“Abe has had a good life,” Emery said, taking her hand. “And it’s not over yet. He’d kill you for talking like he’s already gone.”
“He would,” Eveline said, with the ghost of a smile. “Wouldn’t he?”
The walk back to the bookshop was silent, both lost in their own thoughts. The Romance Book Club was meeting tonight. They should stay open for it, they agreed, though neither felt particularly festive.
When they finally returned to The Turned Page, the day's brightness seemed at odds with their somber mood. Emery unlocked the door, the familiar bell jingling overhead as they entered.
Everything looked exactly as they'd left it hours ago, the half-sorted mail, the stack of books waiting to be shelved, the display of postcards hastily reassembled before they'd rushed out.
And there on the counter, where Emery had placed it in what felt like another lifetime, lay the envelope.
It faced upward, Emery's elegant handwriting, Emerald Pearl's handwriting, stark against the cream-colored paper. The truth, waiting to be revealed.
Emery and Eveline both stopped, their eyes drawn to it.
The envelope just lay there.
And Eveline reached for it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emery watched as Eveline's fingers closed around the envelope. This was it, the moment of truth. Her heart hammered against her ribs as Eveline began to turn the envelope over.
The shop bell jangled violently as the door burst open, startling them both. Charles stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath, his designer coat flapping open.
“Eveline,” he said, striding into the shop without waiting for an invitation. “I've been trying to reach you all day.”
Eveline's hands fell to her sides, the envelope remained on the counter. Emery watched her expression harden, the vulnerability of their hospital visit disappearing behind a mask of cool indifference.
“We've been at the hospital,” Eveline said, her voice clipped. “An old friend is ill.”
Charles's eyebrows rose. “Ah, I'm, er, sorry to hear that. But I need to speak with you about something important.” He glanced at Emery, then back to Eveline. “Privately, perhaps?”
Eveline crossed her arms. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Emery.”
Charles looked uncomfortable, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “My publisher is interested in reissuingLes Ombres de Provence. There's been renewed interest since I was shortlisted for the Prix Goncourt, and they're planning a special edition with new material.”
Emery noticed Eveline's posture stiffen, her knuckles whitening as her hands clenched into fists. She moved closer to her, their shoulders almost touching.
“And?” Eveline said, her tone dangerously calm.
“And,” Charles continued, licking his lips and taking a deep breath, “and given our history, I thought it proper to discuss it with you first. To get your… blessing, so to speak.”
A stillness settled over Eveline. “My blessing?” she repeated slowly. “For you to once again profit from my experiences? From the stories I trusted you with in our most intimate moments?” Her voice remained steady, but Emery could feel the tremor of rage beneath the words.
“That's not what I—” Charles began.
“Get out,” Eveline said, her accent thickening with emotion. “Get out of my shop. You will never have my blessing, Charles. Not for this, not for anything.”
Charles's expression hardened, the charming facade slipping to reveal something colder beneath. “I was trying to be courteous, Eveline. I don't actually need your permission. The stories as written are my creation, my intellectual property. I simply thought—”
“You thought what?” Emery found herself stepping forward, anger bubbling up inside her. “That she'd be grateful for the chance to be exploited again? That enough time had passed for her to forget how you betrayed her trust?”
Charles blinked at her, as if suddenly noticing her presence. “I don't believe we've been properly introduced,” he said stiffly.
“We don't need to be,” Emery replied. “I know enough about you to know that you should leave. Now.”
A tense silence followed, during which Charles looked between them, seeming to reassess the situation. Finally, he straightened his coat and adopted a conciliatory expression.
