Did that just happen? Had she just turned down the internship she had been dreaming about for months? She meandered through labyrinthine rooms, passing random school groups and solitary visitors as she replayed every moment of the interview in her head. It had been going so well. The conversation was honest and real and… fun. Emma had enjoyed it. She had liked Inez and loved talking to someone about her passion without the added pretense of who she was or what anyone expected.
But that was before she knew they had recognized her name. After all Emma’s hard work, all her preparation, her name was still what got her through the door.
Emma entered another gallery. It was empty, so she let herself collapse on the long bench in the center of the room. She expected the reality of her decision to hit her at any moment: the disappointment, the sadness, the anger. But as she sat there, all she felt was a budding sense of relief. A nascent calm as she studied the business card still in her hand.
You could be exactly the type of person she’s looking for. If you’re interested, you should give her a call.
Yes, she had turned down the job. But in its place had sprouted so much wild potential and promise that Emma couldn’t help thesmile that spread across her face. She looked up, grinning ear to ear, her gaze darting around the room and landing on a familiar favorite: Gustav Klimt’sMäda Primavesi.
How had she missed it before? It was hanging right in front of her, the young stubborn girl staring back at Emma’s wide eyes.
She suddenly remembered the last time she had looked up at it. She had been with Knightley. He had told her how the girl in Klimt’s painting reminded him of Emma. She hadn’t said anything at the time, but the comment had bothered her. Not the comparison, but the idea that he saw her like that. Young and stubborn, naive and headstrong… but looking back, that wasn’t all he had said, was it? In fact, he had almost made it sound like those traits were something to be proud of.
He celebrated who she was, proved how being confident and bold was something beautiful.
Knightley’s words came back to her, ringing in her mind.
He would be so proud of her right now. Of course, he’d still josh her, but he would love to hear about her interview. How well she had done, how much she had prepared. And how she had turned it down. Margo might tell her she made a mistake, her father might roll his eyes, but Knightley would understand. And she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything.
Emma’s brow creased and her mind swam. Knightley saw her imperfections, he watched her make mistakes, but he also knew it was what made her who she was. She wasn’t perfect. And despite how he tried, Knightley wasn’t either. They were both just trying to figure it out, but at least they had each other.
They would always have each other.
Sucking in her breath, the realization came to her like a thunderbolt and made her stand up, matching the strong posture of the girl in the painting, staring at her eye to eye.
“I love Knightley,” she said aloud and froze, her words echoing in the quiet, empty space. Her hand went up to her mouth the minute she said it, but it was too late. It was out there. It was true.
Eyes wide, Emma gazed up at the painting like she was seeing it for the first time. The imperfect strokes forming her proud expression, her confident stance. Klimt’s painting hadn’t changed, but Emma’s view seemed different now. So wild and new and terrifying that all she could manage to whisper was: “Oh fuck.”
CHAPTER 30
The walk back to her house was a blur. Emma knew she must have done it, if only because she suddenly found herself staring at her front door. But she had no memory of the steps in between the museum and her house. No, her mind was consumed with one thought and one thought only.
She was in love with Knightley.
God, it was so obvious. Like a muscle that had always been there but she had only just realized she could flex. Now discovered, it trembled and tensed and ached, making her feel like the entire island of Manhattan had shifted and her body was getting used to a new center of gravity.
Her key somehow found its way into the lock, and she shuffled through the doorway to stand in the center of the foyer. She caught her reflection in the mirror over the entry table. Strands of her dark hair had loosened from her ponytail and her eyes were wide, unblinking, as if she were in shock. Maybe she was.
She was in love with him.
Slowly, her reflection revealed a small, secret smile. It was arelief to finally realize it, to be able to attribute this weight inside her to something tangible. Something real.
But then just as quickly the smile faded, leaving her lips in a thin line.
She may have been blind for ages, but surely Knightley wasn’t. And if he felt the same, he would have said something. He would havedonesomething. She recalled all the moments where there would have been an opportunity: the Sunday dinners, the morning coffees, even New Year’s, how his lips had lingered there on her cheek…
And then she remembered how he had arrived to that same party, sullen and brooding, only smiling when he talked to Nadine.
Nadine.
Emma stilled, staring dumbly at the wall ahead.
Yes, she loved Knightley. But so did Nadine.
Her mind suddenly went into overdrive, cataloging every moment, every interaction. Introducing them at that first Sunday dinner, how Nadine had lit up when he arrived at that New Year’s Eve party, how he had smiled and complimented her dress. How he had confided in her about Los Angeles. About Davina. About all of it.
And that was it. Her racing mind stopped suddenly. Everything stopped.
