"Harsh," Cherry said. She turned to Alia and shook her hands, a pitying look on her face. "My condolences. He’s your problem now. I’ll send you a fruit basket as an apology."
Alia blinked in surprise. Surely staying with Matteo wouldn’t be that terrible? His house seed clean enough when she stayed over! Besides, realistically, even if Matteo was too lazy to clean his own ho, wasn’t he rich enough to hire a cleaner or two?
"Thanks, I think?" Alia cocked her head. "But I don’t think living with him would be that terrible..."
"You have no idea what you’re in for," Cherry said ominously before she turned back to Matteo and smacked his arm. "Be good to her, you hear ?"
"I don’t need you to tell that," Matteo grumbled. "I will treat her as well as she treats . Is that fair enough for you?"
"Yes," Alia and Cherry said in unison, and Cherry shot her a bright grin.
"Then I wish you a happy marriage. Your lovely stepmother is going to have a ball of a ti when you drop the news to her. Or when she sees it on the news. She will be thrilled!"
As though highly entertained by the thought, Cherry’s lips twisted into a wicked grin, and she chuckled a few tis.
"Co on, Alia, let’s go shopping! You’ll need to furnish your new ho!"
Cherry ca forward, all too eager to loop arms with Alia, but was quickly yanked away by Matteo by her collar.
"What the hell are you doing―?"
"Let go," Matteo simply stated, his expression unchanging. "Can’t you see that she’s unwilling to leave?"
He gestured at Alia, who looked dumbly back and forth between Matteo and Cherry. This dynamic was still boggling her brain, but Matteo had one thing right― she wasn’t willing to leave the hospital, not when her father could wake up at any ti.
With the reporters still gathered outside as well, Alia wasn’t willing to take any chances. They could very easily sneak under the radar and camp out in her father’s room in order to get the latest scoop. She wouldn’t underestimate their desperation to get a good story, be it truthful or not.
"My father is still in the ward," Alia explained.
She wasn’t sure why she needed to explain, but she wanted to desperately. Perhaps it was because she knew for a matter of fact that Matteo’s family would no doubt despise her once they found out about their engagent, and Cherry was most likely the only one of Matteo’s kin who wouldn’t imdiately hate her guts.
"Right," Cherry said, her voice softer. "I saw that on the news too. How’s your father?"
"Recovering," Matteo swiftly cut in, irritation lacing his words. "I have hired the best doctors for him. He will be discharged in no ti. Now go on. I am sure you have things to do, considering how it’s currently still working hours."
"You’re not even paying as good as you are paying Alia," Cherry muttered under her breath, but it was all too clear she had been joking. She plastered on a bright smile as she waved at Alia, and she spun, her heels clicking on the floor once more. "Catch you later then, Alia!"
She was gone as quickly as she ca, and Alia could spot Cherry charging through the horde of reporters wanting to get a word with her, considering how they watched her converse with them. Alia wondered if they would stalk her back to the club.
"She will be fine," Matteo said. "Cherry has been through her fair share of public appearances."
He moved closer to her and hovered his hand at the small of her back, making sure not to touch her directly.
"How about we wait in your father’s ward? There’s more privacy there, and we can ask the doctors for more information."
Alia numbly nodded, and with Matteo leading the way, they trudged towards where Michael Kentwood was resting.
As they traveled down the corridor, they walked past a couple of older folk. Most of them did not look like patients, dressed from head to toe in designer wear and fancy jewelry. They were almost at Michael Kentwood’s ward, the door only a few steps away, when Matteo’s phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.
"Hold on," he said. He frowned when he read the contact na. "I have to take this. Head in first without ."
"Is everything alright?" Alia asked, and Matteo only offered her a nod before turning away to receive the call.
She reached for the hem of her clothes, pinching and clawing at the fabric. It had been Ronan’s na, Alia was sure. She hadn’t ant to peep, but her gaze had naturally fallen on Matteo’s screen. Perhaps the news had already spread far and wide, but instead of working like they hoped it would, it only made matters worse.
However, Alia had no ti to worry about these things. There was no use in it too when she had other matters in hand. Wherever she could help, she would, but there wasn’t a point in worrying about the matters that were out of her control.
Turning, she headed straight for the door, only to be stopped by a wrinkled hand. It clasped hers, and she was tugged a step away. The person holding her hadn’t used much force, and if Alia’s mind hadn’t been running astray, perhaps she wouldn’t have even stumbled. However, her mind was preoccupied and it led to her tumbling into an older man’s arms.
She looked up to see a wrinkled old man, most likely in his sixties, as he stared tearily into Alia’s eyes.
"I..." She stuttered, looking left and right in panic before trying to tug her hand back so that she could create so distance between them. "I’m sorry―"
However, for a senior, the old man was fairly strong. One of his hands held the walking cane, while the other tightly grasped Alia’s hand in his.
"Elaine? Is that you?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)