Alina
“You know,” Erick stated. “You could at least pretend to be happy. Your dad’s gonna think I’m slowly torturing you to death, and that won’t be healthy for him.”
“You know,” I deadpanned, “you could at least pretend to shut up sometimes. It’s really healthy for you.”
“Ha ha.” Erick glared. “You’re not funny.”
I glared back at him.
Kendrick, Erick’s chauffeur, cleared his throat to get our attention.
“What?” we asked in unison and turned to resume our glaring crescendo.
“Master, ma’am, we’ve reached the hospital,” Kendrick said, all cool and professional as if he hadn’t just tolerated our bickering for the past twenty minutes.
That was when we noticed that we were sitting in the parking lot of the city hospital.
Erick was out the door and beside mine in an instant, pulling
