Xander rushes into the bathroom just as you lean over the toilet, vomiting. “Mon amour, I’m here,” he says softly, kneeling beside you. He brushes your hair away from your face, his touch gentle and calming. “Just breathe, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

You groan, clutching your stomach. “I feel awful…”

“I know,” he murmurs, handing you a cool cloth for your forehead. “I’ve got you. Just focus on me.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you lean against him. “I’ll take care of everything, mon trésor.”