The Forbidden Throb Chapter 34

Emma's POV:

"I think your eyesight might be getting worse," I said lightly, trying to deflect.

Grandma laughed, the sound rich and knowing.

"My eyesight is perfectly fine, thank you very much. Better than yours, apparently, if you can't see what's right in front of you."

She patted my cheek with affection, then returned to the stove. "Now finish setting the table. And Emma?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever happened with Nicholas—I'm glad you have someone who looks at you like you matter."

I managed a smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. "Don't worry about me, Grandma. I'll be happy."

The words came easier than I expected. Not quite a lie, not quite the truth, like everything else in my life right now.

She studied my face for a long moment, then nodded, satisfied. "I know you will, sweetheart."

---

Lunch was Grandma's famous seafood chowder, thick with chunks of fresh cod and scallops, served with crusty bread still warm from the oven.

Daniel ate with genuine appreciation, complimenting each element of the meal with the kind of specific praise that made Grandma beam.

"The secret is the stock," she explained, clearly delighted to have such an attentive audience. "You have to make it from scratch. None of that store-bought nonsense."

"I can tell," Daniel said. "The depth of flavor is remarkable."

I ate quietly, watching them interact. It almost feels like they're the family and I'm the guest.

I never expected Daniel to be so good at this—at making people happy.

He engaged with Grandma's every word, asked thoughtful questions about her cooking techniques, and somehow made discussing soup stock feel like a fascinating conversation.

After lunch, as I was clearing the table, Mrs. Patterson from next door appeared at the door.

She didn't knock—she never did. Some neighbors, once they'd decided they were familiar enough, took it upon themselves to skip that formality altogether.

"Grace, I brought you some—oh!" Mrs. Patterson stopped mid-sentence, her rheumy eyes widening as they landed on me. "Emma, dear! I didn't know you were visiting."

"Just for the weekend, Mrs. Patterson." I set down the stack of plates I'd been carrying.

"And with company, I see." Her gaze slid past me toward the living room, where Daniel stood by the window.

"We saw a Maybach parked outside this morning," Mrs. Patterson said, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Quite the sight in our neighborhood. We figured it must be visiting your house, Grace."

Grandma's expression remained pleasant but noncommittal. "Emma missed me, that's all. Came home for a visit."

I understood immediately.

In a neighborhood where everyone had known everyone for forty years, gossip wasn't malicious. It was currency. Information. The social glue that bound the community together.

And right now, Grandma was trying to protect us from becoming the subject of Mrs. Patterson's next round of fence-line conferences.

But Mrs. Patterson wasn't satisfied with that answer.

Her gaze ping-ponged between me and Daniel, a knowing look settling over her features.

"Oh, come now, Grace," Mrs. Patterson said with a teasing lilt that didn't quite reach her eyes. "What's with all the secrecy? Afraid I'm going to steal away Emma's golden goose?"

She laughed at her own joke, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. "A young man who drives a car like that—I'd say our Emma has done quite well for herself."

The implication was clear. As if I'd gone hunting for a rich man like some kind of gold digger.

Grandma's expression tightened, the warmth in her eyes cooling instantly.

She set down the dish towel with deliberate precision.

"Patricia," she said, her voice carrying that particular edge I recognized from childhood—the one that meant someone had crossed a line. "That's not funny. Emma is not that kind of girl. This marriage was arranged by Henry before he passed. An agreement between two families."

*Technically true*, I thought. The arrangement remained the same—only the Prescott brother had changed.

Mrs. Patterson's teasing expression faltered under Grandma's unwavering stare.

The smile slipped from her face, replaced by an awkward grimace. She shifted her weight, clearly realizing she'd pushed too far.

"Oh. Grace, I—I was only joking," she said, her voice smaller now. "I didn't mean any harm. It's just, you know, I've heard about those wealthy boys from Boston. They come up here, take advantage of nice local girls—"

My face flamed. I wanted to sink through the floor. To somehow will myself out of existence.

"Patricia." Grandma's tone held gentle reproof. "I don't think—"

"I'm just saying!" Mrs. Patterson's voice pitched higher. "These rich young men, they think they can play around. I saw it on one of those shows Leo watches. They string girls along with fancy cars and expensive dinners, then disappear back to their mansions when the novelty wears off."

"They don't marry girls like... well, girls from neighborhoods like ours, do they? I'm only thinking of Emma's future, of course."

The words hung in the air, thick with implication.

Before I could respond—before Grandma could unleash whatever sharp retort was forming—I felt a warm presence at my back.

Daniel's arm slid around my waist, drawing me against his side with easy confidence.

The gesture was protective, possessive even, but executed with such natural grace it seemed entirely appropriate.

"Mrs. Patterson." His voice was mild, almost pleasant.

But there was steel underneath the courtesy. "I appreciate your... concern for Emma's wellbeing. However, I assure you it's entirely unnecessary. We're planning to obtain our marriage license this afternoon, actually."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Mrs. Patterson's mouth opened, then closed. Opened again. No sound emerged.

Even Grandma looked momentarily startled, her eyes widening before a slow, satisfied smile began to curve her lips.

I jerked my head up to stare at Daniel, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

Was he serious? Or was this simply the most efficient way to end Mrs. Patterson's speculation?