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KAYLA
The next two days passed in a crazy whirlwind of fatigue, nausea, fever, trips to the bathroom, throwing up, and I’m not sure what else. Only the apocalypse of all viruses would attack me on my honeymoon.
I had to be hallucinating. I kept seeing Dylan – like the first night I’d been there. I think I saw him turn around, but I had to throw up too bad so I’d run before I could get a good look. I couldn’t be sure.
Maybe my “husband” looked like Dylan.
I woke up, sleeping in a clean bed, dressed in my favorite pajamas and I only mildly ached. Mostly my stomach felt like I’d done ten-thousand sit-ups, but there was weakness in the rest of my muscles as well.
Had Dylan changed my clothes? Visions from the last two days swarmed my mind, buzzing around with an insistent demand to be remembered. It was him. I hadn’t made it up. Dylan was there. Had he followed me? No, wait. He left before me. He hadn’t said where he was going. Maybe he had rescued me from my husband.
I didn’t have a memory of that guy. Just his back.
The slider opened, and Dylan walked inside. I blinked at the light from the curtain being pushed aside. What was happening?
“Morning. How are you feeling?” Dylan’s kind eyes perused me and I was grateful to see him.
I sighed, sinking into the pillows. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until I relaxed. “What happened? I’m supposed to meet my husband here. Have you seen him?” I licked my dry lips and tried to push myself to a sitting position.
Dylan rushed to my side and helped me sit up. His touch was soft and comforting but also made me more than aware of my pajamas and his swimsuit and thin t-shirt.
“He left.” Dylan studied me with somber eyes, his lips drawn down in a frown.
My gaze flew to his face. Was I relieved or offended? “What?” My match had seen me and hated me on site. Or maybe when he found out I was sick, he ran away. I knew it was too good to be true.
“I’m just kidding. He didn’t leave. It’s me. Kayla, you’re married to me.” He said it with a laugh but I could see that he was nervous, too. And he should be.
“Wait. That’s not possible. Your name isn’t Sheldon Anderson. It’s Dylan Drake.” The memory from when we opened the company about five years ago and he had signed his name as Sheldon flashed in my mind. No matter, his last name was still Drake.
“Yeah, that’s my first name. I used my mom’s maiden name.” He chewed on the full curve of his bottom lip and I realized he had taken a seat by me on the bed and somehow we had gotten to only inches away from each other.
“Oh, wow. I forgot that. It’s been forever since I thought of your first name as Sheldon. I thought you said you hated your first name.” I was trying hard to piece everything together but it was difficult when I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. I was still weak from being sick and there were a lot of holes in what had happened the last couple days.
“I know. I do hate my first name. But when I signed up for the ClickandWed.com program a few months ago, I didn’t want to use my real name. I didn’t want anyone to be able to check me out or make a decision based on the information they found. What if they found out about you?” He adjusted himself so that we faced each other on the bed.
I pulled the blanket up over my lap. What would they find out about me? I dug my fingers into the soft blanket.
“You hid something from me. A pretty big something. We can’t be married. You knew we were matched and you didn’t say anything. You’ve known for a while.” I was trying to work myself up into anger. Except I didn’t get mad easy and Dylan knew that. It took a lot for my temper to get worked up and even though he lied to me, I knew why he had done it. I wouldn’t have come, if I’d known I was matched to him. We’d known it was a possibility.
I just hadn’t realized Dylan would actually push to make it happen. Plus, I was really tired and it was hard to be mad at my best friend.
My silence must have unnerved him. He reached out and twisted a chunk of my hair between his strong fingers. His soft, deep voice made everything around us fade. He sucked me into his dark gaze as he watched me. “Are you mad?”
Licking my lips, I flicked my gaze between him and the door. I was suddenly overcome with the need to escape. “I want to be upset with you, but I can’t. It’s you... and you helped me while I was sick.” I shrugged, stretching my legs a little bit, nudging him from beneath the blanket. He stayed where he was and didn’t take the hint.
“It’s me.” He said it with a hint of despondency and released my gaze, dropping my hair at the same time.
Had I hurt his feelings? I slowed down. What had I said? “Well yeah, it’s you. If it had been someone else, I think I would be really upset. Thankfully, it’s you. Isn’t that a good thing?” I looked at my hands and then glanced up at his face. “And... I think I threw up on your hands. It’s hard to be mad at you when you are taking care of me and I threw up on your hands.”
He widened his eyes. “You remember doing that?”
My answering grin must’ve told him what he needed to hear. He wrapped his arms around me and started to tickle me.
A couple of weeks in paradise with my best friend didn’t seem like that big of a deal.