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“Okay.” Owen whistled. “Right. Have you already spoken with the police, or would you like me to contact them?”
“I’ll handle it.” Yet, as much as he knew it was the right thing to do, seeing that heart had changed something in Patrick. He didn’t know what it meant, but he had to believe it meant something. Why would Emma have risked the forgery by adding something if she hadn’t wanted to communicate with him?
It was a flimsy hope, but Patrick needed it right then.
The two men spoke a little longer, and then Owen headed back to his office. Patrick stayed behind his desk. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Emma might still walk into his office or, rather, peek around the door and give him one of her signature smiles. Despite everything, he missed her.
And maybe that tiny heart in the forged Aurora was proof that she missed him too.
Emma was the first woman Patrick had felt this way about. He knew that his feelings for her had skyrocketed after their night together, and even her betrayal couldn’t rid him of the love he knew he felt for her. He hadn’t known that he could feel this much love — or this much sorrow.
CHAPTER 17
EMMA
“This serves you right,” Emma told herself firmly. She was sitting on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, her elbow resting against the bathtub. It was a difficult morning. Ever since stealing Aurora, Emma hadn’t been feeling well, which was normal for her in this kind of situation. Ever since she was a child, she’d felt guilt and stress physically. When she was eight, she’d stolen a chocolate egg and then been so sick that her parents had rushed her to the hospital.
A month had passed. A month since she had taken Aurora and left Patrick’s apartment for the first and last time. The first few weeks, she’d been in a kind of blur. She’d just waited for the police to come to her door. But after some time went by, she realized that she wasn’t going to jail right away and that she needed to do something, at least for now.
That was when she found a job teaching art at the local community college. It didn’t pay as well as corporate espionage, but Emma felt good about enriching the minds of her students instead of stealing secrets. She still found herself looking over her shoulder for the police, was still sick almost every day, and she’d missed a few periods from the stress, but at least things were a little better.
Speaking of her new job, Emma needed to get going. She got up and brushed her teeth, then splashed cool water on her face. After catching sight of herself in the mirror, she decided that it wasn’t quite enough and settled on a full shower. Standing under the warm water felt healing for her tired and achy body.
She hoped her stress and guilt symptoms would subside soon. Otherwise, they were going to become an even bigger problem than they already were.
Once out of the shower, Emma went to her closet. It was a short walk. The apartment she’d found was a tiny studio in an artsy but old Chicago neighborhood. The only luxury item in the apartment was the art safe she’d bought to store Aurora.
She knew it was a mistake to keep the painting. It would serve as irrefutable evidence that she was the thief when the police finally caught up to her. But Emma just couldn’t bring herself to sell or destroy it. It was gorgeous, and it was the only thing of Patrick’s she had. Even if it did remind her of what could have been, she didn’t think she’d be able to bear the thought of Aurora out in the world, perhaps belonging to a collector who had no idea of the significance, or worse, destroyed to cover her own tracks.
Keeping the painting wasn’t Emma’s first mistake either. As she’d painted the forgery, her guilt and her care for Patrick had led her to make a few subtle changes. It was beyond misguided to do so, but she couldn’t help wanting to send Patrick a message. A message to tell him that her feelings for him had been real and that she hadn’t wanted to do what she’d done.
It didn’t matter now. Emma walked past the safe to her chest of drawers, where she selected a peasant blouse and a long skirt. She’d always preferred professional clothing or needed to wear it for work, but now that she was an art teacher, she was leaning into a freer type of clothing. It fit with her new profession. And perhaps it would make her ever-so-slightly harder to track down if she didn’t look the same as she had.
Once she was dressed, Emma paused in the kitchen and considered breakfast. Her stomach gave an angry roil and discarded the idea. She’d have a snack between her first two classes instead.
The one she was rushing off to now was an early morning class. It ran from seven thirty to eight thirty, which gave her students enough time to go to work afterwards. Because of that, the class was mainly attended by professionals who were trying out a new hobby or nurturing an old passion around their work schedules. They reminded Emma a little of Patrick.
The thought led Emma into a rabbit hole of wondering. Had Patrick gotten a hobby? Had he replaced Aurora with another painting, or was his living room bare now? Did he still think about her? Did he hate her for what she’d done?
Emma shook her head to clear it. Then she grabbed a coat and rushed out. The October days she’d spent with Patrick had given way to the chill of November, then to the light dusting of December snow. It was freezing out today and she pulled her scarf tighter in an effort to keep warm. It was hard to believe that it had been a month since she’d seen Patrick.
Emma had chosen her studio mostly for its proximity to the community college, as well as its price. She only had a ten-minute walk as her commute, which was nice. As usual, she arrived early. She put on a playlist of happy painting music and started straightening up the classroom to prepare for her students. Today’s class was focused on still lifes, so she also took the time to adjust her props. They included a bowl of fruit, a stack of books, and a leafy plant so that her students had options for what to paint.
Just as Emma was finishing up, her first student entered. He was a middle-aged man who worked at a local bank but who had always loved painting. He was talented, too. Emma was always impressed by his work.
“Good morning, Dwight.”
“Good morning, Professor.” He winked at her. Emma had told all her students to call her Emma, but a few of them, like Dwight, insisted on calling her “Professor” instead. “What do you have in store for us today?”
“Something great.” Emma raised her eyebrows at him, then flashed a grin. “Have a seat. Since you’re early, you get your pick.”
As Dwight made his way to a seat directly across from Emma and with a good line of sight to the stack of books, a few more students trickled in. Emma greeted each of them. She was glad she was so good with names. In her new role, she needed to learn a lot of them.
Then, a new student entered. He had sandy blond hair and an athletic build, and he was wearing a suit jacket and a tie. Emma’s mouth fell open. This couldn’t be… it wasn’t…
And then he turned and Emma saw that it wasn’t Patrick at all. In fact, this man was considerably shorter and less athletic than Patrick. Disappointment hit Emma like a tsunami and she suddenly felt near tears. Which was ridiculous. It had been over a month since everything had happened. She shouldn’t be having such dramatic reactions every time she saw someone who bore a resemblance to him.
But her emotions seemed to have been frayed by what happened. She found herself swinging between emotions like a pendulum. She was okay one moment, morose the next, then guilty in quick succession. Right now, she needed to calm herself and focus on teaching.
