The realization that she’d peered into his private world and seen a part of him that the rest of the world hadn’t made her feel heart sore, like she’d lost something.
Something you never had.
The thought galvanized her. Without saying a word to him, she hurried toward her car, digging in her purse for her keys.
“Emma,” he said behind her. She gave him a reluctant sideways glance as he approached while she unlocked her car.
“How did you find me?” she asked, straining to keep her voice even.
He shrugged as if the question was unimportant. He was clean-shaven today. His cheeks looked a little hollowed out, but he didn’t appear gaunt. If anything, he looked more handsome to her than he ever had.
So far out of her league.
In more ways than one.
The realization made her drop her gaze and reach for the door handle.
“Cristina’s funeral is in an hour,” he said. “It’s a small one. Graveside. I’d like you to come.”
A stabbing sensation of sadness went through her. She lowered her head, protecting herself instinctively.
“You really liked her, didn’t you?” he asked quietly, and she knew he’d noticed her sudden sadness.
She nodded, reigning in her upsurge of emotion. “I did like Cristina. She was edgy and sharp, yes, but she had a forceful personality and she made me laugh.”
“Laugh?”
“Laugh. She was an excellent observer of character. She saw straight to the heart of someo
ne and read their faults,” Emma said, staring unblinkingly at the top of her car.
Maybe you’re the one who is afraid. Maybe you’re such an expert on death because you’re afraid to live.
“Everyone’s faults but her own,” Vanni stated dryly.
Emma recalled Cristina talking in her sleep during that nightmare. You knew what I was capable of and what I wasn’t.
“She did see her faults,” Emma said quietly. “She felt so guilty about them that it was hard for her to speak of them out loud. She dreamed of them, though. They haunted her.”
His gaze narrowed on her. “Did she tell you anything significant about her life?”
“What do you mean?” Emma asked slowly. “Are you talking about what she said at the end?”
“No, I heard most of that. Anything about when she was young?” he prodded.
“She told me about that shop that she owned where all the women donated their designer clothes and things and other women bought them. She used to talk a about your father and the French Riviera, just little details.”
He didn’t respond. She glanced at him uneasily and was caught in his gleaming stare.
“I came to get you,” he said simply.
She shook her head adamantly. “The hospice holds two funerals every year for all of our patients that have passed. Family can come, but it’s primarily an opportunity for the staff to mourn,” she explained, avoiding his steady stare by examining her hand on the door handle. “If I went to every patient’s funeral, it’d—”
Finish me.
“Were you there? In my bedroom suite last Monday night? When I was with Astrid?” he asked suddenly.
Chapter Twelve