Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 222

Over time, though, these responsibilities gradually shifted to Grandma, and then slowly to Fallon...

Though she’d helped out on occasion since, those moments had become rare.

Lost in thought, Theodore finished blow-drying Cecilia’s hair.

He set the hairdryer back in its place. “All done. Get some rest.”

With that, he turned and headed to the living room, grabbed his suitcase, and carried it upstairs, getting ready for a shower himself.

Cecilia’s hair now fell in warm waves over her shoulders, the soft heat a gentle contrast to the cool air conditioning. She felt utterly relaxed.

So, was this the happiness Emma once enjoyed?

The thought sparked a fierce pang of envy. She shrugged off her robe, still wearing only her camisole nightdress as she made her way upstairs. The thin shoulder strap had already slipped down one side.

She paused at the bathroom door on the second floor.

The sound of running water drifted from inside—Theodore was showering.

The hotel bathroom door was frosted glass. While you couldn’t really see inside, the blurred outline of Theodore’s back was just visible.

Cecilia hesitated, then pushed the door open.

“Theo—” Her voice was soft, sultry, as she stepped inside, ready to wrap herself around him. But Theodore, somehow already wrapped in a bathrobe, turned to face her. “Oh—”

The heat inside her stalled and turned cold.

She tried once more, refusing to back down. “Theo, have you finished your shower? Let me help you.”

“I’m done.” Theodore walked past her without a second glance.

Cecilia watched his retreating figure, then hurried after him and hugged him from behind. “Theo—”

He didn’t respond.

“Theo, I don’t care about titles or status. I just want to be with you.” Her hand slipped inside his robe, searching for warmth.

The landing announcement came over the speakers, switching swiftly from language to language.

“Almost there, Emma. You doing okay?” Sebastian showed her a photo on his phone—a candid he’d just snapped of her watching the sunrise.

Sunlight spilled over her face, making her look as if she glowed from within.

“You look gorgeous,” Sebastian said. “Can I post this on my feed?”

Emma smiled, pleased with how good the photo was. “Of course, go ahead.”

“I’ll send them to you after we land.” Sebastian scrolled through the set—he’d taken several photos of her and the sunrise.

Emma thought she might post a series herself: A New Journey.

The plane touched down, and passengers began to disembark.

Emma had only brought a backpack aboard, but some of the performers in her tour group had musical instruments and other gear. She didn’t want her bad leg to make her a burden or the object of special care. She wanted to pull her weight in every step, so she pitched in where she could—carrying luggage, if not the expensive instruments, then at least suitcases.