“Please, stay away from me!” He held up trembling hands. “Don’t come any closer!”
The guards at his door moved towards Pa.
“No,” said Emeline, throwing up her hands. “Please. I’ll go. I’m the one he’s afraid of.”
Before the hot tears spilled down her cheeks, Emeline turned on her heel. Wrenching open the door between their rooms, she stepped through and shut it tight behind her. Sucking in a lungful of air, she fell back against the wood.
The man you knew and loved is gone, Emeline.
She shook Joel’s voice from her head.
It isn’t his fault.She gripped her arms, hugging hard.He’s frightened.
But Emeline was frightened too. Not so long ago, it had been Pa who chased away her fears. Who told her she wasn’t alone. Back when it had been just the two of them against the world.
And now?
With her shoulder blades pressed against the door, Emeline sank downwards until she hit the stone floor. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she buried her face in her soft silk gown.
An overwhelming wave of loneliness crashed through her.
I want to go home too,she thought.
This yearning, this ache—for someone to take her in their arms and tell her everything was going to be okay—was it so wrong? Was it weak to want to be taken care of, just for a day, or an hour, or even five minutes? The way Pa used to take care of her.Before.
Memories flooded her then, of the old Pa. The Pa who was not just a grandfather, but a father and teacher and friend. Strong and stern, loving and tender. Cleaning and bandaging a scrape on her knee. Letting her fall asleep in his lap while theywatched movies together, then carrying her to bed. Teaching her how to prune and pick grapes. Trying his best not to cry as she left him to chase her biggest, oldest dream.
The strangest thing was, all those nights when she fell asleep in his lap, he’d whisper,One day, you’re going to forget me, duckie.
How wrong he’d been.
ELEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING, SHEwoke to the sound of someone knocking. Emeline pulled the covers over her head, willing the noise to go away. After the horrors of yesterday, she wanted to sleep for a hundred years. Wanted to dream this all away.
The knocking turned to pounding.
She forced her groggy eyes open, then pulled back the white canopy. The golden sun was only just cresting the trees outside her windows.Dawn.The time she usually fell into bed.
“Please go away,” she croaked, turning over and pulling a pillow over her head.
The pounding continued.
Emeline groaned, threw back the covers, and hauled her tired body out of bed. Halfway to the door, she passed a mirror and stopped dead.
Squinting hard, she found a miniature nightmare staring back. She’d fallen asleep in the pale gold dress, which was now a rumpled mess. Her long black hair was as tangled as a bird’s nest, and her face …
Bloody hell.
The deep, dark shadows beneath her eyes were hardly theworst of it. Gold dust smeared her right cheek; her left was creased with pillow marks.
She briefly considered trying to make herself presentable but decided not to. People who pounded on other people’s doors at this godforsaken hour deserved to be greeted by small horrors. Gritting her teeth, Emeline swung the door open.
Hawthorne Fell stood in the frame, arms crossed, scowling down at her.
Apparently, he wasn’t a morning person either.
“What areyoudoing here?” She tried to sound scathing, but her voice came out soft and croaky from sleeping.
