by Avery Aster
On legs that were not quite steady, Emma raced into her bathroom, wound a towel around her hair. Moving fast, she dragged on loose yoga pants and matching vest. Jeez, if her heart didn't calm the hell down, she'd have a heart attack. Nothing bad was going to happen, she told herself, holding on to logic and common sense with her fingernails. The castle walls were feet thick and it was built on top of a hill. Plus, she had a man who was used to getting out of tight situations at her side.
As if her thoughts had conjured him up, Oscar returned.
He wore grey sweat pants and a T-shirt of black cotton with the Eden logo emblazed on the front.
And he carried a large cool box.
"What's that?" she yelled just as the alarm stopped. "Thank God, my ears are ringing."
He looked over, checked her face, her eyes, and then he smiled.
"That's my brave girl."
Was he kidding?
She was effing terrified.
"I don't feel brave. What's going to happen?"
He opened the lid on the cool box, took out a selection of cheeses, boxes of crackers, fruit. And a bottle of champagne dripping with condensation.
"We're going to eat."
Emma decided Oscar had lost his tiny mind.
"How can you possibly think of food at a time like this?"
The way her voice went too high had him bite down hard on his bottom lip.
"You think this is funny?" she snarled.
"We're quite safe."
Oh, yeah?
What did he think she was, an idiot?
She'd felt the earthquake.
She'd seen with her own eyes the ocean being sucked away.
Her ears were still ringing from the damned alarm.
And how dare he talk to her as if she was five years old.
Annoyance felt a hell of a lot better than cold fear.
Emma folded her arms, cocked her hip.
"You said, and I quote, 'Shit. Fuck.' Grabbed me like a caveman and ran as if the hounds of hell were on our heels. So do not mess with me, pal. I want the truth." Her voice wobbled. She swallowed audibly and took a shaky breath. "Are we going to die?"
Oscar placed the champagne back in the cool box, closed the lid, and moved towards her.
She stared up into his eyes as cool hands cupped her face.
"We're all going to die. But we're not going to die today."
Emma watched candlelight reflected in those dark chocolate eyes and read the truth.
"Why did they lock us in like this?"
"A precaution. When Theodisius built the castle, guest safety was a priority."
Emma supposed that made sense.
"So, what are we going to do in the meantime?"
When his mouth twitched and his eyebrows rose, she pouted.
"Is sex all you think about?"
"With you, absolutely." No matter how hard she tried, her mouth curved. Oscar grinned. "And there's the dimple!"
He grabbed her and placed a hard kiss on her mouth.
She pushed him away, but not before her hand squeezed his bicep.
"You just like showing off your big guns."
His eyes went wide. "You love my big gun."
"Will you stop with the constant innuendo?"
"You just don't want to admit how you feel about my big gun."
She had to laugh.
"Shut up. I'm starving."
"Coward."
She was a coward.
Emma had no problem admitting it.
After everything she'd been through in her life, and no matter what Oscar said, she was convinced they were going to die by drowning.
Something must have shown in her eyes because he placed his hands on her shoulders to turn her into him.
Then those hands slid up to cup her face, to tilt her head back.
His head dipped towards her.
Dark eyes searched hers, forcing her to pay attention, to listen.
"We are not going to die today."
A combination of dread, fear and nausea battled for supremacy in her belly.
"How do you know?"
Oscar's eyes twinkled into hers.
"This is Eden. A magical place. We're here, together, so we should make the most of it."
Oh, he was smooth all right.
"The reason we are here, together, is because my cousin and your best friend set us up."
His wide smile was a thing of beauty.
"I know. And magic is about to happen."
Emma couldn't drag her eyes from his.
"Is that a euphemism for sex?"
"Oh, yeah."
Temptation whispered in her ear.
What harm would it do to make love with him?
She wanted it, the release, the intimacy, the merging.
But now they both fell silent as she stared up into his face.
Her lips parted.
Oscar dipped his head.
"Kiss me," he murmured.
Emma pressed the palm of her hand against his strong chest, seeking the solid thump of his heart, such a strong beat. A sweetly intimate experience that had the liquid ache deep in her belly tighten exquisitely.
She closed her eyes, lifted her face to his and then his mouth on was on hers, a soft brush, and then another, so easy and warm. Then he kissed her properly, a beautifully gentle kiss, almost a benediction, that had tears prickle behind her eyelids.
This kiss was so unlike what they'd shared before. There were no demands. This time it was slow, so tender, so sweet and meltingly wonderful. Then he cradled her head in his hands, tipping her back for better access to her warm and willing mouth, and his tongue tangled with hers.
Dear God, she could kiss him, just like this, forever.
He pulled back a little, and stared at her face.
"I love you, Emma," he said as he backed her into her bedroom.
"I know you do."
Oscar smiled, his eyes flashed.
"Say it," he whispered as he slowly moved her towards the bed. "Say it, Emma," he breathed as he lay her down. "Emma," he groaned as he captured her hands in his, pinned them lightly above her head, his fingers twining through hers.
Her heart was beating too hard against her ribs.
She wanted to say the words.
She did.
But they were stuck hard and fast in her throat.
His eyes never left hers, and now they narrowed.
"Marry me."
If he'd tossed a bucket of ice water over her, she'd be less shocked.
She went too hot and then too cold.
Emma shook her head.
"Don't ask me that."
Something like impatience flashed in those eyes now.
"I am asking you. And I want an answer."
He rolled away from her.
For an eternal moment he stood next to the bed staring down at her before pacing back and forth.
Her mind was reeling.
One minute they'd been kissing as if they couldn't get enough of each other. And now they were eyeing each other like two rabid dogs trapped in a cage.
Emma moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
He deserved the truth.
"No. I don't want to marry you."
She saw the blow hit him, saw the hurt. And like the warrior she knew him to be, he withstood both. His eyes were on fire now.
"Why?"
"I don't want to get married to anyone," she said as plainly as she could. "I don't want what we've found ruined by a piece of paper."
"Marriage won't ruin us, baby. It will make us stronger."
"How do you know?" she yelled, terrified for him, for herself. "You've never been there. I have. And I'm not going through it again."
It was obvious he was struggling with his temper, she could tell by the way his hands fisted in the pockets of his pants, by the way his jaw clenched.
"Because one son-of-a-bitch hurt you, you truly believe that I'll do the same?" he yelled right back.
Emma closed her eyes knowing full well that Oscar would never hit her.
Never.
But that didn't mean she was in any hurry to get married.
Didn't he understand that she needed time?
Tears burned her throat, stung her eyes.
"No, I don't think you'll hurt me..."
She sobbed and immediately he came to her.
Emma found herself sitting on Oscar's knees as he rocked her like a baby.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."
"You don't understand."
"Then help me to understand." He tilted her face up to kiss away her tears. "Don't cry, baby. It's killing me. I'm sorry I shouted at you."
"Shouting's okay. Shouting clears the air. It's just..." She took a shuddering breath. "I don't want to hurt you. And I can see I've hurt you. Please... can we just not talk about it now?"
"Emma, baby. We need to talk about it now. I love you. I need you in my life."
Miserably, she shook her head.
"I can't do it."
"Why?"
She closed her eyes as she tried to organise her thoughts.
"Because I need to do what's right for me."
His brow creased as he tried to work through what she meant.
"Talk to me," he said.
* * *
Now she rose and moved towards the bathroom and turned to face the man she loved more than life.
"All my life I've always followed the rules. Whatever my mother wanted me to do, I did it. Her expectations for me have always been high. Go to the right school. Get the right grades. Put my dreams of writing aside to learn how to run a home. Marry the right man. So I did. I did all of it. And it was hell."
Her legs felt weak, so she sank to sit on edge of a chair.
"When things went wrong, she made it clear that it was my duty to keep my husband happy. I'd made a promise before God and needed to keep that promise. She would accept nothing less. When the arguments started with Richard and I realised that I'd made a pact with the devil, she refused point blank to listen to me. Even accused me of being frigid or why would Richard turn to other woman for affection? When I told her I was getting divorced, she was so cold, so scarily civilized, in the way she said I was no longer her daughter."
"You made a mistake and she punished you for it. That's on her, Emma. Not you."
"Yes, I know that. But I also made myself a promise. Never again to live my life by someone else's rules."
"You were hurt because of something bad that was done to you, not something you did or deserved to happen to you."
He moved when she shook her head, caught her face in his hands. "Let go of the hurt, Emma. Let me in."
"I can't." Now she clamped her hands on his wrists. "You say you love me, so for you the next logical step is marriage because that is what you want... your rules."
"It's got nothing to do with rules," he said as he freed his wrists. Now those hands gripped her shoulders and gave her a shake, forcing her to listen. "It's what's right for us. I want to share my life with you. Love you. Give you my babies. We have a chance to make a wonderful family together."
She shook her head, pushed him away.
He simply refused to understand.
She didn't want a family.
"I'm in control of my future. And if that makes me selfish then I'm sorry, Oscar. But marriage and children are not in my plans," she said, and wondered why she felt freezing cold when her body was too hot and her hands were damp. "You either take me as I am, or you don't take me at all."
The ring of the telephone interrupted what he'd been about to say.
Oscar lifted the receiver and listened to Connie tell him the worst was over, that the wave was not as bad as expected and they were safe. Although his cabin had been flooded, it was still standing. The sound of metal shutters rolling had Emma rush to the French doors and open them to a new dawn just breaking over the horizon.
After he informed Emma that they were safe, she turned to him.
He couldn't read the look in her eyes.
What the hell did it matter anyway?
His heart was in pieces, yet again.
"I think you'd better leave now. I have work to do," she said.
"Emma..."
"I need time to finish my book. I need time to think."
"Okay. How much time?"
"I don't know."
"Not good enough, Em."
"It's the best I can do. Take it or leave it."
So that was it?
She was kicking him out?
He'd handed her his heart, asked her to marry him, but he wasn't enough.
Emma wanted to control her future and he wasn't invited to be a part of that future.
Okay.
Message received and understood.
Oscar didn't say a word.
He simply turned and left.
Chapter Thirteen
Three days later Emma's stomach roiled at the thought of coming face-to-face with her mother after a year. The words in the letter supposed to have been sent by Oscar, words written by the woman who'd brought her into the world, had a bright and fresh anger lick through Emma's veins.
In her hour of need, Theodisius, the Master of the island of Eden, had been an incredible support. He'd agreed to bring Catherine Ludlow to the island. And Emma knew she'd never be able to repay him for his kindness. The plane carrying her mother had landed twenty minutes ago and now Emma was braced, waiting for the knock on the door of her suite.
She'd dressed carefully for the meeting. Her hair was slicked back in a high tail. She wore skinny jeans she knew her mother disliked, a sleeveless shirt of white cotton that showcased her tanned and toned arms and flat ballet pumps.
If only her heart would calm down.
If only the cold sweat would stop trickling down her back.
Hands shaking, she clasped them together.
Emma hated confrontation.
Hated it.
But this confrontation was one instigated by her and she couldn't avoid it.
Emma knew life was messy, that bad stuff and good stuff (like her feelings for Oscar) came along at the same time. However, before she saw him again, she needed to make things right. Despite the turmoil inside, Emma took a breath and lifted her chin. And readied herself for what was to come.
The knock had her take another deep breath before she moved across the room.
Emma opened the door and faced the woman who'd caused her nothing but heartache.
Catherine Ludlow had a face like a thunderstorm just waiting to bring darkness and torrential rain to a bright and sunny day.
Dressed in a silk suit of silver grey that matched her eyes, Emma's first thought was that her mother looked older. Fine lines now crept around her eyes, her mouth. As always the blonde hair was immaculate and her beautiful face had been very carefully made up.
Her mother looked her over, a cool scan from her toes to her hair. And then she swept past her daughter and into the room.
Emma closed the door and turned to watch her mother check out the room, take in the island scene from the French doors.
"Hello, mother."
No response.
Instead she moved to perch on the end of a sofa and for the first time met Emma's eyes.
"I'm not used to being summoned, Emma."
The tone was borderline offensive and it stiffened Emma's spine and her resolve.
"It was either here or in my lawyers’ office, or the police."
Emma realised with something like shock that in her past life, she'd never have dreamed of talking to her mother like that. But things had changed. Thanks to her mother, she'd changed.
Cold eyes the colour of a stormy sea met hers.
Her mother simply stared at her as if she was speaking in tongues.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Emma moved to her desk, picked up a copy of the letter supposedly written
by Oscar and handed it to her mother.
Emma returned to her place right by the door to watch the show.
Two bright spots of red on her mother's cheeks were the only sign of guilt.
She sat there, back straight, her mouth a single hard line.
Unbending.
Unforgiving.
"So, can I assume from this, you and that man are together? Big mistake, Emma."
"My relationship with Oscar is none of your business."
Her mother shot to her feet.
"Don't you dare take that tone with me, young lady. You have ruined my life. Made me a laughing stock in society..."
"If you're a laughing stock, you've no one to blame but yourself." Then Emma flicked her hand as if swatting away a fly. "But you're not here to talk about Oscar, you're here to talk about why you wrote that letter."
The response was an insolent jerk of the chin as those eyes went so cold Emma shivered.
"Your father and I gave you everything. I wasn't going to stand by and let you throw your life away. That man will never be good enough for you. He's..." The rant stopped abruptly.
Now Emma took a step forward.
"He's what, Mother? A man of colour? How could you do such a thing?"
Cheeks burning, her mother didn't back down.
"A mother's sacred duty is to protect her child. I..."
Seriously?
Emma took another step forward.
"You had no right to write a pack of lies. Lies that broke my heart. And I'll tell you something right here and right now, Papa would be as ashamed of you as I am."
Catherine Ludlow sank onto the edge of the sofa, her mouth quivering, eyes misty, but her chin rose again.
"I did what any mother would do. I protected my child. You threw away a wonderful man. A man who loved you. A man society and our friends look up to. A man who..."
Emma had had enough, heard enough.
"Richard hurt me, Mama! He made my life a living hell. He terrorised me. I've a restraining order against him because even though we're divorced he still won't leave me alone, won't let it go."
"Richard is quite right, Emma, you are hysterical and not in your right mind. He's a good man. He forgives you. He only wants what is best for you..."
And now everything became clear, her mother needed her position in society as the grieving widow of the late British Ambassador to the United States and to bask in her position as the mother-in-law of a United States Senator.
