Chapter 21 Emily
As soon as I tell Andrew the flowers are from Daniel, he doesn’t say a word. He just nods, his jaw clenched tight, and stalks out of my office without looking back.
Daniel’s antics are starting to wear me down too. What does he want now? First, he calls off our wedding, then picks a fight with Andrew at my new one, and now this—flowers, like some twisted form of an apology. It’s exhausting.
I turn back to my desk, trying to focus on the design samples I need to review, but my phone buzzes, lighting up with a new message. I glance at the screen and my stomach flips when I see Daniel’s name.
Morning, beautiful. I’m in town and thought you’d like to have dinner with me.
I stare at the text, my mind reeling. What the hell? He broke off our wedding, for crying out loud. And now he wants to have dinner? I’m married to his brother, for heaven’s sake. What is he playing at?
I pick up my phone and, without thinking, call Catherine. She answers almost immediately, her voice cheerful as always. “Hey, Emily. Need something?”
“Get rid of all the flowers,” I say. “Every single one.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “All of them? What do you want me to do with them?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I don’t know or care. Give them away. Take them to a hospital, drop them at a charity—just get them out of here.”
“Got it,” Catherine says in a professional tone. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you,” I say, and hang up, breathing a little easier knowing that soon my office will be free of the sickening scent of the flowers.
I glance back at Daniel’s text, my thumb hovering over the screen. I should just tell him off, send him a curt reply telling him to back off. But no matter how much I try to craft the perfect message, it doesn’t feel right. This isn’t a conversation I want to have over text .
If he’s going to keep pushing, then fine. We’ll have it out face to face. I quickly type a response: Sure. Let’s have dinner. I hit send before I can change my mind.
Barely a minute later, my phone rings. I see Mom flashing on the screen and take a deep breath before answering. “Hi, Mom.”
“Emily,” she says, sounding more excited than she has in weeks. “Your father is looking so much better today. His color is back, and he was moving a little this morning. Emily, I think he might be coming around. The doctor said so, too.”
Excitement courses through me. My father might be waking up. Oh God. Emotions come over me. Please let it be true. I’ve missed him so much. Missed his leadership. Missed our conversations.
“I really hope so,” I say, my voice breaking a little.
“Will you come by this evening?” she asks.
I feel bad that I have to say no but I have to deal with Daniel as swiftly as I can. “I can’t tonight, Mom. I have a dinner invitation.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says. “You and Andrew should go out and have some fun. I’m so pleased that things are working out between you two.”
My stomach twists at her words, but I don’t correct her. Telling her the truth—that I’m having dinner with Daniel, not Andrew—would lead to a barrage of questions and explanations that I don’t have the energy for.
“Yeah,” I say instead, forcing a smile she can’t see. “I’ll come by tomorrow, okay?”
“Of course, darling. Have a lovely evening,” she says, her voice warm and full of hope. “And don’t worry about your father. I think we’re finally turning a corner.”
I hang up the phone, feeling a mixture of hope and anxiety twisting in my chest. My father might be waking up. It’s the best news I’ve had in weeks, and yet I can’t shake the nerves.
I push those thoughts aside and turn my attention back to the design samples scattered across my desk .
I scan through the color palettes, fabric swatches, and layout sketches, trying to visualize the final look. I don’t want to make drastic changes; just a refresh that will bring the place up to date without losing the character that keeps guests coming back.
Warm tones, clean lines, a touch of modernity—it’s not groundbreaking, but it doesn’t need to be.
As I’m lost in thought, I hear the soft murmur of Catherine’s voice outside my office. She knocks on the door and enters, followed my two men from maintenance.
In no time at all, the flowers are out and hopefully, soon that nauseating smell will be too.
I check the time, realizing an hour has passed. It’s time to head over to the Army Base Riviera and meet with the design team. I need to see how the samples will look in the actual space, make sure everything feels cohesive.
Gathering my things, I step out of my office and nearly bump into Andrew as he exits his. He’s got that same focused expression he always wears, but there’s a tightness around his eyes.
“Ready to head out?” he asks, glancing at me briefly before looking away.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I say, trying to sound upbeat even though I’m well aware that Daniel’s flowers pissed him off. That makes two of us.
“We can take my car,” he says, already moving toward the elevator.
I follow him, my heart beating a little faster. We don’t talk on the way down or as we get into his car.
The silence feels heavy, and I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed him to see a therapist. I was only trying to help, but maybe I overstepped.
His curt dismissal this morning hurt more than I’d like to admit, but there’s no point in dwelling on it now.
We pull out of the parking garage, and I stare out the window, watching the city blur past. I want to say something, break the ice, but the words don’t come .
Instead, I force myself to focus on what matters—work.
If the doctor is right, and my father is close to coming out of his coma, I want him to wake up to find everything in order, the company thriving.
I want him to see that I’ve been taking care of things, that I’m capable, even if everything feels like it’s balancing on a knife’s edge.
But then there’s the matter of my marriage. What will he think when he learns I married Andrew? The thought fills me with apprehension, and I clench my hands in my lap, trying to suppress the anxiety.
One thing I’m sure of is that he’ll like Andrew. They’re so alike in many ways—serious, driven, but with a playfulness beneath the surface.
My dad always had a soft spot for people who could surprise him, who could match his wit and push back when needed.
God, I miss him. I miss our conversations, his advice, the way he’d make everything seem manageable no matter how overwhelming it was.
I need him so much right now.
As we pull up to the Army Base Riviera, the driver slows to a stop, and Andrew and I step out into the crisp afternoon air.
The design team is already gathered near the entrance, a mix of familiar faces and a few new ones.
Andrew and I exchange quick, polite nods with the team before we head inside, making our way to the boardroom. It’s a stark contrast from the bustling noise of the construction going on outside.
The room is quiet, spacious, with large windows that offer a view of the base in the distance. I catch Andrew’s eyes flicker toward it, and his jaw tightens slightly.
The head designer, Mila, is already setting up her materials—color swatches, fabric samples, and floor plans spread out across the long table. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she says, her tone bright and professional. “We have a lot to get through, so let’s jump right in. ”
I sit down, trying to focus, but as soon as the discussion starts, Andrew and I are already clashing.
He leans forward, his expression serious. “I still think we should lean into a more modern, minimalist design for the guest rooms. Something sleek and clean.”
I shake my head, my frustration bubbling up. “I disagree. The guests at this location are mostly here for long-term stays, visiting family at the base. They want comfort, warmth, something that feels like home—not a sterile, modern space.”
Andrew’s eyes narrow slightly. “Emily, we can’t just do the same thing over and over because it’s safe. We need to set a new standard. We’re trying to elevate the brand.”
“And we can elevate the brand without alienating the people who actually stay here,” I argue, refusing to back down. “The design needs to reflect that. We’re not just building showrooms, we’re creating spaces where people will live, sometimes for weeks or even months.”
The room goes silent for a moment. I don’t want to fight with Andrew, but I’m not going to let him bulldoze over what I know works for our guests.
Mila clears her throat, stepping in smoothly to diffuse the tension. “I think you both bring up excellent points. There’s a way to merge these ideas, to create a design that’s both modern and inviting. We don’t need to choose one over the other.”
For the next hour, she takes us through her plan to use contemporary furniture, but soften it with warm tones and textured fabrics.
Andrew listens carefully. I can tell he’s weighing her words, and I appreciate that he’s at least open to considering a compromise. “That could work,” he says finally, his tone a bit more relaxed. “We could experiment with a few rooms first, see how they come together.”
I nod, relieved that the conversation is moving in a more positive direction. “I like that idea. We can have a few mock-ups prepared and get feedback before we roll it out across the entire hotel. ”
Mila smiles, clearly pleased that she managed to bridge the gap between us. “Great. I’ll have the team prepare a few design boards based on that concept, and we can review them at the next meeting.”
The rest of the meeting flows much smoother after that. The team discusses fabric choices, furniture arrangements, and possible color schemes.
Andrew offers his insights, and I add mine, and we manage to find a balance, with Mila expertly guiding us through the process.
By the time the meeting wraps up, Andrew seems more at ease.
We step outside, and Andrew grins at me, a rare lightness in his expression. “We survived that without killing each other,” he says, his tone teasing.
I laugh, relief washing over me. For a moment, it feels like we’ve found a middle ground, and maybe things can start to feel less strained between us.
But just as I’m about to respond, a loud, sharp noise cuts through the air, reverberating from the direction of the military base.
It sounds like an explosion—a controlled one, maybe part of a drill, but the noise is sudden and jarring.
Before I can even process what’s happening, Andrew flinches. His whole body stiffens, and in an instant, he’s in a defensive stance, his eyes wide and alert, scanning the area.
His hands curl into fists, his breathing sharp and ragged, like he’s bracing for an attack.
My heart clenches as I watch him, realization dawning on me. It’s not just a reflex; this is something deeper, something raw.
I’ve never seen him react like this, but the way he’s coiled up, ready to fight or flee, it’s as if he’s been transported somewhere else entirely.
“Andrew,” I say softly, stepping closer, trying to bring him back. “It’s okay. It was just a drill. ”
He doesn’t respond right away. His eyes are distant, unfocused, and I can see the struggle, like he’s trying to claw his way out of whatever dark place his mind has taken him.
I reach out, gently touching his arm. “Andrew,” I say again, a little firmer this time. “Look at me.”
His head snaps around, and when he meets my eyes, it’s like a switch flips. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, and he blinks, as if waking up from a bad dream.
“Sorry,” he mutters, shaking his head, his voice rough. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
I don’t know what to say. My chest tightens with a mix of concern and sadness, but I don’t want to push him, not after this morning. “You don’t have to apologize,” I say softly, my hand still on his arm.
The driver brings the car around and we get in. We’re both quiet on the drive back to the office, until Andrew speaks.
“Do you want to grab dinner tonight?”
For a moment, I’m tempted to say yes. I want to spend more time with him, to see if we can get back to the easy camaraderie we had earlier today. But then I agreed to dinner with Daniel.
“I can’t,” I say. “I have a prior engagement.”
Andrew’s face falls slightly, the light in his eyes dimming. “Oh.” He tries to hide his disappointment. “No problem,” he says with a shrug, trying to sound casual. “Another time, then.”
“Yeah, another time,” I echo.