Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 34

Her heart always followed his.

That’s why she carefully planned his meals, kept the house in perfect order, hoping to give him somewhere warm to come home to. Even when he was out late, she wanted him to be able to relax the moment he stepped through the door.

Unfortunately, it seemed he never really needed any of that.

So, let the person he truly cares about worry over him instead.

Emma decided she’d take a shower, do a little research about studying abroad, and then call it a night.

But sometimes, the algorithms seemed almost malicious–always showing her exactly what she didn’t want to see.

She opened Twitter, and Cecilia’s post popped up right at the top of her feed.

Just minutes ago, Cecilia had tweeted about tonight: a photo of two hands clasped together–Theodore’s hand in hers.

The caption read: He’s always been my rock–proud, unyielding, full of ambition, never bending no matter how fierce the storm. Tonight, for me, he swallowed his pride. Thank you for standing against the world for my sake. Even if everyone else points fingers, you’ll always be my mountain.

Emma gave a bitter little laugh, tapping “Not Interested” in hopes she’d never have to see something like that again.

Thank God she’d never tried to compete with Cecilia for Theodore’s heart.

Because if she had, she would have lost–utterly and completely.

Theodore was the kind of man who lived for his work, but when Cecilia was in trouble, he’d drop everything–even a major deal–without a second’s hesitation. And not just quietly–he’d do it with the kind of presence that made everyone stop and stare. In Cecilia’s words, he would stand against the world for her, sheltering her like a mountain.

Emma had assumed Theodore wouldn’t come home that night. But after she’d fallen asleep, he did.

She slept in the guest room these days. She figured he wouldn’t bother her–after all, she’d just ruined his big night, and if he needed someone to blame, she was the

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obvious target.

But once again, she was wrong.

He tried the door.

She’d locked it, so he couldn’t come in. He knocked.

When she didn’t answer, he pounded harder. “Emma, do you really think a locked door can keep me out of my own house?”

He was right–if he wanted to, he could easily kick it down. No need for that, though.

She got up and opened the door.

She half expected him to be drunk–his mood was so off tonight–but there was no smell of alcohol. Instead, he brought with him the cool, damp scent of the lake outside, with a stray leaf stuck to his shoulder.

“What do you want?” she asked, holding the door.

“This is my house! You’re my wife! Do I need a reason to come in?” His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles shadowing underneath.

“Suit yourself,” Emma replied, weary of the endless tug–of–war. All it brought was more pain, nothing gained. She wished he’d just end it quickly, but he seemed determined to drag things out, and any more words felt pointless.

She turned and lay back down.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” He followed her into the room. “Emma, my whole project just went up in smoke, and that’s your reaction? Do you know how many sleepless nights I spent, how many meetings, how many proposals I wrote? And this is all you have to say?”

Why couldn’t he let it go? It was exhausting.

“What do you want me to do? Beg for forgiveness? Plead your case?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re dreaming. I won’t.”

“Don’t bother.” He stood at the foot of her bed, working at his cufflinks. “If Theodore gives something up, he never picks it back up again.”

Emma let out a cold laugh. There was an exception to that rule: Cecilia.

Or maybe, truthfully, he’d never really let Cecilia go. Maybe it was Cecilia who’d let him go, back then.

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“Then why are you here, making a scene?”

“Me, making a scene?” He yanked at his collar, and with a single violent motion, ripped open his shirt–buttons scattering across the floor. “Let me show you what making a scene really looks like!”

Chapter 35

Chapter 35