When I Was Theirs

44. Emmy

44

Emmy

J ared works beside me in silence. Angelo stands beside him, pointing out the many errors in his shoddy paper bouquet. He refused to trust him with real flowers. “Not that way. No. That way is worse.”

I think he’s trying to nudge me into a smile, into commenting, but I have no words inside to give.

If I open my mouth, I might scream.

Or cry.

He found me.

My work isn’t much better than Jared’s, the blooms crushed and stems snapping under my unsteady fingers, but Angelo only nods. “Good.”

He glances at the clock. I keep my head down.

I don’t want to leave.

“Emmy,” he says. His voice is soft. “Your shift is done. I will take over now.”

It was done an hour ago, and we both know it.

“I’ll finish this.” I reach for another pale pink rose, ignoring the thorns pricking at my fingers.

Because once I leave, I need to work out a plan.

“You’re bleeding.” I blink, lowering my head to look at where the thorns have punctured my skin. Drops of bright red blood well up and drip onto the paper underneath. Warm fingers wrap around mine. “Emilia.”

Jared.

I have to explain. My legs start to shake again.

I know how this goes.

He’s not like that. You can trust him.

Because I do. I trust Jared Bennett not to walk away when I tell him my story. Not to look at me as though I’m crazy. Not to suggest therapy, or a short break away.

I need him to trust me.

I wet my lips. “I need you to believe me, Jared.”

I don’t voice the rest.

Don’t let me down.

Don’t walk away from me.

But he studies my face, and I focus on the amber in his eyes. “I’ll believe you.”