23. Emmeline
23
Emmeline
T his wasn’t supposed to happen.
I was supposed to be right about her.
Emmeline was meant to have been a liar. A manipulator. A threat.
She was meant to have been trying to play us.
But then, Uri left, and she broke. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t scream or accuse, didn’t make demands or pleas.
She just… let him go.
That was the moment I felt it—this sick, sinking feeling curling in my gut. That’s the moment I realised how badly I’ve fucked up.
I left her.
I abandoned her.
And the worst part of it all is that she never once believed we’d do anything else. In her heart, we confirmed what she already suspected—that she wasn’t worthy of love, that she wasn’t worthy of an alpha , a mate .
Evander’s yelling last night only put to words what I was too much of a coward to admit. We weren’t the ones being played— she was .
So, now, I’m sitting here in the same restaurant that I usually visit with clients. I should be thinking about the deal we closed here last week, the weeks of buttering up that took place at this very table.
Instead, I’m waiting on a man who has every right to hate me, and I’m praying that I can get him on my side.
Because, for the first time in so long, I actually give a damn about getting it right with a woman.
And this woman—she’s everything.
My mate. The mother of my child.
The woman who will soon be the love of my life.
A deep cough pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up to see a familiar pair of piercing green eyes.
“Thank you for meeting me,” I say calmly. I rise from my chair, extending a hand out. My grip is firm, unwavering, as I hold eye contact with Evander.
His green eyes darken, irritation simmering beneath the surface, but I don’t back down. He’s sauntered over to my table with the effortless arrogance that all alphas seem to have, but it doesn’t impress me.
He doesn’t impress me.
His presence takes up too much space, his dark chocolate and coffee scent thick and cloying. His posturing is a desperate act, a way to try and force me into submission.
I’m a beta, not an alpha, and he doesn’t seem to understand that this trick won’t work on me. I spend my days surrounded by alphas who rely on pheromones and presence to overpower.
I’m smarter than that.
I can be rational when he loses control. I can be calm when he’s fighting his instincts. I don’t need to dominate a room just to feel in control. I don’t need to rely on pheromones and posturing to get what I want.
He and I, we’re different breeds, and Emmeline is the only thing I care about right now. Sure, he shares her DNA, and I’ve got to earn his respect because of that, but, at the end of the day, I get to be in her life no matter what he thinks.
This isn’t his decision.
And, well, if I want that spot, I’ve got to prove to her that I’m worth coming home to. I’ve got to work to undo the damage I’ve caused.
“I wasn’t planning on coming,” Evander says flatly, casting a dirty look at the dark-haired beta by his side.
I bite back my amusement, not wanting to rile the alpha up any further. It’s hilarious that he had to be convinced, though.
“Your sister deserves this,” Isaac says firmly, and I’m surprised by how deep his voice is. It’s steady but without any inflictions, almost as if he’s used to handling this alpha’s tantrums.
Isaac is quite lean with a typical beta profile—tall but not imposing. His neatly styled dark hair catches the dim light, and his rich caramel eyes glint with sharp intelligence.
I think I can grow to like this beta. He’s unimposing, unthreatening, and calm where Evander is sharp-edged.
And, most importantly, his presence doesn’t set my teeth on edge.
When he gives me a head nod, I let the relief fill my chest.
Isaac’s scent—caramel and butterscotch, warm yet tangy—seems to shift, growing lighter.
I take it as a silent signal. He’s on my side.
Evander’s jaw tightens, arms crossing in front of his chest. He’s tense in a way that screams territorial and protective rather than aggressive.
I respect that, even if I don’t like it. Any alpha worth his salt should put the omegas in their life first.
“So you said,” Evander mutters, and Isaac smirks. He may not be physically intimidating, but it’s clear he doesn’t have to be. He knows exactly where to push, and he does it without hesitation.
“Please, take a seat,” I say, gesturing to the chair opposite me. I look at Isaac and smile. “You, too.”
The server waits at a discreet distance, watching us with professional patience. The longer Evander stands here acting like this is a goddamn negotiation, the more attention we’ll draw. And I don’t want that.
Not in this restaurant. Not in a place where my pack and I bring clients—where my presence is expected to be controlled, professional.
Hopefully that’s what this server thinks this meeting is—an unruly client needing a little extra wooing.
Or maybe she sees what I see—a disgruntled asshole who needs to be handled with delicate gloves since he’s such a dramatic boy.
“I’ve got a call to take,” Isaac says, scanning the room. His gaze is unfocused, looking in the wrong places, missing threats that I’ve already spotted and mentally logged. He’s clearly not trained to spot threats, not like me, anyway.
That’s not a good sign.
He pats Evander’s back. “But I’ll be waiting outside when you’re finished.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, reaching over to shake his hand.
Evander’s scent darkens, and I know the alpha isn’t impressed by the betrayal of his beta.
Good.
“Please, sit,” I repeat myself, this time sliding into my own chair without waiting for his response. I pick up my menu, not bothering to check if he follows suit.
The more I pander to his mood, the worse it’ll be.
So, this little test will tell me everything I need to know—is he willing to entertain me and see what I could want… or is he just here to be difficult?
I can work with the former. The latter will have me walking out of this restaurant and trying again at another time. It gets harder and harder to keep myself looking calm when he refuses to move.
But, finally, fabric rustles. Evander removes his navy suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair with the slow, deliberate movements of a pompous prick.
Or, you know, just another entitled rich man.
It’s funny. Emmeline doesn’t carry herself this way. She’s graceful, delicate, reserved in a way that suggests she learned etiquette but that she doesn’t live in it.
She doesn’t feel like someone who grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth.
“What’s good here?” Evander finally asks, playing into the small-talk game.
I lean back in my seat, willing to take part in this desperate charade. He wants to make this about food choices? Sure, let’s do it.
I have the patience he lacks. I can stretch this out as long as it takes.
I’ll play along. I’ll deal with his posturing.
Because at the end of the day, this isn’t about him.
It’s about proving to Emmeline that I’m worth a second chance.
“The filet is good,” I say smoothly, watching his expression shift into something darker, and his grip tightens around his menu.
I place my menu down on the table and catch the waiter’s movement from the corner of my eye as she heads over towards us.
“But if you prefer something lighter, the grilled sea bass is a solid option.” I pause just enough to let the words settle. “Emmeline says it’s one of her favourites.”
A bold-faced lie.
I watch him closely, wondering if he’ll call me out on it, waiting for any type of reaction. His eyes flick up, assessing me for a brief moment before he looks back down at his menu.
Doesn’t even take the bait.
Asshole.
“She does like fish,” he murmurs, tone neutral and controlled, before shutting his menu.
The waitress approaches with a small smile. She’s a beta that I’ve seen a few times—Gemma Jones—and she’s always delivered exemplary service.
“What can I get for you, Mr Carter, sir?” she asks, and I hold in my grin that she asked me before the alpha at the table.
Evander’s eye twitches, but when I gesture for her to take his order first, he gives her a practised smile.
“I’ll take the filet, please. Medium rare.”
Sensing the tension, Gemma turns to me with a hesitant smile. “And for you, sir?”
“The same,” I say smoothly. “With a side of asparagus, please.”
Evander asks for a bottle of red wine without sparing me a glance like he’s closing a business deal rather than sharing a meal. Gemma nods and strides off, leaving behind the muted clatter of glassware from the next table.
Bastard.
But I don’t comment on it. With alphas, you can’t let yourself get drawn into their aggression, into their moods. They’re a force of nature if you let them.
I won’t.
I know Evander’s type. If I push, he’ll dig in just to spite me, not caring that it’ll also spite his sister.
Because the pheromones will already have taken hold, and we’ll be stuck fighting for dominance. It’ll destroy any chance of me getting what I need.
If I wait, if I let him decide how this is going to go, he’ll get curious. And, luckily for me, curious people talk.
Gemma brings the wine over, quiet but attentive, and leaves without either of us saying a word. The silence stretches as I swirl the wine in my glass, watching the deep red liquid coat the sides, before taking a sip.
He scrutinises the room, analyses me, and stays quiet. What he doesn’t realise, though, is that I was trained in this exact interrogation technique.
Finally, Evander exhales sharply and leans back in his chair. “You wanted this lunch, Carter. So, talk.”
I let my lips curve into a small smile.
“This isn’t about befriending you, Whitmore,” I say simply. “But as Emmeline’s brother, I thought you might have some insight.”
“Insight?” he demands. Whilst his tone is now harsh, venomous, even, his expression doesn’t change.
“On your sister. I just want to know more about her.”
His eyes narrow slightly, his lips curling up into an instantaneous sneer. “And why is that?”
What reason is he looking for? Sure, I was a little… hostile yesterday in front of him, but that was before I fully understood the situation.
Emmeline wasn’t lying, she’s not that kind of girl.
And after that awkward as fuck meal where she ended up breaking down and my packmate ran off, I knew that things needed to change.
That I needed to approach this differently—to approach my mate differently.
Evander raged at Oscar and I. Unleashed his anger, his fears, and his venom, but he never gave me more than I already knew—more than we had already figured out.
Emmeline’s pregnancy is dangerous for her without us.
And the fact that she was willing to walk away… that speaks volumes to me.
“She’s my mate,” I offer, not feeling comfortable saying anything else.
His jaw tightens, his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t argue. How could he argue against fate herself?
“I want to know who she is outside of what I’ve seen,” I continue, keeping my tone level. “What makes her happy. Who she trusts. Who looks out for her.”
“Sounds like you should be asking her these questions.” His tone is clipped. He lays his fingers together and leans forward slightly. “This here, it’s giving desperate.”
He’s not wrong.
Dickhead.
Emmeline is… well, she’s a conundrum. What Evander shared last night, the way he opened up about her pain and how much she’s struggled since I last saw her, it hurt me.
No—it fucking destroyed me.
If I’d just listened—just seen her—maybe I could have stopped this. Stopped her suffering. Stopped her from spending nights wondering if she was unwanted.
She never would’ve been in pain.
Evander detailed how badly we fucked up, how many times she cried, and how, even through it all, she never once bad-mouthed us. She never let him kick up the fuss he wanted or handle it for her.
She found out about our child, and my mate, who is too pure for this fucked up world, decided to tell us . Instead of lashing out, instead of blaming us or hiding it from us… she told us.
Emmeline is… could be everything.
And I’ve spent the last two weeks doing my best to demonise her. I attacked her over and over yesterday, and I never once tried to empathise.
To see things from her point of view.
I spent all night beating myself up for being so… stupid, so reckless. I let my past cloud my judgment, and I saw what I wanted to see instead of what was in front of me.
And Emmeline paid the price for it.
“I will ask her,” I concede finally, inclining my head slightly—lower than I normally would for an alpha. “But I also want to hear it from someone who’s known her for her entire life. From someone who cares about her, even if they’re skeptical about me.”
He watches me for a long moment, fingers still tapping against the table. Then, surprisingly, he shrugs and shares. “She doesn’t have many friends. Not real ones, anyway.”
There’s an edge to his words, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s holding something back or because he’s trying to imply something. It shouldn’t bother me to know that she’s a bit of a loner.
But it does.
What omega doesn’t have a network of friends? Doesn’t have people that she relies on to soothe her, to comfort her? Omegas are touchy people, full of love and warmth.
Why the fuck doesn’t anyone want to be her friend?
“Because of work?” I ask carefully.
Please fucking say yes.
“Sure, that, and the fact that people only see what they can take from her.” His voice is flat, but there’s an undercurrent of bitterness in his scent. “She’s smart enough to not let anyone close.”
I frown, an ache forming in my chest. “So, she’s alone?”
When he doesn’t immediately answer— when he hesitates— I know.
She’s alone.
My mate is alone.
It wasn’t just Uri walking out on her. It wasn’t just me not acknowledging her or our bond. We were her last hopes, really—her scent matches, her fated mates. The ones who were made for her.
And then… we all but rejected her.
Fuck.
We left her.
“She has me. She has Isaac,” he says, but we both know it’s not enough. That this is a true failure, and this time, it’s his . Evander’s failed her just as much as we have.
I file that information away, annoyance simmering. She’s alone, and it absolutely wrecks me.
How much of her refusal to let people in is because nobody was ever there for her?
“What about family?” I press, wanting to know what kind of support network we’re looking at.
Evander snorts, shaking his head. “Have you met our dads?”
I recall the file I have in my office on Emmeline’s four fathers—Alexander, Damian, Marcus, and Victor. They own a corporate legal firm and are a legal pack despite not being married, bonded, or having an omega.
I’ve not yet met them, never had a need to, but, by the sounds of it, they’re people I should put on my calendar.
“No.” I shake my head, cocking a brow at him. “Why?”
“They’re… distant. Emme and they don’t really talk much,” he says. The response is so dry I almost smirk, but I don’t.
Because beneath the sarcasm, there’s a truth I can’t ignore. His sister is pretty much alone in this world, and I’ve pushed her even further away.
“And you?” I ask carefully. “Where do you fit in all of this?”
The food arrives, and we both fall quiet as we thank the waitress. It’s not Gemma this time but another beta that I don’t recognise. She gently places the dishes in front of us both, offers to refill our wine, then walks away to leave us to it.
The tension remains, but I don’t try to diffuse it. This is on him now to open up and be honest.
“I do what I can for her,” he says before rolling his eyes. The first true sign of him dropping the mask. “Emmeline doesn’t always make it easy.”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”
He smirks, but then it flitters from his face almost as fast as it appeared. He’s not trying to make this easy on me.
Well, they’re clearly twins.
“What about fun, then?” I ask, changing tactics when it’s clear he’s closed up on that topic. “What does she do when she’s not working?”
Evander shakes his head. “I think you’ve got enough out of me. How about you tell me something for a change.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Why the change of heart?” he asks, raising his brows. “From what I understood yesterday, you had little interest in my sister. In fact, didn’t you think she was a liar ? Called her out for being manipulative and toxic ? I’m pretty sure those were your words.”
My heart clenches tight in pain, and I have to force my face to not twitch. I made a huge fucking mistake with my accusations, and I don’t need him throwing it in my face.
“Tell me honestly that if you were in my position—” I try to explain.
“I think I’d be a little bit more understanding,” he says with a shrug as he cuts me off.
I huff out a dry laugh. “Understanding? Is that what you were last night when you lost your shit at Oscar and me?”
Evander’s nostrils flare. “You deserved it.”
“Fine,” I say, running a hand over my jaw. “I fucked up. I let my past cloud my judgment, and I saw what I wanted to see instead of what was actually in front of me. I thought Emmeline was something she wasn’t, and I reacted like an idiot.”
He takes a sip of his wine, watching me. Measuring me. “And now?”
“Now I know better.”
It’s simple. Honest.
For a moment, neither of us speak. The clink of silverware, the low murmur of conversation around us—it all fades into the background.
Finally, Evander exhales, shaking his head. “She deserves more than an apology, Carter.”
“I know.”
“More than just words .”
I meet his gaze, letting him see it—the absolute certainty in my soul. “I know that, too.”
His scent shifts, and his posture relaxes. He doesn’t trust me, not yet, but he’s listening.
And, for today, that’s enough.
I reach for my wine, swirling it in my glass before taking a slow sip. “So… are you going to tell me what Emmeline does for fun or do I have to keep guessing?”
Evander huffs, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “She likes puzzles. The complicated ones. The ones that take weeks to solve.”
I let that settle.
Emmeline likes puzzles.
No wonder she looked at me like I was one she didn’t want to bother with.
No wonder I want to be the one she finally does.
“Do you think… do you think she’ll be open to this?” I ask.
He scoffs. “You tell me.”
“I barely know her.” I lift my knife and fork and cut into the filet. The scent is mouthwatering, and I can’t resist in taking a bite.
His gaze sharpens. “You don’t deserve to know her.”
Well, our peace clearly lasted for all of two fucking seconds. Alphas, man, they’re so fucking dramatic.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “That’s what I’m trying to fix. I want Emmeline in my life, Evander. I want to make your sister happy, to give her… everything.”
And that’s what it boils down to, doesn’t it?
Emmeline is my mate, and I want to undo the years of hurt she’s suffered. I want to replace the last two weeks worth of pain and fear with a lifetime of good memories and love.
I want to give her the family she needs, the love she deserves, and the stability she craves.
“I don’t think you’re good enough for my sister,” Evander says bluntly. “She’s spent so much of her life trying to prove her worth, a worth she has never had to earn?—”
I’m getting angry now. He’s not even fucking listening.
“And you think?—”
“No, don’t cut me off,” Evander says, shaking his head, and I clench my jaw shut. “You don’t need to assume my thoughts.”
There’s a low simmering tension in the air, the coffee in his scent burning, the chocolate charring. Fuck.
“Understood.”
He nods once before sighing. “Emme is ashamed of being an omega. It’s… she hates that she’s not “more than”. I love my sister, I really fucking do, and I just wish she’d see what I see.”
“Which is?” I ask quietly.
Finally, he sighs, rolling his shoulders. “She needs people who won’t let her slip through the cracks.”
The way he says it makes my stomach tighten.
“What do you mean?”
Evander hesitates again, but, this time, I can tell he’s debating how much to say.
“She gives too much,” he says, swirling his wine glass. The way he’s peering into it is as if he’s searching for answers in the red liquid. “Always has. She’s too responsible, too willing to put everyone else first, that she doesn’t look after herself.”
I grit my teeth, hating fate for making us wait this long before finding her.
Then again, maybe there’s a reason for that.
“She’s strong,” I offer.
“She has to be,” he corrects. “That doesn’t mean she should be.”
The words sink in deeper than I expect, but it’s clear that we’re on the same page.
“She’s not alone anymore,” I say, quiet but firm.
Evander holds my gaze and then nods. The air shifts, and I feel something settle inside me. We’re friends. He definitely doesn’t trust me.
But it’s no longer a war. For today, that’s enough.
Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that we both want what’s best for Emmeline.
Even if we don’t agree on what that is— yet .
*
I knock on her door. Three firm raps.
It swings open before I can take another breath.
And she’s just… standing there.
In the glowing light of the passageway, looking so damn beautiful as she gifts me with a nervous smile.
Fuck.
The scent of chamomile and lavender crashes into me, warm and grounding, laced with something softer tonight. She’s almost hesitant— hopeful.
I reach forward to brush my lips to the back of her hand, and my eyes widen at the stronger hit of her scent from the gland on her wrist.
Fuck. She’s glorious, and so is her scent.
It tells me one thing—that she’s mine.
Not yet, Sterling.
She’s radiant.
Her dark brown hair is wavy and falls down past her shoulders. She’s got two golden clips on either side, pinning it away from her face.
I love that she’s done this. It feels deliberate, like we’re both going to be putting all of our cards on the table.
Because she can’t hide from me. Not now.
Not ever if I have my way.
Her icy blue eyes meet mine, and the vulnerability shines clear. I wish I knew her other tells, but other than the practiced smile, I can’t see anything else out of place.
My gaze drags over her midnight blue dress. The fabric clings to her, framing her body in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
And the neckline…
Fucking hell, skin should not be allowed to look so perfect.
I swallow hard, forcing my gaze back up before I do something really stupid. Before I reach for her the way I want to—like she already belongs to me.
I’ve never wished to be an alpha. Never wanted to be one of them.
Until now.
Until her.
I’d give anything to claim her like they’re going to do. To sink my teeth into her throat, to hear the way she’d whimper for me, the way she’d break apart in my arms?—
No. Control yourself, Sterling.
I shove the thought down before it consumes me. Before I let it show on my face and let her see how much she’s ensnared me.
Captivated me.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her instead, grateful that my tone stays even and doesn’t betray me.
Her scent flares, sweeter than before, and, fuck, that’s a victory in itself.
My gaze drops down to the bracelet on her wrist as it gleams under the soft porch light. The gold chain is sweet and feminine, the dahlia charm glinting beautifully.
Paxton’s promise to her—his offer of him.
She’s wearing it, and from what he shared, she accepted him pretty easily.
But, unlike me, Pax never fucked up.
He never insulted her, never made her feel like she was less than perfect. Never made her think she wasn’t wanted.
He has nothing to atone for.
A sharp ache settles in my chest, and I am so pissed off at myself. I reach for the small box in my pocket, rolling it between my fingers, suddenly unsure.
Will she accept mine, too?
Did Pax feel this nervous? Did his hands shake when he gave it to her? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.
I force the thought away and clear my throat. “Are you ready to go?”
Her blush deepens, and she nods. But as she steps onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her, I glance to the left?—
And freeze.
The window in one of her front rooms is open. I don’t know if it’s the living room, an office, even a storage room.
It doesn’t matter.
“You haven’t locked up properly,” I snap, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them.
She flinches, her eyes welling up with tears, and my heart constricts.
Shit. I’ve already fucked this.
Her scent darkens, the sweetness dissipating, and I know I’ve ruined this night before it can even begin.
“I’ll sort that now,” she says quietly, her shoulders curling in on herself. The way she looks at the ground, the way her fingers tremble—it guts me.
She turns to go back inside, but I grab her wrist before she can slip away. Her scent gland pulses under my touch, her scent perfuming around us. I don’t think, don’t hesitate—I can’t let her retreat into herself, not over something as stupid as this.
Not when I can make her understand that I never meant to hurt her. I was worried—scared that something might happen.
I spin her to face me, my grip firm but careful, not wanting to hurt her, not agin. She blinks, and a single tear races down her cheek.
Something inside me breaks.
“I didn’t mean to snap, little storm,” I murmur softly, the regret clear to hear in my tone. I keep hold of her wrist, not chancing she’ll run off.
“I just—” I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Emmeline.”
“I’m fine,” she lies, offering up a smile.
But it’s that fake fucking smile again, stretching across her lips in a way that burns me.
I hate it.
I hate that she feels like she needs to put on some pretence just to save my feelings.
Or… is she doing this to protect herself?
“Don’t lie to me,” I whisper, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. I let go of her wrist, but my fingers linger against her skin, the touch of her burning in the best way.
“I wasn’t.”
I raise a brow, and she immediately submits, dropping the attitude, and relaxing against me.
“My intention was not to hurt you, and I’m sorry that I did. I was concerned, but that’s no excuse to talk to you like that,” I say softly.
She doesn’t argue, instead shivering against me, clearly cold. I reach into my pocket for my car keys, but they’re not the only thing that comes out.
My gift for her tumbles to the ground.
Fuck.
The moment it hits the porch, it’s like the world slows. The clatter is too loud, the tension too thick. Her eyes are wide, mouth agape, and I just stare down at it as if I could erase it from view with my glare alone.
Her breath catches, and, this time, it’s her who grabs my wrist. Her touch is soothing, soft, wanted.
“Is that…” she whispers, trailing off.
I let out a huff, dragging a hand down my face as I now look back up at her. She doesn’t meet my eyes, too nervous about the box on the floor between us.
“None of this has gone how I wanted it to,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand.
Something about her— about us —just throws me off my game.
Every. Damn. Time.
“How did you want it to go?” she asks softly. Her scent is sweeter again as she leans into me.
I look down at her, unsure why she’s asking. I don’t want to doubt her, don’t want to suspect she’s playing a game—I know that’s not true.
But, fuck, after everything… it’s hard to remember that some people aren’t naturally poisonous, they’re not out to hurt you for the fun of it.
Emmeline is pure.
“I wanted to pick you up and shower you with compliments. I wanted to take you to dinner and make you smile. I wanted to talk and explain myself, to show you that whilst I might have been a dick, there’s a reason.
“That I want to give you the future you deserve, that I want to be part of your life until the end of our days. I wanted… hell, I wanted to give you my courting present, and I hoped you’d accept it just like you accepted Paxton’s.”
Her gaze flicks between me and the small box lying on the wooden porch. She doesn’t reach for it, doesn’t make a move at all, just stares.
My chest tightens. She’s not accepting it—not accepting me.
I should be the one picking it up, but I don’t want to. Because this moment already feels different from how I imagined it.
I thought I’d hand it to her, she’d open it, and maybe—just maybe—I’d get to see that delicate, secretive, authentic smile she doesn’t give out often.
But now? Now, it’s fucked.
“Sterling,” she whispers, but the expression of shock on her face makes it clear she has no idea what to say. No idea how to react.
The way she curls into herself, the regret painting her lips… it’s like she’s apologising to me.
A second passes, then another.
I crouch down slowly, picking up the box with careful fingers.
I force myself to meet her gaze. Her lashes flutter, her breath catching. I try to explain. “I was going to give this to you at dinner.”
Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t try to speak—I don’t think she can.
I rub my thumb over the velvet lid, my heart hammering against my chest, every word that Evander shared about her rushing through my brain.
She doesn’t think she’s worthy.
“It’s not about rushing anything,” I say, trying to make it make sense for her. So she knows it’s not an afterthought or something I’m forced into doing. “I just wanted you to have something from me, to understand my intent, to know. Something to show you that I?—”
My voice cracks as she blinks back another tear, and I don’t know how to explain. I want this courtship to be something she understands to mean that I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. That I want this.
Want her.
I swallow the words back, afraid to say them out loud. I don’t think she’s ready to hear them—I don’t think she’ll believe how much I mean them.
Emmeline looks down at the box, then back at me. Her expression is soft but cautious.
“Can you hold onto it?” she asks. Her voice shakes more than her hands do as she wraps them around herself, and it’s so small. As if she’s afraid.
Of me.
She’s afraid of my reaction.
Fuck.
I blink at her. “What?”
She swallows hard, lifting her chin slightly. Her eyes are puffy, the watery sheen of her tears still there. Her arms tighten around herself as she takes a small step back.
It’s like she’s shielding herself from me—from what this means.
My heart hammers in my chest. I don’t know what to do with this or how to handle it.
Her silence stretches, and I watch the way her body curls inward, fingers digging into her sleeves.
She looks so damn fragile in this moment. Like she’s trying to pull the words from herself, but they’re stuck in her throat.
I exhale sharply, raking a hand through my hair. “Emmeline…”
“It’s not that I don’t want it,” she blurts out suddenly like she’s afraid I’ll walk away before she can explain. “I just… I want you to do it how you planned.”
“What?” I stare at her, my brain not functioning properly.
“You think you’ve ruined it,” she says gently. “But you haven’t. So, save it until after dinner, or dessert, or whenever you were going to give it to me.”
I clench my jaw, my body tensing up as I listen to her words and try to understand. I want to believe her, but part of me is struggling with doubt.
Is this her way of saying no?
Is she trying to push me away gently?
Or should I just take her at face value? Trust that she wants to do this right and to give us the chance to start our courtship—our relationship—right?
“I see,” I say, dragging out the words, trying to pretend like it doesn’t bother me.
Like I’m not dying inside.
“It’s not that I don’t want it,” she says. “I just… I want us to have a clean slate. To be able to… understand each other before we make any decisions.”
She wants a clean slate.
“I understand.”
Her brows pinch slightly like she wasn’t expecting me to agree so easily. I don’t blame her, not after the way I’ve been behaving.
But if I want this second chance, I need to prove I deserve it—that I can trust in her without doubting her intentions.
I lift the box between us, rolling it between my fingers, feeling the weight of everything I want to say. Everything I want to be for her.
Then, slowly, I tuck it back into my pocket.
“I’ll hold onto it,” I promise and give her a genuine smile. “I like the sound of a clean slate, but I think I’d prefer some open honesty instead.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, furrowing her brows together.
A soft little ‘v’ forms in the middle of her forehead, and I want to kiss it away.
But I can’t.
I step back, giving her room so she doesn’t feel pressured. But also because if I don’t, I’ll break whatever fragile balance we’ve managed to find in this moment.
“Go sit in the car, little storm,” I say softly, offering her my house keys. “I’ll lock up, and we can go to dinner.”
Her fingers brush against mine, and I wonder if she feels the same sparks that I do.
She grins and nods. “Let’s go to dinner.”
For now, it’s enough.
Because one way or another, I will earn the right to be hers.