The Proposal (The Proposition #2)(4)
She ducked her head, staring down at her Bingo card like it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. “I’d rather not,” she whispered.
“Look, Em, I’m sure you’re already experiencing the intense love a parent can have for their child. Aidan is my son, and I love him with all my heart.” When she jerked her head up to glare at him, he held up both his hands in surrender. “But that doesn’t mean I condone what he did to you. Trust me, I wanted to inflict bodily harm on him.” An amused glint twinkled in his dark eyes. “Well, I sort of did.”
Emma gasped. “What did you do?”
He chuckled. “Trust me, it was nothing that he didn’t deserve, or that my seventy-two year old ass could actually dish out!”
“You’re terrible!” Emma replied, but she couldn’t help giggling.
Patrick took his hand in hers. “I just want you to know I’m Switzerland in all this, okay? I love you and my grandchild, just like I do Aidan.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She squeezed his hand. “And I hope you know I would never ask you to take sides or try to keep you away from the baby because of what happened with Aidan.”
“I know that, sweetheart. From the first day I met you, I knew what kind of girl you are, and there isn’t a malicious bone in your body.” He paused and shook his head. “But if I don’t say what’s in my heart, I’m going to explode.”
Gnawing one of her already frayed fingernails, Emma held her breath, bracing herself for what Patrick had to say.
“I’m extremely worried about Aidan. It’s been three weeks, and he’s miserable, Emma. He doesn’t sleep, and he barely eats.”
The spiteful, vindictive side of her relished in the thoughts of Aidan’s suffering. She gave Patrick a skeptical look. “I seriously doubt that. He’s probably just vying for your sympathy and trying to turn you against me.”
“No, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He’s been staying with me because he can’t stand being alone.”
Emma widened her eyes as her heart clenched in agony for Aidan. Although a very large part of her delighted in the thought of him hurting as badly as she was, another part of her pitied him. As much as she wanted to despise him, she couldn’t. Every moment of the past three weeks, she had tried to bury her feelings and embrace the fact Aidan would never be completely emotionally available. To let him back into her life would be to walk barefoot over the shards of her broken heart. He would cut her again—it was inevitable.
But from the depth of her soul, she still loved him. There was a part of her that feared she always would—just like a part of her still loved Travis. She hated herself for feeling that way.
“Can you honestly say that nothing he has done in the past few weeks has softened your heart to him?” Patrick asked.
A tortured sigh escaped her lips. When Becky had said Aidan would try to win her back, she hadn’t been kidding. Not even being forewarned could have prepared for the initial barrage of telephone calls, texts, and emails. He had even tried coming to her office, but she had asked the security guard to remove him. It had been quite a scene with Aidan scuffling with the guard to try to get to her. He had then been warned by her manager never to come on her floor again.
Then he switched tactics. Her house soon doubled for a florist’s with all the flowers he bought. Every bouquet and every dozen roses he sent had a separate card filled with his ramblings of remorse, how much he missed her, and how much he cared for her and the baby. Since there was still no profession of love, she gave him the silent treatment.
“Em?” Patrick questioned, jarring her out of her thoughts.
She twisted the hemline of her blouse in her fingers. “Don’t you know how hard it’s been with my feelings, coupled with my pregnancy hormones, to ignore him?”
“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed with his tenacity. Not even with Amy did he do something as heartfelt as that poetry book.”
Emma pinched her eyes shut. That damn book! It had almost shattered her resolve. When she had opened the wrapped package and found an antique edition of love poetry by the Romantics, she had wept uncontrollably for an hour. The sight of John Keats, Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron brought thoughts not only of his nephews, but the glaring fact he remembered she loved their poetry. And while it was a book filled with sentiments of love, he still hadn’t said the words himself. For Emma, that meant everything.
“I’m truly sorry he’s going through so much. But I’m hurting, too,” she finally said.
“I know you are, honey. But if I asked you just to talk to him for a few minutes, would you humor an old man?”
“Oh Patrick, don’t you see. I’m scared.”
“That he’ll…cheat again?”
She bobbed her head. “With Travis, I never had to worry about him being unfaithful. He was totally devoted from the time we first started dating. I haven’t dated a lot or been out in the world, so I don’t know how to be with someone like Aidan and keep my sanity.”
Patrick rubbed his chin. Emma could tell there was something he wasn’t saying—something that held a piece of Aidan’s puzzle. “I don’t like to beg, but would you just consider sitting down with him and trying to hear him out? I know it would mean the world to him, and I think it would mean a lot to you, too.”