Emily had avoided his gaze, her fingers twisting the edge of her dress as if the fabric might calm her. Then she’d paused like she’d remembered it was a bad habit, her hands removing themselves. She’d shifted in her chair, lipspressing tight, her eyes darting toward him with a plea not to speak.
It had burned him.
That feeling had drowned out everything else, even the part of him that usually only acted when she gave permission.
He had brought her into his family, flaws and all, without hesitation. Why, then, did she shrink away from the thought of doing the same?
Wait.
Was she…embarrassed by him?
Nicolas stared her straight in the eyes.
There was no fucking way…
He tried to detect a sign of it.
Nothing.
Then what was it?
Her foot shot out and struck his shin beneath the table. His grunt couldn’t be suppressed. The pain was immediate, but the shock was greater.
Did she just?—
She sat there calmly, her face not revealing anything.
Such a petty little thing.
Emily’s parents never took their eyes off her during these theatrics.
“What do you mean that you’re married?”
It was her father who asked that. This was the first time he’d spoken since he’d arrived other than the noncommittal hums his wife dragged out of him during their mundane talk. His tone was gruff and hostile.
“I…” Emily trailed off.
Nicolas didn’t feel guilty about what he’d done. Her parents deserved to know that she’d gotten married.
Albeit, it would’ve been better if she had been the one who broke the news to them.
“I am,” she finally divulged. “Nicolas is my husband.”
The title rolling off her tongue sparked something inside of him. Just like it had done in the room back in Italy. In the dim lights where he’d found out just how incredible his self-restraint was.
“We got married almost three months ago.”
A pin could have fallen on the floor, and it still would have been heard.
Her father stood, the chair he sat in flying at a distance behind him. Without a glance in anyone's direction, he walked away from the table and out the yawning doors.
Nicolas’s eyes found Emily’s face. She looked like her heart had shriveled up like a dried apricot within her chest. Her eyes blinked excessively, as if she was fighting the urge to cry.
His fingers twitched to soothe her.
But did he dare to? He was the cause of this. At least to some extent.
Her mother’s face became downcast, wrinkles more visible than before. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around.” Her voice was uncertain, however. “He’s just shocked, that’s all.”
