Page 76 of The Emma Special

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out, but divorce isn’t on the table for me. I decided when I was a tiny child that I would never be part of that. Don’t tempt me with this as a quick fix. I’m married for life or not at all. You can’t propose today and want out in three years.”

“Okay. Yes. I don’t want out. I will be your husband forever.”

Emma scoffed. She’d known James to make sound, responsible decisions. Who was this stranger in her kitchen proposing to her? “I appreciate the offer⁠—”

“Don’t say no. Please, at least think about it.”

She waited a few extra beats before nodding. “Let me process. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

Chapter 22

Emma Is Not A Tax Deduction

Sinking onto the couch, Emma watched the sleek black car until it turned from her sight. A physical pull in her chest followed him. When he was in view, his peace settled on her. When he was away, there was a restlessness in her middle she couldn’t shake. Acknowledging the shift didn’t make it easier.

Why did knights save princesses? What did they get out of it? Why did they gallop into danger with their majestic horses and put their very lives at risk to rescue a weak woman?

Love, probably.

Emma tapped her fingernail against the chipping paint on the window sill. A thick white chunk popped off the ledge. Now it looked worse than before. She picked up the piece and put it back in place.

Did knights fight for the reward? So many old fairy tales were gag-inducing at the repetition of “the princess was the most beautiful woman in all the land.”

That wasn’t love. The princess was a trophy.

Emma frowned, picking at the frayed threads on the back of the couch. She was no trophy. James wasn’t looking for one anyway. It didn’t match his character. He was offering his hand—his name, his resources—out of compassion. Pity? Because he was a good person. Too good for her. She was a nobody.

She wasn’t from “good stock” like the Moores. She carried her mother’s maiden name because she had no father and a string of stepdads better forgotten.

Would it be okay to take James’s money? Let him pay for her medical needs outright. She’d never be able to pay him back. Plus, it would be months before she could work again. How was she supposed to survive through weeks of recovery?

He said he was good for it. That car he drove away in could be traded for a new knee. Then what? What if she fell into his arms and stayed there? What if she could trust him to mean what he said and follow through on those promises? It was too good to be true. James was too good.

Emma had learned quickly that most people would eventually let her down. Not usually on purpose—it was just the way of faulty human nature. Emma did her best to keep her word, follow through with what she signed up for, give grace where she could… and not depend on too many people. If she’d learned anything from her mother it was that gifts always came with a price.

Katie, Summer, and Allison were the exception. She stared now at the Kiss and Tell text thread on her phone.

Emma: Can I call an emergency meeting?

The bubbles popped up almost immediately.

Summer: I’ll pick you up. Y’all can come play with flowers.

Perfect. Now Emma just had to figure out how to explain her delicate situation in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous.

“Should I marry for money?” Emma whispered. She gestured down her body. “He wants me for my bum leg.”

She sat up and gently swung her foot to the floor. If she got her lazy butt moving now, she could be ready by the time Summer arrived. “It was love at first sight. Truly. There was confetti and everything.”

Yep. It sounded like a joke, but surely she’d know exactly what to do after their meeting of the minds.

Her phone rang, and she reached for it. Her stomach sank at the sight of her mother’s name. Emma straightened her spine as she swiped open the call. “Hello.”

“Hey. I need you to grab some dog food and stay with Daisy tonight. Me and Carl are heading out on a mini vacay, and I need you to stay here while we’re gone. Daisy’s been puking her guts up all morning, so you’ll need to keep a close eye on her. She likes to hide it behind the couch.”

Emma stared at her traitorous knee. It was starting to feel like a blessing and a curse. “I can’t. I hurt my knee Friday, and I can barely move. And I don’t have enough money to buy dog food.”

Yeah. No money. No income. No way to pay rent or buy groceries. Life was smelling like a bed of wilted, composting roses.