The Night Before Christian (3 page)

“I don’t care what you say.
I’m not allowing you to do it.”

Emory rested a hand on
her hip. “Uh, who is the older sister here? And have you forgotten about mom’s
medical bills?” she said in a hushed tone. “I don’t really have a choice. We
need the money.”

“I told you I would
quit school and get a job to help out.”

“And I told you no.”

“But—”

“Absolutely not,
Jordyn.” Emory closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I know you’re worried
about me, but I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“And Christian getting
married... Is that fine, too?”

Emory sighed heavily. “It’s
been two years. I’m over Christian St. Claire. He’s moved on and so have I. So,
yes, it’s fine.” She returned to placing ornaments. “Fine, fine, fine.”

Jordyn tilted her head.
“Moved on? Really? You haven’t been on a date since the two of you broke up.
Two
years
without getting your—”

Emory pointed a gingerbread
ornament at her sister before the rest of the sentence escaped. “Watch your
mouth,” she said, because knowing her sister, something inappropriate was sure
to follow. “I haven’t been on a date because I don’t have time to date. I’m too
busy keeping your fast behind out of trouble.”

Jordyn pressed her
manicured fingers into her chest. “Who me?” She batted her eyes. “I’m an
angel.” Holding a tinsel covered ring above her head, she said, “See, I even have
a halo.”

They shared a dose of
much needed laugher.

Jordyn draped her arms
around Emory. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

Emory cradled her in an
affectionate embrace. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Promise.” But honestly, she wasn’t so
sure.

Even though she’d told
Jordyn she no longer loved Christian, truthfully, she’d never stopped loving
him. In fact, she still loved him like they’d never spent one day apart. And
his presence in her shop earlier only intensified the sentiment. But he’d made
it perfectly clear that she was the very last thing on his mind.

Getting through this
event would be the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but she
would
do
it. She
had
to do it. And not just for herself. For everyone depending
on her. For everyone she loved. Maybe this was just what she needed to finally
purge Christian from her system once and for all.

“Emory, baby?”

Emory turned to see her
mother shuffling down the hall, her frail body a potent reminder of what the
once vibrant woman was going through.
Second hardest thing
, she corrected.
“Mom, what are you doing out of bed?”

Her mother’s eyes
scanned the room. “Baby, where’s your father? He was supposed to be home from
the factory hours ago. I hope every things okay.”

A worried expression
spread across her mother’s face. Emory’s heart broke a little more every time
she had to deliver the same devastating news. Maybe Jordyn had seen the pain in
her eyes, because she stepped in.

“Mommy, daddy died,
remember?”

“Died?” Their mother
rested a hand over her collarbone and rubbed frantically. “Oh, Lord, Jesus. My
Larry died. I have to see him. I have to see my Larry.”

Jordyn took her
mother’s hand. “Mommy, daddy died six years ago.”

“And nobody told me.
Why didn’t anybody tell me my Larry was gone?”

When Emory tried to
cradle the agitated woman, she swatted her away. There were good days and there
were bad days. Today was clearly the latter. “Calm down, Mom. Please.” Her
voice cracked with emotion. “Please,” she repeated, tears burning her eyes.
Please,
God
.
I can’t take any more today
.

Just like that, their
mother calmed and rested a frail hand on Emory’s cheek. “Baby, what’s wrong?
Why are you crying?”

Emory bit back a sob. “I’m
just so happy.”

“You were always such a
happy child.” Her mother patted her cheek, then neared the Christmas tree,
lifting the gingerbread man. “Emory, baby, where is that good looking fella
you’re about to marry? I sure do like him. He brings me the best gingersnaps.
Will you tell him I need more? I ate the last one yesterday. It was so
delicious.”

It always amazed Emory
what snippets her mother remembered. Big moments like their father’s death
escaped her, while small things like cookies that Christian used to bring her
stayed in her mind. Emory swiped away a tear. “I’ll tell him, Mom.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”
She drew her girls into her arms. “You two take such good care of me.”

“Because we love you,
Mommy,” Jordyn said, whipping away her own trail of tears.

“I love you girls,
too.” She smiled, but then frowned. “Emory, baby, where is your father? He’s
supposed to bring me my coffee. He knows exactly how I like it. Four sugars,
three creams.”

Emory held her tight. “I know he
does, Mom. He’ll be here any minute.”

It’d been exactly one
week since Christian stood face-to-face with Emory, and every day since, he’d
seen her face in his dreams. Sleeping and awake. He sat in his SUV and watched
her through the oversized window of her shop.
The Bloom Bloom Room
. He
chuckled.
Catchy
.

This really could be
considered creepy as hell. When he’d left the site where his new office building
was being constructed, he’d set a course for home. Somehow he’d ended up here,
idling outside the place of business of the woman he’d once believed was his
soul mate. What would Emory think if she knew he was stalking her from his
vehicle?

He laughed at himself.
Stalking was a stretch.
Observing
. Yeah, that sounded better. Regardless
of whatever term he used, he shouldn’t have been there. Maybe it was everything
Chauncey had told him Emory was going through. Maybe it was his guilty
conscious gnawing at him. Or maybe he’d just felt the urge to see her one last
time, because he damn sure refused to step foot in that shop with Yasmin again.

Yasmin
. Wasn’t
he supposed to miss her? Or at the very least think about her more than he had.
Instead of his thoughts lingering on his bride-to-be, they rooted on the one
person whom he should have been eager to forget.

The tap on his window
startled him. He whipped his head around to see Emory’s sister Jordyn grinning
in at him.
Shit
. He’d been busted. When he lowered the window, a gust of
cold air rushed inside, and an instant chill raced up his spine. Damn, he hated
cold weather. “Jordyn? Hey.”

A half-smirk,
half-smile played at her lips. “I thought that was you. Longtime no see.”

“Yeah, it has been a
while. I hope you’ve been well.”

“I have, thank you. So,
whatcha doing?”

Christian glanced
toward the brick building, then back to Jordyn. “I... Uh… I was… I mean, I was
about to—”

Jordyn rested her hands
on her hips, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. “Christian St. Claire, are
you spying on my sister?”

He released a
boisterous laugh. “Spying?” Another chuckle escaped. “No. I was just about to
go inside. Emory’s doing the flowers for my upcoming
w
…” He couldn’t say
the word. Why in the hell couldn’t he say the word? “We’re working together,”
he settled on saying.

“On your
wedding
,
right?”

Why did she have to put
so much emphasis on the word? He nodded. “Yeah.”

Jordyn tugged at her
gray bomber coat. “Well, come on. I’ll walk with you.”

Shit
. “Um…” Fine
mess he’d gotten himself into. He couldn’t just leave. That would make him look
suspicious. Well, more suspicious than this current situation already looked.
“Yeah. Okay. Let me just grab my coat.”
Shit
.

After the way he’d
acted the last time he’d been there, he was surely the last person Emory wanted
to see. He’d just say hello, ask a few generic questions about their order,
then leave. Simple as that. He could even say Yasmin sent him. This wouldn’t be
so bad after all. The statement felt like false bravado.

Two minutes later, they
were standing inside Emory’s workroom. Bunches of fresh flowers littered nearly
every inch of the space. Vases and ribbon were also scattered about. Emory did
a double take when her eyes settled on him. Beyond his initial shock, he wasn’t
sure what to expect next—though he visualized one of the cobalt blue vases
slicing through the air and clobbering him in the head.

To his delight, Emory
didn’t lash out at him, but her scrutinizing eyes questioned his presence. “Hey.”
That seemed like the most logical thing to say.

“Hey,” she supplied in
return.

Emory’s attention
shifted to a grinning Jordyn, before shifting to him again.

“Are you two hanging
out now? BFF’s?”

She laughed, but he
could sense her discomfort.

Jordyn smirked. “No. I
found him…crossing the street to come inside.”

Thank you, Jordyn
.
All he needed was for Emory to know he’d been…
observing
her.

“Oh,” said Emory.

“Yasmin sent me,” he
blurted like a fool. So much for sounding convincing.

“Huh.” Emory folded her
arms across her chest, her forehead wrinkling in a sign of confusion. “I spoke
with your
fiancée
earlier. She didn’t mention anything about you
stopping by.”

If he were standing in
front of a mirror, he knew his image would reflect the proverbial
deer-in-the-headlights. He shrugged. “I…guess she forgot.”

Emory eyed him for a
silent second. “Yeah. I guess so.”

When her attention slid
to Jordyn—who was ping-ponging glances between the two of them—he took the
moment to chastise himself for being there.

“You’re early,” Emory
said to Jordyn.

Jordyn glanced at her
watch. “You said four, right?”

“No. I said five,
Jordyn.”

“Shoot. I have a class
at five, Em.” She turned to Christian. “Christian, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind
taking my sister home, would you? Her car won’t start. I keep telling her to
junk the heap.”

Christian nonchalantly
shrugged one shoulder. “Sure, I—”

“I can take a cab,” Emory
said, cutting him off.

“That’s silly, Emory.
You have a ride right here,” Jordyn said, resting a hand on Christian’s
shoulder. “Wow, Christian. You’re solid as a rock. Have you been working out?
Cop a feel, Emory.”

Emory tossed Jordyn a
narrow-eyed scowl. Whatever that look represented, it wasn’t anything good. For
some reason, it humored him.

When Emory’s eyes returned
to him, he shrugged again. “I really don’t mind.” Besides, it was the least he
could do after how he’d treated her.

“Then it’s settled,”
Jordyn said, moving toward the door. “Welcome back to North Carolina,
Christian. I’ll call you tonight, Em. Love you both.” With that, Jordyn was
gone.

“Still the same
vivacious, Jordyn,” Christian said. When he faced Emory, her arms were pulled
even tighter across her chest, and the soft expression she’d flashed moments
earlier had morphed into a hard frown.
Uh-oh
.

“What are you doing
here, Christian? Because I vaguely remember—no,
distinctively
recall—you
telling me to stay away from you. Yet, here you are. In
my
shop. And
don’t insult my intelligence by saying your
fiancée
sent you.”

Why did she keep saying
fiancée that way? He thought it in his best interest not to ask. “I…wanted to
stop by to say I’m sorry to hear about Ms. Anne.” When her brows furrowed, he
added, “Chauncey told me.” He didn’t want her to think he’d been checking up on
her or anything. ’Course, she still could think that.

Sadness filled her eyes
and her hardness softened.

“Thank you.” She rested
a hand on the side of her neck. “Look, you don’t have to wait around. I’m sure
you have better things to do. I’m really okay with catching a cab.”

“You’ve made that
clear.” He gave a half-smile. “Look, Em… I was out of line the last time we
spoke. You deserve to be angry at me.”

“The truth doesn’t
anger me, Christian. You simply spoke what was in your heart.” She ambled
across the room. “Since you insist on staying, you might as well make yourself
useful.” She passed him a pair of pruning shears.

Christian stirred at
the sharp blades as if she’d asked him to perform surgery with them. “The only
thing I know about flowers is how to order them.”

She picked up a long-stemmed
white rose. “All you have to do is snip right about here.”

When she passed the
flower to him, their fingers grazed. She snatched away, rubbing her hand as if
something toxic had been transferred from his flesh to hers.

“I promise I don’t have
cooties,” he said with a smile.

“Try not to cut your
finger off,” she said, putting some distance between them.

Something told him
she’d take great pleasure in watching him bleed to death. He eyed the rose.
Cut
the stem
.
Sounds easy enough
.

Emory stood a couple of
feet down from him, stripping thorns from another bunch of roses, lavender in
color. Every few minutes, she’d tossed a glance in his direction, but turned
away when he acknowledged her. The silence was deafening. Unable to take it
another second, he said, “When did you get into floral design?”

He figured he had a
fifty-fifty chance of her responding. For a moment, he assumed the odds were
against him. But she finally answered.

“About a year ago. I
helped a friend decorate her wedding. I discovered I loved creating art with
flowers. I applied for and received a small business loan.” She glanced around
the room, a hint of admiration in her eyes. “Here I am.”

“Business good?”

She shrugged. “It has
its ups and downs.”

Christian almost
expected her to share her troubles with him, but she didn’t. Why would she? The
days of her sharing with him were over. To be honest, he missed those days. The
days they’d lie in bed for hours discussing any and everything under the sun.

He laughed to himself. Not
in a million years would he have imagined being here with Emory, clipping
flowers, of all things. And, being cordial to one another. He shot a glance in
her direction. When they’d first broken up, he’d done his best to scrub her
from his thoughts. Now here they were. At one point in his life, he’d have died
for this woman. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure he still wouldn’t.

“What about you?” Emory
said. “What are you doing these days?”

The inquiring surprised
him. “Still tinkering with airplanes.” But she knew that already.

She smiled. “Figures.”

He chuckled at the
comment. Some of the tension that’d thickened the air earlier dissipated.
Things between them felt not so tense anymore.

“Are you excited about
your upcoming wedding?”

Christian paused
mid-cut. “I’m sure I will be. Closer to the date.”

“It’s only a few weeks
away. How much closer do you need to get?” Emory stiffened. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to…be all in your business.”

He brushed off her
words. “No need to apologize.”

Things grew quiet
between them again. But the silence didn’t linger as it had before.

“Yasmin seems like a
wonderful women. How did you two meet?”

So she was capable of
saying Yasmin’s name, instead of
fiancée
. But what was this, question
Christian hour? Well, he guessed he should have been happy she was actually
talking at all. “Through friends. We’ve been dating six months.” Since he
figured that would be her next question.

“Six—?”

Yep, he’d expected that
reaction. It was the reaction most people had.

Dousing the surprise in
her tone, she continued, “
Wow
. You proposed after only six months. Is
she pregnant or something?”

She released an unsteady
laugh, but he remained stone-faced.

Emory’s lips parted, but
nothing readily escaped. “Oh,” she finally said, then snatched her focus away
from him. “Congratulations. You really have a lot to celebrate. When… When is
she due?”

“She…” His words
trailed off. “
We
loss the baby.”

Emory rested her hand
on her chest. “Oh, God. Christian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

When he met her gaze,
an overwhelming amount of sympathy was present in her eyes. “How could you?”

Emory passed him a rose
and smiled. “You and Yasmin have the rest of your lives to fill your home with
babies.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I
guess you’re right.”

For the next hour, they
worked in perpetual silence that drained him. This wasn’t how things worked
with him and Emory. When they were together, there’d never been a silent or
dull moment between them. But things had changed. They were no longer the
couple who’d planned to build a home on a secluded country lot and run around
barefoot and naked in the woods. Or the couple who’d planned to drive
cross-country in an RV, collecting shot glasses they’d never use because
neither drank hard liquor. Or the couple who’d planned to have four perfectly
cultured kids—three boys and a girl. Or the couple who’d vowed to spoil their
grandkids rotten.

The memories beckoned a
glance in her direction. Did she ever recall any of those things? He sure as
hell did. More often then he cared to admit. His gaze raked over the pecan skin
he’d caressed countless times, mulled over the plump lips he’d kissed a
thousand times, ventured to the neck his tongue knew well. When gravity drew
his focus to her pert breasts, he lost his train of thought—and control of the
shears.

“
Shit
,” he said,
dropping the metal onto the table.

Emory shot to him. “What
happened?”

“I cut myself.” He
glanced at the crimson color seeping from his wound. “
Uh-oh
.” The sight
of blood was like his kryptonite. His stomach knotted and his limbs grew weak.

“Don’t look,” Emory
said, obviously remembering his aversion. “Come on.” She guided him to a sink scattered
with stems and leaves and placed his hand under the stream of cold water. “Stay
here. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nodded, the room
spinning around him. A minute later, she returned.

“This may sting a
little.”

Before he could
protest—or prepare—she poured the alcohol onto his cut. He sucked air through
his clinched teeth. “
Shit
.” Why did he get the feeling she enjoyed his
discomfort? Maybe it’d been the mastermind smirk she flashed.

While she focused on
his injury, he focused on her. What in the hell had happened between them?
What’d he done so wrong that would force her to end their relationship? What
could—?

“What?”