I don’t reply. There’s no need. Emery sighs, a sound filled with passive acceptance and a hint of something else. Something sadder.
“I’m having déjà vu,” she says, a small, weak smile playing across her lips. “Do you remember? At the gala? We’ve been before, haven’t we?”
My gut twists. I don’t need to confirm her suspicions; she already knows. The look on my face tells her everything. Damon is indeed sleeping with another woman. She knows. But why isn’t she crying? Why isn’t she curled up in a ball? Have her tears finally run dry?
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m?—”
Emery shakes her head, readjusting the ice pack. “So, where are we going for the babymoon? You said I have options. What are they?”
Her shift in topic is jarring. I can see the force of the question. The strength required to move past such a thick and heavy revelation. But Emery’s always been strong. And perhaps running isn’t the same as moving on. Damon said he’s moved on. A part of me still doesn’t believe him. But my father always said that when someone tells you who they are, believe them.
And so, I decide to reluctantly move on. “I’ve picked a few local destinations. St. Lucia, if you want the beach. Nashville, for some good food and culture. Or a remote cabin by a lake in Oregon.” I reach out, taking her hand in mine when she doesn’t respond. Whetherunable or unwilling, I can’t tell. “St. Lucia sounds nice, doesn’t it? White sand beaches, clear blue water…”
She squeezes my hand. “It does. But I-I think I’d prefer the cabin.” She pauses, adding meekly, “I think we both deserve some peace and quiet.”
Mostly peace.
“We do, don’t we?” I sigh, bringing her into my arms as I set the ice pack to the side. The tension slowly eases as we cling silently to each other and the idea of a different kind of future. A future without him.
“Are you going to take me hiking again?” Emery asks, her voice softening with the memory.
I lift a brow, casting her a small smile. “If I recall, you weren’t a fan.”
“It was snowing, Quin. It’s warmer now. I think I might enjoy it. Maybe… Maybe I’ll like it.”
“Maybe you will,” I whisper into her hair as she leans her head against my shoulder.
“We’re going to be okay, Quin.” Her grip on me tightens as she clutches onto stability, onto reality. “I… I think we’re going to be okay.”
I want to believe her. I want to hold on to her words like a lifeline. But doubt gnaws at me. We can say that we’re okay. We can say that everything will be fine. But we’re acting. Putting on a performance of a lifetime.
Nothing is fine. Nothing is okay. But there’s only so much I can do. There are only so many shards of fractured glass that I can piece back together.
If this is the bed Damon wishes to lie in, then that’s it. There’s nothing left. I’ve tried to fix it. I’ve tried tomend Emery’s broken heart, but if I can’t bring Damon back, then I’m going to have to fill the void.
“We’re going to be okay, darling,” I whisper, breathing in the scent of muddled hope. “We’ve got each other.”
“And that’s enough.”
But is it? WillIbe enough? Or will Emery always feel like a part of her is missing?
No. I can’t think like that.
I can’t manifest such a horrid future.
THE PERFECT ILLUSION
EMERY
He’s everywhere.In every fucking corner of this house. His scent lingers on the sheets, on the furniture, and in the closet.Damon. Damon. Damon. I should burn it all down. Set fire to every single thing he’s ever touched, ever sat on, ever stood beside. I want to douse every square foot of this goddamn house in gasoline. Cleanse the home. Our home. Of him.
How am I expected to move on when he’s haunting me? He’s in my dreams. Every night, I see him. And when I wake up, he’s still here, mocking me, laughing at me, reminding me of what I lost.
What we lost.
We could move. Quinton wouldn’t mind. He’d do anything to lessen my pain. His pain. Because he’s hurt as well. He puts on a fantastic performance, almostbelievable, but the wound that had healed, that had been sewn together by mutual respect and honesty, has split back open, and now he’s gushing blood all over the Damon-stained carpets.
My gaze flits across the mural Damon painted as I stand in the middle of the nursery. It took him hours. An entire week. He stood there, meticulously sketching and drawing and shading. He wanted it to be perfect. And it is…from afar.
