Chapter 26 Say It
That was when Amelia lifted her head.
She turned slowly, eyes finally leaving her phone. Their gazes met. Andrew’s expression was hard, unyielding, his jaw set tight. There was no humor there. No softness.
She studied him for a second, then two.
Then she dropped her gaze back to her phone without a word.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, the city lights flashing across the darkened interior of the van as they continued toward the hotel.
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'HOURS LATER'
The room was bathed in the soft, bruised purple of Paris at 3:.m— streetlights bleeding through the tall, gauzy curtains, painting long violet stripes across the white Egyptian cotton sheets. The king-size bed felt like an island in the middle of the night, quiet except for the occasional far-off siren that rose and fell like a sigh.
Amelia lay on her back, eyes open, lashes trembling slightly every time she blinked. Her chest rose and fell too deliberately, too awake. After several long minutes she rolled onto her left side, dark hair spilling across the pillow like spilled ink. Her gaze settled on Andrew.
He slept the way only truly exhausted people can— mouth slightly parted, one arm flung above his head, the other resting across his bare stomach, fingers loosely curled. The sheet had slipped down to his hips. Moonlight caught the faint ridge of his collarbone and turned the stubble along his jaw silver-blue.
She watched him for almost a full minute before her right hand moved. The pads of her fingers landed feather-light on the warm curve of his shoulder.
“Babe,” she whispered.
Nothing. Only the slow tide of his breathing.
She tapped again, a little firmer. “Babe.”
Still nothing.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She tapped twice, quick little drumbeats. “Baby.”
A rough sound scraped out of his throat. “Huh…?”
His lashes fluttered, struggled, then lifted halfway. Brown eyes cloudy with sleep found hers.
“Wake up,” she said, voice so soft it barely stirred the air between them.
Andrew exhaled through his nose, long and slow. “What’s up?” The words came out gravelly, still half-dream.
Amelia’s fingers stayed on his shoulder, thumb tracing a tiny unconscious circle. “Are you angry with me?”
He blinked twice, slower this time, confusion creasing the space between his brows. “…What?”
“I asked if you’re angry with me.”
The crease deepened. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to pull himself into consciousness. “Yeah, I heard you. I just… I don’t know where that’s coming from. Why are you asking me that?”
Amelia’s eyes didn’t leave his. “Just answer the question.”
Andrew let his hand fall back onto the mattress. He turned fully onto his side now, facing her, the sheet twisting around his waist. “I’m not angry with you. I have no reason to be.”
Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth for a second. “Are you sure?”
“Babe.” His voice dropped, edged with fatigue. “I don’t want to do this right now. It’s the middle of the fucking night. Can we please do this tomorrow? I just wanna sleep.”
He started to roll away.
Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his forearm— not hard, but firm enough to stop him mid-motion. The muscle under her palm tensed, then relaxed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Andrew froze, half-turned. He looked back over his shoulder. “For what?”
“For being rude earlier.” Her voice cracked on the last word, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it. “At dinner. The way I was being unreadable."
He studied her face— the way her brows were pinched, the faint shimmer in her eyes. Slowly he rolled back toward her.
“You can never offend me,” he said, and the smallest, sleepiest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You know that.”
Amelia’s lips curved— just a little. She nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
He let out a soft breath through his nose. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
Her smile disappeared. She searched his face again, eyes narrowing. “No. You still sound like you’re annoyed with me.”
“I’m not.” He dragged the word out, gentle but firm. “I promise. I’m just trying to go back to sleep, baby.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead her hand left his arm and drifted to his chest. Her fingertips began moving in slow, deliberate circles over his sternum, tracing the faint line of hair there.
Andrew’s eyelids fluttered. “Melia…”
“I’ll only let you go back to sleep,” she murmured, voice dropping into something darker, velvet-edged, “when I hear you say the words.”
His brows lifted a fraction. “What words?”
Her palm flattened against his chest, warm. She leaned in until her lips were a breath from his ear. “I forgive you.”
A quiet laugh huffed out of him— half amusement, half surrender. “There’s truly nothing to forgive. I was never angry.”
Her fingers curled, nails grazing lightly down toward his navel, then back up. “Say it anyway.”
He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her palm. “You’re evil.”
“Say it.”