7. I’m Not Falling
seven
I’m Not Falling
Emma
For the eight days that followed the burial of his mother, Dean remained—as she had warned me—cocooned in his own shell. He didn’t discuss our divorce arrangement, or an annulment. It was as though he were in an alternate universe where everything danced in slow motion around him, and he performed on autopilot.
Every day, we would quietly eat breakfast out on the terrace, in the garden, or by the pool. Our silence was only interrupted when there was something work-related that needed to be discussed. We would then go to “our bedroom” where we would change our clothes before we were driven to work in the same car. The chauffeur would stop at the coffee shop where Dean—now assuming the public role of a loving husband—would get out and pick up our coffees himself. In the office, we performed the tasks expected of us; dedicated CEO and devoted personal-assistant-turned-wife.
Since we still received visits from those who had been stuck out of the country and missed the service, our evenings were filled with socialization with Dean’s acquaintances coming to pay their respects.
On the eighth night—the first free one in a week—Dean was apparently exhausted and didn’t make any plans. As we sat at the dinner table, serenely consuming our meal, he suddenly asked, “How are your parents?”
“They’re fine.” I smiled. “Thanks for asking.”
“We haven’t seen them since the wedding. Did they ask about the honeymoon?”
“Mom did, yes. I gave her the story we agreed on.”
“And your father?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t consume himself with what he considers trivialities.”
“His daughter’s happiness is a triviality?”
“I—Never mind, that came out wrong.”
“Why don’t we go see them?”
“Together?” I forced a chuckle, and it came out nervously. “It was a miracle they didn’t strangle each other at the wedding.” Pausing, I remembered the text I had received from dad a couple of days ago. “Dad did ask if we’d like to have dinner with him sometime.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I’ll see. I told him we still had people coming in t0…”
“Let’s do it,” he casually said before looking back down at his plate, poking a piece of carrot with his fork. “It’ll be good.”
What for?
“Are you sure? You don’t have to; I can go alone.”
“Why?” He looked up at me with vacant eyes. “Aren’t we married?”
I wanted to say, ‘No. We’re pretending to be married, and that makes all the difference.’ But perhaps he needed a change; to mingle with people other than his own circle. That was why I nodded. “Sure. I’ll set it up.”
“You have my calendar,” he followed. “Just pick whatever free evening that works for the two of you and add it on there.”
“Okay. ”
After dinner, I called my father to accept his invitation.
***
At dad’s favorite restaurant—a place with live music and dancing in the background—the three of us sat there, the air between us thicker than honey. From the way he looked at us, I knew that he was suspecting something. After all, Dean and I weren’t holding hands or gazing into each other’s eyes the way newlyweds normally would.
In an attempt to save face, I held out my fork with a piece of what I was having and lifted it up, addressing Dean. “You have to try this,” I said with a sweet voice, my eyes beaming at him with a ciphered message I hoped he would pick up.
Smiling, he leaned forward, parting his lips and accepting the bite. “Hmm.” He nodded in approval—real or forged, I didn’t know—and said, “Now I know what I’m getting next time.”
Even though I knew my dad hardly ever approved of my life decisions—my career choice included—I saw his face relax a little.
After our first round of drinks, I felt nature’s call. Leaning over to Dean’s ear, I whispered, “I need to use the ladies’ room. Can you just talk about anything while I’m gone? I don’t want him to lead the conversation.”
Dean’s smile was both confident and slightly mocking. He inched closer and whispered, his lips almost touching my cheek, “You don’t need to worry about me. The man’s an open book. Go.” I knew he wanted to enunciate in a sexy manner, so that my father would think that we were flirting, but boy, did it work. A shiver ran up my spine, and I had to practically shoot out of my chair before Dean could see the sudden effect he had on me .
On my way to the bathroom, I was still fumbling to regain my composure when my shoulder bumped into a man’s as he was walking out of the men’s room. “Sorry!” I looked up, and immediately froze when I saw Kyle, my ex-boyfriend.
He instantly chuckled, his eyes studying me from head to toes. “Emmie!” That was his nickname for me when we were together. “Gosh, how long has it been?”
I cleared my throat and plastered a smile on my face. “A little over three years.”
“Gosh, how are you?” He leaned in for a hug, and I shrunk in his arms, my hands glued to my thighs as my muscles tightened. Letting go, he looked at my dress again. “Elegant, as always. How’ve you been?”
“Good. And you?”
Ignoring my question, he grinned. “God! It’s like a kismet, huh? I was meaning to call you.”
“Why?” I blurted out, realizing how rude my question was when it was too late.
“Well.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ve been in recovery for the past year. And… a part of the program is to get in touch with the people that my addiction had hurt. You know, to apologize… own up to it.”
“Ah.” I mindlessly nodded, taken aback. “Well, I guess you just apologized to me, then.”
“C’mon, Emmie. Don’t be like that—”
“Like what? Listen, Kyle. I’m having a quiet dinner with my dad, so if you don’t mind—”
“Your dad! I’d love to go say hi. Would he remember me?”
I tried to conceal my bitterness while resisting the urge to say something spiteful just to hurt him. “I don’t think so. It’s great that you’re finally getting a grip on things. Best of luck. Really.”
He seemed a little disappointed, but not actually hurt. Hanging his head, he nodded. “I understand. Look, it was great to see you. You look… absolutely incredible. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Yeah. You, too. Bye.”
Rushing into the ladies’ room, I ran into a stall and locked the door, feeling every muscle in my body tremble. To ease the shaking, I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging myself so tightly and whispering, “It’s ok. It’s over. He won’t hurt you. He can’t hurt you. Nobody can. It’s ok... it’s alright.”
Sensing a panic attack coming on like a tidal wave, I knew it wasn’t unstoppable. Summoning everything that I had learned in therapy in the year that had followed our breakup, I closed the toilet bowl and sat on top, closing my eyes. I began to take deep, calming breaths, focusing on the air coming in through my nose and escaping from between my lips.
In… out…
In… out…
I felt my heart beat so violently, raging inside my chest, and soldiered on.
In… out…
In… out…
I didn’t know how long I stayed in there, but it must have been a few minutes because I heard the door outside click open. The laughter of two women soon followed, signaling that I could no longer keep myself locked up in here .
Standing up, I shook my hands and took one last deep breath, exhaling sharply before flushing the toilet and walking out to wash my hands.
As soon as I returned to the table, still slightly shaken, I noticed my dad’s glare as his eyes pierced into mine. My initial thought was that Dean had said something that upset him, but then he enunciated, “Was that Kyle Savant? ”
Keeping my head high, I lowered myself onto the chair, my hands clinging to the edge of the table for support. “Yes. He sends his regards.”
Dad snorted, smirking and shaking his head as he turned to Dean. “The nerve of that asshole. Can you believe it? After everything he put her through? Regards, my ass! ”
Dean furrowed his eyebrows and turned to me with a questioning look. I quickly put my hand over dad’s, squeezing it tightly. “Dad, stop it. We’re not going to ruin our evening over that.”
In the background, a song was just ending, and another was beginning; a much softer one with an intro of violins. Wiping his mouth with the napkin, Dean abruptly stood up. “Emma, you know I love this song.” He extended his hand over to me. “C’mon, we can’t miss it.”
Slightly confused, I threw my hand in his and followed his lead, mustering a smile as I addressed dad, “We’ll be back after this one.”
On the dance floor, Dean started leading, and my feet refused to cooperate. Nonetheless, his physical strength and impeccable dancing form made me feel engulfed, protected, even if I tripped. His eyes didn’t leave my face as he studied every blink and twitch. “What was that about?” he finally asked.
“Nothing, it was just my ex.”
“Ugly breakup? ”
I quickly nodded. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay?” he asked with a different tone. Did I hear genuine care in there?
“Dean, I’m fine. It was forever ago.”
“Then how come Patrick got so worked up?”
“It’s just dad.” I shrugged it off like it was nothing. “He’s always on edge.”
Dean had his own sorrow to deal with, and none of my troubles concerned him. Oversharing wasn’t a part of our contract, nor was Dean expected to step up and be my knight in shining armor.
As the music hit an emotional crescendo, Dean expertly twirled me around, spun me away with my hand still in his, and then pulled me back to stop against his chest. Before I could catch my breath, he spun me on my heel and dipped me backward and what a fall that was. As I lost all control of my weight, I felt gravity take a hold of me, my head tossed backward before his strong arm caught me from behind. A couple dancing next to us let out an impressed “Whoa!”, while my heart nearly fell at Dean’s feet.
When he gracefully pulled me back up to stand and continue with the dance, it hit me…
In Dean’s arms, I was relaxed and almost carefree. I wasn’t worried, afraid, or in the least bit apprehensive. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so comfortable in such physical proximity with a man, let alone allowing him to throw me around like that, knowing that he was going to catch me. It was as though for the first time in my life—yes, my entire life —I felt safe and taken care of... because of a man’s arms around me.
Wasn’t it unfortunate that he wasn’t mine for him to assume such a role? And that I wasn’t his to protect ?
When the song was over, Dean and I broke our brief embrace, stepping away from each other as if pulled apart by fate. I was breathless, wondering if any of that had touched him the way it did me.
But the moment was over.
We returned to reality at the table to find that dad was already through with his third drink, happy as a clam.
The rest of the dinner went peacefully, uneventfully, and I was grateful to the universe for that.
As we were about to leave the restaurant, and in a clear effort to show my dad that we were, indeed, a happy couple, Dean helped me put on my coat at the door. As he pulled my lapels together to offer me warmth, he inched closer—quickly but ever so deliberately—and kissed me tenderly on the forehead.
Lucky for my knees that wanted nothing to do with carrying my weight, the car was right outside, waiting for us.