Chapter 17 Ember
Ember
I’m not a big crier. But when I do, it’s like the floodgates are opened up.
I remove the ridiculous hat and emeralds, throwing them on a wicker chair in the orangerie. The room is bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights strung along the rafters.
Outside, the snow falls in gentle silence, muffling the world.
Inside, the air is thick with the scent of chlorine from the pool and citrus from the orange trees.
I wrap my arms tightly around myself, with my knees drawn up on the wicker loveseat.
I’ve been crying for what feels like an hour—quiet, contained tears that burn more than a scream ever could, leaving my throat raw and aching.
I hear the creak of the door behind me, but I don’t look up.
“Em. Baby.”
I stiffen. “Go away,” I say petulantly on a hiccupping sob.
“Oh, baby.” Ransom sits next to me. I feel it. I don’t look up.
“Sweetheart. No. Don’t cry.” His voice is rough.
I cry some more. I can’t help it.
He tries to pull me into a hug, but I resist. “No. Don’t touch me. And go away. You shouldn’t be here. I want to be alone.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry. Let me explain—"
“You don’t have to.” My voice is a croak. “Least of all”—harsh sob—”explain yourself to the girl you humiliated.”
I feel his hand stroking my hair. I raise my head, jerking away from his touch.
“God!” he gasps.
I know how I look. I’m not a pretty crier. I’m a blotchy-faced crier.
“Is that what you really think of me? That I’m dull and mousy?” Tears stream down my face. He tries to wipe them, but I shake him off.
“No. I don’t. I think you’re generous, beautiful, and—”
“But that’s not what you said.”
“I was blathering nonsense.”
I draw in an unsteady breath. “Why? Why would you do that? If someone said anything bad about you, I’d defend you.”
The pain and remorse on his face only makes me feel worse.
“I....” His features soften with tenderness. “I was not thinking. I wanted to talk to her about lying to you, saying that I told her about us, and about telling Margot I was going to propose. I just wanted to get past talking about you so I could talk about….”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “You said what you did because that’s how you feel about me. And you’re allowed to say whatever you want, and I’m allowed to feel bad.”
“I think you’re amazing.”
Sob. Sob. Sob. “Amazingly inexperienced, you mean? I heard everything, Ransom. You didn’t know I was there. That makes it worse. Because you were honest.”
“I wasn’t—Ember, I wasn’t. I was stupid and—”
“Oh, so I imagined what you said?” I raise my voice. “That I’m too young. That you didn’t take me seriously. That I’m boring.”
He closes his eyes, jaw clenched. “No. I was trying to push Calypso away—”
“By pushing me under the bus?”
That stops him. For a second, neither of us speaks. I finally look at him, and God, he looks wrecked. Hair mussed, eyes red-rimmed, shoulders hunched like the guilt is physically weighing him down.
“I waited for you,” I whisper, wiping my tears that seem to be easing. “I tried to move on. I tried to forget you. But I couldn’t. I kept thinking maybe you’d come back. I didn’t want to be pathetic, but I was. Because I loved you.”
“Baby—”
“Loved! Past tense. I’m over you.”
“No.” It’s a cry that comes from deep within him. “No. Don’t say that. Give us a chance. Don’t—”
“You hurt me…then and now. And, if I’m immature, what the fuck is Calypso? The epitome of maturity.”
Anger replaces grief. I ride it.
“She’s not. And I was wrong about you, about us. I…I just wasn’t ready to fall in love with someone, and then I fell in love with you—”
“Shut up!” I scream and stand up. I put my hands on my hips and stare down at him. “How dare you?”
“I’m telling the truth.” He looks devastated.
“Bullshit.”
“Em, listen to me—”
“You’re a hypocrite, Ransom. You ended things because I was too young, too immature—but it’s you who’s immature…and old.” My voice cracks, heat rising in my chest. “You’re right, I do deserve someone else. Someone who knows who he is. Not someone still pretending—” I break off, breath catching.
I hate that I’m shouting. I hate that I’m throwing insults like stones.
I take a step back. Straighten my spine.
This isn’t who I am. I won’t let him turn me into someone I don’t respect.
“We’re done. No friendship. No anything. If you’re around, I won’t be. So…I’m asking you not to come back here for Christmas again. This is my family. I want to be with them without having to see you.”
I know I sound childish—maybe even proving his point that I’m too young. But I’m too angry, too bruised and turned inside out to care.
His face crumples. “Please, baby, don’t let it end like this.”
“It ended five years ago,” I remind him. “You ended us.”
Before he can say anything, the door to the orangerie creaks open.
We both turn to look who it is.
Freja stands at the doorway with those ridiculous feathers in her hair. She walks slowly inside, nods at Ransom, and then looks at me.
“You should go,” she says softly to Ransom.
He shakes his head. “She’s upset and—"
“I’ll take care of her,” my sister assures him.
He comes up to me and cups both my cheeks, holds me so he can look me in the eyes. “I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to say that—I didn’t mean it. I’d just realized I loved you, and the words came out wrong.”
My eyes widen. I clench my jaw to hold back the venom that’s ready to spill.
“I love you. This is not done. We’ll talk.” He kisses my forehead and leaves.
The second the door clicks shut behind him, I dissolve.
Freja crosses the room in two strides and pulls me into her arms. I sob into her shoulder, and she holds me like she did when we were kids—tight, unshakable, safe.
“I got you,” she whispers.
She takes me to my room, helps me get undressed, and into bed. Then, she gets in with me, like we did when we were kids.
I lay on my side, my hands folded under my cheek. She does the same.
“You know?”
She nods. “I heard you both, so I have an idea…but…I’ve suspected.”
“You did?” I’m not sure how to feel about that. “You didn’t say anything.”
She smiles. “You’re allowed your privacy. You’re the young girl Aksel talked about, aren’t you? The one Ransom broke up with?”
“Maybe.” I scowl. “Or maybe he has a long line of young floozies he’s been fucking. What do I know!”
She grins. “Ransom is a lot of things, and right now I could kick his ass hard, but he’s never been into floozies. Even Calypso, annoying though she may be, is smart.”
“I’m not smart. I’m an idiot.” I sniffle. “I feel so stupid.”
“You’re not,” Freja says firmly. “You’re in love. That’s not stupid. You want to tell me how it started and all that jazz?”
There’s comfort in telling her, and I do. Everything. From the start to what just happened in the library.
“I thought I was stronger than this,” I bemoan.
“You are,” she says fiercely, reaching out to stroke my hair. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
“I don’t know how to stop loving him,” I admit. “But I know I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything. You just have to be.”
“Why do I love him when he’s an ass?”
Freja laughed. “I think he’s worse than an ass. Did he ever tell you about Olivia?”
I nod.
“Scarred him. He’s afraid of commitment. Afraid to fall in love. Afraid to get divorced again. Just plain ol’ scared shitless.”
I let out a watery chuckle.
“Tomorrow, when you’re feeling better, you should knee him in the nuts for what he said to Calypso about you,” Freja suggests.
Laughter spills out of me. “Okay.”
Then, as if that is too much emotion, I begin to sob again. She pulls me into her arms, holds me.
“I can’t stop crying,” I mumble.
“You don’t have to. I’ve got you. Let it all out,” my big sister tells me, and I follow her advice.