Sophie turns to face me. "Let's talk about your relationships, Emery. With my brother and Damon."
No foreplay. Straight to the point.
I shift uncomfortably in the cold metal seat. "I?—”
Sophie's stern expression doesn't waver. “If the next sentence that comes out of your mouth evenresemblesa lie, I have no qualms with lifting this bar and pushing you out.”
My eyes widen at her threat. If anyone were to look at Sophie, they’d expect nothing but a sweet, innocent woman. Oh, how appearances can be deceiving.
“What do you want to know?” I ask meekly, dreading the length of this lift.
“What is your relationship with Damon?”
I swallow. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
How am I supposed to explain my relationship to Sophie when I can hardly explain it to myself?
“Well…” I can’t think too long. I genuinely think she’d act on her threat, and I don’t wish to die today. “Damon pursued me romantically before we started working together. And then when he hired me, we…we became physically involved. And then… And then emotionally. He, uh,” I wince. “He proposed to me about two weeks ago. I-I didn’t give him an answer. And then I learned something about him, and so I-I left.”
“With my brother,” she adds, tone sour.
“Yes,” I whisper, ashamed of myself. “With your brother.”
“And now you’re…involvedwith Quinton?” she asks. “In the same fashion as Damon?”
“Not the same.” My response tumbles out before I can vet it. “It’s not the same.”
She frowns. “Elaborate.”
I sigh, conflicted. "Quin… He started out as my friend. And now…it’s more than that. I-I don’t know how to explain what we have but it’s…” I finally admit it to myself. “It’s more than friendship. It’s more than…sex.”
“So, you’re fucking both of them.” Surprisingly, there’s no judgment in her tone, only matter-of-factness. “I see.” She pauses, studying me intently. “Do you love them, Emery? Both of them?”
Her brazen question knocks the wind out of me. Love?! She’s asking me about love? What does that stupid word even mean? It's a concept that has never held a straightforward definition for me. And now, it threatens to crush me, kill me, every part of me.
"I-I care for them, Sophie. Deeply."
Her lips curl into a thoughtful expression. "But do youlovethem, Emery? Love them enough to make a choice?”
A depressing darkness settles over my shoulders, my tongue, as I whisper, "I don’t think I’m capable of loving someone. Anyone.”
“You can lie to yourself all you want, Emery,” she says softly. “But that doesn’t make it true.”
I frown at her. “I don’t?—”
Sophie sighs. “For such an intelligent woman, you sure are daft sometimes.” As the top of the mountain approaches us, she clicks her tongue. “If you don’t love them, Emery, then leave. Leave this resort. Leave this country. Leave them alone.” Her sharp gaze slices through me. “They’re not your little toys.”
Leave.
She’s right.
Maybe I should.
I should go home to nothing.
For nothing is what I deserve.
