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“Lots, unfortunately,” Joseph admits.

I sit back in my seat and listen to the volley of questions and answers between them. It’s all things that I’m aware of. The extent of his questions surprises me because most of them relate to things that have passed, but I assume he just wants better insight into the treatment she’s had, maybe to give him a better understanding for when he talks to her in the future.

Eventually, he runs out of questions, and he looks satisfied by the answers he’s been given.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. The nurse will be ready to take your blood,” Dr Kidman concludes to Joseph.

I follow Joseph out of the consultation room, smiling to myself as I watch him put his cap back on, but my smile quickly fades. Even though the waiting room is still a place that feels like miserable limbo, it’s less oppressive than the little room.

The nurse who took us through to the appointment passes us and smiles at Joseph as we get comfortable in our seats. I have a vision of her sitting at the dinner table this evening, smiling to herself as she thinks about the famous actor who was in her waiting room. I wonder if she’s a fan. His following certainly shot into the stratosphere in the past two years, something that always felt like a personal punishment. I was miserable, and it was worse than the first time. This time, he was in every magazine, displaying his smile, being interviewed about his big break, and a different woman was hanging off his arm at every event. The headlines about him left nothing to the imagination, and it wouldn’t surprise me if most women who see him assume it would be quick and easy to end up in his bed.

“Felix and Caleb suggested we all have dinner together after this,” I blurt out. It seems to force his attention from the smiling nurse and onto me.

“Are they planning on slipping something into my meal that might kill me?” he quips.

“No,” I reply with a short laugh. “Caleb is actually, surprisingly, on your side. He thinks dinner would be a good opportunity to clear the air.”

“Where?” he asks.

“At their place.”

“Are you still at the flat?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes. Where are you staying?”

“I still have my old place. I’m staying there,” he states, then clears his throat. “I saw an article last year about your dresses.”

I raise my eyebrows, wondering if it’s possible that he tortured himself slightly about me over the last two years like I have about him. Did he search for more, desperate to find snippets of information? Or did he roll his eyes in disgust and refuse to read it?

“The dress I did for the TV show,” I guess. It led to several articles about me and my designs and helped catapult me to the levels I have now.

Now it’s his turn to nod. “I can’t say I have the specialist eye for wedding dresses, but they looked amazing. You’re so talented. I remember the article was on the table in the kitchen, and the person I was with fell in love with them.”

It’s a compliment, I know that, but it’s also a little jab because it makes me wonder who he was with. A woman, I’m guessing. A lover? Somebody he had more than one night with, or one of the very many, many women he was attached to on the gossip sites over the years?

I bite my lip rather than letting any of my thoughts spill out. A truce means taking the high road. Biting my tongue. Not calling him names or asking if he’s enjoyed fucking his way around the world.

“I’m ready to take your blood now.” A new nurse appears in front of us, smiling broadly.

Joseph glances at me, and I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to get up from my seat. The nurse doesn’t comment as I follow her and Joseph into one of the little rooms connected to the waiting area.

Joseph takes a seat, watching the nurse as she busies herself with getting things ready, pulling out a little dish, some vials, cotton balls, printed stickers to go on them. As she gathers her things together, she asks questions like his name and date of birth, the usual verification questions when doing medical tests.

I stand in the corner of the room, watching as she takes his blood, putting each vial into the dish when enough blood has been drawn. She chatters on as she puts a plaster over Joseph’s arm and tells him he’s good to go.

I rummage in my bag for my keys, thinking about the rest of my day and remembering how he hasn’t answered my question about dinner.

It’s dinner on my mind as Joseph stands from his seat, takes two steps, and then collapses onto the floor.

Chapter eighteen

Joseph

Present Day

“Joseph.”

The soft voice cuts through the haziness like a melody. I get a vague memory of stories about sirens who lure sailors to their deaths just by the power of their voices, and I bet they sound exactly like this—soothing and inviting, warm and beguiling.