Page 54 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)
Truth Rings Out
M y legs burn as I race up the steps of our townhouse and burst through the front door. “Ren,” I call out, “have you seen this?”
“Seen what?” He meets me outside his office, his eyes scanning me.
I hold up my phone. “Whisper Wire is done. She’s shutting down her website.”
He squints at my screen for a moment, then turns and marches to his desk.
His fingers fly over the keyboard as he scans one article and then another.
“It’s true.” Turning in his chair, he grabs my hand and tugs me between his knees.
“If I accomplish nothing else with Elysium—we go belly-up in a year—it will still be worth it for this.”
He pulls me closer, arms banded around my thighs. A triumphant smile splits his handsome face. Every time I see that smile, my heart gives a little flip, knowing I’m the only one who sees it.
My phone rings on the desk and I answer without looking at the name, still grinning at my husband. “Hello.” The other end is silence, followed by a ragged intake of air. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Letty…” That one word sends me on alert. Only one person calls me that anymore, and a call from Gloria, especially with that emotion in her voice, means something catastrophic.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” A pit opens in my stomach, terrified of her next words .
“It’s Ms. Vivienne.” Her voice breaks. “They rushed her off to the hospital.”
“Which hospital?” Reginald’s head shoots up and his eyes meet mine. The support and concern ground me all while I feel like the floor is dissolving underneath me.
“King Edward’s in London. I don’t know what’s going on, though. They said I’m not family.” The older woman’s words are barely audible through her tears.
I stumble. “What happened?”
Reginald guides me into his chair, his hands not leaving my shoulder. A travel site is already on his computer searching for flights.
“When I brought up Ms. Vivienne’s dinner tray, she seemed asleep. I tried to wake her but she wouldn’t respond, so I had to call.”
Grandmama never eats in her room. Why did she need a tray? “What did the responders say?” A vice tightens around my chest. I don’t understand what is happening.
“She’s been sick for a while, Letty. I begged her to tell you, but she ordered me not to. You should come home.”
Standing, Reginald squeezes my shoulder and pulls me into him. “I got us tickets on the next flight out of JFK, and a car will be waiting when we land. Do you need me to pack you anything specific?”
Numbly, I shake my head no.
Gloria is flustered and doesn’t have much more information. I promise to call her with updates on our progress and after I speak to the doctors. Reginald rushes around the apartment, packing bags and making arrangements.
I stand still at the window, watching New York bustle past as if nothing has changed. As if my entire world hasn’t shifted.
I blindly follow my husband out the door and into a waiting cab. Then through security and to the gate without saying a single word. It’s a wonder TSA doesn’t stop us under suspicion of kidnapping.
It’s been months since I spoke to my grandmother, and our argument repeats in my head. I have nothing better to do while I wait. The hours stretch on and my only thoughts are getting to my grandmother’s side. My last remaining family.
Reginald grabs my hand and interlaces our fingers, reminding me that Grandmama isn’t my only family after all. I squeeze his hand in gratitude and turn away as a single tear trails down my face.
Transcontinental flights are long. He tries to persuade me to eat, sleep, or have a drink, but I only shake my head .
Guilt and anticipation weave webs in my stomach. Should I have tried to make amends by now? It’s been over nine months since we last spoke. Deep down, I thought we’d make up—I’ve never imagined my life without her in it. What if that horrible fight was our final conversation?
I gave up all pretense of religion years ago, but I pray that I make it in time.
Our relationship was never easy. It was never unicorns and rainbows, hugs and chocolate chip cookies. But even if I never understood Vivienne Atherton, she was—no, is —my grandmother and I love her.
The rest of the flight, deplaning, and the car ride to the hospital are another blur. Just get me there. It’s a mantra I repeat, refusing to imagine an alternative.
As we pull up, I stare up at the bright lights of the emergency ward and swallow back the lump in my throat as fear roots me in place. With a mental shake, I grasp at the mask I wear in society, hoping that will protect me from what’s waiting for me on the other side of those doors.
The seat dips as Reginald scoots closer to me. Looking over my shoulder, I find his gray eyes full of concern. My stomach flips a little at the support there.
Holding his hand, I approach the giant doors, once again frozen with panic, thrown back to that dark place of my childhood.
Reginald pulls me against his chest. His fingers spear the hair at my nape and pull me back until we are nose to nose.
He takes a ragged breath, his body slumping as he exhales.
“Whatever happens, you will get through it, but you don’t have to do this alone.
I’ll be right here, Princess. Whatever you need. I’ve got you.”
My heart aches at the raw emotion in his voice. How different my life would be if he hadn’t sat in that airplane seat.
Sure, Bree or Anna would have dropped everything to fly here with me, but they’ve never quite known how to handle one of my moods.
Anna would be too busy baking and Bree would be storming the castle and whipping the doctors into shape.
Fuck, she’d probably be making a spreadsheet with Grandmama’s test results and cross-referencing her diagnosis with clinical studies.
But none of that is what I need.
Hot tears trail down my cheeks as I squeeze my eyes shut, inhaling one last comforting scent of sandalwood before marching through the hospital doors.
Somehow, Reginald knew exactly what I needed in the moment, even when I didn’t. He calmly took care of the logistics to get me here. When I voiced my needs, he immediately stopped and followed my lead. He didn’t argue, didn’t push, simply gave me space and offered to help .
I give my name at the front desk and am immediately whisked to a private room with a corner view on a VIP floor.
She looks pale and still in the bed, not words ever used to describe the force of nature that is Vivienne Atherton.
Machines beep in the utter silence of the room.
Afraid to disturb the peace, I tiptoe in to the seat by the bed.
Her arms rest at her sides above the blanket and, unsure what else to do, I clasp her fingers in mine.
Her skin is so thin that it might crumble under my fingers. When did they become so spotted? Her hand is cool and slightly dry. I’ll have Gloria send her Parisian hand cream. And the silk pillowcases.
A throat clearing startles me. A middle-aged man in a long white coat stands near the entrance of the room with a tablet. “Miss Atherton?”
Reginald squeezes my shoulder. Neither of us correct the doctor.
“What is wrong with my grandmother?”
“She’s suffered a GI bleed as a complication from her cirrhosis.” I blink at him, the words as foreign as if he was speaking an alien language. “Were you aware that she is ill?”
“No. She’s always been rather secretive—especially about health matters.”
He gives me a gentle smile as pity fills his eyes.
“I see. Well, there is no cure, but we can treat her and give her a number of years still. I’ve been encouraging her to go on a medical diet, but she’s refused.
We have her on fluids, antibiotics, and some medicine to help with her appetite.
She should be awake soon, but might be a little groggy. ”
“So she’s not dying?” My heart constricts, waiting for him to confirm what I think I heard. His face blurs as tears burn my eyes.
“Not today. If she can get her diet under control, she won’t for years yet.”
I nod, unsure I can speak. Reginald’s hand on my shoulder steadies me. Looking for further comfort, I thread my fingers through his, gripping tightly.
The doctor pauses at the door. “If I might be so bold. I’ve been treating Mrs. Atherton for several years.
She always talks about you and your photographs.
” She does? “Your grandmother is very proud of you.” He leaves me as I try to balance the Vivienne Atherton of my memories with the one he described.
The same woman who always harped on me to move back to London and settle down was proud of the business I’d built? It just doesn’t make sense.
As I wait, I send texts to Gloria, giving updates. The minutes tick by and still I wait .
“Are you ok?” Reginald asks. I can only shrug my shoulder. “It’s been hours since you ate. I’m going to grab you a bite and some coffee, and another chair for me.” He presses a kiss on the top of my head. I close my eyes, soaking in the feeling as my lips tremble against the flood of worry.
Once alone, the adrenaline wanes and the flight catches up to me and I drowse in the chair. As my eyes blink longer and longer, I give in and rest my forehead on our clasped hands.