Page 2 of The Photograph

I wrapped my hands around her shoulders. “Why? You’re going to miss our little Californian pocket of Heaven that much?”

Her forced smile broke my heart. “Or is it because you’ll worry about me while you’re away?”

Taking her stubborn silence for the yes she wouldn’t say, I touched my forehead to hers and held her hands. “You have to go, my Cara. And cut the umbilical cord someday.”

When she shook her head, a curl escaped to brush her cheek. “But, what if—”

I framed her face so similar to mine. “You have to go and trust me. It’s the twenty-first century, we’ll never be that far from each other anyway, so trust me and go, okay?”

She locked her eyes onto mine. “Are you sure?”

Yes. Go, do something for yourself for once.I nodded with a grin.

“Because if it’s—”

“I’m sure, my Cara.”

We hugged and jumped around like demented harpies—if harpies were happy beings—and jumped some more before opening a bottle of Champagne we had with a to-die-for raspberry and white chocolate soufflé.

The first weeks, we’ve tried to Facetime as often as possible, but after a month of missed calls and startling calls in the middle of the night, we decided she’d send me postcards of all the places she travels to with the name and picture of her favorite dish from that place. She’s been keeping her part of the bargain with an almost religious zeal and even from thousands of miles away, I feel her love.

Emma’s heels on the wooden floor announce her return. “Thanks, babe, you’re spoiling us.”

I take a deep breath to loosen the tightness in my chest. “I’m spoiling Sam. You, I just feed because I can’t pay you.”Not what you deserve, anyway.

She slants her hip on my desk, the cute way she does, and narrows her blue eyes.

“Babe, stop it. Sam and I are fine. More than fine. We’re back at my mom’s while I finish my masters. Thanks to you, I have valid work experience on my resume and free rein to work on the color and texture software I’m developing. Mom is helping with babysitting Sam and they’re both loving it. Between you and her, I can actually save a little bit of money while knowing my daughter is in safe hands.”

When I smile, she winks before walking back to her desk.

Later, bent over my sketch table, I trace the lines of the dining room for…

“Hello?”

Jesus! My body seizes. My heart drops while my pencil clatters on the paper. I wheel toward the arched entrance where a short, well-dressed man stands ramrod straight. He sets narrowed eyes and pinched lips at me.Where’s Emma?

I brush the skirt of my dress as I approach him and extend my hand. “Good morning, I’m Aelin. How can I help you?”

His fingertips brush nonexistent lint from the lapel of his impeccably cut maroon suit, and I lower my hand he ignores to hold my wrist behind my back.Jerk but possible customer. And I could really use more of those.

He puffs his chest and flicks away more invisible fluff from his sleeve before he clears his throat. His voice is surprisingly high. “Ms. Thorne, I’m here to deliver a proposition.”

Just as I’m about to ask the man with no name to explain himself, Emma walks in, with her cellphone in the palm of her hand while she makes smooching noises to her caller. She stops abruptly before us, sweeps her blonde curls over her shoulder, and turns to him.

Beaming at the snobby messenger, she steps beside him. “Hi, good morning, so sorry to have missed you. I’m Emma. Can I offer you some coffee or water?”

When, like many before him, the obnoxious little man shuffles on his feet while he grins beatifically at Em, I cough to cover my chuckle. As she leads him to the chair across my desk, she rolls her eyes while I sit and pinch my lips around my smile.If she could bottle what we call the Connors magic, Emma would be a multimillionaire.

She smiles at the man. “I’ll be right back with coffee. Let me guess. Black, one sugar?”

The nameless messenger pulls his lips from his teeth and nods. “Yes. How did you…?”

She’s already gone.

Right, maybe now he’ll talk to me like I’m a human being.I lean in. “You have a proposition for me?”

He clears his throat, again, and squares his shoulders. “Yes. Yes, pardon me. It’s more like an invitation. You’ve been recommended to my employer, and we would like you to submit your designs before our panel for a project which must remain confidential.”

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