Listed: Volume I (3 page)

Once
they got into Philadelphia, they had to take a detour to pick up Emily’s last
paycheck from the coffee shop where she’d worked for the last two years.

Paul
obviously thought it was stupid for her to waste her time picking up the paycheck,
since her needs for the next three months wouldn’t even put a dent in the
generous trust fund set up for him by his grandfather. But he hadn’t objected.

Evidently,
you didn’t tell a dying girl she was being stupid.

His
questions now were starting to move in a certain direction, however. A
direction Emily didn’t like.

“Are
you sure you don’t want to call up your stepmom—”

“
Former
stepmom,” Emily corrected, trying her best not to sneer.

Paul
had agreed to do this incredible favor for her, so she really shouldn’t snap
his head off—even though she could tell he was about to be obnoxious.

His
lips tightened briefly, but he showed no other reaction to her curtness.
“Former stepmom. I know you used to be close to your stepsister. What was her
name?”

“Stacie.
But I haven’t talked to her since her mom walked out on my dad. That’s been
years.”

She
would have to talk to Stacie eventually if she wanted to complete her list, but
the thought of it hurt too much, so she couldn’t even think about it yet.

“Still,”
Paul said, his dark eyebrows pulling together in a way that made two little
vertical lines on his forehead, “If they’re as close as you have to family—”

“They’re
not family,” she broke in, interrupting him for about the hundredth time that
day. “I don’t have any family.”

He
shifted in the plush seat and looked slightly tense. “I know. But it seems like
you should be around people you know and love right now.”

She
suddenly realized she’d never seen him look awkward before the last few days.
All her life, she’d only known him as confident to the point of arrogance.

Since
he’d been five years old, locals had called him Prince Paul, although always
out of his hearing. He despised the appellation and had been in the habit of
beating up boys in school who were foolish enough to use the nickname to his
face.

She’d
had the biggest crush on him when she was thirteen and he’d been back from
college for the summer to visit his mother. All the girls in the neighborhood
had been crazy about him with his slick cars, sexy rebelliousness, and
obsession with extreme sports.

Emily
wasn’t feeling particularly charmed at the moment. “And I’m telling you I don’t
want to. I don’t want to live in the neighborhood at your mom’s old house. I
don’t want to be surrounded by people who know me—all hanging around watching
me dwindle away. I told you before. I want to live, not wait around to die.”

She
wished she hadn’t said so much, after she’d fallen silent. She wasn’t the kind
of person who spilled her guts, and she didn’t know why she’d felt the urge now.

“I
guess I can understand that,” Paul said, glancing away, out the window.

“How
nice for you—to be so understanding.”  She’d intended to sound sarcastic but not
quite so bitter. He’d been really great to her, after all. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I
know you’re just trying to help. I’m not normally this grouchy.”

To
her surprise, his lips tightened again, but this time with an entirely
different emotion.

She
stared at him. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,”
he managed to say with impressive sobriety, since he was obviously suppressing
amusement.

“What
are you laughing at? I’m really not a grouchy person. You think I’m grouchy?”
She wracked her mind, trying to think of what she could have done in the past
to give him that impression.

He
smiled—the heart-stopping grin that made female hearts flutter.

Even
Emily’s. Just a little.

“No,
you’re not grouchy. In fact, I always wondered how you managed to smile so
much, when you didn’t…didn’t always have an easy time of it.” His gray eyes
rested on her with something akin to appreciation.

She
knew it wasn’t emotional connection. More like she was a novelty that he found
rather intriguing.

“But
you’ve got to admit,” he continued with that same suppressed smile in his eyes.
“You’ve always been kind of prickly with me.”

“I
have not,” she objected automatically.

He
arched his eyebrows in an ironic challenge. “A few years ago, I went into your
dad’s shop to buy a drink, and you gave me a long, heated lecture on cutting in
line.”

“Well,
you did cut in line!”

“I
did not.” He was laughing for real now. “My friends never let me hear the end
of it—getting told off by a girl.”

She
tried to resist, but her sense of humor was tickled. She let out a rippling
laugh. “You deserved it.”

“I
promise you I didn’t. I was the next person in line. You just didn’t like me,
for some reason.”

She
sobered, knowing he was right.

Paul
stopped laughing too. “We didn’t know each other well because of the age difference.
But I was part of the neighborhood too, and I don’t think I was ever rude to
you or your dad. Why didn’t you like me?”

She
shrugged. Told him the truth. “All the girls were crazy about you. I didn’t
want anyone to think I was one of them.”

For
some reason, she’d always been too irrationally proud to let anyone know the
boys she’d liked, the guys she’d had crushes on, the men she was attracted to.

As
if admitting it would strip her defenses.

“I
don’t think anyone would be mistaken on that front.”

She
couldn’t help but smile at his wry tone.

Then
his expression changed, and she knew he was going to return to the obnoxious
topic, as if he’d sensed her softening and was taking advantage of it. “But,
seriously, Emily, I’m not sure it’s really healthy for you to isolate yourself
from—”

 “Oh,
just shut up.” She hated how young she sounded even as she said the words. She
straightened up and managed to say a bit more lucidly, “You’re on this vendetta
against your dad, so I’m not sure you can lecture me about emotional health.”

“It’s
not a vendetta.”

“Isn’t
it? Aren’t you doing everything you can to get him sent away to prison for
life?”

“But
not for retribution.”

She
raised her eyebrows. “For justice?”

“Why
do you sound so dubious?” He looked almost exasperated, as if he’d forgotten he
was supposed to treat her with kid gloves.

“You’ve
never struck me as someone who would move heaven and earth for some sort of
high-blown ideal.”

“Thanks
a lot.”

He
wasn’t meeting her eyes. He was looking out the car widow past her head, but
she suddenly wondered if she’d offended him.

“I
didn’t mean it as an insult,” she explained. “But he’s your dad, and a belief
in justice isn’t really enough to…to do what you’re doing.”

“Betray
him, you mean?”

She
swallowed and felt her whole body flush at his frigid tone. About half of their
community thought that was exactly what he was doing, and the other half
believed Paul was finally stepping up and being a man.

Emily
knew it was more complex than either of those things. “I didn’t mean that. I
think you’re doing the right thing. But it’s got to be hard—since he’s your
dad.”

“Our
relationship was never anything like yours with your father.”

“I
know.”

“He
was never really a father to me.”

“I
know.”

Neither
said anything for a full minute.

Then
Paul added, as if as an afterthought, “I owe it to my mom.”

“Owe
what?” Even two months ago, she never would have had the boldness to question
Paul Marino so directly. He’d always been a prince—too distant to really touch.

But
nothing felt the same now. Not even Paul.

“I
owe it to her to make something of my life. To do something…something
worthwhile.”

Emily
suddenly understood Paul in a way she hadn’t before.

His
mother’s death last year had been a kind of turning point for him. He wasn’t in
the gossip columns for partying or wild stunts nearly as much as he used to be.
He’d gone to the U.S. attorney voluntarily several months ago, after Emily had
overheard the conversation, and offered to add his testimony to the case. She
hadn’t really thought about it much, since so much had happened to her in the
meantime, but he must be trying to turn over a new leaf.

“Oh.
I thought it was about winning. Beating him.”

“That
too.”

His
tone was dry, but she was sure he was speaking the truth.

Everyone
had something that was most important to them. Getting justice for his
father—for his mother’s sake—was the most important thing to Paul.

Finishing
her list—living before she died—was the most important thing to Emily.

***

“Are you crazy?” Chris
demanded. “You’ve seriously got to be crazy.”

Chris
Mason had been a friend of hers since they’d both been four, and for a while
she’d thought she was in love with him, before she’d realized that crush was
going nowhere.

She
did love him as a friend, but she didn’t want to talk to him right now.

She
gave the counter an angry swipe with her rag. When she’d stopped by to pick up
her paycheck, Jill had gotten a call about an emergency with her kids, so Emily
agreed to watch the shop for an hour. “I’m not crazy,” she gritted out. “This
is what I want to do, and he’s helping me.”

“But
you’re just seventeen.”

“I’ll
be eighteen in four weeks. I’m emancipated. I’ve graduated from high school. I
know what I’m doing. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t get married if I want
to.”

“But
I never thought you had fairytale dreams like that.”

She
stiffened. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing
bad. It’s just kind of a romantic thing to do—getting married like this. I
didn’t think you were like that.”

She
used to be like that. When she was a little girl. She’d had the same kind of
daydreams as everyone else. She’d just quickly learned they never came true.

“I’m
not romantic. This isn’t about chasing a fairytale. You know me better than
that.”

“Yeah.
But…”

“I’m
dying. I know. That’s why I want to do this before it’s too late.”

“But
why Paul?”

“Who
else?”

That
stumped Chris. He didn’t respond. Just looked at her in concern.

She
sighed and twisted the rag in both hands. “There’s no one else, Chris. I know
it’s kind of crazy, but it’s the first thing on my list. And I really want to
do everything before I die.”

His
face contorted briefly, and she suddenly realized this was hurting him.

With
a lump in her throat, she pulled him into a hug. “I know this whole thing is
terrible, but it’s either sit around here and wait to die. Or do this. I want
to do
this
.”

Chris
hugged her back, but he was frowning when he pulled away. “I get it. I really
do. But do you really think you can trust Paul?”

“Why
shouldn’t I?  He’s always been kind of irresponsible, but he seems to be
pulling it together lately.”

“Well,
just be careful around him.”

“He’s
not like his father. You know that. He hates him. He doesn’t want anything to
do with him.”

The
incident that had confirmed Paul as a prince in their neighborhood was when,
during the vicious divorce battle between his mother and father, he’d sided
entirely with his mother. He never accepted a dime from his father, not since
he was thirteen years old.

“Yeah.
I know. But you know how he is with girls. He might try to…try to…” Chris cleared
his throat, adorably awkward at the topic. “Get in your pants,” he concluded
lamely.

Emily
laughed out loud, in genuine amusement, her eyes straying to the corner where
Chris’s sister, Laura, was sitting at a table, sipping a mocha and texting on
her phone.

Laura
was gorgeous and built like a model, and she’d dated Paul for almost six months
last year, the longest he’d ever dated anyone. For a while, it looked like he
might have really fallen for her, but they’d finally broken up.

Laura
was exactly Paul’s type.

Emily
wasn’t.

“Well,
we’ll be married, after all.”

Chris
looked so upset by her tongue-in-cheek response that Emily hugged him again.
“Please don’t worry about me. I’m the one that engineered this. Not him. He’s
just being a good guy and helping me out.”

As
if on cue, the bell on the shop door sounded, and she pulled back from Chris’s
chest to see Paul entering.