Emily's POV
I smoothed down the front of my dress for the third time, glancing at the grandfather clock in the hallway. Seven thirty. Dinner had been ready for over an hour, growing cold on the table while I kept making excuses to Lily about why Victor wasn't joining us yet.
"Maybe Mr. Hawthorne is really busy with work," Lily had said, her small face scrunched with worry as she pushed her mashed potatoes around her plate.
"I'm sure that's it, sweetheart," I'd replied, forcing brightness into my voice even as my stomach twisted with anxiety.
But now Lily was in bed, and I was pacing the foyer like a caged animal, my worry morphing into something sharper. Something that felt like fear.
I hadn't seen Victor since this morning. Since I'd left his room with that breakfast tray, wrapped in his robe. Since he'd looked at me with such tenderness and promised me that last night mattered.
Where was he? Why hadn't he come out of his study all day?
