At Any Turn (Gaming The System) (7 page)

I swallowed. “Have you even looked into the possibility of UCLA?”

She clenched her jaw and hesitated, looking down. “I applied. But I could be rejected, just like with Davis.”

“You weren’t rejected. You’re in.”

Her head shot up. “What? How do you know that?”

I smiled, happy to deliver the good news to her. “I made a few phone calls. I know a guy who’s on the fundraising committee who knows the dean—”

She squinted at me. “You called the Dean of Admissions on a Sunday morning—”

“No, I called my friend who knows the Dean of Admissions.”

“Because your friend is on the
fundraising
committee.”

I paused, studying her body language. Her hands were curled into fists, her back ramrod straight. At the back of my head, I thought I could see a flashing red alert sign and hear the words
Danger, Adam Drake! Abort! Abort! Abort!

But like an idiot I had to push it. “I just called because I figured you’d want to know—”

“No. You figured
you’d
want to know.”

I shrugged. “Well, yeah. I
did
want to know. It’s a logical choice for you. Comparable program. You’re definitely in. And it’s here—”

Her forehead wrinkled. “How much did you promise your fundraiser ‘friend’?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. “I didn’t promise him anything.”

She laced her hands together and fidgeted, clearly trying to force herself to remain calm. “Okay, how much
would
you have promised him if I hadn’t gotten in?”

“I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t need to. You were already short-listed. I just wanted to know. I figured
you
would, too. So you could make the most informed decision.”

She massaged her forehead, her eyes closing. “I don’t believe this.”

“What? That I’d try to get all the information I possibly could? This is important. This is our future.”

She blew out an exasperated sigh. “This is my decision and you can’t make it for me.”

My fist closed on the table top between us. “You and I are an ‘
us
.’ And that means work and compromise.”

She scoffed—almost laughed,
laughed
. A flame of irritation burned in my chest. “Adam, I swear to God that word does not mean what you think it means.”

I arched my brow, unamused by her paraphrase of the famous quote from
The Princess Bride
. “Oh? What do I think it means?”

She looked right through me, her eyes darting into mine like arrows. “It means you get your way and I deal with it.”

I rubbed my forehead, blowing out a tight breath. “I don’t have time to deal with bullshit, Emilia. I’ve got a serious threat to my company,
my
dream. I can’t be away from work, I told you that. I’ve done the best I can to control that need to be there all the time. But right now I can’t compromise in the way that you want me to.”

She shrugged, threw up her hands. “How can this even be possible, then?”

“How can
what
be possible?” I said between clenched teeth, not liking the direction she seemed to be headed in.

“Us. This. Our relationship. What we want and need out of this isn’t even compatible if we can’t learn to give and take.”

“This isn’t a ‘should we have red wine with dinner or white?’ type of decision. We’re both new to this and this is a
major
decision that will affect our lives for a very long time.”

“So I need to change what I want if I want to be with you?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that she would like. So I didn’t say anything.

After a few more minutes of massaging her forehead and waiting for me to answer, she finally shook her head. “I’m so tired I can’t even think straight right now. I need to go to bed.”

“So what happens tomorrow when we wake up?”

She shrugged, standing up. “I guess we figure that out then. We’re smart people. We
should
be able to figure it out.”

That cold fear was back. My mind raced through all the possibilities, attempting and failing to find a quick answer.

I knew what I wanted. I wanted
her
. And I wanted to stay here—with my family, my friends, my company, my entire life, including her. I swallowed and decided I’d have to dedicate more thinking to the task. Sun Tzu’s wisdom had to be worth something in cases like these. I wished to God that someone had written a book called
The Art of Love
that I could file in the back of my brain and draw inspiration from instead.

***

Throughout the next week, we were like ships passing in the night. We drove to work separately because she didn’t know when I’d be coming home and she had various appointments in the morning, doctor or dentist or something. At work, I was preoccupied by the potential legal mess and all the red tape we needed to navigate in order to try and head off the inevitable. And, of course, the impending doom of this decision weighing over us.

I did manage to make it home every night—though I was late. We didn’t talk any further about medical school, even when her acceptance letter from UCLA arrived in the mail. But there was no giddy excitement on her face like she’d had for the Hopkins letter. Just a quiet, “I got it.”

I decided then that it was necessary to formulate a new plan of attack—all while trying to not make it appear like a plan of attack.

The one thing I did know was that I wouldn’t stand back and do nothing. I hated not having control of one of the—scratch that—
the
most important aspect of my life. My thought processes were working constantly on the back burner even when the front burner was preoccupied with this legal issue and the normal work things.

But I could tell it was bothering her because even in the short hours before bed that we spent together, usually over a late dinner or maybe watching TV or a movie together, she was distant, quiet.

And she wasn’t very interested in sex, either, which sucked. Even more so than normally, because sex would have been a great stress release. The times I initiated, she either made up a ridiculous excuse to avoid it or lay there, distracted.

I started to do something I never do—panic.

Was she trying to distance herself in preparation for leaving for Maryland? Did she resent me because our relationship was holding her back from her dream?

Was it time to show her a new dream to replace the old one?
The art of war…is a matter of life or death, a road to either safety or ruin
. I wasn’t waging a war with Emilia. But I
was
waging a war on her goal to go live on the other side of the country without me, so I could gain control of what was mine.

As the days progressed during that week, a new plan began to form. So she was emotionally attached to this decision she’d made to go to Hopkins long before she’d met me. But we were in a relationship now and this changed things. Things that I’d make her see. She had a new emotional attachment and that one, I hoped, was far stronger than this distant idea of going to a school in Maryland. She was attached to
me
. And I wouldn’t give her up.

I’d offer her a new dream. I’d find a way to make it impossible for her to go. I hoped that it already was a difficult choice, but I was not above hedging my bets.

When I called Kim Strong, a few nights later, it was not just to ask for her help with my new plan, but to also ask for her daughter’s hand in marriage.

Chapter Four

The following Friday night I took Emilia out to dinner under the pretext of celebrating her acceptance to now three different medical schools—Hopkins, UCLA and San Diego. UCI had yet to weigh in and I knew that even though it was the closest of her choices, it didn’t interest her the way the others did.

This was no ordinary Friday night. It was the night we celebrated her wonderful accomplishments—for which I was very proud of her. But it would also be the night she’d agree to be my wife. And I’d planned out the details, with some help from my friends—even the reluctant Heath, who had not hesitated to tell me he thought this was a bad idea.

But I’d ignored him because I was sure of how I felt about her and how she felt about me and I knew she’d see that this was the logical next step for us. A ring box weighed down my jacket pocket. I was nervous as hell, but also in no doubt that this was a necessary move in my plan of attack.

The restaurant was on the waterfront in Newport with a great view of the bay, just a few miles from the house. I wasn’t the romantic type of guy and I wasn’t inclined toward the grandiose. Emilia wouldn’t expect a huge gesture from me anyhow. But I still wanted to make this night special—one that we could look back on when we were old farts together. It was difficult to contain my excitement, really. My heart thumped, my hand might have even been a little clammy as it closed and reclosed around that tiny velvet box. It was amazing that I could even entertain thoughts like these without scaring the shit out of myself.

We were seated along the railing right over the crashing surf. As was typical for early October in Southern California, it was hot and dry. The Santa Ana winds were blowing, as they did every autumn. Things started awkwardly, with long drawn-out silences interrupted by brief spurts of conversation. I was certain a lot of it was due to my nervousness.

“Any news from the suit?” she asked.

I frowned, surprised she’d bring it up on a night like this, then brushed it off. “Not really something I want to discuss tonight.”

She shrugged and looked away. “Sorry.”

I cleared my throat. “No worries.”

She was wearing a new dress, this one a vibrant blue, her long, dark hair draped over her shoulder. When we’d walked in, she had turned heads. She really was a beautiful woman and I never got sick of noticing it. But she seemed distant, distracted, tonight as she had every other night this week.

I leaned forward and cleared my throat. “Have you had a chance to look into that program at UCLA?”

She drew back, fiddling with her menu. “We probably shouldn’t talk about
that
either. Let’s find something neutral to discuss. Like, say, what movie we are going to go see after this.”

I studied her for a long moment, searching for some small clue as to what was going on inside her head, feeling that cold fear prickle up my spine again. We said nothing more to one another until after the waiter took our orders and our menus.

She fiddled with the moisture on the outside of her glass of ice water.

“What’s up?” I said.

She darted a cautious look at me before returning to focus on the glass. She shook her head. “Sorry. Don’t know where my head is.”

I studied her, knowing exactly where her head was. Still thinking about Hopkins.

The evening continued like that, in awkward fits and starts. She picked at her meal. Sometimes we got a conversation going. She told me a funny story about Mac chewing out an intern for getting too flirty with subscribers on Reddit.com. But between these stretches, we lapsed into silence. A few times I caught her giving me troubled looks and while these should have deflected me off that night’s chosen path, instead they made me all the more determined.

Because sometimes I’m a fool. A stubborn fucking fool. So along with dessert, I ordered champagne. The minute it was poured into her flute, she quickly downed its contents, signaling for a refill. Two glasses of wine at dinner and now she was sucking the champagne down like she was dying of thirst.

“What’s going on?” I blurted. “That was your third glass.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re counting?”

“I’m just wondering…you seem on edge.”

She grimaced. “So do you.”

I couldn’t deny that. I
was
on edge. For obvious reasons—obvious to
me
anyway.

She sighed and pushed her dessert dish forward, lacing her fingers and resting her folded hands on the table. “We should talk,” she started in a tight voice.

That cold, prickly fear in my chest intensified. “Yes, I agree. There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

She opened her mouth as if to continue her thought, then changed directions. “Oh. What did you need to ask me?”

I froze, for just a split second. The beads of sweat gathering on my forehead were swept away just as quickly by the hot dry breeze. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the box. One hand closed around it while I took her left hand in mine.

“I love you,” I said.

She took a shaky breath, and squeezed my hand. “I love you, too.”

“I want to give you something.” I reached out and pressed the small black velvet box into the hand I held.

She stared at it like I’d just given her a dead cockroach. Time seemed to warp and slow around us. I’d just stepped into my own TARDIS, but there was no going back. My stomach dropped. This was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

Her hand trembled just a little but her voice shook noticeably. “You got me jewelry?”

I took a deep breath, held it. “Open it.”

In spite of the inauspicious start, I was starting to feel eager for her to open it, for her to realize what I was asking her. She fingered the box tentatively, swallowing.

“Open it, Emilia,” I prompted.

She blinked and then complied. Her mouth dropped first and she didn’t appear to be breathing.

“It’s a—” She gasped, her eyes widening in shock.

“An engagement ring, yes.”

I knew hardly anything about jewelry, but Kim had helped me pick it out. It was a low-set, square-cut two-carat diamond surrounded by bezel-set stones (so the jeweler had informed me, anyway). Emilia stared at it for a few moments, not moving or saying anything. Well, hell, I’d already committed to this endeavor and she’d get used to the idea once she saw the damn thing on her finger. While trying to calm my own racing heart, I took the box from her and pulled out the ring. I coughed and braced myself, squaring my shoulders. “I love you, Emilia. I see no reason why we shouldn’t start planning our future together
now
. Will you marry me?”

Her hand was like ice in mine and she had grown dangerously pale, her big eyes looking even bigger and darker in her face. Then she started to tremble. All over.