I swallow as her question runs around in my mind. What is going on? In days, we've gone from hating each other to... whatever this is. Every careful wall I built crumbling under the weight of memories and new moments and feelings I can't control.
"Your feelings for him have returned, haven't they?"
I stare into my coffee, watching the light play across its surface. "I don't think they ever left." The words come out barely above a whisper. "God, Em, I'm so stupid."
And suddenly it's all spilling out, like a dam breaking. "I tried so hard not to feel anything. To keep him at arm's length. But he just..." My hands clench around the mug. "He makes me feel everything. When we talk, it's like no time has passed. All the wonderful memories come rushing back—the garden, the roses, the way he used to look at me like I was his whole world."
Emma stays quiet, letting me ramble. The words keep coming, desperate and raw.
"And yesterday, I did something really stupid." Heat floods my cheeks. "We were going through Gran's diaries, and there was this moment... and we just..."
Emma's eyebrows rise. "Isabella Jenkins, did you sleep with him?"
"Yes." The word comes out as a mortified whisper. "God, Emma, what was I thinking?"
Instead of the lecture I expect, Emma just grins. "Was it good?"
"Emma!" But a laugh bubbles up, half hysteric. "It was..." I close my eyes, remembering his hands, his lips, the way he whispered my name. "Magic. It was absolute magic."
The smile fades as reality crashes back. "What have I done, Em?" My voice cracks. "Everything I've worked for, everything I've built—it's all falling apart. And the worst part?" I meet her eyes, feeling tears build. "Even knowing what happened at the gallery, even knowing his parents will never stop trying to destroy me... I still want him. How messed up is that?"
Emma sets down her mug and pulls me into a hug. "Oh honey, the heart wants what it wants. Even when our brain is screaming that it's a terrible idea."
"But look at my life." The words come out muffled against her shoulder. "The moment our paths cross again, my life turns upside down."
My head spins with Emma's words, emotions churning like a storm. She must see it on my face because suddenly she grins.
"I know exactly what you need." She springs up, heading to my kitchen. I watch as she rummages through cabinets and the refrigerator, making triumphant sounds as she gathers ingredients.
"Time to do what I do best when stressed." She lines up flour, sugar, eggs, and chocolate chips on the counter. "Therapy baking."
A smile tugs at my lips. My gaze drifts to my art supplies in the corner, but the sight makes me shiver. Not now. Not when all I can see is destruction painted in black and red.
I move to the kitchen, grateful for the distraction.
"Remember that time you found me pelting Nick with eggs?" Emma measures flour with practiced ease.
A laugh bubbles up. "Oh god, when you thought he slept with someone while dating you?"
Emma blushes, groaning. "That first egg hitting him square in the chest? The look on his face was priceless. Maybe you should invite Ares over." She bumps my hip with hers. "Very liberating, I can tell you."
"I'd rather save the eggs for other family members." My voice turns hard. "Fucking rotten ones, by the truckload."
"Count me in." Emma hands me chocolate chips to measure. "So... tell me about before. About you and Ares when you were young."
The question should hurt, but somehow, with my hands busy and Emma's steady presence beside me, it feels okay to remember.
The words come easier than expected. "After my parents died, I moved to live with Gran on the Saint estate... he was just there, you know? This quiet, kind boy who understood loss in his own way."
Emma cracks eggs into the bowl, listening.
"Our friendship developed so naturally. And it became everything. He'd sneak me into the library after dark, show me all his favorite hiding spots." A smile touches my lips despite everything. "We'd spend hours in the rose garden, just talking. About everything and nothing. Later, I'd draw there and he would sit beside me and watch."
"And his parents..." Emma prompts gently.
"God, it's hard to believe such a kind boy came from them." I shake my head, measuring vanilla. "Everything was about power and status. His father was always away working, and his mother, Olivia, she only tolerated me because Gran was such a loyal employee."
My throat tightens. "Gran worked so hard, Em. Not just cleaning—she helped in the kitchen, the garden, anywhere they needed her. And for what?" Anger burns hot. "To be accused of theft and blacklisted from every decent job in Boston?"
