Emery

What if...

I swallow hard, my heart fluttering in my chest. Why? Why is he being so resistant?

I stare into his eyes, my own gaze pleading for an answer. Why can't he just give in to the desire that I know is burning within him.
Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and genuine.

"I cannot cross this line," he says, his hand brushing against my cheek. "Not until you are mine."

I inhale sharply, my breath catching in my throat. I pull away, my hand slipping free from his grasp. "I'm not yours," I say, my voice hardening with resolve. "I cannot be yours."
We stand there, in the dimly lit library. I can see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between his desire for me and his respect for my wishes.

Finally, he nods, a resigned smile playing across his lips. "Very well," he says, taking a step back. 

The ride home is silent. Mabel and Priska exchange glances, clearly sensing that something has shifted. But I remain silent, my thoughts whirling around in my head like a storm.

Finally, we arrive home, the warmth of the fireplace welcoming us back. Priska and Mabel bid me goodnight and retire to their rooms, but Diane lingers, her eyes full of concern.

"Emmy?" she calls, her voice low and urgent. "Did something happen?" I hesitate, unsure how to answer Diane's question. But her sincerity, her genuine concern, draws the truth out of me. "He wants to be more than my client, Diane," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion. "He wants me to be his."

Diane's eyes soften. "And you? What do you want?"

I swallow hard, the words lodging in my throat like a stone. "I don't know," I say, my voice hardening.

Diane shakes her head, "Emmy, listen to me. You are more than your profession. You are intelligent, witty, beautiful, and any man would be lucky to have you."

I look away, ashamed by the moisture gathering in my eyes.
"Don't let your fears hold you back from something that could be so beautiful."

I look up at her. "Do you really think it could work, Diane?"

"He has shown you nothing but respect and admiration, Emmy," Diane says, her eyes shining with conviction. "You are more than a client to him. You are a woman he wants to cherish, to protect, to share his life with."

I shake my head, tears threatening to spill over. "It's too dangerous, Diane. What if he breaks my heart."

Diane takes my hands in hers, her grip warm and reassuring. "And what if he doesn't ?" I hate the fact that she is right...what if he doesn't?  

''Can we just stop talking about it.'' I say changing the topic. 

"Fine. Well, at least now you've got a good book to read." I can't help but laugh. "Oh, Diane, you know how to make me laugh even in the darkest moments."

"That's why they call me the Queen of Comedy," she says, giving  a theatrical bow.
"Nobody calls you that, shut up!"

After a long day, I finally retreat to my room, eager for the comfort of my bed. Before I allow myself to drift off to sleep, I grab my phone and open Instagram, searching for Theo's profile.

I find his account easily enough, his profile picture the most goofiest photo of himself. I scroll through his feed, my heart beating a little faster as I see photos of him at various events, concerts, art galleries. He's actually quite...normal. His smile always charming, his gaze always intense.

I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the 'Follow' button.
Finally, I give in to my curiosity, hitting the 'Follow' button. My heart skips a beat as I imagine him reading the notification, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Well, now you've done it," I mutter under my breath, sinking into my bed.

I close my eyes, my mind racing as I recall the night's events—Diane's advice, Theo's invitation, the ring...
My phone buzzes with a notification, jolting me out of my reverie. I reach for it, my breath catching as I see the notification from Instagram:

Theophilus Wallace followed you back.

I stare at the screen, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through me. Then, another notification pops up: a text message.

: I see you found my account. Does this mean you're giving us a chance? 😉

I smile, warmth spreading through me. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, considering my response. 

: maybe.

:Can  I pick you up tomorrow? It's just dinner Emery...

Indeed this man is not about to give up.

:fine. 6pm.

:GREAT!