Chapter 33
33
T he buzz of fluorescent lights is obnoxious. And blinding. The brightness sears into my eyeballs, making spots dance across my vision. And the humming is endless, burrowing into my brain like a drill.
A woman with curly black hair, wearing a white coat, appears around the curtain, distracting me from the irritating beam. The drone I can still hear.
“Hi, Elizabeth. I’m Dr. Moore. How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts. Otherwise, I feel fine.” Same thing I told the EMTs and the other two doctors who checked me over since I arrived at the hospital.
“Do you remember what happened?” she asks.
“A car swerved to avoid a biker and hit the back of the limo I was in.”
Dr. Moore nods. “Very good. There doesn’t appear to be any issues with your memory.”
“So, I’m … fine?” I ask.
“You likely have a grade 2 concussion. Your CT scan didn’t show any bleeding or skull fractures. We still need to get your forehead stitched, but you should be feeling back to normal in a few days.”
I lift one hand, tentatively touching the gauze taped there.
Since I wasn’t wearing a seat belt, my head slammed into the counter above the minibar in the limo. I haven’t asked to see the cut, but one of the EMTs assured me it would only require a couple of stitches and I’d barely have a scar.
Considering the hysterical scene surrounding me, I’m not sure I can trust he wasn’t just trying to keep everyone calm.
“You’re still not experiencing any nausea? Double vision? Dizziness?”
All I can think about is Charlie crouched beside me at Chloe’s wedding, asking similar questions. No offense to Dr. Moore, but I preferred him as my physician.
“No.”
My stomach’s a little queasy, but I think that’s mostly due to the amount of champagne in my system.
“Excellent.” She scribbles something on my chart, then hangs it back off the end of the bed. “You have quite a … concerned cohort out in the hallway. I can update them, or I can let them in for a few minutes. Your call.”
“They can come in,” I say.
My parents must be frantic. My friends worried. Technically, the accident wasn’t my fault, but it feels like it was. And it happened at a very public event, attended by my entire family and almost everyone they know …
My stomach heaves. I’m tempted to call out to Dr. Moore—tell her I changed my mind—but the door is already opening.
Mom rushes in first. Followed by Dad, Kit, Bash, Grandpa, Aunt Hannah, Uncle Oliver, and my cousins, Rory and Wren. Behind them, Fran, Hugo, Bridget, Tripp, and Cal enter.
No Charlie, and I don’t realize I was looking for him until the disappointment of his absence settles in my stomach.
It’s a good thing , I try to convince myself. Means the accident must not have been the spectacle I was worried about.
Because I think he’d be here if he knew about it.
“I’m fine,” I repeat over and over again as they all fawn over me.
Feeling stupid and selfish for wishing someone else were here when they all showed up for me.
“All right—whoa!” Another doctor in navy scrubs enters my room. Tries to enter my room rather. He doesn’t make it past the threshold because there’s nowhere for him to go. “I’m going to …”
I miss whatever else he says because he’s still holding the door open.
And standing in the hallway, talking to Asher, is Charlie.
He looks terrible. His usual level of hotness, I mean, but with haunted eyes and messy hair and a missing suit jacket.
I stare until he catches me, his features freezing with surprise, then softening slightly into concern. His eyes dip down to look me over—so briefly, like the day we met—and then are back on mine.
Someone’s talking to me. Squeezing my hand.
“Lili! Lili!”
I hum, forcing myself to focus on Mom’s face.
“Do you want me to stay with you, honey? While you get your stitches?”
My family’s oblivious, but my friends have figured out my distraction, glancing between me and the hallway.
I clear my throat. “Could I get a minute first? Just a minute alone?”
I aim the question at the doctor. He looks relieved, honestly, to have a reason to back out of the crowded space.
“I’ll check on another patient and be back shortly,” he tells me.
Then, he leaves, the door shutting before I have the chance to look at Charlie again.
“Are you feeling worse?” Mom asks.
“She looks paler,” Wren remarks.
“We should get a second opinion,” Grandpa suggests, pulling out his phone. “I know the chief of neurology at?—”
“ I’m fine ,” I announce. Louder than I mean to talk.
Everyone’s silent now, staring at me.
My eyes are fixed on the ceiling. “Can someone get Charlie?” I ask the plaster.
More silence.
“The duke?” Bash whispers to Kit.
At least, I think he means to whisper. It’s normal volume in the quiet room.
“I will!” Fran chirps.
No one moves.
“Uh, you all”—Fran gestures toward my family—“are blocking the door.”
My mom squeezes my hand one final time. “We’ll be right out in the hallway, honey.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
They file out one by one, until the room is empty, except for the buzzing that won’t quit.
I stare at the ceiling until the door reopens, and Charlie steps inside.
His throat works a couple of times as he walks toward me, crossing the small room in a couple of strides.
“Hey.” His voice is rough around the edges, the raspy way it sounds first thing in the morning.
I struggle to sit up straighter. “Hi.”
I can’t do anything about the ugly gown or the gauze on my forehead, but I can at least have decent posture.
Charlie’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens. Closes.
Obviously, he has no idea what to say to me. I was extra cold to him at the gala, mostly because the shock of seeing him from afar was nothing compared to the torture of talking to him.
He came because of business. Because Asher had invited him.
I’ve never wished it were possible to undelete a text more because I’m dying to know what he sent to me. Was that the only reason he gave?
“Wanna sit?” I pat the pale green hospital blanket.
He swallows again before he perches on the edge of the mattress, resting both elbows on his thighs. “I, um … I …” His voice trails off.
“You didn’t have to come, you know.”
But I’m glad you did , gets caught in my throat. His smell is familiar, and the scent sets off fireworks in my stomach.
I’m still a little tipsy. Reeling from the collision and the commotion that took place in the past hour. And suddenly, unexpectedly shy, like a teenager meeting her boy-band crush after a concert.
“I wanted to,” he tells me.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Well, not wanted to,” he amends. “I hate that you’re here. But I … needed to see that you were okay.”
“I’m okay. Might have an ugly Frankenstein scar on my face, but I’ll survive.”
Charlie leans forward and kisses my forehead, right next to the gauze. So softly that it’s lighter than the brush of a feather. A tickle almost. But heat spirals through my chest and pools in my belly, like he touched me much more intimately and much less politely.
“You’ll always be beautiful, Lili.”
Beautiful .
The first word he ever said to me.
Unshed tears burn my eyes, like I’m staring into the overhead lights again.
“Did you, uh, have fun at the gala?” I ask, fighting through the wave of emotion.
Charlie chuckles, but it’s a hollow laugh, lacking any real amusement. “No. If you could stop ending up in the hospital during every formal event we attend, that would be bloody wonderful.”
He says it like we’ll attend more events together, which won’t be the case. Because we live in different places and want different things. And what was supposed to be a fun anecdote about a summer fling somehow turned into a tragedy.
I love him .
The thought appears in my mind. It’s not a question or a consideration. It’s already happened, like a true fall. One you hardly notice, and then you’ve landed.
It’s terrifying. So much scarier than any other I’ve ever experienced. It feels like I’m standing on a spinning merry-go-round with nothing to hold on to.
Hugo was right; I’m running.
When I’ve run before, it was always easy. A relief even. Decision made—on to someone new. It’s how I knew breaking up with Cal was the right decision. Because I was sad, in the aftermath, but I also felt better. I’d stopped forcing something simply because he was an old friend and my family approved of him, and it was the right decision.
And I knew, maybe the same second that Charlie approached me in that stable, that this would be different. I didn’t want him to leave. I was disappointed when Chloe called and our first conversation ended. Since he departed France—essentially doing the running for me—I haven’t felt relieved once.
He’s going to leave again. He’s only here for—I don’t even know how long he’s staying. I was too busy reeling from his proximity to ask. But I know it won’t be for long.
My next project’s location hasn’t been decided. There are multiple opportunities to consider, and I refuse to be the girl who reshapes her identity for a guy. I’m not going to relocate to England and hope that he’s ready for a relationship sometime soon.
I pick up a corner of the blanket and twist it around my thumb. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot. But … you should go, Charlie.”
He has family here too. Maybe he can see them while he’s in town.
He’s silent for a few seconds.
“You want me to go?” Charlie doesn’t sound offended. More … resigned. Like he knew the request was coming.
“You should, yeah. I promise I’ll avoid limos for a while.” I keep my tone light, already close to losing it.
My eyes feel hot, tears on the horizon again. I wanted to talk to him, but now, I’m not sure what to say.
I’m embarrassed he’s seeing me like this. That I got drunk and tried to go clubbing because I couldn’t stand to stay in the same room as him. Mortified I keep playing the part of a damsel in distress when I want him to see me as strong and capable. Humiliated I can’t admit to him how I really feel because I’m terrified he doesn’t feel the same.
Weak .
I feel weak, and I’ve never felt weak before. I’ve felt stupid, struggling to read simple sentences. I’ve felt defeated, seeing people’s faces change when they hear my last name.
But there’s always been strength beneath. I might get sick of some of the attention, but I’m proud of my family. I’m proud to be a Kensington, and I’ve always felt like one.
Brave. Bold. Capable.
I don’t feel brave or bold or capable right now.
“Okay,” he says. Charlie’s expression is impassive. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “And avoid wearing heels.”
I manage a smile. “No promises, but I’ll walk carefully.”
“Okay.” He weaves our fingers together for a few tantalizing seconds, squeezing twice. I stare at the gold signet ring on his pinky. It’s stamped with what I assume is his family crest. But I don’t know for sure—I never asked. “Take care, Elizabeth Kensington.”
I swallow. “You too, Charles Marlborough.”
He nods, stands, then … leaves. Again.
I turn my head to the right, facing the solitary window, letting the cotton pillowcase catch my tears.
The door opens again a minute later.
I don’t look. I just sent away the one person I want it to be, so it doesn’t really matter. I’m too drained to care who else is seeing me like this.
“Oh, Lili.” Bridget’s voice is tender as she takes the spot Charlie just vacated.
I say nothing.
She exhales. “The doctor’s wondering about your stitches.”
I swipe at my cheeks. “Send him in.”
The sooner I get stitches, the sooner I can get out of here.
“He’s still in the hallway.”
We’re not talking about the doctor anymore, I know.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What are you doing, Lili?” she asks softly.
I’m running. Because it feels like if I stay in this place, I’ll shatter.