The walls teemed with books. The high engraved concave ceilings caught her attention. Small Persian carpets were spread sporadically through the room. A large golden globe stood at one end of a wall. On the opposite was a recreation of the Venus de Milo. Although smaller than the original sculpture in The Louvre, this Aphrodite exuberated just as much enigma.

Robert clasped her palm, leading her to the centre of the library where his family was seated on lavish Victorian style chairs.

"Robert," said his mother, her face beaming with joy. She was the first to rise and greet him. "I'm so glad you've come." She kissed him on his cheeks and then looked adoringly at his face. "How have you been, my dear?"

"I'm fine, Mother," he said, smiling back. He turned to Emma. "And this is Emma," he introduced.

"h.e.l.lo, Emma," his mother said, kissing her gently on her cheek. "I'm Gloria. It's so good to meet you."

His sisters rose from their chairs and introduced themselves as Sarah and Julia Winston.

"And you know, Richard, my brother," said Robert.

Richard was standing near the fireplace, a small gla.s.s of whiskey in his hand, watching them grimly. He swirled the drink in his hand, before gulping it down. "We've met," he said. He moved away to pour himself another drink.

Emma felt her stomach churn. She gripped onto the straps of her purse tightly in the hope of disguising her dismay at Richard's blunt dismissal of her.

After a brief friendly interrogation by the women, she calmed slightly. Seated now beside Julia, she listened to their stories as they rattled on about Robert's cheeky childhood antics.

"h.e.l.lo," said a man, interrupting their tales. "I'm Henry Winston. Robert's father."

"h.e.l.lo," said Emma, rising immediately to greet him. Richard's father, she thought he should have said. There was very little that Richard had not inherited from him.

"So you're an English teacher," he said. "How did you meet Robert?"

"He was doing an elective on poetry while we were at university," she smiled.

"Hmmm...," he nodded. "It's a good subject. In fact, Plato once said "poetry is nearer to vital truth than history". I hope Robert harnessed the maximum benefits of its use in both refinement of character and architecture. Would you mind getting me a drink, Robert?" he said. He turned back to Emma once Robert had left. "You know, architecture is also poetry personified. The same human emotions are used to design beautiful, meaningful structures. It is no wonder that people continue to be mystified by the Eiffel Tower and the Chrysler Building. Why else do they continue to flock to ancient relics like the Taj Mahal, the pyramids of Egypt or the Angkor Wat temple in Cambodia? Because buildings communicate to us, that's why. Through simile, paradox and rhythm. Every time you stand before it, you try to make sense of yourself in relation to the world it was created for. You feel masterpieces come alive, filled with poignancy, lament and a narrative you won't find anywhere else. Like the Machu Picchu of Peru. And yet every time you visit it, it has a new story to tell you. You stand in the same old place, but you continue to discover new things, new directions."

Robert returned with a gla.s.s of whiskey in his hand.

"Thank you, Robert," said his father and then said to Emma. "So tell me Emma, what poem does call to you?"

"I'm inclined to John Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn," she replied.

"Very good, very good," nodding his head in thought. "A genuine cla.s.sic." He began reciting it from memory.

"Thou unravished bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and Slow-Time, Sylvan historian canst thou thus express, A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme Come on, la.s.s," he said. "Give me a few notes of your own."

Emma bit her lips and then started slowly.

"Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss"

Henry beamed and finished off the recitation with her.

"Though winning near the goal-yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!"

Henry let out a loud, throaty laugh. "Oh, you are a true gem, la.s.s. But what stumps me is why you're with Robert and not Richard? Because frankly speaking, Robert, unlike Richard there, does not quite understand nor appreciate the relation between architecture and poetry or art."

"You misunderstand me father, like always," said Robert, his lips pursed tightly. "The prevalence of art and poetry was indulged in one era. But in this modern day and age with the rise in economy and population, one cannot afford to do so any longer. It becomes a fight for functionality and survival."

"Aaah, right," said Henry Winston, nodding. "And that is why he decided to opt for the more cut-throat entrepreneurial endeavours of Cunningham & Price rather than the old ethos of the family business."

"Cunningham & Price isn't any less ethical than Winston Designs, father," he replied, austerely.

"That's where we disagree, son," Henry Winston said, equally stern.

"Will you stop it? The both of you," interfered Gloria Winston. She pulled her husband to the side. "Henry, please, for G.o.d sakes. It's been three weeks since Robert's visited. So no arguments. Not tonight. If you carry on like this, I'm afraid he will never come back."

Henry growled softly. "Well, then my dear, I must have another drink to halven my wit and keep up the strength to endure your asinine beliefs."

Emma watched them uneasily from the corner of her eye. "Is everything alright?" she asked Robert.

"It's fine," Robert replied. "Let me just check on my mother to see if she's okay."

Emma nodded, watching him console his teary-eyed mother in the distance. She walked slowly towards Richard who was seated alone on a long Victorian couch. "Can I join you?"

Richard remained quiet.

She fiddled slightly with her fingers before finally deciding to sit beside him. "You don't call by anymore."

He caressed his gla.s.s gently, refusing to speak for a long while. "I have been busy," he said at last. "But so have you. It's surprising that you missed me at all."

Emma gave him a small half-smile. "You're my best friend, Richard. And I do miss you when you decide to drop out my life for no cause or reason."

Richard glared at her. "I told you I was busy."

"You've always been busy but you also always had the time for me."

"And say if I did call on you, how would you be able to schedule me around your dates with Robert, Emma?"

Emma reddened. "Must I choose between you two? Robert is just as much a friend of mine as you are, Richard. I know that you've had your past differences in business with your brother but must that affect our friendship? Besides you could at least show some leniency towards Robert. He needs it. It isn't fair that he is continually castigated by his father and brother for having an opinion."

"Opinion? Is that what he calls it?" he scoffed. "He's challenged our integrity, our ethics, our way of living, how we've run the family business for generations to the point where we've had to severe his relations with it. Doesn't that affect me or my father? How do you think he feels? How my mother feels to see her son rarely because of the decisions he makes? But Robert does more than that. He decides that the one way in which he can display his displeasure over my siding with my father is by...by..." His eyes softened as it gently roamed the contours of her face.

"There you are," said Robert, walking towards them. "Don't you go running away like that, Emma. I don't want my older brother stealing you away, right?" he smirked at Richard.

A nerve throbbed in Richard's temple. "It is not I who is in the habit of stealing," he said harshly and with one jerky movement, he had risen abruptly from his chair, edging towards Robert.

Emma stood up quickly, shielding Robert from Richard.

He looked at Emma, his eyes welling with sadness. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "You better go. It seems you've made your choice."

"Richard,..," she protested.

"I am drunk as a lord, Emma. Right now, I am impaired of both rationality and reason. Another day, Emma. When I'm more sober. We will talk. But not today. Definitely, not today," he mumbled, as he staggered away.

"Emma," said Richard, walking swiftly into the library. "What are you doing here? At this hour? Are you okay? Are the children okay?"

"Yes, yes," she smiled. "We're fine. I just... needed to talk to you."

He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "Is it urgent? Can it wait? It's so good to see you here. This is truly a pleasant surprise. I never imagined you would come."

She put her head against his chest, resting in the warmth of his protective embrace. A sob escaped her lips and then another, until she was crying softly into his shirt.

He lifted her chin. "What's the matter, Em?" he asked, looking worriedly into her eyes.

"I...missed you," she blurted.

He smiled. "I did too. But I could have told you that over the phone, only if you would answer it once in a while."

She chuckled between her sniffles. She bent her head to look at how her fingers looked against his hand as she entwined them with his. "Richard, I need to know..."

Richard watched her silently.

"I need to know...," she tried again. "When you came to Skye, something happened. I felt it. I know that you did too. What I want to ask is," she hesitated, biting her lips. "Do you...love me?"

He lifted her chin so he could peer into her eyes. "Darling, I loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you. Was I so obscure that you didn't see that at all?"

"I was confused because you kept pushing me away."

"And you kept siding with Robert. I thought you were in love with him."

"I fell in love with Robert far much later. After I was convinced you didn't want me anymore."

Richard pursed his lips tightly. "Emma, I have always loved you. I still do. How can I make it more clearer to you than that?" he said slowly, his breaths growing raspy as he leaned closer to her.

She closed her eyes and felt his lips touch hers. A tear drifted down her cheeks as he kissed her. His arms tightened at her waist, drawing her close to him, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushing against his chest. His lips hungrily tasted hers. She relented freely, allowing him to explore her lips with his own.

His tongue thrust deeply and fiercely in their wild intimacy. Her body shuddered, arching towards him in a mute appeal for more and when he answered her with a thick groan, she let out a long, sweet sound of female pleasure.

"Oh, Emma," he breathed hoa.r.s.ely against her lips. "How I've craved for this moment. I wanted you so much."

"Marry me," she moaned through an unsteady gasp.

He stopped, suddenly growing tense. "What?"

"Marry me," she repeated softly.

He cupped her face with his hands. His body was still yearning for more of her warmth. "What brought that on?" he said, inclining his head to kiss her again.

But she pulled back. "Well, are you?" Her spine stiffened, her face paled in realisation that she would not like his answer.

"Emma, that's ...so sudden. There are things we need to consider."

"What is there to consider? The children love you."

"I know. And I do too. But I am their uncle also. You married my brother, for G.o.d sakes."

"Yes. But he's not here now, is he? There is no law that states we can't marry."

"It's not easy, Emma. How are we to face Sarah and Julia? What about my a.s.sociates and employees? What do I tell them? There's a whole world out there, Emma, that will want an explanation for our relationship."

Her body quivered from her growing fury. "So how did you think you were going to carry out this relationship, Richard? Under wraps? Is that why you were beginning to think that Skye wasn't such a bad idea after all?" Her voiced raised slightly, her eyes glowered with rage.

"Emma," Richard protested, trying to pull her back to him.

She shoved his hands roughly away, tears pouring down her face.

He's never fought to make you his, she recalled, the meaning of Ethel's words dawning upon her.

"You've never fought for me," she said in a frazzled mumble.

"What?" Richard said, unsure of what he heard. "Emma..."

She withdrew hastily and bolted out of the library.

"Mr. Winston," she heard the butler call for him. "Mr. Frank Waldorf's on the phone."

"I'll be right there," she heard him say.

The patter of rain against the windows told her that it was pouring. She raced out, uncaring of the rain, anxious to flee from the large house. She heard Richard call out for her but she had already run too far to turn back.

Rain dripped from her body, soaking her clothes. Her feet squelched against the paved, water logged driveway.

He's never fought for you, she repeated. No, Richard had never fought to make her his.

CHAPTER 14.

Chris showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes. His stomach began to rumble from hunger and he remembered that the last meal he had was his lunch. He made a quick call to Theodore to check on his grandmother's health. She was fine, he reported.

Ending his call, he made his way to the connecting door between his and Emma's room.

"Emma," he said, determined to be a little more cordial. "Emma," he repeated, knocking slightly louder than he did earlier. She didn't respond. He turned the door k.n.o.b. It was unlocked.

He stepped into the room. It was empty. There were no sounds from the bathroom either to indicate she was there. He peered inside albeit carefully. But he needn't have to. She wasn't there. Instead the shower was dry and clean showing no trace of her ever using it.

His heart began to pace, anger streaming into him and through his veins. He strode quickly back to the bedroom. Her bag was resting at the foot of her bed, unopened.