Chapter 29
Of course,the moment I wake up, I feel like a shit for being so awful to Emma. However, it takes me until the next evening to feel like I can hobble over to her apartment and properly apologize. Fortunately, I have a bottle of Prosecco on hand; an apology gift.
At my knock, Emma opens the door and, despite the twinge in my lower back, I straighten and try not to grimace when I say hello.
Emma’s eyes are full of sympathy. “How are you?”
“I have been better. Here, this is for you. I am sorry for the way I behaved. I should not have yelled and taken out my anger on you.” I hold out the bottle of Prosecco, and her eyes soften even further. Am I ever going to think about Prosecco without thinking of her?
Emma takes the bottle. “Come in. I think we should talk.”
I gingerly step inside, and she closes the door behind me. She’s been working on her couch, notebooks and papers spread over the low table. There’s already a glass of wine next to her laptop.
The fridge door closes, the bottle I gave her set to chill, and Emma leans against her little kitchen counter. “Why were you so upset at me?”
I rake a hand through my hair. “Vincente—Professor Romano, I mean, was upset with me for not telling him you lived in my building.”
Her eyes widen. “You hadn’t told him?”
“No.” I look out the tall window and study the view of the building directly next door. All I can see is brick—very different from my view.
“But he knew about us?”
“Yes, but not…not details. I told him at the start of the term that nothing had happened, and I told him yesterday that nothing is going on between us, which is a lie of omission. But he didn’t really believe me and made some accusations.”
“So, you were upset that he accused you of sleeping with me?”
I look at Emma, finally. Her brows are drawn together, and I can see the self-consciousness warring with her desire for self-protection.
“I was upset,” I say carefully, “because he said I was just like my father.”
The wrinkle between her eyebrows deepens. “That was an insult?”
“My father had an affair with his young, naive secretary who got pregnant. Most people don’t know about it because my father threatened and bought off the woman, but I told Vincente, and I was upset that he was right. I don’t like the comparison, but I don’t blame him for making it.”
Emma’s mouth purses. “That’s bullshit.”
“What is?”
“He wasn’t right. You aren’t like your father.”
I snort. “You didn’t know my father.”
“Okay, fine, but here are some differences that I know.” She holds out a finger and starts counting. “One; you aren’t married. I’m pretty confident in this since I’ve met Abelie, and she would have said something. Two; how young was this secretary? I’m probably twice her age.”
“Twenty,” I admit.
“Three; I am not naive.”
I raise an eyebrow, and Emma flushes before lifting her chin. “Maybe I’m inexperienced with some things, but I am not naive. I’ve been married, had kids, started a business, and got divorced.” She sniffs. “I’m worldly now. Four; I can’t get pregnant.”
My other eyebrow joins the first.
“I had a procedure after kiddo number three,” she explains. “Five; while you could certainly make my time in the program difficult, having an illicit affair with someone you depend completely on for your job is different. There are procedures in place to handle student discipline; you can’t unilaterally fire me. Need I go on?”
I know Emma is trying to make me feel better. She stands there with her hand in the air, fingers outstretched, a flush on her cheeks.
But there’s a part of me that hopes that she’s making this argument not just so I’ll feel better, but to talk us into doing something more. Even thinking that she might fight for us this fervently has my heart racing.
I am so fucked.