Chapter 17
Eric
“Thank you,” I hear Emma’s soft voice say from the doorway of the wine vault.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before I turn to look at her.
It’s why it took me so long to come back to the restaurant after a few weeks.
I’d had to take time to prepare myself to be able to see what would be clearly written across her face after she was reunited with Lucas.
Even though I knew it would hurt, my heart still squeezes painfully at the happiness radiating across her face.
Because of someone else.
Swallowing thickly, I reply, “Not a problem.”
Her eyes assess me, softly, and as if in understanding, before she steps further into the wine vault.
But she could never understand.
My life, who I am, is so very different from her.
“Eric…” she begins and then she gestures helplessly to me, “I know what you did couldn’t have been easy…”
Her eyes search my face and I force myself to hold her gaze as she continues, “But I can’t thank you enough.”
Fuck, this hurts Emma. Please stop, – my heart silently screams.
I’d thought I was ready to face her now, but instead, I have to turn away from her under the pretense of continuing to count the wine inventory, so she can’t see just how much making the arrangements to bring Lucas here had taken from me.
Because I’d bartered myself to make Emma happy.
To make things right.
I wouldn’t change what I’d done because Emma deserved to be happy, I just wish it hadn’t come down to bartering myself.
Because it felt that I’d bartered away whatever had remained of my black soul ever since.
I’d called Lucas after that night Emma had fallen asleep in my arms, hoping to persuade him to give Emma another chance.
But he’d stubbornly refused to answer my calls or call me back.
I couldn’t blame him really and I knew I had to do something.
It hadn’t been easy to make the phone call to Sovereign Wineries a few weeks ago to ask for a favor. Lucy, another friend of my mother’s, had been wanting to get me into her bed for years and so I gave her what every woman, apart from Emma, had ever wanted from me. To try to repair some of the damage I’d caused, I’d suffered through one of the worst sexual experiences in my life.
While it hadn’t been as bad the morning after I’d turned sixteen, it had been close.
It had been close.
I’d thought why would one more make any difference?
But while I’d lain there, allowing her to take my softened cock into her mouth, I’d watched her over painted mouth sucking…doing absolutely nothing for me.
So, I’d closed my eyes and pretended it wasn’t her.
After enduring several minutes of Lucy’s attempts to make me hard enough to finally fuck her, I’d pushed her to her back before hastily rolling on a condom and getting the favor over with quickly. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken Lucy long to shake and shiver underneath me and I’d quickly disentangled myself before collapsing on the bed next to her, flinging my arm over my eyes as I reeled from the self-disgust overtaking me.
Never feeling more drained.
Used like I have felt since I turned sixteen.
Lucy never picked up on it, not that she would have ever cared if she had. She was one of those self-centered women, just like my mother, who only cared about themselves and getting a younger man into their bed to make them feel as if they aren’t aging.
No, Lucy was radiating victory that she finally had me where she wanted me as she pushed herself up into a seated position to look over my body appreciatively while I’d lain there with my emotions swirling, hatred for myself and everything that I am, eating me alive after giving her exactly what she wanted.
When she reached out with her hand, her nails slowly circling one of my nipples, I’d instantly recoiled.
Abruptly pushing her hand away, I’d sat up and quickly made excuses to leave, uncaring of her pout as I pulled my clothes hastily back on.
Lucy had already put into motion the plans that I’d outlined with her to have Lucas come to LA, and once she had done her favor and I’d done mine, I wanted to get as far away from her as quickly as possible.
To forget that I allowed myself to be used again.
After arriving home, I’d quickly brushed my teeth and rinsed out my mouth, wanting the taste of Lucy and her smoky breath out of my mouth immediately, before taking a long hot shower. As I’d scrubbed at my skin, trying to remove any traces of Lucy, I’d thought of Emma.
Would I ever meet someone that would want me?
That would look at me like Emma looks at Lucas?
That would feel as if they were suffocating if I wasn’t near?
I wasn’t familiar with that sensation, but Emma had repeated over and over that night when she fell asleep in my arms that she felt as if she was suffocating, unable to breathe without pain.
And as her shortened breaths became slow and even, her confession pulled at something deep inside of me.
Even though I still wanted Emma, I finally understood why she would never want me.
I’d found a woman who was nothing like any of the women I’d had in my life. Emma was sexy, wonderful, hard-working and I now understood that saying…
She was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. Because of that, because she was nothing like me, she would never be interested in me.
I was too self-sadistically broken to ever have anyone that was good like Emma in my life.
So, I’d made that call to Lucy, even as my stomach churned, to try to right what I’d done wrong because Emma hadn’t deserved for me to interfere.
She didn’t deserve to have me in her life.
While I don’t regret meeting her and watching her become a strong, independent and successful business owner, I do regret how I went about trying to manipulate her into feeling grateful for the opportunity that I gave her.
Trying to manipulate her enough so that she would give in and become my latest bed partner.
Something my mother, master manipulator, had done to people, - including her own son – all of her life.
I was no different from my mother. Or my father.
Emma didn’t deserve to have someone like me in her life. She was too beautiful, too sweet and even though I didn’t think Lucas deserved her either, because he’s been with me on some of my nights of debauchery, he was the one she wanted.
I’d watched his eyes closely that afternoon when I’d finally gotten them into the same room together. I’d also closely watched his entire body’s reaction to Emma when I’d escorted her through the restaurant. His eyes, equally as hungrily as hers had been when she realized he was there, had devoured her as she walked with me across the restaurant and I knew that what he felt for Emma was real.
It had hurt as she sat next to me during my pre-arranged luncheon, watching as she tried her best to pretend that Lucas wasn’t sitting across from her.
Because I knew, could feel it radiating through her very essence, that she was very aware of Lucas.
That she still wanted him every bit as much.
I could also feel it radiating from Lucas even from across the table, that he still wanted her every bit as much as well.
But it didn’t help ease the hurt I felt at seeing the two of them, the entire world outside the two of them completely slipping away as they both struggled with that obvious tie between them.
Their reactions to one another…
It had only made me long for what they had even more and it hurt that time did nothing to ease Emma’s connection to Lucas.
But what hurt the most was knowing that I would probably never experience what they felt, to have a person that would want me that much. I hurt because I desperately want to experience that invisible tie that they had between them. Even now, I remember vividly how the air had changed - became electrified – when I’d escorted Emma across the restaurant that day because it had reached every single person at that table.
When the two of them had disappeared after dinner that evening, there had been no need for me to make excuses for them and everyone had continued on with their chatter.
Aside from myself and Lucas’s employee, Sarah, that is.
She’d looked as lost as I felt so I’d given her a twisted smile of commiseration, so very easily understanding that she had hopelessly fallen for Lucas like I’d fallen for Emma.
Emma had left her wrap on the back of her chair in her haste to leave and picking it up, I inhaled her scent, knowing that I was saying goodbye.
That I’d done what I’d set out to do.
To make things right between Emma and Lucas because she deserved that.
Because she somehow had become the only person in this world that I cared about.
Cared enough about to let her go just so she could be happy.
I feel Emma’s hand on my upper back, sharply jolting me back to the present, back to staring at the wine bottles and pretending my heart isn’t ripping.
She steps around me so that she can face me, looking up into my eyes.
“Eric…” she says softly, “What you did was very unselfish, and I can’t thank you enough.”
I can’t help myself as I reach out and take her hand. Staring down at it, I swallow thickly before managing to say, “It was the least I could do.”
My heart aches as I silently wish I was the center of her universe instead of Lucas.
If I had someone like Emma in my life…
But I don’t.
I feel lips lightly caress my cheek, and shocked, I look at Emma.
“I’ve come to realize that you have a good heart, Eric,” she whispers. “It’s buried beneath something but it’s there. You just need to let it shine through, let someone else see it like I do.”
I remain silent, my heart twisting, the pain in my chest taking my breath away.
“If there is ever a time when you need a friend, I’m here,” she murmurs and gently squeezes my hand, her eyes holding mine as she continues, “Someday you’re going to meet someone and when you do, please promise me Eric, that you’ll let them see your heart. It’s the only way you’ll ever find happiness.”
I continue to remain silent because right now she is only making my heart ache even more.
Because I wish more than anything that that person was her.
That she was the one that wanted me.
Finding someone like Emma was like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. Women like her didn’t fall into my arms.
Probably never would again.
Clearing my throat, I release her hand and turn my attention back to pretending I’m perfectly fine as I peruse the wine bottles once again, only hoping that she’ll leave me alone soon.
It hurts too much having her here.
But she doesn’t leave.
Instead, she says, “This Sunday is pretty quiet reservation wise. I’m thinking of flying to Toronto on Sunday and returning on Monday evening.”
A large lump forms and I again swallow thickly so I can reply as nonchalant as possible, “Okay.” I keep my eyes carefully trained on the bottles before me, praying once again, that she’ll leave now.
Still she stays, prolonging the torture.
“I was wondering…” she begins but then stops.
“What were you wondering, Emma,” I sigh out, just wanting her to say it and then leave me alone.
Let me deal with this hurt on my own.
“Well…the flight will be hard on Quinella so I was wondering if she could stay with you for the night…” she trails off.
I tense as I think about having to look after a damn dog.
“Never mind, I’ll just take her with me,” she says.
“I’ll take her,” I manage through a hoarse throat.
She pauses and then asks, “Are you sure?”
Nodding, once again keeping my eyes trained on the bottles, I force a reply with indifference in my tone, “It’s what friends do, right?”
Silence descends between us and I get the feeling she knows exactly what I’m feeling right now despite my forced coldness.
“Thank you…” she murmurs and yet she still hovers.
“Eric…I know this can’t be easy for you and I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
I freeze, my body not moving a muscle, not wanting to give her any further indications of just how much I’m hurting.
“I’ll be fine,” I manage to mutter.
Clearing her throat, she says softly, “If you want to buy me out of the partnership, I’ll understand.”
The thought of never seeing Emma, completely losing her, has me turning quickly to face her.
“I told you I’ll be fine,” I reply in forced detached coldness.
But those eyes of hers search mine and I know she knows the difference.
Silence descends again between us, and then I’m the one who has to look away first as I turn abruptly back to pretending I’m counting bottles of wine.
Because I was about to break, and I didn’t need anyone to see me for who I truly am.
Someone that is broken.
“Eric…I care about you and I’ve been worried about you these past weeks when you didn’t come around,” she softly murmurs from behind me. “Will you at least look at me again?” She pauses for a moment, and then when I don’t do as she asks, she continues softly with, “I want you to please look after yourself. If not for yourself, then for me.”
Again, silence descends as she waits for a response, but then, thankfully, she gives up and a few moments later I hear her leave.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace my arms against the wine racks and allow my head to hang in despair.
She just asked me to do the one thing that I can’t.
Even for her.