An early dinner followed by drinks at Rogue with none other than asshat extraordinaire, Mr. Lawson Wilde.
Fuck. My. Life.
As I’m thinking through ways to avoid playing chaperone to the woman I love and the idiot she’s now seeing—including, and not limited to, calling in bomb threats—I hear Emmy’s footsteps in the living room.
Shoving down my disgust at the thoughts of what’s to come, I quickly move to join her, intent on stealing a couple of minutes of alone time just for myself. But when my eyes land on her, standing in the center of the living room, scrolling through her cell phone, I stop dead in my tracks.
She’s wearing a simple A-line crocheted, spaghetti-strapped white dress that stops below her knee. Her golden tresses are pulled back in a sleek, low ponytail, and her makeup is minimal except for eye-catching red lipstick. Dainty white low-heeled sandals and a striking red clutch that matches her lips finish the look.
When she lifts her head to meet my eyes, it’s like a physical blow to my chest, and I almost stagger backward underneath the weight of how earth-shatteringly beautiful this woman is.
“Are you ready to go?”
Her question punches through the haze surrounding me, and I square my shoulders as I stand taller.
“Everything is in place. We’re meeting Mr. Wilde atDevereauxin thirty minutes.” She nods in acknowledgment as I continue. “If we leave now, we’ll make great time.”
She glances about the space, her eyes lingering on the couch for a beat before her shoulders sag almost wistfully. “Okay then, let’s go.”
We quickly make our way to the underground parking garage and pull out into Saturday evening traffic.
“The dress for the ICON gala tomorrow night was delivered while you were getting ready.”
Her eyes meet mine in the rearview, a smile lighting up her face. “I’m really excited to wear it. I don’t typically enjoy these kinds of events, but I’m presenting an award to Mimi Harper, who went to stage school with my mom, so…” She shrugs as she squints her eyes in thought. “I dunno, this one has meaning, I guess.”
Silence follows for a beat until she voices a softly spoken question. “Will you be there?”
Our eyes hold in the rearview as I wait for the light to change. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away, Emerson.”
Her eyes fill with gratitude before she drops them from mine, and I shift into drive. A comfortable silence surrounds us for a long while until we’re just minutes away fromDevereaux.
“One hundred and eleven domestic events, was it?”
I nod soundlessly, keeping my eyes fixed on the slow-moving traffic surrounding the town car.
“I don’t want to assume anything, Ford, but did you… Did you know that I?—”
Traffic comes to a standstill, and she slams to a halt when my stormy gaze finds hers in the rearview.
Call it temporary insanity.
Call it jealousy at the thought of her spending an evening with someone who’s not me.
Call it some crazy desire to heed Gray’s words about second chances yesterday…because the admission is out of my mouth before I can find it in me to care about the repercussions.
“I created Sentinel with the singular purpose of securing those contracts, Tink. So I could have some small piece of your life, even when I knew I didn’t deserve to be part of it. So that I could protect you from afar. Watch over you. Keep you safe. Cared for.Happy. Because in all the years since I left you, not a moment has passed when you haven’t been at the center ofeverythingI do.”
Her lips part when she inhales a sharp breath, and her eyes fill with a blend of confusion, curiosity, and something I can’t quite put my finger on until I shift my gaze back to the street, pulling up atDevereauxa moment later.
Without giving her a chance to question me, I slide out of the driver’s side door, noting the currently well-behaved paps waiting for their money shots of the couple of the hour before I open hers, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the pavement beneath my feet.
After slipping out of the car with the elegance of a swan, Emmy stops and places her hand over mine where I’m gripping the door handle. She brushes the pad of her thumb across the back of my knuckles ever-so-gently, and the simple gesture almost makes my heart stop.
“I’m glad you didn’t leave New York.”
I raise my eyes to hers to see she’s smiling, and I nod with a half-smile of my own. Right here, in this moment, I’m unsure of what just passed between us, yet I’m entirely positive the already shifting dynamic between us is now irrevocably altered.
“I’m glad, too.” My voice is a deep rumble from my chest, constricted by the emotions rising within me as Emmy drops her hand from mine.
