Lion and Lace [Tom Hiddleston]

Episode 8

I manage two bites of each course and a sip of wine before I feel queasy. You know it's going to be a fun evening when you have to send back the most tender duck breast you've ever tasted. By the time my very rich chocolate dessert arrives I can't even look at it without feeling nauseous and I'm ready for a quick getaway. I get a soft drink to ease my stomach, which makes it worse, and I make it to the beautifully ornate bathroom just in time to vomit up my ridiculously decadent four mouthfuls of dinner. It is quickly followed by everything else I've eaten today, and the obligatory carrots.

What is it with carrots?

Once I get to stomach lining I know I need to get out of there and go home to bed.

At this moment I want nothing more than to lie on the cool marble floor and die, and if I wasn't worried about someone seeing me I probably would. While I lean over the sink and wash my face, hands and mouth I see a green-grey version of myself in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot and my lips thin and dry and my skin is quite literally a greyish-green.

It's disturbing.

At least my hair is still good.

I manage to walk slowly to the door without stumbling, and my tunnel vision is focused exclusively on getting my coat and bag and escaping the stifling room. Unfortunately I find a still mad and disappointed Thomas who has other ideas.

"There's a car out front- whoa. Becca, are you alright?"

All I can do is shake my head. If I open my mouth I'll vomit on his beautiful suit and his perfect shiny shoes.

"I'm taking you home. There's a car out the front, the driver is expecting you. Get in, you'll come back for me in a few minutes."

I almost open my mouth to protest about him being so ashamed to be seen with me, but remember the vomit + suit + shoes = gross equation and instead just nod wearily. I let him take my arm and walk me outside.

In the fresh cool air I instantly feel a thousand times better. I greet the waiting driver, even managing a few words before I slide into the back of the car. I lean my head back and close my eyes while we navigate around the block only to return to the same place for Tom.

If I was in a better mood the whole thing would be hilarious.

Tom is sitting in the seat next to me with a gentle hand on my knee, the disappointed look has been temporarily replaced with concern. "What happened back there?" He asks.

"I don't know, I guess I ate something funny. Or stress. I don't know. I feel better being out of that stuffy room. Where are we going?"

"My house. You owe me an explanation."

"You're not worried you'll end up with more than an explanation."

"Oh, Becca," he squeezes my knee and looks straight into my eyes. "I'm way too angry for that."

"Oh." Mission accomplished, then.

"You do look absolutely gorgeous, though." He smiles and it's not his warm-fuzzy-inducing smile, but it is genuine and it's better than nothing.

We ride the rest of the way in silence and he goes immediately to the fridge and pours a glass of lemonade for me. I have to smile, it's exactly what my mum always did for an upset stomach, and it's what I would have chosen myself. I take a mouthful and freeze as it hits my stomach, waiting to see if I need to run for the bathroom again.

"Sip it, Bec. Jesus."

"Thank you, I think I'm ok."

We sit on the couch again and memories flood my mind. I shift and wish I was at home in bed.