Page 26 of King of Guilt

When she said, “No,” her hands had leapt to grab my shirt, as if afraid that if she hadn’t, she would get up and run away.

When she had whispered, “If we’re pretending I’m your wife, how about we believe it for one night? Show me how that would be,” she really meant to say, “Treat me like I’m a part of you. A part you promised to love and to hold, in front of God and everyone else. Take care of me the way you would take care of your real wife. Don’t hurt me.”

And when she, again, said, “I’m your wife. Talk to me like that,” she was actually saying, “Put my heart and mind at ease. Speak softly and kindly to me, and don’t make me regret this. Be sweet to me, the way you would be to the mother of your unborn children.”

My heart ached for Emma and the great lengths she’d traveled to have one night with me, conquering her fear. For the first time since mom had passed away, I wished she were here to guide me. I couldn’t speak of this to any of my friends. And even if I could, they wouldn’t know what to tell me. Only Pearl Allen had the wisdom of her years and the heart of a woman to know what I should do.

As I approached my estate, seeing the massive mansion grow bigger in the distance, I wondered if I, too, was falling in love with Emma. From a completely rational angle, developing feelings for her would make perfect sense. She was the woman by my side through all of this. The death of my mom, the agony of silent grief, the quiet nights shared without complaint. Of course, my heart and mind would crave more of that.

And my soul was now pained by the reality of what she was going through.

Getting into the house, I saw Helen carefully pack the dinner she had prepared. She looked up and smiled. “Mr. Allen! When I didn’t hear from you, I figured you had already eaten.”

“That’s fine, Helen. Thank you. Please keep it packed, I’m not hungry right now.” I continued to walk toward the stairs.

“And Mrs. Allen?”

“Uh—Yeah, she’s out with a friend. Keep hers there, too. She might be hungry later.”

“Alright. Is there anything you need?”

Placing my foot on the first step, I shook my head. “Thank you, Helen. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

There was no way I was going to sleep yet, nor was I interested in being social. My mind was on fire, and I couldn’t persuade myself to do anything of significance without seeing how Emma was doing first. Since she was still out, I changed out of my work attire and put on something more comfortable—a pair of joggers and a tee.

In my study, I picked up the novel I had started a couple of days ago and settled in my favorite recliner, propping up my legs and trying to relax as I pulled out the bookmark.

Once again, every sentence was twice as long, since I was only reading with half a mind. The words flowed, but all meaning eluded me. A page that should have taken five minutes took fifteen.

By the third page, and with great focus, I was starting to get into it, forcefully immersing myself in the world of the story and the character of the protagonist.

And before I knew it, there was finally a knock on my door.

thirteen

Dancing Through His Mind

Emma

When I got home, I found two packed dinners on the kitchen counter. It meant that Dean hadn’t eaten yet, or probably hadn’t even returned. But when I went upstairs to change, I saw that the light was on in his study.

To avoid troubling him with my issues, I changed my clothes quickly, putting on a pair of airy linen pants and a top. Despite the heating inside, I still felt cold, so I grabbed a knitted cardigan and put it on before heading to the bathroom. There, I thoroughly washed the running mascara off my cheeks, fixed my eyeliner, and added a touch of pink lip balm.

Setting my phone on silent—since I was in no state to receive calls—I walked over to the study to check on Dean. As soon as I knocked on the door, I heard the usual “Come in, Emma,” though in a slightly more welcoming tone than the usual.

Pushing the door open, I peeked through with my head. “Hi. How was your evening?”

Shutting the book in his hands, he gave me a bright smile. “Come on in. Mine was good. How was yours?”

“It was okay.” I quickly nodded.

“Your friend? Did you guys have a good time?”

I tittered, stepping inside. “Oh, it was that kind of thing.” Sighing, I let my eyes gaze up at the ceiling. “Some people never grow up, I guess. They never seem to remember that others, too, have problems in their lives.”

“They think the world revolves around them?” Tilting his head, his smile didn’t falter.

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