Love, Artifacts, and You by Sarah Ready

11

Andrew

Emmaand I walk into Tybalt’s Italian Restaurant at quarter after seven. I search the interior, dimly lit by candlelight, and find Van Cleeve at a table for four near the back. Emma agreed to meet Justin at seven, but on our way out the door, the sunlight hit the gold in her hair just so, and I had to stop and show her how beautiful I thought she was. That took about half an hour. So, we’re a little late.

The restaurant was Emma’s suggestion. The interior has a rustic chic authentic Italian vibe. It looks like it could be set down in a historic piazza in a small Italian town and fit right in. In fact, it reminds me of a restaurant I once ate at near Napoli. Emma said her friends recommended it as one of the best places to eat in all of Upstate. By the smells of fresh sauce, yeasty bread and herbs coming from the kitchen I’d guess they’re right, but it’s hard to concentrate on food when there’s another man looking at Emma the way Justin is.

He’s smiling at her as if they have a shared history that’s years deep.

Then I stiffen because I realize that they do.

They have a history full of shared confidences, mutual support, friendship, perhaps romantic involvement.

I look down at Emma to gauge her reaction. A wide smile spreads over her face and she waves happily at Justin. An ember of jealousy glows in my chest. She looks so carefree and happy. Is that what she’s like with him?

Justin stands and raises his hand in greeting.

I take Emma’s hand and clasp it in my own. Justin’s eyes narrow when I do.

“There’s Justin,” says Emma. She turns to me. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I say. But she raises her eyebrows because it comes out more as a growl. I clear my throat. “Fine.”

On the way over she told me more about Justin. He’s a prominent lawyer in New York City. He graduated from Columbia Law, lives in a town house near the Natural History Museum, and she visits him multiple times a week. She assured me it was a completely platonic friendship. I wasn’t convinced. Now, from the look on Justin’s face, I’m even less convinced.

“Welcome to Tybalt’s. Do you have a reservation?”

I turn to the hostess, a young woman in a black dress standing behind a tall desk.

“Thank you. We see our party.” Emma gestures to Van Cleeve. “We’ll see ourselves there.”

Emma starts toward Van Cleeve. I take the time to study him. He’s clad in a tailored dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves. There’s a watch on his wrist that shows off his net worth—high. He has the wavy blond hair, the straight nose, the dimpled good looks, and the open, aww shucks kind of smile that could charm a jury into letting off the devil. I’m not fooled. Van Cleeve’s not a man to underestimate.

We get to the table and Emma lets go of my hand. She wraps Justin in a hug. I stand back and try not to look like a mangy dog jealously guarding his bone. When Emma pulls away, Justin turns to me with a cool smile.

He holds out his hand. “Justin Van Cleeve.”

I take it and he squeezes harder than necessary. A not so subtle warning. I wasn’t completely sure what to expect from him—now I am.

“Andrew Carmichael.”

Emma looks at me, then does a double take. I drop Van Cleeve’s hand and pull out a chair for Emma. She drops into it and I sit in the seat next to her, across from Van Cleeve. He frowns at our positions at the table. He must’ve been expecting Emma to sit next to him or across from him. But no. We’re at a square table with four chairs, I’m seated across from him, with Emma next to me, diagonal to Van Cleeve.

When we’re all seated she turns to me. “When did you change your name?”

Van Cleeve’s eyes narrow and he focuses on me like a shark scenting blood.

I shake my head and say in a low voice to Emma. “Never. Santiago was my uncle’s last name. Not mine.”

Her brows lower and she looks at me for a moment like she wants to pursue the topic and question me more. But then, she seems to remember Justin’s presence. She shakes her head and looks back to him.

“Nice to meet you,” I say to him.

Justin leans toward me and folds his hands on the table in front of him. “Alright.” He shrugs. “You’re aware I proposed to Emma?”

Emma makes a choking sound.

I bare my teeth in a facsimile of a smile. He gets straight to the point.

“I’m aware she turned you down.”

Justin smiles back, turning on the full force of what I suspect is his courtroom charm. “That’s right. She believes you’re her soul mate.”

“Justin,” hisses Emma. I look over at her. Her cheeks are bright red.

Justin ignores her and continues. “Did you pay, bribe, or in any way coerce the woman known as Miss Erma to tell Emma that you are her soul mate?”

I can’t help it, I start to laugh.

“Justin. You aren’t in court. What’s wrong with you?” Emma says.

“Answer the question,” he says.

“No. I didn’t.” I look over at Emma and try to hold back another laugh. Maybe, when all this is through, I’ll be able to have a genuine smile again.

It looks like Justin is about to ask another question, but he pauses as our waiter arrives. I order a bottle of wine for the table and antipasto to start. It’s always a good idea to have wine and food with verbal sparring.

Emma smiles brightly as the waiter opens and then pours the wine—a Sangiovese. I take a sip and nod my approval. He pours for the table. Emma shifts in her seat. “I can’t wait to try the antipasto. I love that they pickle their own vegetables, and I’m such a sucker for Taleggio cheese. Did you know it’s been around since Roman times? Even Cicero loved it.”

“He did?” I brush my hand over Emma’s. I love her history references.

I know this is uncomfortable for her, and she wants Van Cleeve and me to get along. But clearly, there’s some things he needs to get out of the way first.

“So. Andrew. Do you or do you not own an island?”

I look at Justin and shake my head. What’s with everyone asking about my island? “I do.”

“Where?”

“It’s a little island off the coast of Belize.” I turn to Emma and touch her hand. “I called it Isle Emma. You can only get there by boat. There’s a house on the beach. It faces the sunrise. I could take you there.”

Emma looks at me and she has that languid expression she gets after making love. “You named it after me?”

I nod. At the time, I named it Isle Emma because I thought it was the only way I’d ever have or want another Emma. But now, it has a different meaning.

Justin interrupts the moment. “And do you or do you not own skyscrapers? And if so where?”

I turn back to Van Cleeve and hold back a scowl. “I do. I own a building in New York City. Two in Singapore. One in London. There are others, but I don’t think you actually want to see my portfolio.”

“I wouldn’t argue if you offered.”

He looks over my tailored clothing, the watch on my wrist, and I suspect that the wheels are turning in his head. I’m surprised he hasn’t connected me to Dominic yet. Although, maybe he and Dom don’t talk business.

“Anyway,” says Emma. “Justin, you were right about the Lost Treasure. Andrew and I have found the site where we think it’s located.”

Justin’s left eye twitches, just a fraction, even though his face remains affable. There’s his tell.

“Where did you go after the night you disappeared?” he asks, ignoring Emma.

“Mining,” I say.

Emma stiffens beside me and I reach out and touch her hand.

“Mining what? Where?”

“Rocks. In the ground. In South America.” I give him my cold smile, the one that terrified my fellow prisoners in the mines. It doesn’t faze him.

“Why didn’t you contact Emma or her father with your whereabouts?”

“I was indisposed.”

“For ten years?”

“Yes.”

“While you were making”—he rubs his chin and thinks for a moment—“somewhere in the ballpark of half a billion dollars in net worth, you couldn’t pick up the phone? Call? Email?”

His ballpark estimate of my worth is low. Not that he needs to know that. Emma looks back and forth between the two of us as we volley words.

“No. I couldn’t.”

“What is it exactly that you do for a living?” Justin leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.

The waiter comes and sets the antipasto plate on the table with a flourish. It’s full of gourmet cheeses, pickled vegetables, olives, and a selection of homemade breads.

“Have you selected a main course?” the waiter asks.

“I’ll have the aged ribeye. She’ll have the sea bass,” Justin says, nodding at Emma.

Emma glares at Justin. I know for a fact that she loves sea bass. I once caught her one and cooked it over a fire back at camp. But, I also know that she hates it when people tell her what she wants. Justin is trying to make a point, that he knows Emma and is intimate with her likes, but he chose the wrong way to do it.

“Actually. No. I’ll have the gnocchi with brown butter, hazelnuts and black truffles.” She frowns at Justin and shakes her head.

The waiter turns to me. “Anything for you, sir?”

I start to shake my head no, but Emma kicks my ankle. I didn’t look at the menu, so… “I’ll have the same. The gnocchi.”

When the waiter leaves, Emma leans into me. “Can you spot me for the dinner? I’ll pay you back after—”

“You never have to pay me back,” I say in a low voice. “For anything.”

She flushes.

Justin clears his throat.

“You were telling us about your career? Mining, was it?”

Emma pulls away.

“No. I’m still in the same field as before. I find artifacts.”

“But you’ve branched out into real estate?”

“I have a diverse portfolio.”

Justin looks between me and Emma, and I see the moment he realizes that I’m not leaving. That I’m in Emma’s life for good.

He switches tactics. “Look, Carmichael. I’m going to be honest. I’m not enthralled that you’re back. I have serious concerns about a man who turns up after ten years of being presumed dead, who’s now claiming to be as rich as Croesus and my best friend’s soul mate. In my field, we’d suspect you of pulling a scam or criminal activity. I don’t trust you. And I don’t much like you.”

“Justin.” Emma stands. Both Justin and I stand with her. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

He nods. Emma walks stiffly to the exit, Justin trails behind her. Through the window I can see Emma talking to him. She’s shaking her head and waving her finger. She’s reminding me of Boudica again, taking on the Roman army. I pop an olive in my mouth and then take a sip of the wine. Justin holds out his hands and gestures back at me.

The problem is, he’s not wrong to be wary of me. I do have a lot to account for. I ruined Castleton, Inc. and even though Emma’s dad is the reason I spent five years in hell, Emma didn’t deserve the fallout. But how can I tell her that?

Hey, Emma. I spent years planning your destruction. I ruined your business, destroyed your reputation, and caused you to lose your home and all your possessions. You have nothing because of me. Also, your father is a psychopath, my body and soul are covered in scars, and I can’t sleep in the dark. Isn’t that wonderful? Want to get married?

I shake my head.

Justin has the instincts of a trial lawyer. He’s trained to find inconsistencies, to zone in on hesitations and subtle body language and uncover what’s hidden.

I gather that he thinks I’m here to hurt Emma. Or scam her. I’m not.

What he’s sensing, that hidden thing, is me not knowing how to have a relationship with Emma with all that’s behind us. Not knowing how to open up to her.

It’s only been a day. But already I see a thousand roadblocks that could prevent us from being together. The big one is that I can’t find it in me to be honest with her.

And I don’t know how she’ll react if she finds out what her father did, and subsequently, what I’ve done. An objective party would say, just tell her the truth, if she loves you and you’re meant to be, it’ll all work out.

I scowl down at the table. I’m not much of believer in life working out.

I’d rather her keep believing that her father is a good man, that I wasn’t hurt too badly or scarred beyond repair. That she and I can have the life she imagined when we were kids.

I don’t ever want to see her hurt.

So, the only route I see forward is keeping her in the dark. I know what Justin would say, what Dominic would say, what I would advise a friend—tell the truth.

But when I think of it, the places Emma lit up inside me start to go dark again.

I can’t. Not yet.

The waiter comes and places our meals on the table. I thank him. The truffles fill the air with a savory, nutty, earthy aroma that blends perfectly with the browned butter.

I look out the window. Emma stands with her hands on her hips. Justin shakes his head. It looks like their conversation is coming to a close.

I sit back and watch as they walk back to the table. Emma’s cheeks are flushed and Justin’s jaw is clenched. I stand and pull out her chair. She sits down, her back ramrod straight.

“This looks delicious,” she says.

I sit down next to her.

Justin puts his napkin in his lap and starts sawing at his ribeye with his steak knife.

I pick up my fork and spear a gnocchi. It’s soft and tender and melts in my mouth. The truffles are nutty and the brown butter is sweet, Emma was right, it’s delicious. Unfortunately, the tension at the table, and my own inability to be forthright, makes it less enjoyable than it should be.

The scraping of Justin’s knife against his plate is loud in the silence. He’s stiff-backed, but when he looks at me he still has that charming smile on his face.

“Emma mentioned you’re renting a house in Romeo.”

Did she?

“Yes. A historic home nearby.”

“And where do you normally reside?”

Emma looks over at me in curiosity. We hadn’t discussed that yet. “I typically stay wherever I’m working.”

“For example?”

Emma clears her throat and he raises his eyebrows at her, in an expression that says, I’m tryingto be nice.

“I was in Singapore recently. I have a place in London. Tangier.” I don’t mention New York City, I’m not ready to go there yet.

“I always loved Morocco,” Emma says. “Do you remember the desert rose you found? I still have it.”

The desert rose is a sand crystal that forms in flat petals and looks just like a rose blossom. I gave it to her on our trip through North Africa when I was twelve.

“I remember,” I say. A curl of warmth lingers in my chest. There’s another reason she loves roses so much. Maybe I can fill her next home with a garden of roses, the flowers and the crystals.

“Will you be staying in the area then? Emma’s home is in New York.”

I roll my shoulders. “I hadn’t made any plans.”

“Hmm. Since you mentioned it, what exactly are your plans?” Justin smiles affably.

Emma sets down her fork with a clatter. “It’s not your business, Justin.”

“I disagree.”

Emma goes to stand and I put my hand out to her. She sinks back to her seat. It’s obvious she cares about Van Cleeve. It’s also obvious she’ll cut off their friendship if she thinks he’s out of line or believes she has to choose between us. I don’t want that.

My instincts tell me he’s a good person and he’s only trying to protect Emma.

“It’s fine,” I say. Both Justin and Emma look to me. “Yesterday, I finally found Emma again after ten years of being without. I’m still reeling. Getting my bearings. I don’t have a plan.”

Justin sets down his utensils and shakes his head. “Funny. You strike me as a man who always has a plan.”

I nod. He’s perceptive.

“You’re right. I plan for Emma and me to find the Lost Treasure. Then I plan for us to be happy. I think we both deserve a bit of happiness.”

Emma moves her hand to my thigh and squeezes.

“You may not trust or like me. But I’m grateful to you for being a friend to Emma all these years. Thank you.” I hold his gaze. His expression is still mistrustful, but his shoulders relax.

“Alright. Fair enough.”

After I pay for dinner we head out to the parking lot.

Emma stops as we walk by a Lamborghini SUV. “Justin’s heading back to the city. I’m going to go over to the cabin with him for a quick minute.”

Justin leans against the Lamborghini, his hands in his pockets. He watches me carefully.

“I’ll come. I can drive you back.”

Emma shakes her head. “I need to talk to Justin alone. I won’t be long.”

Justin opens the passenger side door of his vehicle.

I don’t like it, but I trust Emma. She may leave with him but she’s coming back to me.

“I’ll see you soon.”

She slides into the car and lifts her hand. Justin shuts the door.

He starts to walk to the driver’s side, then stops in front of me. He eyes me up and down.

Then, “If you hurt Emma, I’ll tear you to pieces. You won’t even be a footnote in history. If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you’re destroyed. I don’t believe you’re the man you claim to be. And when you eff up, I’m going to be there. I’ll be the one to help Emma pick up the pieces. Again.”

I look at him, acknowledge the truth in his words. “I understand.”

The trouble is, I’ve already hurt Emma. Haven’t I?

He leaves, drives Emma back toward the cabin. I stand in the parking lot of Tybalt’s, thinking about the inscription on the runestone, the Lost Treasure, and wondering if there really is such a thing as fate and soul mates.