The Night Before Christian (2 page)

He sure wore
thirty-seven well. Why did he have to look so damn delicious? And the way he
wore that custom-tailored suit. It should have been a crime against humanity.
No one should look that damn delectable in fabric. Plus, those muscles. How was
it possible for his body to have improved? It’d been pristine when they were
together. It was downright lethal now. Muscle on top of muscle, powerful legs,
a tight ass, and—

She groaned. Was she
insane? This man was about to become someone else’s husband. But could she actually
watch it happen? Maybe passing on this event would be a smart thing to do.

Instantly, the six
thousand dollar bill from her mother’s homecare agency played in her head,
reminding her of why she didn’t have the option of passing up any business.

The sound of the
conference room door opening, then slamming behind her drew her urgent
attention. When she glanced up, Christian hovered over her like a sexy, simmering
god. A vein bulged on the side of his neck, and she added
vengeful
to
the list.

“What in the hell do
you think you’re doing?” he asked.

Something told her this
would not be a pleasant encounter. Maybe it was his darkened eyes. Or his
flared nostrils. Or the proverbial smoke wafting from his ears.
Play it
cool, Emory
.
Don’t let him see you sweat—well, sweat anymore
.
And
whatever you do, keep your emotions in check
. “Christian—?” That was all he
gave her time to release.

“You will call Yasmin
and tell her something urgent has come up… Death in the family, the flu, I
don’t care. Just as long as she knows you
will not
be involved in our w—”
He paused, his jaw muscles flexing, then relaxing, then flexing again. “You’ll
do it today.” Each word he spoke was taut and exact.

Something about his
authoritative tone corrupted her thoughts of them actually having a cordial
conservation. He—of all people—knew she didn’t take orders. Especially from
him. Emory bolted to her feet. “Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to?
Your
fiancée
hired me to do a job, and I damn sure intend to do it.” So
much for keeping her emotions in check.

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.”

He ground his teeth so
hard she thought his jaw would snap out of place. A beat later, he released a
sound that could be construed as more of a mock than jovial laughter.

“Not everyone’s a big
time aerospace engineer. Some of us need the money because—” She stopped
abruptly, breaking off the string of words before revealing too much. He
wouldn’t care that her mother’s health issues were sending her to the poor
house. He simply wanted his way.

“Is that what this is
all about? You’re hard up for a dollar?” He reached into his pocket, removed
his wallet, snatched all of the bills from inside and tossed them onto the
table. “There you go.”

Twenty dollar bills
scattered over the dark wood. His actions infuriated her so much a bout of
nausea washed over her. Why did everyone in this family believe she could be
bought? Even if she were contemplating quitting before, there was no way she
would now. Staring him square in the eyes, she said, “You’re going to need far more
than that to cover my bill. And I’m not quitting.”

A vein pulsed in the
center of his forehead. “Like hell you’re not.”

Who was this man who
stood in front of her? This hardened shell was not the warm and loving
Christian St. Claire she once knew. He turned to leave, but she wasn’t going to
allow him the last word. “When did you become such a heartless bastard?”

Christian stopped mid-reach
of the doorknob. His body tensed and he seemed to struggle with whatever
thoughts raced through his head. Over his shoulder, he finally said, “When the
only woman I’ve ever loved spit that love back in my face and showed me she
never truly cared for me at all.”

He was never one for
hiding his true feelings from her. A beat later, Christian yanked the door open
with so much force Emory swore it would come off the hinges. Though his words
briefly froze Emory, awareness returned before Christian escaped.

“Oh no, you don’t.” She
slammed her hand into the door and banged it shut. Under any other
circumstances, being this close to the man who’d taken her body to places she
could only label as uncharted territory would have rendered her unable to
speak. But with the degree of anger coursing through her, the words came
readily. “How dare you say that to me? That’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve
always loved you. I’ve never
not
loved you. What I did then, I did for—”
She stopped abruptly. Calming her tone, she said, “You don’t know everything,
Christian.”

His shoulders slumped
and eyes grew weary. “I know I loved you. I know I loved you more than I loved
myself. I know my life was supposed to have been with you. I know you walked
away and never looked back. I know that now I’m doing the same.”

As bad as she wanted to
wrap her arms around him, tell him she’d loved him with the same
intensity—still loved him—she couldn’t. Swallowing the painful lump of emotion
in her throat, she repeated, “You don’t know everything.”

Through clinched teeth,
he said, “I know enough.” Staring into her eyes, he said, “Stay away from me, Emory.”

His words cut her to
the core, but the hurt, the pain, the torture she witnessed in his eyes told
her it was useless to say any more. She stepped aside and allowed him to exit.
What was the benefit in telling him that just because she’d let him go, didn’t
mean she’d wanted to, or that she’d walked away to protect him and the only
life he’d ever known.

Goodbye, Christian
.

She never imagined
she’d be uttering those painful words again in this lifetime. He bolted through
the shop door without as much as a glance back in her direction.

Emory fell against the
doorjamb. How could he not believe she’d ever loved him?

“You’re wrong,” she
mumbled. “You’re so wrong.”

She’d displayed unconditional love in
its purest form—sacrifice.

From the second
Christian entered his brother’s place—ten minutes—ago, he’d paced the floor.
Why in the hell was he letting his encounter with Emory get to him? She was his
past. A past that’d come to a screeching halt with no more than an “
I need space
”
as an explanation.

He couldn’t shake her
from his thoughts, or what she’d said.
“You don’t know everything?”
The
words had bounced around in his head since he’d left her shop. What didn’t he
know?
It doesn’t matter
. At least, he was damn sure trying to convince
himself it didn’t.

Of all the flower shops
in Raleigh, how in the hell had he walked into Emory’s? The moment had played
out just like a movie. Their eyes locking, both bewildered, neither able to
turn away. And the attraction… His attraction to her had been off the chart.
Clearly, his body had no qualms about betraying him.

She’d looked good. Damn
good. Swearing under his breath, he cursed himself for even allowing such
thoughts to materialize. He didn’t want to think about how damn good she
looked. He didn’t want to think about how damn nice she smelled. He didn’t want
to think about her period, dammit.

Floral designer
extraordinaire
? When in the hell had she taken an interest in floral
design? Giving it some thought, they hadn’t spoken in years. He was sure she’d
developed an array of new interests.

“Christian, man, please
sit down. You’re giving me motion sickness,” his younger brother Chauncey said.

Christian massaged the
stiffness in his neck. “Can you believe she had the audacity to tell me she
wasn’t quitting? Like she has a damn choice,” he said more to himself than
Chauncey.

“Come on. You, of all
people, should know how headstrong Emory is. And the harder you push…”

Chauncey was right. She
was as stubborn as a constipated mule. That was one of the many reasons he’d
fallen in love with her. She never took shit from anyone. Including him.
Especially him. That definitely hadn’t changed. At least, the taking shit from
him part.

Chauncey fell back
against the cushion of the chair he occupied. “Cut her some slack. She’s had a
rough year.”

This slowed Christian’s
steps, the words fully garnering his attention. “Rough year? What happened?
What’s going on? Is everything all right?” He stunned himself with the amount
of concern present in his voice.

“Damn. Take a breath,”
Chauncey said with mock humor in his tone.

Christian shot him the
bird. When the laughter settled, Chauncey’s expression turned serious. Whatever
had his brother so bothered wasn’t good.

“Her mother’s
Alzheimer’s Disease is progressing. It’s taking a toll on Emory.”

Fine lines etched
across Christian’s forehead. “Alzheimer’s? When was Ms. Anne diagnosed with Alzheimer’s?”

“Like two years ago I
believe. You didn’t know?”

Christian dropped into
the sofa across from his brother. “No, I didn’t.”
Alzheimer’s
? He’d seen
the devastation of this condition up close and personal. His grandfather had
succumbed to the effects of the dreaded disease. Ms. Anne’s diagnoses had to have
come after he and Emory had broken up.
Damn. Not Ms. Anne
. He’d loved
that lady. “Emory has to be taking this hard. They were really close.”

Chauncey nodded. “She
is. She refuses to put her mother in a facility. She wants to keep her in
familiar surroundings.”

Christian kneaded at
the tension in the crook of his neck. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“She’s also footing the
bill for her mother’s place and ’round the clock care.”

That didn’t surprise him
either. “How do you know all of this?” Better yet, why hadn’t he shared any of
this with him before now? Then it hit him. Chauncey probably thought he was
sparing him by not bringing Emory up. It’d been a good call.

Chauncey smirked. “I
keep my ear to the ground.”

By looking at Emory,
Christian wouldn’t have known all she was going through. As always, she was a
picture of perfection. This had to be hell for her. For a brief moment, it
angered Christian that Chauncey knew more about Emory’s life than he did. But once
the sentiment passed, he reminded himself that these weren’t his burdens to
bear. Emory was no longer a part of his life. Well…a part of his intimate life.

Chauncey cuffed his
hands in front of him. “She came close to losing her shop a few months back.
Taking care of two households and helping to put her sister through college…
It’s draining her. I offered to help, but of course she turned me down. She
said she don’t take handouts, then promptly told me to stay the hell out of her
business.”

Christian chuckled. Yep,
that was Emory. Strong-willed and stubborn. Trying not to appear overly
interested, he said, “I’m guessing she found a way to save her shop. Seeing how
she’s taunting me from it.”

“For now, at least.
Some floral design magazine did a piece on her. She got a boost in business
from the article. It was a nice write-up, too.” He pointed over his shoulder.
“I might have a copy if you want to read it.”

Christian scrubbed his
hand down his face, ignoring the taunt in Chauncey’s words. “I’m good.”

Now he understood why
she’d refused to step away. She needed the income. He thought about the comment
she’d cutoff about needing money. As hard as he fought it, regret flooded him. The
way he’d treated her gnawed at him with razor-sharp teeth. Her sad brown eyes
staring up at him haunted his thoughts.
Damn
. Why’d he have to be such
an
asshole
to her?

“It must have been one
hell of a shock walking into the room and seeing Emory sitting there.”

A shock? That would be the
understatement of the year. Plus, it didn’t come close to what he’d felt—anger,
confusion, anxiety. Yet, through all of those negative emotions, he’d also felt
a sense of calm he hadn’t experienced in so long. Standing so close to Emory,
his body had done things that no soon-to-be married man’s body should have done
for any woman other than his fiancée.

Scattering the
troubling thoughts, he refocused on their conversation. “Let’s just say it took
me by surprise.” One helluva surprise.

Chauncey lifted his
beer from the table and took a swig. “Just in case you’re wondering, she’s
single. Never could replace you, I suppose.”

When Chauncey smirked,
Christian tossed one of the red holiday pillows at him. “Go to hell.” Christian
laughed along with his brother, but his thoughts lingered on what Chauncey had
just said.
Still single
? Why hadn’t someone snatched Emory off the
market?

A silence fell between
them, allowing a hard dose of reality to settle into Christian’s head. “I’m
getting married,” he said. Why in the hell did the thought knot his stomach
into a painful ball? Shouldn’t he be floating or something?

Chauncey inched to the
edge of his chair, rested his elbows on his thighs, and cupped his hands in
front of him. The move signaled deep conversation would follow. “It’s just the
two of us here, bro. What’s said doesn’t leave this room.”

Christian studied the
serious expression on his brother’s face, then nodded. “Go ’head.”

“If Yasmin hadn’t
gotten pregnant, would you have proposed to her?”

Christian reclined
against the plush cushion and hugged an identical red pillow to his chest. “I’m
a St. Claire. St. Claire men don’t run away from their responsibilities.”
Unless of course you were their father.

Chauncey barked a
laugh. “That sounds like some shit Matriarch would say.”

Matriarch was the name
Chauncey affectionately called their grandmother behind her back. If the stern
woman had any idea, she’d probably cut him from her will. She wasn’t beyond trying
to control people with money. And that included her grandsons.

“I did what I thought
was the right thing to do,” Christian said.

“So, that’s a no.”

Christian shot him a
scowl. “She was carrying my child. I didn’t want to be like our father and
leave his kids to—” He stopped abruptly, remembering how sensitive Chauncey got
when it came to their part-time—make that their
no-time
—father. “Anyway,
I did what I felt needed to be done. After the miscarriage…” His words trailed
off.

Even though he hadn’t
planned on Yasmin getting pregnant, he’d truly started to welcome the idea of
becoming a father. Then the accident. Christian’s heart ached at the memory.
How life could change in the blink of an eye.

“Do you love, Yasmin,
bro? Truly love her. The way you and I know a man should love the woman he’s
intending to spend the rest of his life with. Do you love her the way you loved
Emory?”

There was no woman
alive he could love the way he’d loved Emory—or would dare to love the way he’d
loved her. “Don’t do that psychology shit on me. And don’t try to give Emory
any shares of my heart. At one time, she owned the majority, remember? She
cashed them in when she—” He pushed to his feet, his anger swelling. Why in the
hell did Emory’s dumping him still get such a rise out of him? “I need another
beer,” he said, despite not having finished the first.

Chauncey trailed him
into the kitchen. “Don’t marry this woman, Christian. Not if you don’t love
her. And definitely don’t marry her because Matriarch says it’s what you should
do.”

“Grandmother has
nothing to do with this. I’m my own damn man.” He slung the fridge door open.
“I care about Yasmin.”

“You
care
about
Yasmin? Bro, this is the woman you’re about to pledge the rest of your life to.
You need to do more than care about her.”

Christian rolled his
eyes away from Chauncey and rummaged inside the refrigerator. Chauncey wasn’t
telling him anything he hadn’t considered himself.

“Considering the degree
of concern you showed a moment ago, I have to ask... Are you still in love with
Emory?”

Christian whipped
toward Chauncey. “Why in the hell would you ask me something so comical?”

“Comical? Funny, I
don’t hear you laughing.”

“
Ha, ha
.”

Chauncey continued to rouse
him, but Christian paid him no attention.

“This is me you’re
talking to. Admit it. You’re still in love with Emory.”

Christian sighed
heavily, then slammed the fridge door. Brushing past Chauncey, he said, “I’m
going home. Call me when you get some damn sense.”

“Oh, I’m not the one
who needs to get some damn sense. I’m not the one in denial. Just admit the obvious.
You’re still in love with the one who got away.”

Christian whirled
around. “Yes, dammit. I’m still in love with her. You happy now?”

Chauncey rested a hand
on Christian’s shoulder. “No. I’ll be happy when you decide not to make the
biggest mistake of your life by marrying the wrong woman.”

Christian snatched up
his coat. “Well, if Emory were the
right
woman…she’d be the one I was
marrying, wouldn’t she?” He started for the door. “I guess you should get used
to being unhappy, because I’m marrying Yasmin.”

***

Emory yanked up another
ornament and haphazardly placed it onto a limb of the artificial Noble Fir
Christmas tree. A second later, the glass bulb tumbled to the floor,
shattering. “Damn.”

“Okay. What’s up with
you, Em?” her sister Jordyn asked, using the nickname she’d given her when she
was younger. “You’re normally ecstatic about decorating for Christmas. That’s
the third bulb that’s met its fate in your hands.”

“Nothing,” she snapped.

“Well, excuse me.”

Emory closed her eyes
and rested her hand over her forehead. After releasing an exasperated sigh, she
turned to Jordyn. “I’m sorry. It’s been a tough day.”

“Want to talk about
it?”

Did she really want to relive
her confrontation with Christian? The thought of rehashing it made her temple
throb. “No. Really I don’t.”

But in true Jordyn
fashion, she didn’t take no for an answer. “You know what mommy used to say
about keeping things bottled up.”

“
Things burst under
pressure
,” they said in unison.

Emory studied Jordyn a
moment. “Christian came by the shop today.”

Jordyn squealed. “I
knew it. I knew it. I knew you two would find your way back to each other. And
at Christmas. How romantic is that?” She gazed off starry-eyed. Refocusing, she
said, “Tell me everything. Every single detail. Did he confess his undying love
for you? Did you confess yours for him?”

If either of those
things had happened, did Jordyn really think she’d be here decorating a tree? “He’s
getting married.” The words left a sour taste in her mouth.

Jordyn sobered quickly.
“What do you mean he’s getting married?”

“A bride. A groom. A
church. I do.”

“What the hell, Emory?”

“
Shh
,” Emory
hissed, “before you wake mom.”

They both glanced down
the hall in the direction of their mother’s bedroom.

Jordyn dismissed her
warning with a swipe of the hand. “He can’t marry someone else. He’s yours.”

Jordyn was wrong. He
wasn’t hers any longer. And his presence in her shop cruelly reminded her of
that fact. “He can and he will. In a few weeks. And guess who’s doing the
flowers?” She flashed a tight smile. “Me.”

Jordyn’s eyes widened. “You’re
shittin’ me.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Are you freaking
insane? You can’t do the flowers for this wedding. You’re in love with the
groom. Oh, this is bad. This is really bad.” Pity gleamed in Jordyn’s usually
playful brown eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.
And for the record, I’m not in love with the groom. What we shared was over a
long time ago. I’m happy for him and wish them both the best. He’s marrying a
lovely lady whom he seems to care for very much.” Emory’s chest tightened. God,
she really wanted to mean what she’d said—the part about her being happy for him—but
she wasn’t so sure she was.