Page 71 of The Loophole

“We’ll have to spend the rest of the weekend whispering or passing notes, and no more sex until we get home.” Embry glanced at my profile. “I’m glad his room was empty at the time, but do you think anyone else heard us doing it?”

“I doubt it, since we’re on a corner and only Fallon’s room shares a wall. And we can still have sex,” I said, as I grinned at him. “We just have to be quiet.”

We started down the stairs, and a few seconds later, Embry slipped and started to fall. I tightened my grip on his hand and pulled him back up, and he grabbed on to me and swore under his breath. A moment later, he murmured, “Sorry,” and started down the stairs again, this time clutching the handrail.

Somehow, that was the start of several accidents that evening. When he tried to take a glass of champagne, he endedup knocking over the rest of the glasses on the tray. At dinner, he knocked over his water glass. Then he bumped into a server when he quickly pushed his chair back to escape the spill, causing her to drop the salads she was carrying.

After each incident, Embry apologized profusely and looked absolutely mortified. It broke my heart to watch him shrink into himself as his confidence slipped away. The only time I’d seen him like that was the first time he came to the house and ended up breaking a bunch of wine glasses. Since then there’d been little accidents here and there, but they hadn’t rattled him the way these did.

He ended up picking at his dinner and only eating a bite or two. Then, as soon as the meal was over, he whispered, “I’m going back to our room, before I cause any more damage.”

I wanted to ask him to stay, but the look in his eyes told me he really needed to get out of there. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“No, stay here. I’d feel terrible if I made you miss out on your grandfather’s birthday celebration.”

“It’s fine. We’ll be celebrating all weekend.”

When he insisted, “I want you to stay,” I decided not to argue. He obviously needed some time to himself.

I kissed him and promised to bring him a piece of birthday cake, and he whispered, “Thank you.” Then he hurried from the dining room with his head down and his arms wrapped around himself. It was so hard not to run after him and try to make him feel better.

He’d been called clumsy all his life, and I thought he’d started to reject that label. But these little accidents clearly affected his self-esteem, and they built on each other. The more that went wrong, the more rattled he became, which in turn lead to another accident. It was basically a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I figured it was a short-term thing, and that he’d be able to bounce back once we got home. What I didn’t know at the timewas that this was the start of a downward spiral—one that was going to have huge consequences.

18

Embry

I could pinpoint the exact moment when the real Embry decided to reappear. I’d forgotten for a while—forgotten how clumsy and embarrassing I was, and how much of an absolute disaster I could be. Somehow, being with Bryson had given me a sense of confidence. It made me think I was changing.

Then, in a single evening, I slipped down some stairs, broke a bunch of champagne flutes, made a huge mess of dinner, and nearly knocked a server off her feet. And it was like, oh, that’s right. This is who I am.

How could I forget?

Bryson was incredibly nice about it, but I knew deep down, he had to be embarrassed. After all, we were with his family at an elegant inn that looked like it was right out of a movie.

I didn’t belong in a place like this.

I made that clear the first night, and then I kept reminding everyone of it all weekend as I messed up one thing after another. The harder I tried not to knock things over, or trip over my own two feet, or break stuff, the clumsier I became.

Sunday evening, we picked up Dusty from the Pink Victorian and got home around eight. I went right to bed, because that way, there was nothing I could break or screw up.

Bryson joined me sometime later. It felt wonderful when he curled up against my back and put an arm around me. He was so kind and gentle. He nuzzled my hair and asked, “Are you okay, Em?”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

That wasn’t true. I wasn’t fine at all. I was sad because I was back to being a walking disaster, and because I’d spent all weekend embarrassing him and myself in front of his family. But I couldn’t tell him that. He’d just try to make me feel better by telling me it wasn’t that bad, but I knew the truth.

Bryson left the house bright and early the next morning. He’d contacted a commercial real estate agent over the weekend, and she’d put together a long list of properties to show him. Some were former restaurants, but there were also some warehouses and random buildings, which could be gutted and converted. He invited me to go along, but I told him I’d rather stay home. I didn’t know the first thing about what a fine dining restaurant should look like, and I really didn’t want my opinion to influence him into potentially making the wrong decision.

When he got home around seven that evening, he seemed exhausted and discouraged. “We saw all kinds of properties,” he said, “but none of them felt right. We’re going to try again tomorrow.”

We had Chinese food delivered because he was too tired to cook, and after dinner he brought up a subject I’d known was coming. “I went to the bank today to move around the moneymy grandfather sent me. While I was there, I asked them to issue a cashier’s check for two hundred grand.” He took an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it toward me across the kitchen island. “Since the amount I received was double what I’d been expecting, I think your portion should be double, too.”

“I don’t want it. I already told you that.”

“I know you said that. But it would mean a lot to me if you took the money, Em.”