Emma
Damn it. That was close.
When my mom stands in the doorway, I see the suspicion flicker in her eyes, sharp and penetrating. But I’m already sprawled on the floor, one hand grabbing my ankle, face contorted in fake pain. The take out bag lays forgotten at my side, its contents strewn about as evidence of my clumsy act.
Knox recovers fast. He falls to one knee, slides his arms under me, and lifts me up with a cautious touch that feels anything but innocent against my skin.
“Mom,” I yell, my voice cracking just enough to pretend I’m about to break down. I pretend I'm feeling pain, grimacing.
The moment she sees me limping, she rushes forward, purse falling from her shoulder. “Oh, Emma, are you hurt?” Her voice is thick with worry, softer than I’ve heard in a long time.
“I just fell
