31. Chapter Thirty-One #2
Once a great chef, hungry and full of life, he hasn’t picked up a pan in a professional sense in at least thirty years.
I’d say I don’t think he ever liked cooking, but I didn’t fabricate my childhood memories.
To think there was once a time when I was excited to see him, and I’d count the minutes until he’d teach me another lesson.
I feel so far away from that naive, hopeful child.
Emma laughs as she takes a sip of wine. She catches my eye momentarily.
I already know my grandfather’s tactics. I’ve seen him use them on many men and women. But before that, he used them on me.
He makes you think you mean something, that all your wants and hopes are his as well. As if he’d move the stars and the mountains for you. Then everything changes when he knows you trust him, and if he can’t gain that trust, he’ll force your hand. Fabricate it.
There’s a plethora of greetings as my brother returns, along with his client, who has a woman at his side.
I assume it’s his wife until he follows Daniel back to his seat.
There’s a long exchange of pleasantries, and I straighten in my seat when my grandfather whispers in Daniel’s ear.
My brother’s smile disappears. He nods in obedient acceptance before making his way over to me with the woman at his side.
“Who is this? Your fiancée?” I ask.
I wobble from the wine when I stand.
“Yours.” Daniel’s eyes soften.
My blood runs cold. My brother gives up his seat next to me for her. Across the table, Emma coughs on her coffee cake, and white casts over her skin in shock.
“Dacre. Meet Valeria Esteria.”
A woman with dark green hair smiles brightly at me and extends her hand. She’s dressed for a cocktail party, with a structured, tight dress and lavish jewelry adorning her neck and wrists.
The Esteria family is a Were legacy family. I can’t meet her gaze or feel her hand as my body moves to greet her with a handshake.
My grandfather set me up with a contractual marriage and didn’t tell me.
Emma is on her feet, making her way across the room. Before I can process what’s happening, I mumble a quick apology to Valeria so I can dip out the door. I’m hot on her trail. I can’t let her get away. The further the distance between us, the harder my heart pounds. I’m not losing her.
Emma doesn’t stop moving as she passes through the front doors and leads us into the estate garden. Cool, salty air hits my face. The trickling fountain glimmers in the light of the moons in the sky, and a faint sprinkle of rain speckles my coat.
I manage to catch her hand, and we halt in front of the rose hedge.
“Would you stop running, please?”
“You’re engaged, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know. I promise. This is as much news to me as it is to you.”
“Are you going to accept?”
“No. I . . . don’t know. I have to come up with a plan. I need time—”
She goes to bolt again, and I block her path.
“You just had to pull me into all of this. All I wanted to do was cook, and every time I try to enjoy being a little closer to my dream, something happens with you, and I can’t. This is all your fault.”
“I didn’t want this.”
“I don’t need a lecture on how much you don’t want me,” she huffs.
I close the distance between us till I’m staring down at her. “Who said I didn’t want you?”
“You . . . over and over.”
Emma points her chin toward me. Close enough to touch . . . to lean in . . . to kiss.
“How was I supposed to predict my grandfather would arrange a marriage for me? He’s never done something like this before. He always tells me.”
She sighs. “Yeah, well. That’s convenient for you to say after you convinced me to do things with you earlier today.”
“You think I’m lying to get you into bed with me or something?”
“I don’t know! How am I supposed to believe anything you say?”
“Because you’re the only person I’ve ever told the truth to. I’m not lying to you. I want you, and I’m not letting it end like this because my grandfather decided he wanted to fuck up my life.”
None of it budges the anger in her eyes. I test a hand at her waist, then in her hair. She rolls her eyes but leans with her hips till our chests are touching.
“Why are you so stubborn?” I ask.
“I guess if you can’t handle it—”
I pull at the hair at her neck and seize her mouth with mine. Her hot breath fills my mouth, and all my control slips away.
“I can handle it,” I whisper against her cheek.
I kiss her jaw. Her neck. Every new inhale brings elation, tingling in my limbs. Our lips tangle in a rushed heat of ragged breaths. I lick her teeth, her tongue. This might be the last time. The only time.
Emma pulls tightly at the hair on my neck, connecting our mouths again after every draw for air. I drag her into me, and the sharp prickle of thorns stings my back. Digging my fingers into her thigh, I pull it around my waist.
It’s a desperate, punishing pain when she bites my lip, and I keep going back for more. If I press, she presses harder. It hurts all over. I can’t have her. We can’t do this.
“Emma, wait.”
“Stop talking.”
Her wet lips overtake mine as her tongue slips into my mouth.
She’s in danger. In danger of being seen kissing me, and worse, in danger of me stripping her right here in the garden.
My fingers graze her thigh as she presses me further into the hedges, and my mind goes wild with the possibility of slipping her underwear off.
I’m addicted to her. I want to taste her. To be inside her.
She stops, and I follow her lead.
“I’m going to bed. Don’t follow,” she huffs. She walks away down the lighted path, undoing her bun and letting her hair fall as she disappears into the night.
I attempt to rebutton my shirt, but there are two missing buttons that we popped in our frenzy. For a minute, I gather myself and think about chasing her. Actually chasing her. Till it’s just her and me in a room together, and I can take all that anger from her and make it useful.
The light from my grandfather’s office flips on and beckons me from the top floor. I have business to attend to first.