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He cupped her cheek and forced her to look him in the eyes. “You are. Both inside and out. You’ve survived so much. You’re so brave.” He paused, gazing at her with so much love, she could feel it in her heart. “Have you decided which name you’re going to use from now on?”
Emily bit her lip. Mark had asked her about it on the plane and she’d been contemplating her options ever since. “I’m torn. Emily is who I’ve become in the last few years. It’s who I think of myself as.” She frowned. “But there’s so much baggage with that name.” She sighed. “There’s so much baggage with my real name, too.” She glanced up at Mark. “I don’t want to be associated with my family. But here, I’m associated with the Café.”
“I did some research on the plane while you were sleeping.” Mark leaned back and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Your chosen name, Emily, means ‘striving.’” He smiled. “It fits you.”
“What does Emma mean?”
He tilted his head and cupped her cheek. “Whole.”
“Really?”
Mark nodded.
“Whole,” Emily whispered, her mind wrapping around the idea. A name formed in her mind. “Emma Dawson. Real first name, chosen last name.”
Mark smiled and then made a face.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He pressed his lips together for a moment, then blew out a breath. “I was thinking Pierce could be a nice last name for you too.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open and Mark blinked.
“I mean, not right now but...” He cupped her cheek again. “Someday?”
Emma searched his eyes. He wanted to marry her?Her?A former prostitute marry Mark Pierce?
His eyes held all the sincerity she could imagine. Anything seemed possible these days, so why not marriage to an amazing, talented man she’d had a crush on since she was a pre-teen? “I think I’d like that.”
His eyes lit up and he grinned. “You would?”
She nodded.
“Something for us to look forward to.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. “I love you, Emma Dawson.”
“I love you, too, Mark Pierce. So much.”
Fifty-Eight
Six MonthsLater
Mark glanced at Emma, waiting in the wings of the Kennedy Center Concert Hall clutching his old violin. The DC Symphony Orchestra had just come back from the intermission of their last concert of the season, and he headed back to his seat as concertmaster.
Maestro Novak walked out onto the stage with a flourish, as usual, and Mark shook his head and allowed himself a small smile. He’d come to terms with Maestro’s style and eccentricities. It had been an interesting six months, staying in one place, playing with the same group of musicians every week.
It was comfortable. He loved being able to see Emma any time he wanted. He loved seeing her smile up at him from the front row at the DCSO concerts, sitting next to David and Abby. She flourished in her job as David’s assistant. Weekly therapy sessions were helping her work through what had happened to her, and she had been volunteering at a women’s shelter, which she said was the best therapy of all.
Emma had told him David and Abby had stopped sleeping around on each other and had been working on their marriage. Mark was glad they’d found their way back to one another.
Maestro walked to the microphone and cleared his throat. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for coming back after intermission, having no idea what we’re going to play.” He laughed along with the audience and musicians. “After a long discussion between myself and Mark,” he glanced back and nodded to Mark, “we decided to keep the last few pieces a surprise, to keep you on your toes.” He smiled. “In all truth, though, we have a special piece with a very special guest musician for you first. Then, we will conclude our season with the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E Minor. I promised Mark we would play it this season in hopes of convincing him to stay on with us another year.” He glanced back at Mark again, who stood and nodded. “I see we have convinced him!” Maestro lifted his hands in triumph and the audience applauded loudly. “First, Mark will introduce our guest musician and the piece they will play together.”
Mark’s heart pounded as he stood and walked to the microphone and shook Maestro’s hand. It had taken quite a bit of convincing all around to let this next piece be performed, but he’d pulled every string he had to make sure this night was perfect. It hadn’t been a difficult decision to stay on another year, either. Not with Emma blossoming in her new job and life. Not with the friends he’d made in the orchestra, though he’d been strictly platonic after that one crazy night.
Why would he leave all that behind?
