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Ameline: Can we look into the dorms too?
Gabe: You got it.
Ameline: Looking forward to this weekend.
Gabe: I’ll pick you up at home. I don’t want you coming alone on the ferry.
Ameline: You don’t have to.
Gabe: Let me do it.
Ameline: See you Friday then. x
Chapter Fourteen
Ameline
Tucked away in a quiet corner of Seattle, we sit in a quaint Italian restaurant. The walls are painted in warm earthy colors that remind me of Tuscany. There are vintage Italian posters and rustic décor adorning the walls and some of the shelves around the place. Soft lighting spills from ornate chandeliers, casting a romantic glow over the room and highlighting the elaborate table settings.
The air is rich with the enticing aromas of authentic Italian cuisine—garlic, herbs, and simmering sauces—mingling with the subtle fragrance of aged wine. The gentle hum of conversation fills the space, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional laughter from nearby tables.
I sit across from Gabe, trying to ignore the attraction I have for him. It grows stronger every time I see him. Maybe I should stop seeing him—and texting. No contact from now on. But hearing about his everyday life or just receiving a silly gif or a picture is the highlight of my day.
Just keep the stupid crush down, Ameline.
As I take a sip of water, the coolness contrasts sharply with the heat inside me. And while I’m going a little crazy about my feelings, Gabe is unaware of the turmoil inside me. He studies the menu, his handsome face illuminated by the soft glow of a candle flickering between us. This could be the perfect setting for our first date. After the meal, he could walk me to the apartment and then we’d kiss. My cheeks heat up at the thought of the things we could do after that first kiss.
My stomach flutters nervously. Stop this, Ameline. Focus, I tell myself. This isn’t a date.
“So many choices,” Gabe says, brow furrowing.
“Yeah, everything sounds good,” I reply, striving for nonchalance. My words feel inadequate, too ordinary for the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.
He glances up, blue eyes meeting mine. They remind me of a clear blue sky, and they seem to peer right into me. “Have you thought more about what you want to study?”
I exhale softly, a sigh escaping my lips as I fiddle with my napkin. Pre-law, pre-med, pre-something useful for Dad’s grand plan. But honestly, I don’t care about any of those.
“I’m still not sure,” I confess, hesitantly. “Maybe something with English or art history as a minor? That way, Dad gets what he wants, but I can still explore my interests.”
Gabe’s smile is warm and understanding, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes me feel seen. “I wish I could tell you to just go for what you love most, but I know that’s not how it works with your dad,” he says, probably remembering what happened with Cedric when he wanted to propose to Jamie.
Dad was ready to take everything away from him. College tuition, insurance, allowance, and even his car—which Cee found out is still under Dad’s name. So much for ‘this is your present and you can do whatever you want with it.’ Izzy just bought herself a new car. It’s the only thing she has that doesn’t belong to our father. She’s been supporting herself and using the money Dad sends her for things that don’t matter.
This is something I have to start doing. Find a part time job and start saving in case I piss off my dad. My therapist and I have discussed this at length. I’m not afraid to lose what he’s given me, but I’m afraid to lose his love. What if I piss him off and he stops talking to me? That’s not the way a child should feel but it is my reality. I wish I could tell him that what he’s doing is toxic. We’re his children and he needs to look into his behavior toward us. Love shouldn’t be conditional on what we do or how we behave.
That might be something I can bring up once he’s no longer responsible for my education. I wish I had gotten better grades, so I could get a scholarship. I could say something like, “Thank you, but it’s my life and I get to make my own decisions.”
“For now, I have to do as he says and be practical with my choices and my future,” I add as I fiddle with the edge of the checkered tablecloth. “‘You can’t just expect someone to marry you,’ he said.” I can’t help but find humor in the irony. “It’s funny how he doesn’t want me to do what all his wives did.Not that I want to be a housewife, but . . . it’s ironic, right?”
Gabe reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against mine in a gentle, reassuring touch. A rush of tingles shoots up my arm at the contact. His eyes lock with mine, and I can see the wheels turning in his head, pondering, calculating. “He probably wants the best for you, in his own way,” Gabe offers thoughtfully. “What about poli-sci? You could go into law afterward. And a minor in art history or English would fit right in.”
His touch is more than just physical. It’s like he’s reaching right into my soul, lighting up parts of me I didn’t even know were dark. Being with Gabe makes me feel like I could conquer the world. But there’s this nagging thought: he only sees me as his roommate’s little sister. I know for sure that he’s not dating, but there’s the picture of that girl—Leslie. I’ve heard Archer mention her when he visited, and then Lyric did the same. However, nothing else has been said.
Who is Leslie, and why is someone as amazing as Gabe single?
Reluctantly, I pull my hand back, feeling a pang of loss as our fingers part. “You’re right,” I manage to say with a small smile, trying to mask the mayhem inside. “I’ll give it some more thought.”
He nods, his eyes holding mine a moment longer than necessary. For just a moment, I indulge in the fantasy that his gaze carries a hint of something more, a silent yearning perhaps. Maybe even love. But the sad reality quickly settles back in—there’s nothing happening between us.
