Wedding Preparation
Wedding Preparation
Amelia’s POV
Two weeks had passed since Collins carried me out of that nightmare hotel room. The hospital had become my temporary home. My bruises faded from purple to yellow, my ribs ached less with each breath, and the nightmares—Jenny’s manic laughter, Richard’s chilling touch, Felix’s unexpected presence, came less often. I was recovering, piece by piece.
I sat propped up in bed, the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. Mum was at the sink, washing an apple with her usual precision, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun. She’d been here every day, her presence a steady warmth, but I noticed the way her eyes softened when Sean was around, the way she’d blush and look away, oblivious to the longing in his gaze. It was almost comical, how blind she was to his feelings. I tilted my head, a mischievous pain cutting through my fatigue. “Mum,” I said, my voice teasing, “what’s going on with you and Sean?”
She froze, gripping the apple in her hands, and turned to me with a blank face. “What can be between us?” she asked, her tone genuinely confused, as if the idea was absurd. “He’s just… Sean. Always around, helping out. What are you talking about, Amelia?”
I sighed, a mix of amusement and pity washing over me. Poor Sean. The man was practically a walking heart-eyes emoji around her, and she couldn’t see it. How much would he have to suffer before she understood what was right in front of her? “Oh, Mum,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re hopeless.”
Before she could protest, the door swung open, and Collins strode in, with Sean trailing behind. My heart lifted at the sight of Collins—his dark coat hugging his broad shoulders, his eyes softening the moment they met mine. He crossed the room in two strides, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead, his lips warm and steady. “Hey, love,” he murmured, his hand brushing my cheek, and I leaned into his touch, the world feeling right again with him near.
Meanwhile, Sean stood by the door, his gaze fixed on Mum with an intensity that could’ve set the room ablaze. His eyes traced her face, her movements, like she was the only thing that mattered. Mum, oblivious as ever, caught his stare and frowned, setting the apple down. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.
Sean’s laugh was low, warm, and he stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered, a gentle, and deliberate touch that made my heart ache for him. “Just admiring the view,” he said, his voice teasing.
Mum blinked, her cheeks flushing, but she shoved his hand away, muttering, “Stop being weird.” Collins and I exchanged a glance, his lips twitching with amusement, and I stifled a giggle. It was like watching a rom com where one character was clueless, and the audience was screaming at the screen.
Collins sat on the edge of my bed, his hand finding mine, his thumb tracing circles over my knuckles. “Amelia,” he said, his voice serious but warm, “our wedding’s in a week. Are you ready?”
A week? I’d known it was coming, had dreamed of it even in the darkest moments, but hearing it now, so close, made my mind blank. My mouth opened, then closed, my heart racing as I pictured it—me in a white dress, Collins waiting at the altar, our promises sealing us forever. “A week?” I echoed, my voice soft. “I… yeah, I’m ready.”
His eyes lit up, and he squeezed my hand. “Good,” he said, his voice low. “Because I can’t wait to make you mine in front of the world.”
Mum chirped from the sink, her earlier confusion forgotten as she clapped her hands. “Oh, Amelia, it’s going to be beautiful!” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “We’ll make it perfect, just you wait. I’ve already got ideas for the flowers, and—” She giggled on, her excitement infectious, and I laughed.
But the moment shattered with a knock at the door. Dad stepped inside. His eyes swept the room, landing on Sean and Mum with a sneer of disgust that made my stomach twist. Mum frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion, clearly unaware of whatever silent judgment he was passing.
Dad's gaze settled on me. “A wedding?” he said, his voice sharp, and accusing. “And no one thought to tell me? I’m your father, Amelia. I have a right to know.”
I stared at him, my jaw tightening. He’d never been there—not when I was a kid, not when I was kidnapped, not when I needed him. Now he wanted to claim rights? “Since when do you care?” I shot back, my voice steady despite the anger simmering inside. “You’ve never been around. Why start now?”
His face reddened, his hands clenching at his sides. “I’m your father,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice rising. “I deserve respect, a place in your life. You and your mother, always so ungrateful, shutting me out. Well, fine. I’m done with you both.” He turned, his movements sharp, but paused at the door, his eyes locking on Mum with a venomous glare. Then he snorted, his voice dripping with disdain. “You moved on so fast. I feel disgusted!”
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