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Emma was the first person I ever felt I could be myself around. I was raised by a suit-and-tie self-made man who expected me to follow in his footsteps, a man who laughed at my artistic endeavors and interests, a man who wouldn’t know a Monet from a Chagall if his life depended on it—fortunately for him it never did.
Emma spoke my language.
And now, so does Sloane.
I’m not sure what a man like me did to deserve to strike gold twice in one lifetime, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The more I think about the way Sloane came into my life, the way she left an impression on me, the way she cracked my facade like it was nothing . . . the more I’m convinced this entire thing was orchestrated by Emma.
I would never admit that. Not out loud, anyway.
I’m self-aware enough to know that it sounds insane.
But it’s a feeling.
A knowing.
And that’s what Emma promised all those years ago . . . she’d give me a sign, and I’d simply know it was her.
“You should get some rest,” Sloane says, adjusting her arm across my chest. She doesn’t mention the girls, but we both know it’s Saturday. I promised Harper I’d be home no later than eight, and Theodora will be rolling in around nine.
Someday soon, I’ll have her meet the girls.
I’ll merge my two worlds.
I have no doubt they’ll love Sloane—I just have to make sure the time is right.
Until then, I’ll soak up these early-morning moments with every waking breath.
“Go back to sleep,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about me.”
I could easily sneak a nap in while Theodora takes the girls out, but the sheer adrenaline of last night’s sold-out exhibit, combined with the fact that Sloane is back in my arms where she belongs, brings me far too much excitement to allow for that.
“If you stay up, I’m staying up,” she says, peering up at me. A slow smile spreads across her lips—lips that are swollen from all the things I’ve done to them the past several hours.
All the things she’s done to me too . . .
I’d suggest we watch the sunrise together, but there are far too many buildings in the way. We could order room service breakfast, dine on the balcony, and watch the city wake up. What I wouldn’t give for a million more mornings just like this. Simple and serene.
“Close your eyes,” I tell her. I won’t have her sacrificing rest on my account. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SLOANE
“Oh,” I say when I walk in the door to my apartment. “Hi.”
Margaux is seated at the kitchen table, her hair sporting fresh curls and her eyes looking particularly restful, considering recent events.
A stack of plastic totes is shoved against one of the walls, containing what’s left of her belongings.
“Hi,” she says. “I texted you . . .”
My phone died. I was planning on coming straight home after work last night, so I didn’t leave with a full charge.
“Do you have a minute?” She slides the chair out beside her and gifts me a hopeful stare.
“Yeah, of course.” I take a seat, placing my bag on the table and facing her.
“I just want to start out by saying I hate when we fight,” she says. “And I hate not talking to you.”
I begin to remind her she’s the one who went radio silent on me, then think better of it. I get the sense she’s about to apologize . . . maybe?
“So I’m moving into that apartment,” she says, eyeing the totes across the room.
“I gathered that.”
“I put an envelope on your nightstand with my half of the next three months’ rent,” she says. I’d almost forgotten our lease is up in three months.
“Really?” I ask. “You’re having babies, and weren’t you fired?”
She lifts a finger. “I wasn’t fired. I resigned.”
I lift a brow. “Oh, okay.”
“Theodora and I had a long talk. She apologized for pressuring me to date her nephew. She said she didn’t realize I was equating that with getting that promotion,” Margaux says, adding, “But then she went on to say she was very disappointed that I wasn’t honest with her. She said she always saw me as the daughter she never had, that she only wanted the best for me. She said she wasn’t going to fire me, but the next thing I knew, I was telling her I was resigning effective immediately.” Margaux rolls her eyes. “This is going to sound silly, maybe, but it was the way she looked at me. It wasn’t the same. I don’t think it’ll ever be the same again. And I didn’t want to show up at the office every day and have her look at me. I didn’t want that daily reminder of failure.”
