The Forbidden Throb Chapter 162

Emma's POV:

The parking lot felt impossibly quiet after the chaos of the restaurant.

I watched Daniel place the takeout containers into the insulated bag in the back seat. His movements were slower than usual, as if each action required conscious effort.

I was already buckled into the passenger seat, my hands folded in my lap.

Through the windshield, the sky stretched pale and endless above us. But I couldn't focus on the scenery. My attention kept drifting to Daniel's profile as he closed the trunk, to the set of his shoulders, to the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

He slid into the driver's seat and gripped the steering wheel, but didn't turn the key. The silence expanded between us, filling the car like water rising.

I studied his face. His mouth was set in that careful, controlled line.

"Are you okay?" The question came out softer than I'd intended.

Daniel's fingers flexed on the steering wheel. I watched his throat work as he swallowed.

For a moment, I thought he might give me his usual response—*I'm fine*—the automatic deflection he'd perfected over thirty years.

But the words never came. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, the click loud in the stillness.

Daniel's head turned slightly, his eyes finding mine through those perfectly clean lenses.

Without thinking, I reached for his right hand where it rested on the wheel. His fingers were cool beneath mine. I lifted his hand from the steering wheel and brought it to the side of my neck, pressing his palm against my skin.

"Daniel." I took a breath, steeling myself. "I need you to know something."

His eyes met mine fully now. Behind the lenses, I could see something vulnerable flickering in those deep brown depths.

"No matter what happens in the future..." I paused, making sure he was listening, really listening. "No matter what your family thinks. No matter what the world says. I will *always* love you. Foever. "

The words hung in the air between us. I watched his pupils dilate, watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.

The sunlight slanted through the windshield, casting us both in a warm golden glow that felt at odds with the weight of the moment.

I reached into my coat pocket with my free hand, pulling out a small bag of maple candies.

"You know what my grandmother used to tell me?" I said softly, tearing open one of the candies. "She said when you're sad, if you keep it all locked inside, it's like roots growing into the ground. The deeper they go, the harder they are to pull out."

Daniel's eyes tracked the movement as I unwrapped the amber-colored candy, his expression unreadable.

"But if you have something sweet..." I brought the maple candy to his lips, "it's like pouring syrup over those bitter roots. Slowly, they start to dissolve."

He stared at the candy for a moment, and I saw something shift in his expression. A memory, perhaps. Something distant and half-forgotten.

Then I remembered—years ago, at a Prescott family Christmas gathering. I'd been dating Nicholas then, young and uncertain, trying to find my place in their glittering world. Daniel had been standing alone in the corner.

I'd approached him with a cup of hot cocoa, nervous and unsure. And I'd offered him a maple candy, just like this one. *My grandmother says these make people happy,* I'd whispered, before fleeing back to the safety of the crowd.

Had he remembered? Did he know, even then, that the girl offering him that small kindness would one day become his wife?

"Emma." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper.

I waited, the candy still held between my fingers.

Slowly, carefully, he parted his lips. I placed the candy on his tongue, felt the briefest brush of his mouth against my fingertips.

The maple sugar began to melt immediately, its sweetness spreading across his palate. I watched him close his eyes, watched the hard line of his jaw soften just slightly as the familiar taste registered.

I placed the rest of the candies in the cup holder, then took both of his hands in mine, our fingers intertwining. His platinum wedding band pressed cool against my skin—a reminder of vows spoken, of promises made.

And then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

It was a low sound, barely audible, tinged with something that might have been resignation or relief or both. His shoulders shook slightly with it, and when he opened his eyes again, they were brighter somehow. Less burdened.

"You're smiling," I said, unable to keep the triumph from my voice. "So it worked."

"It worked," he agreed, and there was something in his tone—something warm and wondering and achingly tender.

I leaned across the center console. He met me halfway, one hand coming up to cup the back of my head as I pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. I could taste the maple sugar there, sweet and woody.

His other hand found my waist, pulling me closer despite the awkward angle. I breathed in the scent of him. His forehead came to rest against mine, and for a moment we just breathed together, sharing the same air.

"I used to be so jealous of Nicholas," he said quietly, the words barely a whisper against my skin.

I didn't interrupt. Didn't move. Just let my fingers trace gentle patterns on the back of his hand, offering silent support.

"He could make any mistake, do anything wrong, and someone would forgive him. Someone would love him anyway. Unconditionally." Daniel's voice was rough with emotion. "I spent thirty years trying to understand what made him so different. What made him deserving of that kind of love when I..."

He trailed off, but I understood what he couldn't say. *When I never was.*

I pulled back just enough to see his face. Behind his glasses, his eyes were bright with unshed tears, his expression more vulnerable than I'd ever seen it.

"But now..." He swallowed hard. "Now I have you."

The words broke something in me. I brought his hand to my chest, pressing his palm flat against my heart so he could feel it racing.

"And I have you," I whispered back.

I cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to look at me. My blue-green eyes met his deep brown ones, and I poured every ounce of certainty I possessed into my gaze.

"Daniel Prescott, " My voice shook slightly, but I pushed forward. "I will give you a love that belongs to you alone. Only you. "

I kissed his forehead, his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose. Each touch was a promise, a benediction. Finally, I pressed my lips to his, soft and sweet and full of everything I couldn't put into words.

When I pulled back, his eyes were still closed, his breathing uneven.

"I know I'm young," I continued, my thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "I know I don't have much to offer right now. I can't take away your burdens or fix everything that's broken."

I felt his hand tighten on my waist, but I kept going.

"But I will stand beside you. I will be here, every single day, working to become someone worthy of standing next to you. Someone who can protect you, the way you've always protected me."

My voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Until the day comes when I'm strong enough to shield you from the world, the way you've shielded me."

Daniel's eyes opened, and I saw they were rimmed with red. His thumb came up to trace my cheekbone, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Okay," he said, his voice so rough it was almost unrecognizable.

Just that one word, but it carried the weight of thirty years of longing, of hoping, of believing he would never deserve this kind of love.

"I'll be waiting, then," he said softly, his voice still rough but laced with warmth.

"I'm counting on it, Mrs. Prescott."