Exposed

Chapter Eight

Laying a stack of pillows onto the couch, I look around the apartment with unease. A downpour of snow is now raging outside which left me no choice, but to invite my house guests to stay the night. I may be blazing angry with the lot of them, but I wouldn't go as far as to wish sudden death. Veronica is in one room, my parents in the other.

Danny can take the fucking couch.

He just disappeared into my parent's guest room to show off pictures of Hawaii to Dad. Matteo's already in our room, probably packing whatever he has to get the hell out of here. Picking up an empty mug off the coffee table, I walk it over to the kitchen, setting it into the sink.

"Emma."

My mom is at the edge of the island, dressed in pajamas I gave her. "What?"

"I know you're mad at me."

"Mad doesn't come close to how I feel about you right now."

"We judged him... maybe sooner than we should have. Sooner than I should have."

I turn, throwing up my arms, defeated. "That man, the one who said goodnight to you, thanking you for that god-awful gift you gave him, spent his first Christmas in over ten years keeping his mouth shut, taking all your insults without so much as a snide comment, just because he wanted to get to know my family. He wanted to make me happy!" I glance to the hallway, lowering my own voice. "Do you have any idea how hard this was for him today?"

"I don't know who he is, Emma. You haven't told us."

"That doesn't give you the right to act like you're better than him. He's been through a lot, shit you couldn't even think of."

"I said I was sorry, Emma!"

"I don't care," I snap. "You all should be ashamed." I shake my head, chuckling. "Whether or not you choose to accept him is your choice. Pushing him away will push me away."

I don't give her time to react, although I'm sure an onslaught of words were about to come my way. I've never raised my voice to my mother like that, ever. I close myself into my bedroom, clearing all the anger from my face before Matteo can notice. Matteo is brushing his teeth at the sink, dressed down to only a pair of sweats. I walk to the dresser, fishing the necklace from the box, clasping it around my neck.

My throat has been tight all night so when I'm at liberty to take my first real breath, I also release the emotions I'd been holding all at once. They come out in the form of tears. I press my hands to my face, shaking my head, trying desperately to stop. I swipe under my eyes quickly when I hear him entering the bedroom and begin to move things around on the vanity, just to do something. A perceptive man, he knows what I'm trying to hide. He rests his hand on my shoulder.

Rising out of the bench, I walk into him and press my face to his chest as his arms come around me. "I'm so embarrassed."

"It's alright, Em."

I shut my eyes tight. "No, it's not. I can't believe they were so horrible to you. Please tell me you threw out that book."

"No," he says, chuckling softly.

"You should."

"Well, I probably won't read it, but I'm not going to throw it out," he states, amused. "Don't cry."

I shake my head, squeezing him tighter. "I just wanted this to be perfect."

"I know you did," he whispers, rubbing his hand over my back.

"Can you just be mad? Please? Just yell? I'm not used to this calm version of you yet."

"You want me to be mad? On Christmas?" he pulls back, running a hand over my hair.