Page 107 of Not Part of the Plan
“I can’t stay here like this, Niko.”
His hands stilled for a moment before beginning their soothing path up and down her back. “How about I take you back to my place?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you to leave. This is a big night for you. I’d feel like the worst human being in the world if I dragged you away.”
“You’re what’s important to me,” he argued.
“I’ll take a cab,” she offered.
“I’ll call you a car if you promise you’ll be there when I get home tonight.”
She nodded, still not sure that she was telling the truth. All Emma knew was she needed to be alone, needed to think. Niko didn’t follow her rules.
He reached into his pocket and dialed the car service.
“I’m going to wait with you out front until the car comes for you.” He left no room for argument.
“I’m sorry, Niko,” Emma whispered. She wished she could be what he wanted, wished that she could love him and worry about the rest later.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, stroking a hand through her hair. “I’ve got you.”
The car arrived mercifully fast, and Emma slid into the backseat, once again promising she’d be there when he got home, once again not knowing if she was lying or not.
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She slept, fitfully, in Niko’s bed, barely registering when he crawled in next to her. In her sleep, she had no issues with snuggling up to him, resting her head on his chest and throwing her leg over his. In her sleep, she knew she was safe with him.
Nikolai woke in stages, the low-grade headache that usually followed an event was present and nagging. Last night came back to him in a flood of color and feelings. The show, his father and Greta, Emma.Emma.He hadn’t expected it to go perfectly. He’d known a declaration of love would throw her. But he hadn’t quite anticipated the abject panic he found in her eyes. That had stung.
He wasn’t about to let that stop him from chipping away at her resolve. Obviously she had trust issues, had earned the right to be cautious. But he had found the woman he loved, and he wasn’t going to let her get in their way.
He rolled to take her in his arms, to reassure them both, and found the bed empty. Her bag was missing. His feet hit the floor, and he prowled naked into the living room, scouring his place for evidence of Emma. She was gone. And in her place she’d left a politely apologetic note for him on his table.
She needed time and space to think, the note said, and she hoped he would understand. He crumpled the paper in one hand and flung it in the direction of his trashcan.
He grabbed his phone, checked his messages. Amara had left him about a dozen texts and voicemails demanding he call her back, but there was nothing from Emma. He resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room.
Emmaline Merill was about to learn an important lesson about pissing off a temperamental artist.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Emma tried to bury herself in work at the brewery. Saturdays were busy days, and there was plenty to do, but she kept catching herself freezing and staring off into space. There was a constant feeling of dread that had settled into the pit of her stomach. Her staff had read her mood and was avoiding her like the plague. She’d actually seen Shane, her always positive dishwasher, duck into the supply closet when he saw her coming and felt relieved that at least that was one conversation she wouldn’t need to have.
This was supposed to be home. Yet she felt like an alien exploring a new planet. Everything was wrong, and she wasn’t sure she could blame Niko for it.
The Pierce brothers had shown up to do some brewing and had taken one look at her before retreating to the first level. She knew they’d texted their wives when Summer, Gia, and Joey showed up at the bar with sympathetic eyes. Well Summer and Gia looked sympathetic. Joey just looked bored.
Emma stepped behind the bar, needing to put the physical barrier between them.
“I’d ask what brings you three out on a Saturday afternoon, but I have a feeling it’s your big-mouthed husbands.”
“Why are you back early?” Gia demanded. “You’re still supposed to be in the city.”
Summer crossed her arms. “Where’s Niko?”
“Can I have a menu?” Joey asked, squinting at the beer taps.
Emma, in an immature display of temper, slammed a menu down on the bar in front of Joey. “I came back early because I was ambushed. Niko is where he belongs—in New York. And we have a wing special for the afternoon happy hour. Happy?” she snapped.
