Chapter Six #4
Ah ha, well the Irish weather prefers to remain a bit mysterious.
It’s all part of the charm. You could need four layers today and go out in a T-shirt tomorrow.
Who knows? I am sorry you’re cold though, so consider me pissed at the weather on your behalf.
Does that mean you’re stuck working outside today?
Fine, we can share platter glory. Maybe you could come and sample another one again soon?
Rather than allowing herself to rejoice over Imogen asking her out again, Amelia homed in on the work question, unable to ignore the shame and guilt filling up inside her.
Surprisingly, Imogen hadn’t fished for any work details the previous day.
Of course, Amelia hadn’t been forthcoming either and she had chickened out of her confession.
She had also been purposefully vague on the day they met.
So, it was only natural that Imogen’s curiosity would be piqued at some point.
She grabbed her phone and went to sit on the king-size bed that she barely used. Amelia hardly ever took naps, and the cast all had rooms at the hotel to sleep in at night.
What had she told Imogen she did again? That she made the movie look good.
Amelia cringed at the descriptor. She’d said that knowing it could mean anything really.
Imogen probably thought she was part of the editing team or something.
That would have been Amelia’s guess based on what she’d said.
And now she was going to have to answer without giving away any specifics once again.
She had to. It wasn’t like Amelia could own up over a DM.
Imagine, “Yes I was outside all day because a lot of the movie is filmed outside and I’m actually one of the leads. ” No way.
Luckily, I’m back inside now. She fucking hated herself.
I’m sure you don’t have to worry about the weather in the Wishing Well.
And even more so now that she was deflecting.
Amelia groaned. She couldn’t go on this way, and Helen was right.
It would get taken out of her hands if someone saw them together and managed to snap a photo.
Also, if Amelia went to the bar, Imogen’s two friends would surely know who she was.
They’d been at the open day for Always the Bridesmaid, where there were larger-than-life posters of her and Bridget draped everywhere.
Are you asking me on another date, Imogen?
Where would I be sampling these fine platters of yours?
Amelia needed more information so that she could work out how to play this. Not that it was a game. Ugh. See, this was what happened when you got yourself tangled in a web of lies. It spiralled and spiralled until it got totally out of control. Her phone buzzed again in her hand.
Thankfully not. We lit the fire for the first time today.
Huh. Correction—it was two days in a row that Imogen had been lighting fires, considering what she’d done to Amelia the day before.
Yes, I am. Would you like to go on another date with me?
We could explore some more. We could go to a restaurant (the platters were just my in).
Or you could come to my place. I’d invite you to the bar, but my friends are perpetually nosy.
Yes! That was perfect. Imogen had already mentioned that she lived alone, so nobody would see them there. It was exactly the kind of low-risk solution Amelia was looking for.
How about your place? Although it might have to wait a few days because work is crazy busy right now.
She added a sad face that she was probably mimicking herself and hoped that Imogen would understand that she wasn’t stalling for any other reason. Her shooting schedule was jam-packed for the whole week.
Imogen was straight back. Even in the evenings?
Amelia chewed her bottom lip. It wouldn’t be easy to get a car at night when most of the drivers were finished for the day.
She could, but people would notice—Bridget certainly would.
Then again, did she really care? Security wasn’t an issue because there was no way she was bringing Steve along to Imogen’s place.
Sorry, Helen. Before she started to reply, Imogen texted again.
I could pick you up at your fancy hotel and leave you back again.
Amelia grinned. Imogen was solving all her problems without even knowing.
All Amelia would have to do was sneak out of the Emerald Grand without drawing any attention to herself, and after years of practice, she had her ways of doing that.
She flicked her phone over to check out her schedule.
Sounds great. I can do Thursday after seven if you can?
This was good. Amelia would have a few days to make a plan.
Obviously, telling the truth was her number one priority.
And she could prepare for the fallout. Maybe she would call Helen and ask her the best way to handle the situation.
She would know how Imogen could best be protected.
Maybe it was optimistic to think that Imogen would stick around, but Amelia refused to consider the alternative unless she had to—and she really hoped she didn’t.
Great. Thursday after seven it is. I can still text you until then, right?
Amelia was counting on it. You better.