Chapter 5 #2
“Is he now…” I’m completely taken aback by Mr. Stanley’s sudden transformation.
His face lights up with genuine enthusiasm, catching me entirely off guard.
It’s as if someone flipped a switch, revealing a whole different person.
“Wonderful,” he exclaims, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Did you know that, August? This is the grandson of my favorite law professor. I told you often about him when you were at Harvard, remember?”
I glance at August, and the sight nearly makes me wince. He looks like he’s just swallowed a lemon whole, his jaw clenching so tightly I worry for his teeth. “Yes, I remember, Father,” he manages to grind out.
Mr. Stanley, oblivious to his son’s discomfort, turns back to me with an almost boyish excitement. “Your grandfather is the only reason I was able to graduate summa cum laude. He was the best teacher I’ve ever had. I’m still working with some of his techniques. Is he still alive?”
I fucking hope so.
I’ll have to thank Morgan again for agreeing to work for him. It’s only thanks to her that we were able to up and leave Seattle like that.
“He is,” I reply, still reeling from this unexpected turn of events. “He’s taking it slow these days, but he’s well.”
“Amazing. How small the world is.” Mr. Stanley nods, seeming to hang on my every word. “How long are you going to be here for this conference?”
I catch sight of Misha and Oliver’s faces out of the corner of my eye. They look absolutely flabbergasted, their jaws practically on the floor.
Thinking on my feet, I cobble together a response. “About a week,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. “But we came earlier to see Amelia and maybe wanted to stay longer to immerse in the British lifestyle. You know, really soak it all in.”
Soak it all in?
Grey, you sound like an idiot.
“Which hotel are you at?” Mr. Stanley inquires, leaning forward with interest.
“We actually haven’t booked anything yet,” I admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “Taking part in this conference was rather spontaneous.”
“Perfect. Then you’re going to stay here,” Mr. Stanley declares as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You can join us this week for dinner and tea, and I can regale you with tales about your grandfather. Maybe we can even arrange a call. I would love to thank him once more.”
“I-I…” I stammer, momentarily stunned by the offer, my brain short-circuiting.
Before I can cobble together a coherent response, August hisses urgently, “Father, they want to go to a hotel. They for sure don’t want to sleep in a stranger’s house.”
My eyes dart to Amelia, and my heart plummets. She looks absolutely ghastly, her face a sickly shade of pale.
Nothing left of the blush I love so much.
“They wanted to get to know the British way of life, nothing better than to stay with Brits,” Mr. Stanley declares, leaving no room for argument. “Also, our rooms are better than the hotels in the city. They can stay with us as long as they want.”
“And what if they’re not welcome?” Amelia’s words, barely above a whisper, hit me like a punch to the gut.
You don’t want us anymore?
Is it that bad?
Mr. Stanley’s face contorts with disdain as he looks at his daughter.
“Amelia Charlotte, did you forget your manners over the last two years?” he snaps, his words dripping with disapproval.
Then, as if flipping a switch again, he turns to me with a relaxed, pleasant expression that’s almost more unsettling than his anger.
“I’m going to tell the housekeeper to get the rooms ready for you. ”
“Her name is Bernadette. She’s worked for you for the last twenty years,” Amelia murmurs under her breath.
August stares at her in shock. This behavior seems out of character for her, even to me, and I’ve never seen her around her parents.
I’ve seen glimpses of sass beneath her shy exterior, flashes of spirit that hinted at a hidden fire, but this…
this is pure disdain, and August’s reaction makes me think she has never shown it this openly before.
“What was that?” Mr. Stanley growls.
“Nothing, Father,” Amelia replies, her voice hollow, devoid of the spark that had momentarily flared to life.
I want to intervene, to tell them it’s fine and that we’ll go to a hotel. Anything to get him off her back. But I know this might be our only chance to get close to Amelia, to make things right.
Even if it looks like it could get her in trouble, I can’t pass up this opportunity. And if she does get into trouble, we’ll get her out. I’ll carry her out myself if I have to, damn the consequences. But first, we need to get close.
To fix everything we broke.
Swallowing my reservations, I force a smile. “Thank you so much for the offer.” As I speak, I catch Amelia’s eye, trying to convey without words that we’re here for her. That we won’t let her face this alone. “We would love to stay.”
Whether she understands or even wants our support remains to be seen, but I’m determined to try.
As we walk up the stairs, Mr. Stanley bellows for the butler, and in a flash, two of them materialize to whisk away our luggage.
A maid approaches Misha, her eyes fixed on the flowers he’s clutching, seeming unimpressed.
“They’re for Amelia,” Misha protests weakly as she pulls them from his grasp.
The maid ignores him completely, brushing past to stand in front of Amelia instead, whose voice comes out flat and emotionless, instructing, “Put them in water, please.” The maid nods curtly and vanishes with the bouquet, leaving behind a deflated Misha.
“Please, make yourselves at home. Get refreshed,” Mr. Stanley says as we walk into deeper into the entrance hall, his tone cordial but distant.
“My wife is hosting a high tea early this afternoon. We’d be delighted if you’d join us as our guests.
” With those words, he strides away, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor.
I notice August eyeing Amelia. The siblings seem to communicate silently, and after a few glances, August nods before following his father, calling out, “Father, a word.”
As Amelia turns to leave, I grab her wrist without thinking. She pulls away immediately as if my touch burns her, and I let go.
My chest tightens, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. “Princess…”
Her eyes narrow, stormy and cold. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“What do I look at you like?” I challenge.
Like I love you?
Like I’m horrified I’ve lost you?
“Like a gloating prat,” she retorts, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
God, I love her.
She turns on her heel and ascends the stairs. Her short skirt rides up as she takes two stairs at a time, revealing a glimpse of the Amelia I know beneath this polished exterior.
Despite everything, I grin as she disappears from view, my eyes lingering on the spot where she vanished.
One of the butlers clears his throat, startling me out of my reverie. “Gentlemen, please follow me.”
We’re led up the same stairs Amelia just climbed, and I wonder where her room is.
Is it close by? Will I be able to sneak a moment alone with her later?
Misha’s voice breaks through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality as he mocks me. “Immerse the British lifestyle. Soak it all in. Really, bro?”
“Fuck off,” I snap, caught between irritation and amusement.
“This is insane,” Oliver mutters, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
“It is,” Misha agrees, sounding equally bewildered. “And I have no idea what to think about it.”
I try to sound more confident than I feel, squaring my shoulders. “We have a foot in the door,” I say, trying to reassure them and myself. “Now we have to play this right.”
Oliver shoots me a worried glance, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of her father liking you,” he says softly. “I don’t think Amelia is either.”
Me neither.
“We’ll call Grandpa as soon as he’s awake.” I check my watch, calculating the time difference. “See what he thinks of his old student.”
And whether being under Mr. Stanley’s roof will help us get Amelia back or make things even worse.