I have no comeback because she is justified as always.
The front door to Killington Mansion, Knightley’s childhood home, opens, but the kitchen is not in sight of the foyer. Creaks in the floorboard echo through the house as the guest approaches the kitchen. Before long, a voice I know—rich and deep—says, “You’ve outdone yourself, Mom. The food smells amazing.” He rounds the corner, and I whirl away from him and busy myself straightening the edge of the white lace table runner since my emotions won’t dissipate from my face. I feel the frown, the heaviness in my chest, and the pinch of my brows. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix my face into a welcoming expression, much less a blank one.
What’s happening to my control?
He approaches me from behind, and my back warms from the late-September Mississippi heat radiating in waves off of him, much stronger than the normal heat he puts off when he’s near me. He must have been at my father’s place and walked over here. “Thank you for helping my mom out.”
I inhale deeply before turning to meet him; he steps back as I move. “Of course. I’ll always be around to help Jane with insignificant dinners such as this one.”
His blue eyes bore into me, a flash of indignation crossing them. “Insignificant?” He sputters a laugh before grabbing my forearm and dragging me out of the dining area, through the kitchen, where Jane watches with a smirk on her face, and then into the hallway before going through a swinging door and landing in his father’s old office. “Let me remind you, lest you forget, you wanted this. You matched me and Mallory together. You set up the date. You said I needed to do this. You said it would helpyour business.”
I cross my arms, refusing to meet his eyes. I can’t control the pout in my voice when I speak. “Yes, and?”
Knightley lets out another laugh of disbelief as he runs his hand down his face. “Now you’re upset and angry at me for following your wishes? I don’t understand you, Emma Jane.”
He waits for me to respond, but when I remain silent, staring out of the old dusty window toward the backyard garden, he stalks out of the room, the door swinging closed behind him. The sound ricochets around my head.
I collapse onto the mustard brown settee, a cloud of dust billowing around me as I inwardly scream. What’s wrong with me? What happened to my control? Why can’t I bring myself to fake a smile or even tap into my snarky charm?
Jealousy swims in my veins. It’s like a flesh-eating bacteria, eroding me from the inside out. “God, please help me,” I cry out through falling tears.I don’t want to feel this way. I want to be happy for my friend. “Take these feelings from me.” I want him to be happy. I don’t want to lose him. The only way to never lose him is to make him mine forever. But that opportunity has sailed on theS. S. Mallory.
Knightley is right. I caused this. I set him up on the ridiculous premise I could use him for my endeavors. I tried to force Henrietta into the arms of not one but two awful, no-good men. All because I matched one couple who already liked each other, as Knightley once pointed out. Why am I like this? Calculating and… and…
Manipulative.
The word bites my skin, and I cringe.
I don’t mean to be, butI—
I just want people to like me.
Shaking the thought away because it feels like a thousand pounds crushing down on my chest, I turn my attention back to matchmaking.
Why did I want to start this business anyway?
The ugly truth rings out clearly as I search my heart for the answer: I want something more than living off of Papa’s money, working at Books and Beans, and pleasing the entire town of Hartfield.
I love my job at Books and Beans, but I can’t stay there, never moving up and challenging myself. I need a challenge. There are only so many coffee combinations I can create. I want a challenge in business practices. I want to take the coffee shop and bookstore to a new level. But I can’t because it’s not mine to change.
Papa is a whole other situation. I have to be there for him, and I will not bail on taking care of him. I will not place him in a nursing home. I want to stay with him until he’s no longer with me. I love him. He sacrificed so much to raise me and Bella, and this is the least I can do for him. I cannot and will not leave him.
And Hartfield.
I love this small town. I love the antebellum homes that spaciously line this road. I love our church. I love the people. I love them so much I’ve strived to be their town gem, their southern belle, their debutante princess as they’ve wanted me to be.
Did they want it?
Or did I do it for myself? Out of my insecurities that I’m not enough for the people around me? That I have to make up for the death of mymother?
It’s as if my entire paradigm is shifting, and the perfect control I once held is slipping through my fingertips, preparing to shatter on the floor at the right moment.
“Mallory, you are a precious soul. How did Knightley get so lucky to snag you up?” Mary Bates’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Not to mention the current content of her speech.
Mallory laughs, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. Her silver earrings are bows, and I don’t know if I’m more jealous over her fashion sense or her relationship with Knightley.
“Well, we have Emma Jane to thank, of course.”
The table applauds, and I want to crawl under the long, wooden rectangle and hide like a child trying to sneak dessert before the main course.
