Chapter 8 - What People Protect
The new routine held for nearly a month.
Emma’s hours stabilized. Robert’s strength returned in slow increments. Lily’s grades stayed high. The visits with Isabella became something Emma looked forward to rather than something she fitted around exhaustion.
Then Victoria Langford appeared at one of the events Emma was coordinating.
It was a mid-sized charity dinner at a property overlooking the river. Emma was checking place settings when she heard the familiar voice.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Victoria stood a few feet away, dressed in something dark and expensive. Her smile was perfect.
Emma kept her voice level. “I’m working.”
“So I see. Vincent has always had a soft spot for strays.”
Emma did not answer. She moved to the next table.
Victoria followed at a polite distance. “You should know that people talk. About how often you visit the house. About what you might be hoping for.”
Emma set down a napkin. “I’m not hoping for anything from him.”
“Of course you’re not.” Victoria’s tone remained pleasant. “But perception matters more than intention in these circles. And perception can be shaped.”
Emma turned to face her fully. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Victoria’s smile did not change. “Only that some doors close permanently when the wrong people walk through them. You’ve already lost one job. It would be a shame to lose another.”
A server approached with a question about wine service. Emma used the interruption to step away. When she looked back, Victoria was gone.
That night Emma told Vincent about the encounter. They were standing in the hallway of the Moretti house after her visit with Isabella. Vincent’s expression did not change, but the air around him seemed to cool.
“She will keep testing,” he said. “She believes she still has leverage because of old connections between our families.”
“Does she?”
“Some. Not as much as she thinks.” He looked at Emma. “Are you all right?”
The question was simple. It should not have landed the way it did.
“Yes,” Emma said. Then, more honestly, “Mostly.”
Vincent nodded. “If she approaches you again at a work event, tell Thomas immediately. We will adjust the staffing.”
Emma almost said she could handle it herself. The words stayed in her throat.
Instead she said, “Thank you.”
In the car on the way home—Thomas had insisted on the less visible transportation—Emma stared out the window and tried to understand the shape of the thing growing between her and Vincent Moretti. It was not a romance novel. It was not a rescue. It was two people who kept choosing to remain in the same rooms for reasons that were becoming harder to explain as purely practical.
May you like
She was not sure what to do with that knowledge.
