“Really? Because it sounds like you’re cleaning out your stomach.”
Oh god. I wanted to shout at him to piss off. What was I thinking bringing on a guest at the bed and breakfast? The place was better when it was empty.
I forced myself to stand and wash my hands, splashed water on my face, and patted it dry. By the time I whipped the bathroom door open, Taylor looked genuinely worried.
Nausea hit me in another wave, but I refused to acknowledge it as I brushed past him.
“How are you, Taylor? Hungry? I could put on some tea for you?” My plan was to continue talking so he could never get a word in edgewise. “I think we’ve still got a bit of bacon and eggs. I’ll whip you up something to eat.”
“I’m fine, really.”
I waved him away. “Nonsense. This is a bed and breakfast, right? We can’t have you going hungry!”
I could hear the slight hysteria in my voice, the edge that told him to handle me with caution. I was moments away from crying or throwing up and he had enough sense to keep a wide berth.
“How about a double breakfast tomorrow? I’m heading off for a hike and then I’m reviewing a restaurant in La Spezia later.”
I nearly cried with relief. He’d be gone and I’d have a few hours of peace and quiet.
“Oh, right then! Well, good luck. I’ll see you when you get back then, yeah?”
I was already heading toward my room, waving to him over my shoulder. I locked the door and sat on the edge of my bed, listening to him leave. I reached for the crackers I’d set on my bedside table and nibbled on one, forcing it down.
I needed to talk to someone, anyone. I felt so alone sitting in that quiet bed and breakfast, sad and sick and lonely. I tossed the crackers aside and reached for my mobile. My sister-in-law would know what to do.
Andie answered on the second ring.
“Georgie! That you?”
Like a warm hug, her words broke the dam I’d been struggling to brace for the last few days. I sniffled and cried real sobby tears that were more painful than anything else. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing my family until I was on the phone with Andie, listening to her on the other end of the line, trying to get a word out of me.
“Are you okay? Dear god, are you hurt?”
I managed a weak no.
“Should I call the police? Georgie?”
“No. No, I’m okay.”
“It doesn’t sound like it.”
It took a few more minutes for me to catch my breath, and then finally I started to speak through soft tears.
“I’ve gotten myself into real trouble in Italy.”
“How? Have you gambled away all your money? Broken the law? Murdered someone?”
“Worse. I’m in love.”
She laughed. “I…well, that doesn’t sound all that bad, to be honest.”
“He doesn’t love me back, Andie! Keep up!”
“Oh, Georgie. I’m so sorry.”
I groaned. “It’s so bloody complicated, Andie. The worst sort of situation, and I can’t keep anything down. I think I’m lovesick, truly, vomitously so.”
“So you’ve been throwing up?”
“For the last few days.”
“What else is going on? Do you have a fever?”
“I don’t know. On an emotional level, I feel very cold, so probably not.”
“Do you feel flu-ish?”
“Maybe. I’ve had headaches and I feel like I’m always on the brink of tears. I’m tired all the time, even when I get a few decent hours of sleep. Just yesterday I walked into a room to grab something and I couldn’t remember what it was. My brain isn’t working, I swear it. It’s like I’m a zombie.”
“Sounds terrible, Georgie.”
“Oh well, I guess there’s not much to be done now.”
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
I pinched my eyes closed. “Imagine the most gorgeous, thoughtful, lovely man in the world and then multiple that by ten billion. That’s Gianluca.”
She hummed. “Sounds like the type of man you could talk to about this sort of thing. Have you tried explaining to him how you feel?”
“I can’t go near him. You see, we have a very 21st-century relationship, where even though he doesn’t love me back we still frequently…shag. But at the moment I couldn’t bear it because my breasts are bloody tender. Do you think it’s possible my heart ripped in two, and that maybe the pieces have lodged themselves into my boobs?”
“Georgie…”
“I can’t do it. If this is love, it’s too much. I can’t go on like…like some—”
“Georgie!”
“What?!”
“When did you last have your period?”
“I don’t know, but that hardly seems relevant when I’m dying of a broken heart. And anyway—”
“I think you might be more than lovesick. Those sound like pregnancy symptoms.”
WHAT?!
I threw my mobile across the room so fast it collided with the wall and clattered to the ground, screen split in two.
No.
No. Not possible.
CRAP.
I stood and ran for my mobile, trying to turn it back on. It was bloody broken. That’s what I get for swimming so many laps and toning up my arms—I can now throw with the force of Wonder Woman.
I slapped it against my palm a couple times and then held down the power button for a solid minute. Nothing.