Chapter 12
TWELVE
Assessing the soft shade of cream that my mother deems casual, I smooth down the front of my cashmere sweater dress and sigh as I glance at my reflection in my vanity’s mirror.
I’m starting to lose myself in this.
The dress falls just above my knees and is paired with delicate silver jewelry and nude ballet flats.
What could possibly be on the agenda now? The thought of another social obligation makes my stomach churn.
I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, wondering if I should have opted for a more elaborate hairstyle. But then again, why bother? It’s not as if I’m trying to impress anyone.
Liar.
The guys came to the garden party yesterday, and they will probably be there for whatever is happening tonight. James knocked on my door maybe an hour ago, telling me I should get ready for a casual gathering, but I can only guess what that entails in my family’s book.
Puzzling over the possibilities, I’m startled by the vibration of my phone on the vanity. Morgan’s name flashes across the screen, and I feel a mix of relief and anxiety as I answer the call.
“Hey, how are my fish doing?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Morgan’s laughter fills the line. “The fish are great, Amelia. And I’m fine, too, thank you very much.”
I cringe inwardly, heat rising to my cheeks. “Sorry, I’m so awkward. I… I should’ve asked about you first,” I stammer, mentally kicking myself.
I’ve always been rubbish at phone calls, but this is a new low even for me.
“Don’t worry about it,” Morgan reassures me. “Grandpa’s here too.”
“Hi,” I call out, hearing his warm “Hello, dear” in response.
Then Morgan’s voice turns serious. “We wanted to ask how things are going and when you’re all coming home.”
I pause because what am I even going to say to this?
“Amelia?”
“I-I’m not sure,” I admit.
I might not be able to come back at all.
The thought sends a pang through my chest.
Mr. Donovan’s voice comes through. “Are the boys not doing well with apologizing?” he asks, gentle but probing.
“They are,” I say, thinking about how Grey played piano for two hours yesterday so I wouldn’t have to, then simply kissed my cheek before leaving. “I’m sorry,” I add, the guilt creeping in.
“Them apologizing doesn’t burden you with an obligation. A genuine apology comes with understanding and the patience and grace to wait for acceptance with compassion,” Mr. Donovan reassures me.
His words hit me hard, and I feel understood in a way that makes my chest tighten. Tears well up in my eyes as I realize how overwhelmed I am, how much I’ve been holding back. I blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.
“Thank you,” I rasp out.
“What is it, Amelia? You know you can tell us anything,” Morgan prompts, her concern palpable even through the phone.
I need to talk to someone about it.
Taking a deep breath, I pour out everything, the words rushing out like water after a dam breaking. I tell them about my father wanting August to take over the firm and how it could ruin his marriage and, ultimately, his life.
My voice cracks as I speak, emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
“It’s all because of me,” I confess, the guilt I’ve been carrying spilling out.
“I left, and now I have to somehow fix this mess. If August doesn’t agree to cut ties with our parents and come to the States with me, the only solution I see is to marry this guy my mother wants me to marry and somehow convince my father to let him take over the firm instead. ”
I finish speaking and realize I’m trembling, my free hand clutching some strands of my hair.
My mind spins with doubt when the silence on the other end of the line becomes deafening, and I wonder if I’ve said too much, if I’ve finally managed to push them away.
But then, Morgan’s voice shatters the silence, “What the fuck, Amelia? That is not going to happen, and I’ll come over and get you out of there myself if you even think about doing that. My brother did not go through all of this for you to marry someone you don’t even want to marry.”
She’s right. Either I’m ruining August’s life, or I hurt the guys.
What do I do?
“Easy, Morgan,” Mr. Donovan interjects, the calm counterpoint to Morgan’s fiery outrage.
“Amelia, take a deep breath. This is not going to happen. August will see reason and come back with you to the States. And if he doesn’t, I’ll step in and talk to your father.
I still have plenty of connections in the legal world, and I’m sure I can talk to Mr. Stanley about some suitable alternatives. ”
His reassurance feels like a lifeline thrown across the ocean of my fears.
My father thinks highly of him. He made that abundantly clear the last few days.
“Give me some time,” Mr. Donovan continues. “I will look into it. But dear, you need to stop overthinking this and drowning in all this guilt. It’s not your fault, and we will fix this. You focus on letting the boys make things right with you, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, choked with emotion, the relief mingling with the remaining strands of worry.
A knock at the door startles me back to reality.
“Miss Stanley, it’s time,” James’ voice calls through the wood, and I only now realize that my smartwatch is buzzing.
“I have to go,” I say quickly into the phone.
“We’ll talk soon,” Morgan replies.
“Take care, dear,” Mr. Donovan adds.
The moment I hang up the phone, I feel slightly steadier.
Pulling up the security feed on my laptop, I quickly scan through the cameras positioned in the entry hall. The footage shows the area mostly empty, save for a maid fussing with the flowers. The guys aren’t there, nor are my parents or August.
“Where is everyone?” I mutter to myself, puzzled by the absence of the usual pre-event bustle.
What the hell?
Scooping up my purse, I step toward the door with a deep breath to face whatever this function is or isn’t.
I open the door, James nods at me, and without another word, he escorts me down the sweeping staircase, his steps measured and unhurried. We reach the bottom, and I glance around the grand foyer, still expecting to see others gathered.
“Why is nobody here?”
James just smirks, a knowing look in his eyes that does nothing to alleviate my growing sense of intrigue. “All expected attendees are already present,” he replies cryptically.
“And what kind of gathering is it tonight?” I press, hoping for more details, yet he continues to guide me toward the front door without much of an answer.
“You shall discover soon enough. However, we must hurry to ensure your punctuality,” he adds, checking his watch as if to punctuate the point.
Stepping outside, the cool evening air brushes against my skin, and I spot my mother’s Bentley idling at the curb. Wilfred stands by the rear door, ready and waiting. As we approach, he smiles and pulls open the back door for me.
“Enjoy it, Amelia,” James says, his voice laced with a hint of something I can’t quite place—anticipation, perhaps?
I nod, puzzled about him using my first name for the first time ever, and slide into the plush back seat of the car. Wilfred shuts the door with a soft thud, encapsulating me in a bubble of my own swirling thoughts.
What in the world?
Silence follows as we drive off, but after a few minutes, Wilfred speaks up. “You deserve this, Miss Amelia. Them. We’re all very happy for you.”
Confusion tightens around my chest. “What are you talking about? Where are we headed? And where are my parents?”
“They’re out with friends. I just drove them and was told to return in a couple of hours,” Wilfred explains. “So, we have time.”
“Time for what?” I press,
Wilfred chuckles softly. “You know these men have been spending their time with us, eating with the staff, talking. Mostly about you. They wanted to know everything we could give them.”
Another way to watch me?
Through the people who know me?
“And you just told them?” I inquire, not sure if I am more confused or hurt by the idea.
“We didn’t at first, but let’s just say they can be persuasive and persistent, especially Mr. Grey.” Wilfred laughs. “But it was clear to all of us that they only have your best intentions in mind.”
“How would you know?” I challenge.
I don’t even know.
“I’ve seen Mr. Grey check ingredients with the caterer, Mr. Oliver fix your coffee how you like it, and Mr. Misha make you smile in a way I’ve never seen before.”
They did?
Tears instantly prick in my eyes. “How?” I whisper. “How do I smile?”
“Without thought.”
Silence envelops us again, and I bite my bottom lip.
They truly are here because of me, aren’t they?
I’m so done with this.
Done with my hurt and anger.
“Do you remember when I drove you to the London Library with your nanny?” Wilfred asks.
“My eleventh birthday,” I reply, a smile tugging at my lips even if I don’t get why he’s bringing this up now.
It was the only good birthday I’ve ever had.
Besides the one this year.
He nods. “You were in there for maybe twenty minutes after you bugged your mother to let you go for months.”
“Mother didn’t understand why we couldn’t just buy the books I wanted.” I huff.
She thought it was gross to read books other people had already read and didn’t understand the magic a library holds.
Wilfred takes a turn, and I look out at the green of St. James Park passing by. “I asked you why you were so quick.”
“And I told you that the library is so cool, but I didn’t like how many people were in there,” I finish, recalling the memory.
I spent most of my time at home or at private school then, having private lessons. That many people were just too much for me.
Still are.
I can hear the smile in Wilfred’s voice. “And you said that, and I quote, ‘One day, I’m breaking in there at night and having it all to myself.’ ”
I smile too, whispering, “I’d almost forgotten that.”
“Well, I haven’t,” he says, halting the car in front of the London Library.
Oh my God.