The Best is Yet to Come

Forty Six: Noah

Leaning over the sink, I splash cold water against my face, trying to cool down both my fevered skin and my temper. I knew it was only a matter of time before my brother came after me with accusations and job offers but I never expected him to throw Dad into the mix, too. Jackson was using our father's death to manipulate me into taking a job that would only make him more money. I couldn't fucking believe it.

I turn off the running water and reach for a hand towel, pressing the cool cloth against my forehead and neck. The mental dam I'd built to repress years worth of anger and guilt was finally starting to crack.

Of course the least qualified idiot possible had been the next in line for the Dean throne. But that only because I had practically voluntarily buried my father's faith and dreams into the grave with him. I've spent more than enough nights drowning in the guilt of how my admission of a different path must have pained my father. I knew he wanted to pass his legacy into the safety of my hands but none of us expected that time to come so soon. At the time, I'd assured myself that Jackson would be given proper training in time or that my father would find someone even better suited for the job than either of his sons.

It wasn't like my brother to admit any form of weakness. Things really must not be going well if even Jackson had the balls to admit that I could do the job better than him. I always had the sharper eye, infallible instincts and a better understanding of the market and property value. He knew it and so did our Father. Sure, he was more level headed and better with people, but he needed my brain and gut to help facilitate profitable business decisions. I bet he was scared the company would crumble without me, that he'd fuck up the generations worth of Dean legacy he now controlled.

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

My soul was being pulled apart by two very different but very real parts of myself: remorse for my father and his vision and hatred for the life he inevitably left behind. Before my father died, the only reason I refused my legacy was because of pure disinterest. Now, after seeing the way my family has behaved following my father's death, my hatred for "my destiny" was stabbing at my heart like knives. I want nothing to do with the company. Jackson could single handedly drain the family fortune and I wouldn't give a damn.

Wealth was the reason I was in this mess in the first place. Normal families grieved over a death in the family. Normal families shared memories, beared the pain that comes with losing a beloved father and husband together. They look to each other for support, relying on love to get them through hard times. My family hardly batted an eyelash, apart from myself and perhaps my mother, who definitely grieved her husband's death but still had no issue pushing me onto a career path I didn't want.

Gripping the edge of the sink like it was some kind of lifeline, I stare into the mirror, my own pained reflection looking back at me. And just like that I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself. With a deep breath, I straighten myself and adjust my tie and jacket before darting back to the gardens. There were more important things I should be doing, like getting back to the only thing that could help me escape my insufferable family drama.

I can't help but feel sorry for Emma, who clearly had enough on her plate before I piled on all my bullshit. I stride down the hall, relying on nothing but pure instinct and muscle memory to navigate my way back to the gardens. I barely saw the showcase of family portraits hung in a neat line down the length of the hallway. With my focus blurred, all I can think about is how badly I want to hold her, feel her warmth melt away the tension from my exhausted body and soul. My mind buzzes excitedly with images of her. Emma in the red gown from the dressing room, Emma smiling at me from across the dining table, Emma moaning my name against my lips. I dont think I've ever wanted to be near another person so badly. But what astonished me the most was that I didn't just want her body, I wanted her smile and her laugh. I wanted her love.

I impatiently scoot past the other dinner guests in my way, anxious to see Emma's smiling face waiting for me at the bar. But of course, when I finally enter the twinkling alcove, she's not there. Disappointed, I search through the throng of dancers on the floor, my gaze skirting the perimeter of the garden for a familiar sparkling brown-haired beauty.

Panic blooms in my chest when I realize she's gone. Did she leave? Was Jackson's interruption her last straw in this horrible fucking day? Relax. She probably just had to use the bathroom.

I turn on my heel and jog back into the house, trying to think of where else she might have gone. I whip open the door and nearly run head on into my mother.

"Oh!" she yelps, gripping my arms to steady herself.

"Sorry, Mom." I mumble, checking to make sure she was set before releasing her, intent on my target down the hall.

"Noah, wait a moment." My mother pulls on my elbow, her brows pushed together, deepening the familiar disappointed wrinkles on her face. "What's wrong, dear."

My eyes slit in suspicion, "What makes you think something's wrong?" That was a dumb question. I can only imagine what I must have looked like blundering through the door like that.

"You're my son, Noah, I can see it on your face. What is it?" Understanding dawns on her face, "Did you talk to Jackson?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, "I don't really want to talk about it right now," I breath impatiently. "Have you seen Emma?"

My mother smooths her dress and pats her hair, no doubt checking to make sure she still looked like a Dean. "No, I haven't. I assumed she was still with you."

I look over my mother's head to scan the living room. Several guests sit chatting on the cream sofas. No sign of an awkward or lost individual stick out to me. I open my mouth to excuse myself until I practically hear my mother's lips twist into smirk below me.

"What is it, dear? Did you two have an argument?" she drawls, I can't help but scoff at how far from the truth she was.

"Hardly." I turn to smile confidently at her, "Emma and I, what we have is... it's something else. She makes me happy. So, I'd appreciate your effort to be a bit nicer to her."

I half laugh at her blanched face and watch her swallow before I give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Relax, Mom. Give her a chance and I promise you'll love her."

My mother never cared for any of my romantic pursuits throughout the years, except maybe Alice, I think with a scowl, but she was going to have to get over her distaste for Emma. I plan on keeping her around for a while. A long while...

Probably forever, whispers a small voice, and I bite back a flushed smile as I dart across the room and knock on the bathroom door.

My heart blooms with hope when the door cracks open and promptly deflates when I recognize the black haired demon in front of me. When will I catch a fucking break??

"Well, hello there." Alice smiles and cocks a manicured brow. She reeks of Chanel and malice. "Hoping to corner me in the bathroom?" she purrs seductively.

"Don't start with me." I growl. She was reminding me of our shared memories of that particular bathroom on purpose. They felt like memories of a different life rather than a handful of years ago. Alice's knowing smirk pushes me over the edge. I've officially reached my quota of shit for the day and turn to leave, reaching into my pocket for my phone. I desperately hope Emma has her cell with her. Before I switch into a full blown panic, I have to consider that she may have just gotten lost while exploring the rest of the house.

Alice's cold voice stops me in my tracks, her words shooting ice onto my fevered skin, "If you're looking for your newest toy, I saw her leave in a cab about twenty minutes ago. I don't know what you did but congratulations, it appears you've successfully scared another one away."