Page 63

“What hospital are you taking him to?” Aleric demanded as Cillian lifted me into his arms.
“It’s one you won’t have access to. I’m sure he’ll call or text when he’s better.” Cillian’s voice was brisk and sharp, and I wanted to cry, but I didn’t have the energy.
“I want him with me. Please,” I rasped.
“You know why you can’t have him there right now. We have to leave before anyone with a camera sees this.”
Ah. Right, I’d all but forgotten the dangers of falling ill in public. I’m sure there was someone with a cell phonesomewhere taking a nice long video for the gossip rags. Luckily, I was fading fast, and before we even got outside, I succumbed to unconsciousness.
Seventeen
CAMILLO
By the thirdbag of antibiotics, I was wide-awake, itchy, and ready to be released. I was in my usual room on our private floor at St. Margaret’s. There was an entry and exit meant for members of the royal family only since my grandfather had shut down the private hospital at the palace.
It was nice, as far as hospitals went. I knew I was getting better food than most of the other patients, and the nurses and physicians were assigned to myself only. Everyone signed an NDA, and the press was never allowed within three miles of the doors when one of us was admitted.
I was safe here. But I had no idea what was waiting for me after that three-mile barrier. Did everyone know? Did anyone? Had Aleric been given an update?
Rolling onto my side, I let out a soft gasp when I saw my brother sitting on the edge of a padded chair. He had his head bowed, but it snapped up the second I moved.
“Camillo.”
My brow furrowed. I’d been through infections like this more times than I could count, and he never came to the hospital to see me. “What are you doing here?”
For a beat, Carlo looked hurt. Then he looked guilty. “Cillian called Mom.”
Which was protocol. That most certainly didn’t answer my question.
He must have seen that on my face because he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck the way he always did when he was nervous. “I saw this interview with the man who’s playing you—what’s his name?”
“Aleric,” I rasped. My throat was already so dry, but saying his name made it worse. It was strange that I was half in love already and Carlo didn’t even know who he was.
“I don’t know when it aired. Mikhail sent it to me.” Mikhail was one of my brother’s only friends—one of the few people from school when he was younger who didn’t treat him like he could walk on water. I’d always liked the guy. “He was a fan, I guess. Childhood crush.”
I felt a sudden wave of possessive jealousy. Mikhail was gorgeous and sweet—and okay, married to a woman, but still. I had no doubt he would have been a far better partner for Aleric than I was, and I detested that thought.
Gripping the sheets, I shuffled my body slightly upright, then used the button on the bed to sit myself up higher. “He was an actor when we were kids.”
Carlo nodded. “I’ve never heard of him, but we didn’t watch a lot of TV. Anyway…” He blew out a puff of air. “The guy was talking about how he was preparing for the role. He said he got shamed pretty badly for showing up on his first day without knowing the realities of your situation.”
I nearly laughed. He had been shamed. By me.
“He went on to say how he read your book three times in a row, then didn’t sleep for another couple of nights as he read everything he could find on the internet about what it was like to have a spine injury like yours.”
I hadn’t known that. I’d suspected he’d done more than read my book, and I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Carlo smiled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know why it hit me that I…” His voice faltered, which was something I almost never heard. “That I never asked. I never read up on shit. I just saw you and tried not to see the fucking chair, and I tried to pretend like everything was normal.”
I sighed. I never wanted this. I didn’t want to hold my brother’s hand through a breakdown of him realizing that they’d tried to sweep me under the rug for all these years. “Iamnormal.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean, Cam.”
“Yes. You mean not disabled. You tried to pretend like the chair was a fun, weird quirk from your socially inept baby brother so you didn’t have to think about how I piss into a bag, or can’t move my legs, or can’t ever get a natural erection.”
He paled.
“And let me guess—now you’re realizing that a UTI can kill me?”