Page 44 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
Tessa
Is he married?
Sara
I don’t know. I didn’t even think about that.
Yikes. Is there going to be a wife downstairs tomorrow at breakfast? Awkward.
Okay, I’m literally exhausted, so I’m going to bed.
Emma
Lock your bedroom door! Just in case.
Sara
It’s got a deadbolt, actually. Maybe this place is a rental? IDK, I’ll explore tomorrow. Good night!
There’s a flurry of goodnight messages, and I close my laptop, satisfied that Sara is safe for now.
With her settled, I get into bed, and my thoughts turn back to Luc. Sara’s trusting a stranger with her life. Why can’t I trust Luc with my heart?
19
Luc
I getthe low battery warning on my phone around three o’clock on Saturday, five days after seeing Tessa. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath and glance at my passenger in the rearview mirror and hope that they didn’t hear me. It’s a short ride, so once I drop them off, I stay at the curb and fiddle with my phone. I remove the plug from my phone and reinsert it. No charge. I trace the wire back to the center console and the built-in USB plug and press it in further. Nothing.
“Crap,” I say, slumping my head against the steering wheel. Either there’s something wrong with the plug or my cord, and I hope it’s the latter. I don’t have much time—I have my shift at the bar tonight and then my flight to see Tessa in the morning—so I need to get my phone charging. I might even have time for one more ride if I hustle.
I’m close to Mémé’s—I mean, my place—so I flick my turn signal on, navigate back into traffic, and in twenty minutes, I’m pulling into a spot not far from our place.
I take the stairs two at a time and fling the door open. “Mémé,” I call out. “I just need a new phone cord.”
“Luc?”
Mémé’s voice makes my blood freeze; it’s weak and flecked with pain.
“Mémé?” I rush around the corner. She’s not in the sitting room. There’s a shuffling noise, and when I turn my head toward the kitchen, I see her arm outstretched on the kitchen floor. “Mémé!”
She’s sprawled out on the wood floor, in a position that can’t be comfortable, and I crash down to my knees at her side, fear choking my insides like a vise. “Mémé, what happened? Are you okay?”
“I fell. Just lost my balance and fell.”
I pat my pockets for my phone before realizing that it’s out in the car and possibly dead. “Where’s your phone? I’m going to call for an ambulance.”
Mémé directs me to it, and in a few moments, I’m on the phone with an operator, following instructions and asking Mémé questions while help is on the way. Her answers have my worry escalating; it hurts to move, and she doesn’t know if she hit her head.
I ride with her in the ambulance, and then it’s a slog of waiting: waiting for a doctor to talk to her, waiting for scan results, waiting for more information. I remember to call the bar and let them know I won’t be coming in, but as the day slips into darkness, I realize I’m not going to make my flight. I don’t have Tessa’s number, and my phone is in my car, dead. I try to log into my Instagram account, but thanks to two-factor authentication, I can’t get in.
I just can’t worry about it right now.
I snooze by Mémé’s bedside, being startled awake in the morning when a new doctor comes in to check on her. “Good morning, everyone. How are we feeling today?”
“Okay,” Mémé says, and my heart sinks at the tiredness in her voice.
“You don’t have a concussion; you passed the night with gold stars. How’s that cast feeling?” The staff did a full evaluation on my grandmother and discovered that aside from the back pain—thankfully muscle injury and not bone—and the concern over a head injury, Mémé had also landed on and broken her arm. It wasn’t bad enough that anyone, Mémé included, had noticed until a nurse had asked her to press down in a series of tests, and Mémé had winced.
