I stepped out of the room and joined Lillian. We left the ICU and took the elevator to the cafeteria on the first level.
“I still can’t believe Emma hasn’t told me about you,” Lillian said, smiling like it pleased her that I “dated” her daughter.
The elevator dinged when we got to the first level, and the doors slid open. I gestured for Lillian to go first. She stepped out, and I followed.
In the cafeteria, one person sat alone at a table, eating. I followed Emma’s mother to the cashier to place our order. I wasn’t hungry because I was so worried about my mate. Every time I ate, it always tasted like ash. But I couldn’t tell Lillian no when she dragged me to eat. She was persistent—just like her daughter—and wouldn’t leave me alone. We ordered our food and sat down at an empty table with our plates.
“I’m curious about something,” I said.
Lillian glanced at me with her eyebrows bunched. “About what?”
“Emma told me that you and her dad separated when she was younger. I’m assuming you two divorced.” Lillian’s shoulders tensed, and her usual cheerful smile slipped. “Why were you with her father when he had a heart attack?”
Lillian shifted in her seat, clearly made uncomfortable by my question. She refused to look me in the eye, as if she were nervous. “I guess the cat is out of the bag,” she mumbled. She turned her gaze to me and sat up straighter. “We’ve been...dating. Please don’t tell Emma when she wakes up. I’d rather tell her myself. But for the last few months, her father and I have been seeing each other and reconnecting.”
I leaned my elbow on the table and rested my chin on my thumb while pressing my index finger’s knuckle against my mouth. That made sense now why she knew Emma’s dad had a heart attack.
Lillian sighed in relief and picked up her utensils. She gave me a beaming smile, which again reminded me so much of Emma. “I feel better now that I told someone.”
“Mm.” I looked away from her and stared at the wall while I got lost in my thoughts about Emma and her childhood. She hadn’t told me much other than mentioning a suicide attempt when she was younger and how her parents were wealthy. I assumed it was her father that had the money.
“Do you plan on marrying my daughter?” Lillian asked as she cut into her chicken-fried steak.
I blinked and turned my gaze to her. I couldn’t tell her that what Emma and I had went deeper than marriage. Over my long life, I’d heard about girls dreaming about getting married, having a house, a white picket fence, and two children, with one on the way. Apparently that was every woman’s dream, but I didn’t know if that was Emma’s.
Did she want to get married? Did she want children? I had once thought about knocking her up and didn’t attempt to be careful while I fucked her. We never used protection, and she never mentioned anything about it.
My demon slowly smiled, which was more feral than amused. I didn’t know why he grinned, but didn’t bother to ask.
He cackled.“She’ll have our child.”
“Dimitri?”
I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts, and said, “Does she want marriage?”
Lillian bunched her eyebrows together and frowned. “You don’t?”
“Answer the question, Lillian.”
She sighed, dropped her gaze to her plate, and cut off another piece of her steak. “She wanted it when she was younger, but then stopped caring. That was around the time when she became depressed and acted differently. Emma withdrew from everyone and everything.”
Emma had said she had schizophrenia symptoms when she was a teen. I assumed she didn’t have as many as she did now, but enough that it frightened her.
We ate in silence. I had to force the food down my throat when I had no appetite. I wanted to return to Emma’s side and be there when she woke up.
After we finished, we went back to the ICU. I allowed Lillian to visit Emma, and when she was done, we said our goodbyes. Stepping back into the room, I found Emma still sleeping where I last left her. I sat on the leather chair and placed my computer on my lap. My chest tightened as I kept glancing at Emma. Something kept drawing my attention to her. Each time, I expected her eyes to flutter open.
For thirty minutes, I did this, then I glared at my laptop as I typed an email.
Soft groans and gagging coughs had me whipping my gaze to Emma. Her eyes fluttered open, then squeezed shut as she rocked with muffled gags.
“Emma!”
“Emma!” a man shouted.
I gagged on whatever was in my throat. Grabbing onto the plastic thing, I tugged at it, but someone’s hands swiped mine away. My shoulders lifted off the mattress I lay on as I rocked with gags and coughs.
“She’s awake,” a woman said. Her voice sounded far away. “We’re removing the tube right now, Emma. Try to remain as calm as you can.” She sounded closer, and a cool hand touched my cheek.
