“Shhhh!” An older woman glared at them.
Emma smiled at her sweetly before turning to Knightley. The smile flattened. “Because she is smart and gorgeous and funny and she movedhere. I mean, it’s obvious that she could have her pick of anyone in New York.”
Knightley sighed, keeping his voice to a murmur. “That doesn’t give you the right to fuck with her life.”
“Why do you think that I have?” she hissed.
His eyes widened. “I’m sorry. Didn’t you just admit to it?”
“So you’re assuming I did something wrong by pointing out the obvious? That I somehow manipulated her just by suggesting—”
He let out a harsh chuckle. “I’ve known you since the day you were born and trust me, you never justsuggest.”
Her arms were crossed over her chest now and she was looking at him like he had grown a second head. “Why are you so mad about this?”
“Because…” He stopped himself, closing his eyes and raking both hands through his hair as if it would somehow restore his patience. “You treat the world like it’s your personal playground, Woodhouse. Like everything is here to amuse you until you find something better to do.”
Her mouth fell open. “That is not true.”
“No? What about this?” He motioned around the gallery.
“You meanart?” she said, wide-eyed. “I love art. You know this! That’s why I’m here! It’s my passion!”
He scoffed. “It’s easy to have passions when it takes no work to maintain them.”
She reeled back as if he had slapped her, and while he immediately regretted his words, he didn’t take them back.
“You can’t go through life jumping from one thing to the next,” he continued. “Not everything is fun all the time. Some things take work and time and are not about you.”
“Is that seriously what you think of me?” Her voice grew louder with every word. “That I’m some flighty, selfish—”
“No, Jesus,” he seethed, shaking his head.
“Then what are you saying?”
“That caring for someone doesn’t mean you get to dictate how they live their life.”
She laughed, humorless and sharp. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you of all people just said that to me!”
Other people in the gallery were staring at them now, but he didn’t care. “She needs a friend, Woodhouse.”
“I am her friend!” she practically shouted.
Another “Shhh,” this one coming from a man on the other side of the room. They ignored it.
“This isn’t some fun way to pass the time. This is someone’s life. At your age you should know that.” His voice was deep and ground through gritted teeth.
Her eyes narrowed. “At my age? Are you kidding? I’m an adult, Knightley. Just like you! I know how the world works!”
Her face was flushed and her chest rising quickly as she stared up at him, her chin high. His stomach tightened again with some hot, heavy feeling deep in his core. It was anger but something else, something he didn’t take time to contemplate as he took a step forward, his face inches from hers.
“You think you know how the world works, Woodhouse?” he seethed. “Then do us all a fucking favor and start acting like it.”
And then he turned and walked out of the gallery, down the stairs, and out of the museum.
CHAPTER 7
Emma spent the car ride down to her sister’s apartment the next day coming up with names for George Knightley. Most were merely variations on “asshole” and “prick,” so by the time the car stopped at Perry Street and Greenwich, she had made a mental note to research new curse words.
