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“Emory.”
She shook her head.
“Please don’t say my name like that. I’m not telling you this story to get your pity. Believe me when I say, I don’t want it. But before you walk into the lion’s den, you should know exactly what you signed up for.”
“I don’t pity you, babe. I’m in awe of your strength.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Before I could respond, she spoke again.
“I’ve struggled with my weight for as long as I can remember. While the rest of my family enjoyed trouncing around Europe during the summer, I was sent to Camp Walstead where I was starved, exercised to the point of exhaustion, and humiliated twenty-four hours a day for two straight weeks.”
The restaurant was deathly quiet, or maybe it was just impossible to hear anything over the roaring in my ears. I prided myself on the fact I could block out emotion, to become the machine I was trained to be. Right now though, as I watched a sliver of fear cross Emory’s face while she tried to shrink impossibly smaller into her seat, I cursed that ability.
Hauling in a deep breath, I slowly leaned forward with my arms outstretched on the table, palms up. It was the most vulnerable position I could think of in a pinch, and I hoped she understood the sentiment.
“You don’t ever have to fear me or my reactions, Bellezza,” I spoke quietly.
Her shoulders hunched with what I prayed was relief as the first tear fell down her cheek.
“I’m not afraid of you, Luc,” she returned. “I was worried you might upend a few tables before they brought our dinner, and Ireallywant to try the scallops.”
I barked out a laugh before sobering once again. “I’m so sorry. I’ll understand if it’s too much for you to keep going.”
“No, I’m all right.” She placed her hands in mine and squeezed. “Suffice it to say, whenever I was required to attend any dinner parties or on the rare occasion we went out, I was only allowed to order a salad.”
Yeah. Her dad was going down.
“Babe, if you ever order a salad in my presence, I’m gonna throw it across the room.”
She threw her head back and laughed.
Best.
Sound.
Ever.
*****
BY THE TIMEwe finished the main course, my stomach ached, and not because of the massive amount of food I’d consumed. For the better part of an hour, we’d exchange stories. Mine revolved around the shenanigans my brothers and I got up to in our youth, while hers centered on the kids she taught. Her dedication to her job astounded me, so I told her as much.
“I went to a private school for the ridiculously wealthy in New York,” she explained. “The teachers didn’t care whether you knew how to read or write by the time you graduated. They only cared about the number in your bank account and how they could use you to get their hands on it.”
“Then why become a teacher?” I pressed.
“Gigi.” Her face lit up as she spoke. “My grandmother on my mom’s side. She once told me her dream had been to become a teacher until she met and fell in love with my grandfather. They traveled the world for a time, since Gigi was wealthy. After she became pregnant, they settled down and engrossed themselves in the philanthropic side of the family business for a while.”
She went on to explain how her great-grandparents, although extremely wealthy, had insisted each of their children earn their place in the world.
“Gigi put off becoming a teacher to start a foundation for underprivileged youth. It was always her intention to go back to school, but one foundation led to another, then another. She’s spent the better part of fifty years making sure kids, who wouldn’t normally be able to afford college, got their shot.”
“So her dream became yours.”
“Essentially, yes,” she beamed. “How about you? River told me you were a Navy SEAL?”
“My brothers and I always knew we wanted to follow in our Pop’s footsteps and join the military, so when the time came to enlist, the Navy seemed like the perfect fit for me.”
