I did manage to make it home every night—though I was late. We didn’t talk any further about medical school, even when her acceptance letter from UCLA arrived in the mail. But there was no giddy excitement on her face like she’d had for the Hopkins letter. Just a quiet, “I got it.”

I decided then that it was necessary to formulate a new plan of attack—all while trying to not make it appear like a plan of attack.

The one thing I did know was that I wouldn’t stand back and do nothing. I hated not having control of one of the—scratch that—the most important aspect of my life. My thought processes were working constantly on the back burner even when the front burner was preoccupied with this legal issue and the normal work things.

But I could tell it was bothering her because even in the short hours before bed that we spent together, usually over a late dinner or maybe watching TV or a movie together, she was distant, quiet.

And she wasn’t very interested in sex, either, which sucked. Even more so than normally, because sex would have been a great stress release. The times I initiated, she either made up a ridiculous excuse to avoid it or lay there, distracted.

I started to do something I never do—panic.

Was she trying to distance herself in preparation for leaving for Maryland? Did she resent me because our relationship was holding her back from her dream?

Was it time to show her a new dream to replace the old one? The art of war…is a matter of life or death, a road to either safety or ruin. I wasn’t waging a war with Emilia. But I was waging a war on her goal to go live on the other side of the country without me, so I could gain control of what was mine.

As the days progressed during that week, a new plan began to form. So she was emotionally attached to this decision she’d made to go to Hopkins long before she’d met me. But we were in a relationship now and this changed things. Things that I’d make her see. She had a new emotional attachment and that one, I hoped, was far stronger than this distant idea of going to a school in Maryland. She was attached to me. And I wouldn’t give her up.

I’d offer her a new dream. I’d find a way to make it impossible for her to go. I hoped that it already was a difficult choice, but I was not above hedging my bets.

When I called Kim Strong, a few nights later, it was not just to ask for her help with my new plan, but to also ask for her daughter’s hand in marriage.

Chapter Four

The following Friday night I took Emilia out to dinner under the pretext of celebrating her acceptance to now three different medical schools—Hopkins, UCLA and San Diego. UCI had yet to weigh in and I knew that even though it was the closest of her choices, it didn’t interest her the way the others did.

This was no ordinary Friday night. It was the night we celebrated her wonderful accomplishments—for which I was very proud of her. But it would also be the night she’d agree to be my wife. And I’d planned out the details, with some help from my friends—even the reluctant Heath, who had not hesitated to tell me he thought this was a bad idea.

But I’d ignored him because I was sure of how I felt about her and how she felt about me and I knew she’d see that this was the logical next step for us. A ring box weighed down my jacket pocket. I was nervous as hell, but also in no doubt that this was a necessary move in my plan of attack.

The restaurant was on the waterfront in Newport with a great view of the bay, just a few miles from the house. I wasn’t the romantic type of guy and I wasn’t inclined toward the grandiose. Emilia wouldn’t expect a huge gesture from me anyhow. But I still wanted to make this night special—one that we could look back on when we were old farts together. It was difficult to contain my excitement, really. My heart thumped, my hand might have even been a little clammy as it closed and reclosed around that tiny velvet box. It was amazing that I could even entertain thoughts like these without scaring the shit out of myself.

We were seated along the railing right over the crashing surf. As was typical for early October in Southern California, it was hot and dry. The Santa Ana winds were blowing, as they did every autumn. Things started awkwardly, with long drawn-out silences interrupted by brief spurts of conversation. I was certain a lot of it was due to my nervousness.

“Any news from the suit?” she asked.

I frowned, surprised she’d bring it up on a night like this, then brushed it off. “Not really something I want to discuss tonight.”

She shrugged and looked away. “Sorry.”

I cleared my throat. “No worries.”

She was wearing a new dress, this one a vibrant blue, her long, dark hair draped over her shoulder. When we’d walked in, she had turned heads. She really was a beautiful woman and I never got sick of noticing it. But she seemed distant, distracted, tonight as she had every other night this week.