Page 55 of Daring to Love

So, this is my own retribution: I have an obligation to tell you the truth about a dancer whose name is Amelie Winters, and that is what I will do.

When I first met her, she ran away from me.

Can you imagine it? Here I was, vexed and, dare I say it, bored out of my mind with the task of writing an entertainment piece, when in actuality, all I could think about was how to get out of it. And yet there was something about her that kept reeling me in the more time I spent with her…There is a certain air about her that is hard to put your finger on, but when she dances – because I was fortunate enough to witness her transform from a shy, young woman into a formidable lady on that very first night – parts of her real nature shine through.

Even someone like me who does not know the first thing about dance fell under her spell.

Needless to say, I was now fully invested in finding out who she was, and why she ran away from me when I first propositioned her. I was both charmed and curious.

Throughout the course of the past month, I got to know the real Amelie Winters. She is not the love child of a member of the British royal family, and I have no idea how or why my editor got such a ridiculous idea in his head.

Let me repeat that: it is crazy.

Was she adopted? Yes.

Did I uncover some deep and dark secret about her? Something that the press would gobble up as if they were sitting at the high table of the royal family? No.

The very idea is false, plain and simple, and slandering our monarchy like this is not only wrong.

It is career suicide.

And yet, he chose to print something like that without the consent of the board of directors who own this newspaper. I have no doubt that the board members would never have agreed to print it had they known that was his plan all along. I am sure of that, and the legal department have already taken steps to ensure that Erik Beckmann will not get away with his thirst and greed for making money in the worst possible way.

Despite all this, and in a weird, twisted way, I have to thank him for putting me in the path of Amelie Winters: I might never have met her if it was not for him; he wanted me to push that brick mortar she had built around her, force its collapse, and that is what I did.

I am only sorry that our intimate relationship has been twisted into a sordid, dirty thing by being aired in public.

For that, I am truly sorry.

Yes, I got to know her very well, and that is what my editor wanted, but I doubt he ever imagined I would fall so deeply in love with her as I did.

However, that is what happened, and I am man enough to admit it here, in a public paper, while I pray to the stars that she will forgive me for the utter mess I have put her through the past twenty-four hours. I probably do not deserve her forgiveness, yet I am asking for it all the same.

I love her determination to succeed. I love the tangled mess of her hair when she wakes up in the morning. I love that she has a Plan B if her dancing career ends prematurely. I love her passion and drive. I love her brain –she is smart, and intelligence is something that I am, to put it bluntly, wildly attracted to. She is fierce. She is adorable. She is a million little things that make her perfect for me.

The fact that she might disagree because our star signs do not match as perfectly as she would like – yes, she believes in her horoscope, dear readers – but I do not believe our fates were intertwined eons before we ever breathed on this earth.

No, but I do believe our souls and hearts belong together. The fact is I cannot imagine my life without her – and I have only known her for such a short time, I know, but I want to spend more time with her. To explore the world with her. To grow with her.

Forgive me, sweetheart. I cannot be without you.

Now…please open the door and let me in.

My fingersache around the edges of the paper I’ve held in the tightest grip since I started reading, but then the last line jumps and I toss the paper to the side and practically run to the front door.

“Amelie?”

I barely register Daddy as he calls out to me, because even though I know it’s crazy, I have to know if Fin’s here. I unlock it and wrench it open, my entire being buzzing with both love and anger.

And there he is, right in front of me, and despite the anger and hurt still flowing in my veins, I have never felt more loved than the way he gazes upon me. My breaths fall faster the longer we stare at each other, both of us ignoring the throng of paparazzi standing in a half-circle below the steps at my door. Faintly, I realise all the flashes from the cameras, and yet all I can see is him.

“You bloody idiot,” I murmur softly.

His solemn stare never wavers from mine.

“I know. I’m a wretched fool in love. Can you forgive me?”

I back away from him and nod.