The Forbidden Throb Chapter 19

Emma's POV:

In my dream.

I'm sixteen again, standing in the rain outside the Williams house—my mother's new home, but never quite mine.

My suitcase sits beside me, growing heavier by the minute, or maybe it's just my heart.

It's Thanksgiving break.

The boarding school emptied hours ago, girls rushing into waiting cars, squealing with excitement over family dinners and long weekends.

I called Victoria three times before going home to confirm they would be home.

"Of course, Emma," she'd said, sounding distracted. "Around four. We're having dinner together at six, so don't be late."

I arrived at 3:45, precisely. It's now nearly 5:30, and the house remains dark, the driveway empty.

My jacket is soaked through, and my fingers have gone numb from the November chill. I've tried calling, but no one answers.

They forgot. Or maybe something came up that was more important than picking me up—more important than me.

It wouldn't be the first time.

When I chose the boarding school, Victoria seemed relieved. Robert never hid his preference for a quieter house, one without a moody teenage stepdaughter wandering the halls.

My half-brother Leo was only three then, the center of their world. I was the complication, the remnant of Victoria's first marriage, a responsibility rather than a joy.

I slide down against the front door, hugging my knees to my chest.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle, but the damage is done. I'm soaked, cold, and utterly alone.

A sleek black car pulls into the cul-de-sac, slowing as it approaches.

Not my mother's practical sedan or Robert's company car. This vehicle screams wealth and taste—expensive, intimidating.

It stops in front of the house, and a tall figure emerges.

He approaches with measured steps, elegant even in casual clothes.

I recognize him immediately—Daniel Prescott. I'd seen him once before, when his grandfather David Prescott hosted a dinner shortly after I first moved to Boston.

"Emma?" His voice carries across the lawn, a note of surprise evident. "What are you doing out here?"

I struggle to my feet, embarrassed by my bedraggled appearance and the obvious situation. "Waiting for my family," I manage, trying to sound casual rather than pathetic.

His brow furrows as he glances at the dark house, then back at me. "They went to Cape Cod for the weekend. Victoria mentioned taking Leo to see the whales. Did they not tell you?"

The information hits like a physical blow. They went on vacation without me. After I called. After I confirmed.

Daniel seems to read the answer on my face. His expression softens with something that might be pity, but somehow doesn't feel patronizing.

"Come on," he says, reaching for my suitcase. "You're coming home with me."

I start to protest—I barely know him—but he cuts me off with gentle firmness.

"Don't be afraid," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "My grandfather is at home too. You can stay with us until your mother returns. We'll contact her and let her know where you are. I can't leave you out here like this."

In the warmth of his car, I finally stop shivering.

We drive in silence through the rain-slicked streets of Boston until we reach Beacon Hill. The Prescott home rises before us, a stately brownstone that emanates old money and refined taste.

Inside, everything is warmth and light. Mrs. Prescott fusses over my wet clothes, insisting I change into something dry.

A housekeeper brings hot chocolate that tastes nothing like the powdered mix we have at home. Nicholas is away at a friend's, but Sophia, only twelve then, sits cross-legged on the floor near me, chattering about school and books.

I sink into the plush sofa, cradling the warm mug between my hands.

The exhaustion of the day—the emotional rollercoaster of hope and disappointment—crashes over me. My eyelids grow heavy, the voices around me fading to a pleasant murmur...

"Emma."

A gentle voice pulls me from sleep.

Daniel stands over me, a concerned look on his face.

For a moment, I'm confused—am I still sixteen on the Prescotts' couch, or...?

"Your fever broke during the night. Your vitals are stable." His voice is professional but kind. "I brought you breakfast."

Reality comes rushing back. I'm not sixteen. I'm in a hospital bed. Daniel isn't a college student finding me locked out of my home—he's Dr. Prescott, who treated my flu and proposed a fake relationship last night.

Or did I dream that part too?

I push myself up against the pillows, feeling surprisingly better than yesterday. The fog in my head has cleared, though my body still aches.

"Thank you," I manage, my voice raspy but stronger. "For everything."

Daniel nods, setting a paper bag on the bedside table.

Then he looks directly at me, his expression calm but expectant.

"Have you had time to consider my proposal from last night?" he asks.

I choke on the sip of water I'd just taken, coughing violently as reality crashes down. So that part wasn't a fever dream. He actually did suggest we could... pretend to be together.

The corner of Daniel's mouth quirks upward in what might be amusement at my reaction.

"I see you need more time," he says, his voice neutral but with a hint of warmth. "Eat your breakfast first. I have rounds to make."

He heads toward the door with that same measured, confident stride.

Only when it closes behind him do I finally catch my breath, my heart racing as I unwrap the bagel with trembling fingers.

So it was real. All of it. And now I have no idea what to do.

I finish my breakfast slowly, trying to sort through my jumbled thoughts.

The bagel is perfectly toasted with just the right amount of cream cheese—somehow Daniel had remembered how I like it from that day at the coffee shop.

After finishing my breakfast quickly, I head to the nurses' station to inquire about discharge procedures. As I approach, I hear hushed voices around the corner.

"—can't believe the hospital director is being so obvious about it. Did you hear he invited Dr. Prescott to dinner at his house for the third time this month? Everyone knows his daughter Caroline just 'happens' to be there every time."

"You know Daniel never takes the bait. He's dodged every setup the board members have tried."

"Well, the director is determined this time. His daughter is starting at the hospital next month—Harvard Medical graduate, perfect credentials. He's probably hoping they'll develop feelings working side by side. You know how these things go."

"Good luck to them. That man is married to his work. Unless..."

There's a sudden pause as both nurses notice me standing there.

They exchange meaningful glances before their professional masks slide back into place, conversation abruptly halted.