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"Christopher heard Emma choke before he saw her.
The sound came through the open French doors as a wet, strangled gasp, followed by the slap of small hands against water and someone shouting his name from across the courtyard.
He dropped the folder he had been carrying and ran.
By the time he cleared the doorway, his daughter’s pale face had vanished beneath a shifting carpet of crimson petals.
Juliette stood at the edge of the pool in her burgundy dress, bent at the waist with one arm stretched toward the water.
“Emma!”
Christopher crossed the stone deck so fast his dress shoes lost traction on the wet limestone.
He caught himself against a chair, shoved it aside, and reached the pool as Emma’s head broke the surface again.
She coughed once and tried to breathe.
Water went into her mouth instead.
Behind Juliette, four members of the household staff stood clustered near the white wall of the mansion, motionless except for one woman whose hands were pressed over her mouth.
Christopher dropped hard onto both knees.
The impact shot pain through his legs, but he barely registered it.
He plunged his arms through the petals and caught Emma beneath the shoulders.
For one horrible second her wet dress slipped under his hands.
“Dad.”
“I’ve got you.”
Her voice was barely there.
“I’ve got you, Em.”
He pulled her against the pool wall and lifted.
Water poured from her cream dress.
Petals clung to her hair, her neck, and Christopher’s black sleeves.
Emma grabbed his jacket with both fists and began coughing against his chest.
Christopher held her so tightly that she made a small protesting sound.
He loosened his grip at once.
“Breathe.”
Emma coughed again.
“That’s it.”
His own breath came too fast.
“Just breathe.”
Someone behind him said they should call an ambulance.
Another voice answered that one had already been called.
Christopher looked at Emma’s face.
Her eyes were open.
She was frightened, shivering, and breathing.
That was enough to keep the world intact for another second.
Then Juliette touched his arm.
“Chris.”
He turned.
She had gone pale beneath her makeup.
Her dark hair had fallen partly across her forehead, and her chest rose quickly under the fitted burgundy fabric.
“Chris, she slipped.”
He stared at her.
“I tried to save her.”
Her fingers remained on his wet sleeve.
Christopher looked at the pool.
Then at Juliette.
Then at the women standing behind her.
None of them moved.
Something in their stillness bothered him before he could identify why.
He looked back at Juliette.
“You tried to save her?”
“Yes.”
Her answer came too quickly.
Christopher’s jaw tightened.
Emma was still gripping the front of his jacket.
He could feel every tremor passing through her fingers.
“Daddy.”
“I’m here.”
He never looked away from Juliette.
She took another step toward him.
“Please listen to me.”
Christopher’s gaze dropped to her hands.
They were dry.
Not damp.
Not dripping.
Dry.
The hem of her dress was dry too.
“You tried to save her.”
“I reached for her.”
Juliette swallowed.
“She was panicking.”
Christopher looked toward the nearest member of staff.
It was Teresa, who had worked in the house for almost six years and had once driven Emma to an emergency dentist at midnight because Christopher had been trapped at an airport in Chicago.
Teresa lowered her eyes.
That frightened him more than if she had screamed.
“What happened?”
Juliette’s grip tightened on his forearm.
“Christopher.”
He pulled his arm free.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered.
Emma coughed against him.
Christopher bent immediately.
“Does your chest hurt?”
She nodded.
“Can you breathe?”
Another nod.
“Okay.”
He touched her wet hair back from her face.
“You’re okay.”
He did not know whether that was true.
The lie came automatically because fathers were apparently allowed certain lies when their children were shaking in their arms.
Juliette whispered his name again.
Christopher rose carefully, bringing Emma with him.
She was heavier than he expected, not because she weighed much but because fear seemed to have changed the mathematics of his body.
Teresa finally stepped forward.
“I can take her inside, sir.”
“No.”
His answer made Teresa stop.
Christopher immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice.
“Sorry.”
He adjusted Emma against his chest.
“Bring towels.”
Teresa hurried toward the house.
Another woman followed her.
Juliette remained where she was.
“Chris, she slipped.”
Christopher looked at her shoes.
Black heels.
Dry.
The stone immediately around the pool was splashed with water from Emma’s struggle and his rescue, but Juliette’s legs showed no sign that she had knelt beside the girl.
There were no wet marks across the front of her dress.
No petals stuck to her arms.
Nothing.
He heard himself ask, “How long was she in there?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were standing beside her.”
“It happened so fast.”
“How long?”
“Seconds.”
Christopher looked past her again.
The two remaining staff members avoided his eyes.
One of them, Nina, was crying silently.
Juliette moved between him and them.
It was a small movement.
Perhaps she did not even know she had made it.
Christopher noticed anyway.
“What did you do?”
Her face changed.
Not much.
Her mouth opened slightly.
“What?”
“To Emma.”
“Nothing.”
“What did you do to my daughter?”
“Chris, stop.”
“Tell me.”
“I just did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Emma shifted against him.
Christopher felt her fingers clutch harder at his lapel, and the sensation pulled him back from the edge of something he did not yet understand.
He turned toward the house.
“Teresa!”
She came running with two large towels.
Christopher wrapped the first around Emma.
When Teresa reached for the child again, Emma resisted.
“No.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Christopher said.
“No.”
She buried her face against him.
Christopher closed his eyes for half a second.
Juliette came closer.
“Emma, honey, I’m so sorry.”
Emma recoiled.
It was tiny.
A tightening of her shoulders.
A turn of her face.
But Christopher felt it.
May you like
He looked down at her.
Then at Juliette.
