My mother barked a laugh. "That's my boy. Already flirting."
"I'm not flirting," Sebastian protested, though his grin widened a fraction. "Just stating facts."
Emma's cheeks flushed. "Well. I can see the charm runs in the family."
"Unfortunately for you," I said, sliding an arm around her waist, "you're stuck with the less charming brother."
Sebastian snorted—then winced, hand flying to his side. "Don't make me laugh. Everything hurts."
"Sorry." I wasn't sorry at all. The sound of his laugh, even pained, was the best thing I'd heard in days.
My mother settled back into her chair, her hand covering Sebastian's again. The monitors marked the seconds. And for the first time since that phone call shattered our night, the room didn't feel like a place for grief anymore.
Emma leaned into my side, her hand slipping into mine.
"We still need to talk," she murmured, low enough that only I could hear.
"I know." I pressed a kiss to her temple. "But not tonight."
She nodded against my shoulder. For now, that was enough.
Chapter nineteen
Emma
The audit conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot. But watching Damien this week—watching the tension leave him as Sebastian improved, as the doctors used words like "stable" and "progressing" instead of "critical" and "uncertain"—I couldn't bring myself to shatter that peace.
He'd lied. Falsified documents. Handed Nathan a weapon that had been used to corner me in that office, to make me scrub my hands until my skin burned, to try to wash off the feeling of his proposition.
I hadn't forgotten. Couldn't forget.
But I also couldn't change it.
The audit was done. Filed. The merger complete. Whatever Damien had fabricated was already woven into Falkirk's records, and no amount of screaming at him would undo it. The damage—and the protection—was already in motion.
So I let it sit.
Not forgiven. Not resolved. Just tabled.
Because right now, watching Damien laugh at something Sebastian said from his new room on the step-down unit, watching Rosie fuss over both her sons while Candace pretended she wasn't stealing glances at the younger one—I didn't want to think about Nathan. About leverage. About the future ramifications that would inevitably come crashing down.
I wanted this moment.
And tonight, Damien had promised me a celebration.
"Alright," he announced, pushing up from his chair. "We need to head out."
Rosie looked up from the magazine she'd been flipping through. "So soon?"
"It's almost seven, Mom." He crossed to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "And Emma and I have plans."
"Plans," Sebastian repeated, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He looked better every day—still pale, still bruised, but the spark was returning. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Shut up," Damien said mildly.
"Be nice to your brother," Rosie admonished, swatting at Damien's arm. "He almost died."
"He's milking it."
