Chapters (89)
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ONE
- HENRY
- TWO
- EMMA
- THREE
- HENRY
- FOUR
- EMMA
- FIVE
- EMMA
- SIX
- SEVEN
- HENRY
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- HENRY
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- EMMA
- THIRTEEN
- HENRY
- FOURTEEN
- HENRY
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- EMMA
- SEVENTEEN
- HENRY
- EIGHTEEN
- HENRY
- NINETEEN
- HENRY
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- EMMA
- TWENTY-TWO
- EMMA
- TWENTY-THREE
- HENRY
- TWENTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- TWENTY-FIVE
- EMMA
- TWENTY-SIX
- EMMA
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- HENRY
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- EMMA
- TWENTY-NINE
- HENRY
- THIRTY
- HENRY
- THIRTY-ONE
- HENRY
- THIRTY-TWO
- EMMA
- THIRTY-THREE
- HENRY
- THIRTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- THIRTY-FIVE
- EMMA
- THIRTY-SIX
- HENRY
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- EMMA
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- HENRY
- THIRTY-NINE
- HENRY
- FORTY
- EMMA
- FORTY-ONE
- HENRY
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- EMMA
- FORTY-FOUR
- EMMA
- FORTY-FIVE
- HENRY
- EPILOGUE
- ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“I don’t want you to pay for my…” She stops herself from going any further, looking away. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s ashamed.
“Your what?”
“It’s none of your business,” she replies with a razor-sharp intensity, and what do you know? I’ve hit a nerve.
“Clearly it’s a big deal if you go around doing this.”
Dammit.
That was the wrong thing to say. I hate the implication behind the demeaning statement, frantically wishing I could grab the words and bring them back, erasing the previous twenty seconds and starting anew.
She’s out of the chair in a blink of the eye, palms splayed out on my desk, face near mine. I don’t bother retreating, wanting to absorb all of her wrath.
Give it to me, Sunflower.
“This? What do you mean by this, Henry? Some of us have to work hard to make a living and don’t have an inheritance to blow through whenever we want. Some of us have to hustle and pick up side jobs wherever we can to afford basic necessities like rent and shit. So forgive me if I resort to doing things like this, something that’s so obviously beneath you and your tax bracket. You didn’t seem to have an issue with it when it was beneficial to you.”
It’s the most passionate and animated I’ve ever seen her. She’s lighting up like a Christmas tree in December. I won’t lie. The fervent tirade and fiery persona are hot as hell, a side I’m so unused to seeing from her. Her eyes are full of steel and practically feral, focused on the subject of her lashing.
Me.
No objections here. She can keep her attention here as long as she’d like.
Beautiful, determined woman.
My curiosity is piqued about why she needs the money. I imagine we make roughly the same salary, and it’s more than generous. Even with factoring in cost of living in a major city, there’s still plenty of income left over to survive comfortably. Emma doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who needs an overflowing bank account or spends her wealth on mindless items. Does she have a child? Is it for medical bills? How much money does she donate to charity?
I won’t push her to tell me now, yet there’s still a persistent urge flowing through me, wanting to make sure she’s okay. Making sure she has enough. Making sure she’s not struggling to get by.