‘I’m not shooting today.’ I’m already pulling off Dom’s stupid coat. ‘I can’t. I need to go see her, make sure she’s okay.’
In the end, I have to call my publicist, Mike, who is not happy at being woken up. He calls Mara and gets her to cough up Elle’s location. Turns out, she’s at the Princess Grace Hospital in London, but I have no fucking clue what’s wrong with her.
I drive down there as quick as possible. The whole time, I’m wondering what the hell kind of health problems she has that I’m not aware of. Cancer? MS? Lupus? The M25 is clear, thank fuck, and when I get to the hospital in Marylebone, there are no paps circling. Good. The news hasn’t leaked, then. From what I know of Elle, she’d be furious if the press found out she had any vulnerabilities at all.
I pull my baseball cap right down and stick on a surgical mask. The front desk directs me upstairs, where I’m faced with a young nurse.
‘I’m here to see Ellery Hart,’ I tell her.
She looks at me like I’m stupid to even think I can pull one over her. ‘Miss Hart is not taking visitors.’
I hate doing this—it’s a douchey thing to do—but I’m outta options. I pull down my mask, take off my cap, rake my fingers through my hair and give the nurse my most devastating smile.
‘Look’—I peer at her name badge—‘Carly. I totally appreciate that. But Elle’s a good friend of mine. I just wanna make sure she’s doing okay.’
Her jaw drops and her eyes grow huge. ‘Ohmygod. Ohmygod.Hi. Hi! Sure. I mean, I’m sure that’s fine. I’m a really big fan. I lovedGhoul!’
You’re literally the only person on the planet who did, darlin’.
I keep grinning. ‘Aren’t you a sweetheart? That’s so kind of you to say. So what do you think? Can I sneak in and say hi to Elle?’
Her eyes dart down the corridor and back. ‘It should be fine. Just be quick, if that’s okay? I’ll get into trouble otherwise.’
I wink at her. ‘We absolutely can’t have that. I’ll be super quick. You won’t even know I’m here.’
I practically sprint to Elle’s room.
And when I open the door…
Oh.
My.
Fuck.
She’s lying there in bed, propped up on pillows. There are tubes everywhere. Machines beeping.
Her skin is deathly pale. Even her lips are devoid of any colour.
There’s a dark-haired woman sitting next to Elle. She shoots me a look I’m pretty sure she wishes was lethal.
I could give a fuck.
I walk towards Elle.
‘Hi,’ she croaks, and she doesn’t sound friendly. Not unfriendly. Just flat-out exhausted.
‘Oh my God.’ I cross to the bed and bend to carefully drop a kiss on her forehead. It’s clammy under my lips.
I straighten up and stroke her hair as I stare down at her, trying to wrap my head around what the hell happened since I left her in bed, pissed at me but otherwise fine.
‘What happened, baby?’
‘It’s none of your business,’ snaps the hostile brunette. ‘You shouldn’t be here—I don’t know how the hell you got in.’
‘Nor.’ Elle raises her hand off the bedsheets; she has an oximeter clipped to her finger. ‘Give us a sec, will you?’
The brunette gathers herself up with a filthy glare at me and stalks out of the room. I waste no time in stealing her chair and dragging it so it’s as close to the bed as possible. I sit and carefully clasp Elle’s hand between mine. It’s as cold and clammy as her forehead. I close my hands more tightly around it.
