Not crying. She was too afraid that if she started, she would never stop.
She was alone and fraught, PMSy and empty. And although she knew that last had nothing to do with her stomach, she opened the pantry doors and studied the paltry contents. Nothing resembling chocolate. Nothing that looked remotely capable of satisfying the hollow ache in her soul.
And then, lurking in the farthest corner, she found the one and only promising item – a can of full-fat, sweetened condensed milk – and set to it with a can opener. The fancy European contraption refused to cooperate. It slid off the rim, it skimmed across the top, and finally it clattered to the floor.
Talk about the last straw. Emily lifted the can in her hand and the urge to hurl it screamed through her body. Except she didn't have a beef with either the can or the wall that would bear its brunt. Her frustrated anger wasn't even with Annabelle for casting aside everything Emily most desired, or with Mitch for his blind stubbornness.
No, she was mad as hell for allowing herself to be a victim, for inviting circumstances to come up and take a big bite. She was mad enough to grab her overnight bag and her car keys and head for the door … but not so mad that she didn't pause to jot a note.
Then she strode out the door into the cold winter night. She didn't know where she was going, but she could not stay here a minute longer.
* * *
Mitch exited the lawyer's office and let his breath go on a long sigh. Relief, closure, satisfaction – a whole myriad of emotions rolled through him as he paused to study the envelope in his hand. His ex-wife's death certificate, the last piece of documentation necessary for him to marry Emily, and getting it had been surprisingly easy … surprising because he'd expected some glitch. Nothing about his dealings with Annabelle had ever been simple.
A corner of his mouth twisted as he recalled that scene with Emily earlier in the day. Nothing with her was turning out easy, either, and he needed to start figuring out a way to simplify things instead of complicating them every time he opened his mouth. Uneasiness stirred through him, a vague sense of … hell, he didn't know what, but it sent him striding out into the foyer. His head came up, startled, when he saw the burly figure pacing the corridor outside.
"Randall."
The man halted, expelled a harsh breath. "You got what you came for?"
"Yes." And Mitch could have kept going – almost did keep going – but for the pain etched on his ex-father-in-law's face. Not an easy thing for him, knowing what the envelope in Mitch's hand contained. "I'm sorry I had to ask for this."
Something flickered across Randall's face, eased in his stiff posture. He nodded. "I wasn't going to come here – Janet didn't even want me to hand over the certificate. She was the one who couldn't meet with you that day you came to the lodge."
"She still blames me?"
"She still … hurts."
Mitch remembered Janet Blainey's hurt very clearly, even on some level understood that she'd needed to lash out, to direct it at someone. "And you?"
"The rawness has healed enough to see things more clearly," Randall said candidly. "You weren't responsible for her choices. I hope you know that."
"A couple of hours ago someone else told me the same thing."
"Did you listen?"
"I should have."
Yeah, he should have listened, and to more than the words rolling from Emily's tongue. He should have listened to the things left unspoken, to the silent message in his heart. He should have started listening a long time ago.
"I know Joshua would love to see you and his grandmother. I left my contact details with your lawyer, but I'd prefer to deal directly with you and Janet." He offered his hand. "I'm glad you did come here today."
"Me, too, Mitch. Me, too." The other man's eyes glinted with moisture as he accepted the handshake, a gesture that felt like closure on past understandings and a new beginning.
That notion settled inside Mitch, a remarkably comfortable fit that hurried his progress out into the street. Suddenly he needed to be home, with Emily, listening to his heart. As he hailed a taxi, the cool splash of rain on his face turned his gaze to the evening sky. He hadn't even noticed that it was starting to rain.
* * *
Mitch saw the vacant car space where he'd parked the SUV beside his truck earlier in the day, and alarm sliced through him, chillingly sharp. Surely she hadn't taken it into her head to go driving, not with night falling with the same sudden, winter speed as the rain. Unable to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs to the third floor two at a time while his heart bumped against his ribs with the frantic beat of fear.
He flicked the light switch as he came through the door, and the sudden burst of illumination caught the note on the hall stand, anchored by a can of milk. Mitch went cold, ice-cold. For one numb moment he couldn't move, couldn't feel, couldn't see anything beyond that single sheet of white paper, the same as she'd left before.
No, not the same as last time. He let the door fall shut behind him with a solid thunk that mobilized his stalled mind and heart and limbs. This time he wasn't letting her go. This time he would find her, this time— His gut clenched with renewed fear as he scanned the short note. She had taken the SUV. Heart racing, he strode to the phone and tapped out her cell phone number with a clumsy, leaden finger. Twice he had to stop and start again. Then he chanted, "Come on, come on," as he waited through ring after ring after ring. An interminable time that stretched his nerves to snapping point before the ringing stopped and he heard her soft voice.
"Hello."
"Thank God." He pressed a hand to his forehead, to the light-headed spinning relief. "Where are you?"
"Didn't you get my note?"
"Yeah, I got your note. What the hell possessed—" He sucked in a breath and forced himself to resume in a more reasonable tone. "Just tell me where you are, and I'll come and get you."
The beat of a pause stretched between them before she said, "There's no need – I'm fine. No, I'm better than fine. I've just driven from one side of Sydney to the other." In her voice he heard dawning wonder and a growing strength of purpose. "I did it by myself and I'm going to keep on doing that."
"Emily, be sensible and—"
"You know, Mitch," she interrupted, "I'm not that sensible, and I'm not always practical and I'm very rarely even tempered. Basically, I'm not the person you want to marry."
Stunned, Mitch sat. Held his spinning head a second before his temper flared again. "You're wrong, damn it. You are the only person I want to marry."
But he was listening to a dial tone. She'd not only run away, she'd hung up on him. A tight, edgy smile curled Mitch's lips as he strode back to the hall stand and grabbed the keys to his truck. For once he didn't mind the sharp irritation that blazed through his blood. It kept the icy bite of terror at bay.
* * *
Driving back to Plenty through the misty rain, Mitch's temper didn't stand a chance against the insidious chill of dread. By the time he pulled into the Korringal yard, his bones ached with fear. The house sat in darkness, no lights, so when he saw the SUV parked in its half of the double garage, overwhelming relief quashed any remnant anger.
She was home.
But not in her room, he discovered with a pang of alarm. A half-unpacked bag sat on her bed with several of her many bears, but not Emily. He found her two minutes later, curled up asleep in his bed, and his whole being surged with intense emotion even as he slumped against the doorjamb.
His first impulse was to haul back the bedclothes, climb in beside her, and wrap her tightly in his arms. His second exercised more restraint. For several seconds he stood beside the bed and simply watched her. Here, safe in his bed. He didn't know what that meant, but it had to be good.
Then he flicked on the bedside lamp and sat on the side of the bed, touching the fine silk of her hair where it spread across his pillow, her cheek, her brow, and – as she slowly came awake – her sleepy smile of recognition. That welcome turned his heart.
"You're home," she said, her voice as soft as that smile.
"So are you, and I can't tell you how thankful I am." Remnant fear still shivered through his blood, reminding him, roughening his voice when he continued. "Don't ever run away again, Em. I don't ever want to walk in the door to one of those notes again."
Something shifted in her eyes, a different kind of recognition, as she came fully awake. When she started to wriggle, trying to sit up, he pinned her under the tightly stretched bedclothes with a hand each side of her shoulders.
He held her gaze steadily and Emily swallowed. It didn't seem possible that she could have woken to find Mitch here, leaning over her, eyes glowing with something that looked like… No, she had to be dreaming. Somebody pinch me.
"You're not running away or hanging up," he said firmly. "You're staying right there while we talk a few things through. Right to the end of the conversation this time."
So, okay, a metaphorical pinch would do the trick. She definitely was not dreaming, yet the reality did not faze her. She had driven all the way from Sydney in the rain, and she felt strong and proud, as if nothing could daunt her ever again.
"What happened?" Mitch asked quietly. "Why did you decide to take your first city drive on a wet night?"
"After our disagreement, I got good and mad and I couldn't stay in that apartment. I couldn't just sit and not do something positive, something for myself. I decided to take that drive, although I didn't know where I was going until you called."
"You sound pretty pleased with yourself."
"I am." A smile hovered around the corners of her mouth, just bursting to get out. "I did it, Mitch. I conquered those demons all by myself, and it feels very good."
"Not sensible, not practical, but … good." Was he teasing? Hard to tell with his face darkly shadowed. Regardless, Emily wanted to explain – she needed him to understand. "About that … what I said on the phone. I know I've always strived to be the kind of person you described. I guess I went overboard trying to please my mother, my family, whoever. But that's not who I am, not in my heart, and I'm sick of acting calm and even and practical when I'm churning up inside."
He touched her cheek. "If you hadn't hung up, you would know what I think of who you are."
Definitely not teasing now. There was no laughter in his eyes, just solemn purpose. "I didn't want to argue with you," she said.
"Then don't. Just listen to what you missed." As if to illustrate his seriousness, he pressed his fingers against her lips. "I do want to marry you, Emily, but not for the reasons I thought. When I held you this morning, when you put your head against my chest and your hands on my waist, what I was feeling—"
He broke off, shaking his head and the rough edge to his voice, the depth of emotion in his eyes, sent Emily's hopeful heart soaring.
"I should have told you then. I shouldn't have let things between us slide, but I was overwhelmed. Terrified. And I just wanted to get that lawyer's appointment over with."
"Did you see Annabelle's parents?" she managed.
"Randall, afterward, and that was good. Things will be all right," he said, almost offhand, as if she'd diverted him from his purpose. Then he focused again, his gaze strong and intent on her face. "But that's not what the appointment was about. I needed her death certificate, Em, so we can marry."
Oh, dear Lord. No wonder he'd been tense, edgy. Emily's heart ached for him, and she struggled to free her arms, her hands, wanting to touch him, hold him, but he leaned closer, keeping her trapped.
"It wasn't the greatest time for me to experience these huge feelings, to know I was about to put my heart out there and risk another failure." His eyes, steady on hers, were filled with hope, full of promises. "I love you, Emily, even though I didn't want to feel like this about anyone."
"Again," she added softly.
"No, not again. How I feel about you is unique."
Then, as if he saw the objection, the question, the lingering doubt in her eyes, he bent down and kissed her, a brief, tender melding of lips that sang in Emily's blood.
"I stopped loving Annabelle a long time ago – I don't think I ever loved her enough – but I kept trying for Joshua's sake and because of my own stubborn pride. It took me a long time to accept that the marriage was finished, and just when I did … the accident."
And that terrible, dark night when Emily had yearned to ease his anguish.
"Why did you run away?" he asked, and she didn't know if he had read her thoughts, or which particular "running away" he meant. It didn't matter – the same answer applied.
"Because I loved you, Mitch. I couldn't stay." And it was her turn to quiet his protest with a telling look. Her turn to spill her heart. "I loved that ridiculous sense of honor that wouldn't let you take advantage of me even when you were drunk. I even loved you for trying to save your marriage, but I didn't think you would ever love me. Not in the way I yearned for…. I can't believe that you do."
Toward the end her voice started to waver, and when he told her to, "Believe it, sweetheart, it's true," her eyes, like her heart, overflowed with joy.
"For pity's sake," she said, with a very unromantic sniff, "I can't seem to stop these tears lately. If I ever do get pregnant, I can't imagine the hormonal water-works."
The hand he lifted to brush away those tears paused. "You're not…?" and when she shook her head, he added an emphatic, "Good."
Emily's heart stalled. He really sounded as if he meant it. "You don't want a baby?"
"What I don't want is you marrying me to have a baby, or because you're having one. I want you to have choices, Em, always, and I realize I've messed up, big-time, in that department."
"You're doing a pretty passable job of making up for it," she said, meeting his eyes, smiling through the tears.
"I hope like hell you choose to marry me, to be my wife, but it needs to be your choice. Because you love me and want to spend the rest of your life with me. If you want to get married on the top of Mount Tibaroo wearing ski suits, then we'll do it. However, wherever. Your choice."
Emily huffed out a breath, speechless, completely blown away. "Would it be all right," she managed, eventually, "if I choose to be let free of this straitjacket? Because I really need to be held right now."
And when he did let her free of the restraining blankets, when his arms were wrapped around her and her head lay cradled against his shoulder, she told him that there was no choice to make. She told him she loved him but hated ski suits and she told him, again, how much she loved him, and then she laughed with pure happiness, laughed even though the tears were spilling from her eyes and he was holding her so tight she would probably be bruised. Then she considered asking him to pinch her, but didn't.
This was no dream. This was real, this man, this love, this future. Real and strong and hers.
* * *
Epilogue
«^
Emily chose a spring wedding in Julia's garden. When Chantal and Julia couldn't agree on bridesmaids' dresses, she calmly and practically ditched the idea of attendants … except for Joshua, who carried the rings and didn't argue at all. Chantal did get to organize everything from the eighty handwritten invitations to the reception food to the teddy bear wedding favors. She did not choose the music.
Mitch added another arrow to his writer's quiver, penning a personalized service with twin themes: success and choice. As a wedding present, he handed his bride the deed to her grandfather's house. Emily gifted her husband with news of her pregnancy, and when A Risky Business hit number one on three bestseller lists, she organized a surprise celebration complete with one of Julia's special cakes.
After the last guests left, Mitch planned on playing out his raspberries-and-cream fantasy. Instead he rushed his wife to the maternity ward of Cliffton Private Hospital. Much to Joshua's delight, the baby was a boy.
* * * * *
A TEMPTING ENGAGEMENT Page 14