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‘But us?’ Emma forced herself to ask. ‘What about us?’
For a second, no more, Larenzo looked conflicted. Tormented. Then his expression ironed out to pitiless blankness and he shook his head. ‘There is no us.’
Emma couldn’t keep herself from giving one small gasp of pain. ‘I don’t know what that man told you...’ she began but Larenzo didn’t say anything. She drew in a ragged breath. ‘You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I don’t care what Bertrano Raguso told you, because nothing makes what you’ve said to me justifiable. You say you don’t trust people,’ she continued, her voice shaking. ‘Well, I trusted you, Larenzo, and I shouldn’t have.’ A muscle flickered in his jaw, but that was all the response she got. She felt like hitting him, hurting him, and so she did the only way she knew how. ‘I hate you!’ she spat. ‘I hate you for making me care about you, and then doing this.’ And with tears spilling down her cheeks, she snatched up Ava and stormed down the hall.
Alone in her bedroom, she sagged against the door. Ava squirmed to get down and Emma let her before sinking slowly to the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her head was spinning, tears still trickling down her cheeks. How had it come to this so quickly, so terribly?
She felt as she had when Larenzo had been dragged off by the police. She felt as she had when she’d left her mother’s.
The realisation was like a lightning streak of pain. She was acting just as she had then, storming away, refusing to engage. She didn’t even remember what the argument with her mother had been about, the one that had set them both off and made Emma leave. She just remembered feeling furious and hurt and unloved, and instead of staying and battling it out she’d booked a ticket back to Berlin, where her father had been living at the time.
This time, did she possess the strength and courage not to walk away, but to stay and fight? Fight for herself, fight for Larenzo, fight for their family.
Walking away had been a way to protect herself, to pretend she wasn’t hurt when she’d spent years aching inside. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake now. She’d learned that much, at least.
Taking a deep breath, Emma rose from the floor. She picked up Ava, settling her on her hip, and then flung open her bedroom door and marched out into the living room.
The sight of Larenzo slouched in a chair, his head in his hands, made her insides twist with sorrow.
‘I’m not,’ she announced, ‘going to let you do this.’
Larenzo looked up, his hair ruffled, his skin nearly grey with exhaustion. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I’m not going to let you destroy us, Larenzo. Whatever Bertrano told you, it’s not worth it. I’m not going to let you throw away the happiness we’ve found together simply because some selfish old man is trying to ruin it for you and for us.’ She took a deep breath and then ploughed on. ‘I love you, you know. I’m not giving up. Not that easily. I gave up on my mother, when I was a teenager. Meghan helped me to see my part in the failure of our relationship. I’m not giving up on you.’
He stared at her for a long moment and then looked away without speaking. So it wasn’t going to be easy. She couldn’t say she was surprised.
‘I want to show you something,’ she said, and, setting Ava down on the floor, she marched over to the Christmas tree and retrieved a present from underneath it. She thrust it towards Larenzo; he took it, resting it in his lap, making no move to open it.
‘It’s my Christmas present to you,’ Emma stated. ‘Open it.’
He glanced up at her, and then, with a tiny shrug, he opened the present. The frame was made of silver, an elaborate twisting of ivy that Emma had liked because it was a live and growing thing, just as their relationship was. Their family was.
And the picture the frame held—it was of their family. It had been taken a few weeks ago at the playground. Emma had put the camera on a tripod and timer and run over to pose with Larenzo and Ava; their faces were all smooshed together, filled with laughter. It wasn’t a candid moment, but it was close, and it was a picture that was filled with love and happiness. With joy.
Larenzo stared down at it for an endless moment. Emma held her breath as he traced their three faces with his fingers. Then he closed his eyes briefly and her heart gave a painful squeeze. ‘Emma.’
‘Larenzo,’ she said softly, waiting.
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Finally he said, ‘Bertrano told me that he...he never cared for me. The only reason he’d ever approached me was to use me.’ He looked up then, his face so unbearably bleak. ‘So if things went wrong, he could blame it all on me. It’s diabolical, really, to use a child that way. But he did and it worked.’
