“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’ve offered me a limited affair, and I’ve accepted. You’ve agreed to give little of yourself, besides what you offer in bed,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “You can’t do that and then try to control the private parts of my life as well . . . my home, my clothing, my job. It’s not fair.”
“Emma, listen to—”
“No,” she cut him off. Everything seemed to fall down on her all at once, crushing her, making breathing difficult. The whole situation with Mrs. Ring had flipped the lid off her anxiety . . . her fear that she was going to be hurt by him . . . her growing certainty. “Please send back all the clothing you bought for me yesterday.”
His expression went flat. “What about our trip?”
“I’m not going,” she said before she broke his hold on her arm and walked toward the house.
* * *
Wednesday evening, Emma heard a knock on her bedroom door. She quickly grabbed a tissue from her bedside table and wiped her cheeks and eyes.
“Come in,” she called.
Amanda poked her head into the crack of the partially open door.
“I made grilled salmon and a big casserole of Mom’s macaroni and cheese,” she said, her gaze running over Emma’s face concernedly. Emma gave her a tired, knowing smile. It’d been their favorite meal when they were kids. Amanda was trying to cheer her up, her worry mounting ever since Emma returned home on Monday afternoon, pale and upset. Emma had provided her sister with the skeleton of an explanation for her emotional state, saying she and Vanni had fought, and that she had canceled a trip to attend the Montand French-American Grand Prix with him. Amanda had been amazed by the news, but tried to be supportive and not ask too many questions.
After their confrontation, Vanni had finally agreed to take her home, but he’d been tight-lipped and fuming for the whole drive.
“You do realize that I have to leave tomorrow, whether you come or not?” he’d demanded when he parked the Montand sedan in her apartment parking lot.
“I know it,” Emma had said, staring out the window because it was too difficult to look at him.
“And you’re still going to continue with this . . . this tantrum?” he’d asked.
That’d poured fuel on her simmering anger. She flared like a flash fire. “Just the fact that you’re calling this a tantrum proves my whole point. I’m not a child! What you did wasn’t a small thing to me, Vanni,” she’d grated out, reaching behind her neck to unfasten the Prisatti angel. She was choking with fear over her realization that she was falling for him, and that he would l
eave her. Soon. The angel was a constant reminder—
“Don’t you dare take that thing off,” Vanni had seethed, his low voice vibrating with emotion.
Her gaze had flown to his face. She flinched at the blazing fury and wild helplessness in his stare. Repressing a groan of misery, she clambered out of the car and slammed the door.
Since then, he’d called several times, but Emma had stubbornly refused to speak to him. She tried to return to work—the distraction would have done her good—but thanks to Vanni’s interference, all the shifts were covered. There was nothing for her to return to until she supposedly returned from France in two weeks’ time. She’d kept to herself for days, avoiding her sister and Vanni’s calls.
Avoiding the truth, and failing.
“You really are brilliant,” Emma said presently to Amanda, tossing aside the crumpled tissue onto her bedside table. “You figured that if anything could get me out of this funk, it’s carbohydrates.”
“I figured it couldn’t hurt to try,” Amanda said with a hopeful smile, stepping into the room. She came and sat at the foot of Emma’s bed. “Are you okay?”
Emma nodded.
“Liar,” Amanda said ruefully.
“What is it?” Emma asked, noticing her sister’s hesitance.
“Vanni called me. Just now,” Amanda admitted.
“What?” Emma asked, stunned.
Amanda nodded. “He said you were refusing to talk to him, but he wanted to leave an important message. He said that his pilot was flying back to the States as we speak. The message was that he has everything arranged for you to fly to meet him at his villa in the South of France. He said . . .”
“What?” Emma demanded when Amanda faded off reluctantly, hungry for the rest of the message despite her uncertainty . . . desperate for news of him.