44. Amelie
44
AMELIE
Henry and I are back to the city before either of us dare to speak.
The silence was lovely while it lasted, though somewhat destructive. I’ve twisted the ring on my finger so many times that I’ve nearly calloused my thumb against the jewel. Mom got Margot and I matching amethyst rings for our birthday, and it’s absolutely lovely. It doesn’t deserve this abuse, but it works as a distraction.
All I’ve thought about since we left the cabin is the fact that Roman is The Dealer. I saw an ace in Nautical Abyss, and it was in place of Henry’s Ophelia. Roman being behind it all is the only explanation, and whether I like it or not, Henry has the right to know that.
“I have to tell you something,” I blurt, leaning forward to turn the radio down.
Henry looks back and forth from me to the radio, clearly aware that this is a serious matter. And it is—that fact is only heightened because I interrupted Avril Lavigne.
“This worries me,” he says.
“Maybe it should,” I admit, “but it needs to be said.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, so I just keep talking. “So, you remember Bondi’s. When we went for the Ophelia but ended up with Nautical Abyss ?”
“Yes. Remember it well.”
“Okay. Well, the next day, when we…” I wave a hand around, rather than saying ‘ When I sold off your work’ , “I caught sight of a playing card. An ace. It was tucked into the edge of the canvas.”
He blows out a breath. “And that was my dad’s signature.”
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I think…Henry, I think he did it to bait me. He must’ve assumed I knew about his signature. I think he’s behind all of this, and he probably knows we’re working together.”
His hands tighten on the wheel. “I should never have done this. I shouldn’t have involved you, or tried to outsmart him, or?—”
“He didn’t give you much of a choice,” I remind, cutting him off. “And I’m not saying it’s the case one way or another. I’m only saying…it adds up.”
Sort of. None of this really adds up on a logical scale, but on the side of details…
I don’t believe in coincidences.
“Would it shock you?” Henry asks, looking over at me. I meet his eyes for a split second before he faces forward again. “Would you be surprised?”
I want to say no, but I don’t.
“I’ll figure it out,” he continues, muttering the words under his breath. “I think I need to talk to him alone. Maybe he’ll admit to it if it’s just me—he doesn’t think I can do anything about it anyways, and I really can’t. But he claims to need my work for the auction. If he has it, then why is he doing this?”
“I don’t know,” I say, even though I have my guesses. “Are you going to pull your work from the museum after all this?”
The question seems to stump him. He taps his fingers on the wheel and chews at his cheeks. It’s a few seconds before he says, “It depends wholly on how he reacts. What his reasoning is for this whole thing. I know he’s going to lie to me—I’m not so na?ve as to expect the truth. But I refuse for this to be something he can lord over my family.” He exhales and shakes his head. “I don’t even understand what he has to gain from this.”
“The opportunity to catch me,” I say quietly, wringing my hands in my lap. “That’s it.”
And it’s the truth, I think. That’s all he can possibly get out of this. My parents couldn’t care less about this git anymore, so it isn’t that. Besides, these problems are mine and Henry’s. Not theirs.
It’s never been about them. It’s been about me this whole time.
Henry looks at me with a solemn face, one I haven’t seen him wear since before we came to the cabin. He’s thinking through my theory. Trying to figure out how plausible it is. And, if I know him at all like I think I do, he’s still beating himself up for involving me. For getting me right where his dad wants me.
But that doesn’t matter to me. I can easily deal with that part of things.
“What are you going to do when we get back?” Henry asks, breaking the silence.
I genuinely haven’t thought about that at all.
I always knew we’d split up when we got back. We’d find his Ophelia and move on. Do our separate things and live our separate lives. I’d practically banked on that detail before this past week. But now, I seem to have lost the plan I had stashed in the back of my mind. Going back and finishing off my work with Henry doesn’t feel as simple now.
“Tell Jen and Meg everything, I guess,” I say casually. “I don’t know. I guess that’s all I can do. They’ll be kind of thrilled with this new information.”
“I’m sure,” Henry says, with no sarcasm in his voice. “It’ll probably give them a sense of relief.”
I shrug. “Probably. I doubt they’ve given it much thought since I left.”
“Do they leave it all up to you?”
“The details, yeah. But I like it that way. If something goes wrong, it’s on me. There’s rarely an argument about fault.”
“You prefer that?”
“To arguing? Absolutely. I don’t want there to be a rift. Though there normally is, given that Jensen and Meg can’t keep their heads out of their rears for a week straight.”
He laughs at that. I close my eyes against the sound, wishing that I felt a fraction as relaxed as he’s pretending to be. I can’t shake the feeling of dread in my stomach.
Henry accusing his dad of something that I planted in his mind is a terrifying idea. I don’t know anything about Roman personally, which means I have no idea how he reacts to things like this. What if it goes poorly? What if something bad happens?
I want to be there to fix things, but I don’t get to do that.
On top of those worries, there’s Henry . His general existence has sent me into a spiral for the past week. I’ve tried my best to ignore what happened last night, to focus on the problems in front of me, but it’s difficult. Almost impossible.
I want to talk about it. Now that we know the truth, I want to know what’s going through his mind. What he’s feeling. I want to know what I’m going to do about my feelings, in the event that he doesn’t reciprocate them anymore.
It wouldn’t be a shock. Not after the things I said to him in the attic, the things I’ve done against him.
I’m not an easy person to be around. Nothing I do is done quietly. My presence is loud, and at times, suffocating. I’ve never tried to hide that, and Henry never made me feel like I had to.
But Henry isn’t like that. He’s quiet. Tempered, but in a good way. He rarely acts without thought, and he knows the consequences of his actions. Being in his presence, I’ve found, is even more comforting than it once was.
Or, it usually is. Not so much when I’m wanting to crawl out of my skin.
I roll my head toward him, eyes roaming his face. He’s still looking at the road, but he gives me a sideways glance every few seconds, like he wants me to know he’s paying attention. But I don’t say anything. I look at him, simply because I don’t want to look away.
“Come to my apartment tonight,” he says softly, suddenly. “Once we have all of this settled, then?—”
“Why?” I cut him off, even though I know he was about to tell me.
He just shrugs, not picking up on my discomfort. “We have to talk, Ames. It’s time to figure things out. We don’t have an excuse to put it off anymore.”
I bite down on my lip until I taste blood. I don’t want to admit how badly that scares me, because it’s ridiculous. We’ll sort things out. And if we don’t…at least this time, I have some form of closure.
Though I can’t promise that I’ll never want to scalp him again.
“I want to see you, Amelie,” he adds on, glancing over at me.
I look out the window. “I don’t know. That seems bad for business, no? Fraternizing with the enemy.”
“You aren’t the enemy,” he admits in a low tone. “And you never were to me. Not in the way I wanted.”
I keep my eyes on the skyline and ignore the quickening beat of my heart. “Fine,” I say, regretting my words as they form. “Ten o’clock?”
He hums. “That’s late. You got a gig?”
I grin against my better judgment. “Meg and Jensen require full attention for a few hours.”
“Alright. Ten on the dot. I’ll be at your door.”
A small part of me hopes that time never comes.