Chapter 13 Amelia #2
"Amelia." He cups my face in his hands, making me look at him.
"You're not overstepping. You're not pushing.
The reason the other women didn't work out, the reason we had to let them go, is because they did overstep.
They stepped in where they weren't wanted.
They took things that weren't theirs to take. "
My breath catches in my throat. "And I'm not doing that?"
"No." The word is absolute, leaving no room for doubt. "The difference is we want you here. Not just as someone to watch the kids or clean the house or make dinner. We want you."
The words settle over me like a physical weight, pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe. I want to believe him so badly it physically hurts. Want to let myself lean into this feeling, this want, this possibility of something good.
But Vincent's voice whispers in the back of my mind, reminding me that he wanted me too in the beginning. That wanting isn't the same as cherishing, that desire can twist into control so gradually you don't notice until you're already trapped.
Wyatt must see something of that fear in my face because his expression softens.
His thumbs stroke across my cheekbones, tender and careful.
"I'm not him," he says quietly, like he can read my mind.
"None of us are. And I know that's hard to believe right now, that you need time to see that we mean what we say. But we're patient. We can wait."
"I don't know what you're waiting for," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
"For you to be ready." He leans in slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away, to stop him, to tell him this is too much too fast. But I don't. I stay frozen, my heart in my throat, as he presses a soft kiss to my cheek.
His lips linger against my skin, warm and gentle, before he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes again.
"For you to trust that this is real. That you're safe here. That we're not going anywhere."
I stare at him, shock rendering me momentarily speechless. He just kissed me. It was just my cheek, chaste and sweet, but it felt like so much more. Like a promise. Like a beginning.
"We all want you here," Wyatt continues, his voice soft but sure. "All of us. This isn't just me being impulsive or saying things I don't mean. We've talked about it. About you. About what we want moving forward."
"Even Hunter?" The question escapes before I can stop it, smaller and more vulnerable than I want it to be.
Hunter, who's been warmer lately but still maintains that careful distance. Who smiles at me over dinner but never lingers in rooms alone with me. Who seems most likely to see me as a temporary fixture, someone who'll leave when summer ends and school starts back up.
Wyatt's smile is knowing, almost amused.
"Especially Hunter. He's just... he's dealing with his own guilt about wanting someone while still dealing with his grief.
But trust me, he wants you." He pauses, his eyes glinting with something playful.
"Next time you talk to him, watch the way his eyes go soft when he focuses on you.
Watch the way he can't quite look away. He's not as subtle as he thinks he is. "
Heat floods my face, spreading down my neck and across my chest. The idea that Hunter—stoic, controlled Hunter—might look at me like that when I'm not paying attention feels impossible and thrilling in equal measure.
"I should—" I gesture vaguely toward the stairs, toward where Isaac is still singing instead of napping. "The kids. I need to get Isaac down for his nap."
"You don't have to run away every time things get intense," Wyatt says gently, but he steps back, giving me space. "And you don't have to apologize for having feelings, Amelia. For wanting things. You're allowed to want."
The permission feels revolutionary. Vincent spent two years convincing me that my wants were selfish, that needing anything beyond what he chose to give me was greedy and ungrateful.
The idea that I'm allowed to want, that wanting isn't something to be ashamed of, makes my eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall.
"Okay," I whisper, because I don't know what else to say.
Wyatt's smile is soft, understanding in a way that makes my chest ache. "Go take care of Isaac. We can talk more later. Or not talk, if you need space. Whatever you need."
I nod and flee, my heart pounding and my thoughts spinning. I can still feel the ghost of his lips on my cheek, the warmth of his hands on my face, the absolute certainty in his voice when he said we want you here.
The stairs feel longer than usual, my legs shaky as I climb them.
Isaac's door is cracked open, his little voice still singing what sounds like the alphabet song but with several letters mixed up and repeated.
I push the door open to find him sitting up in bed, surrounded by his stuffed animals, conducting them like an orchestra.
"Hey sweetheart," I say softly, stepping into the room. "You're supposed to be napping."
"I'm not tired," he protests, but his eyes are heavy-lidded and his voice has that slow quality that means he's fighting sleep.
"How about I sit with you for a little bit?" I offer. "Just until you fall asleep."
He considers this, then nods and scoots over in his toddler bed, making room for me. I settle onto the edge of his mattress, running my fingers through his curly hair the way I've learned soothes him. He leans into the touch, his eyes already starting to close.
"Mia?" he murmurs, his voice thick with impending sleep.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Are you staying forever?"
The question hits me right in the chest, stealing my breath. "What do you mean?"
"Dad said you're just here for the summer. But I want you to stay forever." His eyes crack open, hazel-green and so earnest it makes my heart hurt. "Can you stay forever?"
I don't know how to answer that. Don't know what I'm allowed to promise, what's safe to hope for. But looking at his sweet face, at the trust written plainly in his expression, I can't bring myself to give him anything but honesty.
"I want to stay," I tell him quietly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "For as long as I'm wanted here, I want to stay."
He smiles, satisfied with that answer, and lets his eyes drift closed.
Within minutes his breathing evens out, his small body going slack and heavy with sleep.
I sit with him for a while longer, watching the rise and fall of his chest, trying to reconcile the woman I was three weeks ago with the woman I'm becoming.
When I finally ease off his bed and tiptoe out of the room, I find Hunter standing in the hallway. He must have just come home from work because he's still in his suit, his long hair pulled back in a bun that's starting to come loose, his tie hanging undone around his neck.
"Hey," he says quietly, his voice pitched low so we don't wake Isaac. "Didn't know you were up here."
"Just getting Isaac down for his nap," I explain, suddenly hyperaware of everything Wyatt said. About watching Hunter's eyes, about the way he looks at me when I'm not paying attention.
So I look. Really look. And what I see makes my breath catch.
His hazel eyes are soft around the edges, the usual hard lines of his face gentled into something that looks almost tender. He's looking at me like I'm something precious, something worth protecting. Like I matter.
"You're good with them," Hunter says, and there's something in his voice I've never heard before. Something vulnerable and honest. "The kids. They love you."
"I love them too," I admit, because that at least feels safe to say.
Hunter's expression shifts, something complicated flickering across his features. He takes a step closer, and I force myself not to retreat, not to put distance between us even though every instinct is screaming at me to protect myself.
"Wyatt talked to you," he says. It's not a question.
"He... yeah. He did."
Hunter nods slowly, like he expected that.
"Good. That's good." He reaches up to loosen his tie completely, pulling it free and draping it over his shoulder.
The gesture is casual, domestic, but there's nothing casual about the way he's looking at me.
"I know I haven't been... I've kept my distance.
But that doesn't mean I don't—" He stops, his jaw working like the words are fighting him.
"That doesn't mean I'm not paying attention. "
My face flames hot, Wyatt's words echoing in my head. Watch the way his eyes go soft when he focuses on you.
"I don't want to make things complicated," I say, even though things are already complicated, have been complicated for a while now.
"Too late for that." His smile is small but genuine, transforming his whole face. "You walked into this house and turned everything upside down. In the best possible way. The kids are happier. We're eating actual meals. The house feels like a home again instead of just a place we sleep."
"I'm just—"
"Don't say you're just the nanny," he interrupts gently. "You're so much more than that, and I think part of you knows it."
I do know it. That's what terrifies me. I know I've crossed some invisible line from employee to something else, something that doesn't have a clear definition or boundaries. Something that could hurt so much worse than anything Vincent did if it all falls apart.
"I'm scared," I whisper, the admission pulled from somewhere deep and honest.
"Me too," Hunter admits, and the vulnerability in those two words cracks something open inside me.
"Terrified, actually. But I'm trying to remember that Evie would want us to be happy.
That she'd want the kids to have someone who loves them the way you do.
That hiding from happiness because I'm scared of losing it again is just another way of letting grief win. "
He's quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is rougher. "I think about her every day. Miss her every day. But I'm starting to realize that letting you in doesn't mean pushing her out. There's room for both. For missing what we lost and reaching for what we might have."
My throat is tight, eyes stinging with tears I'm trying desperately not to shed. "I don't want to replace her."
"You couldn't if you tried," Hunter says, but there's no cruelty in it. Just honesty. "She was the kids' mother. My baby sister. Silas and Wyatt's Omega. Nothing changes that. But that doesn't mean there's no room for you. For what you could be to us."
The weight of what he's saying, what he's offering, settles over me like a blanket. Heavy and warm and terrifying.
"I need to think," I manage, my voice barely working. "I need... time."
"Take all the time you need," Hunter says gently.
He reaches out slowly, giving me time to move away, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
His fingers linger against my cheek for just a moment before he drops his hand.
"We're not going anywhere. And neither are you, if we have anything to say about it. "
Then he steps around me and heads toward his bedroom, leaving me standing alone in the hallway with my heart racing and my thoughts spinning out of control.
I make my way downstairs on unsteady legs, my mind replaying both conversations. Wyatt's kiss on my cheek. Hunter's soft eyes and softer words. The absolute certainty in both their voices when they said they wanted me here.
The kitchen still smells like carrots and possibility. I pick up the knife I abandoned and try to focus on chopping vegetables, on the familiar rhythm of food preparation, on anything but the way my heart is threatening to beat right out of my chest.
But I can't stop thinking about Isaac asking if I'll stay forever. About Riley holding my hand like I'm someone she can count on. About three Alphas who've somehow convinced me that maybe, just maybe, I deserve to be wanted.
I talk to Evie's photo again that night after the kids are in bed, my voice soft in the quiet house.
"I hope you understand," I whisper to her smiling face. "I'm not trying to take your place. I'm just... I'm trying to help them heal. And maybe heal myself in the process."
The photo doesn't answer, but I swear the light catches her smile in just the right way, and it almost looks like approval.