Chapter 5: Found at Last

The flat whine of the heart monitor carried into the corridor, and Kieran Sterling shoved the ward door open before the nurses reached it. Iris stood over the bed, shaking her mother's shoulders and screaming Helen's name until her voice cracked. Nurses rushed past him toward the bed. Her knees buckled as they reached her, and she collapsed sideways off the edge of the mattress.

The nurse nearest the bed caught Iris under the arms before her head struck the tiles. Kieran reached them a step too late, and his hands hung in the air above Iris's limp body. He curled them into fists and stepped back to let the orderlies through.

"She fainted, sir," the nurse panted. "Help us lift her onto the cot."

"Get her a bed and a doctor," Kieran ordered, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Put every charge on the Sterling Foundation's account."

Owen picked up at once. "Sir?"

"Helen Brooks just died," Kieran announced, watching the orderlies wheel Iris out of the ward. "Arrange her funeral."

"Which funeral home, sir?" Owen asked.

"The best in the capital," Kieran instructed. "White lilies, the chapel on the hill, and a grave at Saint Anne's with a view of the harbor."

"And the invoices?"

"Every bill goes to my office," Kieran snapped. "Put her name on the headstone exactly as her daughter spells it, and call me when it's done."

"Her ex-husband holds the legal claim to the body, sir," Owen reported. "Gordon Whitmore called the ward an hour ago asking about the funeral costs."

"Buy the claim off him before he finishes his lunch," Kieran ordered, watching the ward doors swing shut. "Pay whatever he asks, then keep him outside the chapel gates on the day."

"He'll want a figure, sir."

"He'll take one," Kieran replied, "and the moment he signs it away, send me his signature."

Rain pattered on the mourners' black umbrellas at Saint Anne's Cemetery. Eleanor Sterling sat in her wheelchair at the edge of the grave with Miriam holding an umbrella over her silver hair. Iris stood alone at the foot of the coffin in a black dress, with rain soaking her shoulders.

Eleanor held out both hands, and Iris stumbled over to her chair and sank to her knees on the wet grass. The old woman pressed Iris's fingers between her own and kissed them. Her thin shoulders trembled under her black shawl.

"Helen took a bullet meant for me, child," Eleanor murmured, her voice shaking. "Today I bury my friend, and I bring her daughter home with me."

Iris dropped her forehead onto Eleanor's lap and sobbed into the blanket over the old woman's knees. Eleanor stroked her wet hair with slow, careful fingers. Then she lifted her head and glared across the grave at her grandson.

"Kieran, hold your umbrella over your wife before the rain soaks her through," Eleanor commanded, "or I'll climb out of this chair and do it myself."

Kieran stepped forward and angled his umbrella over Iris's bowed head. Rain ran off its edge onto his shoulder, and he shifted closer until it covered them both. Iris leaned against Eleanor's knees and kept her eyes on the coffin as it sank into the earth.

"Your father sent flowers this morning," Eleanor remarked, tightening her shawl. "My grandson's men turned the car around at the gate."

“He kept her medication out of reach for a price her whole illness," Iris whispered.

"Then he stays outside the fence, child," Eleanor declared, and her hand closed over Iris's. "Kieran, escort your wife to the car before she catches her death out here. Grief takes enough from a girl already."

That night, Kieran found Iris in the upstairs corridor of Ravenhill, still in her black dress, with her palm pressed against the rain-streaked window. He blocked her path to the guest room. Iris turned toward him with red, swollen eyes.

"My grandmother cried over you all afternoon," Kieran began, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Before you get ideas from her tears, hear our terms again."

"I remember every word of your terms," Iris replied.

"Then remember this part twice as hard," Kieran went on. "The contract stands exactly as written: several months, then the divorce papers. Keep your hopes to yourself, Iris, because my heart stays out of this marriage from the wedding day to the final signature."

"Your heart is safe from me, Mr. Sterling," Iris whispered. "I buried the only person who ever loved me today."

"My grandmother buried a friend today as well," Kieran countered, stepping into her path again. "She spent the drive home planning your wardrobe and my future children. Disappoint her gently, because her doctors come on Thursday."

"Your grandmother asked me to call her Grandmother at the graveside," Iris replied.

"Then call her that to her face and remember the rest of your terms in private," Kieran finished.

She stepped around him, swayed on her feet, and pitched forward. Kieran caught her against his chest before her knees hit the floor. Her head dropped onto his shoulder, and a sweet scent rose from her hair and skin, warm and soft, with a trace of orange blossom.

Kieran breathed in, and the dull ache behind his eyes eased. His arms tightened around her, and his eyelids drooped for the space of a breath. He lowered his face toward her hair and breathed in again.

Footsteps pounded up the staircase, and Owen burst around the corner with his phone in his hand and his tie askew. "Sir, we found her," Owen panted. "The woman from the Meridian Grand, the woman from that night, is waiting in the drawing room."

Kieran's head snapped up. He swept Iris into his arms, carried her into the guest room, and laid her on the bed with the blanket pulled over her black dress. Then he took the stairs at a run.

The woman in the drawing room rose from the sofa when he walked in. She wore white, with honey-blonde hair loose over her shoulders and tears shining in her blue eyes. Her hands trembled as she pressed them together against her chest.

"Kieran," she breathed, stepping toward him. "I prayed every night that you would come looking for me."