Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(31)

Perhaps that was why I felt such pressure to date someone “appropriate.” I didn’t want to disappoint my grandfather, too. He’d warmed up to Sabrina, but he’d had a conniption when he first found out about her.

“He’s waiting for you inside.” Nikolai flashed a lopsided grin. “Just don’t hover or he’ll kick you out too.”

I managed a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll wait here,” Rhys said. He usually insisted on following me everywhere, but he seemed to know I needed alone time with my grandfather.

I gave him a grateful smile before I stepped into the hospital room.

Edvard was, as promised, awake and sitting up in bed, but the sight of him in a hospital gown and hooked up to machines brought back an onslaught of memories.

“Daddy, wake up! Please wake up!” I sobbed, trying to break out of Elin’s grasp and run to his aside.“Daddy!”

But no matter how loud I screamed or how hard I cried, he remained pale and unmoving. The machine next to his bed let out a flat, steady whine, and everyone in the room was yelling and running around except for my grandfather, who sat with his head lowered and shoulders shaking. They’d forced Nikolai to leave the room earlier, and now they were trying to get me to leave too, but I wouldn’t.

Not until Daddy woke up.

“Daddy, please.” I’d screamed myself hoarse, and my last plea came out as a whisper.

I didn’t understand. He’d been okay a few hours ago. He went out to buy popcorn and candy because the palace kitchen ran out and he said it was silly to ask someone to fetch something he could easily get himself. He said when he got back, we would eat the popcorn and watch Frozen together.

But he never came back.

I overheard the doctors and nurses talking earlier. Something about his car and sudden impact. I didn’t know what it all meant, but I knew it wasn’t good.

And I knew Daddy was never, ever coming back.

I felt the burn of tears behind my eyes and a familiar tightening in my chest, but I pasted on a smile and tried not to let my worry show.

“Grandpa.” I rushed to Edvard’s side. I’d called him Grandpa when I was a kid and never grew out of it, but now, I could only say it when we were alone because the address was too “informal” for a king.

“Bridget.” He looked pale and tired, but he mustered a weak smile. “You didn’t have to fly all the way back here. I’m fine.”

“I’ll believe it when the doctor tells me so.” I squeezed his hand, the gesture as much reassurance for myself as it was for him.

“I’m the king,” he harrumphed. “What I say, goes.”

“Not for medical matters.”

Edvard sighed and grumbled, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he asked about New York, and I caught him up on everything I’d been doing since I saw him last Christmas until he got tired and dozed off in the middle of my story about Louis’s unfortunate wine spill.

He’d refused to tell me how he ended up in the hospital, but Nikolai and the doctors filled me in. Apparently, my grandfather had a rare, previously undiagnosed heart condition that was usually latent in patients until extreme stress or anxiety triggered it. In such cases, the condition could lead to sudden cardiac arrest and death.

I nearly had cardiac arrest myself when I heard that, but the doctors assured me my grandfather’s case had been mild. He’d fainted and had been unconscious for a while, but he didn’t need surgery, which was a good thing. However, the condition didn’t have a cure and he would need to make major lifestyle changes to reduce his stress levels if he didn’t want a more serious incident in the future.

I could only imagine Edvard’s response to that. He was a workaholic if there ever was one.

The doctors kept him in the hospital another three days for monitoring. They’d wanted to keep him a week, but he refused. He said it would be bad for public morale, and he needed to get back to work. And when the king wanted something, no one refused him.

After he returned home, Nikolai and I tried our best to convince him to offload some responsibilities to his advisors, but he kept brushing us off.

Three weeks later, we were still at an impasse, and I was at my wits’ end.

“He’s being stubborn.” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice as I guided my horse toward the back of the palace grounds. Edvard, sick of both Nikolai and I nagging him to heed the doctor’s warnings, had all but kicked us out of the palace for the afternoon. Get some sun, he said. And leave me to stress in peace. Nikolai and I had not been amused. “He should at least cut back on the late-night calls.”

“You know how Grandfather is.” Nikolai came up beside me on his own horse, his hair tousled from the wind. “He’s more stubborn than you are.”

“You, calling me stubborn? That’s rich,” I scoffed. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who went on a hunger strike for three days because Grandfather wouldn’t let you skydive with your friends.”

Nikolai grinned. “It worked, didn’t it? He caved before day three was over.” My brother was the spitting image of our father—wheat-colored hair, blue eyes, square jaw—and sometimes, the resemblance was so strong it made my heart hurt. “Besides, that was nothing compared to your insistence on living in America. Is our home country really that abhorrent?”