Chapter 33 I don't know the last time I've ever felt so worried and pissed at the same time. At first, when Camille wouldn't respond to me, I figured she was busy. Before I left for the meeting in Manhattan, she planned on spending the time while I was gone finding opportunities for me to look good not only to the board but to the media as well. When it turned to afternoon and she still hadn't responded, I was pissed. I wanted to tell her how great the meetings were going. I know we've been making good progress this summer, but today was the first time where I really felt like I was going to earn the respect of the Davenport Media board. My father looked at me like he was proud of me again. And the first person I wanted to tell that to was Camille. Over the last couple of weeks, we've settled into an understanding. While I can't tell her how I feel, the way Jude told me I should, I did decide to stop egging her on so much. I'm not a dick. And the fact that Jude, of all people, thought I was being mean to her bothered me. It felt like maybe Camille had been waving the white flag recently as well. She was still as bossy as ever, but her insults were few and far between anymore. So when she didn't respond for hours, I got pissed. I was trying to focus on being present for the Davenport Media meetings, but I couldn't stop wondering if she was shutting me out for some reason I didn't know about. By the time the board dinner had wrapped up this evening, my anger with her had turned into worry. I knew she was professional above anything else-something that frustrated the hell out of me. She wouldn't be ignoring me for no reason. When I asked the staff who'd been at the house for the day if they'd seen Camille, they hadn't. I considered asking Jude to run over to the house to check on her, but it didn't feel right. It felt like I should be the one going back to the Hamptons to see what was going on. I made a late-night call to our pilot to fly out tonight instead of tomorrow. I had to pay him double his normal rate, but I'm so happy I did. I slowly lower my body to the bed, trying my best not to jostle her. She immediately nuzzles against my chest and allows me to wrap my arms around her. I wonder if she can feel the erratic beat of my heart against her cheek. The trip from the small Hamptons airport to the house felt like it took forever. The closer I got to her, the more worried I became. When I walked through the eerily quiet house, I started to panic. When I opened the door to her room and found her in bed, I was both relieved and even more worried. Relieved because she was here. She hadn't left. Worried because I'd never seen her look so miserable. Even from the doorway of her room, I could tell how weak she was. She could barely lift her head enough to look at me, and the color was completely gone from her face. My grip on her tightens as I pull her even more against me. She's hot-too hot. She must have a fever. I press my lips to her forehead, my hand moving to softly cup her cheek. "Have you had any medicine?" I ask. Camille shakes her head. "No. I haven't been able to move." The weak quality of her voice makes my heart break. I hate seeing her like this. She's the strongest woman I've ever met. I know how hard it must be for her to let me see her like this. I know her well enough to know she hates showing weakness, and it isn't lost on me how easily she admitted she needed me. Stay. One word had never felt so good to hear. I hadn't realized how desperately I needed to hear that until she said it. I don't want to leave this bed. I don't want to leave her. I want to hold her until the color returns to her cheeks and her body returns to a normal temperature, but she needs medicine. My thumb traces over her cheekbone as my eyes meet hers. "I'm going to get you some medicine. Have you had water? Food?" She shakes her head again. Her answer makes me worried all over again. How long has she gone without food or water? Fuck. Why does she have to get this sick the two days I'm gone? We've been stuck together for over a month now. What horrible luck is it that she gets this sick the one time we're apart. I never want to leave her side again. I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, hating how clammy her skin is. I already know I'm going to beat myself up about not being here for her. She shouldn't have had to deal with this alone. "I'll be right back." She groans, her body nestling against mine. "Don't go," she pleads. I close my eyes for a moment, unable to handle the tone of her voice. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindηovel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I won't be long. You're burning up. You need medicine." I'm also going to get her some food and some water while I'm up, but I leave that part out for now. I don't want her to argue, not that I think she has much energy to argue at the moment. "I'll be back," I add, wondering if that'll help. "You don't have to come back," she croaks. "I'm sick, and I know you don't like me. You don't have to take care of⁠-" "I'll be back," I respond, my voice full of conviction. I can't imagine leaving her right now. It'd kill me. She's letting me be there for her, and I'm not taking that responsibility lightly. "What if I get you sick?" she asks, her voice weak. "Then I get sick." She opens her mouth to say something, but I gently press my fingers to her lips before she can get anything out. Of course, even when she's sick and miserable, she's wanting to argue. I might find it kind of cute if I weren't incredibly worried about her at the moment. "I'm not letting you push me away. You don't get to do that right now. You asked me to stay, and I'm staying. Don't waste your energy trying to change my mind because it won't work." Her lips turn down in a frown. I half expect her to argue again, but to my surprise, she doesn't. "Okay," she whispers. I lift an eyebrow. "You're not going to argue?" I was fully prepared for this to turn into a battle. "Don't get used to it." The tension in my chest loosens slightly at her words. I know she isn't feeling good, but she's at least feeling enough like herself to give me a witty response. I don't know if this is something she'll get upset with me about, but I can't help it. I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. And then I press another because it feels good-and right-to do. I don't know why the feeling of my lips against her forehead as her breath tickles my chest feels more intimate than having my fingers inside her. She doesn't protest the forehead kisses. In fact, I swear she lets out a little sigh of relief the third time I press my lips right between her eyes. "Okay, I'll be right back," I say, having to untangle my limbs from hers before sliding off the bed. All she does is nod in response before her eyelids flutter shut. For a few seconds, I stand there and watch her. I'll let her drift off to sleep while I get medicine and food ready. She brings her hand under her cheek and nestles against it, her eyes never once opening. It doesn't take long for her breathing to get slower and her lips to part. She's asleep. I allow myself a few more seconds of looking at her before I leave the room. There's a weird tightness that fills my chest as I watch her sleep. I rub at the spot above my heart, wondering what this feeling is and what to do about it.