Page 55 of A Prescription to My Heart

Camille leans back in her chair, her faux smile dimmed. “How... quaint,” she says, a little too coolly. “Soren’s not the most talkative person, but he seems to have a lot of thoughts when it comes to you.”

“Talia’s amazing,” Marigold says, which makes my in-laws curdle slightly.

“Thanks, Goldie,” Talia says with a wink.

“I’m sure she is,” Camille adds, voice frigid now.

I don’t like the way she says that. It feels like a jab, like she’s digging for something. My jaw tightens, but I don’t react. I remind myself I’ve endured worse scrutiny—my surgical residency far more intense.

Yet somehow, this is still worse.

Patrick lets out a small chuckle, but it’s forced. “Ah, yes. A match made in heaven, I’m sure.” His eyes flicker to me again, that calculating look still there.

Talia shifts in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. I physically feel the subtle tension in her posture, see the way her fingers fidget with the edge of her napkin. I need to make this stop, before they push too hard.

Then, Talia shifts slightly, leaning into my side, a barely noticeable movement that causes my heart to race in my chest. The warmth of her body, the faint smell of lavender that lingers in her hair, makes the act feel far too personal. I force myself to focus, to play the part.

“So,” I say, attempting to direct the conversation before it gets too uncomfortable, “what about you two? How have things been since... well, since last time we talked?”

Camille and Patrick exchange a look. Patrick clears his throat. “We’ve been busy, as usual. You know—charity events, business. And the hospital gala this weekend is a big one. We thought it would be nice to bring you both along. You two should make a real appearance. We could show you off to the right crowd.”

His words are thinly veiled, coated with false sweetness. They’ve never been subtle in their attempts to control the situation. Perhaps that’s why we’ve always vied for dominance. None of us want to lose control.

The Gala.How could I forget?

Talia’s fingers twitch again, the tension in her body making me realize just how much she’s struggling with all of this. I’ve worked a few hospitals now, and I know nurses are rarely invited if they aren’t married to doctors or admin. I’m sure she knew about the gala, but doubted she would ever need to go.

I keep my arm around her, trying to offer whatever comfort I can, but I know it’s not enough. The entire situation is suffocating, the pressure to keep up appearances heavy on both of us.

“We’ve never really felt the need to attend those kinds of things,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “To be honest, I can’t say I noticed the hospital was even hosting it. Is it something new?”

Camille’s smile tightens, her eyes dart to Patrick for just a moment before returning to me. “Oh, it’s not new, dear. Just something we thought you might be interested in. Charity work, you know? It’s important to be seen in the right places. Networking, connections. Especially in healthcare. You never know where the right donors might be.”

I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s trying to corner me, to manipulate the situation in their favor. But they don’t understand something—if they push too hard, I’ll push back just as fiercely.

Talia adjusts her seat again, leaning into me just slightly, her breath catching as if she’s trying to decide whether or not to say something. The silence that stretches between us all is thick, pregnant with tension.

Patrick leans back in his chair, finally seeming satisfied with the direction the conversation has taken. Camille dabs her mouth, her smile more of a smirk. I know they think they’ve won this round. But I’m not done yet.

“We’ll think about it,” I say, my voice firm. “But don’t expect us to be the poster children for your cause. We have our own way of doing things.”

Talia looks up at me, her gaze soft but grateful. I see how everything lifts off her shoulders just a little. The way I said it—strong, assertive—it’s a clear message. I’m not their pawn. Not now, not ever.

And I won’t allow Talia to be either.

“Well, we look forward to it,” Camille says, her smile still fixed in place. “We’ll keep you in the loop, of course.”

The evening lingers on, the rest of the meal passed in polite small talk, but the air between us is electric with unspoken words, with the knowledge that this isn’t over yet.

Chapter 13

Talia

“Istillthinkweshouldfake food poisoning.”

Soren gives me a look over the rim of his mug, unimpressed. “They’re not going to buy that.”

“They might. I can look convincingly pale.”

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