Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the seat. Her father’s unexpected attempt to connect had left her feeling quietly optimistic, but it also heightened the sense that her life was changing at a more dramatic pace than she could handle.
She looked at her watch and sighed. It was barely eight o’clock and she already craved the comfort of her bed.
A comfort she’d soon relinquish, she reminded herself with another flare of unease.
Tomorrow at ten a.m. she would meet with an interior designer at the house in Chelsea to discuss colour schemes and furnishings. Within the month, she and Ramon would be living in their new home and her beloved Wimbledon flat would be rented out to strangers.
Ramon wanted her to sell it.
Emily had refused, then enquired pointedly if he planned to sell his penthouse in Manhattan.
The stand-off had only sharpened the tension between them these last few days.
After thanking and dismissing her driver, she dragged her feet up the stairs and opened the door to her flat, relieved to be home, but also aware of a flutter of trepidation.
Ramon had been deeply unhappy about her meeting with her father and his mood before they’d left for work this morning had been dark and intractable.
Much like his mood every day since their return from Spain, she thought gloomily.
She flipped on a light and put her bag and keys on the hall table before walking through to the lounge. Darkness blanketed the room and suddenly she remembered Ramon had said he was entertaining a business associate at Citrine this evening. Her mind moving to thoughts of hot chocolate and bed, she turned on a lamp—and felt her heart lunge into her throat.
‘My God! Ramon!’ She clapped her hand over her breast, staring at him as he turned from the window. ‘You scared me half to death. Why are you standing in the dark?’
He moved into the lamplight and Emily saw from his face that his mood had not improved from this morning. He still wore his work attire, although his tie and suit jacket had been discarded, and his shirt collar loosened. ‘How was dinner with your father?’
His tone was clipped and Emily stifled a sigh. She was exhausted, her emotions drained; she couldn’t talk about her conversation with her father, not right this minute, standing here in the middle of the lounge. ‘Interesting,’ she said, turning towards the kitchen. ‘I’m making hot chocolate. Would you like some?’
‘I had an interesting meeting, too.’
Reluctantly, she stopped.
‘I ran into Carter,’ he said.
She frowned. ‘Carter...?’
‘Ray.’ His voice carried an edge of impatience, as though he thought she were being deliberately obtuse. ‘Your lawyer.’
‘Oh.’
‘He offered his congratulations on our engagement and the baby.’
‘That’s...nice,’ she said, the skin at her nape beginning to prickle.
‘Asked if we knew yet if it’s a boy or a girl.’
The prickling spread into her throat, then her chest, making it difficult to breathe. ‘Ramon...’
‘Said if we’re expecting a boy,’ he barrelled on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘you should notify him so he can prepare to activate your inheritance as soon as the child is born.’
Her breath stopped altogether. Oh, God.
He stepped forward, his jaw clenching. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. Dangerous. ‘What did he mean, Emily?’
She forced herself to breathe. Told herself it wasn’t a big deal. Not to her. Surely it wouldn’t be to Ramon?
‘There was a...a clause in my grandfather’s will. A ridiculous clause,’ she added. ‘It bequeathed a sum of money to me if certain...stipulations were met.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of stipulations?’