Chapter 45 FEVER LINES
••Roman••
I woke in the middle of the night with my chest tight and my nose burning. Sneezing had turned from an irritation into something I couldn’t ignore, and lying still only made it worse. My head throbbed dully, like a slow hammer tapping from the inside.
I turned slightly and looked at Luciana.
She slept on her side, facing away from me, her hair spilled across the pillow like she owned the space without trying. We always left a careful distance between us, a deliberate stretch of mattress wide enough to hold another body, wide enough to remind us of what this marriage wasn’t supposed to be.
Tonight, the space felt colder than usual.
I pressed a hand to my forehead. It was burning hot. I am not one to use drugs so I never have any medication. I never did. I wasn’t used to needing it. This wasn’t my house, wasn’t my routine, and my body seemed intent on reminding me of that.
I slipped out of bed quietly and went to the bathroom, turning the shower on hot. Steam filled the space as I stepped under the water, letting it hit my shoulders, my neck, my back. For a while, I just stood there, eyes closed, breathing through the heat, convincing myself this would pass like everything else did.
I didn’t get sick. I didn’t have time for it.
By the time I returned to bed, my muscles felt looser, my head lighter. Good enough. I needed rest. Theo was waiting in the morning, and the meeting couldn’t be postponed.
I lay back down and closed my eyes.
Morning came anyway, uninvited and unkind.
I woke again, this time with my body heavy and weak, heat pooling under my skin like fire trapped beneath ice. My throat felt raw. Moving seemed unnecessary, exhausting. I stayed where I was, staring at the ceiling while the wall clock ticked steadily.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Time moved, whether I did or not.
Beside me, Luci shifted.
\----
••Luciana••
I woke slowly, Sleep had wrapped around me properly for the first time since we arrived. I stretched instinctively, enjoying the wide bed, already anticipating rolling into the empty space Roman usually left behind. Then, My hand hit something solid.
Not the mattress.
I froze.
I traced it carefully, fingers brushing over muscle, warmth radiating through skin. My mind lagged behind the realization, stubbornly refusing to accept it.
I turned my head.
Roman lay at the edge of the bed, facing the ceiling, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. He looked annoyed, but the sharpness I was used to was dulled by something else, something quieter and unfamiliar.
I reached out and tapped his back lightly, just enough to let him know I was awake.
Heat met my palm.
I frowned and pressed the back of my hand to his neck, then his forehead. It was too hot.
“You’re burning up,” I said.
“I’m fine,” he replied, voice low and rough.
I didn’t bother arguing yet. I was already reaching for my phone, checking the time.
“You’re terrible at lying,” I said. “You need rest.”
“I’ll be going out soon,” he said. “I just needed more time.”
“You can’t go out like this, and you know that.”
He sneezed, turning his head away.
I got up and moved around the room, pulling the curtains just enough to let light in without flooding the space, adjusting the thermostat until the air felt kinder. He watched me silently, eyes following my movements, like he was trying to track control even as his body betrayed him.
I returned with a bottle of water and the small pack of medication I always carried with me. Pain relief, fever reducers, the basics. I learned long ago not to rely on anyone else to be prepared.
“Drink,” I said, holding out the glass and pills.
“I don’t take orders.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You do when you’re sick.”
For a moment, it looked like he might push back, pride flaring out of habit, but then he exhaled and took the glass from my hand, swallowing the pills with the water.
I sat beside him on the bed. “I’ll use a wet cloth to cool you down. If this doesn’t break the fever, you’re seeing a doctor.”
“I don’t go to doctors,” he said. “And I still have a meeting.”
“Roman,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to be, “you’re burning up. If I leave you alone, you’ll probably set the hotel on fire.”
That earned the faintest pull at his mouth, not quite a smile.
“I don’t get sick,” he said quietly.
I looked at him then, really looked. The man who controlled rooms with his presence alone now lay still under white sheets, eyes tired, skin flushed, breath uneven.
“Everyone does,” I said softly.
I dipped a towel into cold water and wrung it out before pressing it gently to his forehead, then his neck, his arms. He closed his eyes, body finally giving in, allowing the care without comment.
He looked different like this. Human. Stripped of armor he wore so easily.
“I need to be there,” he murmured again, weaker now.
“You need to sleep,” I replied.
Minutes passed. His breathing slowed, deepened. The tension left his shoulders inch by inch. Soon enough, he was asleep, the fever still there but reduced.
I stayed where I was.
Watching him sleep felt strange, intimate in a way I hadn’t expected. I realized then that I had never really studied his face, not like this. The sharp lines softened in rest, lashes dark against his skin, mouth relaxed instead of set in command.
He looked younger. Almost gentle.
I reached out and brushed the towel once more over his forehead, careful not to wake him.
For the first time since we've been together, I was looking at him so up close like this.