“It's certainly a powerful theme,” Mrs. Hampton agreed. “What do you think, Emery?”
Emery was startled at being addressed. “I, um, I think it's about finding the courage to be true to yourself, actually. Not so much becoming someone new as revealing who you've always been.”
The new member looked at her more closely, a strange expression crossing her face. “Wait a minute,” she said, her eyes widening. “I know you.” She pointed at Emery, her voice rising with excitement. “You're Emerald Pearl! I recognize you from your book signing!”
The room went silent. Emery felt her blood turn to ice as every eye in the shop swiveled toward her.
“What?” Zara was the first to break the silence, her voice hitting a pitch Emery hadn't thought possible.
“Emerald Pearl!” the young woman repeated, even more excited now. “I was at your signing at Harrington's last year! I can't believe it. You're actually working in a bookshop? Is this research for your next novel? The one set in a bookshop that everyone's talking about?”
Emery couldn't speak, couldn't move. She was vaguely aware of Maya stepping forward, trying to defuse the situation with a joke about mistaken identity, but it was too late. The damage was already done.
She forced herself to look at Eveline, whose expression had shifted from confusion to shock to understanding in the span ofseconds. Their eyes met across the room, and Emery watched as the final piece clicked into place for Eveline, the manuscripts on her laptop, the publishing knowledge, the mysterious absences.
The betrayal that dawned on Eveline's face was worse than anything Emery had imagined. It wasn't anger that filled those dark eyes, but something far more devastating: heartbreak. The same look she'd worn when she’d spoken about Charles.
Eveline moved toward her, the romance club members parting like water around a stone. When she reached Emery, she spoke so quietly that only Emery could hear.
“Leave,” she said, her voice devastatingly soft. “Now.”
Emery opened her mouth, desperate to explain, to make Eveline understand that it wasn't the same as with Charles, that what they had was real, that she'd been about to tell the truth that very morning.
But Eveline's expression stopped her cold. There was no room for explanations, no space for excuses. Only pain.
“Please,” Emery whispered.
“Now,” Eveline repeated, taking a step back, physically removing herself from Emery's presence.
Emery looked around the shop, at the confused faces of the book club members, at Zara's open-mouthed shock, at Maya's look of pity, then back at Eveline, who had turned away, her spine rigid with hurt.
With leaden feet, Emery gathered her bag. She walked to the door, each step an effort, the bell jangling with cruel cheerfulness as she stepped out into the evening air, alone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emery stared at the ceiling of her flat, watching dust motes drift through the late afternoon sunlight. The days had blurred together since that night at the bookshop. Three? Four? She wasn't entirely sure anymore. Her phone had buzzed incessantly for the first forty-eight hours before falling mostly silent, everyone but Jax finally giving up on reaching her. Even Maya had stopped calling.
The manuscript was finished, at least. She'd spent every waking moment writing, fueled by the pain of loss and a desperate need to capture what she and Eveline had shared before it faded. Her fingers had flown across the keyboard as if possessed, words pouring out as she wept.
When she'd finally sent it to Domi, there had been nothing left inside her.
A knock at the door broke the stillness. Emery didn't move.
“I know you're in there,” Jax said. “Open up or I'm using my key.”
Emery remained motionless, staring at the ceiling. She heard the jingle of keys, then the door opening. Footsteps approached, and suddenly Jax's face appeared above her, brows furrowed with concern.
“Jesus, Em. Have you moved at all since yesterday?”
“I got up to use the bathroom,” Emery said, her voice raspy from disuse. “I think.”
Jax sighed and set down a paper bag that smelled of curry. “I brought food. And you're going to eat it, even if I have to force-feed you like a baby bird.”
“Not hungry.”
“Don't care.” Jax moved around the flat, opening curtains and collecting empty mugs. “This place is a disaster. Worse than usual, I mean.”
Emery finally sat up, her unwashed hair falling in tangled curls around her face. “It doesn't matter.”
