I stormed into the apartment, letting my temper get the better of me and slamming the door shut with more force than was rightly needed. I half expected Emma jump or call out at the noise, but she didn't.

She didn't even flinch.

She sat at the kitchen table, completely unmoving except for her fingers flying about the keyboard. The journal I had given her lay open on the table before her, its pages splayed open and filled with smudged ink scribblings.

My anger dissipated at the sight of her, and I stood mutely with my keys still clutched in my hands as I watched her. It was like watching a master composer.

Eventually, her concentration broke and her eyes flitted up. She startled so forcefully when she finally noticed me that she practically screamed as her hand flew over her chest.

"Christ!"

I stared a moment longer before shaking off my stupor. "Shite, sorry!"

"How long have you been there?" She practically gasped, still clutching at her heaving sternum.

"I-I'm not quite sure," I responded honestly as I deposited my messenger bag onto a nearby stool. "Few minutes?"

Emma raised her brows. "And you were just standing there, watching me?"

My eyes drifted to the open notebook and then back to her. "You were writing."

She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it shaking her head dismissively. "Just the story I've been telling Alice."

I raised my eyebrows. "You visited her again?"

"The café was in the same neighborhood as the hospital, so I decided to pop by after tea with Margret and ask after Alice," Emma explained.

"How is she?"

Emma merely shrugged. "Well, I suppose. She's not much interested in talking about her cancer. Far more interested in discussing the fantastical exploits of the Extraordinary Alice," she teased.

A sad smile tugged on my lips. "Can't say I blame her."

"Me either," Emma mumbled as she gave me a careful once over. "You want to talk about whatever it is that's bothering you?"

I sighed heavily as I leaned back against the counter. "It's just been a rather long day..."

Emma frowned as she unfolded her legs and rose to walk toward me. "What happened?"

I couldn't help but smile as her hand slid into mine and gave a tight squeeze, the sensation of her touch firing off a chain reaction throughout my body. My smile faded, though, as the events of the afternoon shoved their way to the forefront of my mind.

"We were invited to a dinner hosted by the prime minister."

"The whole family? That's a bit odd, but I don't get why—"

"Not the family," I corrected her. "Just us."

Emma's eyes bulged in sudden understanding. "You and me?"

I nodded, allowing her time to process the information.

"By name? Tom and Emma, cordially invited to—"

"More or less."

"But..." Emma furrowed her brow in concentration. "Is that allowed?"

Slowly, I shook my head.

Emma sighed in apparent frustration. "But then why would you even consider it?"

I made sure to fix my eyes to hers before answering.

"Because he's trying to build a coalition with a pro-refugee platform, and there will be influential stakeholders from nearly every sector of government there."

Emma shook her head, her brows still knitted in effort. "But you can't interfere with politics—no one in your family can—and this isn't just a dinner. The media frenzy you and I have been getting recently—"

"The media frenzy we started," I reminded her.

"For a good cause!" she exclaimed defensively.

"And this isn't?"

Emma blinked at me. "My god, you're going to do it."

Her hand flew to her mouth as her mind whirled to catch up. "Cynthia must be livid."

My fingers rose unconsciously to massage my temple. "She expressed several concerns... aggressively."

Emma watched me for another moment and then tilted her head to the side, sending her long brown tresses down her shoulder. "But why us? Why by name?"

Now it was my turn to arch my brow in question. "Margaret didn't mention anything over tea?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Emma responded rather coyly after a moment's hesitation.

I chuckled but still shook my head in admiration.

"That woman's ability to compartmentalize..." I muttered.

"Tom?"

I grinned down at Emma's expectant visage. "We did it."

The corners of her mouth twitched upward. "You did what?"

"We launched the support clinics—the program to support resettled refugees," I explained, my grin widening into a toothy smile.

Today had been a day of lectures and yelling, but it had also been a day of victories. One very important victory in particular.

Emma's smile burst in excitement as she bounced into me. "But I thought you didn't have the Board's go ahead! How did you convince them?"

"I didn't."

Emma shook her head, still smiling. "I don't understand."

"I didn't convince them," I repeated as I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just did it."

The bouncing slowly ebbed until she stood very still before me. "You just..."

"I had Cynthia make the announcement. By the time the Board had caught on, all the other pieces had already been set into motion so that if they came out against it they—"

"Would be seen as coming out against refugees," Emma whispered. "And everyone would know your uncle's stance..."

I nodded solemnly. "But the monarch isn't permitted to express a political will."

Emma's mouth drifted open before she quickly snapped it shut. She nodded once finally seeing the whole picture. "So this dinner, we were invited by..."

"An MP," I explained. "Part of the prime minister's coalition. His office phoned mine about an hour after we made the announcement."

Emma nodded again. "When's the dinner?"

I glanced at the clock above her head. "Two hours?"

Emma's eyes widened. "And you expect me to go?"

I shook my head, no. "I don't expect anything of you, Emma. Not when it comes to things like this."

She immediately reached for her phone lying on the couch. "Should I tell Trisha something understated or eye-catching?"

My earlier grin slowly reappeared on my face. "Make a statement."

Emma practically snorted. "Oh, she'll have no problem with that."