‘Arrested?’ The juice in my mouth suddenly tasted sweeter. ‘For what?’
‘Aggravated assault.’
I touched my own nose. ‘But I wasn’t assaulted.’
‘She pushed you into a pool.’
‘True,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m fine now. No “serious bodily injury”.’
‘Not for lack of trying on her part,’ Ashton said, voice flat.
‘I bet her family’s already posted bail.’ The Brookes had more than enough money for that.
‘Why not? Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled she’s finally been arrested, but it’s just my word against hers.’
‘There’s evidence. Someone filmed it.’
I perked up. ‘Really? Who? I need to send them flowers.’
His lips curved. ‘I already took care of that.’
‘Thanks.’ I took another long sip of juice, savouring it. ‘She used to mess with me in school. Barely back in town and already pulling the same crap. I’m not letting it slide this time.’
Ashton asked, ‘What did she do to you?’
‘Didn’t I already tell you? In the car?’
‘Bits and pieces. You were mostly incoherent.’
I sipped the juice, set it down, tasted the coffee, abandoned that too. Picked up the buttered toast and chewed in silence.
I sighed, lowered the toast. He already knew half of it. Might as well give him the rest. Sort of.
I gave him a trimmed-down version. Just the surface. Skipped the worst of it.
Spilling everything while feverish and half-dead was one thing. Doing it stone-cold sober with full brain function was harder. Even with him.
If Ashton noticed my dodge, he didn’t call me on it.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.
‘I want to sue her. Properly. If the prosecutor drops the criminal charges’—I rolled my eyes —‘because the Brookes will be working overtime pulling strings like last time, then I’m bringing a civil suit. And not just for this. For everything back in high school too. The police kept records. Finn, my lawyer, said he can get them.’
‘You’ve thought this through.’
It was an idea I’d been toying with ever since Serenna told me Isobel was back in town. Isobel Brooke was a rot I intended to cut out for good.
‘You’ve got the entire LGH legal department at your disposal,’ Ashton said.
I opened my mouth to object.
He beat me to it. ‘They’re already working with your lawyer on the libel suit. May as well keep the teamwork going.’
I paused, then nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He didn’t look thrilled. ‘You don’t have to thank me. You’re my wife. My lawyers are your lawyers.’
I joked, ‘Tell that to couples in the middle of a divorce.’
He didn’t crack a smile. Didn’t so much as twitch a corner of his mouth.
I winced, took refuge in my coffee.
After a beat, he said, ‘You’ve got me. If you ever need anything, you come to me.’
‘I don’t think you do.’
I looked up. His voice had gone sharp.
‘You were gearing up to sue Rhys on your own. Planning to handle Isobel by yourself. When there was trouble at work, you dealt with it alone.’
There was quiet heat behind his words. Accusation, tightly leashed.
‘How did you—’ I broke off. ‘Of course you knew. Hence that dinner with Octavia Grey. Who told you?’ Googlᴇ search novel fire.net
He ignored the question. ‘You ever need anything, you come to me.’ This time, it was a command, not a suggestion. ‘As long as you’re Mrs Laurent, anything that touches you, touches me.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’ His tone was so dead serious I nearly stood and saluted.
Halfway through breakfast, his phone went off. Twice. Long calls. One of them in French. I nibbled a croissant and watched the butter melt into a golden pool on the porcelain plate.
When he came back in, I said, ‘You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not dying. Or ninety. If you’re that worried, get me a nurse.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll work from here.’
I could’ve argued, but I knew a lost cause when I saw one.
The Director’s Wing was more suite than hospital room. It had a private lounge, a kitchen, and a dining nook. More than enough space to live in.
Ashton had Dominic bring up everything—laptops, files, chargers, two phones, and something that looked suspiciously like a compact espresso machine.
He set up shop in the lounge.
I lay in bed, bored out of my skull.
For an hour, I scrolled through short videos until they all blurred into one long, idiotic loop. My thumb ached, my eyes went dry. I dropped the phone.
There were a few laundry bags on a rack near the bed. Some held his things, some mine.
I pulled out a set of clothes, including underwear, silently praying it was Carmen the female housekeeper who packed them and not Geoffrey.
In the bathroom, I slipped on a tank top and shorts underneath so I wouldn’t flash anyone through the gown’s rear slit.
Ashton was on a video call in the lounge, sharp French coming fast, face drawn tight as he frowned at charts on the screen.
I slipped out while he was mid-sentence, hospital slippers noiseless on the carpeted floor.
I wandered the corridor like a bored inmate out on parole. Most of the doors were closed. There was no one else except an occasional passing nurse who gave me a friendly nod but didn’t stop me.
Looking out the window, I decided to venture downstairs. I figured a place had to have a garden somewhere.
Two floors down, I stopped.
Something had caught my eye.