Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 23

“You need to get a grip on your jealousy! This is ridiculous!” Theodore looked as if his patience had finally snapped.

“I’m not jealous.” She met his gaze, steady and earnest. “Theodore, from the very beginning, all I’ve ever said is-”

“Enough!” Theodore’s sharp rebuke sliced her off mid–sentence.

Jared, Cecilia’s ever–loyal lackey, stood protectively at Cecilia’s side as he addressed Theodore. “Theo, if your wife doesn’t want us here for dinner, let’s just go out and eat somewhere else.”

Theodore must have felt utterly humiliated, caught between an old flame and his friends. He didn’t move, but his stare bore into Emma. “Emma, apologize to Cici. Apologize to everyone. No one here is unreasonable. Just say you’re sorry, and we’ll let this go.”

We?

Of all the words Emma hated lately, “we” topped the list.

Of course. There’s you, and then there’s the rest of us. People with nothing in common have no business sitting down to dinner together.

She shook her head. “No.”

Theodore’s face hardened, his expression turning stone cold. “Fine, Emma. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Without another word, he turned and swept out with his entourage–an imposing entrance, an even more dramatic exit.

Emma stayed rooted to the spot, taking in the room that, once upon a time, she’d believed Theodore had crafted for them, for her. Now, it seemed every inch bore Cecilia’s name, not hers.

With a sudden, violent motion, she knocked over the standing lamp beside her. The crash was deafening, shards of glass spraying everywhere.

“Ma’am!” Fallon cried out, rushing to steady her, terrified she’d step on the glass. Emma shrugged Fallon off and strode to the shelves lined with porcelain dolls.

She’d never been particularly fond of Venetian dolls, but she’d once been touched by

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Chapter 23

Theodore’s effort to decorate the house for her sake. Now, all she could see were the dolls‘ painted grins, mocking her.

She swept her arm again–every last doll toppled to the floor.

Next it was the dinner table, the rug, the window–nothing escaped her fury.

Fallon, who’d witnessed the entire ordeal, saw the wild look in Emma’s eyes as she searched for her next target. Panicked, Fallon dashed over and wrapped her arms around Emma from behind. “Ma’am, please, it’s not worth it. Smashing all this won’t change anything. He’ll just think you’re being hysterical.”

Emma struggled in Fallon’s embrace but couldn’t break free; her strength was gone. She went limp, the pain rolling over her in relentless waves.

She didn’t want this.

She didn’t want to be sad. She didn’t want to hurt anymore.

But this pain wasn’t just in her mind–it was physical, rooted too deep to command

away.

She could tell herself, Emma, don’t cry. And she wouldn’t.

But when she told herself, Emma, don’t hurt–her body refused to listen.

Fallon gently rubbed her back. “Ma’am, if you’re upset, just let yourself cry. Sometimes you need to let it out.”

But Emma didn’t. She truly had no tears left.

“Sorry, Fallon,” she said quietly. “I’ve made a mess. Could you please clean up? As for the dolls…” She paused, thinking. “Call a courier and send them to Mr. Grant’s office. He can display them there.”

“Of course, no trouble at all.” Fallon hurried to support her as she tried to stand.

Emma straightened with effort. “And then, make me some beef with broccoli, half an ear of corn. Nothing else.”

Fallon didn’t question her sparse request, just watched as Emma limped back to her

room.

Pain didn’t scare Emma.

She’d danced since she was a child–how many injuries, how many tears had she endured? Wasn’t there pain in all of that?

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After the car accident, every step of her recovery had felt like walking barefoot over

thorns. Hadn’t that hurt?

Chapter 24