Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Evangeline
The steady beep of the heart monitor had become my metronome, marking time in a world that had narrowed to this sterile room, this bed, this man who lay too still beneath white sheets.
Seventy-two hours. Three days since James had thrown himself between me and a bullet, since his blood had pooled on the ballroom floor while I screamed his name.
I shifted in the uncomfortable chair beside his bed, my hand never leaving his. His fingers were warm—that had to be a good sign, didn't it? Warm meant alive. Warm meant fighting.
"The swelling should start going down soon," I whispered, repeating the doctor's words from yesterday like a prayer. "Your body just needs time to heal. You're too stubborn to let a bullet win."
No response. There never was.
The ICU had strict visiting hours, but royal privilege and Marcel’s coordination with hospital security had arranged for extended access.
I could stay longer than most visitors, though the medical staff insisted on regular breaks for their assessments.
Marcel and the security team maintained a discrete presence, rotating shifts to ensure both James's recovery and my safety weren't compromised.
"Do you remember what you told me in Sicily? About your grandfather's farm? You said you wanted to show me the olive groves, teach me to milk the cows." My voice cracked. "I'd like that. When you wake up—not if, when—we'll go there. Just us."
A soft knock interrupted my vigil. The nurse—Sarah, I'd learned her name after three days—peered around the door.
"Your Highness? I'm sorry, but visiting hours are ending for the evening. You really should get some rest."
"I'm not leaving." I didn't look away from James's face. "I can't."
"Princess Evangeline?" Another voice, this one familiar. I turned to see Dr. Harrison—not the traitor Harrison who'd betrayed us, but the neurologist who'd been overseeing James's care. "Could I have a word? Outside?"
Reluctantly, I stood, my legs shaky from hours of sitting. I pressed a kiss to James's forehead, whispering, "I'll be right back," and followed the doctor into the corridor.
The hallway outside the ICU was busier than I'd expected.
Spencer stood near the nurses' station, deep in conversation with Rupert and Andrew.
Laura sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, her hand resting protectively over her rounded belly—she had to be about five months along now.
Veronica paced nearby, looking uncharacteristically subdued.
They all looked up as I emerged, hope and concern warring in their expressions.
"Any change?" Spencer asked immediately.
I shook my head, and Dr. Harrison stepped forward. "The brain swelling is still a concern, but it's not getting worse. His vital signs remain stable," he explained, using terms I'd heard repeated so often over the past three days that they'd become part of my vocabulary. "These things take time."
"How much time?" The question came out sharper than I'd intended.
"I wish I could give you a definitive answer. Days, possibly weeks. The important thing is that he's fighting."
"I need to get back in there—"
"Actually," Spencer interrupted gently, "You need to come with us. You haven't eaten a proper meal in three days, and you look like you're about to collapse."
I bristled. "I'm not leaving him."
"You're not abandoning him by taking care of yourself," Rupert said, his voice unusually serious. "He's the strongest person I know, Evangeline. If anyone can fight through this, it's James."
"How would you know?" The words came out harsher than I intended, exhaustion fraying my control. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I just can't bear the thought of losing him."
Hurt flashed across Rupert's face, but his voice remained steady. "Because he's my brother. Because I've watched him survive things that would break other men. And because I know he loves you more than his own life—he proved that three nights ago at the gala."
The fight went out of me as suddenly as it had come. I slumped against the wall, the weight of three sleepless nights crashing over me.
"I can't leave him," I whispered. "What if something happens? What if he wakes up and I'm not there?"
"We'll take shifts," Andrew offered quietly. "Someone will always be here. You have my word."
Laura struggled to her feet, one hand supporting her rounded belly. "Evangeline, love, you're running on fumes. Come home with us—just for tonight. A proper meal, a shower, some real sleep. Then you can come straight back in the morning."
"I don't have anywhere to go. Mother's in the hospital herself, having more tests..." I trailed off, realising how lost I sounded.
"You're coming to ours," Spencer said firmly. "Laura's already made up the guest room. It's not negotiable."
Before I could argue further, Queen Sophia appeared in the corridor, moving with the careful precision of someone still recovering from her own ordeal at the ballroom.
"How is he?" she asked, her voice softer than I'd heard it in months.
"Stable. The doctors are optimistic." I didn't look away from the ICU doors.
She was quiet for a long moment, studying the closed doors behind which lay the man who had taken a bullet meant for us. "I owe him an apology," she said finally. "Several apologies, actually."
"You can tell him that when he wakes up."
"I will." She moved toward the elevator, then paused. "Evangeline? When he does wake up... perhaps we should discuss the future. All three of us."
It wasn't approval, exactly. But it was something more than the rigid opposition she'd shown before.
Somehow, I found myself bundled into Spencer's car, security vehicles following discreetly behind. Laura sat beside me, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand when the tears threatened to overwhelm me again.
"He's going to be fine," she said softly. "Spencer's told me stories about James from their childhood—the scrapes he got into, the risks he took. That man has survived war zones and diplomatic crises and Spencer's cooking. A bullet isn't going to stop him."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "Is Spencer's cooking that bad?"
"Catastrophic," Laura confirmed solemnly. "I'm amazed James survived this long."
The house in Notting Hill was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment. Laura immediately set about making tea while Spencer disappeared to make phone calls—probably updating the security team and checking on his own family.
"Right," Veronica announced, taking charge with characteristic efficiency. "Bath first, then food, then sleep. No arguments."
I was too tired to protest. The hot water felt like heaven against my aching muscles, washing away three days of hospital air and fear. When I emerged, Laura had laid out clean clothes and Veronica had prepared what looked like enough food to feed a small army.
"I'm not really hungry," I began, but Laura cut me off.
"Eat anyway. Your body needs fuel, especially if you're going back to the hospital tomorrow."
I managed a few bites of the soup she'd heated, then pushed the bowl away. "I can't stop thinking about him lying there so still. He's always so... vital, so present. Seeing him like that..."
"I know," Laura said softly. "When Spencer was in that car accident last year, I thought I'd lose my mind. But James is strong. Stronger than most people realise."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the domestic normality of the scene almost surreal after the intensity of the hospital. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and I found myself tucked into the guest bed, Veronica sitting in the chair beside me.
"Get some sleep," she said. "Real sleep. I'll wake you if there's any news."
For the first time in three days, I slept deeply, dreamlessly, my body finally surrendering to the rest it desperately needed.
I woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the sound of voices downstairs. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was, then everything came rushing back. James. The hospital. The vigil I'd abandoned.
I was dressed and downstairs within minutes, panic driving me. "Has there been any news? Why didn't you wake me?"
Spencer looked up from his phone, relief clear on his face. "No change, but that's not necessarily bad news. Andrew stayed with him all night—he's fine."
"I need to get back there."
"After breakfast," Laura said firmly, setting a plate in front of me. "And before you argue, remember that I'm pregnant and hormonal, and Spencer will side with me regardless."
As if summoned by his name, Spencer nodded gravely. "She's terrifying when she's pregnant. I wouldn't risk it."
Despite everything, I found myself almost smiling. These people—James's family—had taken me in without question, cared for me when I couldn't care for myself. It was more kindness than I deserved.
An hour later, I was back in the ICU corridor, freshly showered and fed, feeling more human than I had in days. The security team had been doubled—Spencer's doing, no doubt—though Jake's credentials as James's business partner had gotten him through the checkpoints without issue.
I was approaching James's room when a familiar figure rose from one of the waiting area chairs. Tall, lean, with the same military bearing as James but moving with a slight limp. Marcel must have told him I'd returned—Jake had been coordinating with the security team since taking over the business.
"Your Highness." Jake Richards stepped forward, offering a respectful nod. "I don't know if you remember me—"
"Jake." Recognition hit me immediately. "You were supposed to be my bodyguard originally. Before the climbing accident."
"That's right." His expression was serious, professional. "I wanted to speak with you about James, and about some recent developments."
I frowned. "What kind of developments?"