Chapter 56
Kiara
I dab my mouth with a napkin, watching as the remnants of my breakfast spiral down the toilet.
As my tour nears its end with only a week remaining, I've been feeling like shit the past few days. Perhaps it's the extended time away from home or the overwhelming desire to see my fiancé. Despite Trey's offer to fly out and support me following Lucinda's passing, I insisted that he stay and continue to help with William's sobriety.
I was really depressed about it for several days. Sure, I thought maybe she might relapse once or twice before she got better, but the reality surpassed my darkest expectations. The very thought of her brings an ache to my heart, yet I cling to the hope that if an afterlife exists, she has been reunited with her daughter.
The whirlwind of my book tour has provided a welcome distraction from everything, except for the persistent nausea and vomiting I've been experiencing. With every passing day, I find myself in a new city, immersed in diverse events and bookstores. It has been amazing fulfilling the dreams I've had since I were a child. My only wish is to shake off this sickness, so I can fully savor my last moments on the road for now.
Luxury, my publicist, abruptly knocks on the bathroom door. "Kiara, you okay in there?"
No, I'm dying.
"Yes ma'am. Just slashing some cold water on my face," I shout back, hastily turning on the tap. Fortunately, I had the foresight to pack a spare toothbrush in my bag, just in case the persistent stomach bug or whatever has haunted me for the past three days decided not to relent.
The moment the toothbrush enters my mouth, a surge of yellow bile scorches my throat, forcing me to convulsively cough it into the sink. I emit a soft groan, my stomach protesting the strain.
Fuck.
"Hun, can I come in? You've been in there an awfully long time, and your fans are starting to arrive," she says, concern coloring her words.
After a quick rinse of my mouth, I swing open the door. Luxury stands in the doorway, holding a phone in one hand and a Coach purse in the other. She gasps at the sight of me. "Goodness, you look like hell! Have you eaten anything today?"
"Eggs and potatoes this morning, but that didn't seem to agree with my stomach." I gag at the mere thought of ingesting anything else.
"Must be your nerves. Do I need to cancel today's event?" Luxury inquires, her concerned gaze fixated on my pale complexion.
I shake my head, mustering a weak smile. "No, this is the largest group I've had so far. I won't let down my fans." The all-too-familiar wave of nausea washes over me, and I hurriedly bring my hand to my mouth, my stomach churning. "Just give me five more minutes, and I'll be out." The promise comes with a hint of determination, but the visible strain on my face reveals the battle within.
Within the five minutes, I find myself settling into a chair at the front of the bookstore. The line of eager fans stretches so long that it weaves through the aisles, a testament to the anticipation in the air. Before me, a stack of freshly printed books rests on the table, their crisp pages waiting eagerly for the touch of my pen.
I force a smile onto my face, waving my hand to signal my bodyguard (as Trey insisted) to let the fans approach. He's an imposing figure, standing tall with a shaved head, and a striking scar over one eye that gives him an air of mystery. I call him Mr. Stoneface, behind his back of course, since I've never seen him smile. I catch the woman in line side-eyeing him nervously as she walks past, clearly intimidated by his presence.
Despite having gone through this routine every few days for the past month, a blend of nerves and excitement still washes over me every time the first fan approaches the table. I turn my attention to the eager woman holding a copy of my book. "What's your name?" I ask kindly.
She beams, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "I'm Sarah. I'm such a huge fan, I can't believe I'm meeting you in person!" she exclaims.
Despite the surge of bile threatening to rise in my throat, I manage to swallow it down. "Thank you, Sarah. I love meeting my fans." She hands me the book, and I inscribe a personal message inside the cover. After a quick picture together, I offer the book back to her and the next fan steps forward.
After we get about halfway through the line, I take a bathroom break. Returning, I resume signing books as if I hadn't just violently expelled my stomach lining. I make an effort to share a brief moment with each fan, but as the line stretches on, I find myself rushing through the interactions.
Although I feel guilty, the urgency is driven by the looming threat of vomiting in front of everyone. The thought of someone recounting a story about Cocoa Jottings, my pen name, throwing up on them during a book signing is mortifying.
As the line dwindles to the last remaining few, a wave of dizziness threatens to overwhelm me, but somehow I manage to push through.
"Are you okay, hun? You look like you're about to pass out," Luxury asks, her features clouded in concern. She hands me a bottle of water, and I instantly open it, taking a few desperate sips in an attempt to steady myself.
"Yeah, I just need to lay down or something," I mutter, cradling my aching stomach. My body trembles violently, each shiver amplifying the sensation that I'm going to pass out.
"Simon, call a town car so I can take her back to the hotel," she instructs my bodyguard.
He studies my face. "It looks like you need to take her to the emergency room," his gruff voice carries genuine concern.
If even Mr. Stoneface is saying something, I must really look as awful as I feel.
I convince myself that I just need to rest for a while or something. The demands of being on the road must be taking a toll on me.
"No, that's not necessary. I'm fine," I assert. As I try to stand up, my vision blurs, and I feel myself crumpling to the ground before everything goes black.