“Follow the beep, Dad.”
More rustling. A muffled thump.
“It’s in the chair,” he said finally, triumphant and slightly sheepish.
“Ah. The great remote heist solved.”
He huffed faintly, some of the anger draining out of his voice. “They shouldn’t move my things.”
“I know. That feels frustrating.”
Another pause, softer now. “You’re coming later?”
“Soon,” I said. “I promise.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, I love you, Bells,” he replied, and hung up.
I stood there for a second longer, letting my shoulders drop.
When I turned back toward the chairs, Raphael was watching me. By the time I reached him and lowered myself back into the seat, his expression had darkened.
“Who were you speaking with?” he asked, glaring at me.
It wasn’t a question so much as a demand for information.
My hackles rose immediately. I shifted in my seat, the earlier comfort evaporating under the edge in his tone. “Don’t interrogate me,” I said.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I am not interrogating you.”
“It sounded like it.”
“You seemed upset.”
“It’s handled.”
He leaned closer, and the deep, rich tambour of his voice vibrated through me. “If something is wrong?—”
“It’s my business.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t soften them.
He opened his mouth to respond. At that exact moment, the nurse stepped into the doorway and called my name.
“Isabelle Renault?”
The sound of my name still startled me, but I didn’t hate it. I pushed myself upright.
“Renault . . . ” I muttered under my breath. I had not changed my name. He just made all the appointments under it. I should hate it. I did hate it . . . but it did have a ring to it.
Raphael stood immediately.
“I’ll come back with you,” he said.
The nurse smiled politely but shook her head. “We’ll start with just the patient.”
His expression hardened.
