Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig
Rett
The conversation within the front office stalled as Emma stepped into view. Coming the direction of the stairs, she made her way to the doorway. As I scanned from her golden crown of hair to the toes of her shoes, I made a conscious effort not to audibly gasp at her magnificence. Emma was absolutely stunning. The light blue dress she wore highlighted her vibrant eyes and brought back memories of our first dinner. I had a brief thought about the matching blindfold.
In her hand was a small purse.
For an instant, she stood in the archway and surveyed the front office. By the way the room stilled, this could be one of those moments when the guest of honor arrived, a dignitary or a queen. That was what Emma was—a queen. My marvel wasn’t brought on by doubt that she’d keep her word and attend this signing as she promised.
The woman standing in the doorway had never been untruthful. In many ways she’d been brutally honest about too many things.
My wonder came as a reminder that she was mine.
I lifted my hand as Emma came near. As my fingers encased hers, I introduced her to the two clerks from the Second City Court of New Orleans. It seemed that with what had happened with Judge McBride, the court not only sent two clerks but also a marked police car with two uniformed officers currently waiting upon my driveway. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t approve of New Orleans’s men and women in blue at my doorway, but this wasn’t normal.
“Emma, this is Clarence Wilson and Jennifer Snow, both here to witness our re-signing of our marriage certificate.”
Emma offered her hand to each as they addressed one another. I couldn’t help notice the sensation of pride within me as Emma repeated her name—Emma Ramses.
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Ramses, we won’t keep you,” Mr. Wilson said as he held a pen in the air.
I hesitated. Last night, I’d been the first to sign.
Emma reached out, taking the pen. “Where do you want me to sign?”
Ms. Snow pointed to the space above Emma’s previous signature. “Once you do, I’ll initial.”
Emma nodded and signed her name—Emma Leigh Ramses. With a smile, she turned to me, offering the pen. “I believe you’re next.”
Following Ms. Snow’s instructions, I signed above my last signature.
Ms. Snow took the pen and added her initials by each name. Mr. Wilson did the same. By the time they’d both signed, Emma’s hand was back in mine. Mr. Wilson removed a notary seal embosser from a small box and crimped the bottom of the photograph.
No longer watching them, Emma’s attention had moved to my left hand. She reached for it and turned it from side to side. When she looked up, her blue orbs glistened and her smile grew.
She’d done as I’d asked and signed the certificate.
I’d done as she’d asked, fulfilling one stipulation of her deal.
If I’d had more time, I may have made a different choice. I didn’t have more time.
The ring on my left hand had belonged to my father and spent nearly the last eight years secured in the family safe. The ring was larger than I would choose to wear, made of solid gold with a large black onyx stone and diamond-encrusted signets on each side of it representing the family crest.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ramses, we apologize for this inconvenience,” Ms. Snow said as she slipped the enlarged photograph into a manila envelope.
“Thank you for taking the time to set everything straight,” Emma replied as we all began walking toward the front door.
With my wife at my side, we stood on the front steps as the two officers of the court slipped into the back seat of the marked police car, the iron gate opened, and they drove away. As the iron gates closed, Emma lifted her chin to the evening breeze and sighed.
“I want to change your answer,” I said.
She turned my way. “At this moment, I don’t regret signing or marrying you. I hope you don’t do anything to change that answer.”
“I’m pretty certain I’ll fuck things up again.”
Her lips curled. “A wise man once told me that learning from mistakes was what was important.”
“Sometimes he’s not as wise as he professes to be.” I offered her my arm. “To dinner, Mrs. Ramses.”
Before we walked back into the house, she paused. “Tell me that one day we can walk down those steps and out into the world without worry.”
I covered her hand, now on my arm. “I can’t.”
“What?”
“You want honesty, Emma. I’m giving it to you. Today, it’s Kyle and Jezebel. Tomorrow, it will be someone else. It’s the life you agreed to when you agreed to marry me. But that doesn’t mean you’re trapped. Security will become second nature to you. I never leave the house alone and neither will you.”
Her painted lips pursed as she looked out at the street beyond the iron fence.
“Your safety is my priority.”
I watched as her breasts pushed against the bodice of her dress with each breath. Finally, she turned my way. “I’m glad you keep yourself safe too.”
The one time in over half a decade that I didn’t ensure my safety was for her. Entering that warehouse alone could have been the end to both of us. Thankfully, it was closer to the beginning.
Together we walked into the house as staff closed the doors behind us. The evening sunshine penetrated the leaded-glass panes, sprinkling the foyer in small rainbows. Emma’s eyes grew wide as we walked through the sitting room across from the front office. This was her first sighted journey through these rooms. In her blue orbs I watched the awe for what I took for granted. Our path led through the front sitting room, music room, and another library.
“I love watching you see things for the first time, but I can’t stop thinking about the matching blindfold and how I wish you were wearing it.”
“Everything is so” —she searched for the right word— “opulent.”
It was a good choice.
The fireplace in the front sitting room had an eight-foot-high opening and was made of imported marble. The crystal light fixtures as well as my mother’s portrait over the fireplace all added to the atmosphere that had been created.
“My grandmother made a point of redecorating the house once my great-grandmother passed. According to stories, my great-grandmother felt the old house needed to be modernized. I suppose she was right, regarding utilities and such, but my grandmother wasn’t a fan of the furnishings. Utilizing old photographs and journals, Grandmother Delphine tried to recreate the feel from the late nineteenth century. When my parents married, all four of them lived here together.”
“Sometimes speaking with Miss Guidry, I have a sense of how that felt.”
“I’m sure she could give you more detail, but from what I was told, the search for furnishings was something the two women agreed upon. It was a project that bonded them.”
“I heard it was something else.”
I shrugged. “Of course, like everything else in New Orleans, I’m not certain of the percentage of fact in many of those old stories.”
“Do you remember your grandparents?” Emma asked. “I never have had any of my own.”
I patted her hand and nodded. “I do. They passed before I became a teenager.”
“So you all lived here together?”
“And Miss Guidry as well as other members of the household staff.”
“Sounds cozy.”
“This is a big house. Many of the staff still live here or in the building on this property, behind this house.”
Emma looked all around. “It’s odd I never thought about it.”
“You’re never alone.”
She shivered. “I think that feels a bit” —her head tilted— “creepy.”
“No one enters this house who isn’t vetted. Anyone with responsibility is fully loyal to Ramses. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
When we finally reached the back of the house, the sun was setting, and we came to the conservatory.
