Page 44 of King of Guilt

Your husband,

Dean Allen

For fear of editing out my feelings, I attached the file and hit ‘send’ on the email without reading it one more time. Two minutes later, my phone rang with Jefferson’s name blinking across the screen.

“Yes?” I answered.

“O—Wow.” He nervously chuckled. “If you weren’t the CEO, I would’ve hired you in our department.”

“Get your nose out of my ass, Jefferson. I know it’s not the official statement your team would’ve whipped up.”

“No, it’s brilliant, because it has nothing to do with any of our usual PR stunts. With our contacts, we can get this baby live within the hour. Not in the business section, which… I mean, I wouldn’t have thought of a better idea myself.”

“Great. Now, can we get back to work?”

“By all means. Later, Dean.”

“Later.”

Hanging up, I felt my stomach twist in knots. I had just pulled the pin out of a grenade and tossed it into the world. Everyone was going to see it explode, but only Emma and I would really have to deal with the aftermath.

The uneasy feeling followed me throughout the day until I went home just in time for dinner. Emma was behaving normally, which meant that she hadn’t seen the article yet.

Just as the table was being cleared, Emma’s phone chimed with a text and she picked it up. With her other hand, she took her glass of wine and stood up, furrowing her eyebrows.

Someone must have sent her a link to the article.

This was it.

She moved around as if I was no longer there, consumed by reading on her phone, slowly walking toward the terrace.

The breath caught in my chest as I watched her in the dark through the glass. Her eyes widened as she held the wine glass against her cheek, slowly shaking her head.

As I approached the glass door that separated us, she turned to me, her face illuminated by nothing other than the blue glow from her device. The closer I got, the more I could see the tears filling her eyes. When my hand pushed the door open, Emma parted her lips and recited, “Emma is the woman I can live with whilst fearing nothing?”

At the end of her sentence, we were standing an inch apart from each other. Her hands were frozen; one holding the phone, the other holding the glass. Slowly, I took both items from her, setting them down on the table without breaking the bond connecting our eyes. Her gaze begged me to say something. I licked my lips before asking, “So, do you still need to hear me say it?”

Her chest rose and fell, her breathing fast and uneven. For a few seconds, her eyes went everywhere but to my face. Stunned, speechless as she seemed, she shook her head once and then nodded twice. “You’re not like everyone else,” she finally said, softly, but not without hesitation. “But maybe I am.”

My hands found her cheeks, warm and soft, and my fingers caressed them softly, until the tips reached the corners of her lips. Bending down an inch, I let our noses touch. “Don’t you dare,” I whispered. “Say it… think it… feel it…” I paused, drinking in her welled up eyes and parted lips. “If you were, would I be in love with you so desperately that I’m too scared to say it?”

“I thought with me you feared nothing.” Her hands gripped my wrists, fixing them in place.

“Am I?” My eyes searched hers for one last confirmation. “Am I with you?”

Finally smiling, she kissed the tips of my fingers. “It’s till death do us part, my husband.”

twenty-one

A Year on the Dot

Emma

“ Breathe through the pain,” I heard Dean advise, but everything remained fuzzy in the melting backdrop of my physical agony.

“I’m trying!” I whined, feeling every twist and turn of the road carry me, as if it wasn’t enough that my womb was being torn apart from the inside.

“Deep, calming breaths,” Dean reminded me as he squeezed my hand. “Remember your training.”

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