If I Loved You Less

by Noelle Adams

  “If you actually help, that’s one thing. If you’re trying to fill a hole in your life by interfering in Riot’s, then that’s something else.”

  “What hole?”

  “The hole left when your best friends got engaged.” His tone had changed. His features softened slightly. “I know it’s got to be hard.”

  “They’re not all engaged. Anne’s not. Just Jane and Liz. And it’s not hard. I’m happy for them.”

  “Sure you are. But maybe you also feel like they’re leaving you behind.”

  For some reason—for no good reason—Em had to swallow over a catch in her throat. Because Ward had hit home with his last words.

  Em was happy for Liz and Jane to have found men they loved. She was happy they were going to spend the rest of their lives with those men. She was truly, deeply happy for them.

  But the thought of them getting married also left her feeling... lonely.

  Like they were moving on in a way she never would.

  Never could.

  She was going to be here at Pemberley House—taking care of her father and trying to help whomever she could—for the foreseeable future.

  Forever.

  Life was never going to offer her anything else.

  “Em, it’s okay to feel that way. It’s normal.” Ward reached out to touch her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

  In a way she couldn’t explain, his touch left her feeling more vulnerable than ever. She jerked away from his hand. “I don’t feel that way.”

  He dropped his hand. “Why do you try to lie to me? I’ve known you since you were in diapers.”

  She scowled since she hated being reminded of that fact. “Your being thirteen years more ancient than me doesn’t mean you can read my mind. There are things about me that you’ll never know.”

  He stared at her, and there was something full and deep and slightly conflicted in the gaze.

  Something that left her breathless.

  “What don’t I know?” he asked in a low, rough voice.

  She gulped, wishing she hadn’t shifted the conversation this way. She liked to come across as mature and in control to the rest of the world, and Ward was the one person who challenged that attempt. “Nothing. Nothing.” She glanced away. “Anyway, Liz and Jane getting engaged has nothing to do with my helping out Riot. I was helping her long before they got engaged.”

  “Yeah, but your interference seems to have stepped up since then.”

  “It’s not interference. I’m older than Riot, and I have my life more together than her. I can give a little advice if she asks for it.”

  “As long as the advice is for her good and not yours.”

  Em jerked back slightly, like she’d been struck. That was how it felt. She’d let herself be too vulnerable with him before, and now she was paying the price.

  Because Ward was always going to disapprove of her, no matter how good she tried to be and how much she tried to contribute to the world.

  “I’ll have you know, Ward Knightley, that I’m not a spoiled child or an airhead princess, and I don’t appreciate you treating me like I am.”

  His face twisted like he was surprised. “I didn’t mean you were—”

  Em felt a rising pressure in her eyes and her throat. She was about to cry, and it was the most annoying thing.

  She was not—not—going to cry in front of Ward.

  It would just prove to him that she wasn’t the competent adult she always claimed to be.

  “I’ve got to go.” She whirled around and walked quickly back to the building even though she’d been planning to make another lap around the property.

  She mostly needed to get away from Ward.

  TO EM’S RELIEF, RIOT was occupied with talking to her sister Jane and Jane’s fiancé, Charlie, so Em was able to get past them without being drawn into the conversation.

  She just needed a few minutes alone at home to pull herself together, and then she’d be able to socialize again.

  Em and her father lived in the best unit in Pemberley House—with four large bedrooms, a living room that had been the grand master bedroom of the original house, and a two-story library in the tower. Em loved the place, and she couldn’t imagine loving another home nearly so much.

  She adored her father, and she never begrudged the fact that she had to keep living with him. His wife had left him twenty-three years ago and never looked back, and he’d been devastated by the loss. He’d never really recovered. He’d fall apart without Em. Maybe a lot of people were active and vibrant in their sixties, but he wasn’t one of those people. He couldn’t live on his own.

  She’d decided long ago that she was never going to leave her father the way her mother had even if it meant she could never do everything she might want to do in life.

  When she walked in the front door, her father was in the leather recliner by the gas fireplace. His normal position. He’d been reading the newspaper but must have dozed off because the paper was open on his chest.

  Em tried to sneak past without waking him, but he opened his eyes before she did.

  “Ah, you’re back. Where’s your little friend?”

  “She’s outside talking to Jane and Charlie.”

  “Is she going to have dinner with us tonight?”

  “I don’t know yet. She might, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course it’s all right. You can have anyone over you want. Even a boy.”

  Em couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I don’t think there’s much chance of me asking a boy over.”

  “Why not? Don’t you like boys?”

  “I do like boys, but you know very well I’m not planning to get married.”

  “I know you always say that, but you have that wedding dress hanging in the other room, so I’m never sure I believe you.”

  “I bought that wedding dress because I wanted one. I might never wear it down the aisle, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to have one. I’m perfectly happy the way we are—just you and me. Honestly, I wouldn’t like having some boy always hanging about, trying to boss me around.”

  Her father laughed in his soft, breathy way. “No, you wouldn’t like that.”

  “Another thing is, if I got married, then I’d have to move away from you, and I’d never do that.” Em leaned over and gave her father a light kiss on the cheek.

  He was smiling when she pulled away. “Well, no. That wouldn’t do at all.”

  “So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh, before I forget, I got an appointment with the eye doctor next week.”

  “The eye doctor?” Em straightened up. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

  “I feel like there’s a spot on the corner of my right eye, so I need a doctor to check it out.”

  Her father had hypochondriac tendencies. He had real allergies and sinus problems that led to chronic headaches, as well as some bad joints, but he was always finding other health issues that required visits to a variety of doctors. Em wasn’t concerned about his eyes. It sounded like one of his normal overreactions. But there was no sense in trying to talk him out of making doctors’ appointments. They were the only things that got him out of the house.

  “Okay. Did you get it for Appointment Day next week?”

  Em was happy to take her father to his multiple appointments each week, but she preferred to get them all on one day of the week—a day they labeled Appointment Day.

  “Yes. At ten o’clock. Before the chiropractor.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll see what the doctor says.”

  “Yes. Hopefully I’m not going to go blind.” He picked up his newspaper and resumed reading.

  Em smiled and shook her head at him, and then she walked into the smallest bedroom off the hallway.

  With four bedrooms, she and her father each had a room, and they had one set up as a guest room. But they had no need of the last bedroom, so it had always remained unfurnished. There
was a lovely crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling—original to the old house—and from the chandelier was hanging the wedding dress she’d bought three years ago from a shop that specialized in vintage clothes.

  The dress had a beautiful shape with a strapless, beaded bodice, a long, fluffy skirt of layered tulle, and a satin bow.

  It was a princess dress, and Em loved it.

  She’d made a joke of it with her friends when she’d bought it—proclaiming she could buy a wedding dress when she wanted since she was never going to wear it—and the dress alone had led to her developing a large following on Instagram. She’d started posting photos of it with inspirational blurbs about how single women could enjoy and embrace beauty, fashion, and life immediately instead of waiting for a man. In one of those social media flukes, her posts had taken off, and she still regularly posted photos of the dress, Pemberley House, its gardens, and beautiful clothes and antiques her friend Liz found.

  She enjoyed having the platform, and she believed in everything she said about life and singleness.

  And all of it was thanks to the dress. It was important to Em. A symbol that she wasn’t missing out. She wasn’t sacrificing everything that other women had. That the life she lived here was good and meaningful and full.

  It didn’t matter that she was never going to wear the dress. That she would never be allowed to wear the dress. Her father was only sixty-five years old. Despite his anxiety over his health, there was nothing wrong with him that would threaten his life.

  He was going to live for a long time. She wanted him to.

  And her life would always be limited because of it.

  She was never, ever going to leave him the way her mother had. She would never hurt him so much.

  Marriage and family weren’t a possibility for her future the way they were for her friends.

  Jane and Liz would get married. They’d start having children. They’d eventually have to move out of Pemberley House because they’d need more room for their families.

  And Em would still be here with her father, a lot of strangers who liked her posts on Instagram, and a wedding dress she would never wear.

  Ward had been right about her. She was feeling a hole in her life. She was trying to fill it by helping out Riot.

  But she didn’t think that was wrong.

  Riot needed help. Her family was doing their best, but sometimes advice was more effective from people outside the family.

  This was something Em could do. It made her happy and gave her a purpose.

  She wasn’t going to let Ward take it away from her just because he didn’t understand and always thought he knew better than her.

  She was going to do what she knew was right. Not what Ward told her to do.

  His opinion didn’t matter to her.

  Not much anyway.

  THERE WERE THREE CINNAMON-and-pecan croissants leftover that evening, after Em and her friends had finished their pink-champagne Thursday get-together on the terrace. They’d finished most of the pastries she’d bought from Stella’s—the chocolate and the cherry ones—but no one had taken these. Since they were Ward’s favorite kind, Em decided to bring them over to him.

  She didn’t normally go to see him in the evenings, but it was just after nine. It wasn’t too late, and this way he could have one of the pastries tonight if he wanted.

  And if he wanted to be nice to her after being snide earlier about her helping Riot, then that would be just fine too.

  They’d known each other for a really long time. Occasional arguments were inevitable. But they’d always been close—as close as family—and Em didn’t like it when they weren’t getting along.

  Ward’s small cottage was in the southeast corner of the Pemberley House property, and there was a paved path that led directly to it. Em walked quickly, carrying the pastry box and a spy novel her father had just finished and thought Ward might like. When she reached his front door, she saw it was open with only the storm door blocking her entrance. She knocked on it. Waited. Knocked again.

  No answer.

  He was obviously around somewhere. He wouldn’t have left his door open if he’d left the property.

  “Ward?” She cracked the storm door so she could call into the cottage.

  Still no answer.

  He must be outside somewhere.

  She let herself in, deciding she’d have to just leave the pastries and book with a note. She was a little disappointed since she’d been wanting to see him in person, but she could hardly just hang around in his house and hope he’d return soon.

  For one thing, it would be rude.

  And for another, it would be embarrassing.

  She set the box and book on the small table next to the kitchen and looked around for something to write a note on.

  The place was messy but not dirty. He’d never been one to put everything in its proper place, but he also didn’t leave food and dirty dishes and gross things around. She didn’t see any easily accessible paper, so she just texted him a message instead.

  Had extra pastries so left them on your kitchen table. Dad sent over a book.

  She waited a minute to see if he’d respond or appear, but he didn’t. Ward wasn’t like most people she knew. He didn’t have his phone on him every moment of the day. Sometimes he left it at home while he worked and forgot to check it for hours. He used to give her lectures about how being under the control of her phone all the time was increasing her stress and anxiety—lectures she’d always shrugged off.

  His cottage was small and simple—one bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen, and a decent-sized living area. She wandered into the living area and looked around to see if she could spot his phone since that would explain his lack of response to her text.

  She didn’t see it on the surface of the furniture, but the room was so cluttered that it was hard to see much of anything.

  When Ward had moved into this cottage, he’d had to get rid of most of the Knightley furniture, but he’d kept several pieces that were important to his family. Instead of putting them in storage, he’d crammed them into the cottage, so the living room was furnished with several antique chairs, an upright piano, three curio cabinets, and far too many side tables. There was a couch that was almost impossible to reach since one would have to climb through a variety of side tables to get to it. Near the kitchen was a leather recliner in front of a large TV, and that was obviously the only furniture that Ward actually used.

  For some reason it bothered Em as she looked at it.

  The room was ridiculous. He couldn’t have any company in this room. All he could do was sit by himself and watch TV and maybe feel bad about everything in his family history he’d lost when he converted Pemberley House into condos.

  It was depressing. Ward deserved a better living room than this.

  She wanted better for him.

  After a minute, she came to a decision. It wouldn’t take much to make this room nicer and more comfortable for him.

  So she was going to do it.

  WARD KNIGHTLEY WAS used to shrugging off the things that bothered him. It was the only way he’d managed to make it through his family’s bankruptcy, a painful divorce, and unique family pressure regarding their lost greatness. He was usually good at pushing emotional pain into a corner of his mind where it wouldn’t keep making its presence known.

  So he was surprised that his conversation with Em unsettled him so much.

  It hadn’t been a real argument, but Em had left looking hurt.

  And that hurt him.

  Em had been part of his life since he was a kid. He couldn’t remember living without her on the periphery of his world, laughing at his jokes and giving him impatient looks and trying to interfere in his life. Since his marriage had fallen apart, and particularly for the past few years, he’d been thinking about her more than ever—worrying about her, seeking her company, wanting to make sure she was happy.

  He’d never been able to tolerate any
thing that might hurt Em even if that thing was him. He didn’t think he was wrong in what he had said to her, but something was wrong about his behavior if she’d left looking wounded as she had.

  He had a quick dinner and then decided he needed to exercise to clear his mind, so he went for a run around the perimeter of the property.

  After a half hour, he came to a stop, realizing that he was never going to feel better until he’d made up with Em, but he’d forgotten to bring his phone so he could send her a message apologizing and asking if they were all right.

  So he headed home. He needed to get to his phone so he could text her.

  He hurried.

  He was hot and panting when he made it to the cottage, even though the evening was cool. He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand as he pushed through his front door. He’d probably left his phone in the bedroom as he was changing into his running clothes.

  He jerked to a stop as he reached the living room and was confronted by the sight of Em’s ass.

  Her ass.

  Clearly displayed through the stretched fabric of her leggings. She was leaning over, bent at the waist. He couldn’t tell what she was doing because he couldn’t tear his eyes from the tight, round contours leading down to very long, toned legs. He could see the shape of every curve, every line and dip. She might as well have been naked.

  He stared—dumbfounded as his body surged in interest.

  It was Em. He knew it was her, although he couldn’t at present see her face.

  No one else would be in his cottage without permission. No one else had a body like that.

  But he wasn’t used to seeing her in this way.

  He liked it.

  He liked it way too much.

  His skin was flushing. His blood was stirring. A pulsing awoke inside him, centered at his groin.

  Oh fuck.

  Em.

  This was Em.

  He must have made a noise, but it couldn’t have formed a complete word. Not in his current condition.

  Em jerked in surprise and knocked her head against the top of a side table she was evidently moving.