Just Like Her

Chapter 85

Emma

"Really Tom, I shouldn't be here!" I hissed as he practically dragged me down the corridor.

"You're being ridiculous," he responded his eyes fixed on the quickly approaching door.

"B-but everything that's been in the press—" I tried desperately but to no avail.

"Every one of us has gotten bad press," Tom stated matter-of-factly as his hand came to rest on the gilded door knob.

"Bad press?" I balked, "Tom, they're calling me—"

"They're wrong," he said definitively as he finally turned to look at me. When he did, his eyes softened as did his tone. "Ems, you and I both know it and so does my family. You needn't hide from them because of a spot a bad press."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.

"I promise you, Charlie and I broke them in years ago. I'll bet you five pound they don't even blink an eye."

By the salad course I nudged Tom with my knee and, with a silent yet still ever oh-so-dramatic sigh, he passed me the folded bills under the table. I sent him a sarcastically sweet smile as I pocketed the cash.

Tom draped his arm across the back of my chair and tilted his head so that his lips were level with my ear. I stilled in shock at the level of intimacy he was showing at his family's dinner table.

"So they noticed, but in my defense they didn't throw us out either..." He murmured.

I snorted.

"Gwad blesh you," chimed Francis, with an entire dinner roll in his mouth, from across the table .

I smiled in thanks to Tom's nephew before turning my growing grin on his uncle. "You're right. They didn't."

In fact, there had been a mix of reactions among the various members of the family. When Tom finally managed to push open the door—& practically push me through it—Margaret immediately flew towards me and enveloped me in a tight embrace.

"Heard you broke his jaw," Andre chuckled as he sauntered toward the drink cart.

"Good," Tom's father bit to his already retreating in-law. "Bastard deserved it."

"Language," shot Matilda from across the room where she was apparently facilitating a peace treaty between her two red-faced children.

Margaret laughed softly in my ear, but maintained her demure expression as we pulled apart. I smiled warmly in greeting to Tom's father who opened his arms in offer of a hug.

A grateful smile spread across my lips as I stepped into his embrace. Almost immediately however, I had to battle to keep the smile affixed to my face and to stop my lower lip from trembling.

Ever since the assault I had largely exiled myself from the outside world and hidden away our flat. I let others believe it was out of fear of going out alone or anxiety of the predatory paparazzi; however, truth be told, Tom's hiring of our new security team had largely taken care of both.

The real issue—and the one I had only been able to confess to my mother—was the constant threat of my dissolving into tears. Sometimes it was an emotional commercial that set me off or a particularly rough chemo-day for Alice. Once just a bouquet of flowers from Tom had me immediately blubbering.

Tom's father gave me a tight squeeze and murmured: "You keep your head up now and carry on."

A memory of my own father's strong, muscular arms encircling my tinier figure suddenly overwhelmed my senses. And when Tom's father spoke, it was my own father's voice I heard: