“I don’t know. That I’m an idiot and you saw this coming from a mile off?”
“Do you want Amelia?” he asks.
“Of course, haven’t you been listening?”
“Then why have you treated her in such a way?”
I sit forward on the couch, dislodging the cat. “What? I’m trying to help her, to give her a choice!”
He tuts under his breath. “You have given her no such thing. You have removed her agency from the one thing in her life she has strived so hard for—to save her sister. You may have done so because you care, but also because, deep down, you hope it will influence her tochoose you. Did you ever ask her whatshewanted? Or did you simply tell her how things were going to be?”
Very slowly, I sink back in my seat. “Fuck.”
“You can be bullish and pigheaded at times, Luca, but this is impressive even for you.”
“What do I do?” I ask dejectedly.
“Give her time,” he says, a little more gently. “Adayis hardly enough for her to process all this. She is dealing with her sister’s illness; the stress of that alone would be overwhelming. You have piled yet more decisions on the poor girl’s shoulders. Everything else must be up to her.”
I groan, unable to speak.
“If she comes to you, and I hope she does, for your sake, listen to her, Lucas; she knows her own mind better than you could ever hope to.”
I open my mouth to say more, but suddenly the doorbell goes.
“Oh my God,” I say into the phone, leaping to my feet and running across the apartment. “Jesus Christ, there’s someone at the door.”
“Well, well, you have been granted a moment’s grace, it would seem,” he says, and there is a rare warmth and understanding in his voice. “Do not, as the Americans say, screw this up.”
“Thank you, Ambrose,” I say sincerely.
“Love her and listen to her. Goodnight, old friend.”
I hang up the phone as I reach the far wall and fire up the video screen. Roy’s face looms into view.
“There is a Miss Amelia Brooks to see you, sir.”
“Send her up,” I say, too loudly and forcefully, and as the image disappears, I don’t know what to do with myself.
I walk to the kitchen, come back, stand aimlessly waiting for the elevator, and then go and lean against the table opposite it.
It’s just like the night when she came here the first time, but now I have more nerves in my stomach than I know what to do with.
Christ, what if she has just come here to break it off for good?
Then the elevator doors open, and I stand up at the sight of her.
She’s soaking wet. I hadn’t even realized it was raining until this moment. I step forward as she comes out of the elevator, slipping off her shoes and placing them neatly beside the wall.
She has a coat on that’s sodden too, and she looks bedraggled and tired. She looks, in fact, like she did the first day I met her—the real Amelia. A woman I am eager to finally get to know.
“Let me get you a towel,” I say quickly.
I grab one from the bathroom, coming out to find her with Alexis rubbing against her legs. I don’t know what to do or say, so I simply hand her the towel.
“Thank you.”
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
