I don’t know what I’d do, if the nurse didn’t interrupt us.

“Don’t crush the patient,” she says to me. “You know I wasn’t even supposed to let you stay the night.”

“Well, you’d need a whole lot more nurses to drag me out of here,” I say.

“We’ve got a nurse named Barney,” she says. “He was a lineman for Penn State.”

“Alright,” I grin, stepping back so the nurse can take Riona’s vitals. “Don’t sic Barney on me.”

* * *

27

Riona

The nurses make me stay in the hospital for three whole days.

This is almost intolerable—to the point that, despite my gratitude for their excellent care, and all the cups of ice water they bring me, I might have gotten in a serious fight with them. Except that Raylan is right beside me, laughing and joking, smoothing over my grumpiness at having my blood pressure taken for the eight hundredth time.

He’s my rock. The only person who can soothe the pain I feel knowing that Uncle Oran tried to kill me. It’s a betrayal that cuts deep. Not only because I truly respected my uncle, but because I misjudged his character so badly. It puts a crack in my perception of my own good judgment.

But I was right about one person at least: the man sitting next to me. Raylan flew to Chicago to make sure I was safe. He saved me, when nobody else was there to do it. He hasn’t left my side since, except to brush his teeth or use the shower in my hospital room.

We’re so happy to be together again that it’s all we talk about.

We don’t discuss the looming question of how we’ll stay together long-term. I know that Raylan’s family wants him back home. But my family needs me here, more than ever. With Uncle Oran gone, they need me to take over the law firm. Not just as a partner but as managing partner. It can’t go to anyone else—only a family member can be trusted with our most vulnerable secrets.

There’s a more urgent reason that I need to get out of the hospital: I don’t want to miss Dante and Simone’s wedding.

It’s going to be small and intimate—fewer than twenty people in attendance. Including me and Raylan.

Dr. Weber insists on running a hundred tests on me before I’m allowed to leave. At the end of it all, he concludes that I might have some mild liver-damage, but I’m otherwise unscathed by Uncle Oran’s attempted poisoning.

“Watch your alcohol intake over the next few months, and hopefully any damage will heal,” Dr. Weber says.

“I assume that doesn’t include wine,” I tell him.

“It definitely includes wine.”

“What about scotch?”

He shakes his head at me, unamused.

“I’ll make sure she behaves herself,” Raylan says.

“You’re going to bodyguard me against liquor now?” I say, giving him an incredulous look.