MY father awoke from his coma later that week—I’d lost track of the days, misery infecting every cell of my body until I was an automaton—barely functioning. I adjusted the waist of my grey pencil skirt and tried to ignore the fact that I’d lost weight. I hadn’t been able to eat more than a few pieces of fruit this week. My stomach rebelled at everything as if it, like the rest of me, craved only Nathan.
I fidgeted in the hard plastic seat of the waiting room, distracted by the ancient exposed pipes traversing the ceiling, painted the same insipid beige as the walls.
‘Dr King? Please come in.’ Professor Everett, my soon-to-be boss, loomed above me, and I pulled myself to my feet, adjusting my balance in my heels and holding out my hand in a professional handshake.
‘Thanks for coming in.’ He led me into his office, turning kind grey eyes on me as he closed the door behind us and indicated I take a seat. ‘This is Daryl Beckwith from the hospital’s media centre.’
The younger man stood, appraising me with a cool stare, and reached for my hand. I recoiled at his limp, slightly sweaty handshake, covering my reaction with an elaborate display of taking my seat.
Professor Everett cleared his throat, his irritation at having to deal with something so trivial as hospital publicity evident in the tightening of his mouth. ‘Dr King, I understand your father has been ill? How is he?’
‘He’s improving, thank you—he left ICU yesterday and is now on the cardiology ward.’ I forced the image of my dad’s pale sunken features from my mind, focusing my energies on surviving this interview.
‘You are due to commence your position with us next week, but if you need more time, I’m happy to sign off on some compassionate leave for you.’
‘Thank you—I’ll let you know.’ I wouldn’t come to work until I felt ready—I could barely take care of myself currently, and I needed to be fighting fit when other’s lives were in my hands.
Professor Everett glanced at Beckwith, his mouth tightening farther until his lips disappeared. ‘We’ve asked you come in to discuss procedures around the safety and privacy of all patients and staff at St Mildred’s Hospital. I understand you have recently attracted a lot of media attention in your private life.’ He glanced away at some notes on his desk, his discomfort evident by the repetitive glide of his fingers across the top sheet of paper.
Beckwith interrupted, his tone impatient. ‘Dr King, whilst your private life is exactly that, there is concern amongst senior hospital management that your activities outside of work may adversely affect the smooth running of the hospital and endanger patient confidentiality.’
I nodded, showing I understood.
‘We can’t have paparazzi lurking in the ambulance bays and cluttering up the cafeteria.’
I tore my eyes away from the dubious stain on Beckwith’s tie, struggling to muster enough enthusiasm to fight for my career. The last few days had brought a return of the paparazzi to mine and my parents’ doors, albeit fewer in number, searching for my reaction to the stories of Nathan and Claudia, and I was more concerned with protecting my family than the theoretical invasion of the hospital canteen.
‘I understand your concerns. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any potential breach in hospital security.’ I wasn’t going to make it easy for them—they’d have to fire me and they had no grounds. Yet. I sighed, my tepid reaction to the thought of losing my job a telling indication of my mental state.
Professor Everett found his voice. ‘Dr King, your CV is impeccable and your references commendable—you are an asset to our team.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I will relay to management that you are aware of the hospital’s position and assure them you will take all necessary precautions to ensure your personal life does not influence patient safety.’
‘Of course. Thank you, Professor.’
Interrogation over, I stood, shaking both gentlemen’s hands and leaving the office. My heels clicked on the worn linoleum, a steady rhythm of background music to the cacophony of thoughts bombarding my sluggish brain. It was decision time. I had a fight ahead of me, the prize slipping further away and into the distance. Did I fight for my job, a move destined to remove Nathan from my life for good, or did I fight for the man I loved, against all odds and jeopardise my burgeoning career?
***
The studio was packed with excited audience members, their upbeat chatter grating on my frayed nerves until the urge to flee almost overpowered me. I took in a steadying lungful of air, willing myself to remain seated. This was my last chance. I didn’t know how she’d done it, but Jess had likely pulled many strings and called in favours to acquire me a ticket for Britain’s most popular chat show at such late notice. I wondered if Tyler had a hand in it, but I hadn’t asked, too focused on my plan.
However tempted I was to leave before the guests arrived, I figured my legs would fail me, their trembling only matched by the rampant fluttering of my heart in my chest. I was going to see him. I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t vomit my lunch all over the woman in front of me or completely pass out from sheer adrenaline overdose, but I was certain of one thing. I was going to see Nathan Banks one more time in the flesh, and my eyes burned with the intensity of staring at the set, waiting for him to materialise.
My heart skipped several beats as the warm-up guy finished his spiel and introduced the host of the show, Eddy Miller. I closed my eyes, my fingernails digging into my palms as I tried to control my erratic breathing.
The gamble was huge and could end with the most spectacular fail or worse, the type of public humiliation that the old me would have done almost anything to avoid.
Before I could regulate my sympathetic nervous system, the studio lights dimmed and the crowds cheered as the cameras rolled and the show began. The minutes stretched as Eddy performed his opening lines into the camera, the people seated around me laughing on cue at his risqué jokes. Then he was introducing his guests who strode onto the stage one by one amid the rapturous applause of the audience.
As Nathan walked on stage, the last of the air in my lungs evaporated and my vision tunnelled, his breathtaking appearance far too powerful for my battered psyche to comprehend.
He looked edible, the sophistication of the suit he wore softened by the flop of his dishevelled hair. A scruff of stubble covered his jaw, disguising the dimple that flashed as he beamed at the audience and shook hands with the host. Nathan sat with the other guests, a TV chef and a well-known comedienne, and reached for a sip of water as the jeering from the audience settled down.
My eyes burned as I stared at him, free to get my fill of his magnificence, unobserved. I tracked every small movement he made with avid scrutiny—the tilt of his head, the set of his broad shoulders and the way he talked with his hands. He was the sun and I’d been living through an ice age.
I zoned back in to the conversation to hear Eddy congratulate Nathan on his Emmy and on the release of Daddy Date. Nathan thanked the fans, a self-deprecating half-smile on his beautiful face. Eddy introduced a clip of Daddy Date and I held my breath, hoping that the rating of this show would prevent them from showing the Nathan-Claudia sex scene, uneasy with the memory of it from the premiere.
‘So, what’s next for you?’ said Eddy, leaning back in his chair. ‘Tell us about your current projects.’
Nathan straightened, shifting his weight on the guest sofa. ‘Well, I’ve been shooting a film in New Zealand which comes out in the spring.’ Another round of cheering and applause. He could say I blew my nose and they’d cheer—and I’d be right there with them.
‘And you’re back working in the UK at the moment?’
This was news. My pulse pounded a dangerous gallop.
‘That’s right.’
‘In fact, ladies and gentlemen, Nathan Banks is in a West End play.’ The audience oohed and ahhed. Nathan smiled at them from under his lashes, nodding and reaching up to give his hair a quick ruffle. My fingers twitched in my lap and I curled my toes inside my shoes to stop me from running on stage to do that.
‘But it’s not a big production as we’d expect, is it?’ Eddy continued.
‘No, it’s an independent production, written by Andrew Bishop and Fiona Langdon, and it’s called Servitude.’
‘But this is a massive shift for you. We’re used to seeing you play romantic heroes. Are you breaking away from your roots?’
Nathan’s smile was controlled, confident despite the question being close to the bone for him. ‘No, not at all. I’ve been lucky to play so many awesome roles and I’ll continue to do that as long as I keep being offered them. But I want to spend some time in the UK, particularly London.’
‘Does this mean we won’t be seeing you in any more films?’ The audience booed and gasped and Nathan’s dimpled smile floored me again.
‘I’m just taking a break from LA. There are … personal reasons for staying in London, and when I was offered the role in Servitude, I couldn’t refuse—it’s an excellent play.’
Personal reasons? Nausea churned my stomach. Was I too late?
Eddy wrapped up this part of the interview with a plug for Nathan’s play, which would be running in the West End for the next three months.
I missed the conversation with the other guests as I tuned out, my senses gorging themselves on Nathan. As the time drew nearer, I feared the producers of the show had changed their plans and my throat dried. When Eddy reached for a handful of green slips of paper I almost fell from the edge of my chair as the thrill of butterflies and the dread of cold hard stones settled in my stomach, battling for dominance over my tattered emotions.
‘Now then ladies and gentleman, this is the part of the show where we often ask for questions from the audience, but we thought we’d do things a little differently tonight. I know many of you have travelled from far and wide to see our beloved home-grown hero fresh from the USA.’
Nathan dropped his head, his sexy half-smile doing more to rile up the fans dotted through the audience than if he’d shrugged off his shirt and treated them to a lap dance.
‘Audience members were asked to write down their questions, ones perhaps they’d be too shy to ask you out loud. We’ve selected a few and you can totally choose to answer them or not. But be warned.’ He turned his roguish smile to the crowd. ‘The questioners will be named and shamed—I hope you kept it clean, people.’
I couldn’t join in the laughter, too terrified to discover if my question had been chosen.
‘Okay, okay.’ Eddy silenced the crowd, flapping the first piece of paper in Nathan’s direction. ‘This is a good one.’
Nathan played along, reading the question to himself first before dropping his face into his hands and groaning.
‘Read it out or not, Nathan, it’s up to you. But if you read it, you have to answer it.’
I cringed for him, my imagination flying as I guessed what some fan had asked. But his smile to the audience consoled me as he began to read. ‘Have you ever made a sex tape and can you post it online?’ He shook his head, his grin widening as the audience cheered. A pink flush stained his cheeks. I didn’t know the answer and wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it now.
‘Well?’ said Eddy, as the catcalls continued.
‘No. I’m afraid I haven’t.’
Eddy retrieved the slip of paper from Nathan and flipped it over, reading out the name of the person who’d submitted the question and inviting her to reveal herself. She was four or five rows in front of me, and I sank lower into my chair as the overhead camera zoomed in on her. I would guard my anonymity until I knew my gamble had paid off.
The game continued in a similar way, the questions equally personal and to my surprise, Nathan answered them all. Finally, Eddy reached for the last slip of paper and my heart rate ratcheted to deafening levels, the whoosh of blood through my head so powerful it made me dizzy.
‘Oh. This one isn’t a question,’ said Eddy, glancing at the audience before showing the slip of paper to his close-up camera.
My breathing stopped as I recognised my penmanship and although I was convinced I had none left, a fresh wave of adrenaline slammed into me, knocking me back in my seat.
Nathan and the other guests craned their necks to see the message, but Eddy had already flipped it over to search for an identifier. Shrugging, he was about to toss the paper away, when Nathan interrupted. ‘May I?’ He held out his hand and I sucked in a long forgotten breath to prevent my vision darkening.
I knew the second he saw the note, shock yanking the persona mask from his face as he lifted frantic eyes to dart across the audience members. Seeking me? He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t shrugging it off either, and in those long seconds I wished I knew what was running through his mind.
Eddy, sharp as a tack, asked, ‘Does this mean something to you?’ His bewildered stare turned shrewd as his gape swung between Nathan and the audience.
As if the roof of the studio had been pulled back allowing the brilliance of the sun to stream in, Nathan grinned, still focused on the drawing in his hand. He spoke as if to himself, but the microphone he wore picked up his quiet affirmation. ‘Yes, yes it does.’
Once again he scanned the crowd, his emerald eyes sparkling as his whole face lit up. If I’d thought he was breathtaking before, now he was incandescent, completely obliterating my body’s need for oxygen altogether.
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth to cover the sound, which to my ears had filled the studio with noise. But only the woman next to me noticed, her head swivelling in my direction before she returned her rapt attention to the bizarre scenario being played out on the stage.
Nathan cleared his throat and his hand delved into his hair. ‘Do you remember I said personal reasons had drawn me back to London? Well …’ he held up the paper, ‘… this person—she’s the reason I’m here. Is she in the audience?’ He tucked the note inside his jacket pocket and moved to the edge of his seat, his expectant gaze flitting from Eddy to the people seated before him.
The studio lights came up, illuminating the audience as Eddy took control of the situation, his eyes gleaming as if he’d just been handed the scoop of the century. ‘Do we have the owner of the last note in the audience?’ The cameras filming us panned across the rows of curious faces as heads started to turn.
This was it. The moment I’d dreaded and anticipated since the idea came to me two weeks ago. Gathering all of my courage and emboldened by Nathan’s still glowing features, I pulled myself to my feet on wobbly legs.
‘I’m here,’ I said, waving an arm above my head to attract the attention of the cameras and the overhead microphone. They found me, zeroing in on my position as the people seated around me gasped and stared.
My attention fixed on a pair of dazzling green eyes across the studio. With my own face projected back at me from the large screen to the right of the set, my confidence dwindled and my stomach plummeted as I took in my huge eyes and pale skin.
I hadn’t thought things through this far, not believing I’d ever get to this position, convinced Nathan would either never see my note or, if he did, that he’d disregard it. I was directionless, all rational thought deserting me, taking any sensible speech with it.
‘There she is—you drew this?’ Eddy’s voice rang out, reminding me I was in a studio full of people and the spectacle I was making of myself would be beamed around the world and spread across the internet like wildfire. My drawing was projected on the large screen—a stick woman holding out her heart to a stick man.
Before I could do little more than nod in affirmation, Nathan shot out of his seat, the audience gasping as he bounded off the raised stage in one leap and took the stairs two at a time to reach my row. Eddy was left fumbling for something to say, delighted shock plastered all over his face as he tried to regain control of his own chat show.
I was seated at least ten people from the end of the row. The minute Nathan left his seat I began to jostle and weave my way past my fellow viewers who gave up shrinking back in their seats and tucking in their knees and stood instead to ease my passage.
I stumbled in my haste past the last set of feet, but before I could right my footing, I was hauled into a hard chest, a strong set of arms banded around me, squeezing me so hard the air was forced from my lungs.
Nothing had ever felt so perfect. I buried my nose in his expensive shirt, sucking in the delicious Nathan smell and loving the feel of his heat seeping through the linen to warm my skin. I didn’t care that the whole studio was watching us, witnessing our reunion. I didn’t care that these images, this story, would be on every celebrity site in the world tomorrow. I didn’t even care my job might be in jeopardy if the paparazzi decided to hound me again. All that mattered was Nathan.
His hold on me loosened as the cheering of the crowd registered on my overwhelmed senses. His head dipped and his lips found my ear. ‘I love you.’ It was the faintest whisper, delivered to protect the intimate admission from public broadcast over the microphone he wore, but I heard it, the words so welcome, they screamed in my head and joined the surge of joy spilling from me.
I pulled back, my burning eyes finding his, shutting out the rest of the world as I drank him in—every last magnificent drop of him. Placing my hand over the tiny microphone on his lapel, I stretched up, my lips hovering over his ear as I repeated his words. ‘I love you too.’
His answering smile was my favourite—unguarded, open and with just a hint of vulnerability. Gripping my shoulders, he swooped his mouth down on mine, stealing my breath with a brief and restrained kiss. Grasping my hand, he turned back to the cameras, waving at the cheering audience, and led me down the stairs and behind the row of equipment at the edge of the stage.
In the shadows off-stage he pulled me once more to his chest, his mouth covering mine in a kiss that spoke louder than any words he could have uttered at that moment. Eyes spilling over with burning emotions, he grinned one final time before turning away and striding back onto the stage to take his seat on the sofa.
With my heart full and on shaky legs, I followed a grinning Jake backstage to watch the rest of the show from the green room.