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“The only things I have left of my parents,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
Guilt washes over me. I’ve been so caught up in our arrangement that I didn’t even consider what she might have left behind.
“Do you still have a key to the apartment?”
Tears coat her eyes as she nods and bites her lip as she nods.
I tap on the window and tell the driver to travel to the other side of Manhattan.
I turn back to Amelia. Her glistening eyes are now wide with hope. I take her hand in mine, squeezing it gently.
“Don’t remove anything that he bought you,” I tell her firmly. “From now on, I will buy you everything you need.”
Then she asks with a shaky voice, “I only need my parents’ photos.”
“Good.”
Her eyes light up, a smile spreading across her face.
But my heart sinks. How could I have been so blind? “And once we get your things, you’re going to leave the key there,” I press, my tone firm but gentle.
Before I can react, Amelia launches herself into my arms. Her lips crash against mine, catching me completely off guard.
For a moment, I’m frozen, stunned by her sudden display of affection.
But then, instinct takes over. My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepens as I lose myself in the softness of her lips and the warmth of her body as it presses against mine.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.
Pink dusts Amelia’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispers, her fingers tracing my jawline. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. “I am starting to understand.”
“You’re the first person who has.”
It’s more important that I am the last person.
Chapter 12
Amelia
Isit on the plush carpet of West’s living room, with the most precious things I own. Photographs of my parents. My fingers trace the edges of each one as memories flood back with every image.
My gorgeous mom’s bright smile. Papa’s crinkled eyes. All moments frozen in time that I thought I had lost forever.
“Thank you,” I whisper, looking up at West. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, watching me with an unreadable expression. “I can’t believe you let me get these. You’ve got no idea how much it means to me.”
West runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m recognizing as a sign of discomfort. “I feel awful, Amelia. I should have known how important they were to you.”
I shake my head, picking up a photo of my parents on their wedding day. “How could you have known? It’s not like I told you.”
“Still,” he insists, sliding down to sit beside me on the floor. “I should have asked. I was so caught up in this arrangement that I didn’t stop to think about what you might be leaving behind.”
His words catch me off guard. I’ve never heard him sound so vulnerable before. I set the photo down and turn to face him.
“These photos,” I begin, gesturing to the pile around us, “they’re all I have left of my parents. They died just over three years ago, when I was nineteen.”
West nods, but he doesn’t interrupt.