“You absolutely are.” She returned to the kitchen. “Your face is red. You can’t even look at me.”
“That’s because you’re being ridiculous.”
“I'm being observant." She leaned against the counter. “He looks at you like you're the only person in the room. You lookat him like you’re trying hard not to look at him. Honestly, it’s painful to watch.”
“Emma—”
“And neither of you will do anything about it because you’re both emotionally constipated and terrible with feelings.”
I choked on my coffee. “Emotionally constipated?”
“Did I stutter?” Emma blinked innocently.
“Where did you even learn that phrase?”
“The internet. Also my therapist uses it. Don’t change the subject.” She crossed her arms. “You like him.”
I shook my head. “I work for him.”
“That’s not denial.”
“It's a statement of fact.”
“You live in his house. Take care of his sister. Make him coffee exactly how he likes even though you pretend you don’t notice. You laugh at his bad jokes even when they’re not funny. Yo?—”
“Okay.” I raised my hand in surrender. “Stop.”
She smiled victoriously. “You’re not denying it.”
“I’m not confirming it either.”
“You don’t need to. I have eyes.” She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. “Just so you know, if anything happened between you and Riven, I’d be fine with it.”
My chest twisted. “Nothing will happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s complicated.”
“Everything is complicated. That’s not a reason.”
“Emma—”
“I’m just saying. You’re both miserable and you make each other less miserable. That’s good enough for me.” She bit into her apple. “But what do I know? I’m only a fifteen-year-old who’s emotionally intelligent.”
She left before I could formulate a response.
I stood alone in the kitchen with my coffee and far too many thoughts crowding my mind.
I clocked into the hospital around noon for my shift. I was choosing which coffee to get from the cafeteria when footsteps stopped behind me.
“Mireya Rosen?”
I turned to find a man in an expensive tailored suit. He looked familiar even though I'd never met him. His dark hair was graying at the temples, but he wore a confident smile.
“Yes?” I replied cautiously.
"August Cross." He extended his hand. "Riven's uncle. I run St. Catherine's Private Hospital across town."
