Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
"Her latest novel was shortlisted for the National Book Award," I say. "Her publisher has commissioned three more books."
Victoria raises an eyebrow. "Well, that's ... nice. Though I always hoped she'd use her literature degree for something more substantial. Teaching, perhaps."
Emmy's smile is frozen, but I feel the tension in her fingers.
"Emerson always had such eccentric interests," Victoria continues, addressing me now. "Her father and I tried to encourage more practical pursuits, but she was determined to live this bohemian lifestyle."
Victoria gestures vaguely at Emmy, as if her very existence is an example of poor decision-making.
"You're a partner at a prestigious firm, Adrian. Surely you want someone more ... established."
I watch Emmy's face—smile fixed in place, eyes bright with constrained emotions. I realize she's endured this for years. Years of never being enough.
Something in me snaps.
I set down my fork with careful control, the silver meeting the china with a quiet clink that nonetheless draws everyone's attention.
"I'm sorry, Victoria, but I need to interrupt."
Emmy's head whips toward me, eyes wide.
"Emmy has published three novels. Not 'little books.' Novels that tens of thousands of readers have purchased and loved. She's received critical acclaim, maintained financial independence, and built a career on her talent and work ethic alone."
Victoria opens her mouth, but I continue, my voice perfectly polite yet lethally cold.
"She works harder than most people I know. Her dedication to her craft is remarkable. Her kindness is genuine. Her talent is extraordinary."
I turn to look at Emmy now, not Victoria. Her eyes have turned glassy, lips parted in surprise.
"Violet understood what you apparently cannot—that Emmy is exactly who she should be. She doesn't need to change to meet someone else's arbitrary standards."
The table falls silent. Marcus grins into his wine glass. Rachel looks like she wants to be anywhere but here. Victoria sits completely still, speechless, possibly for the first time in her life.
"I don't understand why you think I could do better," still looking at Emmy, "Emmy is incomparable. SHE could do better, but somehow she chose me anyway."
Emmy's eyes are bright with unshed tears. I didn't plan this speech, didn't consider the potential consequences for our arrangement. I spoke from a place I rarely access—raw, unfiltered emotion.
Victoria recovers quickly, shifts topics with practiced social grace. "The weather has been lovely this week, hasn't it? Marcus, tell Adrian about your medical rotations."
The rest of dinner passes in strained politeness. Under the table, Emmy's hand stays firmly in mine. She doesn't let go, not once, through all three courses.
I meant every word I said. This wasn't strategy. This wasn't maintaining our cover.
This was real.
After dinner, Emmy excuses herself to the balcony. I wait sixty seconds—appearing casual—then follow. I find her gripping the railing, staring out at the skyline. Her shoulders are tight, her breathing carefully controlled.
"Did I overstep?" I ask quietly.
She turns, and I see tears tracking down her cheeks.
"No." She shakes her head emphatically. "You were perfect. Too perfect." She wipes at her cheeks quickly. "No one's ever defended me like that."
I step closer. "It wasn't entirely strategic."
"What do you mean?"
"Victoria's criticism made me genuinely angry. You don't deserve that treatment."
Emmy stares at me. We're standing close now, the cool evening air contrasts with the warmth radiating between us.
"Thank you," she whispers.
Then she rises on her toes and kisses me.
This kiss is different from our practice—softer, filled with gratitude and something else, something deeper. My hands move to her waist automatically, pulling her closer. Her lips are warm, tender against mine. Not heated like before, but somehow more intimate. Her hands rest on my chest, and I know she can feel my racing pulse beneath her palms.
A throat clears from the balcony door. We break apart, but I keep one arm around Emmy's waist, unwilling to let her go completely.
Marcus stands there, grinning. "Just wanted to say I like this one, Em." He shoots a finger at me.
He gives me an approving nod before disappearing back inside, leaving us alone again.
Emmy steps back, creating distance between us. "We just kissed. No audience."
"No reason except..."
My mind races for an explanation that doesn't involve admitting I wanted to kiss her.
"Method acting... You know, staying in character... No?"
"Right, of course," Emmy agrees too quickly. "Method acting."
Neither of us believes it. Both pretend we do.
We return to the dinner party, but nothing is the same anymore. Emmy's hand finds mine as we say our goodbyes, and I thread our fingers together without thinking.
The car ride to her apartment is silent, charged. Every traffic light feels like a countdown.
I should drop her off, go home, re-establish boundaries. That's the logical course of action. But when I park outside her building, and she turns to me, eyes dark and wanting, logic dissolves.
"Come up," she says.
I should say no. Should maintain professional distance. Should remember this is temporary, sixty days with a clean ending. Instead, I turn off the engine.