Earlier That Afternoon - Room 407
"I don't trust you."
Kalina looked up from the card game she was playing—solitaire, because she was bored—to find Rhys Castillon standing in her doorway with his arms crossed and that familiar cold expression on his face.
"Good afternoon to you too," she said dryly. "And here I thought we were making progress."
"Progress?" Rhys stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "You've been manipulating my grandfather."
Kalina blinked. "I've been what now?"
"Don't play innocent. I've seen you two together. The laughing, the card games, the conversations. He's been spoiling you. Bringing you food from outside the hospital, buying you books, spending hours in that courtyard with you."
"We're friends," Kalina said slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "That's what friends do."
"You have ulterior motives."
"Ulterior motives?!" Kalina threw her cards down. "What possible ulterior motive could I have for befriending a sweet old man who's lonely and bored in a hospital?!"
"You're after his money. His connections. Access to the Castillon family—"
"Oh my GOD." Kalina stood up from her chair—carefully, because her head still hurt—and glared at him. "Not everyone is a scheming social climber, Rhys! Some of us are capable of genuine human connection!"
"You expect me to believe you befriended one of the wealthiest men in the city out of the goodness of your heart?"
"YES! Because that's exactly what happened!" She threw her hands up. "He was sitting on a bench sighing dramatically. I asked what was wrong. We talked. We became friends. There's no conspiracy here!"
Rhys's expression didn't change. "I don't believe you."
"I don't care what you believe."
They glared at each other.
"Why are you even watching me like a hawk anyway?" Kalina demanded. "Don't you have a company to run? Mergers to close? Important CEO things to do? Why are you visiting me so frequently?"
"I have an assistant," Rhys said dismissively.
Kalina's eyes widened. "Wow. I definitely feel pity for him."
"Excuse me?"
"Your assistant! Poor Tristan. Having to handle everything while you're here playing detective and accusing innocent hospital patients of—what was it again? Oh right, befriending your grandfather. The horror."
Rhys's jaw tightened. "You're the reason for his predicament."
"How the hell am I—"
"You told me heroes take full responsibility until the end," Rhys interrupted, stepping closer. "And my grandfather has ordered me to take care of you. So here I am. Taking responsibility. Making sure you're actually recovering and not scheming. All because you decided to befriend him!"
Kalina opened her mouth to argue.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Damn it, he used my own words against me.
Rhys's expression shifted—just slightly—into something that might have been satisfaction. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He'd won their argument, and he knew it.
Kalina fumed silently, hating that he looked so smug about it.
Ten Minutes Later
Kalina was still sulking when the hospital TV—which had been playing background music videos—switched to her favorite song.
Ed Sheeran's "Shape of You."
Her mood immediately shifted.
Oh, this is perfect.
She grabbed the remote and turned the volume up. Loud.
Rhys looked up from his phone, frowning. "What are you—turn that down."
"Nope!" Kalina said cheerfully, then shoved the remote underneath her hospital gown dress.
Rhys's eyes narrowed. "Kalina."
"Can't hear you!" she shouted over the music. "Too loud!"
"Give me the remote."
"Come get it!" She grinned wickedly.
Rhys stood up. "I'm serious—"
But Kalina was already moving.
She grabbed the water bottle from her bedside table, climbed onto the hospital bed—carefully, because concussion—and struck a pose.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Rhys shouted over the music.
Kalina raised the water bottle to her mouth like a microphone.
And began to perform.
"Girl, you know I want your love—"
She sang at the top of her lungs, swaying her hips dramatically.
"Your love was handmade for somebody like me—"
Rhys stared at her in absolute horror. "Kalina, get down from there before you hurt yourself—"
"Come on now, follow my lead—"
She spun on the bed, nearly losing her balance, then recovered and pointed at him dramatically.
"I may be crazy, don't mind me—"
"You ARE crazy!" Rhys shouted. "And you have a HEAD INJURY!"
But Kalina was in her element now. She danced—if you could call it that—swaying left and right, doing exaggerated moves that would have been embarrassing under normal circumstances but felt glorious in the moment.
Rhys looked like he was being actively tortured.
He reached for the bed, trying to grab her ankle and pull her down safely.
She dodged, laughing.
"Say, boy, let's not talk too much—"
"KALINA—"
"Grab on my waist and put that body on me—"
She turned slowly, swaying her hips in an exaggerated motion, her back to him now.
Rhys covered his face with his hand. "I cannot believe this is happening."
"Come on now, follow my lead—"
Kalina spun back around, water bottle raised triumphantly—
And froze.
Because standing in the doorway were eight people.
Her entire family.
And her two best friends.
And Maximilian Blackwood.
All staring at her in varying states of shock, horror, and fury.
The water bottle slipped from her numb fingers and clattered to the floor.
Oh no.
"Hi, family!" she said with a painfully bright smile, her voice cracking. "Yay! You finally found me!"
Her legs gave out and she dropped onto the bed, sitting abruptly.
Inside, she was screaming.
My vacation is over. I'm so dead. So, so dead.
Eight pairs of eyes glared at her with murderous intent.
(Well, seven. Maxi just looked amused.)
And Rhys?
Rhys looked like he'd aged a decade in the past four days.
The music was still playing.
Nobody moved.
This was going to be bad.