Page 188 of The Stranger

I curl my hands around the sides of the blue rubber mattress, anchoring myself to the trolly. For a moment, I feel nothing at all. Nothing but the shock that she’s here, right in front of me, in touching distance. But I can’t touch her. Not yet, a hopeful voice inside me says.

That turning up at one of London’s busiest hospitals in an expensive suit, wearing a genuinely desperate expression has, miracles upon miracles, brought me to this moment. That my sad and sorry tale persuaded both a receptionist and a nurse of my love and my contrition is a good omen. I hope. Now to convince a doctor.

I push to my feet, which might be a mistake, as everything seems to hit me at once. I didn’t know relief could feel violent. Apprehension swims through my insides, a love so fierce flooding my body that it threatens to take my knees out from under me.

Dieu, it hurts to see her looking at me like this—hurts to the marrow of my bones.

But she’s here. After a month of imagining her everywhere, seeing her everywhere, Primrose is standing in front of me, real and pale⁠—

“—the actual fuck.” She takes a step back, and I force myself not to rush at her, the fear that she might run so very fucking real.

“Please,” I say, the weight of the world in that tiny, pleading world. “Primrose, don’t go.”

She grits her teeth and slices a look through the door. An attempt to incinerate whoever is responsible for putting me in here, but no immediate culprit offers themself up. My chest eases as she closes the door with a solid thunk.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” she begins, “and quite frankly, I don’t care. But this is a waste of my time and NHS resources. You ought to be ashamed.”

“I ought to be ashamed of a lot of things. I am ashamed,” I add quickly. “Would you… would you see me afterward? After your shift.”

The look she slides me says she would see me in hell first.

“I didn’t think so.” I rub my finger across my jaw as though satisfying an itch. “Then, officially, I’m here because I’m ill. Please don’t go looking for someone to blame. You know I can be quite persuasive.”

Something unpleasant ripples across her face.

“Not that I’m not here to persuade you of anything.” Except that I’m sorry. That I need you. That I would do anything to earn the right to walk beside you for the rest of my life.

“I’m not your doctor.” She makes as though to turn.

“Wouldn’t it be a waste of resources for you to come down from the ward only to leave?”

“You need an emergency doctor. Or you will if I stay here,” she adds in a mutter as she reaches for the handle.

I’m there in an instant. My back to her front, my hand over hers. The heat of her, the smell of her hair… just fuck. It’s like experience and memory and dreams all coming together at once.

I quickly become aware of her rigid posture, so I force myself to step back as I remember the promise I made to myself. Never again would I force Primrose into a situation not of her choosing. I’m still sick to my stomach that I did—that I was so certain I knew what was best for her. God help me, I meant it when I swore it, and I have to mean it now if she chooses to leave this room.

“What are your symptoms?” she asks without turning.

My heart fucking stops. I have to mean it. But I have to have her in my life. Not just for now but forever.

“Insomnia,” I say softly. “I lack energy and appetite.” For anything or anyone but you. “I can’t focus on a thing, and I’m irritable in the extreme.”

“That doesn’t sound medical.”

As she turns, I step back and give her space against every instinct to do the opposite. But if I’m to deserve her, I need to take the advice I gave my own son regarding his sister when I said he should be her champion, not another voice telling her she isn’t enough. Primrose trusted me with every cruel thing she’d been made to believe about herself, and in return, I betrayed that trust.

She folds her arms. Keeps her eyes from mine.

“My children hate me,” I bluster on. “My employees can’t bear to be around me.”

“Boo-fucking hoo.”

“My sister-in-law keeps trying to give me advice on how to win over the woman I love⁠—”

“Just stop,” she grates out.

I do. For a couple of beats. “But there’s nothing anyone can do to help me. My worst fears have been realized.”