Emma kept her calm, polite smile. “Thank you.”
It was the same response she’d given to every compliment at tonight’s party.
“Emmie, come here,” called Larson, only a couple of steps away.
Emma nodded slightly and made her way over to him.
But before she could reach Larson, Theodore caught her by the arm.
Emma’s composure slipped into mild annoyance. “Mr. Whitman, tonight is my brother’s introduction to our friends from Cresthaven. If you have business to discuss, please contact Mr. Fairchild during office hours.”
Her tone was distant, strictly professional.
Theodore stared at her, his voice catching. “Did you just—call me Mr. Whitman?”
“What else should I call you?” Emma replied, her face unreadable.
It wasn’t the first time she’d addressed him so formally. Besides, what else were they to each other now? She either called him Mr. Whitman or Theodore.
And he—he’d always called her “Emma,” hadn’t he?
She remembered when they first got married, how she’d envied couples with sweet nicknames. Once, awkwardly, she’d tried calling him “darling,” only for him to stiffen and mutter, “Just call me by my name.”
So that was that. She’d used his name ever since.
And now, that wasn’t good enough either?
He only gripped her wrist tighter. “Emmie…”
“Stop.” Emma’s voice was cool. “That’s a family nickname. I’d prefer outsiders not use it.”
Theodore’s expression tightened. “Outsider? Is that what I am to you?”
“What else would you call it?” Emma tried to pull her hand free. “I don’t want to discuss our personal matters here. I told you: once my grandmother was discharged, I’d do what needed to be done. Let’s just get it over with tomorrow. Nine a.m. I’ll meet you at city hall.”


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