Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emery watched as Eveline's fingers closed around the envelope. This was it, the moment of truth. Her heart hammered against her ribs as Eveline began to turn the envelope over.
The shop bell jangled violently as the door burst open, startling them both. Charles stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath, his designer coat flapping open.
“Eveline,” he said, striding into the shop without waiting for an invitation. “I've been trying to reach you all day.”
Eveline's hands fell to her sides, the envelope remained on the counter. Emery watched her expression harden, the vulnerability of their hospital visit disappearing behind a mask of cool indifference.
“We've been at the hospital,” Eveline said, her voice clipped. “An old friend is ill.”
Charles's eyebrows rose. “Ah, I'm, er, sorry to hear that. But I need to speak with you about something important.” He glanced at Emery, then back to Eveline. “Privately, perhaps?”
Eveline crossed her arms. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Emery.”
Charles looked uncomfortable, running a hand through his carefully styled hair.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “My publisher is interested in reissuing Les Ombres de Provence.
There's been renewed interest since I was shortlisted for the Prix Goncourt, and they're planning a special edition with new material.”
Emery noticed Eveline's posture stiffen, her knuckles whitening as her hands clenched into fists. She moved closer to her, their shoulders almost touching.
“And?” Eveline said, her tone dangerously calm.
“And,” Charles continued, licking his lips and taking a deep breath, “and given our history, I thought it proper to discuss it with you first. To get your… blessing, so to speak.”
A stillness settled over Eveline. “My blessing?” she repeated slowly. “For you to once again profit from my experiences? From the stories I trusted you with in our most intimate moments?” Her voice remained steady, but Emery could feel the tremor of rage beneath the words.
“That's not what I—” Charles began.
“Get out,” Eveline said, her accent thickening with emotion. “Get out of my shop. You will never have my blessing, Charles. Not for this, not for anything.”
Charles's expression hardened, the charming facade slipping to reveal something colder beneath. “I was trying to be courteous, Eveline. I don't actually need your permission. The stories as written are my creation, my intellectual property. I simply thought—”
“You thought what?” Emery found herself stepping forward, anger bubbling up inside her. “That she'd be grateful for the chance to be exploited again? That enough time had passed for her to forget how you betrayed her trust?”
Charles blinked at her, as if suddenly noticing her presence. “I don't believe we've been properly introduced,” he said stiffly.
“We don't need to be,” Emery replied. “I know enough about you to know that you should leave. Now.”
A tense silence followed, during which Charles looked between them, seeming to reassess the situation. Finally, he straightened his coat and adopted a conciliatory expression.
“Perhaps this was ill-timed,” he said. “You're upset about your friend, understandably so. Think about it, Eveline. We could present this as a collaboration. There could be something in it for you as well.”
“There's the door,” Eveline said, pointing with a steady hand.
Charles sighed dramatically. “You haven't changed, have you? Still so uncompromising.” He turned and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I'll be in London for a few more days. Think about it.”
When the door closed behind him, Eveline let out a long, shaky breath, leaning against the counter for support.
“I can't believe he had the audacity,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “After everything…”
Emery moved to her side, hesitantly placing a hand on her back. “I'm so sorry,” she said, and meant it with every fiber of her being. For Charles's awful timing, for his cruelty, and for her own deception that now seemed so similar to his.
Eveline turned into her embrace, burying her face against Emery's shoulder. “Just when I think I've moved past it, he shows up and it's like being back in Paris all over again, realizing that the person I trusted most was using me all along.”
Emery felt sick, her arms tightening around Eveline as guilt coursed through her. The envelope lay on the counter, almost mocking her. Maybe this wasn't the right time after all. Maybe, given what had just happened with Charles, the truth would be too much for Eveline to bear.
Maybe she should simply continue the lie. Take Eveline away somewhere, to Tahiti or Italy or anywhere Charles wasn't, and start fresh. Build a life on half-truths and omissions, but a life filled with love, nonetheless.
She glanced at the envelope again, then back at Eveline's dark hair where it brushed against her cheek. What was worse? A painful truth or a comforting lie?
Before she could decide, the shop bell rang. Zara bounded in, followed by Maya, both carrying paper bags that emitted delicious aromas.
“We brought sustenance for the Romance Book Club!” Zara announced, then stopped short when she saw their embrace. “Oh. Is this a bad time?”
Eveline stepped back, wiping quickly at her eyes. “No, it's fine,” she said, her voice steadier than before. “We were just…” She didn't finish the sentence.
Maya, more perceptive than Zara, set her bags down and put her hands on her hips. “What's happened? You both look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Charles came by,” Eveline said simply.
Understanding dawned on Maya's face. “Ah,” she said. She glanced at Emery, then back to Eveline. “And how is Abe? Zara told me you had to rush to the hospital this morning.”
Eveline's expression fell further. “Not good,” she said. “His heart is failing. The doctors say…” She paused, composing herself. “They say he's wearing out. That a full recovery is unlikely.”
“Oh no,” Zara said, her face falling. “Poor Abe.”
“He's not gone yet,” Maya said firmly. “And knowing Abe, he'll be giving those doctors a run for their money.”
Emery nodded. “He was alert enough to scold me for looking worried,” she said, attempting a smile.
Maya squeezed Eveline's arm. “What we need to do is make whatever time he has left as good as possible. Surrounded by books and friends and all the things he loves.”
“You're right,” Eveline said, straightening her shoulders. “That's what he'd want.”
The four of them set about preparing for the Romance Book Club meeting, laying out Maya's pastries, setting up more chairs than usual for the expected crowd, and arranging copies of The Woman Without a Past on a special display table.
Emery forced herself to focus on these tasks, trying to ignore the envelope that Eveline had absently placed beside the register. She could still retrieve it, hide it away until a better moment. But what moment would ever be better?
The Romance Book Club members began to arrive, each greeting Eveline warmly.
Mrs. Hampton swept in with her usual dramatic flair, bearing a cake and an oddly large bunch of flowers for seemingly no reason at all.
The shop filled with chatter and laughter, a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the day.
“Everyone,” Zara called for attention, “before we start discussing The Woman Without a Past, Eveline has some sad news to share about Abe.”
Eveline stepped forward, her composure fully restored as she shared the update about Abe's condition. The club members expressed their concern and offered support, several volunteering to visit him in hospital with books and treats.
“He'd like that,” Eveline said with a genuine smile. “Now, let's begin our discussion. I know Abe would hate to think he'd interrupted your meeting.”
The discussion flowed easily, with members sharing their thoughts on the themes of identity and reinvention in Pearl's novel.
Emery sat quietly at the edge of the group, contributing only when directly addressed.
She knew this book inside and out, had written it during a particularly difficult period in her own life, but tonight, she could barely focus on the words.
“I just love how the protagonist recreates herself,” a new member said enthusiastically. She was young, barely out of university by the look of her, with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. “It's like she's saying we can all start over, become someone new if we need to.”
“It's certainly a powerful theme,” Mrs. Hampton agreed. “What do you think, Emery?”
Emery was startled at being addressed. “I, um, I think it's about finding the courage to be true to yourself, actually. Not so much becoming someone new as revealing who you've always been.”
The new member looked at her more closely, a strange expression crossing her face. “Wait a minute,” she said, her eyes widening. “I know you.” She pointed at Emery, her voice rising with excitement. “You're Emerald Pearl! I recognize you from your book signing!”
The room went silent. Emery felt her blood turn to ice as every eye in the shop swiveled toward her.
“What?” Zara was the first to break the silence, her voice hitting a pitch Emery hadn't thought possible.
“Emerald Pearl!” the young woman repeated, even more excited now. “I was at your signing at Harrington's last year! I can't believe it. You're actually working in a bookshop? Is this research for your next novel? The one set in a bookshop that everyone's talking about?”
Emery couldn't speak, couldn't move. She was vaguely aware of Maya stepping forward, trying to defuse the situation with a joke about mistaken identity, but it was too late. The damage was already done.
She forced herself to look at Eveline, whose expression had shifted from confusion to shock to understanding in the span of seconds.
Their eyes met across the room, and Emery watched as the final piece clicked into place for Eveline, the manuscripts on her laptop, the publishing knowledge, the mysterious absences.
The betrayal that dawned on Eveline's face was worse than anything Emery had imagined. It wasn't anger that filled those dark eyes, but something far more devastating: heartbreak. The same look she'd worn when she’d spoken about Charles.
Eveline moved toward her, the romance club members parting like water around a stone. When she reached Emery, she spoke so quietly that only Emery could hear.
“Leave,” she said, her voice devastatingly soft. “Now.”
Emery opened her mouth, desperate to explain, to make Eveline understand that it wasn't the same as with Charles, that what they had was real, that she'd been about to tell the truth that very morning.
But Eveline's expression stopped her cold. There was no room for explanations, no space for excuses. Only pain.
“Please,” Emery whispered.
“Now,” Eveline repeated, taking a step back, physically removing herself from Emery's presence.
Emery looked around the shop, at the confused faces of the book club members, at Zara's open-mouthed shock, at Maya's look of pity, then back at Eveline, who had turned away, her spine rigid with hurt.
With leaden feet, Emery gathered her bag. She walked to the door, each step an effort, the bell jangling with cruel cheerfulness as she stepped out into the evening air, alone.