But Amelia is in there, undoubtedly feeling way more uncomfortable than I—we—ever could.
If nothing else, we’re going to break her out of that golden cage.
We approach the door, our footsteps crunching on the immaculate cobblestones, but before we can knock, it swings open. A butler, straight out of aDownton Abbeyepisode with his impeccable black attire and pristine white gloves, greets us.
Holy shit, they have a butler.
“How can I help you, sirs?” he inquires politely, his British accent crisp.
“We would like to see Amelia,” I say, trying to sound confident but hearing the slight waver in my voice.
“What may I tell Miss Stanley it concerns?” the butler asks, his expression betraying nothing.
“You, Miss Stanley, are one of the lucky few who are allowed to call me Grey.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
“It reminds me too much of home.”
Princess.
How did we let her end up back here?
Misha, ever the people person, pipes up, “Hey, it’s nice to meet you. We’re her friends from… work, and we’d like to visit her.” His charm seems slightly dulled by exhaustion, but he manages a winning smile, nonetheless.
As if summoned by our presence, Amelia approaches behind the butler, accompanied by a taller guy who looks just like her. She catches my gaze and freezes, her mouth opening in a gasp.
I’m here, baby.
We’re here.
She’s stunning in a navy dress that accentuates her stormy blue eyes, now without her glasses, her long brown hair falling in soft waves and pearls adorning her delicate neck.
She’s the picture of perfection, a vision that takes my breath away, but there’s an unmistakable sadness in her eyes that doesn’t belong there.
I’m so sorry.
The contrast between this polished version of her and our nerdy-but-happy version hurts my heart. The man beside her, who must be her brother, notices her reaction and turns.
“It’s them?” he asks, and when she nods, his smile quickly morphs into a frown as he approaches the door.
“Amelia,” I whisper, but her brother blocks my view as he positions himself next to the butler, creating a human barrier between us.
“What do you want here?” he demands, his tone cold and unwelcoming, laced with a posh British accent that matches Amelia’s.
I try to keep my tone neutral, though my heart is racing. “Do we know each other?”
He could at least introduce himself so I could confirm who we’re up against.
“No, we don’t, and I’d like to keep it that way. The same counts for my sister,” he replies sharply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Ah, Iamright.
“August!” Amelia’s voice snaps from behind him, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration evident in her tone.
August continues, undeterred by his sister’s outburst. “You can just turn around and go back to being strangers. She’s better off with you leaving her alone.”
