The Forbidden Throb Chapter 133

Daniel's POV:

The café door yielded to my push, cold air and snow rushing in with me.

My breath came faster than it should have, considering the short drive from the hospital.

Hermann's call still echoed in my mind—*She knows everything, Daniel. *

Then his voice had softened, taking on that professorial tone I'd heard him use with struggling students. *You can't just keep doing things for people and expect them to guess what's in your heart. Sometimes you actually have to open your mouth and say it.*

I found Emma immediately—red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, hands trembling around a paper cup. Exactly as Hermann had described, but seeing her like this was different. Worse.

Every instinct screamed to go to her, to pull her close, to fix whatever had broken. But my feet stopped a stride away.

What if she didn't want to be touched? What if knowing the truth had changed everything between us?

"Daniel."

Her voice fractured what remained of my control. I closed the distance. "I'm here. "

Emma stood and crashed into me, her arms wrapping tight around my waist, her face pressed against my chest. For one stunned second, I couldn't move.

Then my arms came around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed between her shoulder blades as if she might disappear if I loosened my grip.

Around us, conversations paused. I felt eyes turning our way. I didn't care.

Emma's shoulders shook against me, her tears soaking through my shirt. Each sob tore at something deep in my chest, unraveling years of carefully maintained composure.

I held her tighter, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair.

"Shh," I murmured against her hair. "Don't cry anymore. If you keep crying, it's going to break my heart."

But she didn't stop. If anything, she cried harder, her hands fisting in my coat as though she was afraid I'd disappear. The rawness of it—her complete lack of restraint, the way she let herself fall apart in my arms—made my throat close.

Her voice emerged muffled and broken against my chest.

"Then what about you?" The words came out thick with tears. "Daniel... who gets to worry about *you*?"

The question hit like a physical blow. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the ache spreading through my chest.

*No one*, I thought. *For so long, no one.*

I felt each one like a brand against my skin, and my vision blurred.

"Who, Daniel?" Emma's voice cracked, but there was steel beneath the tears now.

She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her eyes blazing even as they overflowed. "Who worries when you don't eat? Who notices when you're exhausted? Who—" Her voice broke completely.

The questions stripped me bare. I opened my mouth, but no answer came.

"You show up like—like some kind of guardian angel every time I need help," she continued, her hands still fisted in my coat. "That night at the ER. At the charity gala when I found Nicholas. Over and over, you just *appear*, and then you vanish."

"If we hadn't gotten married," she said, voice dropping to a whisper, "would you have just kept doing this forever? Watching from the shadows, helping in secret, never letting me know how much you—"

She stopped, seeming to lose her nerve. But her eyes held mine, demanding an answer I'd spent years avoiding.

My hand slid from her back to cup her jaw, tilting her face up gently. Her skin was wet beneath my palm, her lashes dark and clumped with tears. I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Don't think like that," I said quietly, my thumb brushing away the tears on her cheek. "You caught me, didn't you?"

A faint smile tugged at my lips despite everything. "You found the painting. You're standing here."

Her breath caught. "But you—"

"I was going to tell you everything." My voice remained steady, certain. "Tonight, actually. There's a ticket in the last box—the one for today. I'd written you a note, asking you to meet me here. In this garden, at the fountain. I was going to show you the bench, explain everything, tell you about that summer—"

I paused, my hand still cradling her face. "I just didn't expect the plan to be disrupted."

Emma stared at me, snowflakes melting in her hair where they'd fallen during her walk here. Then her expression shifted, softening and sharpening at once.

"Did you ever think," she said, voice rising slightly, "that I might want to do something for you? That I might want to know what *you* need? "

The words hit like a physical blow.

"You talk about wanting me to be happy," Emma continued, tears spilling over. "But what about your happiness?"

" I'll get to love you the way you deserve."

"Emma—" My voice barely functioned.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, you know," she said, and something in her expression shifted—softer but bolder at once. "I figured out your weakness."

Before I could process what she meant, Emma rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to mine.

I bent down instinctively, trying to close the distance, but she still had to stretch, her neck arching as she kissed me with a fierce tenderness that undid something fundamental in my chest.

When she finally pulled back—just slightly—her lips found my jaw, then the edge of my chin.

"No more of this," she whispered against my skin, her breath warm. "From now on, you have to tell me things. If something's bothering you, tell me. If you're happy about something, tell me. If I hurt you—especially if I hurt you—you tell me. No more hiding. No more secrets."

She wrapped her arms around my waist again, her cheek pressing against my chest as she molded herself to me, closing every gap until we fit together seamlessly.

We stood like that for a long moment, snow falling outside, warmth building between us. When she finally pulled back, her eyes held a question.

"The wishing fountain Hermann mentioned," she said. "What did you wish for?"

A smile tugged at my lips despite everything. "You really want to know?"

"Every detail."

We started walking, my hand finding hers naturally. "Three coins. Wishing you and Nicholas all the best."

Her fingers tightened around mine, then she stopped abruptly, turning to face me with an expression caught between indignation and hurt.

"No more wishing," she declared, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. "From now on, if you want something, you tell *me*. You make your wishes to me, not to some fountain."

The fierce protectiveness in her tone surprised a genuine laugh from me. "All right. No more fountain wishes. The wishes don't come true anyway."

"What do you mean?"

I paused, considering how to explain. "I think... when I threw those coins, I wasn't wholehearted about it. There was this part of me—small, selfish—that didn't actually want Nicholas to make you happy. I wished it could be me instead."

I smiled ruefully. "Maybe the fountain knew. Maybe that's why none of it came true the way I intended."

"Daniel..." Emma's eyes grew luminous again.

"Looking back now," I continued quietly, "I'm grateful for that selfish part.. If I'd wished with complete sincerity for you and Nicholas—" I stopped, not wanting to finish the thought.

Emma's grip on my hand became almost painful. "Then we need to fix this."

"Fix what?"

"I haven't made a wish yet." She started pulling me back toward the garden. "We're going back to that fountain, and I'm going to wish properly—with my whole heart—that you and I stay together. Always."

"Emma, the fountain is probably frozen—"

"I don't care." Her voice was fierce, determined.