“I see…” he says, jotting something down on that damn paper. “And what are you planning to do now?”
“I was hopingyou’dtell me, Doc.”
“Me?” He laughs, like I just asked a guy in a wheelchair to run a marathon. “I’ve been married for twenty years, Luca. We don’t really ‘date’ anymore.”
I glance around his office—perfectly curated, of course. Across from me sits a small coffee table with two carefully stacked books and a vase of fresh flowers centered just so.
“I acted like a complete asshole with her,” I say, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, nearly drained. “And no matter how bad things ended between us, that’s not who I am. I tried to apologize, but she walked away and…”
“‘Walked away,’” he repeats, thoughtful. “That’s an interesting choice of words. Why that one?”
Why did I have to hire the smartest shrink in all of Miami? I hate how efficient he is.
“I guess… she already walked away once,” I mumble, grabbing the books and the vase and nudging them slightly to the left, just off-center. I like to piss him off sometimes. It’s about power.
Smith’s eyes track the movement instantly. His jaw tightens, a twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying him. The silence stretches, heavy, like he’s debating whether to fix it. Yeah, Doc. I don’t have a notepad like you to mess with your head, but I can still tip your perfect world with a fingertip.
“Can something really ‘walk away’ if it was never there to begin with?”
Oof. That one hurt. My smirk falters. “I guess not.”
Ever since that weekend at the cabin, Emma’s parents started treating me like I was part of the family. I think it has a lot to do with her older sister leaving for college—empty nest syndrome hit them hard.
My parents? Total opposite. The second Silas moved out, they turned his room into a full-on home gym. Now my mom spends half her life in there with her personal trainer.
“Which college do you wish to attend?”
Emma’s voice snaps me out of my book. She’s lying on her stomach, doodling in the notebook I gave her for our seven-month anniversary. Blue with gold stars. She said it looked like her dreams had a cover.
I’ve been dodging this question for weeks. Because college means the future. And the future means being apart. And long-distance? Long-distance is a death sentence.
“Harvard,” I say, flipping the page like it’s no big deal.
“I saidwish, notshould.” She’s looking at me over her shoulder, eyebrow arched.
She doesn’t let anything slide. I reach out and grab a handful of her perfect ass, give it a little squeeze.
“NYU. Their philosophy program is the best.”
She rolls onto her back, shuts her notebook. “So why don’t you go there?”
I sigh. That smirk creeps in anyway. “Because my dad would straight-up have a heart attack.” I can already see it. Him clutching his chest like I just told him I was dropping out to join a commune in Portland.
“It’s your future, Luca. He doesn’t get to own that, too.”
She’s right. She knows what it's like, the pressure. She’s seen my dad in full dictator mode.
I crawl over and slide into my favorite place in the world—right between her shoulder and her chest. Right where I can feel her heartbeat. “Yeah, but you know how he is. He wants me to take over the company. ‘The legacy your grandmother built with blood, sweat, and blah blah blah…’” I throw on my best overly dramatic Dad Voice, and Emma snorts.
Then she reaches under the bed and pulls out a folded flyer. “Look,” she says. “The New York Academy of Arts is in New York. We could both go. Be in the same city. Same everything.”
I blink, surprised. “You thought about that, too?”
“Of course, dummy. I’m not living in a fantasy bubble. I don’twantus on different paths.”
I can’t help the grin that takes over my face. I kiss her slow and deep, and it feels like my entire chest lights up from the inside.
Between kisses, I whisper, “Are your parents asleep?”
