They kept the sixth plate, and a few minutes later Fran began moving the food to the table. Emma could feel her face warming even as she tried to keep a calm facade, her eyes darting around the room to avoid her father’s confused expression.
“You sure you’re all right?” he asked, his forehead creasing.
“I’m fine. Totally fine.”
He stared at her a moment longer, then shook his head and returned to his book.
Emma gnawed on her bottom lip. She had to text Knightley and tell him he was not in fact invited to Sunday dinner before—
The French doors opened with a thud. Her heart tripped against her rib cage as she looked up and saw Knightley standing on the threshold.
“Hello,” he said.
He was looking at her and suddenly her whole body felt hot and, oh my God, she wasn’t going to be able to do this.
“George, you’re here early,” her father said from the island, still engrossed in his book.
“Thought I would come by to see if I could help with anything,” Knightley replied, not taking his eyes off Emma.
“Well, you can start by distracting that one,” her father said, waving a hand in his daughter’s direction. “She’s been wandering around micromanaging everyone for the past three hours.”
Knightley smirked. “I’ll do my best.”
“I’m fine,” she announced before raising an eyebrow at Knightley. “I just don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“It’s Sunday dinner.”
“I know it’s Sunday dinner, but I didn’t think you were coming because… you know, none of your lights were supposed to be on…” She widened her eyes, hoping to somehow telepathically communicate her point.
“You were serious?” he murmured, looking confused.
She let her head fall back in defeat. This was doomed.
Knightley gave her a conciliatory shrug, then said hello to Fran and inquired if there was anything he could do, as if this was the status quo and they weren’t on the brink of a complete disaster. Emma wanted to scream. It felt like everything inside her was going to bubble over at once.
Then the doorbell rang and her father yelled for Margo to just come in before mumbling something about the house key she refused to use since she moved out. It all felt so normal, but it wasn’t normal, and Emma didn’t know if she could pretend much longer. She had to get out before she spilled everything she was keeping inside.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she announced.
No one seemed to hear her. Margo and Ben had barely entered the room and Mr. Woodhouse was already peppering them with questions about their latest doctor’s appointment, while Fran was busy plating the asparagus. Emma took that moment to move toward the hallway off the dining room.
Knightley was near the doorway as she walked by. “You okay?” he whispered.
“I’m fine,” she said through a tight smile and kept walking.
The bathroom was small, tucked halfway between the kitchen and the media room. No one ever used it, which explained the fact that it still had the same Laura Ashley wallpaper that her mother picked out in the nineties, but she was thankful for it now as she disappeared inside.
She took a deep breath and leaned against the sink before looking up at the mirror.
Oh God.
Judging by how flushed her face was, she was clearly either dying of scarlet fever or hiding the biggest secret she had ever kept in her life. She turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on her cheeks, taking a few deep breaths to calm her racing pulse.
It was fine. Everything was fine.Totally fine.
The bathroom door opened suddenly. Before she had time to curse the fact that she’d forgotten to lock it, Knightley appeared, sliding into the small space and closing the door softly behind him.
Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
