“Hey.” I open the door with a strained smile. The last thirty minutes have wiped me out.
Maybe I do need to see a doctor?
He steps into the room, his hand immediately on my forehead. “You’re still warm,” he frowns. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit better?”
“Is that a question?”
I giggle. “Maybe? It ebbs and flows. I woke up feeling okay, and now…” I make a so-so gesture with my hands and sink back onto the bed.
He follows me, sitting beside me, and I lean into him for both warmth and comfort. I just can’t get my temperature right.
“Here, take these.” He pulls out a packet of pills from the front pocket of his black hoodie and hands it to me. Frowning, I look at the label. It’s written in Italian.
“I went to the pharmacy this morning, and they recommended these. And if these don’t help, you need to see a doctor.”
Sounds fair to me. I swallow two tablets with the water bottle he’s also handed me and look up at a knock on the door.
“I told you I’d be coming with breakfast.”
He opens the door and another table of food is wheeled into the room. This one is more packed than the one he ordered last night.
“I didn’t know what you’d feel like eating,” he explains as I stare at the table in silence.
“So you ordered one of everything?”
He shrugs and I look at the food again. I’d been kidding when I said that, but now, looking at the eggs, toast, pancakes, pastries and fresh fruit piled high in front of me, I think this is exactly what he did.
“Nicky!” I protest. “It’s too much.”
“We’ll share.”
“With the entire floor?”
He chuckles and gently pushes me into a chair at the small round table tucked into the corner of my room. “What do you feel like?”
I don’t have to think too hard for my answer. “You know what I really feel like?”
His eyebrows rise, alert like he’s ready to find whatever it is for me.
“Vegemite. I’m craving white bread toast with vegemite.”
Growing up in Australia, this was my staple food. Whether I was sick or hungover or just needed a little snack, there was nothing better than vegemite on toast. Since I’ve been travelling with Nicky’s team, I’ve kept a small tube in my suitcase and, as luck would have it, I ran out just last week.
As bad luck would have it; it seems.
“Give me a minute.”
Nicky pulls out his phone and paces around the room, his fingers flying over the screen as he types message after message.
“It’ll be here in ten minutes. Along with some more toasted white bread.”
My jaw is on the floor. “How? What? How?”
His grin is a little smug. “As you keep pointing out to me, Cherry, I’m a global superstar. And this has its perks sometimes.”
I try to imagine the poor person on the other end of those messages, frantically running around this small town of Imola, looking for vegemite.
