Can't Help Falling (28 page)

“Didn't I?” Emelia's words were nonchalant, but not her big round eyes. Her face was ashen. Weirdly, Lacey's resembled a rolling thunderstorm. Something told him he was chauffeuring an impending storm. He just didn't know why.

“H
ave you lost your mind!” Lacey added an expletive at the end of her sentence. Then a couple more in case Emelia had
missed the first one. Her cousin had her hands on her hips and was unafraid to get in her face. She was so close, she was almost on Emelia's toes.

Emelia had spent a car ride, a tour of the estate, and a couple of hours working through ball details with Peter's mom trying to pretend her cousin wasn't lasering her with her eyes. But her luck had run out when Lacey had sweetly asked if there was somewhere they could freshen up before lunch and practically frog-marched Emelia to the fancy bathroom they'd been directed to.

Emelia leaned back against the porcelain sink to try to regain some personal space. She wrapped her fingers around the cool rim. “I didn't know who Peter was. I only found out when he brought me here when we were location hunting.”

Her cousin huffed a breath of incredulity in her face. “C'mon, Meels. You're smarter than that. You used to be a freaking award-winning reporter. It never crossed your mind to think that Peter Carlisle might be related to the Honorable Victor Carlisle?”

“No. Because I never thought of Victor by his last name. I thought of him as Victor, heir to the Viscount Downley. That's the title he threw around all over town.”

Lacey ran her hands through her hair, leaving it all tousled, and not in a trendy, sexy way. “I cannot believe this. I cannot believe
you
.”

“You were fine with me leaving Mia behind last night. You got it!”

“That was before I knew you were having some kind of
thing
with Anita's cousin under your new nom de plume!”

“We're not having a
thing
.”

“Oh, c'mon. The national grid is about to call and ask for
its electricity back. Are you seriously trying to tell me you two haven't even kissed?” Emelia's silence had her cousin just staring at her. “Seriously?”

“Just once! And it was a mistake. And we've talked about it and it won't happen again. There's no thing and there won't be a thing. That's all been well established.”

“Why not?” Her cousin finally took a step back, giving Emelia a little room to breathe.

“Because he's religious.”

Lacey scrunched up her face. “So what? I've dated a few religious types. Remember Aaron? He was Jewish. Then Brad. He was a Scientologist. That was a bad move though. Don't ever date a guy who believes in a drug-free, silent birth.”

“It's more than just a set of rules for him. Like, it's a real thing. He won't date someone who doesn't believe the same as he does.”

“And you don't think that's something you might want to consider?” This from a girl who considered a new Prada bag a spiritual experience.

“Lacey. I'm not getting religion for a guy.” Emelia had done some underhanded things in her life, but she certainly wasn't going to add faking a belief in God to it. Though she had a sense that even if she tried, Peter would see right through it. It would have to be real or not at all. And, even if she'd wanted to believe, real wasn't an option. If God even existed, it was for people like Allie and Jackson and Peter. Not people like her.

“I didn't suggest you do. I'm just saying that, you know, there might be something in it worth considering if it's that important to him. He's a great guy. Which brings me back full circle to, have you lost your mind?”

“What
do you want me to say to him, Lace? ‘Oh, hey, Peter. Remember that cousin of yours who died? I'm the reporter who drove her to kill herself.' ”

Lacey paced the small room from one floral wall to the other. “He will find out one day. Karma kind of bites you like that.”

“He's it, Lace. He and Allie and Jackson are the best friends I have here. They're the best friends I've had in years. If I tell them that, I've got nothing. I won't even have a house to live in.” Even Allie, the nicest person on earth, wouldn't want anything to do with her if the truth came out.

“What about Victor? Surely you'll run into him sooner or later. Doesn't he live around here? He's Peter's
brother
. I need a Xanax or something.” Lacey started digging through her purse.

“I already have.”

Her cousin froze mid-dig. “And?”

“He recognized me but we've come to an agreement.” Only because they both held weapons of mutually assured destruction.

Lacey let out a breath with a whoosh. “I've seen you play with fire, but this isn't that. This is a nuclear power plant. How can you do it? How can you be planning all this fund-raising together, with that chemistry the two of you have, and not feel sick keeping this from him?” She pulled a tube of mints from her purse, unraveled it, and shoved one in her mouth.

“It's not like I made her drink. It's not like I put the cocaine up her nose. She did all of those things herself. She made her choices, I just exposed them.” It was a line Emelia had used many times to justify her work, and it still rang as hollow as all the others.

Her cousin's steely face told her she wasn't buying it either.
The crack as she chomped down hard on her mint said all she needed to.

Emelia pushed herself off the basin. “Of course I hate it. I feel horrible about it. Sometimes it swells up inside me until I feel like I might just vomit it out all over him. But I can't. If I do, he will walk away. Just like everyone else. And then I'm left with nothing. Just like I always am.”

Lacey's eyes widened as the ugly, honest words hit the air.

Turning around, Emelia twisted the cold tap on full blast. Putting her hands under the water, she splashed some up on her face, trying to gain herself a few seconds.

Pull it together, Emelia.

She leaned against the sink and watched the water swirl down the drain. Grabbing the hand towel, she pressed it against her face.

“What if he's different?” Lacey's voice was soft and tentative.

Emelia dropped the towel back on the counter and turned around. “You know how I met him, Lace?”

“How?”

“I fell out of a wardrobe in an antiques shop and he caught me. Then he asked me if I was a Susan or a Lucy. How am I supposed to tell that guy I'm the person he probably hates most in the world?” She could already see the loathing in his eyes if she told him.

“I don't know. But you have to. Because if you don't, then someway, somehow, he will find out. And there's no coming back from that.”

“Is that a Dr. Donna thing?” Dr. Donna was a relationship expert and one of Lacey's most famous clients. Her cousin was a walking record of the woman's sound bites.

Something flickered in her cousin's eyes. “No. It's a Lacey O'Connor thing.”
Lacey closed the two-step gap between them and took Emelia's shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eye. “I may not be into the whole God thing, but even I know the truth always comes out eventually. And that guy out there, he deserves to know the truth. From you.”

S
HE WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR
A
NITA'S
death. And saving her charity was the closest thing she could think of to atonement. If it weren't for those two facts, Emelia would have been out. Done. Gone.

Emelia stabbed a piece of cake with her fork. Mashed it between the prongs. She'd tried to convince herself it didn't matter. That her life as Mia Caldwell was behind her. That Emelia Mason was all that mattered. And Emelia Mason hadn't done anything wrong. But there wasn't a single cell in her body that was letting her believe it. Especially since Lacey had called her out.

It was good they had the religion thing between them. She could hide behind that without any difficulty. Her gaze lingered on Peter's broad back as he stood at the counter of the boutique bakery, ordering another dessert.

His Olympic dreams and decency and faith were far too good for her. She'd been foolish to ever hope there might be a possibility of anything different. But now she'd had a cold dose of reality.

Not even Peter would be able to forgive her for what she'd done. What she'd cost him. His family. There was no God big enough to conquer that.

Every time she saw him, a loud, insistent voice nagged at her, telling her she needed to tell him the truth. No matter how much she tried to muffle it, it refused to stay silent. It felt like she had a tumor inside her, growing and growing.

She just had to get through the next four months of planning this ball, and then it would be over. Her job would be done. She'd resign. Probably leave Oxford.

“So, are you going to tell me what's going on?” Peter returned to their table as she stabbed the cake again.

Emelia dragged her attention back to what they were supposed to be doing: choosing the two desserts for the sit-down dinner. They should have done it weeks ago, but somehow it had fallen off her color-coded, cross-referenced spreadsheet. “What? Nothing's going on.”

“Sure. And you and Reepicheep are best friends.”

“Ha. Very funny.”

“Is it the cake?” Peter pointed his fork to the sample of black forest layer cake that sat practically untouched on her plate.

“It's a bit dry.” Emelia poked at it with her fork and a few crumbs toppled off. She tried to focus on the task at hand. The sooner they got through it, the sooner she could go home, get in her pajamas, and read some Narnia. Maybe
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
. Right now she could do with sailing off to the ends of the earth.

Speaking of which, hopefully she'd get home to find Jackson had accomplished his mission of finding and retrieving his broken model from wherever Peter had stashed it. She'd found someone who thought they might be able to fix it for her. She just needed to get the thing without Peter's knowing. Just in case it couldn't be done.

She made a show of dipping her fork into a piece of chocolate torte. “This one is better.” And it was chocolate. Who wouldn't want a chocolate torte at a ball? In the background the refrigerated cabinets hummed.

She flipped through the folder that sat on the table in front of her. It held pages of all the different desserts the bakery did. The torte and crème brûlée both looked fine. And right now fine was good enough. “I think we go with these two.” She pushed the folder toward Peter.

He didn't even look at it. “Have I done something?” The guy wouldn't let it go. Clearly she wasn't as good at pretending as she'd given herself credit for.

“We should split the rest of the list.” The words fell out of her mouth. “There's not much left. Divide and conquer and all that.” The only things left were confirming arrangements already made and getting Elizabeth to approve the deposits on anything that wouldn't accept credit cards. They didn't need to see each other to work on promotional details.

“No.” Peter's voice was firm.

“Excuse me?”

“No. I'm not splitting the list unless you tell me what I've done. I must have done something.” He leaned forward on his elbows, pale blue T-shirt stretching across his chest.

“You haven't done anything. It's me, okay? I'm the one who's done everything.” The words burst out of her.

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm never going to believe like you do.”

“What?” Peter looked at her like he didn't know what the drama was. He forked another piece of torte and popped it in his mouth, not looking the least bit perturbed.

“You
keep looking at me with these hopeful eyes, like maybe one day I'm going to wake up miraculously converted, and it's just not going to happen. I'm so glad it works for you, but it's just never going to be my thing. I have too much stuff to believe in a good God. I can get a disinterested one. A vengeful one. An ambivalent one. But not a good one. So what's the point?” She gestured like an insane woman with her fork, not even caring that a piece of cake got flung across the room.

“Of?”

“Of this.” Emelia gestured to the two of them. “Of just being ‘friends.' ” She stuck up her fingers to do the air quotes and almost stabbed herself in the side of the head. “We can't pretend we don't have chemistry. Well, maybe you can, but I can't. I like you and it is
killing
me. I'm planning a ball with the one guy I want and can't have. But at the same time I think he is
insane
for wanting a piece of metal so bad he's willing to spend the rest of his life disabled for a shot at it. If there is a God, I've got to give Him points for the irony of it all.”

Peter just stared at her, fork halfway to his mouth.

“You don't know me. If you knew the things I'd done, you'd want nothing to do with me.” Emelia's fork smashed into a piece of pastry, grinding it into the plate.

Peter had put his fork down, but his mouth still hung half open.

“What?”

“You're right. There is a lot I don't know about you. And a lot you don't know about me. I wish you trusted me enough to tell me. But there is nothing that you could have done that would make me want to have nothing to do with you.” His eyes shone with certainty and conviction.

“You
have no idea what you're talking about.” Emelia pushed out her chair and fled.

T
he chaotic scene played back in Peter's mind as he drove and tried to work out where it had gone so horribly wrong. Emelia had been off since he'd picked her up. Wooden. Stilted. Going through the motions. The dying world of Charn in
The Magician's Nephew
had more life.

It didn't take a psychologist to see the hurt that she was hiding. And he'd stupidly decided to push it, instead of just leaving her be. What she'd said had sliced through him. It didn't matter. It didn't matter how much they liked each other or what chemistry they had. She was right. If she never had a faith of her own it was all for naught.