The Night Before Christian

by Avery, Joy

  “You will call Yasmin and tell her something urgent has come up… Death in the family, the flu, I don’t care. Just as long as she knows you will not be involved in our w—” He paused, his jaw muscles flexing, then relaxing, then flexing again. “You’ll do it today.” Each word he spoke was taut and exact.

  Something about his authoritative tone corrupted her thoughts of them actually having a cordial conservation. He—of all people—knew she didn’t take orders. Especially from him. Emory bolted to her feet. “Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to? Your fiancée hired me to do a job, and I damn sure intend to do it.” So much for keeping her emotions in check.

  “Over my dead body.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  He ground his teeth so hard she thought his jaw would snap out of place. A beat later, he released a sound that could be construed as more of a mock than jovial laughter.

  “Not everyone’s a big time aerospace engineer. Some of us need the money because—” She stopped abruptly, breaking off the string of words before revealing too much. He wouldn’t care that her mother’s health issues were sending her to the poor house. He simply wanted his way.

  “Is that what this is all about? You’re hard up for a dollar?” He reached into his pocket, removed his wallet, snatched all of the bills from inside and tossed them onto the table. “There you go.”

  Twenty dollar bills scattered over the dark wood. His actions infuriated her so much a bout of nausea washed over her. Why did everyone in this family believe she could be bought? Even if she were contemplating quitting before, there was no way she would now. Staring him square in the eyes, she said, “You’re going to need far more than that to cover my bill. And I’m not quitting.”

  A vein pulsed in the center of his forehead. “Like hell you’re not.”

  Who was this man who stood in front of her? This hardened shell was not the warm and loving Christian St. Claire she once knew. He turned to leave, but she wasn’t going to allow him the last word. “When did you become such a heartless bastard?”

  Christian stopped mid-reach of the doorknob. His body tensed and he seemed to struggle with whatever thoughts raced through his head. Over his shoulder, he finally said, “When the only woman I’ve ever loved spit that love back in my face and showed me she never truly cared for me at all.”

  He was never one for hiding his true feelings from her. A beat later, Christian yanked the door open with so much force Emory swore it would come off the hinges. Though his words briefly froze Emory, awareness returned before Christian escaped.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” She slammed her hand into the door and banged it shut. Under any other circumstances, being this close to the man who’d taken her body to places she could only label as uncharted territory would have rendered her unable to speak. But with the degree of anger coursing through her, the words came readily. “How dare you say that to me? That’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve always loved you. I’ve never not loved you. What I did then, I did for—” She stopped abruptly. Calming her tone, she said, “You don’t know everything, Christian.”

  His shoulders slumped and eyes grew weary. “I know I loved you. I know I loved you more than I loved myself. I know my life was supposed to have been with you. I know you walked away and never looked back. I know that now I’m doing the same.”

  As bad as she wanted to wrap her arms around him, tell him she’d loved him with the same intensity—still loved him—she couldn’t. Swallowing the painful lump of emotion in her throat, she repeated, “You don’t know everything.”

  Through clinched teeth, he said, “I know enough.” Staring into her eyes, he said, “Stay away from me, Emory.”

  His words cut her to the core, but the hurt, the pain, the torture she witnessed in his eyes told her it was useless to say any more. She stepped aside and allowed him to exit. What was the benefit in telling him that just because she’d let him go, didn’t mean she’d wanted to, or that she’d walked away to protect him and the only life he’d ever known.

  Goodbye, Christian.

  She never imagined she’d be uttering those painful words again in this lifetime. He bolted through the shop door without as much as a glance back in her direction.

  Emory fell against the doorjamb. How could he not believe she’d ever loved him?

  “You’re wrong,” she mumbled. “You’re so wrong.”

  She’d displayed unconditional love in its purest form—sacrifice.

  Chapter 2

  From the second Christian entered his brother’s place—ten minutes—ago, he’d paced the floor. Why in the hell was he letting his encounter with Emory get to him? She was his past. A past that’d come to a screeching halt with no more than an “I need space” as an explanation.

  He couldn’t shake her from his thoughts, or what she’d said. “You don’t know everything?” The words had bounced around in his head since he’d left her shop. What didn’t he know? It doesn’t matter. At least, he was damn sure trying to convince himself it didn’t.

  Of all the flower shops in Raleigh, how in the hell had he walked into Emory’s? The moment had played out just like a movie. Their eyes locking, both bewildered, neither able to turn away. And the attraction… His attraction to her had been off the chart. Clearly, his body had no qualms about betraying him.

  She’d looked good. Damn good. Swearing under his breath, he cursed himself for even allowing such thoughts to materialize. He didn’t want to think about how damn good she looked. He didn’t want to think about how damn nice she smelled. He didn’t want to think about her period, dammit.

  Floral designer extraordinaire? When in the hell had she taken an interest in floral design? Giving it some thought, they hadn’t spoken in years. He was sure she’d developed an array of new interests.

  “Christian, man, please sit down. You’re giving me motion sickness,” his younger brother Chauncey said.

  Christian massaged the stiffness in his neck. “Can you believe she had the audacity to tell me she wasn’t quitting? Like she has a damn choice,” he said more to himself than Chauncey.

  “Come on. You, of all people, should know how headstrong Emory is. And the harder you push…”

  Chauncey was right. She was as stubborn as a constipated mule. That was one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with her. She never took shit from anyone. Including him. Especially him. That definitely hadn’t changed. At least, the taking shit from him part.

  Chauncey fell back against the cushion of the chair he occupied. “Cut her some slack. She’s had a rough year.”

  This slowed Christian’s steps, the words fully garnering his attention. “Rough year? What happened? What’s going on? Is everything all right?” He stunned himself with the amount of concern present in his voice.

  “Damn. Take a breath,” Chauncey said with mock humor in his tone.

  Christian shot him the bird. When the laughter settled, Chauncey’s expression turned serious. Whatever had his brother so bothered wasn’t good.

  “Her mother’s Alzheimer’s Disease is progressing. It’s taking a toll on Emory.”

  Fine lines etched across Christian’s forehead. “Alzheimer’s? When was Ms. Anne diagnosed with Alzheimer’s?”

  “Like two years ago I believe. You didn’t know?”

  Christian dropped into the sofa across from his brother. “No, I didn’t.” Alzheimer’s? He’d seen the devastation of this condition up close and personal. His grandfather had succumbed to the effects of the dreaded disease. Ms. Anne’s diagnoses had to have come after he and Emory had broken up. Damn. Not Ms. Anne. He’d loved that lady. “Emory has to be taking this hard. They were really close.”

  Chauncey nodded. “She is. She refuses to put her mother in a facility. She wants to keep her in familiar surroundings.”

  Christian kneaded at the tension in the crook of his neck. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “She’s also footing the bill for her mother’s pla
ce and ’round the clock care.”

  That didn’t surprise him either. “How do you know all of this?” Better yet, why hadn’t he shared any of this with him before now? Then it hit him. Chauncey probably thought he was sparing him by not bringing Emory up. It’d been a good call.

  Chauncey smirked. “I keep my ear to the ground.”

  By looking at Emory, Christian wouldn’t have known all she was going through. As always, she was a picture of perfection. This had to be hell for her. For a brief moment, it angered Christian that Chauncey knew more about Emory’s life than he did. But once the sentiment passed, he reminded himself that these weren’t his burdens to bear. Emory was no longer a part of his life. Well…a part of his intimate life.

  Chauncey cuffed his hands in front of him. “She came close to losing her shop a few months back. Taking care of two households and helping to put her sister through college… It’s draining her. I offered to help, but of course she turned me down. She said she don’t take handouts, then promptly told me to stay the hell out of her business.”

  Christian chuckled. Yep, that was Emory. Strong-willed and stubborn. Trying not to appear overly interested, he said, “I’m guessing she found a way to save her shop. Seeing how she’s taunting me from it.”

  “For now, at least. Some floral design magazine did a piece on her. She got a boost in business from the article. It was a nice write-up, too.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I might have a copy if you want to read it.”

  Christian scrubbed his hand down his face, ignoring the taunt in Chauncey’s words. “I’m good.”

  Now he understood why she’d refused to step away. She needed the income. He thought about the comment she’d cutoff about needing money. As hard as he fought it, regret flooded him. The way he’d treated her gnawed at him with razor-sharp teeth. Her sad brown eyes staring up at him haunted his thoughts. Damn. Why’d he have to be such an asshole to her?

  “It must have been one hell of a shock walking into the room and seeing Emory sitting there.”

  A shock? That would be the understatement of the year. Plus, it didn’t come close to what he’d felt—anger, confusion, anxiety. Yet, through all of those negative emotions, he’d also felt a sense of calm he hadn’t experienced in so long. Standing so close to Emory, his body had done things that no soon-to-be married man’s body should have done for any woman other than his fiancée.

  Scattering the troubling thoughts, he refocused on their conversation. “Let’s just say it took me by surprise.” One helluva surprise.

  Chauncey lifted his beer from the table and took a swig. “Just in case you’re wondering, she’s single. Never could replace you, I suppose.”

  When Chauncey smirked, Christian tossed one of the red holiday pillows at him. “Go to hell.” Christian laughed along with his brother, but his thoughts lingered on what Chauncey had just said. Still single? Why hadn’t someone snatched Emory off the market?

  A silence fell between them, allowing a hard dose of reality to settle into Christian’s head. “I’m getting married,” he said. Why in the hell did the thought knot his stomach into a painful ball? Shouldn’t he be floating or something?

  Chauncey inched to the edge of his chair, rested his elbows on his thighs, and cupped his hands in front of him. The move signaled deep conversation would follow. “It’s just the two of us here, bro. What’s said doesn’t leave this room.”

  Christian studied the serious expression on his brother’s face, then nodded. “Go ’head.”

  “If Yasmin hadn’t gotten pregnant, would you have proposed to her?”

  Christian reclined against the plush cushion and hugged an identical red pillow to his chest. “I’m a St. Claire. St. Claire men don’t run away from their responsibilities.” Unless of course you were their father.

  Chauncey barked a laugh. “That sounds like some shit Matriarch would say.”

  Matriarch was the name Chauncey affectionately called their grandmother behind her back. If the stern woman had any idea, she’d probably cut him from her will. She wasn’t beyond trying to control people with money. And that included her grandsons.

  “I did what I thought was the right thing to do,” Christian said.

  “So, that’s a no.”

  Christian shot him a scowl. “She was carrying my child. I didn’t want to be like our father and leave his kids to—” He stopped abruptly, remembering how sensitive Chauncey got when it came to their part-time—make that their no-time—father. “Anyway, I did what I felt needed to be done. After the miscarriage…” His words trailed off.

  Even though he hadn’t planned on Yasmin getting pregnant, he’d truly started to welcome the idea of becoming a father. Then the accident. Christian’s heart ached at the memory. How life could change in the blink of an eye.

  “Do you love, Yasmin, bro? Truly love her. The way you and I know a man should love the woman he’s intending to spend the rest of his life with. Do you love her the way you loved Emory?”

  There was no woman alive he could love the way he’d loved Emory—or would dare to love the way he’d loved her. “Don’t do that psychology shit on me. And don’t try to give Emory any shares of my heart. At one time, she owned the majority, remember? She cashed them in when she—” He pushed to his feet, his anger swelling. Why in the hell did Emory’s dumping him still get such a rise out of him? “I need another beer,” he said, despite not having finished the first.

  Chauncey trailed him into the kitchen. “Don’t marry this woman, Christian. Not if you don’t love her. And definitely don’t marry her because Matriarch says it’s what you should do.”

  “Grandmother has nothing to do with this. I’m my own damn man.” He slung the fridge door open. “I care about Yasmin.”

  “You care about Yasmin? Bro, this is the woman you’re about to pledge the rest of your life to. You need to do more than care about her.”

  Christian rolled his eyes away from Chauncey and rummaged inside the refrigerator. Chauncey wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t considered himself.

  “Considering the degree of concern you showed a moment ago, I have to ask... Are you still in love with Emory?”

  Christian whipped toward Chauncey. “Why in the hell would you ask me something so comical?”

  “Comical? Funny, I don’t hear you laughing.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  Chauncey continued to rouse him, but Christian paid him no attention.

  “This is me you’re talking to. Admit it. You’re still in love with Emory.”

  Christian sighed heavily, then slammed the fridge door. Brushing past Chauncey, he said, “I’m going home. Call me when you get some damn sense.”

  “Oh, I’m not the one who needs to get some damn sense. I’m not the one in denial. Just admit the obvious. You’re still in love with the one who got away.”

  Christian whirled around. “Yes, dammit. I’m still in love with her. You happy now?”

  Chauncey rested a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “No. I’ll be happy when you decide not to make the biggest mistake of your life by marrying the wrong woman.”

  Christian snatched up his coat. “Well, if Emory were the right woman…she’d be the one I was marrying, wouldn’t she?” He started for the door. “I guess you should get used to being unhappy, because I’m marrying Yasmin.”

  ***

  Emory yanked up another ornament and haphazardly placed it onto a limb of the artificial Noble Fir Christmas tree. A second later, the glass bulb tumbled to the floor, shattering. “Damn.”

  “Okay. What’s up with you, Em?” her sister Jordyn asked, using the nickname she’d given her when she was younger. “You’re normally ecstatic about decorating for Christmas. That’s the third bulb that’s met its fate in your hands.”

  “Nothing,” she snapped.

  “Well, excuse me.”

  Emory closed her eyes and rested her hand over her forehead. After releasing an exasperated sigh, she turned to Jordyn. “I
’m sorry. It’s been a tough day.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Did she really want to relive her confrontation with Christian? The thought of rehashing it made her temple throb. “No. Really I don’t.”

  But in true Jordyn fashion, she didn’t take no for an answer. “You know what mommy used to say about keeping things bottled up.”

  “Things burst under pressure,” they said in unison.

  Emory studied Jordyn a moment. “Christian came by the shop today.”

  Jordyn squealed. “I knew it. I knew it. I knew you two would find your way back to each other. And at Christmas. How romantic is that?” She gazed off starry-eyed. Refocusing, she said, “Tell me everything. Every single detail. Did he confess his undying love for you? Did you confess yours for him?”

  If either of those things had happened, did Jordyn really think she’d be here decorating a tree? “He’s getting married.” The words left a sour taste in her mouth.

  Jordyn sobered quickly. “What do you mean he’s getting married?”

  “A bride. A groom. A church. I do.”

  “What the hell, Emory?”

  “Shh,” Emory hissed, “before you wake mom.”

  They both glanced down the hall in the direction of their mother’s bedroom.

  Jordyn dismissed her warning with a swipe of the hand. “He can’t marry someone else. He’s yours.”

  Jordyn was wrong. He wasn’t hers any longer. And his presence in her shop cruelly reminded her of that fact. “He can and he will. In a few weeks. And guess who’s doing the flowers?” She flashed a tight smile. “Me.”

  Jordyn’s eyes widened. “You’re shittin’ me.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “Are you freaking insane? You can’t do the flowers for this wedding. You’re in love with the groom. Oh, this is bad. This is really bad.” Pity gleamed in Jordyn’s usually playful brown eyes. “Are you okay?”