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“I can see why you don’t like him,” Amelia says. “I mean, aside from his charming personality.”
I laugh. “I love it when you’re mean. Especially on my behalf.”
She gently leans her forehead against mine. “Anytime.”
For a moment we just sit there. She thinks I’ve finished, I realize. If I want to stop here, I can. She’ll feel like I shared something important with her. I can keep the rest of it safe. The part I never even told Bridget, back when we were together.
But if I’m thinking...if I’m evenimaginingthat Amelia and I could be something more permanent, then she deserves to know. I don’t want another relationship where everything’s perfect on the surface but crumbling underneath.
I grit my jaw. “There’s more.”
Amelia looks up, questioning.
“Freshman year a group of friends and I got in trouble for doing stupid college shit. Stole some alcohol, went skinny dipping in the Dean’s pool, that kind of thing.” I smile grimly. “We got caught, not that it mattered for most of us. We were minors, our parents were rich and powerful.”
“What does this have to do with your dad?”
“One of my friends was an international student on scholarship. So, while we got a slap on a wrist, he was getting sent back to Kosovo. This was supposed to be his shot at a better life. And we’d all ruined it for him with one dumb night.”
Amelia winced.
“My dad was friends with some influential people in the school administration. So I went and begged for his help. And he refused.” I close my eyes briefly, remembering the rage and helplessness I’d felt in that moment. “He was mad I’d taken my mom’s side in the divorce. Since I hadn’t been there for him, he wasn’t there for me.”
“Oh, Cole.” Amelia lets go of my hands to adjust the jacket, which has started slipping off her shoulders. “What happened to your friend?”
I let out a sigh. “He lost his scholarship, lost his student visa, and got sent back home. But he was smart, and without us all dragging him down, he ended up graduating early from a top university back home. He fell in love, founded a nonprofit. He’s ok.”
Amelia raises an eyebrow. “If he wasn’t ok, I’m sure you would have done something about it as soon as you could. How much do you donate to his nonprofit?”
Her instincts are right, not that I’ll admit it. I stand up, restless. “Anyway. I swore then that I’d never ask my dad for anything ever, ever again.” I look down at her. “Now you have the whole dirty, messy story.”
Some part of me is holding my breath, waiting for her to call me out for selfishly ruining my friend’s life, or naive for thinking I could trust my dad in the first place. Or maybe she’ll want me to give my dad another chance, like Bridget always wanted me too.
But I should know better. This is Amelia. She cocks her head, giving me a soft, wise smile full of understanding. Then she holds out her hand like a princess, and I help her to her feet.
She takes my face in her delicate, careful hands. “Cole Ashford. You might think that story is dirty, or messy. But all I heard was that you tried your best to love your father until he made it impossible. That’s not your fault.”
I close my eyes, her words falling on me like a benediction.
Then she’s rising on her toes so that she can gently kiss my cheek, my brow, my jaw, my lips. Her lips feel like butterflies on my skin. Like golden sunshine in a deep forest. Like the only thing that can calm the mess inside of me.
When she starts to pull away, I catch the back of her neck, keeping her close as my kiss turns hungry. She’s kind, beautiful, driven, ambitious, tough, funny. And I’m starving for every inch of her, every moment with her. I want it all.
I’m rougher than I need to be, and she gasps into my mouth. Her hands find my shoulders, clinging to them for support. All at once I want nothing more than to take her to bed and strip her of her marvelous dress.
And I’m not about to wait until I get home.
20
AMELIA
Something’s different with Cole tonight. I don’t know if it’s opening up about his dad, or the relief of the gala being almost over, or the inevitable buildup of what’s been happening between us.
I’ve seen him playful in bed, and lazily luxurious. I’ve had him when he’s hot and demanding, and I’ve had him when he’s tender and sweet. But this kiss feels like a storm. Like I’m getting every side of Cole at once.
He starts to back me towards a wall. A wall where a very expensive painting is hanging.
“Cole,” I gasp, laughingly. “We can’t. The art.”
