His voice was calm and clear, nothing like the man who’d been kneeling on the carpet with me last week, making kissing sounds at my cat.
“I don’t think that version helps patients get treated any faster,” he said.
A few people nodded, and someone near the aisle scribbled something down.
“The question isn’t who owns what,” he continued. “It’s whether the people working inside the system feel secure enough to do their jobs properly. Because every reform I’ve seen fail had the same problem in the end. Not funding. Not politics.”
He paused.
“Trust.”
The word sat in the room for a moment. No one moved.
“If we want the NHS to last another decade, we have to build something that people believe won’t vanish underneath them the next time the numbers change.”
My chest tightened a little. He sounded like he meant it, like he actually cared.
He glanced up briefly, and his eyes landed on mine.
For a second, the room fell away—it was just him, and the quiet certainty in his voice. Something warm spread through my chest like liquid.Was it pride?That was a problem—I wasn’t supposed to feel anything like that about Liam Roth. He wasn’t mine, we had no claim on each other—not the sort of claim that pride implied.
But judging by the way my heart was beating, that particular plan was already failing.
“Trust is the only kind of investment that holds,” he said. “And it’s the only one worth making.”
For a second, nobody did anything, then the applause started. People leaned forward, and a few journalists stepped up to take photos.
Liam nodded and sat down again, his eyes on his papers.
Chapter 25
Andrea
Eliza:So, what was the Oxford Union like? Did you see HarryPotter?
Me:Intense. Elitist. Low on Dementors. Liam’s speech was hot, though.
Eliza:What? I thought he was talking about NHSreform.
Me:Hewas.
Eliza:And that did it foryou?
Me:Fiscal responsibility is my kinknow.
Eliza:You need serioushelp.
I slipped my phone into my bag as Liam appeared beside me with a cold glass of white wine.
“How’s Eliza?” he asked.
“She loves her updates.”
Liam gave my upper arm a brief squeeze and looked across the room for Hugo. It was a relief to be a fake couple again just so I could be close to him without feelinglike it had to mean something. He’d taken off his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair, and the warmth of his skin pressed through the thin shirt onto my bare flesh. I felt myself flush slightly, not just because it was warm.
The senior common room was long and comfortable in an Oxford sort of way, with tall windows facing the lawn—thequad.Bookcases and art lined the walls—they really loved their wood paneling here. Same sort of style as the Union, old wealth, like things had been here so long their value was impossible to measure. Small tables had been set out with wine glasses and bowls of nuts, and people stood in groups talking quietly.
Normally, I’d have studied the artwork on the walls, but I was too nervous to leave Liam’s side.
