Page 77 of The Emerson Effect
It’s a leading question, meant to get me to open up to them about my feelings. I’ve kept all talk of Emerson and our marriage superficial and light whenever I’ve spoken to or texted any of them this week, and it’s obvious they want some real answers.
I shake my head as a sharp breath puffs out of me. “I think I might be f––”
“Food’s ready,” Dallas calls out as he carries a platter of charred burgers toward the door leading into the kitchen.
“To be continued,” Callie mutters under her breath as Joey shoots me a concerned look.
“I’m okay,” I mouth, standing up to follow the guys inside.
Despite her nod, her eyes are swimming with worry as she mouths back, “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
And I am. Okay, that is. Admitting I’m falling for Emerson is a scary thing––because, you know, theexpiration dateon this farce of a marriage––but not admitting it wouldn’t make it any less true. Or scary.
I’m allowing myself to feel my feelings, and that’s dangerous. Emerson and I agreed this is only temporary, a solution for salvaging our little “romance” after so much drunken stupidity. Hell, it wasmyidea. I made the plan. I set the ground rules.
I shake off all thoughts of this thing ending as I follow the others inside to make our plates. This is supposed to be a fun day. A chance for my friends to get to know my temporary husband. I can worry about the future of my ragged heart tomorrow.
Once everyone fills their plates, we all head back outside to sit in the shade of my oversized umbrella. It’s warm today, but not so hot as to make anyone sweat. Emerson takes the chair next to me, surreptitiously sliding it in my direction as he lowers himself into it.
The conversation flows easily, and being the charmer he is, Emerson fits right in. Laughing at all the right times. Making his own jokes. Complimenting the chef, Dallas. And when Royal balks at the praise, complimenting the superb slices of tomato and onion. He goes toe-to-toe with Joey in spouting movie quotes. Has an earnest conversation with Callie about meditation and the benefits of a serene atmosphere in the classroom.
Royal snorts at that, making Callie grin. She stopped being bitter about his wild and loud classroom antics since they got together. And as far as I know, she’s kicking his ass in the classroom vs. classroom prank war she instigated, surprising everyone. Mostly herself.
Even Raven cracks a grin when Emerson returns her snark like a professional, making all of us––except Linc––laugh. That one seems occupied by his own thoughts today. His grins never quite reach his eyes, and I’ve caught him staring at Raven when he thought no one was looking more than once.
Something is going on there. I just don’t know what.Yet.
The good food, excellent company, and light atmosphere are all great, but the best part of the meal is the blessing of Emerson’s attention. A knock of his knee against mine. A furtive brush of his knuckles along my thigh. The little looks we share when someone says something that makes us both laugh. The scent of his cologne wafting toward me when he moves.
It’s the perfect day, and I don’t want it to end. I want to stay in this moment, forever. My friends like Emerson, and he likes them, too. But…he likesmemore. He wants me. He shows mewith every covert touch and secret smile. The way his eyes drift closed when he breathes deep, like the smell of my sunblock-covered skin is the most delicious scent in the universe.
Like none of this is fake, and we’re just two people who met and fell in love before eloping to Vegas because we couldn’t wait to start our lives together.
But none of that is true, is it? We’re not in love, and we never intended to get married.
As if he senses the shift in me from blissful to melancholy, Emerson leans close and presses a warm palm to my thigh. I stiffen before melting at his touch, then a shiver runs down my spine when his breath hits my cheek as he speaks in a whisper.
“Everything okay?”
I swallow thickly and nod. “Everything is perfect.”
It’s not a lie. But it’s also not the full truth.
Everythingisperfect.
And that, my friends, is the crux of the problem.
FORTY-FOUR
Emerson
It’s Saturday, so traffic is light as Twila navigates from freeway to freeway on our drive down to San Diego. Yesterday, with Twila’s friends, was just for us. Today is for our fans and followers. We plan to shoot a ton of content as we explore the city like tourists.
The first thing we do is hit the zoo before it gets too hot and crowded. We film our clasped hands as we walk the hilly paths from exhibit to exhibit. I get a shot of Twila grinning widely as she feeds a giraffe. We kiss on camera in the sky buckets. I kiss her again in a dark corner of the reptile house, just for us.
After a few hours and a few miles of walking, we leave the zoo and head for the Gaslamp for lunch. We dine on a patio, eating surf & turf burritos and waffle fries, and our waitress instantly recognizes us, gushing over our fairytale romance and asking for a selfie. We agree, and I can tell we’ve made her day. It’s a bit surreal, like we’re playacting at being celebrities with dark sunglasses that do nothing to disguise our identities.
