Chapter 5 The Second Kiss

The first week of Emma's marriage passed in silence.

Alex emerged at nine each morning, wheeled to his study, and did not reappear until dinner. They took their meals together, as the contract specified. They did not speak during them.

On the eighth day, Emma found herself in Eleanor Hawthorne's workshop.

She had discovered it by accident, a door off the main corridor, hidden behind a tapestry. Inside was a world frozen in time. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with jewelry from every era. A workbench sat in the center, covered in sketches and tools.

Emma walked to the bench, her fingers brushing the drawings. They were brilliant, necklaces, tiaras, brooches but flawed. The designs were beautiful but impossible.

She picked up a pencil, she didn't think. She simply began to work, correcting the settings, reinforcing the chains, making the impossible possible.

She didn't hear the door open. She didn't hear the wheelchair roll across the floor.

"You're fixing them."

Emma's hand froze. She turned.

Alex sat in the doorway, his face unreadable. He wheeled closer, his eyes fixed on the sketches.

"No one has ever tried to fix them," he said. "The experts said they were impossible. That my mother was talented but impractical."

He picked up one of the sketches, a necklace of sapphires and diamonds, studying her corrections.

"How do you know how to do this?" His voice was quiet. "How does a girl from a village know more about jewelry than the experts my family paid a fortune to consult?"

Emma looked at the sketches. At the ghost of a woman she had never met and at the man who was asking for her truth.

"My teacher was a woman named Master Chen," she said. "She was a jeweler, the best in the world. She retired to my village when I was twelve. She saw me drawing and said I had hands that remembered something my brain hadn't learned yet."

Alex listened without speaking.

"She taught me everything. Not just how to make jewelry. How to see it, how to take a dream and make it real." She glanced at his mother's sketches. "Your mother had the dream part down. She just didn't have anyone to teach her the rest."

Alex was silent for a long moment. Then he set down the sketch and looked at her.

"The necklace," he said. "Can you make it?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Two months. Maybe less."

He nodded slowly. "Then make it. Whatever you need, tell Harris."

He wheeled toward the door, then paused.

"You said you signed a contract and you'll walk away at the end of the year. I didn't believe you. I thought everyone wants something, that you were lying the same way I was lying."

He turned to face her. "But you weren't lying. You have no one. And you came here anyway."

Emma didn't speak.

"I don't know what happened to you before you walked into this house," Alex said. "But you're not alone here, not anymore."

He wheeled out before she could respond.

Emma stood alone in the workshop, something cracking in her chest that she had held together for a very long time.

That night, she found him in the conservatory.

The room was glass-walled, filled with exotic plants, the moonlight streaming through. Alex sat in his wheelchair, facing the gardens, his hands motionless on his lap.

He didn't turn when she entered. "You're up late."

"So are you."

She walked to stand beside him. The silence between them was different now,charged, waiting.

"Why did you kiss me at the wedding?" she asked.

Alex's jaw tightened. "You know why. The performance, my grandmother was watching."

"Was that all it was?"

He turned to look at her, "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he reached up and pulled her down. The kiss was nothing like the wedding. That kiss had been a question and this was an answer.

His hand cupped her face. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that took her breath away. Emma's fingers found his shoulders, his hair, pulling him closer. She was kneeling beside the wheelchair, her body pressed against his, and she didn't care.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Alex's forehead rested against hers.

"That," he said, his voice rough, "was not for my grandmother." Emma's heart was pounding. "Then what was it for?"

He pulled back, meeting her eyes. "You."

She kissed him again. This time, she didn't stop.