“Perhaps it was. Perhaps that was all this was.”
“No. I don’t believe that.”
He didn’t answer. His expression was stony. Emily took a step forward.
“Marco.” Her voice softened. “Don’t you want to know why I became Emily Madison?” He folded his arms. God, she hated when he did that! “I couldn’t get a job. I couldn’t get anybody to see me as a real person.”
His lips pulled back from his teeth in a thin parody of a smile.
“Perhaps that is because you are not a real person, Ms. Madison.”
“Dammit, the name is rightfully mine. It’s my middle name. It’s right on my birth—”
“The more you say, the worse it becomes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What does it say on your passport, hmm? Emily Madison? Or Emily Wilde?”
“Emily Wilde. But what—”
“Do you recall handing your passport to my co-pilot when we flew to Paris? He took it to airport security. Strangers read that passport and knew your name was Wilde even as I believed it was Madison!”
She gave a strangled laugh. “How does that even matter?”
How, indeed? Marco knew that she was right. What mattered was that this woman, whom he had believed to be so honest, so innocent, so pure of heart and mind that she was unlike anyone he’d ever known, had made a fool of him.
He, the man who had never needed anyone, had let himself need a woman who didn’t exist.
He’d been had. Scammed. Made a laughing stock, although he sure as hell didn’t feel like laughing.
Marco swung away and walked to the other end of the room. He dug his right hand into his trouser pocket, felt the ring he’d dropped inside it what seemed like an eternity ago. The ring he’d bought for Emily Madison, the woman he’d wanted to be with for the rest of his life.
He stopped, his back to her, and closed his eyes, saw once again the shocked look on Khan’s face, the bewilderment on Laurel’s.
He spun around.
“How could you have done this to me?”
“I didn’t do anything to you.” Emily’s eyes filled with tears. “I love you. I never meant to hurt you.”
“You deceived me.”
“I keep telling you. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I was caught in a web, don’t you understand? And whenever I tried to tell you the truth, either you stopped me—or I lost courage.”
“You lost courage,” he said, his words flat and cold. “Charming. Did you think so little of me that you believed I would stop caring for you if I knew you were a woman named Emily Wilde and not a woman named Emily Madison?”
Emily gave a short, sharp laugh.
“Take a look at what’s happening now and we’ll see if you still want to ask me that question.”
“That is a distortion of the facts. I only learned the truth because someone found you out.” His face darkened. “That I should have had the blindfold torn from my eyes by strangers…”
“They aren’t strangers. Khan is your friend. Laurel is mine.”
“Exactly. Friends who now see how I was duped.”
Emily swiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Anger was changing to fury. Given a choice, it was the better emotion.
“Is that what this is all about? Your ego?”
“It is about your lies.”
“Give me a break. It’s about you. It’s always about you and your high and mighty arrogance.”
“I am not arrogant,” Marco said and even in his cold rage, he winced at the stupidity of what he’d said.
Emily strode toward him, chin up, eyes blazing. “In fact, arrogance is the one real emotion you possess.”
“Arrogance is not an emotion. And do not try to change the subject! The point is, you lied to me.”
“The point is, I didn’t lie to you. I was already lying when I met you…”
She broke off in mid-sentence, as stung by the truth of her admission as by the stoniness of his expression.
There was a second truth here, as well. A terrible truth.
“You fell in love with Emily Madison,” she said softly.
“Such a brilliant revelation!”
“You fell for some—some symbol of perfection.”
“I do not know where you are going with this.”
“But I’m not perfect, Marco.” She flung out her arms. “I am what you see. A woman. Flawed. Imperfect. You can’t label me. I’m not any one thing. I’m many things and not all of them are good. The only certainty is that I love you.”
“You love me.”
“Yes. I love you.”
Silence stretched between them. He looked at her. A pain so sharp it almost brought him to his knees knifed through him. He had bared his soul to this woman. He had given her his heart.
What mistakes to have made! To have forgotten the lessons of his childhood, his manhood, his marriage…
He was not good when it came to seeing through women’s lies.
“Marco,” Emily whispered. “I love you.”
Her voice broke; she was weeping again. He felt a muscle knot in his jaw as she held out her hand.
Take it,
a voice inside him implored.
Put aside your pride and take her hand.
But he didn’t. Instead, he heard himself say the words that would haunt him to the end of time.
“For all I know, that is just another lie.”
Her head shot back, as if he’d hit her. He thought she was going to break down completely, but she didn’t. Instead, the shimmer of tears in her eyes became the glitter of ice.
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t love you. I pity you.”
He watched her turn on her heel and walk away from him, her pace quickening, as she got closer to the foyer. Her handbag was on a glass table where she’d left it hours ago; she’d left a black pashmina there, as well, in case they had dinner out. Now, she grabbed the shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders and then picked up her purse. The only sign of what she might be feeling came when she reached the elevator and hit the call button with her fist.
The doors whisked open.
Marco felt his heart start to thud.
“Emily,” he said…
Too late.
The doors shut.
And Emily was gone.
Thanksgiving had always been Emily’s favorite time of the year.
There was something about the idea of families gathering together that was warm and real.
When she was little, really little, she and Jaimie and Lissa would spend the day before Thanksgiving in the kitchen, helping their mother and the housekeeper, getting in the way, spilling flour and sugar and making cookie cutouts of their hands.
And, at night, it meant getting down the big picture book with Santa and his sleigh and reindeer on the cover.
Her mother had said that reading “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” starting on Thanksgiving Eve had always been a tradition when she was growing up. She said she had no idea why, but now it was a tradition she kept, too. So each year, the night before Thanksgiving, the sisters and, when they were young, Travis, Jacob and Caleb had all gathered around her and, together, they read the classic old poem with lots of
Ho-Ho-Ho’s
and improvised ringing of reindeer bells and even the beat of tiny hooves.
Their father had been stationed half a world away. He’d phoned to wish them a happy holiday; Caleb, Travis and Jake were all home from school and they’d done their big-brotherly best to keep their little half-sisters happy, but at midnight Lissa had awakened and started to cry. Emily and Jaimie had climbed into her bed and they’d wept and wept until their brothers heard them, came into the bedroom and turned on the light.
They’d taken one look at the three sobbing little girls and asked no questions.
Jake had climbed onto Lissa’s bed and gathered all three girls into his arms.
“’Twas the night before Christmas,” he’d said without having to ask what they needed to hear and without the book, too, because they’d all heard the poem so often.
And while he told them the well-loved story, Caleb and Travis had gone downstairs, Travis to make cocoa, Caleb to pile a plate with cookies.
After a few years, it seemed silly to read a children’s poem every night for almost a month. Besides, Emily, Jaimie and Lissa certainly didn’t believe in Santa anymore. Their brothers were sometimes away, Caleb off doing what he solemnly called Secret Stuff in heaven only knew where, Travis and Jake flying jets and helicopters, and it was a given that the general would not be there but would send a card with a Pilgrim on the front or pay a Skyped visit.
This Thanksgiving, except for the general, the Wildes were together.
Emily, Lissa and Jaimie had all flown in, and Caleb was there with his Sage, Jacob with his Adoré, Travis with his Jennie. There were babies there, as well: Travis and Jennie’s little girl, Eleanor; Caleb and Sage’s little boy, Cameron; and, as Jake proudly announced, his hand curved protectively over his wife’s slight belly bump, she was pregnant, not just with one baby but two—”By God, we’re having twins!” he’d said.
There would be even more little Wildes on hand at the next gathering of the clan.
On Thanksgiving Day, Jaimie put together champagne cocktails for everyone but Adoré, who got a glorious concoction of club soda and freshly squeezed orange juice topped with a sprig of mint.
The housekeeper had the day off. Lissa cooked a feast. An enormous stuffed, roasted wild turkey took place of honor, but there was also a huge roast beef, asparagus, baked brussels sprouts, three kinds of potatoes, bread pudding, apple, mince and pumpkin pies.
Emily brought out the handmade chocolates she’d found in a beautiful little shop in Soho, tiny truffles and creams that, Jaimie said, put five pounds on your hips just to look at them.
Everyone drank, ate, laughed, played with the two littlest Wildes and talked about what they’d been doing since they’d last seen each other.
When it came to that topic, Emily was conspicuously silent. Well, her sisters agreed, she’d been kind of quiet altogether.
Maybe something was wrong.
Her sisters waylaid her in the kitchen.
“Em?” Lissa said. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said brightly. “Why would anything be the matter? What kind of question is that?”
A very good question, Lissa and Jaimie thought, exchanging glances. Jaimie cleared her throat.
“Well, you haven’t had much to say.”
“Neither have you,” Emily said.
Jaimie colored a little. Lissa looked at her. It was true. Jaimie had been pretty quiet, too.
“Work,” Jaimie said briskly, waving her hand. “I’m all tied up with stuff. Things are stabilizing a little, people are putting their houses on the market…” She frowned. “And we weren’t talking about me, we were talking about Emily.”
“Emily is standing right here,” Emily said, trying to sound amused. “Let’s not talk about her as if she weren’t.”
“Well, no. Let’s be more direct than that,” Lissa said, opening one of the four big wall ovens and peering inside. “We’re all talking about what’s new in our lives. You haven’t opened your mouth.”
“If you’re checking on those pies, I think the crust on the one in the top oven might be—”
“Don’t you want to tell us about your new job?”
“What new job?” Emily said. “Lissa, really, that pie—”
“The one you called and told me about,” Jaimie said. “The personal assistant thing.”
Emily swallowed hard.
“Oh. That.”
“Yes. Oh. That. How’s it going?”
Emily turned on the water in the sink, reached for the coffee pot.
“I quit.”
“How come?”
“I just did. Hand me the canister, will you?”
“Yeah, but why? It sounded like a great job.”
“Well, it wasn’t. And I don’t want to talk about it, OK? Just hand me the coffee.”
Voices, laughter, the sounds of people greeting people flooded the house. Footsteps made their way down the hall. The Wilde sisters turned around…
And Emily went pale.
“Laurel?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
The women stared at each other. “Khan and I flew in for the holiday. Didn’t Jake tell you? He invited us.”
“Khan’s here, too?”
“Of course he’s here, too. Emily. Em. I’m so sorry about what happened that night. Neither of us ever dreamed—”
“What night?” Lissa said.
“What happened?” Jaimie said.
“Nothing happened,” Emily said, and she looked up and saw her brothers crowded into the kitchen, Khan standing just in front of them, and the world tilted. “Not a goddamned thing happened,” she said, and she dumped the coffee pot into the sink and fled.
******
The thing about having a big family was that you couldn’t escape them.
The thing about running was that you couldn’t escape what you were running from.
And the thing about spending the last ten days telling yourself that you hated the man who’d broken your heart was that it was a lie, and as she’d already so horribly proved, she wasn’t a very good liar.
Jaimie knocked on her door. “Em? Come on out. We won’t ask you any questions.”
Lissa tried next. “Honey? Please come out. No questions, I swear.”
Talk about lies…
Afternoon gave way to evening.
Her sisters tried again. They rattled the doorknob, said they were driving into town. Mr. Upton, the postmaster, had phoned. It was a holiday and the post office was closed but somehow or other, a bunch of packages had arrived anyway. From the general—he always sent Christmas gifts early—and, of course, Mr. Upton knew they had to be dealt with. The female contingent—Lissa, Jaimie, Adoré, Jennie, Laurel and Sage—were driving into town to pick them up. Why didn’t she come with them?
She considered it. She was all cried out and she had to face everybody eventually. But she considered it for too long because the next thing she heard was the sound of an SUV driving away.
OK.
Her sisters were gone.
Her brothers were still here but they’d be easier to deal with. Men were uncomfortable with emotional stuff. She could silence them with a look.
Besides, what had happened to her was none of their business. She had no need to give in to badgering and questioning, assuming they tried any of that.
She rose from the bed where she’d thrown herself hours ago. Turned on the lights. Showered. Changed into jeans and a long-sleeved cashmere sweater. Brushed her hair, pulled it back in a ponytail and scrubbed her face. No makeup. She wasn’t in the mood for makeup, wasn’t in the mood for artifice of any kind.
One last deep breath and she opened the bedroom door and marched downstairs to face reality.
The Wilde brothers and Khan, a brother by attitude if not by birth, were all in the kitchen, seated around the enormous oak table that was older than any of them. No babies in sight. Evidently, they’d been put to bed.
There was a platter of huge man-ready sandwiches in the center of the table. Everybody had a big mug of something steaming hot, coffee or tea or maybe hot toddies.
All at once, on top of being in no mood for interrogation, she was also hungry and thirsty.
Emily straightened her shoulders and marched into the room.
Every head swiveled toward her.
“Em,” Jake said.
“Honey,” Travis said.
“Sis,” Caleb said.
“Emily,” Khan said, and cleared his throat.
She nodded, went to the stove, took down a mug and poured herself some coffee. Got a plate from the cupboard, a spoon, knife and fork from the silverware drawer. She liberated a while linen napkin from the shelf. Then she went to the empty space at the foot of the table, pulled out the chair and settled into it.
The men watched her.
She reached for the platter of sandwiches.
Four pairs of hands reached out to help her. She glared. The hands drew back. She leaned over the table. The sandwiches were halved; each half looked substantial enough to feed a family of four.
“I made them,” Jake said proudly.
Emily nodded, took a half of what looked to be ham, cheese, turkey, beef and a couple of dozen other things and put it on her plate. She picked it up again, realized there was no way she could possibly get her mouth around it, put it down, took her knife and fork and sawed off a corner.
The men watched her.
She put the piece in her mouth. Chewed, even though the thing seemed unchewable. Swallowed. Took a sip of coffee. Sawed off another piece of sandwich.
The men went on watching her,
She swallowed. Drank a little coffee. Cleared her throat. If she talked about eating the sandwich with a knife and fork, maybe she could keep them from trying to talk about anything else.
So she tried what she hoped was a smile.
“I don’t normally do things like this,” she said, “but—”
“But you did.”
She looked at Caleb. His voice was stern, that big-brother tone in it he’d occasionally used on all the sisters when they were in their teens.
“Well, yes. I know it doesn’t look good. But what else could I do? I mean, all that size and heft...”
A fist hit the table. Emily swung her head toward Travis.
“Jesus H. Christ, we don’t want to hear that kind of stuff!”
“Huh?”
“So, that was it? The guy turned you on so bad that you agreed to be his mistress?”
Emily blanched. “What the hell are you talking about, Jacob?”
Travis: “We’re talking about your—your paramour.”
Any other time, she would have laughed.
Caleb: “Your lover.”
Jacob: “The guy who seduced you. Marco Santini, the son of a bitch!”
Emily stared at her brothers. She had never seen them so furious. The hard, handsome faces. The cold eyes. The tension visible in the set of their shoulders.
And Khan.
He looked exactly the same. Angry. Furious. Totally and completely pissed off.
She put down her knife and fork, wiped her mouth with her napkin.
“Listen to me,” she said carefully. “Listen well, because I’m only going to say this once. This is none of your business!”
Jacob: “The hell it isn’t!”
“It isn’t. It’s my business. Period.”
Travis: “It’s our business, kid, and don’t you forget it.”
“It is not your business,” she said coldly, “and I am not a kid!”
“You’re our baby sister.”
“I am your twenty-four-years-old sister. Not your baby sister. Got it?”
“Why in hell didn’t you come home?”
Emily swung toward Jake. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said coldly. “Why didn’t you come home after you were discharged from the hospital?”
“I did.”
“No. You did not. You dropped by, stayed for a while, then took off.”
Jake shot to his feet. “That was different.”
“How was it different?”
“I’m a guy. You’re a girl. You’re our sister.”
Emily threw down her napkin and stood up. “That’s such bull, Jacob!”
“It’s not bull.”
“It is,” she said, turning toward Caleb. “Dammit, that’s what I’ve been my entire life. One of the Wilde girls. The Wilde sisters. The youngest one, the one who needs to be protected from the real world.”
“That’s not true,” Travis said.
Emily looked at Khan. “And you. Couldn’t you keep quiet? Couldn’t you keep what you saw to yourself?”
He rose slowly from his chair, his eyes dark, his mouth thinned.
“I did. For all this time. I kept quiet because Laurel said if you wanted help from us or your family, you’d ask.”
Emily raised her chin. “Smart woman you married.”
“But I could not keep quiet any longer.” His eyes narrowed. “I liked Marco. I believed him to be a good man. I never imagined,
never
imagined, that he would take the sister of my friends as his mistress.”
Emily snorted.
“Lovely. Mistresses are OK so long as they aren’t the sisters of anybody you know.”
Khan’s face reddened. “You are twisting my words.” He paused; she could tell he was trying to compose himself. “I would not have spoken, Emily. I would have kept my counsel… but when you ran, your family had questions. And they told me they were worried about you. That you have not been yourself. That you have been very quiet. That you seem so sad—”
“I am not sad,” she said and burst into tears.
“Oh, crap,” one male voice muttered, and then there was a general stampede and Jake, Caleb and Travis all tried to reach her at the same time.