Page 133 of Prelude To You

At the same time I couldn’t help but wonder which pastry I should make for tomorrow. Since I now knew that Roman took a pastry with his coffee, an audacious idea leaped into my mind. If I was going to get thrown out of the house, my swan song might as well be glorious.

I decided to makeprofiteroles.

38

ROMAN

The board meeting was five hours of grueling interrogation, during which I actually managed not to think about Isabel. Mostly. The upper echelon wanted to know if I could be the chairman my father was. They had a responsibility to investors and employees. Even if they knew me as my father’s son, this was about the companies in the trust and not me.

Since it went well, I expected them to make their decision in the next few days. I wanted to believe my father would be proud of me. Three days ago, that would have been the only goal I strived for. But somehow the victory felt hollow, and I was restless. My entire life I’d worked toward this moment, and now that it was here, it almost seemed anticlimactic.

I didn’t doubt for a second the feeling had something to do with Isabel.

I hadn’t looked at her image the entire day. Now my finger hovered over the button that would bring her face to life on the big screen. But something stopped me. The devastation in her eyes was not how I wanted to remember her. The expression I wanted etched in my mind was the moment just before shekissed me, or when she laughed. But I needed to see her, and my only option was to look past the devastation.

I didn’t know what I was hoping for, but when her face lit up the big screen again, the now-familiar jolt tore a jagged path through my insides. I was up against something I had no control over. Whatever I was feeling for Isabel wasn’t going to vanish overnight. And at this point, my biggest fear was that it never would.

Emily was expecting to see me tonight, no doubt curious as to whether I’d passed muster with the board. I knew she’d be at my father’s side, as she was every night. She’d been his faithful companion for many years. She was also the closest I came to having a mother.

Our conversations were usually light, with nothing too personal. Her main concern was always that I was healthy and content. Until three days ago I had been content, or whatever passed for content in my world. But now I wasn’t so sure. Tonight I wanted to ask Emily a question, one that only she could answer.

The minute I stepped into my father’s room I was somewhat taken aback. A century of formality had been ditched for fairy lights on the bedposts. Vintage music played in the background, there was a board game on a table and a pile of books stacked by the reading chair.

There was a huge day planner on the wall beside the bed, where all the “activities” were written down. Apparently my father was very good at winning Monopoly, and this was noted with a little heart and a star. What unsettled me most was the handwriting on that day planner. It looked familiar, and I was now all but certain I was losing my mind.

Emily sat by my father, holding his hand and poring over a crossword puzzle. She smiled when she saw me. “There you are.You almost had me coming to the south wing to find out how it went today. I just ordered us some tea.”

I kissed her on the cheek. She patted my face as always, inspecting me for any sign of ailment or distress.

“It looks very festive in here,” I said, amused. “What happened?”

“Oh, it’s your father’s new reader,” Emily replied. “But more about that later. First I want to know how the board meeting went.”

“As grueling as you might expect, but my father would have been pleased.”

“But areyoupleased with how it went?” she asked.

“I don’t know about being pleased, but it went fine. How is he doing?”

“You’d be the first to know if there was any change,” she said, watching me curiously. “Why don’t you take a seat?” She pointed at a chair with a small leg blanket folded over the back, and the books stacked next to it. I sat down, getting the faint whiff of a very familiar smell.

I’m definitely losing my fucking mind.

Emily put her crossword puzzle to the side, folded her hands on her lap and regarded me carefully, one eyebrow perfectly raised. “What’s on your mind, Roman? Did something happen today?”

“No, nothing happened today,” I replied. “But if my father was awake, I would have liked to ask him a few questions.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to ask him things,” Emily said gently. “Why now?”

“There are things about my life and my future that bother me.”

“They didn’t bother you before.”

“Well, they bother me now,” I insisted.

“What would you ask him if you had the chance?” she said, empathy shadowing her features.

“I want to know if he saw me only as an extension of himself, someone to continue his legacy, whatever the cost to me.”

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