The Affair: Week 8 - Never Let Go - Page 5

* * *

She had a strange prescience as she waited on the plane later that morning that she wasn’t going to see him anytime soon. Sure enough, her phone rang at a little after ten o’clock and she saw it was Vanni.

“Hi,” she said, staring out the window of the luxurious private plane. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s worse than I thought,” Vanni admitted. “The insurance adjustor won’t be here for an hour still, and the fire inspector is still trying to figure out the cause and assess any structural damage. We’re also trying to figure out what parts we need to order to get things up and running as soon as possible. Marco can’t stretch things out any longer with the tower. I told him to go ahead and take off and get you home. I’ll follow you as soon as I can.”

“Of course. I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry about the fire.”

“Crap happens,” he said grimly.

Emma smiled sadly. “I guess our little jaunt into paradise is at an end.”

“Our time together isn’t done just because of an accidental fire. Call me as soon as you reach Chicago?”

She assured him she would. He was right. There was every reason to anticipate more hours in his arms and by his side in the days and nights to come. They had time left.

Still, she hated the idea of flying away from that golden, azure coastline where she’d known paradise with him.

* * *

On Tuesday morning, she was leaving a patient’s house in Lake Forest, when she saw that Vanni had called. They had spoken both when she’d gotten home and last night, when Vanni had wearily told her he would be returning to Kenilworth most likely this evening. Before she even got into her car, she eagerly listened to the message, her heart jumping when she heard he planned to land tonight.

“Can you meet me at the Breakers at seven?” he asked. “I don’t know how much I’ll be good for, but I’ll try to sleep on the plane. Maybe I’ll get a second wind,” he added more quietly, and it’d almost been like he was there, speaking the words to her intimately, his words gruff and warm in her ear, his aquamarine eyes gleaming a promise.

She walked on air the rest of the day, having to take pains to tone down her euphoric mood while in the somber atmospheres of her patients’ homes. On the way to her apartment, she stopped at the grocery store and splurged on an expensive bottle of champagne to commemorate Vanni’s homecoming. It was expensive for her. She was sure he had much more expensive, premium bottles of the stuff at the Breakers, but Emma wanted to give him something she’d purchased.

Amanda wasn’t home when she returned to the apartment at five thirty, so she left a note not to expect her back tonight. She carefully got ready, packing a few items so that she could go straight to work from Vanni’s tomorrow morning. She donned a sundress that showed off the light gold tan she’d received in the French Riviera. At a few minutes before seven she arrived at the Breakers, her heart pounding with excitement.

All was silent in the massive garage when she entered. As she passed the large, elaborate kitchen, she noticed it was empty. An idea struck her. She looked around in for an ice bucket, opening several cupboards, but didn’t find one. She’d just put the champagne in the refrigerator and come back for it after it’d chilled.

“You certainly know how to make yourself at home.”

She paused with her hand inside the open refrigerator. Mrs. Shaw stood in the entryway of the kitchen, wearing a chic, dark blue pantsuit and scarf and looking at Emma with a cold, furious expression. She clutched some papers in her hand, as if the sound of Emma moving around in the kitchen had interrupted her while she did some filing. Emma set down the champagne in the refrigerator and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, she faced Vanni’s aunt.

“Vanni asked me to meet him here. Has he arrived yet?”

“He called a moment ago to say he was delayed.”

“For how long?” Emma asked, concerned. Instead of answering her, Mrs. Shaw’s thin lips clamped tight. “Is he still arriving tonight, just later than his scheduled time, or is he still in France?” Emma prodded, irritated by the housekeeper’s surly uncooperativeness.

“He won’t be home tonight,” Mrs. Shaw said. She stepped over the threshold of the kitchen as if crossing some invisible line. Inexplicably, the hairs on Emma’s forearms stood on end.

“I understand that Vanni has become quite taken with you. From something Niki told Dean after the race, I’m getting the impression Vanni has told you all about his life up to now . . . things he’s never opened up about to another woman.”

Emma lifted her chin, sensing a storm brewing but unable to guess the direction it would take.

“And now you’ve been to La Mer,” Mrs. Shaw said, lifting her upper lip slightly when she said the last words.

“Yes. It was beautiful there. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Of course you haven’t.”

Emma blinked at the undiluted acid in the other woman’s tone. Her sense of trepidation increased as Mrs. Shaw began to slowly walk in an arc around her. She couldn’t help but think of a predator circling. Warily, she turned, keeping Vera Shaw in her sights.

“Michael—Vanni’s father—loved La Mer. So did I. Laurel didn’t get it like we did,” Mrs. Shaw said quietly, referring—Emma knew—to Laurel Montand, Vanni’s mother. Vera’s pale blue eyes glittered like fractured glass. “Michael appreciated my love for his ancestral home. Of course Adrian and Vanni loved it, too. Now you’ve been there as well. Dean and Michelle insinuated that you and Vanni were supremely happy together there. That’s why I left, so I wouldn’t have to witness you in a place that was so special to Michael and me. You should congratulate yourself. For a nurse, you’ve been flying high. But despite what you may think,” she said with a contemptuous glance at the refrigerator, “despite Cristina’s favoritism toward you and Vanni’s infatuation, you are far from belonging in a place like this. You will never belong in Vanni’s world.”

Emma exhaled with effort, finding it difficult to breathe in the woman’s presence. What had freed her hatred? It wasn’t as if Emma hadn’t felt it before, but Vera Shaw had kept it carefully contained.

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