Chapter 76 Dinner To Bed
JADE
I woke up the next morning with a plan.
Marco would know things. He would have valuable information that I could utilise.
But I needed more than information. I needed access. Needed opportunities. I sought methods to establish a closer relationship with Jeremy.
I got dressed carefully. Nice clothes. Makeup. Hair done. I made the kind of presentation that left a lasting impression on the audience.
Then I texted Marco: Still on for 2pm?
Yes. Don't be late.
Perfect.
I spent the morning at Crimson, working my shift. Smiling at customers. Serving drinks. Playing the perfect bartender.
And thinking about Jeremy. About Amelia. About how to make him see me instead of her.
At 1:45pm, I knocked on Marco's office door.
"Come in."
Marco sat behind his desk, looking worn out. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. What's the fuss about, Jade? And make it quick. I have actual business to handle."
"I want information about Jeremy Santoro and Amelia."
His expression didn't change. "Why?"
"Because I want him. And she's in my way."
Marco leaned back in his chair. "You want Jeremy Santoro. The Santoro heir. One of the most dangerous men who walks through my doors."
"Yes."
"And do you really believe you stand a chance against a girl whom he is clearly obsessed with?"
"I think I have more to offer than a blind girl who can't even see him." I leaned forward. "Marco, you know everything that happens in Crimson. You know their history. You know what he sees in her. Tell me. Help me understand so I can—"
"So you can what? Seduce him? Take him from her?" Marco shook his head. "Jade, this is a bad idea. A terrible idea."
"I don't care." I replied, getting irritated already by his questions.
"You should. Jeremy Santoro isn't someone you play games with. And Amelia—" He stopped. "She's under his protection. You go after her, you go after him. And he won't be gentle about it."
"I'm not going after her. I'm going after him. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Marco studied me. "Let me give you some advice, Jade. Free of charge. Walk away from this. Jeremy Santoro has made his choice. And trust me, you don't want to get involved with him and Amelia. It won't end well."
"That's not advice. That's a warning."
"It's both." He stood. "I'm not helping you with this. And if you're smart, you'll drop it. But I suspect you won't. So let me be clear: Whatever happens, don't bring it into my bar. Don't cause problems here. And consider yourself warned.
He walked to the door. Opened it. "We're done. Get back to work."
I stood, frustration burning in my chest. "You're really not going to help me?"
"No. I'm really not going to help you destroy yourself." He gestured to the hallway. "Out."
I left. Angry. Frustrated. But not defeated.
If Marco wouldn't help me, I'd find another way. Another source. Another method.
I'd get Jeremy Santoro's attention. I'd make him see what he was missing.
And Amelia—blind, helpless, pathetic Amelia—would lose him.
One way or another, and I'd make sure of it.
JEREMY
After Victoria left, I sat in my office for twenty minutes, trying to calm down.
The audacity. The nerve. She had the audacity to come here and threaten Amelia. To think she could manipulate me into marrying her by exposing the woman I loved.
I'd meant every word of my threat. If Victoria said anything—anything—to hurt Amelia, I would destroy her. Completely. Permanently.
But for now, I needed to let it go. I needed to concentrate on the things that truly mattered.
I finished the last of my paperwork, locked up my office, and headed to the east wing.
The smell of food hit me as soon as I opened the door. Something delicious. Pasta, maybe. And garlic bread.
I found Amelia in the kitchen, wearing a simple dress, her hair pulled back. She was setting the table—carefully, methodically, using her hands to find where everything went.
"You cooked?" I asked.
She jumped slightly and turned toward my voice. "Jeremy. Hi. No, Maria cooked. I just—I wanted to serve you. Like a proper—" She stopped. "Like I'm supposed to."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know. But I wanted to." She smiled. "How was your day? I heard Victoria came by."
Of course she'd heard. Staff gossip travelled fast.
"She did. It was—unpleasant. But I handled."
"Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. She won't be bothering us again." I moved to the table. "This smells amazing. What is it?"
"Chicken parmesan. With linguine and garlic bread. Maria said it's your favorite."
"Yes, it is." I pulled out her chair. "Come on. Let's eat."
We ate in comfortable silence for several minutes. The food was perfect. The wine is smooth. But more than that, just being here with Amelia—sitting across from her, watching her navigate her meal with practiced ease—it felt right.
Normal. Peaceful. Homely.
"How was your day?" I asked finally. "Luca said the bank went well. Eventually."
"It did. Once we received my birth certificate, everything fell into place. She set down her fork. "We had to go to St Mary's. The orphanage. To get it."
"How was that? Going back there?"
"Strange. It's been months since I left, but it feltthe same. Like I'd never been gone." She paused. "Mrs Chen was lovely. She seemed genuinely glad that I was doing well. But—"
"But what?" I pressed her further.
"But it reminded me that I came from nothing. No family. No name. No past. Just Amelia. Found on the streets at six years old." She took a sip of wine. "The birth certificate doesn't even have a last name. Just Amelia. It seems as though I am only partially a person.
My chest tightened. "You're not half a person. You're—" I reached across the table, found her hand. "You're everything."
"Thank you." Her fingers laced with mine. "But still. It's strange. I'm uncertain about my origins. Who my parents were. Why they—" She stopped. "Why did they not want me?" she asked.
"Maybe they did want you. Maybe something happened. Maybe—"
"Maybe they abandoned me because I was blind and broken and not worth keeping." Her voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact. "That's the most likely explanation, isn't it?"
"Amelia," I called her name gently.
"It's okay," she said immediately. I've made peace with it."She squeezed my hand. "I have a life now. A job. A bank account. Someone who—" She smiled. "Someone who makes me feel like I'm worth something."
"You are worth something. You're worth everything."
We finished dinner. I cleared the plates while Amelia protested that she should be doing it.
"You cooked—well, served. "I can clean." I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counter. "Besides, I want to."
"Why?" She asked.
"Because taking care of you isn't a chore, Amelia. It's—" I stopped, finding the words. "It's a privilege."
When I turned around, she was smiling. Her smile, soft and genuine, filled my chest with warmth.
"Come here," I said.
She made her way toward me, using the counter as a guide.
I caught her when she reached me. Pulled her close. "I'm going to carry you to bed now."
"I can walk" She protested.
"I know. But I want to carry you." I scooped her up. She gasped, wrapped her arms around my neck. "You don't always have to be independent, you know. Sometimes it's okay to let someone take care of you."
"Are you taking care of me right now, or is this leading to something else?"
I carried her down the hallway to my bedroom. "Maybe both." I answered.