Page 91 of Endurance
I find him a table with two open seats that were booked by the Danes’ chief of surgery and his wife, neither of which could make it.
Before I leave, I pin my father with a death stare. “I’ve got to go give a little speech here shortly. Maybe…have some coffee or tea, and I’ll come see you afterwards.”
His drooped eyes slow blink as he nods, so I turn and walk away on shaky legs. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever seen my father pissed like this. Openly intoxicated. He’s not falling over drunk, but he’s definitely not acting the way I’m used to. It’s…unnerving.
After a couple glasses of champagne, some food in my stomach, and some laughs over photos Indie and Camden have taken in the booth, I’ve all but forgotten about my father.
My palms are sweaty as I pull out the piece of paper with the words I’ll be speaking tonight. I repeat them in my head over and over until the event coordinator finally pulls me aside and says it’s time to take the stage.
Tanner gives me a kiss and squeezes my side as I leave. When I walk up the stairs to the stage, I’m suddenly very aware of all five hundred people here tonight.
The master of ceremonies introduces me and I stride up to the podium, my dress shooting out blasts of sparkles underneath the stage lights.
I clear my throat and dig deep for all my confidence. “Thank you all for joining us this evening. The Foetal Medicine Foundation is a charity that aims to improve the health of pregnant women and their unborn babies through research and training in foetal medicine.”
I pause and exhale a shaky breath. My eyes find Tanner’s and he nods in encouragement.
“With the support of people like you here tonight, the foundation has raised more than fifteen million pounds in the past ten years it has been in operation.
“With your help, we are able to maintain our educational programme so that doctors like myself can have the opportunity to train with some of the most brilliant minds in this field.
“The work we do here tonight helps us save little girls, like Nevaeh Parker from Indiana, whose mother was advised by her obstetrician to have an abortion at only sixteen weeks pregnant when they realised she had spina bifida. Because of Dr. Miller’s efforts, Nevaeh is now a thriving twelve-year-old little girl with an excellent quality of life. So excellent, in fact, that she informed me at tea today that she was sent to the principal’s office at her school last week for splashing mud in gym class.”
I pause as the room breaks into pleasant laughter.
“As I sat beside Nevaeh and watched her fall in love with clotted cream, I marvelled over the fact that Dr. Miller touched her when no one else could. She healed her when everyone else was certain all was lost. As doctors, we like to think we play God. But looking at Nevaeh now, whose name spelled backwards is Heaven, I think it’s she who has touched us. I think it’s her who inspires our healing hands because there is nothing more godlike than being in the presence of a miracle.”
I pause and blink away my tears. The room is so still and so silent, you could hear a pin drop. Smiling, I compose myself to say the last line. “So, without further ado, please welcome the protector of our tiny patients, Dr. Elizabeth Miller.”
PRIDE.
Heaping mounds of pride erupt in my chest, causing the ache that I’ve been feeling for days to break apart and crumble into the reality of what is. Reality being that I love Belle Ryan. I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything in this world.
Belle steps back and shakes Dr. Miller’s hand as she takes the microphone and thanks Belle for the kind words. Belle stands up there, a golden goddess of radiant light, beaming with pride and joy for what she does and all that she is. She’s breathtaking and inspiring and everything I never knew existed in a partner. And I love her.
A man sits down in her vacant chair beside me, interrupting my life-changing realisation. I instinctively shuffle away when a heady scent of scotch wafts off of him.
After a minute or two of listening to Dr. Miller speak about Nevaeh Parker, the man’s voice husks into my ear, “So you’re the infamous Tanner Harris.”
I turn to look at him. He’s an older bloke, likely in his sixties. Pissed to be sure. But just looking at him, I can tell he comes from money based on his expensive suit and watch. Plus, there’s something about the way he holds himself—nose slightly upturned, eyes narrowed in judgement—that makes him seem superior.
My response is short and curt. “Yes, I’m Tanner.” I look back up at the stage, trying to be polite and listen to Dr. Miller’s words.
He huffs out a laugh beside me and adds, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
I eye him curiously, shaking my head.
“I’m Lord Ryan, of course. Belle Ryan’s father.” His response stuns me into silence. When my brows lift, he smiles knowingly and confirms, “Now you’re getting it.”
We both train our eyes on the stage again, confusion and tension passing back and forth between us like a heat wave. I didn’t know he was going to be here tonight. Surely Belle would have mentioned it.
He leans into me. “I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know who I am. We don’t exactly run in similar social circles.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glance around our table at everyone. No one seems to be curious about who the strange man is who’s plonked himself in amongst us, but I sure as hell am.
After another minute or two of silence, he asks, “Did you hear the news then?”
I find my voice and whisper, “What news?”
