Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 147

“Did you hear me? Emma isn’t going home!” Carlisle shoved Theodore’s. shoulder.

Theodore had just managed to half–lift Emma into his arms when Carlisle’s push forced him back down onto the couch.

Renee suddenly sensed the tension in the room. Carlisle had been drinking all night, and he was clearly drunk now–she worried things. might get out of hand. Trying to diffuse the situation, she said, “Alright, it’s getting late. We’ve all had a good time tonight. Let’s just call it a night. and head home.”

“No way!” Carlisle refused, clamping a heavy hand on Theodore’s shoulder. “No one’s leaving until we finish this bottle!”

Theodore was no stranger to tense negotiations–he could read the room as well as anyone. If Renee could sense something was wrong, he certainly could. His expression darkened. “Carlisle, I’ll overlook this because you’ve had too much to drink tonight. But get a grip, and don’t lose your mind.”

“Oh, I’m the crazy one? I should get a grip?” Carlisle’s eyes flashed with barely concealed anger. “Theodóre, let me tell you something: you’re the one who needs to watch himself.”

He grabbed Theodore by the collar.

Theodore seized Carlisle’s wrist in a vice–like grip. “Are you here to pick a fight tonight, Carlisle?”

“That’s right!” Carlisle shouted. “I am here to pick a fight! Theodore, what exactly have you done to Emma? What have you done to her?”

He was practically roaring now, his eyes bloodshot.

Theodore’s gaze sharpened, the veins bulging across the back of his hand as he gripped Carlisle’s wrist. “My wife eats well, dresses well, lives

in a mansion, and I treat her like a queen. Who the hell are you to meddle

1/2

09:07

Chapter 147

in our marriage?”

“Oh, really?” Carlisle sneered, refusing to let go. He hauled Theodore up off the sofa by his collar. “Then tell me why is Emma like this now? What happened to her leg? She used to dance! She was light as a swan onstage! What did you do to her? Did you ever take care of her? She gets married and ends up like this? For five years you’ve dodged every

question, claiming Emma just doesn’t like socializing. You’re lying! Are you hitting her at home?”

“My wife and I are just fine! What happened to her leg is her business. I don’t owe you an explanation! Carlisle, remember who you are. Don’t play games with my wife!” Theodore yanked himself free, sending buttons flying off his shirt as Carlisle staggered backward.

Already drunk, Carlisle lost his balance, stumbled, and crashed into the coffee table, sending bottles and plates tumbling to the floor.

“Theodore! I’ve wanted to punch you for years!” Carlisle scrambled up from the table and lunged at him.

Their friends rushed in, holding Carlisle back. “Theodore, just get Emma out of here! He’s drunk, you’re sober–don’t make things worse!”

Theodore straightened his collar, shot Carlisle a cold look, then slipped an arm around Emma’s waist and lifted her to her feet. “Let’s go, honey. We’re done with these get–togethers.”

He half–carried, half–dragged Emma toward the door.

“Why don’t you let Emma come to our reunions?” Carlisle bellowed after them. “What are you so afraid of, Theodore?”

Theodore paused in the/doorway. “I’m not afraid of anything. Maybe you should take a look in the mirror.”

“Me? I’ve got nothing to hide! In fact, I have a question for you! Those love letters I left in Emma’s locker back in college–were you the one who threw them away?”

212