Chapter Fifteen #2
Amelia carefully eased her hand free to check the time on her phone.
It was only five twenty. Still early. She stroked Imogen’s hair, quietly taking in how peaceful she looked.
They probably stayed that way for another hour or so.
Imogen sleeping, Amelia soaking up every second of having her there.
Honestly, she hadn’t expected anything like this would ever happen again.
Imogen only woke when a nurse came in to make her rounds at around six thirty. “Hey,” she said sleepily. “Is it morning already?”
Amelia smiled. “It is. I can’t believe you stayed here all night in that awful chair.”
“I would have stayed all night on a chair made of spikes if it meant knowing you were okay. How are you feeling?”
Well, that certainly didn’t help Amelia keep her feelings under control. “I’m okay. A little bit sore, but I think I should be able to get out of here soon.”
“I heard the nurse say it will probably be later this morning,” Imogen said, stretching her arms above her head.
Amelia’s phone started buzzing beside her, blowing up with notification after notification. Something had happened. She frowned and reached over for it to check what was going on. Her stomach twisted at what she saw.
“What’s wrong?” Imogen sounded concerned. Probably because Amelia was still staring at her phone.
“Um.” How could she tell Imogen what she was seeing?
How the fuck did this photo even exist? But there it was.
An image, clear as day, of herself asleep in the very hospital bed she was in now, embracing Imogen who lay sleeping beside her.
Okay, Imogen was in the chair rather than the bed, but they were holding onto each other in a way nobody would mistake for friendship.
With a sigh Amelia handed Imogen the phone. She was going to see it in a matter of minutes anyway. She may as well whip the Band-Aid off now.
Imogen stared at it silently for at least a minute. A very long minute. “I don’t understand,” she eventually said in a small voice. “How did they get this?”
“I don’t know,” Amelia said. But she intended to find out. Had a reporter managed to sneak in somehow during the night? No, Steve would never have let that happen. He’d been outside the door since she’d arrived. Imogen had only made it inside because Steve knew who she was.
Maybe someone who worked there had gone rogue and tried to make an extra bit of cash. They would have been the only people with access—though everyone had been so lovely that Amelia hated even considering it.
Imogen studied the picture again. “We look…I mean, you wouldn’t think we were just…”
“I think it will look pretty cosy to whoever sees it. I’m sorry, Imogen. I know this is what you wanted to avoid.” And subsequently what Amelia wanted to avoid too. Because she knew where it would lead—to the final act.
“Not your fault at all.” Imogen gave her a tight smile and passed the phone back with a trembling hand. Amelia hated that she was shaking.
Instinctively, she held it, wanting to reassure Imogen as much as she could.
“This will be okay, you know. It’s only one picture.
I’ll personally ensure that it doesn’t have any negative impact on your life.
” And she was determined to make that the truth.
“I’ll get Helen straight on this. She’s really good.
” Though Helen would undoubtedly ask what Amelia wanted the narrative to be, and it didn’t seem like a good time to discuss that with Imogen.
“Yeah. It’ll be fine,” Imogen said in a way that didn’t make Amelia believe she meant it. “I, um…I should probably get back to help Piper and Niamh set up for the day. I kind of rushed out on them last night.”
“Imogen,” Amelia said softly, like she was trying to tend to a wounded animal. “Please don’t shut me out over this.”
“I won’t.” Imogen squeezed her hand one last time and stood. “I just need to go for now. Okay? Only for now.”
“Okay,” Amelia replied helplessly. Because how could she argue? “But I’m going to hear from you soon?”
“Yes.” Imogen nodded like she was confirming it to both herself and Amelia. “I’ll be wanting to know you’re okay and everything. It’s just…” She hesitated, then leaned down and kissed Amelia softly. “You’ll hear from me. I promise.”
Then Amelia watched her go.
She slumped back on the bed and grimaced, clutching her ribs. Why the hell would anyone want to be famous?
“Is your friend away?” Bridget asked as she entered Amelia’s hospital room later that morning carrying a single cup of coffee. She handed it to Amelia, who must have looked surprised. “Oh, relax. It’s only a coffee. I would never drink that trash anyway. Might as well lap up a sewer.”
It was such a Bridget way of doing something nice—to slate it entirely and make it seem like Amelia was about to ingest some form of sludge.
Amelia took a sniff and confirmed that it smelled nothing like sewage.
The gesture was kind even if the attitude was not.
“Thanks,” she said sincerely before taking a sip of what turned out to be a perfectly acceptable drink.
“And yes, to answer your question, Imogen’s gone.
I take it you saw the picture.” Bridget tended to be a woman in the know.
And as half the world already knew, Amelia assumed she would too.
“I did, and you’re welcome.” Bridget lifted her chin proudly.
Amelia frowned. She knew she’d had a concussion and all, but what was she missing? “I’m welcome for what?”
“The picture.”
“I’m not following. Was it you who forwarded it to me?” Amelia thought it was her sister. In fact, she knew it was her sister because it came with the message who the hell is your super-hot cuddle partner, and why have you not told me or Mom? Something didn’t add up.
“No. It was me who took it and shared it with the rest of the world.” Bridget held up a hand. “Not from my own accounts, mind you. That would have looked strange.”
Amelia stared at her in horror—so much so that Bridget even started to squirm. So that’s how the person got past Steve—it was Bridget. “Why the hell would you do that?” If Amelia’s torso didn’t hurt so bad she would have leapt out of bed and throttled her right there in the middle of the hospital.
“Well, someone had to give your relationship a little push.”
“A little push?” Amelia repeated, feeling more riled by the second. “There won’t be any relationship to push after this. Bridget! You’ve just ruined everything.”
“I don’t see it that way. Now that it’s all out in the open, she can’t hide. And she can’t run away either. Not without looking terrible after your big accident.” Bridget looked deeply pleased with herself. Smug, some might say.
Amelia lifted her good hand in irritation and let it flop back onto the bed. “Oh, so she’ll have to hang around out of necessity. Gee, that’s great, Bridget. I love dating women against their will.”
“You said you love her,” Bridget said defensively. “She was keeping you a secret. It wasn’t fair.”
“So you thought you would take the initiative and out my personal life to the world?” Amelia replied in exasperation. How had that ever seemed like a good thing to do?
Bridget stood firm. Indignant. “I was trying to help you.”
Amelia had never been more bewildered. Her eyebrows were likely touching her hairline by now. “Why? Why the hell would you want to help me?”
Bridget looked at her like she was stupid. “Eh, because you’re my best friend.”
“I’m your…what?” Okay, fuck bewildered, now Amelia was downright flabbergasted. Her jaw dropped and she stared at Bridget for a good ten seconds before asking the most obvious question. “How in hell am I your best friend? You’re rude to me ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time.”
“I am not.” Bridget looked quite offended that Amelia would say that. “I confide in you about everything.”
“Oh, come on. You only told me about Gabe because I told you about Imogen. Tit for tat you said.”
Bridget looked utterly confused. “I come to your trailer every day to say hi. We chat between takes. I try to give you encouragement during our scenes.”
Stunned, Amelia rolled that around in her head. Tried to break it down.
So, when Bridget barged into her trailer complaining about one thing or another, that wasn’t her throwing her weight around? That was her saying hi?
When she was prying and engaging in investigatory small talk, that wasn’t to find out stuff to use against Amelia? That was her chatting—like pals?
And as for the many, many criticisms, that was Bridget’s way of encouraging her?
God, Bridget Clemonte really was an onion, and clearly clueless about how normal friendships usually worked. But Amelia suddenly felt a bit guilty that she had dismissed her and questioned her intentions so many times—if they had been as pure as she said.
Still, even with those good intentions, Bridget had crossed a line here. “How would you feel if I snuck into your room and took a photo of you and Gabe and posted it online?”
Bridget put on a smoulder. “I’d say you’re much kinkier than I give you credit for, but whatever floats your boat.” Amelia gave her an unimpressed look and she relented. “Fine, I see your point. Maybe I shouldn’t have posted it without asking you first.” She waved a hand. “Whatever.”