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  me. He’s in a tidying mood, as well as a worshipping mood. My denim shorts are unfastened and dragged down my legs.

  ‘You’re too tired, sweet girl.’ My shorts are folded and placed with my shoes. I can’t locate even the tiniest piece of strength to protest, telling me he’s one hundred per cent correct. I’m useless.

  He lifts me briefly to pull the covers back, then settles me neatly on the mattress. ‘Arms in the air.’ He gives me a hint of that cheeky smile before his face disappears, being replaced with the material of my top. My arms only rise because of him lifting my T-shirt and forcing them up, and as soon as I’m free from my bra and knickers, I fall to my back on a sigh and roll onto my front, snuggling down. The heat of his mouth presses into my shoulder for the longest time. ‘Take me into your perfect dreams, Olivia Taylor.’

  I can’t show my agreement, can’t even voice my assurance that I will. Sleep claims me and the last thing I hear is the familiar sound of Miller humming.

  My dreams were sweet, and Miller was there in all of his perfect, relaxed glory. I blink my eyes open, immediately confused by the darkness. I feel like I’ve been asleep for years. I feel re-energised and ready to take the day on . . . if it was morning. The mattress dips behind me and I feel Miller closing in on me. I want to say good morning, but I think I’m a bit premature. So I shuffle over instead to stick my front to Miller’s and push my face into the coarse hair at his throat. Then I inhale and wedge my knee between his thighs.

  He accommodates my demand for intimacy, letting me shift and fidget all over him until I’m settled and breathing easy into him. It’s comfortably silent, until Miller starts humming “The Power of Love”, making me smile. ‘You hummed this to me one of the first times we were together.’ I press my lips to the hollow void below his Adam’s apple and suck briefly before trailing my tongue up to his chin.

  ‘Indeed I did,’ he agrees, letting me nibble at his bottom lip. ‘You threw my perfect world into total chaos.’

  I’m prevented from giving my thoughts on that statement when he moves away and places me on my side before mirroring my new position. It’s dark, but I can see his face now that my eyes have adjusted.

  And I don’t like what I see.

  Pensiveness.

  Concern.

  ‘What is it?’ I back up, my pulse beginning to quicken.

  ‘I need to tell you something.’

  ‘What?’ I blurt. I spin over and find the switch for the bedside lamp, and the room floods with a hazy light. I blink back the sudden attack on my eyes, then turn to seek Miller out again. I find him sitting up, his features fretful. ‘Tell me,’ I push.

  ‘Promise me you’ll hear me out.’ He takes my hands in his and squeezes. ‘Promise me you’ll let me finish before you fly into—’

  ‘Miller! Just tell me!’ The coldness settling over me accelerates my panic and fear.

  His face seems to distort with pain. ‘It’s your grandmother.’

  I lose my breath. ‘Oh my God. What’s happened? Is she OK?’ I try to shake Miller off and go in search of my phone, but I’m held in place by a firm grip.

  ‘You promised to hear me out.’

  ‘That was before I knew it was about Nan!’ I shout, feeling my sanity run away with me. I thought I was going to be hit with another obstacle, a piece of Miller’s history or . . . I’m not sure what, anything other than this. ‘Tell me what’s happened!’

  ‘She had a heart attack.’

  My world explodes into a million shards of devastation. ‘No! When? Where? How do—’

  ‘Olivia, damn it, let me speak!’ He’s short, but gentle, his eyebrows arching to back up his calm warning.

  How can I be calm? He’s drip-feeding me information. I open my mouth to fire some choice words at him as my impatience and worry grows, but his hand comes up and silences me and I finally accept that I’ll learn more information if I shut the hell up and listen.

  ‘She’s OK,’ he begins, rubbing circles into the tops of my hands, but nothing will lessen my apprehension. She’s ill and I’m not there to take care of her. I’ve always been there for her. My eyes start to burn with the threat of guilty tears. ‘She’s in the hospital being cared for.’

  ‘When did it happen?’ I choke my question through a sob.

  ‘Yesterday morning.’

  ‘Yesterday?’ I shout, shocked.

  ‘George found her. He didn’t want to call you and worry you, and he didn’t have my contact details. He waited for William to stop by the house. Anderson said he’d let me know.’

  I sag with sympathy for old George. I bet he felt lost and helpless. ‘When did he call?’

  ‘Late last night. You were in bed.’

  ‘You didn’t wake me?’ I shake his hands off and shove myself back, away from Miller and his reach.

  ‘You needed to sleep, Olivia.’ He makes a play for my hands, but I doggedly knock him away and get off the bed.

  ‘I could’ve been halfway home by now!’ I march to the wardrobe, enraged and astounded that he didn’t think Nan’s heart attack was a good enough reason to disturb my sleep. I yank the sports bag out of the cupboard and begin stuffing what I can inside. Much of the stuff I’ve bought since arriving will have to stay. We had planned to buy suitcases, but haven’t got around to doing it yet. Now I haven’t time to worry about leaving behind hundreds of dollars’ worth of clothing.

  My frantic packing is disturbed when the bag is taken from my hands and thrown to the floor. My emotions won’t remain contained any longer. ‘You arsehole!’ I scream in his face, then proceed to bash the side of my fist into his shoulder. He doesn’t move or reprimand me on it. He’s impassive and cool. ‘You arsehole, you arsehole, you arsehole!’ I strike him again, my frustration building at his unresponsive approach. ‘You should have woken me!’ Both fists are working now, repeatedly hitting him in the chest. I’ve lost control of my emotions and my flailing body. I just want to lash out and Miller is the only thing in my proximity. ‘Why?’ I fall into his chest, exhausted and overcome with grief. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  He holds my weak body up, one hand cupping the back of my head, pushing me into him, the other working soothing circles into my lower back. I’m hushed repeatedly, kissed over and over on top of my head until my sobs abate and I’m left snivelling sporadically into his shoulder.

  Taking my cheeks, he holds my contorted face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve betrayed you . . .’ He pauses, watching me cautiously, and I’m certain it’s because he knows I’m not going to like his next words. ‘We can’t go back to London, Olivia. It’s not safe.’

  ‘Don’t you dare, Miller!’ I try to locate some fortitude, something that’ll show him that it’s not up for discussion. ‘Call William and tell him we’re coming home.’

  I can see his torment. It’s written all over his tight face.

  I can’t find that fortitude. ‘Just get me home!’ I beg, brushing away my falling tears. ‘Please, take me to my nan.’

  I see defeatism crawl across his pained face as he nods faintly. It’s a reluctant nod. He hasn’t prepared himself to go home. He’s being pushed into a corner.

  Chapter 6

  His palm on my nape has been a constant source of comfort since we left New York. At JFK, on the plane, through Heathrow, every available opportunity to hold me has been taken. It has been needed and welcomed. I’ve been quite oblivious to our surroundings, not even getting myself worked up each time our passports have been checked. Between gentle kneads of my nape, my mind has only allowed me to think about Nan.

  We had time to buy suitcases. Too much time. I told Miller to go buy them himself, but my order was totally ignored. He was right. I would have only moped around the suite, driving myself up the wall if left alone. So we went shopping together, and I couldn’t help appreciating Miller’s attempts to try to distract me. He asked my opinion on what colour, size, and style of suitcase we should buy, not that my answer co
unted for anything. After telling him I liked the red, fabric range, I half listened to the reasons why we should buy the graphite, leather Samsonite range.

  Once we’ve collected our new suitcases from baggage arrivals and I’ve vaguely registered Miller’s annoyance at the few scuffs on the leather, we emerge from Arrivals into the cool evening air at Heathrow. I spot William’s driver before Miller and quickly make my way over, jumping in the back after giving him a courteous nod. He joins Miller at the back of the car to help load the bags.

  Then Miller slips in beside me and rests his hand on my knee. ‘My place, Ted,’ he instructs.

  I lean forward. ‘Thank you, Ted, but can you take me straight to the hospital?’ I ask it as a question, but there’s no choice of answer, and my tone tells Ted that.

  Miller’s gaze is burning into my profile, yet I won’t allow myself to confront him. ‘Olivia, you’ve just got off a six-hour flight. The time differ—’

  ‘I’m going to see my nan,’ I grind through a clenched jaw, knowing my tiredness has nothing to do with Miller protesting. ‘I’ll find my own way there if you’d rather go home.’ I see Ted’s eyes in the mirror, flicking between me and the road. They’re smiling eyes. Fond eyes.

  Miller makes a point of displaying his frustration with a long, over-the-top sigh. ‘The hospital, please, Ted.’

  ‘Sir,’ Ted agrees on a nod. He knew it was never up for discussion.

  As we break the confines of the airport, my impatience grows as William’s driver weaves through the rush-hour traffic on the M25. We find ourselves at a standstill on more than one occasion, and each time I have to fight the urge to jump out and run the rest of the way.

  By the time Ted pulls up to the hospital, it’s dark and I’m beside myself. I dive from the car before it comes to a stop, ignoring Miller shouting after me. I’m out of breath when I land at the main reception desk. ‘Josephine Taylor,’ I splutter to the receptionist.

  She eyes me with slight alarm. ‘Friend or relative?’

  ‘Granddaughter.’ I shift impatiently while she starts tapping on her keyboard, throwing the odd frown here and there at the screen. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘She doesn’t appear to be on our system. Don’t worry, we’ll try another way. Her date of birth?’

  ‘Yes, it’s—’ I’m halted mid-sentence when my nape is claimed and I’m led away from the reception desk.

  ‘You’ll get to your nan a lot faster if you listen to me, Olivia. I’ve got the details. I know what ward she’s on, the room number, and the directions to get us there.’ His patience is clearly wearing thin.

  I remain quiet as he steers me down the never-ending tunnel of white, my trepidation mounting with each step. It’s eerie, the echoes of our footsteps lingering forever in the hollow space. Miller is quiet, too, and I hate myself for being unable and unwilling to ease his obvious concern for me. Nothing will make me feel better until I see Nan alive and well and throwing some spunk in my direction.

  ‘Here.’ His palm on my neck twists gently, prompting me to veer left, where a pair of doors open automatically and a sign saying Welcome to Cedar Ward greets us. ‘Room three.’ Miller drops his hold, leaving me feeling unstable and weak, and indicates to the second door on the left. My steps falter, my heart refusing to ease up with its steady thumps. The heat of the ward hits me like a sledgehammer and the smell of antiseptic pollutes my nose. A gentle nudge in my back encourages me to take the handle, and after loading my lungs with much-needed air, I turn the knob and push my way into the room.

  But it’s empty.

  The bed is perfectly made, all of the machines neatly tucked away in a corner. There’s no sign of life. I feel dizzy. ‘Where is she?’

  Miller doesn’t answer, instead moving past me and halting abruptly, taking in the empty room himself. I’m just staring blankly at the empty bed, everything else around me blurring, including my hearing, which only vaguely registers Miller insisting that this is the correct room.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asks a young nurse.

  Miller steps forward. ‘The lady who was in here, where is she?’

  ‘Josephine Taylor?’ she asks. Her eyes are downcast, and I don’t think I can take whatever is coming next.

  A lump clogs my throat. I reach out and grab Miller’s arm, digging my nails in. He responds only by prying my clawed fingers from his flesh and squeezing my hand before bringing it to his mouth.

  ‘You’re her granddaughter? Olivia?’

  I nod, unable to speak, but before she can answer, I hear a familiar laugh coming from down the hall. ‘That’s her!’ I blurt, yanking my hand from Miller and nearly knocking the nurse off her feet when I barge past. I follow the familiar sound, vibrations rippling through me with each pound of my feet on the ground. I reach a crossroad and skid to a stop when the sound fades to nothing. I glance to the left and see four beds, all with old people asleep.

  There it is again.

  Laughter.

  Nan’s laughter.

  My head whips to the right, seeing another four beds all occupied.

  And there she is, sitting up in an armchair positioned to the side of her hospital bed, watching television. Her hair is perfectly styled, and she’s wearing her frilly nightie. I move towards her, drinking in the beautiful sight until I’m standing at the foot of the bed. Her sapphire eyes move away from the television and land on me. I feel like electro probes have shocked me back to life.

  ‘My darling girl.’ Her hand reaches for me, and my eyes explode with tears.

  ‘Oh God, Nan!’ I make a grab for the curtain that’s pulled back by her bed and nearly fall through the damn thing.

  ‘Olivia!’ Miller catches my staggering body and quickly steadies me on my feet. I’m all in a fuddle, too many emotions spiralling through me to deal with. He runs a quick scan over me, then looks over my shoulder. ‘Fucking hell,’ he breathes, every muscle visibly sagging.

  He thought it, too. He thought she was dead.

  ‘That’s it!’ she barks. ‘Come in here, causing chaos and cursing all over the place! You’ll get me kicked out!’

  My eyes bug as my blood begins to warm again. ‘Because you haven’t caused enough chaos yourself?’ I blurt.

  Her grin is impish. ‘I’ve been a perfect lady, I’ll have you know.’

  A scoff comes from behind us, and both Miller and I turn blankly to face the nurse. ‘A perfect lady,’ she muses, giving Nan eyebrows so high, I can’t tell where they end and her hairline begins.

  ‘I’ve brightened the place up,’ Nan retorts, pulling Miller and I back around. She gestures towards the other three beds, all occupied with frail old people, all sleeping. ‘I’ve got more life in me than those three put together! I’ve not come here to die, I assure you.’

  I smile and glance up at Miller, who looks down at me all amused, his eyes twinkling. ‘A twenty-four-carat gold treasure.’ He blinds me with a full-blown, all-white smile that nearly has me grabbing the curtain again.

  ‘I know.’ I grin and virtually dive across the bed into my nan’s arms. ‘I thought you were dead,’ I tell her, relishing the familiar scent of the washing powder she uses, ingrained into the material of her nightie.

  ‘Death seems far more appealing than this dump,’ she grumbles, earning herself a little nudge from me. ‘Oooh, watch my wires.’

  I gasp and jump back, mentally scolding myself for being so careless. She might seem her spunky self, but she’s here for a reason. I watch her pull at a line in her arm, grumbling under her breath.

  ‘Visiting hours finished at eight,’ the nurse cuts in, rounding the bed to assist Nan. ‘You can come back tomorrow.’

  My heart sinks. ‘But we’ve—’

  Miller’s hand on my arm halts my complaint, and he looks to the nurse. ‘Would you mind?’ He gestures away from the bed, and I watch, amused, as the nurse smiles coyly and leaves the bay, rounding the corner behind the curtains. I raise my eyebrows at Miller, but he just shrugs his
perfect shoulders and follows the nurse. He might look drained, but he’s still a sight to behold. And he’s just bought me some time, so I couldn’t care less if the nurse is going to gaze at him all dreamy while he gets the lowdown on Nan’s condition.

  Feeling eyes studying me, I leave Miller’s disappearing back and look down to my spunky grandmother. She looks all mischievous again. ‘His buns look even better in jeans.’

  I roll my eyes and sit on the bed in front of her. ‘I thought you liked a young man to be well turned out.’

  ‘Miller would look delicious in a sack.’ She smiles and reaches for my hand, squeezing it in hers. It’s a comforting squeeze, which is crazy, given who’s the sick one here, but it also abruptly makes me wonder what Nan knows. ‘How are you, sweetheart?’

  ‘Fine.’ I don’t know what else to say, or what I should say. Need to know and all that, but does she really need to know now? I need to speak to William.

  ‘Hmmm . . .’ She eyes me suspiciously, and I shift on the bed, refusing to meet her stare.