The Forbidden Throb Chapter 86

Emma's POV:

I didn't crawl out of bed until nearly noon, my head fuzzy from too little sleep and too much conversation.

Olivia and I had stayed up until almost four in the morning, sprawled across her dorm room floor with cold pizza and Coke, talking about everything and nothing—her latest assignment, my upcoming Portland trip, the strange new reality of being married to Daniel Prescott.

"You smiled when you said his name each time," she'd pointed out around 2 AM, her eyes too knowing despite the late hour.

"I did not."

"You absolutely did. This soft little smile, like—" Olivia had sat up straighter, her eyes bright despite the exhaustion. "Like you were thinking about something that made you happy."

"I did not." I'd grabbed a throw pillow defensively. "He's just... thoughtful. That's all."

"Uh-huh." Olivia had given me a look that said she saw right through me. "Just thoughtful. That's why you've mentioned his name, like, forty times tonight. 'Daniel thinks I should eat more.' 'Daniel noticed I wasn't sleeping well.' 'Daniel said the funniest thing about his surgical resident.' You literally can't go five minutes without bringing him up."

"Okay, okay! I get it." I'd thrown the pillow at her again to shut her up.

But now, in the harsh light of midday, I wondered if she'd been right. Wondered if everyone could see what I'd been trying so hard not to acknowledge.

Thank God I'd had the foresight to bring all I needed in Portland to the dorm yesterday.

My suitcase sat open on Olivia's desk chair—the one piece of furniture not buried under her organized chaos of textbooks and camera equipment.

The afternoon light streaming through the window illuminated my half-packed belongings: neat stacks of clothes, toiletries still in their travel bags, the box of lobster-shaped chocolates for Eve tucked safely in bubble wrap.

Eve's email sat open on my laptop screen, the details of the Portland Art Museum's French Impressionist exhibition gleaming with professional possibility.

*Three days, three nights. Your hotel is booked in Old Port.*

My phone buzzed on the desk—Daniel's name lighting up the screen in a FaceTime request.

I glanced at my reflection in the small mirror Olivia kept pinned to her bulletin board, noting my hair escaping from its ponytail in messy wisps, yesterday's mascara smudged beneath my eyes.

"Just a second!" I called out, even though he couldn't hear me yet.

I made a quick dash to the bathroom down the hall, finger-combing my hair and splashing cold water on my face...

After preparing, I accepted the call, Daniel's face filling the screen.

"How's the packing going?" His voice carried through clearly.

"Almost done." I angled the phone to show him the half-filled suitcase. "My friend got everything arranged—flights, hotel, the whole itinerary. The hotel's right in Old Port."

Something shifted in his expression, too subtle to name.

"Your friend is very thorough."

"Right? I'm so lucky." I reached over to tap the box of chocolates sitting on top of my clothes. "Thank God I actually prepared a thank-you gift—there's this chocolate shop in Boston that makes these adorable lobster-shaped chocolates. Very special, very touristy."

"That's thoughtful of you." His voice had dropped a register, the words coming out slower. "Going through all that trouble to pick a perfect gift."

*Here we go again.* The same odd tension that had crept into his voice at dinner when I'd mentioned Eve.

I opened my mouth to respond, but something in his expression shifted—as if he'd caught himself, noticed my confusion.

"Emma." His voice gentled, losing that strange edge. "When you're out there, be careful. Don't get too close to people you don't know well. And if anything feels off, anything at all—you call me immediately. Understood?"

Was he worried about Eve? The thought flickered through my mind, strange and oddly endearing. But the last thing I wanted was to make this awkward again.

"Okay," I said simply, keeping my voice soft. "I will. I promise."

Daniel shifted, and I caught a glimpse of what looked like a weather app open on his computer screen behind him. "I checked the forecast for Portland. Rain for the next several days. Make sure you pack an umbrella."

"I have one somewhere—"

"And your heavy coat. The one with the hood."

I glanced at the lightweight jacket I'd laid out. "It's not that cold yet—"

"Emma." The firmness in his tone made me look back at the screen. His expression had softened, but remained serious. "November in coastal Maine. Please."

"Okay." The word came out smaller than I intended. "I'll bring the heavy coat."

The warmth in my chest expanded, threatening to show on my face. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing my expression to remain neutral. "Anything else, Dr. Prescott?"

"That's all for now, Mrs. Prescott."

The way he said my new name sent an unexpected flutter through my stomach. I ended the call quickly, before he could see the smile I could no longer contain.

I stared at my reflection in Olivia's mirror—at the soft expression I couldn't quite erase, the warmth still lingering in my eyes.

*I should have been more careful. Should have kept my distance, protected my heart.*

But the thought came too late. Like trying to close a door that had been left open for months.

*It seems too late. I'm falling for him.*

---

Portland Jetport's familiar corridors felt like coming home.

The scent of salt air mixed with jet fuel, the distant cry of seagulls—everything exactly as I remembered.

I made my way to baggage claim, scanning the crowd. I spotted a familiar figure standing by carousel three.

Eve Miller, looking effortlessly elegant in dark jeans and a waxed Barbour jacket, her short chestnut hair styled in that perfect professional-yet-casual way.

She was scrolling through her phone, a leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

"Eve?" I called out, my voice pitching higher with surprise.

She looked up, her face breaking into a genuine smile. "Emma! Welcome to Portland."