Chapter 55 Awkward Dinner
AMELIA
The day had crawled by.
I'd done my tasks—made Jeremy's bed even though he'd already left for work before I woke. I organised his already-organised closet. Sorted laundry that didn't need sorting.
Anything to fill the hours of being locked in this wing.
I'd tried the door three times. It's still locked from the outside.
I'd called out to Luca twice. He'd responded both times but wouldn't let me out.
"Boss's orders," he'd said. "You stay inside."
So I'd stayed. Paced. I listened to audiobooks, but found it difficult to focus on them. I attempted to take a nap, but was unsuccessful in falling asleep.
I couldn't stop thinking about Jeremy.
About our conversation yesterday morning. About the coldness in his voice. About the way he'd said, 'I don't know,' when I'd asked what I was to him.
About the relief I'd felt like learning he'd been alone at Crimson.
The fact that I had no right to feel relief about that.
Now it was evening. Nearly 8pm. I'd heard Jeremy return an hour ago—heard him go to his room, heard the shower running, and heard him moving around.
He was probably getting ready to go out again.
A knock on the kitchen door made me jump.
"Delivery," Maria's voice. The other maid who prepared meals. "Mr. Santoro's dinner is ready," she said. And yours."
I heard her set down trays and arrange dishes.
"Thank you," I said.
"Will you be serving him, or should I?" she asked politely.
"I will," I answered.
I heard her leave. When the door closed.
I took a breath and picked up the tray carefully. Navigated to where I knew the breakfast table was—except Jeremy used it for dinner when he ate in the wing.
"Jeremy?" I called out. "Dinner's ready."
i heard His door open. And footsteps are coming down the hall.
"You didn't have to—" he started.
"It's my job." I set the tray down on the table. "Maria made chicken. And some kind of pasta. She described it but I—" I gestured vaguely. "I arranged it the best I could."
"I'm sure it's fine."
I turned to leave—
"Stay." His voice stopped me. "You should eat too. No point in eating separately."
I hesitated. "Okay."
I went back to the kitchen, got my own tray, and brought it to the table. Felt for the chair across from him. Sat.
We arranged our places in silence. I knew from muscle memory where my fork was, where the plate sat, where the glass of water had been set.
I reached for the glass—
My fingers brushed his hand.
Both of us had reached for the water pitcher at the same time.
The contact was brief. Accidental. Just skin against skin for half a second.
But I felt it like electricity. A spark that shot up my arm and made my breath catch.
I pulled back quickly. "Sorry."
"It's fine." But his voice sounded tight.
He'd felt it too.
That—whatever that was.
I let him pour the water. Heard it splash into his glass, then mine. His hand brushed mine again as he set the pitcher back—just barely, just enough to send another jolt through me.
We ate in silence.
But I could feel him. I felt his attention on me even though I couldn't see him. Could sense his gaze the way you sense someone staring.
Was he watching me? Or just eating while I happened to be in his line of sight?
I turned my face slightly toward where I thought he was sitting. Tilted my head as if I could see him if I just looked hard enough.
The fork on his plate clinked. He'd stopped eating.
Was he looking at me? Really looking?
The silence stretched. Heavy. Weighted with all the things we weren't saying.
Finally, Jeremy set down his utensils. "I need to go out."
My chest tightened. "Where?"
"The bar."
Crimson. Again.
"Business?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
"Personal," he answered.
Personal. Like last night. Going to drink. To think. To avoid being near me.
"Can I come with you?" The words came out before I could stop them.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you're safer here."
"I'm bored here. "I set down my fork. "I've been locked in this wing for almost two days. I need to get out. I need to people. Do something other than—"I gestured at the room—"this."
"The answer is no, Amelia."
"Jeremy—"
"No." He stood. "I have to go. Luca will be here if you need anything."
I heard him move toward the door. Heard his footsteps heading down the hallway.
And something in me snapped.
I stood and moved quickly toward the sound. I made my way to the hallway.
"Jeremy, wait—"
"We've already discussed this—"
I reached the door—the one that led out of the wing—just as he did. I stepped in front of it. Spread my arms across it like I could physically block him.
"Amelia, move."
"No."
"I don't have time for this—"
"Then make time. Because I'm not moving unless you take me with you."
I could feel him standing close. Could smell his cologne—different from this morning. Fresh. He'd reapplied it. Getting ready to go somewhere.
"You're being childish," he said.
"You're being controlling." I lifted my chin. "I'm not a prisoner, Jeremy. You can't just lock me up and leave whenever you want."
"I can if it keeps you safe."
"Safe from what? From living? From having coffee with someone who was nice to me? From feeling like a normal person for five minutes?"
"From getting used by the Volkovs! From—" He stopped. Took a breath. "Move, Amelia."
"No."
"I'm warning you—"
"Warn all you want. I'm not moving. Either you take me with you, or you stay here. Those are your options."
"You're being ridiculous—"
"And you're being a hypocrite!" I kept my arms spread across the door. "You go to Crimson whenever you want. You drink, you sit in private rooms, and you do whatever you need to do. But I can't even go for a walk? Can't have coffee? Can't leave this wing?"
"That's different—"
"How? How is it different?"
"Because I'm not the one being targeted by enemy families!"
"Maybe I wouldn't be targeted if you didn't keep me locked up like I'm something valuable to steal!" I could feel my voice rising. "You want to know why Alex—why Alexei found me? Because I was outside. Being normal. Living. Something you won't let me do!"
"I'm trying to protect you—"
"By making me a prisoner? By isolating me? By making sure I'm completely dependent on you?" I shook my head. "That's not protection. That's control."
"It's not—" He stopped. I heard him exhale sharply. "Amelia, you don't understand—"
"Then explain it to me! Explain why I have to be locked up while you get to go out! Explain why my safety requires isolation but yours doesn't!" I pressed my back harder against the door. "Or take me with you. Let me out of this wing. Let me feel like a person instead of a problem."
"You're not a problem," he said.
"Then stop treating me like one!"
The words hung in the air between us.