14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Jonathan
“I ’ll sleep on the couch,” Emma insists. “You can have the bed. You’re tired and you have work tomorrow. I can’t imagine working after a long flight back.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do that to you. I’ll sleep on the couch. You can stay on the bed.”
But I can tell from the set of her jaw that she’s determined, and she doesn’t plan on giving up easy.
Emma grabs one of the pillows and a blanket, already preparing to sleep on the couch. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but the couch and I have a deep understanding after last night, and it’s more inviting than the bed. Trust me on this.”
I follow her as she walks out of the room. “Come on, we both know you’re spouting bull. Just sleep on the bed; it’s only one night. Anyway, it won’t be much of a hassle for me to sleep on the couch again.”
“Exactly, it’s just one night, so I can handle it,” she says cheekily.
I shake my head. “No, I meant that I can handle it, not you. I meant to say I’d rather have the couch while you sleep on the bed.”
Emma glares at me. “So what you mean is that as a woman, I can’t handle what a man can handle? Are you being sexist, Jonathan?”
“Absolutely not! You know I’m not sexist.” I glare right back at her. I’m panicking so much that I almost don’t notice her small smile and the fact that she’s holding back a laugh. “Fine, you can sleep here. Goodnight, Emma.”
Emma grins, a triumphant glint in her eyes as she plops onto the couch, hugging the pillow like a prize. I almost believe it’s comfortable, but I’ve slept on it before, so I know just how horrible it is. And yet, I can’t make her change her mind.
“Goodnight, Jonathan. Can you get the lights for me while you’re leaving? Thank you,” Emma calls after me. I do as she says and turn off the lights. I return to the bedroom and prepare myself to sleep. I take off my shirt and slide into bed wearing only my boxers, ready for a good night of sleep.
We left the fair right after the death wheel incident because neither of us wanted to try any of the other rides. We shared so many moments, but not once did we kiss again. I yearn for another kiss, but it feels like we need to be in the moment before it happens again.
I toss and turn in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs. My limbs feel leaden and my body aches with exhaustion, but my mind refuses to shut off. My nap earlier was barely enough to get me through the day. And yet, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking of Emma sleeping on the couch, and I feel awful. I should have insisted for her to take the bed.
I stare at the alarm clock on the side table, and the time seems to stand still. I’m no closer to sleeping. I get up and hunt down my sleeping pills. Not very long ago, I had stress-induced insomnia that was only helped by medication. I check my travel bag, and I’m lucky enough to find the pills. I pop a few into my mouth and swallow them with some water.
I stare at the ceiling, willing the pills to take effect. Minutes crawl by, then an hour, and still, nothing. Frustration coils in my chest as I shift under the covers, exhausted but restless, my thoughts circling back to Emma on the couch. I sigh, knowing the reason I can’t sleep is because I feel uncomfortable with Emma sleeping on the couch when I’m the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.
I walk into the living room and whisper her name. “Emma, are you awake?”
But she’s snoring softly, her head cocooned in her hands while her pillow sits behind her. I can tell she’s not uncomfortable, but I can’t for the life of me let her sleep there. I rush back to the bedroom to put on a shirt so she doesn’t feel weird about it, and return to pick her off the couch.
She’s light as a feather even when sleeping, her eyelashes fluttering with every breath she takes. Emma wraps her arms around me and hugs me in her sleep, nearly making me drop her. I take deep breaths, compose myself, and carry her into the bedroom.
I gently place her on one side of the bed before barricading the space between us with all the pillows and extra towels I can find. This way, we won’t accidentally touch, even in our sleep. Satisfied with my work, I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She looks ethereal asleep, and I smile thinking of her earlier protests. She looks far more comfortable sleeping on the bed, and she instantly curls around the blanket I placed over her.
“Goodnight, my wife,” I whisper so I don’t wake her up, before returning to my side of the bed. It takes me less than a minute to fully fall asleep.
***
A loud bang wakes me up instantly, and I’m shocked to find my limbs tangled around someone else’s…around Emma’s.
Her face is red when I look up at her, one hand on her head. “I bumped my head trying to leave the death trap that is your arms.”
“Death trap?” I mumble, my brain still half-asleep. Emma glances down, and I follow her gaze to find my arms wrapped firmly around her small frame, in a grip so tight I doubt anyone could escape it.
I immediately back away, my eyes falling on Emma, who seems unable to get out of bed.
“I am so sorry. I thought you’d be more comfortable in bed,” I mutter to her, while looking around for the fortress of pillows I built between us. But they’re all sprawled over the floor in a manner I can’t even begin to explain.
“It’s fine,” Emma squeaks, her cheeks red as cherries. “It was just…surprising, that’s all. I hate to ask you, but…we didn’t do anything inappropriate, did we?”
It’s my turn for my face to heat into a shade so red it puts tomatoes to shame. “Oh no, we did nothing like that. I even added pillows between us so we wouldn’t…touch. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…if I knew this would happen, I wouldn’t have moved you.”
I’m a mumbling mess, and Emma looks like she’s so embarrassed she wishes the floor would just swallow her whole.
“It’s alright, I promise,” Emma says. “To be fair, it did feel really cozy in your arms.”
I look away because I can’t stand to blush anymore. “Okay, I think we should get ready to eat and head out.”
Emma nods, but neither of us moves. A blanket of awkwardness that I hate settles over us. I wish she would yell at me, say something mean to cut through the tension that makes us unsure how to act around each other.
Breakfast arrives a little later, and we eat in silence so heavy it settles like an anchor in my gut. I try to break the silence, but it makes matters worse, if that’s even possible.
“You could stay for the rest of the honeymoon if you want to,” I say.
Emma shakes her head. “It’s fine. I kind of miss Grover Hill, if that makes sense.”
I nod. “It does.”
Once again the conversation dries up, and all I can think of is the position we woke up in. Is it so terrible that I wish that were real? And that this awkwardness could transform into something else, something seamless and better?
“When is the flight back?” Emma asks.
I glance down at the watch on my wrist. “It should be in half an hour. A driver will pick us up and take us to the airport, where our private jet will be waiting.”
“Our?” Emma asks in surprise.
I nod. “You’re my wife now, so it’s yours as much as it’s mine. You can take it anywhere you want.”
Her eyes grow wide and I frown. “Is something wrong?”
Emma shakes her head. “No, I just didn’t know this so-called marriage came with all the perks of a real one.”
Her words sting more than they should. I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing a smile even as something inside me tightens.
It feels like every time the words fake , so-called , or pretend are mentioned, a dull ache settles in my chest.
I offer a lopsided smile. “Of course it does. You’ll have access to my black card for whatever you need. Just don’t go buying an entire hotel or something.”
“Okay,” Emma says. “Duly noted.”
“It’s decided then.” I smile. My phone rings and it’s the driver, who’s waiting for us in the hotel lobby. Emma and I wave goodbye to Andy and leave after they exchange numbers. It would be such a funny story to tell our kids how their mother made friends with a hotel receptionist she once argued with over an extra room she wanted just to avoid me. A smile forms at the thought, but it instantly drops when I remember the truth.
There won’t be any children of ours to listen to stories about our past. I need to stop thinking like that. It’ll only hurt me more in the end.
Emma gives me an odd look, her brows knitting together as if she wants to say something. But she stays quiet, and I’m too exhausted to offer even a weak smile. This arrangement is draining me. It feels like torture to be so close to her and yet not have her completely. The problem is…I had no idea I wanted her until now. I never thought of her this way before this moment.
The entire trip back to our hometown is wrapped in silence. Emma types away on her laptop, occasionally pausing to chew on her lip. I grip the armrest, my fingers tapping restlessly, but I say nothing. Every now and then, I steal a glance at her, wondering if she’ll break the silence first—but she never does. Emma types away on her computer, probably still working on her draft. I wish I could casually ask to read a few sentences or something, but I don’t feel like using up the very little energy I have left on conversation.
I also need to think of my company and how to solve the endless problems it’s facing. My jaw tightens as I go over the numbers in my head—nothing is adding up. Every time I think I’ve found the missing piece, another issue surfaces, like a game I can’t win. I try to think like my grandfather when he was the CEO. How would he fix this? He never did anything alone. He always had at least one or two people to ask for advice in any given situation.
“Reed.”
Reed is more than just my colleague—he’s my best friend, my confidant. He’s been by my side since the start, through every success and every crisis. If anyone can help me figure out what’s going on, it’s him. The financial reports haven’t been adding up, contracts have gone missing, and key deals have fallen through at the last minute. It’s too many coincidences at once. He’ll tell me if what I think is true: that someone is trying to sabotage the company.
“Huh?” Emma looks up from her screen. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I mumble. I hadn’t realized that I said her brother’s name out loud.
Emma says nothing else as she returns to her work, allowing me to think of my own job. Except I don’t think of that—I think of her, and her sweet lips, and how soft her skin was when I woke up pressed against her.
I try to blink away those thoughts, but it doesn’t help. Whether I like it or not, Emma has imprinted herself in my mind, and she’s never leaving.
Loving Emma was never part of the plan. I tell myself it’s just the situation, just the time we’ve spent together—but deep down, I know better. Maybe it’s too late to stop now.