My Professor(52)

“Do you know why he said that at first?” she asks weakly. When I don’t pick up her trail of thought, she continues, “The comment about me being the whore’s daughter? It makes no sense considering Emmett didn’t know about my mother’s affair until tonight…until after he said that.”

I sigh, knowing full well it’s not my place to divulge what Emmett has shared with me, but I owe it to Emelia, especially after what she just endured.

“He’s under the impression that your mother played a part in breaking up his parents’ marriage.”

She whips her gaze to me, sitting up straighter.

“No. That didn’t happen. My mother met Frédéric while she was at university, after he was divorced.” She shakes her head vehemently. “My mother would have said something if—”

“Would she have?”

She’s struck silent by my question, and then she shakes her head again, slower now as a fresh tear rolls down her cheek. “Well, never mind. It doesn’t matter now, does it? She’s dead. I can’t very well ask her the truth. I can only assume the best of her, and while she might have cheated on Frédéric and gotten pregnant with me, I don’t believe she played the part of a mistress twice. I don’t believe she had it in her.”

She’s right that it doesn’t matter.

She’s better off not knowing the truth.

“So Frédéric is not your father.”

“No.” Her tone is almost harsh. “He claimed me to save face and to keep the scandal of the affair quiet. I’ve never met him.”

“And your real father? Who is he? Where is he?”

“Oh, who knows. Living in France somewhere? I don’t even know his last name.”

She doesn’t sound the least bit concerned with him.

“You don’t have any interest in finding him?”

“None.”

It’s a nail in a coffin, that word.

I sigh, realizing now that Emelia is more alone than I thought, adrift in this city. And Emmett just rubbed salt in that wound.

“What happened just now is unacceptable. What Emmett said…”

“I know my mother was kind and loving. He doesn’t get to speak about her. His words mean nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

My apology doesn’t soothe her. She sits up and shakes her head. “Listen, I’m almost home, just stop here and I’ll walk the rest of the way. You probably weren’t even going to leave back there. You went outside to get some air, and I completely…lost it.” She reaches down to the floorboard to get her purse. “Here, this is fine.”

“Emelia, I’m taking you home.”

“You need to get back to dinner.”

“I don’t give a damn about dinner.” My voice is nearly too brusque.

“And what about Miranda? Have you told her where you are? Who you’re with?” Her tone is biting.

“I don’t know why it should matter.”

She brought Miranda up to me once before, earlier, but I was distracted. Now, it seems obvious what she’s doing.

I look her dead in the eye as I deny her suspicions. “I’m not seeing her.”

“You have been.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“Is this what you want to talk about right now? After everything? You’re worried about Miranda?” I immediately regret how impatient I sound.

“I’ve seen pictures of you two together online. I know you’ve been seeing her, publicly, at least, and then yesterday she came to visit you at work. She disappeared into your office, and I imagined the worst, the two of you reuniting after weeks apart. Did you sleep with her?”

“Christ, Emelia.”

Quickly, she reaches for her door handle, and I grab ahold of her to keep her from doing something stupid and reckless. Fuck, she drives me insane.

“Miranda came to see me, yes. She surprised me. I didn’t even know she was in town—I certainly didn’t invite her to Boston. Emmett or Alexander must have, or who knows, she could be here for work. She asked me to bring her tonight, and I did. That’s it. We have not kissed or anything beyond that in months. We are not together.”

Emelia gentles, tipping her head back against her seat and letting her hands go limp in mine. I let go of her, and she goes back to her earlier position with her arms wrapped around her stomach like a defenseless animal.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is faint again. “It’s been a long week. I’m…I feel like I’m not acting like myself.”

That makes two of us.

I pull up outside her building and cut the engine.

She unbuckles her seatbelt and looks over at me with big brown eyes rimmed with dark, thick lashes wet with tears.

“Tell me to keep my distance from you again, like you did before. Make this all go away.”

I will the words to come. They were so easy to say only a few weeks ago.

I part my lips, prepared to keep this train on the tracks, and then instead, I speak two words straight from my heart.

“I can’t.”

Emelia doesn’t look elated at my admission. She looks like she’s on the brink of tears again, bone-weary and in need of rest. She looks down and shakes her head.