by Avery, Joy
Christian’s jaw flexed, and she wondered what words he bit back. As if he’d never posed the question, his eyes left her. But a blink later, they settled on her again.
There, in his penetrating stare, the questions lingered. She hadn’t done a grand job of answering them back then, and she doubted she’d do much better now. Before any words could escape past his lips, she intervened. “Don’t, Christian. Please.”
Their gazes held a long time, each passing second reminding her she’d made a mistake two years ago. She’d made the wrong decision for what she thought were the right reasons. Now it was too late to make things right.
As crazy as it seemed, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he still felt something for her. Of course, the voice in her head worked to debunk the thought with its own unsolicited commentary:
Why are you deluding yourself? He’s getting married. Married! M-A-R-R-I-E-D. The only woman he has feelings for is his fiancée. Fiancée! F-I-A-N-C-é-E.”
Cleary, the voice in her head thought she was not only delusional, but illiterate, too. Though harsh in its approach, she couldn’t dismiss it. Maybe she was delusional to think that after what she’d done to him Christian could still love her.
Chapter 7
By the time Christian and Emory arrived at the hospital, it was a little after twelve. They’d swung by the auto body shop to get some things Emory needed from her vehicle. It would be at least another three days before her car was ready.
The second they walked into Ms. Anne’s room, Christian knew he was in trouble.
“Jordyn? What are you doing here?” Emory asked.
Jordyn flashed a quizzical expression. “I spent the night, remember?” She smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. “Christian, what did you do to my sister to make her suffer memory loss?”
Emory shot Jordyn a scowl that could have leveled a mountain. He was smart enough not to entertain the question. Instead, he flashed his palms. Before long, he was sure he’d be dealing with his own form of Emory-wrath. Especially when she discovered he’d lied about Jordyn going to class.
“Did you not go to class? You know I don’t like you skipping class?”
Jordyn’s brow arched. “Class? I didn’t have class today. Why’d you think I had class?”
When Emory slid a narrow-eyed gaze in his direction, Christian flashed a half-smile.
“You said my sister asked you to pick me up because she had class.”
He’d had a feeling that lie would come back to bite him in the ass.
Jordyn snapped her fingers and popped her forehead. “You know what? Yes, I did tell Christian that. It totally slipped my mind. The class was cancelled. Last minute. You know how that goes.”
Emory tossed suspicious glances at them both, but didn’t call either of them out. Instead, she shook her head and neared her mother sitting on the side of the bed and wrapped the woman into a warm embrace.
When Emory excused herself to assist their mother into the bathroom, he turned to Jordyn. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But you know she didn’t buy that, right?”
Oh, he knew. “I’m sure she’ll let me know that later.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Christian.”
Why did he get the feeling he wouldn’t like whatever it was? “Sure. Anything.” He regretted the anything part the second it slipped out.
Jordyn tilted her head to one side. “How does that work, exactly?”
Confused, he said, “How does what work?”
“How do you marry another woman when it’s painfully obvious you’re still in love with my sister?”
The statement took him by surprise and Jordyn must have seen it on his face.
“Tough question, huh?” She tossed a glance toward the bathroom door, obviously to make sure Emory was still on the opposite side of it. “I love my sister, Christian, and I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“I would never hurt Emory, Jordyn. You know that.” Despite how much she’d hurt him.
“I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt her. But what do you think is going to happen when you and your wife ride off into the sunset?”
This time, Christian glanced at the closed bathroom door.
“She still loves you, Christian. And I know you still love her. But you have to walk away.”
The bathroom door cracked open and Emory and their mother exited. The smile on Emory’s face faded away. Had she sensed the tension in the room?
“What’s going on?” Emory asked.
“Nothing,” Jordyn said, playfully. “Just catching up with Christian.”
Christian slid his hands in his pockets and flashed a forced smile.
Any future inquiry Emory intended was thwarted by the entry of their mother’s doctor. Christian watched the man’s lips move, but he hadn’t heard a single word. Jordyn’s words bounced around inside his head like a ping-pong ball. As much as he hated to admit it, she’d been right. He needed to walk away. But how?
“Christian?”
Emory’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Do you mind playing chauffeur once more? I think it’ll be easier for mom to get in and out of your SUV than Jordyn’s Hyundai.”
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Thank you.”
She eyed him a second, as if trying to read his mind. Oh, she definitely didn’t want to be in his head now. His tangled thoughts would frighten her. Hell, they even alarmed him.
By the time Ms. Anne was actually discharged, it was close to four in the afternoon. Christian had made plans to have dinner with his grandmother at six. He still had plenty of time to get home, shower, and make it to the manor with time to spare.
“Earth to Christian,” Emory said. When he faced her, she laughed. “What’s going on with you? At the hospital. Now. You keep zoning out.”
Ms. Anne chimed in from the backseat, sparing him from having to answer Emory.
“Handsome fella. Can we get doughnuts?”
Christian eyed Ms. Anne through the rearview mirror. “Pretty lady, you can have whatever you want.”
Ms. Anne grinned like she’d just been crowned prom queen.
Emory eyed him as if he’d committed a crime. “What?”
She glanced over her shoulder at her mother, then back to him. In a muted tone, she said, “My mother is like a boisterous five-year-old when she gets sugar. Jordyn and I will be chasing her around the house all night.”
“Raspberry,” her mother yelled.
They both laughed.
When they settled, Emory eyed him again. God, she was beautiful. “What did I do this time?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Her focus shifted through the windshield, but moments later drifted to him again.
“Come on. What?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his tone.
“Thank you. I won’t forget everything you’ve done for me.”
“And a vanilla milkshake,” Ms. Anne blurted.
Christian smirked, then eyed Ms. Anne through the mirror again. “Anything you—”
Emory jabbed a finger at him. “Shush.”
He grabbed her hand and pretended to bite her finger. The feel of her flesh against his caused a tingle inside his palm. After what he’d experienced in the hospital lobby when he’d held her shaking body in his arms, he’d vowed to keep his hands to himself. She clouded his already foggy judgment.
Emory chuckled. “Pay attention to the road. You’re carrying precious cargo.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“No one’s holding my hand,” Ms. Anne said.
Christian and Emory exchanged confused glances.
“Mom, what are you—?”
Emory’s eyes lowered and his followed. Their hands were locked in an intimate hold. Emory cautiously pulled away from him. He rested his hand in his lap and made a fist to preserve the lingering sensation.
How in the hell ha
d that happened? Him holding her hand and neither realizing it. It didn’t take him long to craft the explanation: their connection had always been so natural.
The rest of their trip was made in silence. When they pulled into Ms. Anne’s driveway, he stared at the two-story powder blue house. It brought back a lot of memories. Some of the best moments of his life had been made inside that love-filled house.
Ms. Anne opened her door and slid out. She didn’t protest the fact they hadn’t stopped for doughnuts and milkshakes. He just assumed she’d forgotten she’d asked for the things. If only he could forget his feelings for Emory with such ease.
“I’ll help you get your mother inside,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He half expected Emory to play her usual superwoman role and protest his assistance, but she didn’t.
“Okay. You ready, Mom?”
The way Emory cared for her mother filled him with a great deal of respect for her—even more than he already harbored. She was so endearing and loving toward the woman. She hadn’t lost her nurturing manner.
Ms. Anne swatted Emory away, then clung to his arm. “I want handsome to help me.”
“I got it,” he said.
“Yeah, he’s got it,” said Ms. Anne.
Emory flashed her palms. “Fine.”
When they opened the door, they were greeted by the toppled Christmas tree. Icy blue bulbs—some whole, others shattered—littered the hardwood. A black Santa topper rested near a worn dark gray recliner.
“Oh, dear.” Ms. Anne said, resting her thin hand on her chest. “What a mess.”
“Don’t worry about this, gorgeous. I’ll make it just like new,” Christian said.
Ms. Anne beamed. “You’re such a good man. You remind me of my husband.” With a delicate touch, she patted his cheek. “I’m glad you asked for my daughter’s hand. I’m proud to call you my son.” Ms. Anne released her hold on him. “Can we play some Christmas music?”
A nervous smile slid across Emory’s face. “I’m sorry about that. With this disease, she can see something on television and believe it actually happened. The other day she asked if she could go with me alligator hunting. She’d been watching Swamp People.”
“I understand,” he said, but knew Ms. Anne wasn’t recalling some random moment she’d seen on TV. The day before Emory had ended their relationship, he had asked her mother for her hand. He’d just never got the opportunity to propose. “Don’t sweat it.”
Ms. Anne cranked the radio. Chuck Berry’s “Run, Run Rudolph” blasted through the speakers.
Emory yelled over the deafening music as she crossed the room. “Mom, maybe we should turn it down a little. We don’t want the neighbors to call the police on us for disturbing the peace.”
“I guess you’re right,” Ms. Anne said. “I think I’d like to take a nap, dear.”
“Okay.” Emory excused them and disappeared down the hall.
Christian started the task of erecting the Christmas tree. It was a bit unstable, and he was concerned it would topple over again. Tomorrow, he could— He abandoned the thought. There would be no tomorrow. He needed to distance himself from Emory. It was for the best. He’d have a rental car delivered so she wouldn’t have to work around Jordyn’s schedule. That’s the least he could do.
He was partially responsible for why she didn’t have her car, but he didn’t regret having it towed. That hunk of metal had been on its last leg. He’d purchase her a new car, if he thought there was any fraction of a chance she’d accept it.
By the time Emory returned, he’d almost finished with the cleanup.
“Christian, you didn’t have to do this. I could—”
Without warning or thought, he snatched Emory into his arms. “Watch out.”
As suspected, the tree did a nosedive, barely missing her.
Emory stared up at him with tender eyes. Her gaze trailed to his mouth, but only lingered there a short time. “That…was close,” she said in an unsteady tone.
“Yeah, it was.” Too close. Kinda like they were now.
Emory’s hands rested against his chest, his arms around her waist. If there were ever a time he needed strength, it was now. Staring into her inquisitive eyes took him back to the first time they’d met. He recalled the bold statement he’d made to her that day, both soaking wet under a massive oak tree: “You’re going to be my wife.” He’d only known her an hour, but he just knew.
Christian followed Emory’s gaze to the mistletoe that dangled above their heads. Who was he to argue with tradition? “Have you ever been tempted to do something you knew was wrong? Dead wrong. But the temptation to do it outweighed all of the potential risks and outcomes.”
“Yes.” Her eyes slipped to his mouth again. “Oh,yeah.”
“What did you do about it?”
“Nothing. I knew if the decision of whether or not to do it tortured me, then it wasn’t something I should do.”
Emory closed her eyes as he dragged the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “Sometimes…doing nothing is easier said than done. Sometimes…it’s not even an option.”
Little mattered in those seconds. Not their derailed past. Not his impending wedding. And certainly not his fiancée. With commonsense neglected, Christian lowered his mouth as close to Emory’s as he could get without actually kissing her. Their warm breaths swirled, mixed into a sweet elixir that proved powerful enough to paralyze.
The moment was so intense, so heavily charged with desire that his head spun. His body reacted in the manner any man’s body would react when he wanted a woman more than he wanted his next breath. His hardness strained against his zipper, his heart punched against his chest.
No woman had ever made him want more out of life than the woman before him. She’d made him want more, made him do more, made him understand what being a man—a good man—was all about. That particular lesson was the one that gave him the strength to pull away.
Christian released her and stepped away. When Emory’s lids slowly opened, they stared at one another. Understanding flickered in her eyes, but it didn’t make his decision any easier. Without a word, he hurried out the front door and down the stairs. Emory’s footsteps clanked behind him.
“Christian,” Emory called from the porch.
Keep walking. Unfortunately, the command didn’t make its way to his brain soon enough. He stopped but couldn’t bring himself to face her.
“Look at me,” she said. When he didn’t, she repeated her request, “Look at me, Christian, please.”
“I can’t,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I…” He sighed heavily. “…can’t,” he said in a mumble.
“Do you love her?”
He could hear the emotion in Emory’s voice and imagined tears streaming down her cheeks. The image cut him to the core. With balled fists, he said, “Don’t— don’t ask me that, Emory.”
“Do. You. Love. Her? It’s a simple question. Do you—?”
“Yes!” He swallowed the painful lump in his throat. “Yes… I love her.” With that, he made haste to his vehicle, slid behind the wheel, crank the engine, and was gone.
The entire drive to his grandmother’s house, he played one scene over and over in his head: Emory’s mouth inches from his. He struck the steering wheel and a pain shot up his arm. But it was nothing compared to the one that’d tore through his heart as he stood in Ms. Anne’s yard and lied to her daughter about loving another woman.
Christian sat in the vehicle a moment to get his thoughts together. He was already an hour late; what would another ten minutes hurt? He’d already earned himself a lecture on punctuality. Taking a few deep breathes and pushing what’d taken place between him and Emory to the back of his mind—for now—he exited the vehicle.
When he entered his grandmother’s house—an eight bedroom, ten bath mansion—he regretted not cancelling. Could he really entertain a lecture right now? No. Not tonight. Every hint of energy he’d possessed had been used to walk away from Emory. Could he stay
away? That was the million dollar question. God, he felt so trapped, caged like a bird just wanting to be free.
“You’re late,” his grandmother said behind him. “And no call.”
The woman was as light on her feet as a ballerina. He rotated to face her. “I apologize,” he said, kissing her cheek. “My phone died.”
She cocked a brow. “Really?”
As always, Amelia St. Claire was her usual suspicious self. Christian beamed at the pecan-toned woman, flawless from head to toe. “Is POTUS joining us for dinner?”
“If the president were, I’d be awfully embarrassed at the tardiness of my grandson. This is something I expect from Chauncey, not you.”
Chauncey and their grandmother had always been like oil and water. He imagined it was because no matter how hard she’d tried, she’d never been able to quite control Chauncey as she had Christian. And it wasn’t so much that she was able to control Christian, he simply found it less taxing to occasionally give in than to constantly wage war with her. She didn’t go down without one hell of a fight.
“Again, I apologize. I lost track of time,” he said.
“Very well. Come. Let’s eat. I had Toliver keep dinner warm.”
Inside the grand dining room, Christian pulled out the chair for his grandmother. Once she settled, he took a seat next to her.
“I really dislike when you do that,” she said.
“Do what?” Of course he already knew what she referred to.
“You know what. Don’t play dense with me. I dislike when you sit there. You should take your place at the head of the table, opposite me.”
“That was grandfather’s seat. Besides, I like being close to you.”
At the right angle, one could consider the twitch at the corner of her lips a smile, something she did infrequently. Though she hadn’t always been so serious.
Over dinner, they shared small talk: his settling into North Carolina, the construction of St. Claire Aeronautics, the wedding. The latter caused Christian to lose his appetite.
“What’s wrong? Is the duck not to your liking? I think it’s delicious.”