7. Amara
Chapter seven
Amara
“ C ome on,” I grunt, when the key jams in the lock as I try to open the door to my apartment.
I grunt, twisting it harder, but it doesn’t budge. I curse in frustration that this has become my new routine every time I come home. Shifting my weight, I lean my shoulder into the door, turning the key again with a forceful click. A little shove, and the door finally gives, swinging open with a creak. I stumble into the apartment, breathing a sigh of relief as I kick the door shut behind me.
Pumpkin is already by my feet when I enter my apartment, weaving between my legs with a soft meow.
“Missed you too,” I murmur, managing a tired smile as I drop my bag on the floor and take a long, deep breath. I used to love coming home. It used to be my quiet refuge. Undressing, slipping into pajamas, and sinking into the couch while watching a movie. But now? Now, I dread it. This place feels suffocating, the ceiling too low, the space too cramped. My stuff is crammed into every corner of this tiny studio, making it look more like a storage unit than a home.
The thought of Liam coming home after a long day of work, stepping through the door of our apartment, makes my fists clench. I toss my keys into a chipped bowl by the door and let out a frustrated sigh.
Screw him.
Screw him for moving on without a second thought when all I ever did was love him. Screw him for leaving me with nothing but this cramped apartment and a heart that feels like it’s been run through a blender. The worst part is how unaffected he seemed when he broke my heart. Calm. Unbothered. Like none of this—like I never mattered to him.
I shake the memory off and kick off my shoes, crossing the cramped space to the kitchen. The fridge groans when I open it, and I half expect the light not to come on, but it flickers to life, revealing a single egg and a nearly empty carton of milk.
“Great,” I mutter to myself. “Guess it’s breakfast for dinner, again.”
I crack the egg into a bowl, watching the yolk break and pool, and a tightness forms in my chest. Cooking for one is depressing. The kitchen feels empty, quiet, just me and the hum of the fridge.
Pumpkin circles my feet again, meowing insistently, her tail brushing against my ankle. I glance down at her, a tired smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe I should get you a friend,” I say, whisking the egg in the bowl. “A couple more cats, and I’d be a full-blown, crazy cat lady.”
She purrs as if in agreement, and I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. At least cats don’t break your heart. They don’t pull the rug out from under you just because something better came along.
My phone buzzes from the makeshift coffee table—an old wooden crate I found on the curb—and I glance over, reluctantly stepping away from the sizzling pan, and pick it up.
A pang of guilt hits me when I see Grandma’s name flashing on the screen. I close my eyes, squeezing the phone in my hand. I haven’t spoken to her in days, and I can already picture the concern in her voice. But I can’t bring myself to tell her about Liam. She always warned me he’d break my heart one day, and now here I am, her words echoing in my head, too late to matter.
I pick up the phone, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Hey, Nanna.”
“Oh, darling,” she sighs. “I was starting to worry. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, but the word feels weird in my mouth. I glance around the apartment—peeling wallpaper, clothes in heaps—and feel a sinking pit in my stomach. “Just been… busy.”
“You haven’t answered your sister either,” she continues, the guilt twisting tighter in my stomach. “She was ready to jump on a bus and come up here to find you.”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, don’t let her do that.” I wince at the thought of Annie seeing me like this. “You need her there with you, Nanna. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Darling, I’m fine.” The words come out too easy, too practiced. I know she’s not fine, she hasn’t been for a long time.
I can hear the effort in her voice when she says, “You worry too much, sweetheart.” Like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to. You must’ve been super busy to not answer my calls. What did you design this week?”
I let out a sigh and sink into the pull-out couch, the springs protesting with a loud creak. I’ve been lying to her for years now, ever since I graduated college. I had big plans—design and architecture. I’d always loved the idea of interior decorating, of creating spaces that felt lived in, real… like home.
But reality hit hard after graduation. No experience meant no designer job. So, I took the assistant position at Blackwood & CO. It was supposed to be temporary, just a stop until I could get my foot in the door, gain some experience, and finally move into design like I’d always dreamed. But somehow, here I am years later, still an assistant. Comfortable, sure, but stuck in a job that wasn’t part of the plan.
“A few things,” I say, forcing the words out, wanting her to believe I’m okay, that I’m living the life she always dreamed for me.
“I’m so proud of you,” she sighs, her voice thick with pride and hope. It makes my chest tighten. “You should visit soon, darling. I miss you so much.”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. “I’ll try, Nanna. I promise.”
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, the silence settling over me. Pumpkin jumps onto the couch beside me, curling up on my lap, and I run my fingers through her soft fur, closing my eyes for a moment. The silence in the apartment is louder than ever.
I’m jolted back by the smell of something burning, my stomach dropping as I remember the egg on the stove. “Oh, shit.” I rush over, coughing as smoke fills the cramped apartment, fanning the air with one hand while yanking the pan off the burner with the other. Of course, the smoke alarm doesn’t work—not that anything else in this apartment does.
I scrape the charred mess into the trash, too exhausted to even think about ordering takeout. Looks like sleep’s on the menu tonight.
Opting for an early night instead of sinking into my misery, I pull off my sweater and start unbuttoning my blouse. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror leaning against the wall, I immediately look away, my stomach twisting. Looking at my body is something I haven’t been able to do in a long time, knowing I’ll only be able to focus on the stretch marks, rolls and flabby skin. Everything Liam wasn’t attracted to.
Trust me when I say, attraction to you isn’t an issue .
A warmth spreads up my body at the memory of his voice—rich, low, as Nicholas lifted my chin and looked me straight in the eyes. The moment flickers in my mind, making my body heat up.
I shake the thought away, and slip into my pajamas, pulling the ribbon out of my hair. I crawl into bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin, but my mind won’t quiet. My gaze drifts to the corner of the room, where I catch sight of the check he wrote me.
The money would be life-changing, so absurd that I haven’t even allowed myself to believe it’s real. But faking an engagement with New York’s most eligible bachelor? That’s insane… right?
And yet, the thought creeps in, insistent, nagging at me. What do you have to lose ?
I hesitate, my finger hovering over my phone. I scroll to his contact, my pulse quickening. Our conversations have always been brief, professional… nothing like today, where everything’s shifted.
I chew on the thought for a moment longer, and before I can convince myself to back out, my fingers move, typing without thinking.
Me :
When do you need my answer by?
His reply comes almost immediately, as if he’s been waiting for me to reach out.
Nicholas :
You can take as long as you need.
But I’d appreciate an answer by the end of the week.
Three days. Just three days to decide if I want to fake an engagement with my boss and completely change my life.
Me :
What will you do if I decline?
This time, there’s a pause. The typing bubbles appear, disappear, and reappear. When the message finally arrives, it feels like an eternity has passed.
Nicholas :
I don’t know.
That three-word answer sits heavy in my chest. Nicholas has always had a plan for everything. He’s always been the type of guy who controls every detail of his life. I’ve never seen him flustered, never seen him without an answer. And now, with this decision hanging in the air, I can’t shake the guilt curling in my stomach. This deal means everything to him. To his business.
Me :
Exactly how long would this engagement last?
The dots appear again, his response almost immediate.
Nicholas :
Is that a yes?
My heart stutters. I set my phone down and close my eyes, his question pressing against my chest, suffocating me with a choice that could make or break my life.
Saying yes would change everything.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.