A light sleeper by nature, I heard her stir around 4 a.m. Awoken to the sound of what could have been muffled sobs.
Unable to sleep, I turned over onto my back and listened for the sound of her falling back to sleep, which never came.
"Artemisia."
"Yes?" She spoke to the slash of light falling into the room from the blink of hotel lights.
"Thought I heard you wake, everything okay?"
"Of all the wretched things, I've had the flu. I want to vomit."
I stopped myself from asking if it was anxiety. Again, as though she read my mind, "And no, it's not because of everything happening. One of my men had a stomach bug a few days back. I suspect I've picked it up."
"I didn't ask, Princess."
I heard her mumbling something and felt the thud of a solid throw pillow hit unexpectedly. "Oof."
I heard her giggle. She was nothing I expected, which made it all the sweeter for some reason.
"Don't suppose you men carry antacids or the like." I heard her say weakly.
"Not since I was secret service to the Presisent, Ma'am." I quipped in an all American kind of way.
"You weren't."
"Of course not. Hence, no antacids."
"You really are a turd, you know. Teasing a sick woman this way."
"I suppose I could call for room service."
She snorted, looking around at their surroundings.
"Tell you what, I'll call one of my guys to do a run. They need an update soon, anyhow."
Artemisia groaned again, whatever you do, please add gingerale and some pain relief tablets.
"You're in pain?"
"Own fault. It's that stupid knuckle that popped back when I clocked you."
It was my turn to chuckle. "Serves you right."
"It does."
"Here, let me see it." I slid from beneath the coverlet and sat beside her on the bed.
Taking her hand in mine, I massaged the area, noting where she shrunk back.