Chapter 3 #2
We make our way downstairs and into the dining room.
I expect to be bombarded by the smell of all the lilies around the room, like in the entrance hall, but the air is only thick with the scent of expensive perfume.
Then I remember they specifically put non-perfuming flowers in the dining room because it’s considered unappetizing to smell flowers during meals.
I’m back in their world.
Miranda, the friend Mother mentioned during our phone call, smiles at me when we step in. She’s a striking woman in her early fifties. Her fitted and stylish emerald-green dress accentuates her hourglass figure.
Daniel, her son, who’s a couple of years older than me, stands beside her.
He’s tall and athletic, with neatly styled, sandy blond hair and piercing blue eyes that scan the room with an air of disinterest. He wears a tailored navy-blue suit, the crisp white shirt underneath adding to his polished appearance.
He’s very good-looking but also so damn arrogant.
My father barely acknowledges my presence, his eyes skimming over me as if I were part of the furniture. But Mother eyes me disapprovingly, her gaze raking over my outfit with barely concealed disdain as we come to stand beside her.
My mother, despite being in her early sixties, has a perfectly slim but curvy figure that she maintains meticulously.
“This is what you’re wearing?” she asks, her voice dripping with disappointment.
Wow, she didn’t take long.
“It’s what the maid laid out for me.“
“I’ll call the stylist tomorrow for a new haircut and clothes.
It’s a shame you haven’t filled out a little more, but that stylist can do wonders.
” Her words cut through me like a knife, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I look over to Daniel, whose gaze seems to skip over my body to see what I’m lacking.
Miranda laughs, a tinkling sound that grates on my nerves, but quickly adds, “Oh, don’t be silly. Your daughter is beautiful.”
Daniel nods in agreement, his blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. I should probably feel grateful for their intervention, but the attention makes me even more uncomfortable.
We’re seated, and I find myself between August and Daniel, feeling like a fish out of water. The dining room is a whirlwind of chatter and clinking silverware. Daniel glances at me before he attempts to small talk. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Amelia Charlotte.”
“Just Amelia, please. And yes. It’s been a while,” I reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“You were in Seattle for work, I’ve heard.”
Why does he ask that if he knows it already?
God, I hate small talk.
“True,” I respond curtly, hoping to end the conversation there.
“How’s the weather over there?” he asks. His question is bland, but it sends a chill down my spine as a memory of a much happier voice fills my mind.
“How’s the weather inside you, Amelia?”
My heart tightens, and a lump forms in my throat.
“You’re amazing. You’re someone I want to be like when I grow up.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the ache in my chest only deepens.
“See how life gets brighter if you’re just willing to sit through the darkness long enough?”
My hands clench into fists under the table, nails digging into my palms as I fight to maintain my composure, fight not to let them move to the back of my head.
No, Misha, I don’t see it. Even if mine got a little brighter, thanks to you, I’m back in the dark.
Daniel’s eyes search mine for a response, but I can’t bring myself to offer more than a hollow, “It’s rainy, as usual.”
“So, you probably felt just at home.”
I thought I did.
This formal dinner is my personal nightmare.
I have to remind myself to breathe, desperately trying not to think about the casual, happy meals I shared with the guys back in Seattle.
This stiff, oppressive atmosphere couldn’t be more different, with its starched napkins and assorted forks that I can remember the proper order for with my eyes closed.
I pick at my food, barely eating, pushing the carefully arranged morsels around my plate. Mother notices, of course, her hawk-like gaze missing nothing. “Amelia Charlotte, you’ve left the meat untouched again,” she chides, her tone suggesting I’ve committed some grave social faux pas.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Daniel asks, surprisingly gentle. I nod, wondering why he’s suddenly taking an interest. We’ve barely exchanged more than a few words before tonight.
Dinner concludes, and the air is heavy with conversation and the clink of dessert spoons, when Father orders the butler to bring cigars and scotch to the parlor. The guests rise from their seats, chairs scraping against the polished wooden floor, as they begin to make their way over.
The parlor is an opulent room lined with dark wood paneling and filled with plush leather chairs. My Steinway still sits in the corner where it’s been since Father moved it out of his office a few years ago. Its glossy surface reflects the soft glow of the chandelier overhead.
When I enter the room, he catches my eye. His firm voice leaves no room for argument and cuts through the murmur of voices. “My daughter is going to play the piano for us.”
I feel the eyes of the guests turning toward me, expectant and curious. My palms grow clammy, and I quickly wipe them on the skirt of my dress.
Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the piano, my fingers trembling as I lift the lid. The room quiets down, conversations fading into whispers.
Settling onto the piano bench, I take another deep breath, my fingers hovering over the keys.
I glance around the room one last time, my eyes briefly meeting August’s before I look away.
Then, with a final steadying breath, I close my eyes and begin to play.
The familiar notes flow through my fingers and momentarily ease the tension within me.
God, how I missed you, old friend.
Even though I know I’ll have to stick to the classics, playing is a welcome escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the dining room.
The notes pour out, filling the room with Chopin and Beethoven.
At some point, I feel someone sit beside me on the long bench, but I keep my eyes closed, focused on the keys beneath my fingers, afraid to break the spell.
Finally, after what must be at least half an hour, I finish playing, the last notes hanging in the air like a whisper. My hands fall into my lap, suddenly feeling empty and restless.
I turn to see who’s joined me, expecting to find August. To my surprise, it’s not my brother as I’d assumed, but Daniel, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“You’re amazing,” he praises, but it makes me feel uncomfortable.
“Thank you.”
“Would you like to get some fresh air with me on the balcony?” He nods toward the one that’s attached to the parlor.
What’s going on?
“I’d probably better go up to my room,” I reply, trying to muster another polite smile. “The jet lag is really hitting me.”
Before Daniel can respond, Mother strides over, her steps quick and purposeful. “Amelia Charlotte, don’t be so impolite,” she admonishes, her voice firm. “Accompany the young Mr. Bancroft. It’s the least you can do.”
Sighing inwardly, I nod and stand, trying not to let my building frustration show as I follow Daniel.
The large glass doors open onto a grand, spacious balcony adorned with elegant wrought-iron railings and a stunning view of the estate gardens.
The cool night air is refreshing against my skin, and I take a deep breath, trying to shake off my fatigue.
Daniel closes the glass doors again, shuts out the chatter from the room, and comes to stand beside me, his posture relaxed. “You really are talented, you know,” he says, glancing at me. “You playing the piano always was my favorite part of the galas.”
“You’re my favorite,” a way sweeter voice whispers in my mind.
Can this evening end already?
“Thank you,” I murmur, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.
There’s a moment of silence, and I can sense Daniel gathering his thoughts. He reaches out, his hand brushing against mine. “I mean it, Amelia. You’re incredible.”
I pull my hand back, taking a small step to the side, needing some space. But Daniel follows, his presence pressing close. “You know,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get some alone time with you.”
What does he even want?
Daniel had never flirted with me like this before.
Hell, this is the first time we talk more than a polite hello.
“Well, you’ve succeeded.”
He chuckles, taking another step closer, his cologne wafting over me. “You’re funny. I think we’d make a great team, you and I. You with your musical talent, and me with… well, everything else.”
I roll my eyes internally, my patience wearing thin. I don’t know if it’s the fatigue or if I’ve spent too much time with Grey, but I’m so done with this bullshit. “What is this, Daniel?”
“What is what?” he asks, feigning ignorance, a smug smile playing on his lips.
“All this,” I gesture vaguely, feeling the frustration bubbling up. “You hanging on like a fly.”
He chuckles, the sound low and patronizing. “Is that so? And here I’ve heard you’re shy.”
Somehow, his brand of arrogance is only annoying and not as infuriatingly hot as Grey’s is. My patience is now long gone, and I cross my arms, staring him down. “You never talked to me before. Why now?”
“Well…” He pauses, his smug demeanor slipping as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Okay, I wanted to discuss this at a later point when we had hung out a bit and become friends, but I guess you’re not as easily impressed as I’m used to.
So why not play with open cards from the start?
You’ve certainly already gathered what the plan here is. ”
What is he even talking about?
“No, Daniel, that’s why I’m asking. What is the plan here?”