Page 60 of Never Date a Celebrity

“Goodbye,” Imogen said pointedly, already starting to close the door.

“Seriously though, good luck,” Niamh whispered enthusiastically, throwing her a double thumbs up.

Imogen chuckled and closed it the rest of the way. Those two really were something else.

She leaned her back against the door for a few seconds to catch her breath before making her way back toward Amy, who was now sitting upright on the sofa. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to have friends who check on you during blackouts.”

“And friends who are incredibly nosy when they know that Amelia Whitlock is in the apartment right next door.”

Amy whipped her head round to look at her. “I’m not sure if you’ve ever full-named me before. I don’t think I like it.”

Imogen laughed. “Sorry. If it helps, that feels like a totally different person to me.” She paused as a realisation sank in. “Only it’s not a different person, is it?” And then reality crashed down on her with a bang. Shit. “And I’ve just remembered why we aren’t supposed to be doing this.”

“Doing what?” Amy stood straight up and walked over to her. “Liking each other? Spending time together? Kissing?”

“Yes,” Imogen said. To all of it.

Amy took her hands and Imogen let her. Because even though she was freaking out because of Amy, Amy’s touch also soothed her. How were those two things possible at the same time? But they were. “How can we make it work? What do you need? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think we make very good friends, evidentially,” Imogen said dejectedly. “So where does that leave us?” Nowhere was the answer that neither of them wanted to face.

“Do you like me?” Amy asked.

Imogen was taken aback by the directness of the question. “You know I do. Liking you was never the problem. It’s the—”

“The fame. The press. The publicity.” Amy nodded in understanding. “I know.” She narrowed her eyes like she was thinking of something. “What if we keep it a secret?”

“Keep what a secret?”

“Us,” Amy said. “What if we continue to date? Like this? In private?”

Imogen studied her for a few seconds, and decided she was being totally serious. “It would never work.”

“Has it not worked so far?” Amy said. “We’re a few dates in and there’s been no drama whatsoever. I’m very discreet when I come here, and I don’t tell many people my business.”

“I know, but it would only last so long, Amy. Someone would find out something eventually. Things don’t stay private forever. Especially not in your world, I’m sure.”

“I can be careful. We can be careful.”

“You’d resent me,” Imogen said. Because who wanted to be someone’s secret?

“Why would I? It’s my idea,” Amy argued. “Do we not owe it to ourselves to see what this could be? Because I don’t know about you, Imogen, but I feel like we’ve got something really good here.” Amy squeezed her hands. “If you do have feelings for me, then don’t let it go. I beg you.”

“But eventually—”

“We can work out eventually down the line.”

Imogen’s heart clenched. On one hand, she knew that what Amy was proposing was a very bad idea. What was the point in getting even more attached if they inevitably had to end at some point in the future anyway? Surely, they would both end up getting even more hurt in the long run. Imogen feared it would destroy her to let herself fall properly for Amy if it couldn’t last forever.

But on the other, far less logical hand, was Imogen ready to let Amy go yet? Did she not want more time together? Just like tonight? Ever since Amy had left the bar last week, Imogen had felt an emptiness inside her that hadn’t disappeared until she was with Amy tonight. Dare she say it? She felt complete again. The notion seemed ridiculous when she took into account that she and Amy hadn’t even known each other for that long. But it didn’t make it any less true.

“I think you should text Christopher,” Imogen said quietly. God, what was she doing?

Amy looked down at the ground for a few beats then gave a small nod of acceptance. “Okay. If that’s what you want, I’ll text him and tell him that I’m ready to go back to the hotel.”

“No,” Imogen said. Maybe she was choosing the wrong option, but she found that she couldn’t bear the alternative. “I mean I think you should text Christopher and send him home.”