Page 66 of Miles Apart
I chuckle at Carter, who’s huffing and puffing in the corner. For someone who had so much to say in Zo’s office, he’s very quiet.
My phone chimes with a message from Emma.
Emma
I appreciate you coming and I’m sorry I was distant.
Our eyes meet. I type out a response.
No apology necessary for taking time if that’s what you needed. I’m here for you, Em. No one else. Let me in next time so I know what I’m walking into.
Emma
I’ll work on it.
I smirk. Stubborn ass.
You better. Now bring your fine ass over here for a kiss. Gotta keep up appearances.
Chapter 30
Emma
Turns out the regional business council was only the first stop on tonight’s tour. Everyone is so far up each other’s ass, it’s a miracle they’re still breathing. At eight, we leave the ballroom for a private spot on the patio of an Italian restaurant. It’s the kind you’d go to on a date, not to cozy up to donors. Each table seats six, and Miles and I are with my parents, Carter, and Blair. Lorenzo had the sense to leave before we got here, and more power to him.
At least forty of us are squeezed together at round tables. We’re under outdoor lights hanging from the pergola. Servers keep grazing Miles’s head with their ass every time they twist to move between tables. I was cracking up until he threatened to switch seats, which shut me right up.
My breath caught when I saw Miles tonight. Men in suits are nothing new, but my thighs threatened a fire rubbing together at his BDE in a black suit and matching dress shirt.
I tried to put distance between us today, but he charged through it and called me out. It was the right thing to do at the time, or so I thought. In our week together, Miles grew froman acquaintance to a true friend. Not reaching out today wasted what little time we have together. I like texting him just because, and I find myself wanting to reach out more throughout the day to ask about his. It’s weird to think we were at each other’s throats for so many years. I’ve enjoyed our time together thus far, but I’m not rushing to shout it from a rooftop.
Miles’s groan mimics a growl when another server bumps his chair. “Don’t start,” he says with a stony expression. But there’s no heat behind it, and, sure enough, it morphs into a grin at the laughter I’m fighting to keep behind the napkin over my mouth.
His gaze turns serious, cascading from my eyes to my lips. “You’re beautiful,” he says, just for me to hear.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
We don’t break our stare until my mother clears her throat.
“Colette’s daughter is expecting,” she announces across the table before cutting into an olive she could have popped into her mouth whole. “She invited us to Diana’s shower.”
“Diana and I haven’t spoken in years, Mother.” A fact she already knows. “With the new collection, work is too busy for me to leave right now.” Could I squeeze in the trip? If I wanted to. Will I? Of course not.
“Maybe if you focused more on meaningful relationships and not your job, you’d have a husband and a child,” my mother retorts. “She’s on her third, building a legacy, while you’re”—her face scrunches—“playing with fabrics.”
A muscle in Miles’s jaw ticks. His eyes soften to assess me, then darken at my okay. He glances at my father, whose attention is elsewhere, as usual. The fact that he arrived late Wednesday and this is the first time we’ve seen each other should sting more than it does. Maybe I’m finally numb to it after all of these years.
“Thosefabricsare part of a multimillion-dollar brand I helped build. I don’t need a husband, and I don’t want kids.Mylegacy will live on just fine.”
I never wanted children. I always saw myself as the fun aunt who’d drop in, inject my friends’ children with sugar, and leave. I enjoy my freedom and won’t let anyone guilt me into feeling unfulfilled or incomplete for choosing not to procreate or raise a child. Parenting comes in many forms, and it isn’t a milestone or a box to check off by a certain age. It’s a calling I never felt in my life.
If my mother paid attention to the needs I expressed and not the demands she wants to impose, she’d know that. Instead, she shifts her attention to Miles, whom she already insulted with her dig about “meaningful relationships.”
Her violet evening gown sparkles under the canopy of twinkling lights. My mother is a beautiful woman with an ugly heart. “You’ll have to forgive us, Miles. We’re not used to Emma keeping a companion for longer than a month. She rarely commits to anything.”
“I think she made it clear where her priorities are.” Miles straightens and reaches for my hand. His thumb rolls over my knuckles. “My mother loves me unconditionally, so you’ll have to forgiveme. I’m not used to this.”
Our corner of the room stills. Every other table carries on as the antipasto hits the white linen, unaware of the gauntlet Miles dropped. No one, not even my father, who found yet another reason to scurry away, has put my mother in her place. Carter, of all people, lifts his head from his phone to check if Miles still had his head on his shoulders. Blair is a fawn caught in headlights, unsure if it’s safe to blink without permission.
