I couldn't breathe, let alone speak.

She was... Absolutely. Beautiful.

Noticing my gaping, Emma twirled mockingly. She narrowed her eyes at my appreciative whistle and she spun into a pounce directed right at me.

I caught her easily, pulling her up and into me, hungrily catching her still scowling lips with mine.

Trisha coughed from a short distance behind Emma, and I smirked wickedly before pulling Emma a further half step into me. She giggled against my exhibitionist kisses as her roommate began gagging theatrically.

Emma pulled away and excused herself to retrieve her purse from the kitchen.

"Thank you," I heard her murmur into Trisha's ear as the two quickly embraced.

"You deserve..." Trisha started but stopped as Emma gave her a tight squeeze before turning back towards me.

"Ready?" Emma chirped.

I nodded eagerly. "Car's already downstairs."

* * *

"Would you stop that?" Emma blushed.

I shook my head, still smiling like an idiot, my eyes still roaming over every glorious inch of her. "Stop what?"

"This!" She laughed as she leaned across the aisle, opening her eyes absurdly wide.

I had arranged for a private car for the evening and requested something a bit roomier. While I wasn't thrilled with the image luxury SUVs exuded, I was far more comfortable with the additional leg space they provided. The only space I was decidedly not appreciative of was the space between Emma's and my seats.

In her theatrics, Emma had pushed herself as far into the narrow aisle as her seatbelt would permit her. I turned and caught her face between my palms, swiftly planting a kiss on her lips.

I meant for it to only be a peck, but Emma's lips parted and once her dancing tongue slipped into my mouth... It took all the self-restraint I had not to grab her by the hips and pull her into my increasingly taught lap.

Breathless, Emma pulled away first. My lips lagged after hers until my head flopped back against the seat's cushion.

"Suppose we'll have to stop that too once we arrive," she huffed.

I nodded glumly. "Unfortunately."

"Perhaps we should've practiced going out on a proper date first before coming to something like this—you know, practice having self-control in public?" She giggled.

It was brilliant to hear the cadence of her laugh again, and yet I still couldn't help but frown.

"We've been on a proper date." I retorted somewhat defensively.

"That ended with us getting honked at for public indecency," she sniggered as she readjusted herself in her seat.

I sighed up at the car's surprisingly high ceiling. "To this day, I still regret not paying the meter first."

"Don't regret anything." Her tone was light and humorous at first, but with a squeeze of her hand, my gaze drifted over to her somber visage.

"Not when it comes to us," she added with another tight squeeze.

I bobbed my head once before gently squeezing her hand back.

"So..." she started, leaning down to adjust the straps binding her feet to the heels Trisha had insisted upon. If they were already bothering her, she would be in for a long night.

For a moment, a part of me hoped it would give us an opportunity to leave the whole charade early. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, however, my stomach twisted in remorse. I could never wish for her to be in pain, not even if it meant sparing her from torturous society events.

I wanted to show Emma off to the world, but under the right circumstances—and definitely for better motives. Despite her reassurances, I still couldn't help but feel as if I was using my girlfriend, exhibiting her in front of donors to rake in much-needed funds.

She had been anonymous at the first event she attended with Trisha and again at her second that had been the start of our first date, but tonight she would have no such luck. Tonight she would be center stage, no doubt with a trained spotlight of photographers and gossipmongers.

If we'd had it my way (and not Cynthia's...) Emma would have eased into things. Perhaps I would've taken her on vacation somewhere with limited publicity, allowing some photos to leak—hell I would have opened my own social media accounts if it allowed us to control more of the media frenzy. The itinerary would have been well crafted to promote whatever image Emma wanted to allow the media hounds to have of her, and then when we returned we would take a break from appearances and only be caught doing mundane activities—home and garden shopping perhaps—and the paparazzi would have quickly lost interest. We would be deemed the Most Boring Couple in the UK, Emma would have been fully introduced to society, and the two of us would have enjoyed contented obscurity.

But we didn't do it my way. We did it Cynthia's way, and I was steadily resenting her more and more for it with each passing moment.

"I assume there are rules for these kinds of events?" Emma's voice floated through my brooding.

I blinked several times, my mind trying desperately to catch up with her words.

Emma ventured a glance up at my confused expression. "Things I should say... things I definitely should not say?"

I sighed, grudgingly giving up my vision of us touring a sun-kissed coastal city to once again take in the darkly lined ceiling of the SUV. "You can say whatever you like, Ems."

"I just..." I heard her head thump back against her seat as her voice trailed off, the thought she had been trying to articulate lost or perhaps abandoned.

I rolled my head to look at her, and in the same moment Emma's eyes darted up to meet mine.

"Suppose I shouldn't tell them I'm unemployed," she ventured.

I cocked an amused eyebrow. "Suppose not... You could say you're working as a private consultant—that's practically the same thing these days—or you could just say what your plans are..."

"Tom..."

"I know," I said, tossing my hands up in defense. "You haven't made any decisions yet, and that's fine—and you definitely don't need to make any tonight," I added hastily.

It was a conversation the two of us had danced around for a few weeks, ever since Emma sent out her second round of job applications. It was unspoken at first, but then—rejection after rejection, interview after interview—we eventually found words enough to reference it.

Alright, I found words. Emma found... a tolerance to consider said words. I had to speak in hypotheticals, of course, and even then Emma had an expert ability to dodge whatever approach I made.

One evening I asked Emma if she would ever consider changing to a field outside of literature, to which she merely blinked at me, as if the possibility of living in a world not wholly centered around books would be as unnatural as to live without breathing.

I changed direction after that and asked if she would ever consider starting her own magazine or publishing house. Emma vigorously shook her head and went off on financial burdens of opening, nevertheless maintaining, a print publishing business in the digital world. The conversation ended abruptly when I mentioned my desire to diversify my investment portfolio and Emma, wide-eyed and crimson, refused to speak further on the subject.

It wasn't until another week had passed that I dared broach the subject again. This time I avoided finances altogether.

'Would you ever consider moving away?' I attempted to ask her nonchalantly one evening over a glass of wine. Her silence made me immediately regret my words.

'If it came down to it,' she'd said so softly I'd had to strain to hear her answer. 'There certainly would be quite a few hard decisions to make.'

That was all Emma would offer, and my heart was too fearful to prod any further. In the end, I knew, those decisions would be hers to make. I could beg and I could grovel, but ultimately it would all be up to her.

Her voice floated through my ears, pulling me back to the SUV. I shook my head slightly in a vain attempt to distance us from the depressing snippets of conversations playing on a loop behind my eyes.

"Tom..." Emma said again, only this time I caught the edge of dread in her voice.

My eyes flashed to hers. There was no sign of the panic in her eyes that I felt pulsing in mine. Still, there was a gleam of...

"I want us to have fun tonight," she declared through a tight smile. "We both deserve t-to be happy on a nice evening out, don't you think?"

With a click, I belatedly recognized the breach in her calm veneer.

Warning.

I felt my mouth go dry. "You made your decision."

"No—I, well... Tom, can't we talk about this later?"

I stared hard at her armrest. "When did you decide?"

I didn't ask what. My sinking heart already knew the answer.

Emma leaned over and slipped her hand over mine. "I haven't decided anything for certain."

Lie.

I forced myself to keep my eyes focused downward. I could feel the violent swell of emotions churning inside of me, and I didn't trust my eyes not to betray them.

Emma's hand slipped from mine as she fell back into her seat. "I don't know," she sighed. "I was only thinking that it might be good if I stay with my mum for a bit."

My lips parted in shock "...In Kerry?"

"Just till I can figure something out." Her voice had dropped to a near whisper.

I shook my head adamantly and finally allowed myself to look up at her. She was facing forward, but her chin was tucked into her chest.

Panic flooded my system. This was it. This was what it had come to. This was her decision.

"Ems, if it's just about the finances—you can move in with me!" I blurted, unable to control the words that tumbled from my lips or the cracking pitch of my voice.

A laugh or sob—I couldn't quite tell—escaped from her throat. "Tom, you don't move in with your boyfriend because you can't make rent!"

"That wouldn't be the only reason and you know it."

I immediately regretted the harsh tone of my voice. I wanted to reach out and place a hand on her knee, but Emma lifted her chin and turned to look out the window, away from me. Her reflection blinked through the tinted window, and I squeezed my hand in a fist, mentally berating myself for my momentary lack of control.

She didn't say anything, and I didn't force it.

After a few minutes, I hesitantly brushed her hand with my thumb. Emma rolled her hand palm-side up, and my fingers nimbly laced through hers.

When I spoke again, the tone of my voice was soft, docile. "Ems?"

Her gaze shifted from the passing city streets, eventually settling on me.

"A-are we a unified front?"

Emma smiled tightly and nodded as she squeezed my hand. "Of course we are. We just disagree on..." She sighed. "Normal couples have disagreements, too, you know."

I wanted to say how it didn't feel like one disagreement, how the last few weeks have felt like there was storm cloud constantly looming over us, threatening to open up at any moment.

"You're right," I said instead and gave her hand a reciprocal squeeze.

Her smile widened. "Let's not worry about it. Not until we have to. And who knows, maybe my next interview will go better and it'll be a non-issue."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that the next interview with whatever sleazy hiring manager wouldn't lead to its inevitable end, that she would find a job she could enjoy with a salary she could live off of. I wanted to believe she would stay in London and that she wouldn't leave for Kerry... because if she did leave ... I wasn't sure how I would endure it.

We had been dating near on a month, and logically I knew that couldn't be nearly enough time to fall in love with someone... and yet the thought of this woman walking out of my life as easily as she had breezed into it sent my head into a complete and total tailspin.

Despite the insanity with the press, the recent tension, and Emma's tortuous job search, the past month had been the happiest of my life. Because she had been there, through all of it.

Emma, with her various smiles and her books, had always managed to bring a lightness to my day no matter whatever else was dragging me down.

The car came to a sudden albeit graceful stop, and Emma slipped her hand from mine in order to undo her seatbelt.

"Yes, but if—"

"No ifs," she smiled forcefully. I wasn't sure if she was attempting to fortify herself or me. "Just tonight... just a nice evening out..."

She didn't have to say the last bit. I could see it in the shadows cast over her eyes.

Just in case it's our last.