And now I’ve kissed her. We’ve crossed a line and I don’t know how to go back.
I don’t know if I evenwantto go back.
By afternoon I need a file from my other office—the smaller one I rarely use but keep for overflow documents. I walk in without thinking and freeze.
Emma is sitting at my desk. With my phone in her hand. Dialing a number.
Rage floods through me, hot and immediate and welcome after the confusion of this morning. This is concrete. This is something I can be angry about without having to examine my feelings or think about how she tasted or the way she said she wanted me too.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask harshly, and I watch Emma jump and drop the phone with a clatter. Her face goes pale then immediately flushes with anger. “I was calling my mother.”
“The hell you were,” I snap, crossing the room in three strides and snatching the phone off the desk before she can grab it. “Youwere calling your father. Giving away our location. Planning your escape.”
“I was calling mymother,” Emma repeats, standing up and getting right in my face. “You know, the woman who raised me and is probably sick with worry because her daughter disappeared three weeks ago?Thatmother?”
“No,” I say flatly, pocketing the phone.
Emma’s eyes go wide with disbelief. “No? That’s it? Just no?”
“That’s it,” I confirm. “You can’t call anyone.”
“Why the fuck not?” Emma demands, her voice rising. “What possible harm does it do for me to tell my mother I’m alive? She doesn’t work for my father. She doesn’t care about his business. She just wants to know I’m okay!”
“She’ll tell Connor,” I argue.
“She won’t!” Emma’s practically shouting now. “My mother barely speaks to my father! They sleep in separate bedrooms and communicate through intermediaries! She wouldn’t tell him anything!”
“I said no,” I repeat, crossing my arms.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Emma snaps, slamming her hands on the desk. “This is about control. You don’t want me to call my mother because then you’d have to acknowledge that I’m a real person with a real life and people who love me, not just some pawn in your revenge fantasy.”
I roll my eyes at her. Fucking Emma and her dramatics.
“It is,” Emma snaps, eyes narrowing on me. “This whole thing is about control. You control when I eat, where I go, who I talkto. You control every aspect of my life because it makes you feel powerful. Because your brother’s death made you feel powerless and this is how you cope.”
I laugh in disbelief. “Seriously, Emma? Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Why not?” she challenges, getting up and stepping even closer until we’re toe to toe. “Someone needs to tell you the truth, Leo. This isn’t about Gabriel anymore. This isn’t about my father. This is about you being too stubborn and too broken to admit you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I bite out.
“Do you?” Emma’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Then enlighten me. What’s your endgame here? What happens next? Do you keep me forever? Do you eventually let me go and hope my father doesn’t start a war? Do you?—”
“I don’t know!” I shout, and the admission echoes in the small office. “I don’t fucking know, Emma. Is that what you want to hear? I have no plan. No exit strategy. I took you for revenge and I keep you because I don’t know how to let you go.”
Emma stares at me, breathing hard, her eyes bright with anger and something else. “Why?”
“Why what?” I ask, feeling suddenly drained.
She swallows. “Why don’t you know how to let me go?” Her voice has gone quieter but no less intense. “What’s stopping you, Leo?”
“I don’t—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Tell me,” Emma demands, and she’s so close I can smell vanilla and flowers and can see the gold flecks in her green eyes. “Tell me what you want from me. Because I don’t understand what this is anymore. I don’t understand why I’m still here or what you’re waiting for or what you want.”
“I want—” The words stick in my throat, unable to come out.
“What?” Emma presses, her voice almost desperate now. “Tell me what you want.”