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It’s late afternoon by the time I see her Chevelle, coming from the opposite direction. I duck down—once again, dimly realizing how utterly ridiculous this is. When I sit back up, she’s no longer in the car, and I get out, locking the door behind me. I give her enough time to get up to her condo before I follow her, taking the stairs two at a time until I get to her floor. When I reach her door, I knock heavily.
“Emma?” I wait to hear movement inside, some kind of response, but there’s nothing. I knock again, harder this time, but there’s not so much as the sound of footsteps.
She’s purposefully ignoring me.
My chest tightens at the thought.Why is she so determined to stay away?If it were anyone else, I would admire her stubbornness, her ability to stick to her boundaries, but this isEmma. This is the woman I love, and I can’t let her walk away so easily.
The word slams into my head with the force of a gale wind, and my hand drops away from the door.
Love.
I love her.
It’s not the first time I’ve almost thought it. But it’s the first time I haven’t been able to stop myself.
I back away from her door, my heart pounding. The realization takes my breath away, making it hard to think clearly. I’ve never been in love with anyone. The idea that I might have finally found someone who makes me feel that way, only to lose her, is crushing.
But I can’t force myself back into her life.
Quickly, I turn away, striding back down the stairs and out towards my car. I need tothink, and I can’t do that standing on her doorstep. I should go home, but instead, I pivot, going around the building and out towards the beach beyond it. I take off my shoes, leaving them on the edge of the boardwalk as I walk down into the hot sand, welcoming the sharp burn against the soles of my feet as I shove my hands into the pockets of my joggers.
My entire life, I’ve felt sure of what it is that I should do. I knew before my father passed away that I would try to take our family in a different direction, once the Campano empire was under my control. I knew I wanted to honor the hard work that he and my grandfather and great-grandfather devoted themselves to while still making things safer for all of us, less bound to the whims of the Family. I had a purpose, and I focused on it after he was gone. I haven’t faltered, not even when Lorenzo has made it plain that he thinks I’m going too far.
But when it comes to this—when it comes to Emma—I feel completely lost.
Everything in me screams that I should go after her. That I should find a way to make her understand what we lose if we’re not together. But her independence is apartof what I love. If she believes that we’ll make each other unhappy, that we’re better off apart, how can I force her to believe otherwise?
I walk down the length of the beach for a long time, turning over memory after memory in my head. Every moment we’ve spent together, from the first evening she surprised the hell out of me when she stepped into my penthouse, to last night. We’ve gone from a curt, almost hostile introduction to the sound of her moaning my name in my ear as she fell apart around me. My entire body tightens at the memory of her underneath me, enveloping me.
I want her more than I want anything else in the world.
I go back to my car in the late afternoon, trying to decide what to do next. Her Chevelle is gone again, and that’s enough to make my destination clear. She’s going to be angry if I show up at her work, but I reason that she’s going to be angry no matterhowI approach this conversation. She ended things last night, and my refusal to give up on us is going to chafe regardless. We’re in for a fight, but I can’t let myself believe that there’s no possibility of it ending with a reconciliation.
Her car is in the parking lot behind the Night Orchid. I pull in next to it and get out, considering. The shop isn’t going to be open quite yet, but there’s a back door, and I head towards it, thinking that I’ll surprise her. I know she’s not going to be overly thrilled to see me, but I hope I can catch her long enough to have a private conversation.
The back door is open, and I step inside, walking through the open space that leads to the artists’ booths and the art studio. Emma is neither at the desk in the studio working nor at her booth, and I keep walking. I’m almost to the lobby when I hear raised voices on the other side of the break room door.
It only takes a second for me to realize it’s Rico and Emma. I hesitate, waiting next to the door. I know she’d be pissed if she knew I was eavesdropping, but I want to know what he’s saying to her.
He sounds angry, and I tense, gritting my teeth as I wait to hear what’s going on.
“That’s the last of it,” she says, anger clearly lacing her every word. “The tattoo is done. We can go back to how things normally are now.”
Rico clicks his tongue behind his teeth, and I hear a faint rustling. “This is just the fee. You’re telling me he didn’t tip you?”
Shit. In my hurry to get Emma in bed, and her hurry to leave afterwards, I didn’t tip her. I’d left her fee in an envelope on the counter, and she must have scooped it up with the rest of her things, but I’d planned to give her the tip separately. I’d wanted to try to give her more again, even though I knew she’d fight me on it.
“No.” Emma’s voice is flat. “That’s all of it, Rico. Every last cent. Can we just be done with this now?”
There’s a faint pleading in her voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, my skin prickling with anger. For a moment, I don’t entirely understand what’s going on—why he’s questioning her about the tip, or why she seems to be handing over the fee.
And then it all clicks into place, one piece at a time.
Emma’s continued worry about her finances, even though the fee for my sessions was easily double her usual rate, plus tips. Her refusal to let me pay her more, even though it would have helped her. The way she dodged all of my questions about what was going on.
I’d thought it was her independence. A stubborn refusal to let me help her with her problems, even though shewasworking for me. If I wanted to overpay, I thought that ought to have been my prerogative.
But now, it makes sense.
