The Night Before Christian (10 page)

Emory hated saying
goodbye to New York but was happy when they touched down in North Carolina.
There was truly no place like home. And though NYC was a fun place to visit,
she wouldn’t want to live there. It moved entirely too fast for her.

“You ready?” Christian
asked, extending his hand for her to take.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He wrapped her in his
arms and nuzzled his face against her neck. “Say the word and we can jet anywhere
you’d like.”

“
Mmmm
. As
tempting as that sounds…”

What she’d miss most
about New York wouldn’t be the delicious food or the extreme experience of
Christmas. It would be the carefree feeling she’d had while there, wrapped for
countless hours in Christian’s arms. In his arms, there were no overdue bills,
no threat of losing her business, no constant worry about her mother. Most of
all, there was no Mrs. St. Claire with her scowls and threats.

Mrs. St. Claire
.

Thinking about the
woman dampened her jovial mood. But the idea she’d spent the weekend making
love to the bitter woman’s grandson restored her happiness. Unfortunately, the
buoyant feeling only lasted a short time because there were still things she
needed to share with Christian.

Emory groaned to
herself. When Mrs. St. Claire found out about their excursion—and Emory was
sure she would—would she go through with her threat and risk exposing her part
in the whole thing? It only took Emory a second to answer. Yes, she would. Why
had Emory even questioned that? And it was Amelia St. Claire, which meant she would
find a way to come out of it squeaky clean. Why did the woman hate her so much?
All Emory had ever done was love her grandson to the fullest.

Dispersing the dark
cloud hovering over her head was the only way they could move forward. “Christian,
I need to tell you something,” she said in a rush. Now seemed like as good a
time as any to tell him everything. Plus, the details were best coming from
her, because Mrs. St. Claire would surely put a twist on the facts.

“Can you tell me in the
car? It’s so cold out here,” he said. “I need some of your warmth.”

Emory squealed when he
pulled her into his arms. Rolling in laughter, she said, “You’re such a cold
weather wimp.”

He squeezed her butt. “Wimp?
I’ll show you a wimp tonight.”

She looked forward to
it, if they made it to that point. There was still the matter of the
conversation they needed to have. The thought renewed her urgency. “Yes, we can
talk inside the car.”

The driver stood by the
waiting vehicle to open the door, but Christian dismissed him. She laughed as Christian
playfully pinned her against the car, the icy cold penetrating the layers of
her quilted primaloft coat. His mouth lingered inches from hers, thin plumes of
fog escaping.

He rested his forehead
against hers. “This is going to be the best Christmas of my life.”

“Why?”

“Because I have you.”

It was exactly what
she’d hoped to hear.

He held her face
between his hands. “And this time—”

“You two are going to
catch your deaths out there.”

The familiar voice
froze them both.

Christian thawed first,
pulled away, and glanced toward the open window. “Gran? W…” He glanced at
Emory, then back to his grandmother. “What are you doing here?”

Emory realized she’d
been holding her breath and released it in a long, steady stream. Unable to
blink, the bitter wind burned her eyes. Mrs. St. Claire’s presence put her in a
state of utter shock and confusion.

Mrs. St. Claire’s
probing eyes settled on Emory. “I thought I’d welcome you two love birds back
to town.”

Even with the frigid
December air, Emory felt the burn of her heated glare. The confident expression
on her face told Emory there would not be a pleasant end to the beautiful
weekend she’d shared with Christian.

“Emory, you remember my
grandmother?” Christian asked.

“Yes,” she said, barely
audible. Oh, but how she wanted to forget her.
Pull it together, Emory
.
The worst thing you can do now is show weakness.
Stiff chin
.

Stone-faced, Mrs. St.
Claire said, “Please, get inside.”

Emory wondered how
difficult it’d been for her to say please. Even with its use, the request felt
more like an order than an invitation. But if, in fact, it were an invitation,
it was more than apt for Emory to decline. Walking had to be better than what would
surely go down inside the vehicle.

Christian placed his
hand on the small of her back and urged her forward. Her hesitant steps dragged
across the asphalt. The temperature inside the vehicle was comfortable but
seemed to increase the second Emory settled against the leather next to Mrs.
St. Claire—making herself easy prey for the lioness.

“Comfy?” Mrs. St.
Claire asked.

Not even close, but
Emory nodded anyway. She wanted to peel out of the suffocating coat. Maybe no
one would notice the barrier of sweat she felt around her hairline.

What was Mrs. St.
Claire up to? The not knowing was killing Emory—slow and uncomfortably. Just
the fact that the woman was being cordial was enough to keep Emory on high
alert. CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE flashed in her head. This situation was bound to
explode at any minute.

Emory toyed with a few
scenarios in her head, none of them good. Maybe she should just confess
everything right now, foil whatever cruel plot Mrs. St. Claire had conspired.

“I take it the two of
you had a grand time in the city. It is lovely this time of year. Wouldn’t you
agree, Emory?”

Christian touched
Emory’s hand and she flinched. What’d happen to all of the courage she’d
processed when Mrs. St. Claire had visited her shop? Her words were caught in
her throat, but thankfully, Christian answered for her.

“We had a great time. I
think we’ll make it an annual tradition.”

He squeezed her hand
and she smiled nervously.

“That sounds like a
grand idea,” said Mrs. St. Claire.

Emory knew the comment
had to infuriate her, but the woman did a great job of concealing her distaste.
Any minute now
, Emory kept repeating to herself. Any minute the top on
this boiling pot would blow off.

What kind of game was
being played? Obviously, Mrs. St. Claire knew the wedding had been called off, because
she hadn’t voiced her objection about the two of them being in New York together.
Who’d dropped the bomb on her? Yasmin or Christian? Shamelessly, Emory would
have loved to have seen the look on her face.

Emory nonchalantly
checked her watch. Would she ever make it home? The sooner she removed herself
from the scornful woman’s space, the better. When they finally pulled into the
driveway, Emory breathed a sigh of relief. When Christian stepped out of the
vehicle, Emory turned to Mrs. St. Claire. “Please don’t,” she pleaded in a
hushed tone.

Mrs. St. Claire turned away
and stared straight ahead as if Emory hadn’t spoken a word. How could anyone be
so heartless? Especially at Christmas.

Outside the vehicle,
Emory pushed the door closed behind her and rested her hands on Christian’s
chest. “Are you coming inside?”

He kissed her gloved
fingers. “In a second. I need to speak with my grandmother a moment.”

Emory’s stomach knotted
and churned. “O…okay.” She stared up at him, wanting, needing to say more, but
the words escaped her.

A look of concern
spread across Christian’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I…” She shook out of
her stupor. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll see you inside, okay?”

He smiled. “Yes, you
will.”

She tried to move away,
but he captured her by the waist.

“When I get inside, I
intend to debunk that wimp comment. Be ready.”

Under normal
circumstances, his words would have turned her on and made her giddy with
anticipation. Not this time.

Each step away from the
idling vehicle filled Emory with more and more dread. Her stomach did back
flips and her temple felt as if she were being drilled in the head with a dull
bit.

Inside, she paced back
and forth, then moved to the blinds and attempted to peep through the tiny
slits where the cord strung through. Unable to get a clear view, she parted the
slats ever so slightly, and just in time to see Christian moving toward the
house.

She couldn’t get a read
on his expression from this distance. Two taps sounded at the door. Taking a
deep breath, she trudged across the floor. The second she pulled the door open,
the broken look in his eyes told her he knew everything—or at least the version
his grandmother had wanted him to hear.

When her eyes lowered
to the paper he held, Christian offered it to her. Emory’s chest tightened the
second her eyes settled on the image of the cancelled check his grandmother had
written her two years ago.

“I wanted to tell you,
Christian. And it’s not what you think.”

Christian ran a hand
over his head and glanced around in a confused manner. The pain she witnessed
in his eyes when they finally narrowed on her ripped her heart to shreds.

“Every time my
grandmother told me you were only after my money… I defended you. I defended
you because I believed that what we had was real. That you loved me for me and
not for what I could do for you.”

“And I did, Christian.
And
I do
. I never—”

In a raised tone, he
said, “You never what, Emory? Cared about my money? Meant to hurt me? What?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, well, that check
tells a different story.”

That check told lies. Emory
fought to remain levelheaded, convincing herself that his cold tone was a
result of his hurt. In his shoes, she’d probably react in a similar manner.
Plus, the evidence did support what he clearly believed to be the truth. “It’s
not how it looks.”

“Is that your
signature?”

He already knew it was.
“Yes.”

“You cashed the check?”

Again, he already knew
the answer, but she played along. “Yes.”

“So, it’s
exactly
how it looks.”

“Christian, look me in
the eyes and tell me you truly believe I was with you for your money. Do you
truly believe—?”

“You know what I truly
believe, Emory? I truly believe you should have asked for more. You damn sure
deserved it.”

He made a move to turn,
but stopped when she grabbed his arm. When he snatched away, she didn’t believe
her heart could break any more. But it did. “Can’t you see what this is all
about, Christian? It’s about your grandmother working any angle she can to keep
us apart. You can’t be that blind to her motives.”

Christian scoffed, turned,
and descended the stairs. When he stopped at the bottom, she thought maybe,
just maybe, he’d considered what she’d said about his manipulative grandmother.

Facing her, he said, “Your
mother wasn’t recalling a scene from any movie. I had asked for your hand. The
night you ended things, I’d planned to propose.” He paused. “I guess I should
consider myself lucky that you never gave me the opportunity. I would have
given you anything, Emory.
Anything
. All you ever had to do was ask.”

With that, he crossed
the yard, entered the waiting vehicle and was gone.

***

The second the vehicle backed
out of Emory’s driveway, Christian felt as if a part of his heart had been
snatched away…again. His focus remained out the window. So many emotions battered
him: Anger. Hurt. Confusion.

Yeah, he was confused
as hell because it made no sense that Emory would take money from his
grandmother. But she’d stood right in front of him and admitted it, so what was
there to be confused about?

A vision of Emory’s sad
eyes played in his head and, for a brief moment, guilt flooded him. Shaking the
feeling off, he pressed his lids together tightly and massaged the pain in his
neck.

“Grandson—?”

Christian held up his
hand, and his grandmother stopped mid-thought. He’d heard enough from her to
last him a lifetime. “I can’t. Not now.” She touched his arm, and he pulled
away.

“I understand,” she
said softly.

Did she? Could she? How
could anyone understand the pain he felt without being inside of him? He
allowed his head to fall back against the headrest.
Fifty thousand dollars
.
That was all he’d meant to her? A lousy fifty thousand dollars.

Had she lied about how
she’d gotten the money to open her shop?
Small business loan my ass
.
Clearly, she hadn’t considered the fact that it would take more than a mere
fifty thousand dollars to run a successful business.

When his cell phone
rang, he fished it from his pocket. Emory’s name flashed across the screen. For
a brief second, he contemplated answering. But what could she say to him that
would undo what she’d done?

Sliding his thumb
across the screen to send the call to voicemail, he stashed the phone back in
his pocket and returned to his closed eyes position. He fought the images of
Emory laying beneath him, smiling and claiming to be happier than she’d been in
years. One thing for sure, she was damn good at being convincing.

“I spoke to Yasmin,” his
grandmother said. “You called off the wedding?”

So much for leaving him
to his thoughts. Clearly, Yasmin hadn’t owned up to not wanting to get married
either. He imagined his grandmother eyeing him, waiting on a response. One that
would never come. He didn’t want to discuss a wedding—or lack of one. He didn’t
want to discuss Yasmin. And he damn sure didn’t want to discuss Emory.

She continued, “Why
would you—?”

His cell phone rang
again. This time he didn’t bother removing it from his pocket. The ringing gave
him a reprieve from the sound of his grandmother’s voice.