35. Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dacre
Emma sits up as the door to our room clicks behind me. I smile at the mess of hair on her shoulders.
“Oh, he’s back. Want to talk to him?”
Emma shimmies what appears to be my phone across the bed, her brow indented with worry. She mouths a quick “Sorry.”
I already know who it is when I bring the phone to my ear.
“Yes, Florence?”
Her shrill shrieking jolts me. “Dacre! She’s perfect. I knew there was a girl, you liar.”
“Did you need something, or . . . ?”
“No! You go and talk to Emma. She’s so cool, by the way. Love her. She said she was going to get me an autograph from her sister, too. Can you believe it?!”
I can’t remember the last time I heard this much enthusiasm in my sister’s voice.
“Can I call you later, or are you going to blow up my phone again?” I chuckle.
“Yes! Call me later. I want to hear everything.”
After a little more back and forth and squealing, she finally hangs up.
“I’m so sorry. That was way past a boundary. But she kept calling and texting you, and I was scared she thought you were dead or something because there were so many texts in a row. I used to do that a lot when I was a kid and I thought something happened to my siblings—”
“I’m not angry. I’m more shocked than anything. I didn’t expect you’d meet this soon. You’re probably the one person in Vviveren I’d trust to talk to my sister.”
“Really?” Emma softens, leaning back into the bed with a bright smile.
“Really.” I take the plate of food I made for her and place it on her nightstand. “I got you this. Feels good on a sick stomach,” I say.
It’s a full breakfast, complete with a homemade bagel, eggs, and sausage. She’s already dressed in the clothes that I left on her nightstand. I thought she’d want to put something on when she woke up.
“You cooked for me? You don’t cook for anyone.”
“I cook for you.”
She takes the bagel first. It’s homemade cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese, and it crunches when she bites down.
Something is different about her this morning, and I can’t put my finger on what it is. Her scent is different, but it’s so faint. She can’t be ovulating again. She must be getting sick.
“You feel okay?”
“I feel . . . kind of strange,” Emma says between bites.
“Is it your head? Your stomach?”
“It’s not my stomach. Your potion worked, and your food is delicious.”
It must be because she’s almost finished her whole plate already.
I place my palm on her forehead. “You’re a little warm. There’s just something off about your smell.”
“It’s not the ovulating thing again, right? Aftereffects, or something?”
“No, this is different. It’s probably nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
I’m not sure where we landed after last night.
Not enemies. Not friends. All I really care about is seeing her smile and being something in her life.
I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to make that work with my pending engagement, but luckily, I have some time to work it out.
I’m going to hold up that contract in red tape as long as I can while I figure out what to do about Florence and the backlash from my grandfather that will ensue when I don’t sign it.
“I have to show my face in the house again before we leave. Do you want to talk about things when we get back?”
She nods, shoveling another bite of food into her mouth. It’ll be better to get her back to Doxlothia with her friends and family.
Emma’s smile is radiant. I can’t stop looking at her.
“You look . . . really beautiful, by the way.”
The vault of my mind has been opened, and everything I haven’t allowed myself to feel has become impossible to ignore.
All I want to do is keep her locked in here with me for a week, as if nothing else exists, and ask every question I can think of.
I want to know everything, from her favorite song to her favorite memory of her mother.
I don’t know whether I’ll get to keep her or this is all a temporary thing, but I’m not going to poke holes in it while I have her. For the first time in my life, I think I’d rather just enjoy this and believe it will work out okay.
She scrunches her nose with an adorable little laugh. “Thank you.”
Just as I lock the door behind me and the wave of ocean air hits me, Luther appears.
“Hey, boss.” His beady gaze is trained on the door. “You seen Emma?”
“No. Why?”
“Just been looking for her all morning. Haven’t seen her. Thought I smelled her this way.”
Grow up with someone, you learn their moods. Luther has received some bad news, judging by his temperament this morning. He even brought his breakfast bacon to gnaw on anxiously during the conversation.
“Maybe she’s walking in the garden.”
He sniffs the air. “Hmm . . . Yeah. Maybe I’ll go look for her.”
I’ve showered off her smell already. He can’t know, but he’s suspicious. I can tell by the way he keeps glancing at the door. What does he want with her?”
“Need help? You seem eager.”
“You know, someone told me last night they saw you two walking toward the garden together.”
“She was drunk, and I helped her back to the kitchen because she was stumbling around the rose bushes.”
Luther is usually easy to lie to. He’s a simple man. But today is different. There’s a reason he’s looking for her, and he doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the shifting of his feet and that smirk he bites back.
But he has no leverage. This is my estate. My guest house. He can’t open the door, no matter how much he wants to.
“Got it. I’ll search the garden.”
“Don’t take too long. I need your help to wrangle everyone to return home.”
“Yes, boss. Whatever you say.”