Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 370

Theodore's face was growing paler by the second as whispers filled the air, but he still pressed on, desperate. "Emma, please—can we not call the police? I'll agree to any condition you name."

Emma, steadying her grandmother, let out a cold laugh. "Relax. I'm not calling the police."

Relief flickered across Theodore's features. "Really?"

"Of course. But…" That single word sent both Theodore and Cecilia, standing behind him, into nervous silence.

A flash of hatred passed through Emma's eyes. "Theodore, do you really believe me? I truly wanted things between us to end peacefully—I did. Up until today, I thought it would be best if our paths never crossed again."

But you… you really shouldn't have touched my grandmother.

"So what are you going to do now?" Theodore asked, wary of her tone.

"Now?" Emma's gaze shifted to Cecilia. "I told you. I won't call the police."

She turned, supporting her grandmother. "Let's go, Gran."

Of course she wouldn't call the police.

What was the point? What would it solve? Cecilia would say she tripped on her dress and accidentally knocked into the clerk. The clerk would insist he just happened to bump into the display. And then what—apologies? Medical bills?

She wouldn't even get that, because the only one who'd gotten hurt was Theodore.

Some things, she knew, were better handled without the law involved.

She could still hear the babble of voices from the shop behind her—the store owner arguing with Theodore about whether they should go to the hospital, who would take responsibility if the police weren't called. Of course, Theodore insisted on shouldering it all himself, his voice lost in the rising clamor, punctuated by Cecilia's sobs.

The shopkeeper demanded Cecilia return the gown, since she didn't want to buy it anymore, and pleaded with her to forgive and forget. Cecilia lashed out, accusing the shopkeeper of being judgmental.

As for whatever Theodore said next, Emma couldn't hear it anymore. She had already climbed into the car, closed the door, and shut out the chaos.

Their driver—who doubled as a bodyguard—hadn't come into the shop with them, and now looked visibly anxious as they returned.

Emma offered him a reassuring smile. "It's alright. I never asked you to come in. This isn't your fault."

"Emmie…" her grandmother whispered, clutching her hand. She wanted to talk.

Emma leaned in close, listening as her grandmother spoke, the bitterness in her own eyes deepening with every word.

The car carried them home.

No one else was back yet—Larson was still at work—so Emma settled her grandmother in her room, keeping her company until she was calm and at ease. Only then did she call for Fallon to make a bowl of noodles.

Ten minutes later, Fallon arrived with a big bowl of chicken noodle soup, delivering it to her grandmother's room.

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