Knightley
Rule #19: Don’t follow your heart; instead, follow your intuition. The Holy Spirit. Your clients deserve solid ground to stand on, not a crumbling foundation.
Bile rises in my throat as I knock on Henry’s door.
I never knock.
Why am I knocking now?
Especially when his daughter is beside me, clutching my hand.
“Calm down, Knightley.” She squeezes my hand even tighter.
I laugh, but nerves drown the sound out. “You calm down. You’re cutting off circulation in my hand.”
The doorknob turns, and I release Emma Jane’s hand, but she doesn’t release mine. Henry’s tired-as-usual face graces the entrance as he gives me an odd expression. “Why are you knock—” His gaze drops to our intertwined fingers.
Well, my fingers are still frozen in mid-flex while Emma Jane is rubbing small, calming circles on my thumb.
“Oh.”
At his unimpressed tone, Emma Jane and I sneak glances at one another, silently asking, “What’s going on?”
“Don’t just stand out here,” Henry says, walking inside. “It’s cold and drafty. Come inside, you two.”
Perplexed, we follow him into the foyer, entering the sitting room where his fire feels good for once since it’s almost Halloween.
This room is familiar but foreign. I’ve stepped foot in here, had tea in here, laughed in here, and have done business in here. But holding Emma Jane’s hand within these four walls is not something I’ve ever done.
When I sit down on the settee and she slides up right next to me, our thighs pressed together so that a single piece of paper could not fit between them, I catalog the action as another new thing to happen in this room.
The silence is suffocating as Henry stares at us with a blank expression. When Emma Jane tries to speak, Henry holds up one finger, and we sit in silence for another minute.
“Henry, I can explain—”
“Do you love her, Knightley?”
His stern eyes and straightforward voice shock me. “Yes sir. I love her very much.”
“Emma Jane. Do you love him?”
“Yes, Papa. I love him.” She looks up at me, a huge grin overtaking her face, and I smile like a champion. She is the only thing I needed to win this election season.
“Very well. You have my blessing.”
“Thank you, Henry—” I begin, but Emma Jane interrupts.
“Papa. I’m going to marry him.”
He harrumphs, not bothering to look at the two of us. “I figured as much.”
“If I may ask, sir. How so?”
“Because my Emma Jane wouldn’t show up at the front door holding just any man’s hand.” He pauses, scratching his chin. “I saw the way you two looked at each other the day after Halle and Grant’s wedding. I don’t think either of you recognized the sparks flying. I knew a ticking clock was at play, and so I’ve been working on accepting this moment for a while now.”
Emma Jane meets my eyes, and we both bite back joyous laughter.
For the sake of Henry, of course.
