19. Chapter NineteenLucas
Chapter Nineteen
Lucas
I watch Emma disappear onto the terrace, my mother’s sapphire earrings catching the light as she walks away. The urge to follow her battles against the anger still churning from Clara’s revelations about the board members’ schemes. Every instinct screams to chase after her, to explain, to fix this—but the part of me still learning to face conflict rather than avoid it holds me back.
Two years ago, I would have walked away. Fled to New York. Let the distance solve the problem by creating an entirely new one.
“Let her go.” My mother’s voice is gentle beside me. “She needs a moment, and you should think about what just happened.”
“Mom, you don’t understand. What Clara told you—”
“What Clara told me was calculated manipulation, and you played right into it.” She leads me to a quiet corner, her expression firm but kind—the one she used when I was a teenager convinced I knew everything. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize what she was doing? I survived thirty years of corporate politics beside your father.”
Sophie materializes beside us, her usual mischief replaced by genuine concern. She’s abandoned her champagne flute and looks surprisingly serious in her emerald gown. “Mom’s right. Clara knew exactly what buttons to push. She’s been laying this trap all night.”
“Both of you don’t understand.” I let out a sharp breath and clench my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. “What she said about the board—”
“Is exactly what she wanted you to hear,” Mom interrupts, her tone shifting to no-nonsense. “Do you know what I saw tonight, watching you two together?”
I sigh. “Mom—”
“I saw how she makes you light up. How you work in perfect sync.” She grips my arm firmly. “But more importantly, I saw how she makes you brave enough to be yourself. Until Clara started whispering about board politics and protecting reputations. Then I watched my son turn back into his father.”
That stops me cold. “What?”
“Your father thought he was protecting me too, keeping me away from the ‘messier’ parts of the business.” She glances away briefly, old pain flickering across her features. “It took years for him to understand that protection without trust isn’t love—it’s control.”
The words land like stones, heavy with decades of meaning. Mom rarely talks about her early years with Dad—how she’d started in marketing only to be gradually sidelined as Walker Enterprises grew. How she’d eventually started her firm to prove she could.
“And you’re doing the same thing,” Sophie adds, perching on a nearby chair. “I watched you with Emma all night - how perfectly you work together, you make each other stronger. Then Clara shows up, and suddenly you’re trying to handle everything alone. Just like Dad used to.”
The comparison stings more than I want to admit. “I’m not... I wouldn’t...”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Not intentionally.” Mom’s expression softens. “But Lucas, honey, that brilliant woman out there doesn’t need protection. She needs a partner who believes in her as much as she believes in him.”
I sink into a chair, the truth of their words settling in my chest. The crowded ballroom fades to background noise as I process what they’re saying. “I just... when Clara started talking about the board’s plans, about using our relationship against Emma’s career...”
“You panicked. Decided to handle it alone. Just like you did two years ago.” Mom sits beside me while Sophie leans against my chair. The two women who know me best in the world, tag-teaming an intervention in the middle of a charity gala. “How did that work out?”
“I lost our friendship.” The admission comes easily, along with the painful memories of two years of emptiness in New York.
“And now?”
“Now I might lose her love and our friendship again.” I press my palms against my eyes, reality crashing down. “Oh no, I’m an idiot.”
“Yes, but a well-meaning one,” Sophie agrees, patting my shoulder with sisterly condescension. “Though watching you try to protect Emma from board politics was like watching someone try to shield a hurricane from rain. She reorganized the entire sustainability division while you were gone, Lucas. Took on Garrett—repeatedly—and won. She doesn’t need a white knight; she needs a partner.”
I think of all the times Emma stood her ground in board meetings. How she rebuilt entire systems while I was in New York, proving herself through sheer brilliance and determination. How she faces every challenge head-on while I’ve been trying to shield her from battles she’s not only capable of fighting but has already won many times.
Mom watches my face, understanding dawning in her eyes. “You know what I love about Emma? She’s never been afraid of messy. Of taking risks. Of believing in people even when they don’t believe in themselves.”
“Like believing I could be more than Dad’s disappointment?” The words slip out before I can stop them—the core insecurity I’ve carried for years.
“Like seeing my son instead of the CEO everyone expects him to be.” She clasps my hand, her eyes brightening with emotion. “She’s loved you—the real you—since long before either of you would admit it. The question is, are you brave enough to let her?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with years of running, avoiding, escaping. From Dad’s expectations. From my fears. From the possibility that I might not be enough. But now, with Emma, I’ve found someone who makes me want to stay and fight. To face everything head-on, together.
“Go fix this,” Sophie urges, straightening my tie with unexpected gentleness. “Though maybe try not to sound too CEO-like when you apologize. We’ve had enough corporate strategy for one night.”
Through the terrace doors, I glimpse Emma at the railing, moonlight silvering her hair. She looks ethereal in that dress, but it’s her strength that captivates me. Her brilliance. Her courage to face every challenge head-on while I’ve been trying to shield her from fights she’s more than capable of winning.
“I don’t know how to stop wanting to protect her,” I admit quietly. “It’s instinctive at this point.”
“Then protect her by standing beside her, not in front of her.” Mom touches my cheek, the gesture reminiscent of childhood reassurances. “Trust her mind as much as you trust her heart.”
“Now go fix this before Clara convinces any more board members that she’s saving the company from scandal,” Sophie adds, giving me a gentle push. “And remember—Emma became a force in this company while you were gone. She doesn’t need saving; she needs a partner who sees that.”
I straighten my shoulders, gathering resolve. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” Mom says. “You just need to be honest. About everything.”
***
I find Emma exactly where I expected—by the fountain, Mom had drained. She stands with her back to me, one hand tracing the edge of the emptied basin, the midnight blue of her dress blending with the shadows. The terrace is quiet now, most guests have moved inside for dancing or dessert. Strings of fairy lights create pools of golden light among the darker corners.
“Seems a shame,” I say softly. “To waste such a perfect dramatic moment. You could have stormed off and pushed me in.”
“Don’t tempt me.” A hint of a smile colors her voice, though she doesn’t turn.
I approach but stop a few feet away, respecting her space. “Emma... I’m sorry. Not just for tonight. For trying to handle things alone. For not trusting that you’re strong enough to face whatever comes. For falling back into old patterns the moment things got complicated.”
She partially turns, her profile illuminated by the soft lights. “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Lucas.”
“I know. I know that here.” I tap my head, then my heart. “Still working on believing it here. Old habits of trying to protect people I love by taking control instead of standing with them.”
“Love?” Her voice catches on the word.
“Yes. And I’m terrified of losing you again. But I’m more terrified of losing you by not trusting you enough to stand beside you instead of in front of you.” I step closer. “You built an incredible career while I was gone. Faced down Garrett, transformed our sustainability division, and saved accounts I thought were lost. You did all that without me swooping in to ‘protect’ you.”
She remains quiet, her fingers drawing invisible patterns on the fountain’s edge. “Mr. Brighton said the board was planning to restructure my division. To move me away from client interactions.”
“Garrett suggested it. Three board members supported the idea. I was researching how to counter it.” I force complete honesty. “But I should have told you immediately, brought you into the conversation. Instead, I tried to handle it alone, like I always do.”
“Like you did when you left for New York.”
The parallel strikes deep. Running away to protect myself and everyone, only to create more damage in the process.
“Clara’s trying to break us apart because together we’re unstoppable. Because you make me better, braver, more real. And I’ve been so busy trying to protect what we have that I almost ruined it myself.” I move closer, near enough now to see the faint freckles across her nose, visible even in the dim light. “I’m done running, Emma. From problems, feelings, the mess of facing things together instead of trying to handle everything alone.”
Finally, she faces me fully. Her expression holds more complexity than I expected—not just hurt, but determination. The same look she gets before presenting a particularly challenging integration strategy.
“No more making decisions about my career without me?”
“No more making any decisions without you.” I reach for her hand, relief flooding me when she allows the contact. “Partners. In everything. The good, the bad, and the occasionally disastrous board politics.”
“Even crazy ideas about revolutionizing manufacturing processes?”
“Especially those.” I draw her closer, encouraged by the warmth returning to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I tried to control things instead of trusting you.”
“I’m sorry, too.” She returns the pressure on my fingers. “I walked away instead of telling you how it made me feel. Kind of ironic after I spent two years wishing you’d stayed and talked things through.”
“We’re both works in progress?” I offer.
Her smile emerges the first genuine one since Brighton interrupted our dance. “But we’re progressing together.”
Inside, the orchestra begins a new song. The opening notes of “The Way You Look Tonight” drift through the open doors—the same song we practiced in Sophie’s apartment.
“Dance with me?” I ask. “Not to show anyone anything. Just because I love you.”
She steps into my arms like she belongs there. Maybe she always has. Here on the moonlit terrace, away from watchful eyes and corporate politics, we sway together to the distant music. Her head nestles perfectly under my chin, her hand warm in mine.
“Emma,” I say after a moment, “there’s something else I need to tell you. About what Clara said to my mother.”
She tenses slightly. “Is it worse than restructuring my division?”
“No, but it’s important you know everything. She implied that some board members are questioning not just our professional judgment but our authority—that the Johnsons might pull their contract if our relationship becomes public knowledge.”
“But they already know. We presented to them tonight as a couple.”
“I know. That’s why it’s such an effective manipulation. Clara’s trying to create problems where none exists. Our approach impressed the Johnsons, who were unconcerned about our relationship.”
She pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “So what do we do? Pretend we’re just colleagues?”
“No,” I say firmly. “We show them exactly what they’re afraid of—that being together makes us stronger, not weaker. That we can be professional partners and personal ones. That’s how we win this.”
“By not hiding?”
“By not letting them dictate the terms of our lives. Professional or personal.” I trace the curve of her jaw. “I spent two years in New York trying to prove something to my father, and all I proved was that running from problems doesn’t solve them.”
As the song ends, Emma rests her head on my shoulder again. “Tonight’s been...”
“Overwhelming?” I suggest, still holding her close.
“That’s one word for it.” Her sigh resonates against my chest. “Between Clara’s appearance, the board politics, your mother’s earrings, Brighton’s offer...”
“Brighton’s offer?” I pull back slightly, surprised.
“He offered me the head of global sustainable technology at Brighton Analytics,” she says matter-of-factly. “Creative control. My name on the patents.”
“I...wow.” I process this new information. “That’s quite an offer.”
“Yes, but that’s a discussion for later when I can think clearly. When we can both think clearly.”
Her candor—her willingness to tell me about a competing offer instead of using it as leverage or keeping it secret—amazes me. How many times have I witnessed power plays between executives over less significant issues?
“Too much corporate drama for one evening?”
“Just a lot to process.” She looks up at me, her expression softening. “I love you, and I’m glad we talked, but—”
“But you need some space to think?” Something twists in my chest, but I understand. This is me trusting her, even when it’s difficult.
“Not space exactly.” She adjusts my lapel, smoothing the silk with careful fingers. “Just...”
“Time to decompress?” Sophie’s voice interrupts from behind us. “With your best friend, who happens to have wine, ice cream, and a very comfy guest room where we can dissect every excruciating detail of tonight’s corporate soap opera?”
Emma’s relief is visible, tension melting from her shoulders. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in her perfume. “Take the time you need. Process everything with Sophie. Just...” I smile slightly. “Try not to let her plan our entire wedding while you’re at it.”
“Too late!” Sophie links her arm through Emma’s, winking at me over her head. “I already have a Pinterest board. Several, actually. Plus a spreadsheet of potential venues, categorized by ‘sustainability factor’ and ‘likelihood of Emma tripping during the ceremony.’”
“See what I’m getting myself into?” Emma teases, but her eyes remain soft when they meet mine.
“Worth it.” I give her hand a final squeeze. “Text me when you get to Sophie’s.”
“I will.”
I watch them leave. Sophie already chattering about post-gala recovery plans involving face masks and detailed gossip analysis. Mom appears beside me, satisfaction is evident in her expression.
“You did good, letting her go with Sophie tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes the best way to show you trust someone is to let them lean on other people, too.” She pats my cheek. “Even if those other people are your meddlesome sister with questionable matchmaking methods.”
“I heard that!” Sophie calls back, making Emma laugh.
The sound warms me from within. Two years ago, I would have seen Emma’s need for space as rejection and would have retreated behind corporate walls or fled to another city. But now I understand that sometimes loving someone means letting them process in their own way. Trusting that they’ll come back when they’re ready.
Because some things are worth protecting.
But Emma Hastings?
She’s worth trusting even more.
Even when that means letting her process our corporate drama over wine and ice cream with my sister.
Especially then.
As I watch them disappear into Sophie’s car, I make a promise—to myself, Emma, and us. I’m done running from challenges.
Done trying to protect people by controlling situations.
Done being my father’s son instead of my own man.