I notice that he doesn’t answer my question. “Apology not accepted.”
His shoulders stiffen beneath my palms.
“I’m also sorry for the whole thing in New York.”
“Oh, are you? It’s been nearly six months.”
“Better late than never, right?”
I shake my head. “If you think your two half-assed apologies are enough to smooth things over between us, I’m afraid you’re way off mark.”
Some color leaks out of Ras’s skin. His hands tighten on my waist. “Seriously, what’s your problem with me?”
“Problem with you? Didn’t you conclude earlier that I’m just redirecting my anger at other people onto you?”
He studies my face. “I’m reexamining that conclusion.”
There’s a sharp stabbing pain inside my gut that freezes me in place. “Shit.” My throat constricts, and a surge of acid comes up.
Ras’s gaze flashes with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”
My fingers dig into his shoulders for support. I’m practically hanging off him now. When will this stupid song end? I need to get away from him and sit down, but I’m afraid I’ll collapse as soon as I let go.
He brings his palm to the side of my neck and hisses. “Cazzo. You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow. “Like hell, you’re fine. Come on.”
I’m too weak to argue. He leads me to the closest chair, hands me some else’s glass of water, and gets down on his haunches, his eyes weirdly concerned. “What is it?”
I take a gulp, wince, and put the glass back down. “I’m nauseous. Dizzy.”
He stands up and glances around. “Where’s Cleo?”
“I don’t know.” The dance floor is full now. She’s probably somewhere in there. “We’re not currently on speaking terms.”
He slips an arm under my arm and around my back. “I’m taking you home.”
I try to push him away and fail miserably. “Don’t you dare.”
“You need to lie down.”
“I can’t just skip my sister’s wedding party. Mamma will kill me.”
“I think your mamma would prefer you not puke in front of a hundred people.” He helps me up, effortlessly lifting my entire weight with one arm.
I expect someone to stop us. To demand to know where we’re going. But everyone’s been drinking for hours now, and no one pays us any attention as we slip out of the restaurant and head toward Ras’s car.
He helps me into the passenger side. I drop my head back against the headrest and focus on my breathing. My palms press against the supple leather of the seat. This is a nice car. I’d hate to vomit in it, even if it’s Ras’s.
The other door opens, and Ras gets in. He reaches over me, his scent blanketing me for a long moment while he clips in my seat belt for me.
“Vanilla. Chocolate. Burnt wood,” I mutter, trying to distract myself from wanting to hurl.
He gives me a deeply concerned look. He’s close enough for me to count his stupidly long lashes. “Are you hallucinating?”
“Maybe,” I rasp. I’m not about to admit to him that I was just cataloging his scent.
Click.
He moves away, his hand gently grazing my waist. “We’re just ten minutes away. Hang in there, all right?”
“Uh-huh.” My fingers clutch the seat belt, its narrow side digging into my palm.
The car begins to move. “Do you want music?”
I shake my head.
“Do you want to talk?”
“Just drive.”
“Okay.” His voice is patient. It’s weird to have him talk to me like this, without that mocking lilt infusing his tone.
This road is bumpy. I know it is because we went back to the house after the ceremony at the cathedral to get changed before driving to the restaurant. Ras drives carefully, but still, every few minutes the car jumps, and I have to press my palm against my mouth.
“Oh God,” I groan.
“I’ll pull over.”
“No, just get me to the house.”
I’m sweating bullets by the time we arrive, and my back is sticking to the leather seat. Ras pulls right up to the guesthouse and jumps out of the car before appearing at my side.
“Okay, I’ve got you,” he says, sliding his arm around me once again. I moan pitifully and let him practically carry me inside the house and up to the bedroom I’m sharing with Cleo.
I beeline it to the door that leads to the bathroom.
“What do you need?” he calls out after me.
I slap my palm on the doorjamb and peer at him over my shoulder. “Nothing. You’ve done enough.”
His brows furrow. “You need a doctor.”
“No. I need you to leave.” The last thing I need right now is Ras watching me puke my guts out.
He gives me a slightly wounded look.
“Goodbye, Ras.”
I slip into the bathroom and lock the door.
CHAPTER 10
RAS
Gemma’s bed makes a soft groan of protest when I sit down on its edge, as if it’s also trying to tell me I shouldn’t be here.
Too fucking bad. I’m not leaving. There’s a good chance she’ll pass out on her way from the bathroom to her bed. Gemma can hate me all she wants, but while she’s on our turf, her well-being is my responsibility.
I should have realized sooner that she was burning up with a fever. Maybe that’s why she wouldn’t give me a single damn break while I was trying to apologize.
Wishful thinking.
Here’s the thing. That kiss in the kitchen was out of line. It’s not every day that I admit to being an asshole, but there’s no way around it. I shouldn’t have done that.
She’s right. If anyone had seen us, there’d have been serious consequences. Dem would’ve been put in a very uncomfortable situation, and our tepid relationship with Garzolo would have been put at risk.
I should have known better.
But in those minutes in the kitchen, I forgot myself.
Listening to her justify her marriage to Vale had triggered something dark in me.
Just the memory of it sends a crawling sensation over my skin. There was something so wrong with how she talked about her parents.
Does she really still buy into their bullshit even after what they did to Vale?
It makes me sick.
I thought Gemma was clever. Opinionated. Bold.
But as I listened to that conversation play out, none of it added up. She was hardheaded and so insistent on playing her part in Garzolo’s theater that I couldn’t shake the sense that I’d gotten her wrong.
It’s like she wears all these masks and swaps them based on who’s around her.
I want to find out who she is beneath them all.
But forcing that kiss on her was wrong.
My chest constricts at the memory of how disgusted she looked afterwards. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never done that before to a woman. Never even thought to do it until I met Gemma, who I’m starting to realize has some kind of a unique ability to get under my skin.
The sound of her violent retching echoes through the door.
Cazzo. That sounds awful.
I get up and head downstairs to get the first aid kit from the kitchen. If the pills don’t help, I’m calling her a doctor. I’m not taking any chances with this. I know taking care of her now won’t redeem me in her eyes, but I’m not letting her suffer unnecessarily.