45. Amelie
45
AMELIE
On the elevator ride up to my apartment, I became increasingly aware of the fact that I have almost too much to tell Meg and Jen. I have no idea how they’re going to react to any of it, and on top of that, Henry is talking to Roman soon. I wish I could know what’s going on. I wish I were there, but also, I’m thankful that I’m nowhere near that man.
When I unlock my front door, I’m met with a very loud gasp. I wasn’t expecting much of a reaction from anyone, and the noise is a shock enough to send me stumbling into the door handle.
“Ames!” Meg says, a whisk in one hand, mixing bowl in the other. I’ve never even seen her lift a spatula, and now, she appears to be baking. “You’re back already?”
I sigh and throw my purse onto the counter. “Yeah. Kept it a secret for shock value. Did you miss me lots?”
“Sure, yes. Just sit down. We have a lot to talk about.” Meg yanks out her ponytail and sits on the armchair. I flop down onto the couch and lay fully horizontal, not even caring that Jensen will need somewhere to sit, too. As if on cue, he steps out of the back bedroom as soon as I stretch my legs out. He drags out a chair from the kitchen and moves it next to Meg, dropping into it with a sigh.
“Okay, first off,” I start. “What was up with Lover of Mine ?”
Meg wordlessly stands and goes to the closet, returning seconds later with a box full of cash. Stacks and stacks of it. Each is held together with a worn rubber band, and I frown when I peek inside. “Just…look at it,” she urges.
I glance at it for exactly one second. “It’s fake.”
“I told you!” Jensen sighs, runs a hand down his face. “I said?—”
“Shut up,” I tell him, setting the box aside. I should probably be livid that there’s ten thousand dollars’ worth of fake money in front of me, but I don’t even care right now. “It’s fine. We’ll deal with it later.”
Meg just nods, looking more than aggravated. Yesterday on the phone, she told me that Jensen suspected the cash they received for the job was fake, but neither of them were sure. It’s not as though we can really do anything about it, but still, I try to make a habit of checking one bill before leaving. Of course, the one time I wasn’t there, it’s counterfeit.
It’s a good enough segue for me to branch into my topic, though, because I have very little doubt that Roman is behind this bit of things, too.
“Alright,” I start, laying back down. “Now that that’s out of the way, let me tell you…everything.”
And I do, in great detail. I tell them about my parents’ and Roman’s past rivalry. That he used to be an art thief himself. I explain that he must be The Dealer, and that he likely took the Ophelia and Nautical Abyss. That this whole thing was a roundabout way to bait me and get me caught. I try to remind them that I’m not one-hundred percent sure of any of this, but they don’t pay it any mind. They hop on my train of thought almost instantly.
I stray away from the topic of Henry, but I do explain the letters and calls, because I know they’d ask if I didn’t. Especially Meg, who has become nosier than I’d ever have guessed, even after knowing her for this long.
When I finally stop talking, the first response I get is from her. “So, we’re getting played by an old man. What do we do about that?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. “I have an idea , but…”
But I need to run it by Henry.
For once in my life, I want permission for something, only because this plan may cause more harm than it’s worth. If Henry will give me the go-ahead, I have an idea for how to take down Roman at this auction and get Henry’s stolen work back.
It’s rusty. Extremely messy. But I think it can work.
“Ames,” Jensen says warily. “That look on your face…”
“The plan would take place at the auction, and I’d need your guys’ help.”
They both groan. “That sounds like a trainwreck.”
“Yes.” I nod. “It probably is.”
“Are you going to give us any further information?” Meg asks.
I shrug. “Not now, because I don’t have it all yet.
The idea in my mind is very fickle. It involves the three of us, Henry and Lizzy, and a monkey.
I do wish I were kidding.
“Jenny,” Meg says abruptly, turning toward him. “Go see if Ames has any mail. I forgot to check this morning.”
He stares blankly at her. “Why would I?—"
“Now, please.”
He’s up and out the door before she turns back toward me.
I raise a brow. “I take it you’ve got him wrapped around your finger again?”
Meg grins at me. “He was never un -wrapped.”
True.
“Now, tell me the details. Henry details. I need to know if I was right about everything.”
I sigh and try to ignore the way my stomach flips at the mention of his name. That has got to stop happening. “I can’t even give you details, Meg. I don’t know what happened.”
“Did he kiss you?”
I keep my voice even when I say, “No.”
“Did you want him to?”
Yes. “No.”
“Hm.” She doesn’t believe me at all. “So you guys aren’t back together, then.”
“No.” I need to learn a new word.
Meg just nods. “So what now?”
“I have no idea. It’s just…sort of unreal. I don’t understand anything. I don’t understand the letters, and I don’t understand what I’m feeling.”
“But you want to be with him,” she says, though it’s not a question. It’s a statement.
“I think so,” I whisper, the admission burning my throat. I haven’t let myself even think those words yet, and here I am, saying them aloud at the simplest prompt. “But it isn’t plausible. Henry will tire of me eventually, and I…I can’t handle that again.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think he will.”
“But he should,” I say exasperatedly. “Of all people, he should.”
“You don’t get to decide what he should feel for you, Ames. I don’t think he even had much of a say in it.”
I pull a throw blanket into my lap and sigh. “This is another thing that I can’t control. I don’t want to feel for him again. It throws a horrible dent in things.”
“It wasn’t part of your plan,” she agrees, “and that’s why it scares you. But that doesn’t make it bad.”
I don’t respond to that, and I don’t have to. Seconds after Meg shuts her mouth, the front door swings open with a ridiculous amount of force. Jensen is standing in the hallway, practically fuming. At least as much as he can.
“There’s no mail,” he says, “and Olive tried to set me up with her granddaughter again .”
“Just warn her that you’re no Betty Crocker,” Meg says. “You burnt the cake.”
“The cake!” Jen swears and bolts for the oven.
Now that Meg mentions it, there is a faint scent of smoke in the air.
Jensen drags the cake pan out of the oven and sets it atop the stove. He frowns and studies the thing, trying to figure out where it’s burnt, but he can’t. And I can’t either. The cake is perfectly golden, as if him yanking it out in a panic made it cook perfectly.
“You dirty liar.” He peeks inside the oven, then pulls out a small scrap of burnt paper with his mitted hands. “Did you do this?”
“Who? Little ‘ol me?”
“ Megan —”
“Does this mean I win?” She asks, leaning playfully over the arm of the chair. “I think so.”
Jensen’s face clears immediately, all his annoyance melting away. “No. My apologies.”
Meg is practically giggling as he removes his oven mitts.
I have no idea what any of that is about, but I don’t care. By the time they’ve got the cake frosted and sliced, I’ve fallen asleep on the couch to my circling thoughts.