipping away to my room to pull on some gray sweatpants, I find Mila in the kitchen. She’s sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee and her phone.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“For now,” she says, setting her phone down. “Sorry you had to see me like that.”
I grab a mug from the cabinet and fill it with coffee. “I still want to know what went down last night,” I say with a small grin.
“I already told you, I wasn’t drinking,” she says again.
“I know,” I say, taking a seat next to her. “But I can’t imagine a night out with Brynn and the girls was uneventful.”
Mila bites her lip. “It was exactly the way you’d imagine. Drinks–that I didn’t partake in–dancing. It was like I was young again,” she smiles, gripping her coffee mug in her hands.
