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I watch as she catches herself, her cheeks flushing. It’s the most unguarded I’ve ever seen her.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “That was . . . a lot.”
“Don’t apologize. Seems like you needed to get that out.”
Her phone buzzes again and she closes her eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. “That’ll be another text about china patterns or seating arrangements or how James always remembers which wine my father prefers.”
“Want me to reply? I guarantee your mother won’t harass you again.”
A laugh bubbles out of her unexpectedly. It’s real, not the polite chuckle I’ve heard from her before. “Don’t tempt me.” Her eyes hold mine, all her walls down. “Thank you. For earlier, and now.”
“For what? Offering to destroy your relationship with your mother?”
“For not . . .” She waves her hand around like she’s trying to pluck the right words from thin air. “Most people either tell me I need to try harder with James for Sarah’s sake, or they launch into a speech about how I should take him back because he’s such a ‘good man.’” The air quotes are audible in her tone.
“People who think they know what’s best for others usually don’t know shit,” I say, and watch surprise flicker across her face at my bluntness.
Luna’s voice carries from behind us. “Daddy! Come see what Sarah taught me!”
“Go,” Amelia says softly. “I should deal with this.” She holds her phone up.
I nod but find myself hesitating. “Sometimes the right choice is just saying no.”
She doesn’t respond, but the look in her eyes says she’s contemplating what I said.
Inside, Luna’s waiting to show me some complicated dance move that apparently requires trying to spin in three different directions at once. But my mind keeps drifting back to Amelia, to the vulnerable moments with her today.
Since my divorce, I’ve kept things simple with women. A date to a gala. Dinner. Sex. Nothing more. Clean edges, no complications. The whole marriage and divorce clusterfuck taught me that lesson well.
I don’t let women matter beyond the moment. It’s been a rule I’ve chosen to live by.
Somehow, though, Amelia Sinclair has slipped past those defenses. She’s on my mind like no one has been since Shayla and I’m not sure I want to do anything about that.
4
Amelia
The week after the wedding comes in hot.
Sarah and I got back to New York late Sunday afternoon, and I went straight into planning mode, my usual Sunday routine. Between work, Sarah’s school and extracurriculars, the never-ending housework and mom duties, and the rare moments I steal for myself, planning isn’t optional. It’s survival.
Monday was beyond hectic, ending with a late bedtime of one a.m., and I wake on Tuesday with a headache. It lasts all day, and my ex-husband does his best to intensify it when he texts while I’m walking to collect Sarah from school in the afternoon.
James:
I spoke with your mother this morning. The party plans sound wonderful. I know how much these events mean to your parents.
Me:
I’ve already told you I’m not comfortable attending together.
James:
Let’s be adults about this, Amelia. Your mother is counting on us.
Me:
You’re manipulating the situation.