Chapter 50

I opened my eyes on the sixth morning, and the chair beside my bed was empty.

I put my hand on it—it took me a full minute to get my hand that far—and the cushion still had the shape of someone in it, and on the little table beside it lay Persuasion, face-down, open at the chapter where Wentworth writes the letter.

“He went out when you started to stir,” Nana Odette said from the doorway. She had a bowl of something steaming in her hands, and her eyes were red. “An hour ago. Five days and nights he sat in that chair, dear. The doctors couldn’t move him. I couldn’t move him. And the moment your eyelids twitched, he got up and put the book down and walked out.” She came and set the bowl down and put her hand on my forehead. “Goddess forgive him, I don’t think he trusts himself to be in the room when you can see him.”

“Nana.” My voice came out as a rasp, like a rusty hinge. “I need Rhys.”

“You need broth.”

“I need Rhys. Please.”

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