Page 82 of The Mister I Married

“No. It isn’t.” Emmy frowned down at the ring, wondering how it had come to be in her bag, which she had packed herself only hours ago. Where had it come from?

She turned the ring over to peer at the inside of the band and paused when she spotted some markings there. The lighting was poor, so she walked to the window and turned the ring toward the muted light streaming in from outside.

“There’s an inscription here,” she murmured, squinting to read it. “‘For Emmy. Only’—” She broke off, her breath catching in her throat as she read the words once again.

For Emmy. Only Emmy.

The ring was from Alex—a gift, and one he’d commissioned specially for her. This was no bribe to right things between them. He’d had the ring made days ago, long before she left Bristlewood.

But why?

Because he loves you, you fool.

The words whispered through her mind—her heart—and she realized what an idiot she was, how wrong she’d been. Alex didn’t love her because she was his wife, his Mrs. Whitcomb.

He loved her. Her.

To him, she was Emmy first. She had always been Emmy first. He didn’t want to change her or control her. He wanted to love her, and he wanted her to love him. That was it. Nothing more.

Why was she only now realizing it?

Saints be, what a fool she was.

She leaned against the window and read the ring’s inscription again, the four simple words engraved like tangible proof of her husband’s love and respect for her.

Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry.

“I have to go back,” she murmured, her chest swelling at the thought of seeing Alex again. She pushed away from the window. “I have to go back,” she said again, louder this time, urgency crashing through her as she strode to the bed and pulled off her nightgown.

“What? Where?” Olivia asked, bustling forward to help her into her chemise.

“To Bristlewood. I have to see Alex. I have to talk to him and tell him that I—” She broke off, swallowing past the knot of regret in her throat as she turned to face her friend. “I’ve been such a fool, Livvy.”

A beaming smile spread across Olivia’s face. “I was wondering when you would notice,” she said, not unkindly. “Come, let’s get you dressed.”

Hastily, Emmy donned her gown and boots, and after downing a cup of coffee and three bites of toast, she ushered Olivia and Griffin into their carriage and off they set for Bristlewood up the dampened dirt road.

Nervous energy had her shifting in her seat, and her heart thudded an uneasy rhythm as the carriage rolled steadily on, rain tapping softly against the roof. The minutes ticked by, bringing Bristlewood and her husband ever closer.

What was she going to say when she saw him? What would he say? Would he be glad to see her? Relieved? Grateful?

Or would he be angry?

She closed her eyes, her stomach fluttering, her fingers tapping nervously on her knees. If he was angry with her—and, honestly, why wouldn’t he be?—she hoped at least he would give her the chance to explain. She had so much to say to him and she would not be easy until she’d said it.

She only hoped the damage she’d done was not too great to undo, or the hurt she’d caused too great to forgive.

Alex shut his book closed with a snap and rose from his favorite leather armchair in the library. Heaving a sigh, he tossed the book onto the chair, unintentionally waking Gracie and Prescott who were dozing on the rug in front of the fire.

He muttered an apology for disrupting their slumber, and a moment later the two dogs laid their heads down and resumed their nap.

Alex began to pace.

Ruddy, blasted rain.

He longed for the open air and a brisk, rigorous walk to distract him, but the weather cared little for his desires.

So, here he was, trapped indoors with his agitation, his aching heart, and his thoughts of Emmy.