Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 27

“Theo…”

A delicate voice trembled on the other end. Emma’s hand jerked, nearly dropping her

phone.

“Theo, are you home yet? Are you okay?” Cecilia sounded tipsy too, her words slow and sticky, not really waiting for a reply. She just rambled on, “I know things are hard for you… and I know Emma’s done so much for you… You don’t have to feel guilty with me… I… I’m fine with how things are now… I don’t care… if I’m your wife or not… I just… I just want you to remember me, that’s enough… Let’s keep things this way… Theo… She lives in your house, but I live in your heart, and that’s more than enough

for me…”

With a clatter, Emma’s phone finally slipped from her grasp and hit the floor.

She lives in your house, but I live in your heart.

How wonderful…

Isn’t that just perfect, Theodore?

Stumbling, Emma left the room and headed for the guest bedroom.

She collapsed onto the bed, determined to squeeze every last thought from her mind, desperate never to remember…

The next thing she knew, Theodore’s voice dragged her out of sleep.

He was talking to Fallon.

“Where did these flowers come from?”

“Mrs. Whitman brought them back last night,” Fallon replied.

“She went out last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“By herself? Where did she go?” Theodore’s voice had grown noticeably sharper.

“She said she was going to a show. Her teacher was with her.”

“Her teacher? Who sent the flowers?” He sounded unconvinced.

“I’m not sure.”

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“What show? Where was it? What time?”

Fallon hesitated. “I’m sorry, sir. I really don’t know.”

The guest room door swung open.

Emma was already awake, but she kept her eyes closed, pretending.

“Emma.” His voice was close. “I know you’re awake. You just moved your hand.”

Emma opened her eyes.

No point pretending now.

“Who did you go to the show with last night?”

Why was he so hung up on this?

“Ms. Brown,” she replied coolly.

“Emma…” He seemed to hesitate. “It’s good you’re back in touch with your teacher, but… don’t share too much personal stuff with her, alright? You know how things are between her husband and me…”

So that’s it–he just didn’t want her exposing the truth about Cecilia not being Mrs.

Whitman.

No wonder he kept circling back to who she went out with.

Emma rolled over and didn’t bother to answer–or disagree.

“Emma…” He sat down beside her. “Could you just be good, please?” He reached out, trying to turn her around.

Suddenly, the memory of last night hit her–him pinning her down, whispering Cecilia’s name, telling her to be good–and she felt sick. She slapped his hand away and yanked the covers over herself.

“Emma, just give me some time. I’ll talk to them myself, alright?” He leaned over, tugging the blanket down until her face was exposed.

She said nothing, just stared at him.

He gave up, then abruptly changed the subject. “Emma, what was your greatest passion, your true love, last night?”

“It sure as hell wasn’t you!”

His face froze for a second, then shifted to an understanding look. “Alright, stop being

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mad. I know you’re still sulking and jealous. Didn’t I come straight home after seeing your message?”

He really thought her “passion” and “true love” were him? That “not you” just meant she was pouting?

Emma poked her head out from under the covers. “I told you already…”

Seeing her come out, his expression softened. He reached over, ruffling her hair. “There we go, that’s better. I’ll be home tonight, but don’t wait up for me–if you’re tired, just get some sleep.”

He left before she could say another word, closing the door behind him.

In truth, this scene was exactly the same as always.

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