Elena’s POV.
I stood near the foot of the bed, still tasting the faint metallic edge of nausea that had followed me from the dining room. Why did it always feel like a bomb was about to go off every time Raymond needed to tell me something?
“What?” I pressed, my brows pulling together. “What happened now?”
“It’s nothing that—” Raymond paused, studying my face in the soft light of the bedside lamp.
“Elena? Are you okay?” His voice had lost the sharp edge from a second ago. “You barely touched your food. You look pale.”
I kept my answer clipped. “There’s a stomach virus going around the hospital, like I already said. I’m fine.”
He did not accept it. His gaze moved over the tired lines I knew were around my eyes, the careful way I held myself upright.
“There is nothing wrong with yo
