Emmy's POV
After Carson left, I curled up on the floor by the fireplace, the rough wool of the rug scratching my feet and it was so quiet.
I hated it. I hated...the memories I remembered. Like the feel of Preston's lips on my mine, the way his eyes crinkles whenever he was trying to stop himself from laughing, the way he laughed the first time I told him I loved him – it was this rich baritone sound that I spent weeks replaying in my head.
I remember being nineteen and so fucking in love my heart could burst open. And I remember that last thrust he gave Clara in that bathroom.
Damn it! I hated everything.
I hated how much I missed him. I hated Preston, and grandmother and my dead mother for dying...God! I miss mom.
I took out my phone because if I stayed in my head, I would just start crying again.
The screen instantly flooded with poison.
My face was everywhere. My body, zoomed in and circled. I was a fucking meme. But the words… the words were worse.
I tapped on a news clip. There was Preston, looking tragically handsome and sincere on some night show.
"I only wish her well," he was saying, his voice oozing with fake concern. "I'm surprised we lasted as long as we did because the intimacy… it was never really there"
"What do you mean?" The host asked him. "You two were like the power couple"
"Of course, we were. She's a Vanderbilt and I'm an Astor, it's a no brainer. But Emmy is..." his voice faded away like he couldn't bear to say it out loud. Mother fucking weasel!
"This is safe place, Preston"
"She's hard to love, If you know what I mean, Kimmy. The bedroom was a disaster"
The studio audience gasped.
"Oh my God, you are joking!" Kimmy Noel, the host of the night show leaned closer to get the scoop of a life time.
"I kid you not. And this is not a shade to her, Emmy is a nice soul and the love of my life but it is like making love to a mannequin. Completely unresponsive. A dead fish. I tried for years to… well, you can't force a spark, Kimmy. You just can't. Luckily for her, she has found a guy who she can at least offer something."
"Are you implying she paid Carson Gibbs to marry her?" Kimmy Noel's eyes widened.
I felt sick to my stomach. I grabbed my phone and dialed his number, it went to voicemail "Preston, you stupid bag of oat milk! You vindictive piece of disgusting shit! You better look left and right before crossing any road now, I will be the one actively trying to run you over, you fucking psycho!"
i ended the call. And because I was a glutton for pain, I switched to a live feed.
A pack of paparazzi were swiming around a familiar, broad-shouldered figure walking down a dimly lit street. Fuck!
Carson.
Could today get any worse?
"Carson! Is it true she's frigid?"
"Did you marry her for the money?"
"What's it like sleeping with a dead fish,man? Preston Astor said it's like screwing a statue!"
My breath hitched. I didn't wait for his answer.
If Preston said it, he was a monster who got left at the altar. But if Carson agreed… then it must be the truth. I was the problem.
I couldn't hear it. I switched the phone off, the world going blessedly, terrifyingly silent.
it has been decided. I was a curse. I'd blown up my life, and now I was raining shrapnel down on his....oh God, his poor daughter, watching her Daddy being dragged like that on TV.
I stood up on shaky legs. My dress was still a damp, crumpled mess. I couldn't wear it.
I opened Lark's glittery wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. It was all I had.
I smoothed it out and left it on the table. It wasn't enough for his kindness, for the shirt, for the safe harbor. But it was something. i will be sure to track him down in a few months after I have collected my inheritance and repay him for his kindness.
I had to go. I wasn't his problem. He had a daughter. A life. I was just a mess he'd stumbled into.
I slipped out the door, the night air cool on my skin.
The plan was simple. I'd find my way back to that syphilis motel and tomorrow, I'd tell the world I lied about our marriage and I'd set him free.
I had barely taken two steps when I walked straight into a solid wall of warmth.
Strong hands shot out, steadying me by my elbows.
I looked up. Carson.
He was back. And a couple of reporters lingered at the foot of the stairs, their cameras like hungry eyes...all aimed at me.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice low. His hands were still on my arms, and his closeness was a distraction that short-circuited my brain. I tried not to look at his lips, focused all my attention on his chest. It was a safe bet.
"Out," I managed to say.
His eyes narrowed, searching my face. "Are you rabbiting on me, wife?"
The word 'wife' on his lips did something funny to my stomach. I ignored it. It was probably dysentery.
"I'm trying to do the noble thing," I said, lifting my chin to look at him "My mess is… radioactive. You shouldn't be anywhere near it or me"
A slow, devastating smile touched his lips. He leaned in, so close I could feel his breath on my skin.
"Has it ever occurred to you," he murmured, his voice like rough velvet, "that maybe I wanna be in your mess?"
"Wha—"
And then he kissed me.
It wasn't the brutal, claiming kiss from my fantasies. This was brief. And soft. This was like Blair teasing Kayla with his lips in my book, Dazed.
It was over before I could even process it, him pulling back just enough to watch my reaction.
Before I could speak, before I could breathe, he leaned in again.
This time, it was different.
His mouth moved over mine with such slow passion that my knees started to give out. Holy crap, I'm about to fall!
One of his hands slid from my elbow to the small of my back, pulling me against him...thank goodness, it would have been embarrassing to suddenly find myself falling down the stairs in the presence of paparazzi.
The other came up to cradle my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek. And then suddenly, this helpless sound escaped my throat, which was weird because I faked it all the time with Preston...it too me a minute to realize what it was. I was fucking moaning.
I HAVE NEVER BEEN AROUSED BEFORE.
And for the first time In my life, I felt it...this flutter...Butterflies. Real ones, and they were waking up in the stomach that had only ever known dread.
When he pulled away, I was dazed, my lips tingled, my heart hammered against his chest. I stared at him.
What did you just do to me, Carson Gibbs?
Do it again! Do it again!
He gave me a slow, satisfied smile completely oblivious of what he had done. "That ought to keep them busy for a while." He said.
He pulled open the door, nudged me gently inside, and followed behind.
I stood there, confused, my head spinning. "What just happened?" I asked trying to catch my breath. "What was that for?"
He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up with a calm that infuriated me.
"I couldn't stand all the things they were saying about you, Ms. Emilia," he said, his back to me. "I just couldn't."
"And the kiss?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He turned, his hazel eyes glinting. "Like you said. I'm gonna fake love the hell out of you." There was a pause, then he added "At least, in public."
A surprised chuckle bubbled out of me. The man was insane. A wonderful, infuriating, gorgeous madman. "So," I said, feeling a boldness I didn't recognize. "I guess that means you're taking the money I offered?"
"No." The word was final. He walked toward the bathroom. "We're going to stick to our initial deal. You clear Liliana's hospital debts, and we're even."
He paused in the bathroom doorway, looking back at me. "You'll love Willow Creek, Emilia." he said, as if mentioning a place I'd known all my life. "We leave at first light."
Then he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door.
I blinked at the empty space. "What? Carson!" I marched toward the door. "Where the hell is Willow Creek located! Carson!"
The only answer was the sound of the shower turning on.