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8
Nova
I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and run a comb through my damp hair.
I’ve just changed into my robe when my phone dings with a text from Inez.
Breakfast is ready.
I’ll take it in my room. I’m not feeling well. Thank you,I reply and snuggle on my bed while I wait. It’ll make my ruse more believable.
I don’t like lying to Inez. I’m sure she’s serving Riley breakfast, though, and I can’t see him after what happened last night. He had to sleep on the couch. Because of me.
It was kind of him to give me his bed, but he should have left me where I passed out. Justice left me on the floor once. Stepped right over me and went to sleep in his bed. The fact that Riley was a gentleman makes me feel worse about crashing his evening.
Knocking sounds on the door.
I open it and let in Inez.
Behind her, Aaron pushes a cart covered with a tablecloth into the room.
“Set it up by the balcony.” Inez points to the French doors, which are opened, letting in the fresh air.
It was the first thing I did when I got to my room.
She touches my forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I’m jet-lagged, not sick.”
“Rest up. I made your usual oatmeal with coconut milk and berries. I added some turkey bacon for protein. You take your coffee the same, I assume?”
“Yes. Thank you, Inez. It smells delicious. I appreciate it.”
“Eat up.” She gestures to the cart.
Aaron pulls the desk chair over to the cart now that it’s set up like a table.
“Text Aaron when you’re finished eating, and he’ll collect everything,” Inez says.
“I can bring it down myself.” That’s what the elevator is for—well, that and luggage and older guests who can’t make it up the stairs. I sit in the chair.
“I thought you needed to rest?” Inez asks.
“I do, but I, uh, might feel better after I eat. You know how my blood sugar gets.” Now I’m lying about my condition?
“I do, which is why you shouldn’t push yourself if you don’t feel well.” Aaron leaves the room, and Inez follows but stops at the door. “Riley ate his breakfast in a hurry this morning.”
Her suspicious tone has sweat forming above my lip. “Is that unusual?” Is he avoiding me, too?
“He’s never been in a hurry before.”
“Maybe his stomach was upset,” I say as an excuse.
Her eyes tighten with a death glare.
“Not because of your cooking,” I’m quick to add. “Stress affects the body in strange ways.”
“Stress? What does he have to be stressed about? He works out every day. Unless you know something I don’t?”