Chapter Sixteen #3
“What? Where are you going?” Piper asked in dismay. “We only just made up after our fight.”
Niamh, however, smiled knowingly. “I think there’s someone else she wants to make up with, Pipes.”
It took a minute, but Imogen watched as it sank in, and when Piper did catch up, she looked as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. “Yeah? For real?”
“For real,” Imogen said.
Piper made a shooing motion. “Well, what the feck are you standing around talking to us for? Go get her!”
“Just try and stop me.”
Imogen just hoped Amy still wanted her.
Arriving back at her hotel room had never felt so good. It was like home, in that moment. Or at least the next best thing. As soon as Amelia clicked the door shut, she leaned against it and closed her eyes, allowing herself a few moments to appreciate the peace and quiet.
Apparently, getting concussed and breaking bones didn’t qualify her for a break.
In fact, Amelia had found herself busier than ever.
After she had finally been sprung from the hospital, she’d had to fight through a sea of paparazzi to get to the car.
Then Amelia had gone straight to set with Bridget, Steve, and Christopher, where the full production team and a few suits were waiting for her.
Bridget had been right. They really were panicking about getting sued.
Amelia could probably have tripled her already-agreed salary there and then if she had wanted to, but that wasn’t who she was.
Instead, she accepted their apologies and filled out all of their forms to say she didn’t blame them for what happened.
Amelia had never seen so much paperwork.
At least it had temporarily taken her mind off Imogen. Kind of.
Once they knew that Amelia wasn’t going to milk them for all they were worth, the producers tried to draw up a fresh schedule—planning which scenes could still be filmed, and which ones would have to wait.
Amelia told them she could grin and bear the ribs—as long as she didn’t have to run or dance—but the cast on her wrist was harder to hide.
Luckily, they had some very advanced visual effects software that could edit it out in most normal scenes.
Technology was amazing. Unfortunately, her hands were kind of important in some scenes.
Namely, the love scenes. Those were shifted right to the end of the schedule when Amelia would, hopefully, be out of the wrist cast. Amelia wasn’t complaining about the delay. Love scenes were the worst.
She walked gingerly over to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of water to wash down her latest dose of painkillers.
Amelia was…functioning. Exhausted, but her head wasn’t quite as sore, which was good.
Although she was moving a little slower than usual, she was still capable of doing most things.
Though she suspected that showering wasn’t going to be a lot of fun.
Amelia decided to attempt it sooner rather than later when there was a knock at her door. She could have screamed. What did a woman have to do to be left alone? Have two accidents?
She shuffled over to the peephole and squinted through it before yanking the door straight open.
“Steve? You’re still working? Your wife might really kill you this time.
” Steve’s wife was still back in the States, but Amelia knew they had a standing phone date every evening.
He’d had to miss it the night before while she’d been in hospital.
His professional mask slipped for a second and he gave Amelia a sheepish look that told her she was right. “I was just clocking out, but I was sent to deliver a message to you.”
Amelia frowned. “What message?”
“That you should go for a drink in the hotel bar this evening.”
Amelia looked down at her slovenly appearance, then back at Steve. “Yeah, I don’t think tonight’s the night for a drink.”
Steve’s expression turned serious. “Trust me, I would go if I were you. Now, I’m going to my room before my wife really does kill me.
” With a single nod, he left Amelia standing there, thoroughly confused about why she should go to this bar.
Steve could have been more forthcoming, but then again, he was a man of few words.
She wondered what he and his wife talked about on the phone for hours on end.
Amelia reckoned she must do most of the talking.
He adored her, though. That much was clear.
This whole bar idea had Bridget written all over it. Amelia just knew it. She had half a mind to ignore Bridget’s request completely and continue with her plans for an awkward shower and an early night. She had a relationship to mourn and a thousand what-ifs to dwell on.
But for some reason, Amelia had a niggling feeling she should go. She didn’t know why, but it was there in her bones. An invisible force trying to pull her downstairs.
Giving in to the feeling, Amelia took a few minutes to make herself look half presentable—the day had certainly worn on her—and she headed to the elevator.
She hesitated over the button, then thought about Bridget referring to her as her best friend and felt too guilty to bail.
She pressed it and let the doors shut. One drink.
When Amelia arrived at the lounge bar, it was only about a third full. Good. She did not have the energy for a packed bar tonight.
It was one of the nicer hotel bars she had been in—she was never out of hotels, so she’d seen a few.
Old-style. A lot of gold and red around the place, with fancy swirly things on the walls.
The chairs looked like they were made in the sixties, yet brand new.
The décor suited the opulence of the hotel.
Though for a hotel called the Emerald Grand, she had expected a bit more green.
She deduced the Emerald part was more to do with the isle than the interior.
As she carefully stepped into the bar, Amelia noticed a few looks. Conversations were halted. People were nudged. Whispering commenced. That was Amelia’s normal. She was a face people recognised, and she tried to handle it with a smile.
Luckily, the hotel had excellent security, especially when the cast of a major movie were staying there.
The staff made sure they could walk around and enjoy the facilities without being hounded too much, other than the odd selfie request here and there.
Amelia never minded those. Any professional reporters or photographers were strictly confined to the car park.
There were usually a few lurking around there.
After throwing a few polite smiles and nods some people’s way, Amelia scanned the room for Bridget, but she was nowhere to be seen. She was just about to turn and leave again when a woman who had been sitting at the bar with her back to the door slowly turned around in her seat.
Imogen.
Imogen, who was already on her feet and heading toward her. “Hi,” she said when she closed the distance. She was nervous. Amelia could tell by the choked tone of the greeting.
“Hey,” Amelia said, frowning in confusion. Imogen was the last person she expected to see in the hotel. To see anywhere.
“You got my message then.”
“That was you? I thought it was Bridget who wanted to drink with me.”
Imogen lifted a shoulder. “I asked Steve not to say it was me in case you wouldn’t come.” She shifted her weight. “I didn’t know what room you were in, so I had to get creative. Steve was the best idea I had.”
“You could have texted me,” Amelia pointed out. “I would have told you what room I was in.”
Imogen tilted her head. “But I didn’t want to go to your room. I wanted to meet you here, in front of people.”
Amelia didn’t follow. Was she here to break up with Amelia in person?
Did she think it would be easier if there were people around?
Not as messy? Less chance of tears? “We should sit.” If they were going to do this, it wasn’t going to happen standing in the entrance with people brushing past them every few seconds.
She led Imogen over to a table for two in the corner.
It wasn’t private, but they wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Do you want a drink?” Imogen asked as she sat down. She didn’t have one herself. And her hands were fidgety. Amelia had never seen Imogen like this before. She usually looked more self-assured. Yep, this was definitely a breakup.
“No thanks, let’s just do this.” Amelia tried not to notice how beautiful Imogen looked—it would only make it ten times harder.
Her face was practically bare of makeup, her skin smooth and glowing.
Though she’d clearly been crying, and that hurt to see.
Her hair was tied back away from her face.
And the outfit she wore clung to every curve Amelia had been lucky enough to touch. Not anymore though.
Imogen blinked at her for a second, clearly not expecting Amelia to cut straight to it. “Oh, okay then.” She rolled her lips in as she considered what to say. Then she leaned forward. “First off, I’m sorry for the message. For the last week. All of it. Sorrier than I can put into words.”
Was this like one of those sandwich things?
Say something nice and positive, smash you over the head with the negative, then finish it up with but it’s been so lovely knowing you.
“It’s fine. I knew where I stood when we started this.
I just thought what we had maybe eclipsed all the bad stuff, but it didn’t.
And that’s okay.” Amelia offered a stiff smile because it wasn’t okay with her at all, but Imogen had made her choice, and she wasn’t going to make this any harder than it needed to be.
“Except it did,” Imogen said. “It did eclipse it. I was just too blind to notice.”
Amelia looked at her, once again wondering what was going on. If this was a breakup, she might have to dump herself if Imogen kept agreeing with her. “Can you please explain what’s happening? Why are you here, Imogen?”
“For you,” Imogen said simply. “I’m here for you, Amy.”