“I’m not sure,” he replied, working to keep his voice even.
“On New Year’s I got the impression they were just friends, but they looked very cozy today.”
“They did.”
“Does she like him?”
He kept his attention out the window as his grip on his armrest tightened. “Maybe.”
She hummed, as if considering.
He turned to her. She was staring out her own window, though she didn’t appear to be seeing the city passing by.
“It’s too bad,” she said. “He’s going to break her heart.”
“How do you know that?” He had meant to keep the same even tone, but the question came out biting.
She finally turned to look at him, a placating smile on her face. “Montgomery Knox is a player, George. He’s there for a good time. Some phenomenal sex, maybe a brief affair, but he’s not relationship material.”
“And how do you know she wants a relationship?”
“She doesn’t strike me as the type that’s looking for a casual fling.” Then she shrugged. “But maybe I’m wrong. And if not, she’ll learn. Life experience, you know?”
She maintained his gaze, as if waiting for him to agree. The words were there on his tongue, but they felt bitter and wrong, so he turned away without saying anything at all.
The silence felt heavy as the car traveled downtown, through the congested streets of Hell’s Kitchen to the rows of shops and brownstones in Chelsea. They turned onto 19th Street and stopped outside Davina’s brick townhouse halfway down the block.
“Home sweet home,” she said after a moment, looking up at her building.
Knightley nodded once, not moving.
She turned to him, watching his profile for a moment before her small smile returned. “And I’m going to guess you’re not coming in.”
It was both a question and a statement, and the tension that had been building in his body suddenly released.
“No,” he sighed. “I’m not.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Davina, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Oh God, please. No excuses. Neither of us needs them,” she said, rolling her eyes and offering him a wink before she stepped out of the car. “Besides, it was never going to work anyway.”
“No? Why not?” he asked, a relieved smile on his lips.
She laughed, her hand on the top of the door as she turned to face him. “Because, George. You’re in love withher.”
Then she shut the door in his face.
The drive back uptown was a blur, the city passing in the periphery as his mind raced even faster, replaying Davina’s words from every perspective, dissecting them from every angle. But as his driver pulled up outside his house, as Knightley avoided the front door and began to walk aimlessly down the empty sidewalk, he ended up at the same exact point.
You’re in love with her.
That was it. No asterisk or disclaimer was necessary. He hadspent so long trying to deny the truth that it was startling to have it presented so plainly.
He was in love with Emma.
It had been building for months. Maybe even years. Suddenly his retreat to LA and the months spent focused on the office there seemed like such an obvious excuse. Of course he wanted the office to be successful, but there was another reason he’d left. One who lived right there across the back garden. His childhood friend, his best friend. Except the girl he had grown up with was no longer the child who drew in his textbooks. She wasn’t that teenager sneaking out on the weekends. She was a strong, independent woman now.
