Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)

But he didn’t. Instead, he heard himself say the words that would haunt him to the end of time.

“For all I know, that is just another lie.”

Her head shot back, as if he’d hit her. He thought she was going to break down completely, but she didn’t. Instead, the shimmer of tears in her eyes became the glitter of ice.

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t love you. I pity you.”

He watched her turn on her heel and walk away from him, her pace quickening, as she got closer to the foyer. Her handbag was on a glass table where she’d left it hours ago; she’d left a black pashmina there, as well, in case they had dinner out. Now, she grabbed the shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders and then picked up her purse. The only sign of what she might be feeling came when she reached the elevator and hit the call button with her fist.

The doors whisked open.

Marco felt his heart start to thud.

“Emily,” he said…

Too late.

The doors shut.

And Emily was gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Thanksgiving had always been Emily’s favorite time of the year.

There was something about the idea of families gathering together that was warm and real.

When she was little, really little, she and Jaimie and Lissa would spend the day before Thanksgiving in the kitchen, helping their mother and the housekeeper, getting in the way, spilling flour and sugar and making cookie cutouts of their hands.

And, at night, it meant getting down the big picture book with Santa and his sleigh and reindeer on the cover.

Her mother had said that reading “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” starting on Thanksgiving Eve had always been a tradition when she was growing up. She said she had no idea why, but now it was a tradition she kept, too. So each year, the night before Thanksgiving, the sisters and, when they were young, Travis, Jacob and Caleb had all gathered around her and, together, they read the classic old poem with lots of Ho-Ho-Ho’s and improvised ringing of reindeer bells and even the beat of tiny hooves.

Their father had been stationed half a world away. He’d phoned to wish them a happy holiday; Caleb, Travis and Jake were all home from school and they’d done their big-brotherly best to keep their little half-sisters happy, but at midnight Lissa had awakened and started to cry. Emily and Jaimie had climbed into her bed and they’d wept and wept until their brothers heard them, came into the bedroom and turned on the light.

They’d taken one look at the three sobbing little girls and asked no questions.

Jake had climbed onto Lissa’s bed and gathered all three girls into his arms.

“’Twas the night before Christmas,” he’d said without having to ask what they needed to hear and without the book, too, because they’d all heard the poem so often.

And while he told them the well-loved story, Caleb and Travis had gone downstairs, Travis to make cocoa, Caleb to pile a plate with cookies.

After a few years, it seemed silly to read a children’s poem every night for almost a month. Besides, Emil

y, Jaimie and Lissa certainly didn’t believe in Santa anymore. Their brothers were sometimes away, Caleb off doing what he solemnly called Secret Stuff in heaven only knew where, Travis and Jake flying jets and helicopters, and it was a given that the general would not be there but would send a card with a Pilgrim on the front or pay a Skyped visit.

This Thanksgiving, except for the general, the Wildes were together.

Emily, Lissa and Jaimie had all flown in, and Caleb was there with his Sage, Jacob with his Adoré, Travis with his Jennie. There were babies there, as well: Travis and Jennie’s little girl, Eleanor; Caleb and Sage’s little boy, Cameron; and, as Jake proudly announced, his hand curved protectively over his wife’s slight belly bump, she was pregnant, not just with one baby but two—”By God, we’re having twins!” he’d said.

There would be even more little Wildes on hand at the next gathering of the clan.

On Thanksgiving Day, Jaimie put together champagne cocktails for everyone but Adoré, who got a glorious concoction of club soda and freshly squeezed orange juice topped with a sprig of mint.

The housekeeper had the day off. Lissa cooked a feast. An enormous stuffed, roasted wild turkey took place of honor, but there was also a huge roast beef, asparagus, baked brussels sprouts, three kinds of potatoes, bread pudding, apple, mince and pumpkin pies.

Emily brought out the handmade chocolates she’d found in a beautiful little shop in Soho, tiny truffles and creams that, Jaimie said, put five pounds on your hips just to look at them.