LOGINEmma's POV
Grace Westbrook is smaller than I expected.I don't know why I expected large. Maybe because she takes up so much space in conversations about her. But she's slight and precise and dressed the way people dress when clothing is a form of communication, every choice deliberate, and she walks into the apartment and takes it in with one sweep of her eyes that misses nothing.She sees the dahlias.She sees Lily.She sEmma’s POVFor a second, I can’t breathe.The sounds of the city fade into the background.Cars.People.Traffic.Everything disappears.I stare at Dominic.“How?”His jaw tightens.“I don’t know yet.”“What does that mean?”“It means Marcus hasn’t seen the entire filing.”His hand remains wrapped around mine.Firm.Steady.Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.“We need to get home,” he says.The drive back to the penthouse is silent.Not because we don’t want to talk.Because neither of us knows what to say.The twins are asleep at home with their nanny.Our wedding is four weeks away.Lily is finally healthy.For the first time in years, everything was beginning to feel stable.Now Raymond is trying to destroy it.Again.By the time
Emma’s POVThe dress shop smells faintly of lavender and expensive fabric.Dominic keeps his promise.Mostly.He waits outside.For exactly seven minutes.Then I catch his reflection in the front window pretending to study a display of handbags while very obviously checking whether I’m still alive.Mrs. Kowalski, who somehow invited herself along after overhearing our plans, follows my gaze and snorts.“He’s terrible at pretending.”“I know.”“He has been pacing.”“It’s been seven minutes.”“He started pacing at minute two.”I laugh despite myself.The consultant helping me smiles.“The fiancé?”The word lands softly.Not shocking anymore.Not frightening.Just true.“Yes,” I say.The answer still feels new.Wonderful.Mine.The consultant leads me toward another fitting room.I’ve already rejected six dresses.One looked too formal.One felt too young.One made me look like a decorative cake topper.Mrs. Kowalski hated that one almost as much as I did.“This one,” she says now, thrus
Dominic's POVWe mail the letter at eight fifteen.Emma holds it until the last second, standing at the post box on the corner of Clement, and then she lets it go with the specific expression of someone releasing something they've been carrying for a long time. Not grief. Something cleaner than grief.Done."Okay," she says."Okay," I say.We walk to the Japanese place.The chef sees us through the window before we're in the door and by the time we sit the tea is already coming and he's nodding at Emma with recognition and she nods back and I watch this small exchange and think about all the ways she makes herself known to people without trying.She just shows up consistently and pays attention and eventually she's someone the chef starts the tea for.That's it. That's the whole of it.I've been watching her do this for months and it still strik
Emma's POV Four weeks out I start having a recurring thought I can't shake. Not anxiety. Not cold feet. Just this quiet persistent awareness that something is still unfinished. Something I need to do before I walk into that library and stand beside Dominic and say the words. It takes me three days to identify what it is. My mother. Not to invite her. She left when Lily was six and I was nine and the last address I had was eight years old and probably wrong. Not to reconcile. There's nothing to reconcile because reconciliation requires two people who both want the thing. Just to know I tried. I don't tell Dominic immediately. I sit with it for two days first, testing whether it's real or whether it's the pregnancy making me sentimental about things that don't deserve sentiment. By Thursday I'm certain it's real and I find him
Emma's POVTuesday I tell Celeste, not about the wedding. About the tart variation first because that's what she asked for and Celeste operates on the principle that professional things come before personal ones in professional spaces.I present both concepts. The lavender honey and the blood orange version. She tastes the lavender from Sunday's test and goes quiet in the focused way that means she's actually evaluating."The base shatters," she says."Yes.""The lavender is restrained.""Twelve minutes exactly."She sets the fork down. "Both on the menu. I want the blood orange tested by next Friday.""Done."She looks at me. "Now tell me the other thing."I look at the counter. "Six weeks."The kitchen behind us does its sounds. Someone running water. The morning prep.Celeste is completely still."Six
Dominic's POV Monday I go to Theodore on Sutter. Alone. Emma doesn't know I'm going. I tell her I have a meeting downtown and I do, after, but Theodore is first. The shop is narrow and old and smells like metal and something careful and Theodore himself is eighty if he's a day and he looks at the ring I've brought in a small box and goes very still. "Eleanor Westbrook," he says. "You knew her." "I sized this ring for her in 1962." He holds it under the light. "She came in alone. Paid for it herself. Said her husband had terrible taste and she'd rather choose." I look at the ring. "That sounds right." "She was an extraordinary woman." He sets it down. "Who's wearing it now." "My fiancée." "Tell me about her fingers." I describe Emma's hands from memory. The length and the specific taper
DOMINIC'S POV Being with Emma is different than I expected. We don't announce anything to Mrs. Kowalski, but she knows immediately. She finds us having breakfast together—actually together, sitting close instead of across from each other—and
EMMA'S POV We don't talk about what happened in the car. For a week, we move around each other even more carefully than before. Dominic leaves early for work, comes home late. I eat dinner with Mrs. Kowalski and pretend everything is normal. It's not normal. I'm sixteen weeks pregnant now. Ther
EMMA'S POVWe don't talk about what Dominic said.For three days, we move around each other carefully. He asks about my doctor's appointments. I tell him the babies are growing normally. We're polite strangers sharing a space.On Sunday morning, I wake up to find him in the kitchen making breakfast
EMMA'S POVMrs. Kowalski discovers I'm crying over a commercial about puppies."Kochanie, what's wrong?""Nothing. The puppies found homes and it's just so beautiful." I'm sobbing into a throw pillow at ten in the morning, still in my pajamas.She sits beside m







