“The truth!” he bellowed. “Now you want to tell me the truth? I fucking trusted you. I never let my guard down like that. For anyone. Ever! Stupid. Fucking stupid.”
“Nave.”
“That whole fucking sob story. Was it all just a hook to draw me in?”
“Oh, God.” She felt sick. “No.”
He talked over her.
“Get out.”
“Please, Nave.”
He looked confused, but his anger was consuming him.
“Security is on the way. If you move quickly, you can escape getting thrown on your ass onto Sixth Avenue.”
She set the packages on the edge of his desk, and pleading violet eyes met fiery greens.
“I’m going, but you need to open these. Please. It will explain everything, and I promise you it’s not what you think. Remember that night at the bar? When you came in with that woman? Remember how bad it looked?” He wouldn’t budge.
“Out. Now.”
“Nave, I swear. Only good surprises.”
She turned without a word and left the office. As she rode down in the elevator with a suited executive who never looked up from his phone, she sent up a silent prayer that Nathan would open the boxes and not send the bomb squad to destroy them. Deep down he had to know. Emma knew he had to know, so she relied on the faith she had put in him.
She emerged onto Sixth Avenue and stopped on the sidewalk at a loss. Pedestrians moved around her, altering the flow of foot traffic like minnows avoiding a rock in a steam. The Suburban was parked on a side street, JT leaning against the driver’s door reading something on his phone. Nathan’s Range Rover pulled up out front. Chat emerged from the driver’s seat, came around the hood, and stopped abruptly when he saw her. Emma looked at him with a desperation that had him widening his eyes. Chat stood for a moment, assessing. Then he navigated the crowd, took Emma by her shoulders, and guided her back to the expansive recessed entrance of the building. With a serious face and soothing voice, he said, “Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.” Then he turned to the glass front doors, pulled the closest one open, and gestured toward Emma as Nathan came charging through. Then Chat disappeared inside, a secret smile on his lips.
Fat rain clouds moved across the sky, blocking the July sun. Unnaturally still, nostrils flaring, breathing hard, Nathan looked like a bull about to charge. Emma glanced down and saw that he held the small wrapped package in his hand.
“Who are you?” he asked again, but this time his voice was quiet, desolate.
“Nathan, please. Open the gift.”
He stared at the package as if he hadn’t realized it was in his hand. Thunder rumbled and fat drops of rain hit the sidewalk. In the shelter of the alcove, he tore off the paper and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Emma watched him carefully lift the lid and look inside. He stared down at the black rubber sports watch. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. A full minute later, he slowly pulled it from the box and rubbed the bezel between his thumb and index finger. Finally, he looked up at her through glassy eyes.
“Emily?”
The one word was saturated with hope and grief and love.
She’d barely finished her nod of confirmation when he jumped on her like he wanted to swallow her whole. He kissed every inch of her face and pulled her body into his. A few hoots and whistles from passersby had Nathan grabbing her hand and pulling her through the rain to the back of the Range Rover. There, cocooned in the quiet backseat, he drank in her face and repeated his question.
“Emily?”
“Yes, Nave.”
He silenced her with another blistering kiss. A kiss that seemed to exorcise fifteen years of demons, fifteen years of pain.
“I can’t. I don’t....” He couldn’t sort through the avalanche of questions to form one.
“I need to talk to you,” she gasped. “I need to tell you.”
“I need to marry you,” he blurted.
That got her attention.
“What?”