Page 159 of With a Cherry On Top

Charlotte doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t move, except for the trembling rise and fall of her shoulders. Then, finally, she says, “Amelie.”

The name lingers in the air between us.

Amelie.

I drag my gaze away from the picture and look at Charlotte. She wipes at her cheeks, but fresh tears keep slipping free. I don’t even know where to start. Why does she have this. Why does she look so guilty.

Why, in this picture, is Amelie the spitting image of her mother.

My mind is racing, leaping ahead faster than I can catch up. The pieces are all there, just waiting to be put together, but I don’twantto put them together. Because if I do, it’ll mean?—

“Beatrice didn’tloseher daughter.” Charlotte’s voice cracks, her hands curling into the sheets. “She might feel like she did, but she abandoned her. She left her behind.”

The words slice through my ribs like glass. “What?”

Charlotte squeezes her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her palms against them. “That’s why we’re here. She wants to reconnect with her, but Amelie wouldn’t agree to meet her, so...”

So she’s tricking her. How? Doesn’t Ian know who Beatrice is? He’s never met her in person, but they did talk on the phone.

“She gave them my father’s name. Arnault.”

Oh god. That’s why she didn’t introduce herself as Beatrice Montgomery. I can barely breathe.

Amelie is Beatrice’s daughter.

The picture frame presses into my palm. Beatrice specifically asked for Amelie to come cook for her. She didn’t even try to hide how pissed she was when I showed up instead. She invited me here for lunch and asked about her. And every single time I mentioned her name, Charlotte was so annoyed. I blamed it on jealousy, but that’s not it, is it?

A sickening thought snakes its way from the back of my mind. It lasts but a second before I shove it away, but the damage is done—the doubt is planted, and it spreads quicker than I can rationalize it.

“This isn’t why I’m here, is it?” My voice is hollow. I already know the answer but need to hear it anyway, and for every second she doesn’t say a word, the crater in my chest keeps expanding. “Did your mom make you...seduce me?”

Charlotte’s head jerks up, her wet eyes wide. “Would you believe me if I told you she didn’t?”

“Yes.” I just need her to tell me, and I’ll believe her. I really fucking will. I’ll believe anything rather than this disgusting, twisted version of the truth.

“She didn’t, I swear.”

I hear her, but it’s like my body doesn’t. My muscles are stiff, wound so tight I might snap. I don’t know if I want to run or scream or demand answers.

I need to get out of here.

Charlotte scrambles closer the moment I take a step toward the door, reaching for me, her fingers barely grazing my wrist before I pull back. She flinches like I struck her, and it makessomething in my chest crack, but I can’t bring myself to move to her.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know what to do with any of this.

“I’m sorry, okay?” She breathes hard, like there’s not enough oxygen coming in. “I didn’t know Amelie was your friend until you first mentioned her name. Beatrice played me exactly like she did with you.”

I force myself to look at her. Her face is flushed, her eyes glossy and desperate.

Her hands tremble as she grips the fabric of her sweater. “I swear,” she whispers. “I didn’t know when we started...Ididn’t.”

I believe her, but I have to go.

“No, no, please.” She clings to me when I try to step past her, burying her crying face into my chest. “You said you wouldn’t. Just a minute ago, you said?—”

“A minute ago I didn’t know you were keepingthisfrom me. That you’re my best friend’s sister. Does she evenknowabout you? Does she even—” I’m getting a headache. “This is a fucking mess.”