The Night Before Christian (7 page)

The entire drive to his
grandmother’s house, he played one scene over and over in his head: Emory’s
mouth inches from his. He struck the steering wheel and a pain shot up his arm.
But it was nothing compared to the one that’d tore through his heart as he
stood in Ms. Anne’s yard and lied to her daughter about loving another woman.

Christian sat in the
vehicle a moment to get his thoughts together. He was already an hour late; what
would another ten minutes hurt? He’d already earned himself a lecture on
punctuality. Taking a few deep breathes and pushing what’d taken place between
him and Emory to the back of his mind—for now—he exited the vehicle.

When he entered his
grandmother’s house—an eight bedroom, ten bath mansion—he regretted not
cancelling. Could he really entertain a lecture right now? No. Not tonight.
Every hint of energy he’d possessed had been used to walk away from Emory. Could
he stay away? That was the million dollar question. God, he felt so trapped,
caged like a bird just wanting to be free.

“You’re late,” his
grandmother said behind him. “And no call.”

The woman was as light
on her feet as a ballerina. He rotated to face her. “I apologize,” he said, kissing
her cheek. “My phone died.”

She cocked a brow. “
Really
?”

As always, Amelia St.
Claire was her usual suspicious self. Christian beamed at the pecan-toned woman,
flawless from head to toe. “Is POTUS joining us for dinner?”

“If the president were,
I’d be awfully embarrassed at the tardiness of my grandson. This is something I
expect from Chauncey, not you.”

Chauncey and their
grandmother had always been like oil and water. He imagined it was because no
matter how hard she’d tried, she’d never been able to quite control Chauncey as
she had Christian. And it wasn’t so much that she was able to control Christian,
he simply found it less taxing to occasionally give in than to constantly wage
war with her. She didn’t go down without one hell of a fight.

“Again, I apologize. I
lost track of time,” he said.

“Very well. Come. Let’s
eat. I had Toliver keep dinner warm.”

Inside the grand dining
room, Christian pulled out the chair for his grandmother. Once she settled, he
took a seat next to her.

“I really dislike when
you do that,” she said.

“Do what?” Of course he
already knew what she referred to.

“You know what. Don’t
play dense with me. I dislike when you sit there. You should take your place at
the head of the table, opposite me.”

“That was grandfather’s
seat. Besides, I like being close to you.”

At the right angle, one
could consider the twitch at the corner of her lips a smile, something she did
infrequently. Though she hadn’t always been so serious.

Over dinner, they
shared small talk: his settling into North Carolina, the construction of St.
Claire Aeronautics, the wedding. The latter caused Christian to lose his
appetite.

“What’s wrong? Is the
duck not to your liking? I think it’s delicious.”

“Gram, do you remember
Emory Chambers?”

His grandmother placed
her fork down heavily, then dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“Yes. I remember her.”

Christian eyed her for
a moment. “You never cared for Emory. Why?”

The woman didn’t
hesitate supplying an answer. “Because she wasn’t the perfect match for my
grandson.”

“What you mean to say
is you didn’t think she was good enough for a St. Claire.”

“No. I just didn’t think
she was good enough for you. Chauncey, maybe, but not you. Anyway, that no
longer matters. You’re marrying a lovely girl whom I happen to adore. One who
is
quite
suited for you.”

Christian was certain
the only reason his grandmother
adored
Yasmin so much was because of her
last name. Like the St. Claire name, the Manchester name carried a lot of
weight and held status. And if there was one thing his grandmother flourished
on, it was status.

“And speaking of your
bride, she misses you. Which is why I’ve had the jet fueled and a flight to Dubai
arranged. You leave tonight. I’ll have the driver take you to the airport.”

Christian laughed.
“What? Surely, you don’t expect me to just pick up and fly to Dubai. Besides,
if Yasmin missed me so much, she would be here instead of seventeen hours away.”

“She’s a supermodel,
Christian St. Claire. A highly sought after supermodel at that. You should be
thrilled that she is in such high demand.”

“Ecstatic,” he said
dryly, downing the rest of his white wine.

“Dessert now, ma’am?”

She waved off her butler. “No, that
won’t be necessary. My grandson is leaving. He has a plane to catch.”

Emory tried her
damndest not to think about Christian, but she was failing miserably. She
hadn’t heard anything from him since their exchange in her mother’s yard. Three
days ago. As silly as it sounded, every time her phone rang, she hoped it was
him. How pathetic could she get?

Remembering their last
night together, she stabbed a hydrangea into the centerpiece she was working
on. The only person she could be pissed at was herself. How could she allow her
feelings to take control of her like that? Why did she have the right to
question Christian’s love for Yasmin? Of course he loved her. He was marrying
her for Christ’s sake.

“
Yes, I love her
.”

The words rang in her
ears like deafening church bells, and it suddenly became difficult to breathe.
She closed her eyes and wished that it was all a dream. That Christian had
never strolled into her shop. That she’d never spent time with him. That’s
she’d tossed the keys back to the rental car agent when he’d showed up at her
front door three days ago, stating Mr. St. Claire had arranged the rental of
the vehicle for her. She simply wanted to go back to the night before
Christian. When things were much simpler.

In a few weeks,
it’ll all be over
, she reminded herself. She would never have to see
Christian St. Claire again. The idea brought only minimal relief. As much as
she didn’t want to see him, the more she craved to see him.

Pathetic
.

The shop door chimed,
and Emory welcomed the distraction. “I’ll be with you in one moment.”

Moving from the back of
the shop, Emory stopped dead in her track. Of all the people she could have
ever guess would visit her shop, Christian’s grandmother was not one of them.
Her visit could only constitute trouble.

“Ms. St. Clair?”

“
Mrs
.,” she
corrected her. The woman examined Emory as if she were a reject from a mental
institution and wasn’t worthy of breathing the same air as her. “Dear, I
thought I’d made myself clear two years ago when I asked you to stay away from
my grandson.”

The woman hadn’t asked,
she’d ordered. Clearly, Amelia St. Clair had discovered she and Christian had reconnected.
But how? Surely, he hadn’t told her. Then it hit her. Yasmin had to have
mentioned her name and Mrs. St. Claire had put two and two together. Oh, God.
Did this mean Yasmin knew also? Was that the reason Yasmin hadn’t responded to
the email she’d sent earlier?

“I’m not sure what you
believe is going on, but I can assure you anything between Christian and I is
strictly business.”

“
Really
?”

Emory understood
immediately that it was a rhetorical question so she didn’t bother answering
it. Mrs. St. Claire scrutinized her surroundings with a distasteful scowl on
her face. The woman made Emory feel like a visitor in her own shop—an unwanted
visitor at that.

Mrs. St. Claire thumbed
a poinsettia leaf. Without the courtesy of eye contact, she said, “Stay away
from my grandson,
Ms
. Chambers. Since we’ve had this conversation once
before and now again, I trust we won’t need to have it a third time?”

She eyed Emory with a
look of contempt. Emory folded her arms across her chest but remained silent.
If she parted her lips now, something cruel would escape. Even though she
loathed the hateful woman, Emory had been raised to respect her elders.

“I’ll take that as a
yes.” She adjusted her chocolate-colored full-length mink coat. “Merry
Christmas.” Then turned to leave.

Just like the cruel
woman to add condescending mock. “I’m not afraid of you. I allowed you to
intimidate me then. Not now.” Emory wasn’t sure where the burst of confidence surfaced
from, but refused to back down.

Mrs. St. Claire
performed a slow rotation toward Emory, then smiled in a cold, menacing manner.
“Silly girl. You should be afraid.” Her face hardened even more. “Do you truly
believe my grandson still loves you?”

“Yes, I do.”

A mix between a smirk
and a smile slid across her face. “Well, why don’t you just call him and ask.
He’s at the
Armani Hotel
. In Dubai.”

Emory felt a tug in her
chest.
Dubai
? That explained why she hadn’t heard from him.

“It’s such a romantic
place. The Armani. You can stand on the balcony and bask in the splendor of Dubai.”
She glanced at her watch. “Which I imagine he and his lovely fiancée are doing
at this very moment.” Amelia fished inside her purse, removed her cell phone,
then offered it to Emory. “Shall we call?”

Emory’s regret shifted
to anger. “You are evil. I hope you—” She stopped, refusing to allow this
bitter woman any power over her. “Please leave my shop.”

“Gladly.” She turned
and strolled away. “Oh, and in case you’re deluding yourself and choose
not
to heed my warning, I’ll be forced to tell my grandson that your love of money
was far greater than your love for him. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of
the fifty thousand dollar check you asked for.”

Emory trembled with
fury. Through clinched teeth, she said, “I never asked you for a dime.”

“Asked. Offered. Does
it really matter which terminology is used? You took it. How would you explain
that to my grandson? Do you think he’d be so forgiving when he learned your
greed outweighed your love?” Mrs. St. Claire cupped her gloved hands. “Good
day, Ms. Chambers.”

***

Christian hated international
travel. The time zone switch, the cultural shock, the distance. But this trip
needed to be made. This trip would order every step he took going forward. He
rapped on Yasmin’s hotel suite door and waited. When he didn’t get an answer,
he knocked again. Maybe she’d stepped out. Just then, he heard shuffling
inside.

“Coming,” she said.

When the door opened,
she jolted from his presence. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded over the white
robe she wore. “Christian?”

“Surprise. Can I come
in?”

She stepped aside. “Of
course you can.”

Inside, he scrutinized
the impressive looking room, its modern furnishings, and sleek layout. This was
definitely five-star accommodations.

A slow smile lit her
face, and she draped her arms around his neck. “It’s good to see you. If you’d
told me you were coming, I’d have met you at the airport. What are you doing
here?”

“I needed to see you,”
he said. “Face-to-face.”

Yasmin pulled away and
stared at him, confusion playing in her expression. “Face-to-face? Is
everything okay?”

No. Things were far
from okay. And he would take the blame for them being that way. Washing a hand
over his lips, he pointed to the sofa. “Can we sit?”

By this time, Yasmin’s
expression had turned to worry. “I don’t want to sit, Christian. What’s going
on? Are my parents okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone
is fine.”

She rested a hand over
her chest and exhaled heavily. “Thank God.”

“Yasmin…” Christian searched
for the precise words. “Do you remember me telling you about the time I nearly
burned the house down when I was a kid, with Chauncey inside?” He’d never been
more frightened in his life when he thought his brother would perish because of
him.

Yasmin studied him a
moment. “No.”

Of course she didn’t, because
he’d only shared the traumatic experience with one person. Emory. That’s how
he’d known he loved her. He hadn’t been afraid, or ashamed, to show his
vulnerability in front of her. He continued, “What about the reason why I
wanted to design airplanes?”

“I don’t—”

“What about how I felt
when my mother died. Or how angry I was at my father when he decided to move to
England and start a new family, leaving me and Chauncey for my grandmother to
raise? Or why I—?”

“Christian!” Yasmin
spoke with her hands. “No, you’ve never told me any of those things. What is
this all about?”

“It’s about…love.” He
paused a moment. “It’s about love. I can’t marry you, Yasmin. I can’t marry you
because, in my entire life, I’ve only ever loved one woman.”

These had to be words
no woman wanted to hear weeks from her wedding day. He prepared to be mauled,
or at least, slapped tasteless. Ignoring the potential risk, he continued. “You
have to believe I never meant to hurt you, Yasmin. I just never expected to—”

“To discover you’d
never stopped loving Emory?”

Instead of fists, the
blow he’d experienced came in the form of words. The shockwave of her comment
coursed through his entire body. “How…?”

“I’d misplaced my
passport. In the process of tearing up the house looking for it, I came across a
box in the garage. I saw pictures of you and Emory together. You looked…happy.
Really happy.”

He knew exactly the box
she referred to. The one he hadn’t been able to bring himself to toss out. “Why
didn’t you say anything?”

Yasmin hugged herself
and slid her attention away from him. When her focus returned, she said, “I
wanted to at first. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to feel something, anything.
But I didn’t. I’m pretty sure I should have been livid, but instead, I felt
relieved. I think in the back of my mind I was hoping that the two of you would
discover you’d never stopped loving each other. It would have given me a way
out.”

“A way out of what?”

“This engagement. I
don’t want to marry you either, Christian. I just didn’t know how to tell you.
Plus, my mother and your grandmother were both so excited. I didn’t want to
disappoint them.”

Christian should have
been insulted, upset, or at a minimum hurt. But he wasn’t any of those things. Like
Yasmin, he experienced relief. And humor. He laughed, then laughed some more.
Yasmin joined in and they laughed together.

Sobering, she shook her
head. “God, we’re pitiful.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“How’d we allow it get
this far, Christian? Neither one of us wanted to be married—at least, to one
another. How did it get this far?”

“A lack of
communication,” he said.

“Yeah. We were never
good at that, were we?”

He shook his head. “No,
we weren’t. Out of curiosity, why did you say yes to my proposal if you didn’t
want to get married?”

“For the same reason
you proposed.”

The baby
.

Christian rested a hand
on the side of his neck. “Funny how things work out, huh?”

“Yes.” Yasmin patted
her hand against his chest. “You’re a good man, Christian St. Claire. Emory is
lucky to have you.”

Emory
. He frowned, doubting she
wanted anything to do with him at this point. But that damn sure wouldn’t stop
him from trying to change her mind.