"How much time?" The question came out sharper than I'd intended.
"I wish I could give you a definitive answer. Days, possibly weeks. The important thing is that he's fighting."
"I need to get back in there?—"
"Actually," Spencer interrupted gently, "You need to come with us. You haven't eaten a proper meal in three days, and you look like you're about to collapse."
I bristled. "I'm not leaving him."
"You're not abandoning him by taking care of yourself," Rupert said, his voice unusually serious. "He's the strongest person I know, Evangeline. If anyone can fight through this, it's James."
"How would you know?" The words came out harsher than I intended, exhaustion fraying my control. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I just can't bear the thought of losing him."
Hurt flashed across Rupert's face, but his voice remained steady. "Because he's my brother. Because I've watched him survive things that would break other men. And because I know he loves you more than his own life—he proved that three nights ago at the gala."
The fight went out of me as suddenly as it had come. I slumped against the wall, the weight of three sleepless nights crashing over me.
"I can't leave him," I whispered. "What if something happens? What if he wakes up and I'm not there?"
"We'll take shifts," Andrew offered quietly. "Someone will always be here. You have my word."
Laura struggled to her feet, one hand supporting her rounded belly. "Evangeline, love, you're running on fumes. Come home with us—just for tonight. A proper meal, a shower,some real sleep. Then you can come straight back in the morning."
"I don't have anywhere to go. Mother's in the hospital herself, having more tests..." I trailed off, realising how lost I sounded.
"You're coming to ours," Spencer said firmly. "Laura's already made up the guest room. It's not negotiable."
Before I could argue further, Queen Sophia appeared in the corridor, moving with the careful precision of someone still recovering from her own ordeal at the ballroom.
"How is he?" she asked, her voice softer than I'd heard it in months.
"Stable. The doctors are optimistic." I didn't look away from the ICU doors.
She was quiet for a long moment, studying the closed doors behind which lay the man who had taken a bullet meant for us. "I owe him an apology," she said finally. "Several apologies, actually."
"You can tell him that when he wakes up."
"I will." She moved toward the elevator, then paused. "Evangeline? When he does wake up... perhaps we should discuss the future. All three of us."
It wasn't approval, exactly. But it was something more than the rigid opposition she'd shown before.
Somehow, I found myself bundled into Spencer's car, security vehicles following discreetly behind. Laura sat beside me, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand when the tears threatened to overwhelm me again.
"He's going to be fine," she said softly. "Spencer's told me stories about James from their childhood—the scrapes he got into, the risks he took. That man has survived war zones and diplomatic crises and Spencer's cooking. A bullet isn't going to stop him."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "Is Spencer's cooking that bad?"
"Catastrophic," Laura confirmed solemnly. "I'm amazed James survived this long."
The house in Notting Hill was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment. Laura immediately set about making tea while Spencer disappeared to make phone calls—probably updating the security team and checking on his own family.
"Right," Veronica announced, taking charge with characteristic efficiency. "Bath first, then food, then sleep. No arguments."
I was too tired to protest. The hot water felt like heaven against my aching muscles, washing away three days of hospital air and fear. When I emerged, Laura had laid out clean clothes and Veronica had prepared what looked like enough food to feed a small army.
"I'm not really hungry," I began, but Laura cut me off.
"Eat anyway. Your body needs fuel, especially if you're going back to the hospital tomorrow."
