Page 107 of Late Harvest

“You have to,” Sebastian replied firmly. “Brinder gave me clear instructions, which include ensuring you drink as you can tolerate. You’re already dehydrated, and we don’t want it getting worse.” He moved to the bed, placing everything on her nightstand, and sat on the edge, stroking her sweat-dampened hair. “My precious queen. I hate seeing you like this.”

“You should go in the other room. I don’t want you getting sick,” Remy croaked out, her throat as ravaged as her abs. She briefly closed her eyes, silently begging him to stay—against her best medical judgment—because Sebastian’s presence was comforting.

“Nope. Not gonna happen, my queen. Besides, given the way we spent last evening”—he waggled his brows in clear allusion to the lovemaking that had lived rent-free in her mind from the moment she woke that morning—“I’ve already been exposed to your cooties.”

Remy groaned again.

“Come on, my queen. Let’s get some electrolytes in you.” He wrapped his free arm around her to help her up, raising the glass to her lips. “Small sips,” he coached.

Remy complied, her parched mouth feeling better at the taste of fruit punch. She winced, ready for another cramp, but instead, her stomach merely gurgled. She attempted a few more sips and then dropped back on the pillow Sebastian had propped behind her.

“Want to try a saltine?”

Remy shook her head. “Not yet.” She nodded toward the surprisingly refreshing drink. “Is that fruit punch Gatorade?”

Sebastian gave a sheepish smile. “It’s what my mom always gave me when I got sick. I had Jared DoorDash us a ton of stuff. Chicken noodle soup. Gatorade. Ginger ale. The works. When I was a kid, I’d watch The Price is Right on sick days. Want me to bring up an episode on YouTube?”

“Th—” she began, and then halted, her words stuck in emotion. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

“It’s my honor to take care of you, Arabella.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “And while I love seeing you in scrubs, my angel, let’s get you out of those manky things. We may need to burn them,” he teased, making her smile. “You think you can stand in the shower on your own? You need to clean off and I want to change the sheets.”

Remy nodded and stood on wobbling legs. He wrapped an arm gently around her waist. “Ok, maybe not yet.”

“No,” she replied, her voice stronger than her legs felt. “I desperately need a shower. I can do it. I just…needed to get my equilibrium.”

“Ok, my queen,” he assented, but she could read the doubt on his face. “Let me walk with you in there. I’ll make sure you’re steady and then have these sheets changed”—he snapped his fingers—“lickety split.”

He guided her into the bathroom, then watched carefully as she shucked her soiled clothes in the least tantalizing disrobing in the history of female nudity. Once he confirmed she wasn’t going to topple over, he hurried back into the bedroom.

As the hot water streamed over her, Remy heard small exclamations of frustration coming from the other room. She smiled at the bursts of grumbling, rinsing off and drying herself with one of the fresh, fluffy towels Jared had delivered to the house after Sebastian decreed hers to be subpar. She had to admit, compared to this decadent cotton embrace, they had been. Jared had summarily collected her old towels and donated them to an animal shelter.

Feeling slightly restored, Remy tucked the bath sheet around her body and stood in the doorway. There, she was treated to the sight of Sebastian Wheatley battling a fitted sheet. And losing. Every time he tried to pull the fourth corner over the mattress, another would pop off.

Remy slapped a hand over her mouth to contain the giggle that slipped out.

Sebastian gave both her and the bed a baleful glance. “Defeated by a sheet.” He shook his head, hands resting on his hips. “We may need to sleep in the guest room, my queen.”

Remy stepped forward. “You’ve never made a bed in your life, have you?” She still felt like crap, and she needed some acetaminophen for her low-grade fever now that she could keep down liquids. But the sight of Sebastian glowering at the fitted sheet was as medicinal as the fruit punch Gatorade.

“I did my friend’s, remember? For the Fruity Pebbles reward.” He gave a cute pout, clearly remembering the recent unsatisfactory breakfast broth experience.

“Let me help,” she murmured, nudging him out of the way.

“Who knew how diabolical a sheet could be. I mean, who came up with that design? It’s—it’s cruel and inhuman, that’s what it is,” he grumbled, then grumbled some more about sheet wizards when she effortlessly tugged the final corner into place. Within minutes, she had the top sheet on and the duvet folded back. Sebastian had managed to change the pillowcases, though.

Remy crossed the room and reached into the top drawer of her dresser, pulling out a cotton camisole and shorts sleep set she sometimes wore to bed when she didn’t feel like wearing a nightgown of any kind.

Sebastian hovered over her, clucking and tutting as he settled her in, tucking the sheets around her waist. “There. Snug as a bug in a rug. Also something my mother would say. I always found it comforting, although now as an adult, a bug in a rug sounds pretty gross to me.” He wrinkled his nose and Remy laughed. “What else can I get you?”

“My leather work backpack?” She rubbed her aching temples. “Oh, and some Tylenol, please. And…my bunny. I need a Chicane snuggle.”

Within minutes, she had fever reducers in her system, her work bag, and Chicane on the bed between her and Sebastian, who was propped up on one elbow. They both pet their bunny, who soaked in the attention.

“Our little prince missed his mommy. He’s been sad,” Sebastian said, rubbing the back of Chicane’s head with his knuckle.

“Just like he missed you while you were in New York.”

Remy licked her lips, suddenly nervous. They hadn’t spoken of the soundless exchange of their feelings the night before. She’d risen early, out of long habit, and then was sick as a dog by mid-morning. Now, it was very much an elephant in the room.