by Gigi Blume
“Emma, are you doing okay?”
She shrugged, not meeting my eye.
“I… read about Frank. Is it true? About Jen?”
“Yeah.” She resumed her stroll, and we walked in shared silence for a while longer until I found her arm entwined with mine. She pressed her head against my heart and breathed a heavy melancholy sigh. I kissed the crown of her head and stroked a few stray hairs from her shoulders to offer what little comfort I could.
“I’m so sorry, Emma,” I whispered. “It doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ll get over Frank… in time.”
She didn’t respond, perhaps choosing not to listen to my greeting card clichés. Her attention was on our feet as we stepped in concert to one another. But I needed her to know I’d do anything to protect her.
“You are strong and smart and… too lovely to cry for a man who doesn’t deserve you.”
She looked up at me then with wide, frightened eyes—the likes of which I’d never seen on her before. I turned to her and stroked her chin with my thumb.
“I’ll fire him. For you. Just say the word, and he’s gone.”
Understanding dawned on her features, and she scrunched her nose, saying, “Fire him? Why would you do that when he’s got a baby on the way?”
Oh, dearest, sweetest Emma. She was too good.
“Because he broke your heart, Emma. Plain and simple.”
A reply caught in her throat, and she looked at me with her mouth open as though trying to jog it free. When at last she did speak, it came out as a half-laugh.
“I… did you… say you’d fire Frank from the movie because he flirted with me?”
“Well, I—”
“Maybe you want to fire me too because I encouraged it?”
“Now, Emma—”
“I admit I was a little flattered. He was a fun guy. Lots of charisma. And I was thick, wasn’t I? I let him use me to hold up his ruse. What a cheeky blighter. If I was simple-minded like some girls who will remain unnamed, I might have taken him seriously. Good for him I don’t like men with tattoos.”
“Emma, you don’t have to apologise for something he did.”
“Can you believe he got that Sir Lancelot tattoo for Jennifer? Did you ever notice he called her Queenie? That was because Jennifer is a modern translation of Guinevere. He hid his secret in plain sight for all to see, and we were too daft to notice.”
“You couldn’t have known. I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
“Jax, Frank may be a tosser, but it doesn’t make any difference to me. I probably acted like I was into him for the press, but I have never been attracted to Frank Churchill. Give me some credit here.”
“Wha…” I couldn’t get the words out. All this time, I entertained some jealousy toward the man. Did this mean I had some hope?
“Well, how wonderful for Frank. He must be the luckiest jackalope in the world. He can flirt with any woman when he fancies himself at leisure but suffers none of the consequences. Isn’t that just bloody fantastic?”
“Jax?”
“Man gets pretty girlfriend. Man ignores pretty girlfriend and makes her jealous. Oh, and bonus points if he can play around with other women’s feelings. But wait, there’s more—the girlfriend is having his baby. What do ya know? Everyone jumps at the opportunity to congratulate him. And why not? It’s Hollywood, after all.”
“Ummm…”
“Ya know? I envy the guy.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Some of us play by the rules. Maybe get ourselves stuck in the friend zone while Frank Churchill gets to ride off into the sunset. Maybe I’d like that, too.”
Emma started at that but thought better of it in favour of a new subject.
“Hey, how about you show me pics of your airplane food. You know you can’t resist taking those.”
I replied in a grave tone and with the most serious face I could feign to wear, considering all I wanted to do was stare upon her lovingly.
“Emma, please let me say what I came here to say before I regret it.”
Her bottom lip puckered out. “If you think you’ll regret it, don’t say it at all.”
“Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“Just please. Stop. Think about what you’re about to say. Really think. Because once you say it, you can’t unsay it. Then we’ll both regret you said it, and you’ll wonder why I let you say it in the first place. I’ll say I tried to keep you from saying anything at all.”
Boy, that girl had a lot of breath in her lungs. I couldn’t prevent the corner of my mouth from curling; I rather liked messing with her. “So… what are you saying?”
She growled. It was cute.
“Emma, I—”
“Let’s just pretend,” she pleaded. “Then nothing has to change at all.”
Her words rang in the wind between us, and I caught their meaning loud and clear. She might not have been interested in Frank, but that didn’t mean she fancied me. She was perfectly happy with whatever arrangement we had going on. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. We’d crossed out of the friend zone a while ago and if we tried to go back, I was certain I’d die from the journey Grapes of Wrath style.
But because I loved Emma with every heartbeat and every breath, I couldn’t bring myself to cause her any discomfort.
Telling her how I felt, springing my hopes upon her, making her choose between the us I wanted and the us we already were—that was a burden I’d never weigh upon her. Even if it killed me inside.
“Okay,” I said softly, the word like clay in my throat. “Okay.” I inclined my head just so, studying her perfect face. Even twisted into her current expression—eyebrows wedged into one another causing deep creases on her soft forehead, nose crinkled like a Shar Pei, teeth clamped down over her bottom lip—her face was still the loveliest vision on the face of this earth. Seven Wonders of the World? Rubbish. The Cliffs of Moher? Slums. Australia’s Great Barrier Reef? Meh. All second-rate compared to Emma.
The way the setting sun cast a golden hue across her skin, the way the wind swept her hair in a dance around her shoulders, the way she cast her gaze up to me, round and wide—expressing equal parts sadness and reprieve in a single glance. It was too beautiful and devastating, like staring into the sun. My heart constricted in my chest and although the salt air was crisp and fresh, I found myself unable to breathe. I didn’t know how much longer I would be able to endure this torture, if I had much strength left in me to love her at arm’s length, watching her radiant smiles and sunny humour with easy indifference after the small intimacy I tasted.
Let’s just pretend.
Oh, Emma. Maybe tomorrow I could play that game—put on a happy face and pretend nothing changed between us. Tomorrow. Not today.
“I better head home,” I said in glum tones. “I’m tired.”
“Don’t you want to stay? We can put on a movie.”
“No.” It was the only response I had energy for at this point. Taking in her beauty once more, I pressed my lips on her crinkled forehead, turned from her, and walked away.
32
Whatever Is True
Emma
An invisible string connected my heart to Jaxson and with every step he took down the shore, that string tugged, threatening to tear through my navel. I had visions of my poor slimy heart being dragged across the sand, still thumping but only just—sand getting caked into the nooks and crannies. I supposed that’s what happens when one falls in love with their best friend. There wasn’t any other way to put it. I was unequivocally, most assuredly, and fiercely in love with Jaxson Knightly.
But wouldn’t it follow that if I loved him, I would do so without question, without conditions? I’d never felt any emotion so strongly before. It was a little disconcerting and thrilling at the same time. Especially the whole unrequited bit. Jax should have given me the part of Isabelle instead of Penelope. I’d play the part of jilted lover with eerie precision.
He said he was tired. B
ut was that just an excuse to go see Harriet? He did seem jet lagged. Jaxson was within half a sentence of telling me he loved her, and I was too selfish to listen. I was the worst matchmaker and now the worst friend.
“Wait.” My feet flew through the cool sand to catch his long, swift strides. I was slightly out of breath when I reached him, rounding in front of his path.
“You wanted to tell me something, and I stopped you. That was… selfish of me.”
Jaxson pursed his lips into a tight line and let me continue. Maybe I had him at ‘selfish.’ Tears pooled in my eyes as I lifted my gaze to his marvellous, stoic face. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Jax. I’m sorry.” His eyebrows shot up. That’s right. I said sorry. It was my new thing. I went on. “If you want to tell me something—as a friend, or ask my opinion—as a friend, I’ll hear you out. As a friend. And I’ll give you my paltry, lowly advice… because—”
“Because you’re my friend,” he supplied.
“Yes.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and breathed out, long and heavy. “Emma…” My name hung in the air like a single note hovering over silent expectation. I feared his next words, but I couldn’t take back my promise now. His features softened as he considered how to tell me the one thing guaranteed to crumble my heart. He uncrossed his arms and ran his palms along my skin, taking my hands in his. He squeezed them, directing all his concentration on that one point of contact as though drawing inspiration from it. His thumbs absently ran back and forth over my knuckles—back and forth, back and forth—while the lines in his brow became more pronounced, and his frown dipped to his chin.
“Friends,” he said inwardly, shaking his head. I almost didn’t hear it before the wind swept the word away. When he lifted his gaze to meet mine, dark shades of olive fixed on me, awash in a glassy sheen. “I wish… at least I hope. Wow, this is harder than I thought.”
I waited patiently, ready for the blow. Jax took in one profound breath, expanding his chest. This was it. The end of the world as foretold by that R.E.M. song. Jaxson searched my face for answers. Could he tell I was dying inside?
“All right then. I’ve gone this far, haven’t I? As a friend… tell me. Am I a complete fool to think we could be… something more?”
We? Which we were we talking about here? Was I one half of that we or was I completely out of the equation? He paused to study me—questioning. His earnest expression overpowering me. I couldn’t answer even if I tried. He released one of my hands, dragging the backs of his elegant fingers along my jaw.
“Emma… it’s okay if the answer is no. I can take it.”
My heart hammered in my chest. Still, I wouldn’t speak, fearing I’d break the spell.
“You’re going to leave me hanging here, aren’t you?” he groaned. “I can’t compose songs or poems or… roasts to tell you how much I love you. Perhaps if I loved you less, I could make a spectacle of myself at bonfires and weddings. But I’m not those guys. I don’t like secrets. What you see is what you get. I’ve always told you the truth no matter how difficult… and you’ve always taken my… incessant lecturing in stride. No other woman would put up with that. There it is. The truth. I’m in love with you. So very much.”
He was in love with me. All my anxiety these past weeks, heartsick and down, thinking he had the lowest opinion of me. Sorrowful for my actions. Yet he not only loved me as he’d always done but was in love. This had to be a dream. If I woke up drooling on the couch in the next five minutes, I would be very cross.
“Emma, please say something because I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
I lifted my chin to meet his gaze and stilled his hand on my cheek, keeping it there to warm my skin.
“I like your incessant lecturing. And, since you asked, you are a complete fool. But only because you waited so long to tell me you love me. I think I need to hear it again… just to be sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me.”
All the creases around Jaxson’s eyes disappeared, only to be replaced with a look of deep affection and admiration.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry, what? I couldn’t quite hear.”
A grin tugged at his mouth, and he drew me closer, cupping his other hand over my cheek. “I love you.”
“I see your lips moving, but it’s not quite registering.”
“You’re determined to make me work for it,” he said, words drugged with desire.
“Maybe. But only so I can see you swea—”
Jaxson crashed his lips into mine with all-consuming intensity. So demanding and with a wild dose of passion. Where was this coming from? I rather liked it. It was as though he was claiming me, scooping me up before I changed my mind. Or maybe he was just into snogging. He dragged his lips along the edge of my mouth, sending me into oblivion. I liquefied under his touch, my knees buckling for a moment, and I felt his arm slide around my waist in response. He held on with tenderness and strength and there I was, melting into a pool of sweet deliverance. Stars exploded, supernovas spun out of control. This was next level stuff. And I clung to him, desperate to find purchase, tangling my fingers through his hair. His breath caught in his throat, clearly approving of my bold move. He responded by drawing me flush against the hard lines of his chest and ravaged my mouth. We were fused together, locked in a sweet, intoxicating kiss. My heart swelled.
Then his touch became slow and reverent, and I tasted the salty droplet that descended his cheek and over my mouth.
“I want you,” he growled, trailing his lips along the curve of my jaw, dipping to my neck. “I need you.” He grazed his hot breath on the shell of my ear and nipped on the tender lobe, sending ripples of delight to my core. Then he lowered his voice to a deep rumble. “I love you.”
I let out a small whimper, too wrapped up in a euphoric cloud to focus on anything but those heavenly words. It was all a little hazy.
Jaxson pressed his forehead on mine and grazed feather-light caresses along the bare skin of my collarbone with the tips of his fingers. Time slowed down to a crawl and as we stood there on the beach, suspended in a moment, our hearts beat in concert.
Jaxson cracked a contented grin. “So…”
“So?” I managed to reply lazily, still heavy and unfocused.
“Do you have something to say to me?” he asked. He was so fishing for a love confession. In truth, I had so much more to say to him. But how could I possibly top that fireworks show? How does one respond to years and years of affection gradually building to perfection? Where to begin? What was left to say?
At length, I could only think of one thing true—one thing that was pure and right.
“Marry me.”
Jaxson stilled. If he made any movement, his fingers clutched tighter onto my shoulders.
“Isn’t that my job? Proposing?”
I shrugged because I didn’t care who proposed to whom. It was the result I was interested in. His lips curled, and he said, “I thought it would be cool to date for longer than oh, I don’t know, five minutes. And then one day, I’d take you to a romantic spot and surprise you with a breath-taking ring.”
“If it makes you feel better, you can buy a ring tomorrow, propose Thursday, and we’ll get married Friday.”
He laughed—softly to himself—as if someone had told him a joke hours ago, and he just now got the punchline.
“What?”
“Funny story… I already have a ring.”
Why? How? Wishful thinking on his part? I liked his style. He pulled away just enough, so he didn’t look like a cyclops anymore.
“I went to England because I needed to think. Get away. But everything about it reminded me of you. That little shop where we stopped so you could use the loo. That place by Cambridge University where they have the best fish and chips. Piccadilly. And I knew I had to set you free. So I went to see your mum.”
“What does Mum have to do with anything?”
&n
bsp; “I told her our deal was off. No more… helicopter friendship, or whatever.”
“Sock-blocking,” I supplied, nodding.
“That really isn’t a thing.”
“Tomato tom-ah-to. What did Mum say?”
“She hugged me—a little too tight I might add. And she wouldn’t let me leave. Made me stay for dinner.”
“Oh, that can’t have gone well. What did she serve this time?”
His eyes widened in dramatic animation. “Shepherd’s pie.”
“Whoa. I’ll bet Dad was elated.”
“Over the moon. He couldn’t even tell it was veggie meat.”
I could imagine. “Where is this story going?” I rather wished we could go back to snogging.
“Your mum confessed, the reason she came out to visit you in California was to conspire with Stella… about you… and me.” He reached into his pocket, digging deep into his trousers until he came up with something shiny, perching it between his thumb and forefinger. “Then she gave me this. For ‘safekeeping.’”
The antique ring was so beautiful I couldn’t do it justice with words. A large diamond surrounded by several smaller ones nestled in a platinum setting. Intricate scrollwork and lacy Edwardian motifs graced the precious metal all around the edges. It was stunning.
“It belonged to your great-grandmother,” Jaxson said, swallowing hard. “Stella’s mum. Both Stella and your mum thought I might find a use for it someday. She wouldn’t hear my protests when I tried to leave it behind.”
“What was Dad’s reaction to all this?” I asked with interest.
“He shook my hand and said, ‘Welcome to the family, son.’ Then he disappeared into his study.”
I stared at the ring then back at Jaxson. I had to admit, I wasn’t shocked. My mum was nuts. But Dad?
“And she just gave you her grandmother’s ring. Without even talking to me first.”
“She knows you better than you think she does, Emma. And your sister said something to her.”
