My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 502

Emily Blair could only stare, exasperated.

Tristan Davis was blocking the hotel room door, arms crossed, stubborn as a mule. The message was clear: if you won’t let me come along, then you’re not going anywhere either.

Unimpressed, Emily shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Tristan’s scowl only deepened as he fired off his final argument. “Emily, come on, let’s be reasonable. We booked two rooms, right? But who’s been carrying your bags since we got here? Me! Who’s been lounging around, glued to her phone since we checked in? You! This isn’t fair—I’m hurt, you know…”

Emily’s determined stare faltered ever so slightly under his barrage.

Tristan, ever the expert in mixing threats with charm, softened his tone. “Besides, am I really so embarrassing to be seen with? , Emily, just let me come with you.”

In the end, Tristan got his way and tagged along as Emily went to meet an old friend.

They followed a waiter into the restaurant. Tristan leaned in and whispered, “So, who exactly are we meeting? Guy or girl?”

He wasn’t just wary of Andrew Lane; he was on guard around any and all men near Emily.

He couldn’t help but hope her friend wasn’t an old flame—otherwise, this dinner was about to get very awkward.

As he asked, he caught sight of his reflection in the restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows and took a moment to admire himself. His hair was perfectly styled, parted just so to highlight his strong brow. The tailored charcoal suit and deep red tie were spot-on, every detail polished to perfection—enough to blind any would-be rival.

Satisfied, he walked beside Emily, chest out, looking every bit the leading man.

Emily scanned the dining room, searching for her friend. “She’s a woman—my mentor. Be polite, okay? And please, don’t say anything ridiculous.”

She paused, eyes landing on a familiar figure not far ahead. Turning to the waiter, she said, “There she is. Thank you, you can leave us now.”

Emily paused, then followed Ms. George’s gaze across the room to a family of three.

A couple, both impeccably dressed and strikingly attractive, stood together, joined by a little boy between them, his tiny hand clasped in theirs. The boy was adorable—delicate features, big expressive eyes. When Isabella Austin called out, heads turned all around the dining room, everyone momentarily captivated by the family’s presence.

Isabella Austin.

Emily silently repeated the name, her gaze dropping to the young boy standing between Andrew Lane and Isabella Austin.

Her pulse stuttered. For a split second, her heart nearly stopped, blood rushing backwards, the warmth draining from her body.

She had always known, no matter how many years passed, she’d never forget the face of Isabella Austin’s son, Dennis Lane. His features were etched into her bones—impossible to erase.

He had Isabella’s eyes and brows, but his mouth, nose, and brow were pure Andrew Lane. The boy had inherited his parents’ finest traits, making him impossibly charming. Around adults, he was the picture of perfect manners—a little gentleman, polite and well-raised.