Page 10 of Break My Rules

Heart attack?

“I… Of course, I’ll pass along your thoughts,” I manage to reply, my mind racing. “Bye!”

I leave the lodge, blindly weaving my way through the morning commuter crowds now filling the sidewalks. Saint’s father had a heart attack? No wonder I haven’t heard from him! For all the thorns of their relationship, the man is still his father, the man who raised him, and if Saint almost lost him…

I can’t imagine what he’s going through.

I break into a run. Whatever else is happening between us, it doesn’t matter right now.

I need to be there for him.

I quickly changeand catch the express train down to London. I text Imogen on the way and get the details of the hospital where Saint’s father has been admitted. But when I arrive at the crowded reception, and ask the clerk for his room number, she stonewalls me.

“I’m sorry,” she tells me, staring me down over her bifocals. “We don’t give out information about our patients. Are you family?”

“No,” I admit, frustrated. “But please, I need to see them. I’m a… friend of his son’s.”

Friend, possible ex-girlfriend, the woman who’s been embarking on a wild sexual adventure with him…

The woman just glares, unimpressed. “I can’t help you,” she says firmly. “Please move aside and let the next person through.”

I sigh in frustration, stepping away from the desk. What do I do now? I try calling Saint again, I’ve already left a dozen messages, but he’s not picking up.

“Tessa?”

I whirl around. It’s Robert, Saint’s younger brother, coming through the main doors, balancing a tray of coffees in his hands. “Oh, thank God,” I say, rushing over. “I’ve been trying to get the room details, but the reception lady wouldn’t let me through, and Saint’s not answering his phone, and—” I stop, realizing I’m babbling. “It doesn’t matter. How are you?” I ask. Robert seems worn out, his tow-colored hair rumpled, and his broad frame sagging. “How’s your dad? I heard what happened, is there any update?”

“He’s doing better,” Robert replies, and I exhale in relief. “The doctors are still running some tests, but he should be able to go home tomorrow—as long as he stays on bed rest, which, knowing dad, won’t be easy for him.”

“I’m so glad,” I say sincerely. “Is Saint here?”

Robert nods. “Come on, I’ll take you up.”

He leads me past the desk to the elevators, and up to the fourth floor, which looks to be some kind of VIP wing, a calm oasis compared to the chaos downstairs. Mr. St. Clair’s room is down a polished hallway. Robert goes straight in, but I hesitate in the doorway, taking in the scene. Saint is standing by the windows, looking out across the city with his back turned while his dad—Alexander—sits up in bed. Lillian, Saint’s mother, is urging him to drink some noxious-looking green juice.

“It tastes like grass,” Alexander is objecting. He looks pale, but seems to be getting his strength back, despite the machines still hooked up, monitoring him. “What’s wrong with my usual coffee?”

“The doctors said—”

“Bully the doctors. You like that green mess so much, you drink it. Ah, here we are,” Alexander looks up, smiling as Robert enters with the coffee. “A cappuccino? What about the croissant?”

“Robert,” Lillian scolds him, perfectly attired in matching Chanel. “What did we say about his diet?”

“Hush, darling,” Alexander says, affectionate. “Let a man enjoy his coffee in peace. Oh, hello,” he says, noticing me for the first time. “Tessa, wasn’t it?”

At the mention of my name, Saint turns. He looks tired, too, but holds himself with the same confident ease as ever, wearing a crisp button-down and black washed jeans; his dark hair falling rumpled over his eyes, in need of a trim.

So handsome, it hurts to look at him.

Our eyes lock across the room, and I offer him a supportive smile, but his expression stays stern. Unreadable.

“Hi, yes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I add, clocking Lillian’s narrowed eyes. “I just heard the news and wanted to see how you all were. Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask.

Saint’s mother offers an icy smile. “How sweet. No, thank you, we’re all fine.”

“OK.” I hover there, feeling seriously awkward. Saint isn’t saying a word, and I’m beginning to regret showing up here at all. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me, after all the terrible accusations I made.

“Not that we don’t appreciate you thinking of us in this difficult time,” Lillian continues. “But we’d prefer to keep this a family affair, if you don’t mind…”

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