Giggling, she reaches out, intertwining our fingers, and we walk back to the group together. Her hand in mine, the sound of her laughter, the promise of what might be—right now, it feels like enough.
ELEVEN
The stone balustradeis cold when I lean against it, my fingers tracing the weathered patterns as I watch the bustling staff prepare for yet another tedious event.
A garden party.
Standing beside my mother in our expansive, meticulously groomed garden, the cloud-heavy sky mirrors the turmoil inside me. She’s barking orders to the staff, who try their best to keep up with her demands.
This is what happens when people have too much money and time on their hands. A gathering of some sort on almost every other day.
Two years ago, at least, I had college as an excuse to only go to the big events on the weekend. But now I have to attend every single one of them.
This, I realize with a sinking feeling, is what my life will inevitably become if I can’t find a way out for August and me. Endless parties, fake smiles, and soul-crushing expectations stretched out before me like a bleak, inescapable future.
The last two days I’ve done my best to avoid the guys, but I’ve kept a watchful eye on the security feed, monitoring their movements.
Not gonna lie, it felt good.
I’ve caught glimpses of them coming and going from the mansion, hanging out in the garden with Wilfred. The sensors I set up outside my room have been triggered frequently as if they’re checking to see if I’ve come home.
Misha’s words from our hike still echo in my mind, a constant reminder of what I desperately want but am utterly terrified to accept.
“Please, give me… giveusa chance to make this right.”
“You’re the one thing I can’t afford to misplace.”
I spent Monday and Tuesday at August’s house with Abigail. I told my parents that I wanted to spend some time with my nieces and give Abigail a breather, and they reluctantly agreed that it would be a good idea.
Abigail and I made a plan for them to move to the States, start fresh, and build a life free from the constraints of my family name. She was right. She has the money. It won’t be easy to leave everything behind like that, and it will take August time to find work there. But it could work.
However, August is not going to agree to this so easily.
Two months.I have two months.
It’s a good thing we took time to figure out what the next steps could be. I feel better, and Abigail does, too, but I didn’t tell the guys where I went and didn’t pick up my phone when Grey called me a thousand times.
I’m a coward. I know that. But Misha almost made me falter. I would have loved nothing more than to jump into his arms and let him haul me back to Seattle, but I can’t do that to August.
Or to myself.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted—to be cherished, to be fought for, to be seen as something precious. But the voice of doubt in my head is relentless, whispering thoughts that I can’t seem to silence.
What if it’s all just a ploy?
What if they still need me for Jamie? Maybe they haven’t gotten everything they need from me yet. What if they tell me sweet things I want to hear, fly all the way to London to bring me back, only to be done with me as soon as they’re done with the data collection?
Would they do that?
I mean, I didn’t think they would stalk me, either.
The trust between us is shattered, lying in jagged pieces at my feet, and I’m not sure it can ever be fully rebuilt.
Why else would I be worth all that hassle?
Three brilliant, successful, kind, and good-looking men would not just up and leave their lives behind to make amendswith me.
“Amelia Charlotte, you could at least attempt to show some enthusiasm rather than sulking about like a disgruntled child. It’s quite unbecoming.” My mother’s voice cuts through my reverie. I press my lips together to hold back a bitter response, but fortunately, her attention quickly shifts. “Careful!” she snaps at a servant juggling a floral arrangement. “Those blooms are worth more than your wages for the month,” she scolds sharply, and I grimace.
