Chapter 17
TJ
Iwent back and forth a lot about attending Cornelia’s grandmother’s party, but in the end, the thought of seeing Cornelia all dressed up won me over. Honestly, I think I’m just incapable of staying away from anywhere I know she’ll be. Also, my mother insisted I needed to go.
The problem now is that I knew Nate was going to be there, which drove me to make an arsehole move.
“Oh my God, is that Cornelia’s grandmother’s house?” Amelie asks, eyes wide as the chopper begins to descend.
I invited Amelie as my plus-one.
I don’t bother answering; it’s a rhetorical question. She knows exactly where we’re headed.
I took one of the chopper rides offered as transportation to the estate for the party.
I could have driven—I’ve done it plenty of times with Cornelia.
It’s not far from London, and I’m planning on staying the night, anyway.
But I didn’t want to spend more time with Amelie than necessary or give her the wrong idea that this is more than just a convenience arrangement where I get to get back at Nate, and she gets to make him jealous and attend an exclusive party she wasn’t invited to.
She’s nice, don’t get me wrong, and I’ve known her for about…
six years, but I’ve never actually spent much time with her, even though she dated Nate for around four.
Every time we asked Nate to invite her on a trip or to hang out, she rarely showed up.
I can even count on with my fingers how many times I’ve seen her after boarding school.
Also, I can’t help but compare her to Cornelia.
Amelie is wearing a floor-length mustard dress that fits the black-tie dress code, but it’s something Cornelia would never be caught dead in.
Amelie is short, while Cornelia is tall, like a model.
Amelie has blonde hair and brown eyes; Cornelia has brown hair and strikingly green-blue eyes.
Amelie is American, while Cornelia is British (technically also Swiss, but only because her mother was adamant about going skiing despite being pregnant).
Cornelia was born into money. Private jets, expensive jewellery, massive estates—they don’t impress her; she’s used to it.
Amelie wasn’t born into wealth. Her family became affluent when she was thirteen, after her mother married an investment banker.
While Amelie’s family now has millions, Cornelia’s family has had billions for generations.
In some ways, Amelie is the antithesis of Cornelia.
The chopper lands on the helipad, and after the other couple who came with us disembark, I help Amelie down. We make our way towards the house.
The entire estate is adorned with lights, illuminating acres of land. We’re guided to the main entrance, where a concierge takes our coats and phones, as per the invitation’s instructions—this is a no-phone party.
We walk down the corridor leading to the main entertainment area. Amelie is in awe, taking in the art on the walls, the architecture, and everything around her.
“Is that an actual Picasso?” she asks, wide-eyed, pointing at one of the paintings in the hallway.
“Yes,” I reply almost dismissively, as if Cornelia’s grandmother would ever have an imitation of anything.
I’m not as amazed as she is—I’ve been coming here since I was little—but if I hadn’t, I’d probably be a bit taken aback too. Odette’s place is over the top, even by my usual standards.
We enter the ballroom, already packed and buzzing with laughter and conversation.
There must be around two hundred people here.
Still, like I always do when she’s in the room, I find her instantly.
It’s like there’s an invisible rope tying us together—or maybe my eyes are just magnetically drawn to her.
Cornelia stands in a corner, talking to an older couple, wearing a stunning silver dress with delicate transparencies that make her look like a goddess.
Her hair cascades down in soft waves, framing her face with effortless elegance.
She looks perfect.
She is perfect.
Cornelia catches my eye, and I offer Amelie my arm.
She links hers with mine, making it obvious we arrived together.
Cornelia’s expression shifts to one of displeasure.
I take some pleasure in this, as it means she still cares enough to be bothered.
Or maybe she just thinks I’m an arsehole for bringing Amelie here with me.
I take Amelie and make a turn around the room, scanning for Nate. After all, the main point of this is to make Nate jealous—not Cornelia—that’s just a bonus. Along the way, we greet a few acquaintances.
Once I spot Nate, I lead Amelie to the bar. It’s close enough to where he is that he’ll notice us, but not so close that it looks like I’m deliberately putting myself in his line of sight.
Amelie is still marvelling at everything, asking questions about the art and the place.
She looks up at the ceiling and asks, “When was this built?”
“I don’t know, around the 1700s.” I shrug. I know exactly when it was built and all the architectural details of this place, but I’m not in the mood to talk about my love for architecture right now. My focus is on the task at hand: making Nate jealous.
As she keeps talking, I seriously consider taking her to Cornelia’s grandmother and dropping her off with her.
Odette loves talking about her house—maybe they’d make great company for each other.
I vaguely recall Nate mentioning once that Amelie studied art history, though I’m not sure.
That would explain why she’s so fascinated by everything here.
I glance back at Nate. What’s been taking him so long to notice us?
I always assume that, like me, everyone can immediately spot the person they love the moment they walk into a room.
But apparently, that’s not the case for him.
He hasn’t even looked up from whatever he’s been staring at since I spotted him.
It’s like he’s completely mesmerised by it.
I follow his gaze and realise he’s been staring at Cornelia this whole time, who is now talking to Anthony.
He looks at Cornelia with tenderness, fascination, and adoration, like she’s the fucking centre of the universe—just like I look at her. And it hits me: he’s in love with her.
I thought what happened between Nate and Cornelia was just physical for him. I assumed she was just a way for Nate to fill the void Amelie left, the way I do with the girls I sleep with. But… I was wrong. What I’m looking at is clearly love.
I’ve never seen him look at Amelie that way.
I’ve never seen him look at anyone that way.
And as if she could read my mind, Amelie follows my gaze, then turns to me and says, “I once hoped he’d look at me the way he looks at her. But he never did.”