Page 96 of Duplicity

She takes it from him and nods briskly. ‘Leave it with me. Now go. You’re no use to anyone if you run yourself into the ground. Brendan—take good care of my girl.’

‘I will,’ he promises, his face solemn.

I’ve definitely been ambushed, but I’m not sure it’s a bad thing.

CHAPTER 45

Marlowe

Brendan holds my hand as we weave through the bowels of the hospital, and I let him. He holds it in the fancy car that’s waiting outside for him, complete with driver, and I let him. He doesn’t mean anything romantic by it—I’m pretty sure it’s just that I’m clearly not with it and in need of a little guidance. A little friendly comfort. That’s how it feels. Friendly and supportive. I may have given him short shrift in there, but I’m too exhausted to keep on pretending a piece of me isn’t glad to see him.

On the short journey to his hotel, he asks me in great detail about the surgical procedure Tabby’s just undergone. Some of his questions are too complex for me to even answer. Neither of us touches the elephants in the room: the fact that I’ve lied to him consistently since applying for the job and that he treated me like dirt last time I saw him.

Instead, he asks me about me. About how I’m holding up. How long it’s been since I slept in a bed. Since I’ve showered. Eaten a square meal. Judging by the set of his jaw and the thin line his lips make, he doesn’t like my answers one bit.

He’s staying in a luxurious suite that’s about four times bigger than my flat, with a vast living area and a beautifulterrace. After several days of being holed up in hospital hell, it feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ he asks, stopping to look at me, his expression unsure. He’s still gripping my crappy little suitcase. This is a far less confident version of Brendan than the one I’m used to seeing.

I sigh. ‘No. You’re fine.’ It’s his hotel suite, after all.

‘Okay, then. What do you need first? Shower? Nap? Food?’

I groan. This is like those times when you get home and you’re parched and also dying for a pee, and it’s impossible to know which to tackle first. They all sound amazing, but the thought of falling into Brendan’s wonderful, clean bed while I’m this crusty is too revolting. I’ll feel amazing if I have a good wash.

‘A shower would be amazing.’

He jerks his head. ‘This way.’

I follow him through a set of double doors into a master suite that’s all slick neutrals and fresh flowers. The bed is untouched, his bag still sitting on it. They must have checked in and headed straight to the hospital. Beyond that is a glorious white marble bathroom with a tub I could happily drift off in and a shower cubicle the size of a football pitch.

He heads straight for it and opens the glass door, cranking on the shower so that a torrent of water bursts instantly to life. I glance around the bathroom, second-guessing myself. Now that I’m away from the hospital and in this place of luxurious stillness, I’ve hit a brick wall. I don’t even know if I have the strength to wash my hair. Everything feels like so much effort. Maybe I should just go to bed first, crustiness be damned.

‘Hey,’ Brendan says, coming towards me. ‘You okay? You’re white as a sheet.’

I nod. ‘Just tired. I’m fine.’ Saying the words takes so much effort. I sway slightly on the spot, and he grabs my biceps.

‘Woah. You’re on your last legs, aren’t you? Okay, look. I know I’m probably not your favourite person at the moment, given my little stunt last week, and I won’t try anything funny, I promise… but let me take care of you, please. You can lean against me while I wash you, at least.’

The thing is, I trust this version of Brendan. I trustmostversions of him. There’s no swagger today. He’s here, and that speaks volumes. I don’t know if it’s guilt or a misplaced sense of duty, but I know in this moment he has my back.

That, and I’m not sure I can make it through a shower in one piece without some help.

‘Okay,’ I say, and he nods.

‘Okay. Good. Here. Sit here.’

He settles me on the toilet seat as he strips off his clothing, tugging on the back of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head before losing his shoes and socks and shoving down his jeans and boxer briefs. It’s a testament to how exhausted I am that I can’t muster up more of a reaction than vague appreciation, even when he walks towards me in all his naked glory.

‘Your turn, love. Up you get.’

I rise, and I shamelessly allow him to peel off my skanky clothes and probably stinky underwear as if I’m a helpless child. With great care, he releases my hair from its knotty bun. Then he takes my hand, leading me gently into the shower and under the torrent of water.

Oh wow. It’s gloriously hot and the pressure is amazing. I stand under it like a zombie. I just want to sink to the floor and let it wash over me. Brendan is eyeing me with concern, and I gaze back at him exhaustedly. I swear there are two of him.

Mmm. Two Brendans.

‘Jesus, Marls, I can’t bear this,’ he says finally. ‘Come here. Let me give you a hug, for fuck’s sake.’

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