Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

Chapter 27 Presley

Presley

After being let into the building by the security guard, I knock on Dominic’s front door, armed with a bag of tried-and-true holistic medicine: electrolyte drinks, ginger ale, and saltine crackers. My mother always took such good care of us when we were sick, so I made sure to pick up the necessary ingredients for a settled stomach at the store before I arrived at Dominic’s building.

When I was standing in the grocery store aisle, comparing prices, I remembered I don’t have to worry as much about the cost anymore. I can afford to buy the organic stuff . . . something I’ve never done before. If I were buying for myself, I would have probably gone generic as usual. But for Dominic’s girls? I got the best stuff I could find. Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

Francine answers the door when I arrive. She is pale as a sheet and gives me a wan smile. “Hello, dear.”

“Hi. I’m here to take over,” I say with a sympathetic nod.

“I hoped as much.” Sighing, she looks positively exhausted as she opens the door and leads me down the hall. “I’m not feeling well myself. I should get home and rest before I make matters worse here. Dominic won’t be happy to find both his girls and an old lady green in the face when he comes home.”

“He just wants to make sure everyone is okay. Including you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have called me.”

Fran gives me a look that says I’m not so sure about that.

I mean, why else would he have called me? I know where his apartment is, and he trusts me with his daughters. After thinking it through, I swallow. I guess that is kind of a big deal.

She smiles warmly at me before she picks up a large canvas bag and an umbrella and heads for the door. “They’re resting in their room. There are sick buckets in the tub, just rinsed. Be careful not to

touch anything you don’t have to. Don’t want you getting sick too, dear.”

“Thank you, Fran. Please get some rest.”

When the door closes behind her, I set down my bag and slip off my shoes. I tiptoe to the girls’ room and peek my head inside. I don’t want to wake them if they’re sleep—

“Presley!” Lacey cries.

I guess they aren’t sleeping.

The pale little girl tries to sit up in bed, but she’s too weak and falls back into her pillow with a whimper. Emilia is almost unconscious, probably asleep until her sister’s outburst. Her lips move but her eyes remain closed.

When I get closer, I can hear her saying, “Daddy. Daddy,” and my heart aches. I didn’t know Emilia was sick too.

This really is a ruthlessly contagious bug. I wonder if I should call Dominic and tell him . . . but he’s driving and I shouldn’t distress him any more than he is. I’ve only ever seen him frantic when it came to his daughters’ well-being. I decide that he can find out when he arrives later tonight.

“Hi, monkeys,” I say softly, approaching their beds. I know I’m not supposed to touch them, but they need a little comfort. I brush the sweaty curls from their faces and hold their hands.

“Where is Daddy?” Emilia asks, her eyes heavy with sleep.

“He’s on his way. I’m going to take care of you two for a little while before he gets here, okay?” I know I’m a poor substitute for their father, but I hope I can at least provide them some comfort.

“Okay,” Lacey whispers. “Can we play?”

I chuckle. “When you’re both feeling better, we can play all you want. But until then, we’ve got to rest, okay?”

“But I’m thirsty.” Lacey whines, squeezing my hand.

“You can have just a little bit of water. Not too much.”

For the next hour, I alternate between the girls, relying on the memory of my own mother taking care of Michael and me. I give them each a few sips of water, even though Lacey is eager to guzzle more. I want to make sure they can keep this down before I give them too much.

Inevitably, when they start to feel sick again, I race to the bathroom to get the sick buckets. I barely get back in time for Emilia to lose the little bit of water that was in her stomach. She’s so scared of throwing up that she shakes after every bout. I use a washcloth to wipe her mouth and then kiss her on the forehead, promising that it will all be over soon.

Then, when it’s Lacey’s turn to get sick, I try to help her through it, but she’s a little more resilient than Emilia. It honestly amazes me how chatty she still is. When her head isn’t in a bucket, she’s asking me questions.

“Are you and Daddy married?”

“No, we’re not married. We’re just good friends.” Well, that’s a very G-rated way of putting it. I’m not about to tell his kids that I have no idea how to define my relationship with Dominic.

“How come?”

“Because . . .”

Luckily, Emilia throws up again before I have to come up with an answer. I brush her hair out of her face and help her blow her nose.

“I want Daddy.” She cries, breaking down.

I know Dominic is still far away, at least three more hours by car. Knowing him, he’s probably speeding here as fast as he can, traffic laws be damned.

“Let’s wait for Daddy, okay?”

I gently lift Emilia from the bathroom floor and carry her across the hall. She’s so light . . . even lighter with nothing in her stomach. I lay her down on her bed, and then check on her sister. With a fresh washcloth, I wipe the sweat from their faces and pull the covers up to their chins.

It really is alarming how contagious stomach flu can be. Ever since I first touched the girls, I’ve felt off. My own stomach churns at the thought of eating anything, even though I’m starving.

Oh shit.