34. Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
D eclan
The next day, as I drive Rachel back to the airport, I notice her watching me out of the corner of her eye. It’s not the first time she's done it. She’s been giving me odd looks since yesterday, and part of me thinks that she’s only doing it to get a rise out of me.
If so, I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
Amelia lounges in the back seat, her eyes glued to Madam Thornley's journal. She's ignoring the two of us, so the silence in the car builds. We haven’t turned on the radio, so the only sound is the smooth hum of the car and the near silent whoosh of the AC.
But then Rachel suddenly starts humming and tapping her finger on the dashboard until I finally break. "What?"
She grins crookedly and says, "Nothing."
She says it in that sing-songy "I know something you don’t know" tone, which means she likely wants to get her fill of teasing me first before she tells me what’s on her mind.
"I’m not going to ask you again, Rachel," I say. "If there’s something you want to say, then say it."
"If you two are going to fight, can you do it quietly?" Amelia grumbles without looking up. "I’m reading and it’s getting good."
"We’re not going to fight sweetie," Rachel says in the same syrupy sweet tone. "I was just thinking about your dad’s girlfriend and how nice she is."
"Emma is nice," Amelia says distractedly.
"Super nice," Rachel corroborates. "Almost too nice for him."
"Where are you going with this?" I ask because I know this conversation has to be leading somewhere, and I doubt I’ll like the destination very much.
"I just think it would be a shame for a sweet young girl like that to get her heart broken," she continues. "Don’t you think?"
My hand tightens on the wheel. The guilt that had been suppressed by all the chaos now returns to the foreground, loud in the quiet of the vehicle.
I shouldn’t be with her.
I distinctly recall my earlier resolve to give Emma up. Just a few days ago, I made that promise to myself, but with the break-in unresolved, I decided to push it off.
But at least, I can admit to myself that it’s mostly because I’m not ready to let Emma go yet.
Being with her is now often the highlight of my day. Hearing her talk, seeing her smile, touching her, kissing her...how does any red-blooded man just let that go?
Something tells me that breaking up with her is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done and I'm just not ready for it yet.
"Emma is a nice girl," Rachel says in French so that Amelia doesn’t understand what she’s saying. "She’s not the type to play the type of games that I used to play and frankly, I don’t think she would if she even wanted to. She doesn’t deserve to be used and dumped."
"I know that," I reply in French. "You think I don’t know that?"
"Then why are you toying with her?"
"Who says I am?" I glance at Rachel, noting the shock on her face when I say, "I didn’t intend for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to be attracted to her or feel things for her."
"Things?" Rachel is so shocked that this time it comes out in English. "You feel things for her? Things like what?"
I glance at the rearview mirror, but Amelia is still engrossed in the journal and isn’t paying any attention to either of us.
"I don’t know," I admit, even though I instantly regret telling Rachel anything in the first place. "I don’t know what I feel."
That hushes her up for a few seconds, but now she’s staring at me as though I’ve sprouted two heads in my neck. And this time she doesn’t need me to prompt her to tell me what she’s thinking because, after a few seconds, she says again, in French, "You’re falling in love with her aren’t you?"
"Don’t be ridiculous," I scoff, but the concept doesn't sound as ridiculous as I want it to sound.
"I’m not." She shakes her head still staring at me in amazement. "I mean I suspected it yesterday when you kept fussing at her, but now I’m almost certain that you’re falling in love with her."
"Aren’t you the one who told me that I wasn’t capable of loving anyone?"
"Yes, because that's what I genuinely thought. I’ve never seen you in love with anyone before, not even me and I tried my hardest to get you to fall in love with me. You tried hard to fall in love with me too." She taps her chin as she muses, her smile turning a little snide. "But now I see that it’s because you’ve never met anyone like her before. Isn’t it?"
I remain silent. I feel trapped and I don't think there's any response I can give to escape this dilemma.
On the one hand, she’s completely correct that I’ve never met anyone like Emma and have never felt these...things for anyone else either.
No matter how much I try to fight it, these feelings of tenderness and care continuously creep up. I want to protect her from anything and everything because the thought of anything bad happening to her makes me go a little crazy.
But all that doesn’t mean I’m falling in love with her.
Love, as I understand it, is something else, something all-encompassing that blinds judgment and makes people weak.
It's not something I can feel or ever want to feel for anyone even if I could.
But if there is someone I could love, it would probably be Emma.
Rachel chuckles in the wake of my silence and faces forward once more. "Oh, this is going to be good."
I think the conversation is done after I drop Rachel off, but on the ride back, Amelia finally looks up from her book to say.
"Dad."
"Yeah.
"Mom’s right, you know. Emma’s a good person. I don’t want her to get hurt."
I glance at her in surprise. "How much of that did you understand?"
She rolls her eyes. "My French isn’t great, but I’m not an idiot either. I know you guys were talking about your relationship with Emma and she was telling you not to hurt her. Right?"
Pretty accurate.
"I don’t intend on hurting Emma," I say.
"Do you love her?"
Like mother, like daughter. What is their obsession with whether or not I love Emma? "Don’t you have a diary to read?"
"Yeah. I have a few more questions for Emma’s grandpa. You think he would know why V kept asking Madam T where the Pink Pearl was kept?"
"What? I thought it was displayed in the hotel."
"No. Only on the night of the gala or other special occasions. Apart from that, it was hidden away somewhere no one else knew. V wanted Madam Thornley to ask the staff if they knew where it was kept." She frowns. "Why didn't he just ask the staff himself?"
"I don't know," I tell her, relieved for the change of subject. "We're meeting Emma at the hospital in a little bit. You can ask Grandpa then."
She nods. "Okay."
The question must have remained on Amelia's mind throughout the car ride because she's itching to ask practically from when we arrive at the hospital.
In the cool, sterile-scented hospital room, Grandpa is chatting with the doctor and Emma, but he turns to grin at Amelia when we walk in.
"My curious Amelia!"
"Hi, Grandpa," she says, hoisting herself onto his hospital bed. "I'm almost done with the journal."
"Really? That's amazing, sweetheart."
She grins proudly and says, "Why did V want Madam Thornley to ask the staff where the Pink Pearl was kept? Why didn't he just ask you guys?"
Grandpa frowns. "Well, I'm not quite sure. But I got the feeling her fiancée wasn't fond of us. Perhaps, he didn't want to lower himself into associating with the staff." He rubs his chin. "Although, I don't know why he would be asking us anyway. None of us knew where they kept the Pink Pearl. He would have been better off asking the hotel manager."
"Why did he want to know in the first place?" Emma piped in.
"I'm not sure," Grandpa says. "Perhaps curiosity? Although the man didn't give the impression that he particularly cared about the Pink Pearl or believed in its magic. I heard him call it a bunch of hokey once." He shoots me a sidelong glance. "Reminds me of someone else I know."
I raise my eyebrow and Amelia and Emma giggle.
I leave them to it and go to work. I may not believe in the magical powers of the Pink Pearl. But I do have to admit that odd things have been happening lately. And I seem to have an almost supernatural level of bad luck.
When I arrive at the office, now arranged by the cleaning team, the foreman has more bad news for me. "Our lumber shipment has been delayed by a week."
I feel like ripping my hair out. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Yeah sorry," he says, chagrined. "I don’t know what’s going on."
I sigh. "Figure out what's causing the delay and get back to me."
"Yes, boss," he says and practically runs out of there.
After he leaves, the phone rings.
I answer without looking at the caller ID. "What?"
"Well, you seem like you're in a good mood," my father says.
"Sorry. There’s been some complications with the reconstruction."
"Meaning?"
I don't want to tell my father about the problems yet, so I say, "Don't worry I'm figuring it out." And then I pause. "Back in the day, when you stayed at the hotel, did anything particularly unlucky happen?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, strange things. Things you couldn't explain."
"Don't tell me you're suddenly believing in all that hocus pocus now?" My father sounds amused.
"No. Never mind," I say, rubbing my hand over my face. "I must be losing my mind."