Chapter 3

3

He came back the next morning.

I got up half-asleep to drink some water and found him tidying the kitchen.

On the table sat a simple bowl of soup.

I stared for a second.

These past two years, the company had grown and he was run off his feet every day, with no time to cook at all.

Maybe the last few days had held too much unpleasantness, and he wanted to smooth things over.

"Eat something to warm your stomach. We'll go see how your wedding gown is coming along afterward."

I didn't refuse. There was still one part of the gown that needed altering.

My car had gone in for servicing, and if I took a cab, I'd have a ten-minute walk once we reached the mouth of the lane.

After cleaning up, we went down to the basement level. I walked straight to his car and pulled open the passenger door.

Only to find Adela Henson lying there under his coat, eyes closed, her face a little pale.

Emmet James lowered his voice.

"The doctor said she can't be left alone."

"I figured it was no trouble, so I brought her out to get some fresh air."

"You sit in the back."

I drew a breath and got into the back seat.

Out of habit I rolled the window down, and he turned to look at me.

"Don't. Adela can't be in a draft."

Then he took out his personal thermos, unscrewed it, blew on it, and woke Adela to take her medicine.

Every bit of it tender beyond words.

My palm tightened, inch by inch. The car wasn't small, and yet I felt like I couldn't sit still.

Beyond his demands about how he lived, Emmet was also a germophobe.

He never shared utensils or a cup with anyone.

If there were no serving chopsticks at a meal, he'd turn and leave on the spot.

All these years, I had carefully obeyed his rules and never once stepped out of line.

"Fine."

I took a mask out of my bag, put it on, and closed my eyes.

At the studio, I opened the door and went straight to the materials room.

When I came out, the dress form in the very center stood empty.

The gown that had been on it was now on the table, and Adela was cutting into it.

I rushed over, snatched the scissors from her hand, and shoved her hard.

"Who told you to touch my things?"

She stumbled back, hit the corner of the table, and a vase shattered on the floor, cutting her calf.

"Mona, I didn't mean to."

"I just saw a wrinkle in the line there, that it wouldn't show off your waist when you wore it, so I wanted to help you fix it—"

"What gives you the right to fix anything of mine? Who do you think you are?"

Emmet, in the restroom, heard and came hurrying. He swept past me and went straight to steady Adela by the waist.

"Are you all right? Where are you hurt?"

Adela clutched his arm, sobbing, tears falling in big drops.

"Emmet, I really didn't mean any harm..."

"And don't blame Mona, she was just too angry."

Emmet's eyes fell on the blood welling on her calf, and his gaze wavered.

That look. I knew it too well.

The year we first moved in together, he was still an unknown, just starting out.

To save money, we rented the cheapest place in the old low-rent district.

The whole building faced away from the sun, the stairwell leaked, and the steps were always slick with moss.

Once the alarm clock died and I was late for work. I ran in a panic, my foot slipped, I fell, and tore my knee open, a hole of blood.

Back then he'd looked at my wound with this exact same expression.

The feeling in his eyes was that it hurt him to see it.

He smoothed the top of Adela's head, his voice soft.

"It's all right. No one blames you."

"Let me take you to the hospital first."

And with that, he bent down to carry her on his back.

I held out the piece of fabric she'd cut to pieces, my voice cold.

"Emmet, she ruined something of mine."

He frowned.

"Mona, it's not the set you're wearing for the wedding. You can just make it again later, can't you?"

I shook my head.

"It can't be made again."

His gaze swept the studio.

"Can you please stop making a scene? You're a wedding gown designer. If you can't make it, then quit and be done with it!"

I almost screamed it, my voice raw.

"This was my mom's coming-of-age gift to me. She made it with her own hands!"

Emmet saw the cut on my hand from the scissors and froze.

"Mona, your hand..."

Before he'd finished, Adela pushed away from him and ran out, sobbing.

The hand he'd reached toward me jerked back.

"I'll get someone to sew it back together, restore it as much as possible."

"Adela's in a fragile state. I have to go check on her."

That broad back slowly disappeared, and my heart broke apart with it, inch by inch.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. I clutched the gown, crouched on the floor, and wept out loud.