17. Emma
SEVENTEEN
Emma
The next day…
The sunshine is warm on my skin, a gentle reminder of simpler times as Amelia and I sit on a park bench, enveloped by the cheerful chirps of nearby birds and the distant laughter of children playing. It feels peaceful here, almost like a different world from the one I've been living in.
It’s like we’ve gone back to our childhood, to when Mom was alive, before Dad started drinking. “Remember falling off that slide in Hannigan’s Park?” I ask.
“Still got the scar,” she replies, lifting her hair to reveal the faint line on her forehead. “You pushed me down too fast.”
“You told me to. I just did what I was told.”
“Mom was so angry with us.” Her face lights me up with a smile, “You won't believe what I did yesterday—I walked around the block all by myself. No panic, no turning back.”
“Believe you?” I respond. “I knew you could do it. Look at you, just sitting here in a park without a care in the world.”
She nods, her expression softening. “I couldn’t have done this without your help. This therapy... it's really working, you know?”
“I can tell.” I smile, but there's a heaviness in my chest as I think about the source of the financial help.
“Where is he? I should thank your new husband and I haven’t even met him yet.”
“He’s actually away for a few days. When he comes back, he wants a decision…” My voice trails off, the weight of that impending choice pressing down on me, heavy and suffocating like a blanket that's both comfort and confinement.
“About what?” Her voice is soft, threading through the tense silence that stretches between us.
“He gave me an out,” I finally say. “Told me I could leave and he’d still pay for your therapy, pay for a new apartment for us in a better neighborhood, even pay for me to go to college.” I pause, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “I could become a counsellor like I promised Mom.”
Her eyes remain on me, steady and unblinking, as if trying to read the layers of fear, uncertainty, and hope that surely lay bare before her.
“But why would he do that? Why give you such an easy way out?” she probes further, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Because he’s not that bothered whether or not I stay with him?”
“Or because he loves you. He wants you to choose freely, without any strings. He believes that’s what love is—letting the other person choose their own path without fear or obligation.”
“What makes you think that?”
“What do you think love is?” she asks, her question slicing through the fog of doubts that cloud my thoughts.
I ponder her question, the answer swirling within me like a leaf caught in a whirlwind. “I used to think love was about holding on as tight as you could, never letting go.”
“Do you love him?” she asks then, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might break the delicate balance of my decision. “Do you want to hold on tight to him?”
“Yes, but–“ The word hangs between us, fraught with all the buts I’ve ever thought, every hesitation that’s held me back.
“If you love him, nothing else matters,” she cuts in, her statement simple yet profound, like a key turning smoothly in a long-locked door.
“He’s killed people, Amelia. He punched this guy right in front of me a couple of days ago. Do I really want someone like that to be the father of my children?”
“A protective billionaire who you openly describe as hot as all the fires of hell? You’re really considering leaving him when you clearly love him?”
“Would you stay with a killer?”
“The people he killed, were they bad people?”
“The worst.”
“And you love him?”
“It’s like there are two sides of him. And I’m constantly wondering which is more real.”
“Maybe they both are. Have you considered that? None of us are just one thing.” She squeezes my hand, her voice earnest. “Just make sure whatever decision you make, it's for your happiness, not because you feel obligated or scared. You deserve to be happy. You’re an amazing sister and an amazing person.”
Her words resonate with me, echoing the internal debate I've been having since I met him. “My heart says one thing, but my head says another.”
“Mom used to say you should listen to both, heart and head,” Amelia advises gently. “They have your best interests at heart when they work together.” She glances at the time. “Weren’t you seeing Pamela at twelve?”
“Oh, shit,” I say, getting to my feet. “I lost track of time. You want me to walk you home?”
She shakes her head with a smile. “Going to stay here for a while. Catch some sun. I’ll be all right, trust me. And maybe Pamela can help you decide.”
“Maybe. See you soon.”
Pamela is at the register when I enter the Book Nook. It’s like I’ve never been away, the familiar scent of old pages reminding me of Matteo’s library. The golden sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the shelves packed with stories.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t read trash,” she’s saying to a customer while handing over his paper bag. “Just consider better trash next time.” She sees me and comes straight over, ignoring the protest from the customer.
“You’re late,” she says. “You are officially no longer my friend.”
“Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted.”
Pamela leans against a bookshelf, her gaze intense and focused. “Has my ex-best friend made a decision?”
“Not yet.” I sigh, looking down at my feet. “I love him, Pamela. I really do. But there’s so much about his world that scares me. The violence, the control. It's overwhelming.”
She nods slowly, understanding flickering in her eyes. “But Em, don't let fear steal your future. You're in love with him—that means there's something there worth fighting for. The rest is bullshit. You’ll work it out.”
“It’s not just the fear,” I confess, the words tumbling out. “It’s what he’s capable of. He told me about his past, how he dealt with the man who hurt his parents. It was coldblooded, Pamela.”
Her face softens, her voice lowering to a soothing murmur. “Everyone has demons, Em. Maybe he's telling you about his darkest parts because he trusts you to see beyond them.”
“But can I?” I ask, the doubt clear in my voice. “Can I live with that and not lose myself?”
“You’ve changed since you’ve been with him, haven’t you? For the better, mostly?” Pamela asks, prompting me to reflect.
“I guess,” I acknowledge. “He’s made me feel stronger, more alive for sure. But at what cost?”
“Life's about taking risks, Em,” Pamela says, her hand resting on my shoulder. “If you love him, and he loves you, then together, you can face anything. Don't cower in fear of what might happen. Face it head-on, and remember, you're not alone. You’ve got me, got your sister. Got a pile of books to guide you.”
Her words, meant to encourage, do bolster my spirits a bit. “Mind if I sit here for a while?” I ask.
“Sure. I’ll leave you to it. These people all need help.” She motions at the customers browsing the shelves. “Lucky I’m here to guide them along the right path.”
I sit on the familiar couch in the corner, thinking of the first time I saw Matteo, when he walked past and stopped to stare in at me.
Back then, I had no idea who he was, what he represented. Now, I know too much. He’s everything I want and everything I fear. He’s said he can’t give up control. Neither can I. What power does love have to work out a solution to that intractable problem?
My cellphone buzzes suddenly, piercing the quiet. I reach for it, heart pounding, and see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, I answer.
“Hello?” My voice is cautious, uncertain.
“Hey,” his voice comes through, deep and somehow reassuring even over the phone. “I'm on my way back. We need to talk tomorrow.”
I sit up, clutching the phone a little tighter. “Is everything all right?” I ask, trying to gauge his mood.
“It's fine,” he replies, though his voice is terse, hinting at dark secrets. “But, Emma, it's time. Six weeks are up. You need to decide.”
The finality in his tone makes my heart sink. “I know. I've been thinking about it a lot.”
“Good.” There's a pause, and I can almost picture him running a hand through his hair in frustration. “If you stay, you know what that means. We'll start a family, build a life together. Is that what you really want?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy and daunting. “I... I'm still deciding,” I admit, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.
“Emma,” his voice softens, “I need to know where we stand. If you're with me, I'll take care of you, always. You won't have to worry about anything ever again.”
His promise is seductive, filled with the assurance of security and care. But it also reminds me of the control he holds, the control I'm afraid of losing to him. “And if I decide it's not what I want? Will you accept that?”
There's a brief silence, a hesitation that speaks volumes. “Yes, I will,” he finally says, though I can hear the effort it takes for him to make such a concession. “But think about it, Emma. Really think. You could have everything.”
His words replay in my mind long after he hangs up. Can I live like this? The question echoes through the quiet, resonating with my deepest fears and desires. The safety and love he offers are tantalizing, but at what cost to my own freedom, to the independence I've fought so hard to gain?
Pamela looks my way but I just shake my head and bury myself in my book. It’s the only thing I know how to do.