After Glow

Chapter 10

AT TEN MINUTES after nine that evening, she heard him open the door with the key she had given him a couple of weeks earlier. Every time he walked into her apartment this way she got a fizzy sensation in her chest followed by a little tingle of panic. She had never given any other man the key to her apartment.

"There he is, Fuzz." She put down her notebook. "Go tell him hello. I'll pour the wine. He's going to need a drink."

Fuzz tumbled off her lap and drifted eagerly toward the door. Lydia hurried into the kitchen, yanked the jug of white out of the refrigerator, and poured a sizable amount of the contents into a tumbler.

Carrying the large glass in one hand, she followed Fuzz into the hall. Emmett had dumped his briefcase on the floor and hung his jacket in the closet. When he saw her, he paused in the act of unfastening the top buttons of his black shirt and gave her a wry smile.

"I warned you I might be late," he said.

"No problem." She handed him the wine and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "The salad is ready and the ravioli will only take five minutes."

"Sounds good." He kissed her back and then he took a long swallow of the wine. When he lowered the glass, he looked amused. "I must be in pretty bad shape tonight. Even this stuff tastes good right now."

"Maybe you're finally developing a cultivated palate." She turned and started toward the kitchen. "How did it go today? Aside from finding out that you have to put in an appearance at the Restoration Ball, that is. Any news on Wyatt's condition?"

"Still in intensive care but holding his own, according to Tamara. She says that they've got him so loaded up with meds and painkillers that he sleeps most of the time. When he is awake, he's very groggy and incoherent. The hospital is restricting visitors to family only."

Which would not include him, Lydia thought. Officially he was no relation to Mercer Wyatt. She wondered if it bothered Emmett that he could not claim the right to see his father in a time of crisis.

He followed her into the kitchen and lounged against the door frame. Fuzz scampered up onto the counter beside him and looked hopefully at the pretzel jar.

"I assume you saw the headlines in the tabloids this morning," he said.

"Sure did." She tried to keep her voice light as she rezzed the burner beneath the pot of water. "All that stuff about a lovers' triangle at the highest circles of the Cadence Guild certainly made for some exciting reading."

"It's pure ghost-shit. You know that."

She concentrated on opening the bag of ravioli. "I know it, but a lot of folks are going to be thrilled to believe the worst. The tabloids are hinting that you had a motive for trying to kill Wyatt. They're suggesting that you came here to get revenge against him because he stole Tamara away from you."

"It'll all blow over eventually."

"Uh-huh." She dumped the frozen ravioli into the boiling water.

"You're really worried, aren't you?" He took a step forward, caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and brushed his mouth across hers. His eyes softened. "Don't worry about the tabloids, honey. They can't do us any real harm."

"I'm afraid they'll try you in the court of public opinion," she said, anxious for him to understand the danger. "If they make you look guilty, the police might begin to wonder if there's something to the gossip. The last thing you need is for the cops to start investigating you as a suspect."

"I appreciate your concern, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead. "But this isn't the first time I've had to worry about stuff like this. Don't forget, I was a Guild boss for six years in Resonance. I know how to handle the press."

"Famous last words."

Emmett spent an hour on paperwork after dinner and then fell into her bed with only a mumbled "good night." He was sound asleep when she came out of the bathroom.

She climbed in beside him very carefully so as not to awaken him. It wasn't easy because he took up a large portion of the bed.

Fuzz blinked his baby blues from the foot of the bed, yawned, curled into a ball of lint, and went to sleep.

She lay awake for a long time, studying the shadows on the ceiling. She thought about the anonymous phone call she had made that afternoon, the one to a reporter who worked for the Cadence Tattler, and she wondered what the headlines in the newspapers would look like in the morning. It was a long time before she got to sleep.