“This is my home.”
Is it?
You feel more at home at my home . . . or maybe it’s me that feels at home when you’re there. I swallow the lump in my throat, unable to answer her.
I go to her dresser and open the top drawer. “Should I be packing all of these granny knickers?”
She bursts out laughing. “Look at you . . . being all English and shit.”
I smile.
“I’ll convert you yet, gov’nor,” she says in a strong cockney accent.
I chuckle. “Are you high?”
She makes a pinch with her fingers. “Little bit.”
I smile as I pull her up by the hand. “Come on, let’s go home.”
Chapter 19
KATE
I wake to the sound of a bird cry in the distance, and judging by the shadows on the wall, it’s just dusk. From the corner of my eye I glance over to see Elliot sitting at a small table near the window, his laptop open, fully engrossed in work. He types at a furious speed and then hits send.
I can tell by the way he’s angrily hitting the keys that he’s emailing someone who has annoyed him and he’s telling them just how much.
I smile; some things never change. I sit up on my elbows. “Hi.”
He glances up and his face instantly softens. “Hello.”
I tap the bed, he walks over and sits beside me. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.”
He pushes the hair back from my forehead. “You have tomorrow off too, I’ve already called it in.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s not up for negotiation,” he interrupts me.
He stares at me and it’s obvious he has something on his mind. “I’ve made you an appointment with a decent doctor.”
I frown. “By decent, you mean expensive?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t normal.”
“It is for me.”
He exhales and stands. “I’m not having this discussion, Kathryn. I’ve already made the appointment, you’ll see the specialist tomorrow at two. I’m coming.”
“You are not coming,” I scoff as I flick the blankets back, not in the mood for this shit.
He tilts his chin to the sky. “Why not?”
“Because.” I pause as I think of the right thing to say. “We’re not even . . .”
“Not what?”
“Officially going out together.” I walk into the bathroom.
“What?” He marches in behind me.
I pick up a sanitary pad.
“If we’re not together, what are you doing here?” he barks.
“You brought me here, when I was half dying.”
“To look after you.”
Guilt fills me—he’s right, I’m being a bitch. I force a lopsided smile. “And I appreciate it, thank you.”
“And we are together. Just because nobody knows about us doesn’t make our relationship any less important.” He crosses his arms angrily. “I have every right to know what’s going on with your body.”