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writing-whump · 14 hours ago

Note

I am the biggest fan of arranged marriage becomes real love and I hope that something they’ll happen between Melissa and Dominick. It’ll probably take a while, but my fingers are crossed 🤞

So I was wondering, could you write a fic where they are maybe talking about the logistics of their plan and what not and Dominick gets one of his attacks that he got in the fic that we were introduced to him and Melissa has to be the caretaker?

I'm so excited about this ask, thank you for sending it! I LOVE the arranged marriage/fake relationship becoming real too!!🙈💕

Too Late to Lie

"Are you sure about this one?"

Melissa rolled her eyes as Dominick paced the apartment Isaiah had offered her, his critical gaze making the whole thing almost funny.

"Yes."

"Look at how old the furniture is."

Actually, it wasn't half as old as anything she looked for on her own when she sought to rent an apartment for herself. This was in great condition, and the main advantage was, she could move right in.

"Isn't it too small?" Dominick continued, his steps echoing through the living room wooden floor.

"It's more than enough for me and Marcie," she assured him, throwing her loose straight red hair behind her shoulder. Then she stopped, when the idea hit her. "If you don't...do you want to move in too?"

Dominick froze in place, back to her. She could tell by how he rolled his shoulders he was fighting off a reaction he didn't want her to see.

As expected, he turned around wearing that confident smile and the same cheeky glint in his eyes. "It's not really my style."

"Not because of- I mean, if it wouldn't be- wouldn't feel safer for you." She rubbed her palms together, despite the heat. Yes, safe that was the right word. "What if someone goes after you too?"

"I don't think I'm an interesting target. Besides, I have lots of security in all of my apartments."

Melissa didn't want to shoot down his security systems, but it seemed too little against wolves. Or witches.

"Only..." he hesitated, walking in a circle around the living room all the way to the kitchen. "Only if you felt safer. With me here. I'm only 15 minutes down the road though and I can come anytime you call me."

She nodded. She didn't want to put more pressure on him. When there wasn't an audience, his confident shark mask mellowed down a lot. It was easier to talk to him then.

"You don't have to live in the same place, if you don't feel comfortable...yet. But we are going to live in one place...that would help with the marriage story, wouldn't it?"

Dominick's hand went along the counter, seeing how dusty it was. "I have a place for us. Two floors, four bathrooms, someone to cook and clean. You will have every comfort in the world."

Ah. So they were going to live separate lives. Everything planned out so they wouldn't have to bump into each other for anything.

"We don't have to push it yet," she relented. "We can live here with Marcie until the wedding and see what happens then."

He nodded, not looking at her. "I will...I'll get different design suggestions for the place and let you choose what you like. So you can set it up to your taste. I can get it done under a week."

She nodded although she thought it was unnecessary. That was usually they worked since the engagement. All these acts of services. Making sure she knew he would give and arrange her with all possible comforts he could think of.

As if he were paying for every minute of her presence in luxury.em

Everything in her name, to her taste. It was a princess treatment she hadn't imagined in her wildest dreams. She was the fetch girl all her life, she was always proving herself with skills and hard work. It was disconcerting as hell.

Was she trying to show her his power? Capabilities? How rich and connected he was?

Or was it for her sake? Did it bother him what Isaiah said at the meeting? About pretending he cared?

He usually shook off such comments with ease, but something seemed...off today. He was meeting her eyes less, hunched over more and he was constantly moving, like he couldn't sit still.

Melissa liked the place already though. She would pack her and Marcie's things and they could move in here this week already. Let the storm pass.

She was so anxious about it she wished she could speed it up, so it could be over sooner.

His phone rang. He looked at it and then at her, uncharacteristically hesistsnt.

"It's okay," she waved her hands. "It's all done for today. You can go, if you need to."

He looked torn taking the call, then let his hand with the phone down, watching her. "If you woudl like me to...but I don't want to make you nervous by forcing my presence here before you are ready. You have enough to deal with it as it is."

Melissa nodded as he walked into the other room, his voice booming through the walls.

He was good at making things sound like favors — like he was being considerate and thoughtful, when really he wasn’t ready to stay.

...

Melissa didn’t wait for the sound of the front door closing. She curled up on the couch with her arms around one of the throw pillows and let her mind spin in slow, anxious circles until it ran itself out.

She must have drifted off.

When she woke up, the light had shifted. Evening had bled into night, and the air in the apartment felt heavier.

She stretched stiffly and rubbed her eyes — and that’s when she noticed.

The door was still locked from the inside. His shoes were still by the door.

He never left.

She stood slowly, tension creeping up her spine. "Dominick?" she called, moving toward the hall. No answer.

She found him in the bathroom. The light was still on.

He was sitting on the closed toilet lid, bent forward, his elbows on his knees, one hand pressed to his temple. His suit jacket was hanging from the doorknob, and his tie had been loosened, collar damp with sweat.

When he looked up, his eyes were glassy.

"What's wrong?" It felt wrong to step closer. His whole body tensed up and she could see him wince with the pain of straightening, of meeting her gaze with that tiredness. He wasn't bracing for pain, he was swimming in it, soaked with it. There was something terrifying about that awareness, about his dilated pupils.

"I'm fine. Just a headache." He was tilting slightly to the side as if his balance was off, one hand wrapped around the other as if he was holding it straight.

This wasn't new for him. Even the intensity of the pain didn't seem alarming to him. She knew that look from regular patients at the hospital. That resignation.

"You are sweating through your shirt," she observed. Her heart sped up. She wasn't sure how to react. Her clinical doctor side wanted to ask questions, fuss, take care of him. The other wanted to pull back and hide.

She didn’t want to see him weak. Not now — not before the fight they were about to start, the one she’d put all her trust in. In him. In his shark smile and grant promises.

She didn't want a connection from this either. She didn't want to care about this man who held so much power over her life. Saying yes and being mild was hard enough when she didn't care for him.

"Do you have medicine for this?" Melissa asked, trying to stay practical. No need to ask questions she knew he wasn't willing to answer.

How long have you been sick? What hurts? Why? Why are you not fighting it? Why are you not laughing it off? Why?!

"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice sharper now, with jagged edges. "Go home. Leave me be."

She put her hands on her hips, feeling defensive. "Then tell me what kind of help you’d actually accept."

"I don't need your help," he snapped, then groaned, curling his head into his hands.

"Is there anyone else you want me to call?" Melissa said, ignoring the outburst.

A laugh bubbled up. Ironic. "Melissa, please. A headache like this is beneath your attention. Not worth the fuss. I’ll take a short break and head out after."

Such a blatant lie.

If he wanted to take a tiny break he would have lied down in the bedroom, no matter how dusty or unmade it was. He wouldn't have chosen a bathroom.

She scanned him over, his colourless lips, his flushed cheeks, the sweat clinging to his neck and hairline. The tremble in his fingers. The painful frown etched into the forehead that was usually so smooth and composed.

This was not the face he wanted to show her either.

What was she supposed to do? Accept his wishes and leave him to it?

Melissa stepped to the cupboard, looking through it but there were no towels, no washclothes, no linens. No fabric she could use.

Damn it.

She had a light blue blouse over her tank top. The blouse was damp and crumpled from the day, but it would do. The tank underneath was small, a little revealing — but this wasn’t about modesty.

She shrugged off the blouse and put it under the cold water. When it was soaked properly, she turned to him, putting the folded cloth on his nape.

He flinched at the touch, eyes flickering to her now-bare shoulders, the way goosebumps had risen along her arms. "I said-"

"Shut up. We’ve done everything your way today. You don’t get to argue with me now," she said firmly. Her fingers brushed along his cheek and neck, but there was no fever. She focused on his pulse. Elevated, but that could be from the pain.

"Your symptoms."

"Melissa-"

"I can't treat you if I don't know them."

"Does a person not have the right to reject these violating administrations?"

She scoffed. "Why did you choose a doctor for a fiancé then?"

He flinched away from her touch, shuddering. "That's not why and you know it."

"What an added bonus," she said sarcastically.

He was still curled away and tilting even more, like he was about to crumble to the floor. Okay, so the stern approach wasn't working either.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. It wasn't the first time her short temper had made her profession difficult. "Look. You don't have to tell me what this is or prove that this is not why you wanted me here. Maybe you didn't. Maybe you just don't trust me. Fine. But I'm already here, so you might as well make it easier on both of us."

Dominick didn’t answer.

His eyes had closed again, brows still pulled tight. His breathing had slowed, but not in a restful way — more like he was trying to shrink into himself. With that amount of sweat dripping from his face he looked like someone about to fall — not asleep, but apart.

Melissa knelt down, slowly as if not to spook him. Not reaching for him, just close enough that he would feel her presence.

"I'm not trying to win," she said quietly. "I just want to help."

That made him shift, barely. His mouth opened, but no words came. Then he swallowed thickly. "I feel dizzy."

She nodded slowly. Not a full explanation, but it was something.

"Do you feel faint?"

"No." He sounded insulted, but then spread his legs a bit, breathing through gritted teeth. "Might...might throw up if I move though."

"See, that's useful information," she said, already looking for something to use for that purpose. There was a bucket for washing floors and a small bin without a bag. She grabbed it from the floor and put it between his legs.

He squinted at the bin with an angry grimace.

"Do you want me to shut off the light?"

"No. Hurts either way."

Melissa stayed crouched in front of him, steadying the bin with one hand. The other hovered near his knee, unsure if touching him would ground or unnerve him more.

Dominick had tipped forward slightly, his hands braced on his thighs now, knuckles white. His breath came in through his nose in shallow, measured drags, like he was trying to bargain with the pain — to breathe around it instead of through it.

His skin was waxy, flushed in uneven patches. Not quite pale, not quite flushed. His body didn’t seem to know what to do with itself.

She reached out slowly and touched his wrist. “Try to keep your head lower than your heart. That might help the dizziness.”

He didn't pull away this time. Didn’t acknowledge it either.

"Tell me what you need," she said again, more softly.

"I need this to be over." Almost a whine. It pulled at something in her chest. Not sympathy, not yet. But something quieter. Something like dread.

Then came the swallow. A hard, audible one. He brought a hand to his mouth, and for the first time, his composure visibly cracked. A burp fought it's way up, making him flinch with it.

Melissa moved the bin closer. "It's okay."

"I don’t—" He shook his head, still resisting. But his shoulders curled inward, and the next breath he took stuttered.

She saw it before it happened — that tilt forward, that helpless shift in his jaw as nausea overtook pride.

And then he was gagging.

The first dry heave was sharp, wracking his whole frame. She pushed the bin into his hands and he grabbed it tightly before the second burp came. A wet, awful sound followed as milky vomit sprayed out.

Melissa didn’t speak. She didn’t reach for him. Just kept one hand lightly on his arm, helping him hold the bin with the other. Half of his face disappeared in that small container. It would have been comical if he didn't sound so pained as another throaty belch brought up a bubble of puke.

He gasped in a shaky breath, then another retch, rough and miserable, echoing in the small bathroom. It sounded like there wasn’t much left in him. Just pain squeezing through muscle.

"Easy," she said softly. "Don’t fight it."

He coughed once, trying to catch his breath between spasms. There was a whine, like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what. Something about that defenselessness made her throat tighten.

And then she did reach — brushing the damp hair from his forehead, letting her fingers rest there for just a moment, grounding him.

He was shaking. She hadn’t realized how badly until now.

When the worst of it passed, he stayed slumped over, breathing hard, arms braced on the bin. Melissa carefully eased it from his grip, pushing it away. "Okay. You are okay. Just breathe."

She sat beside him on the floor, her back against the wall.

She didn’t look at him. Just sat there, smoothing her pants. "And the world kept turning," she said into the tense silence.

A snappy, rasping sound came from his throat. Could’ve been a laugh. Could’ve been defeat.

Either way, it wasn’t a protest. Even if just for a moment.

#emeto #vomiting #sickfic #headache #dizzyness #hurt/comfort #werewolf wip #my writing #Dominick #Melissa

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