Chapter 152 You Look A Little Like Her
Chapter 152 You Look A Little Like Her
Amelia woke with one hand already over her mouth.
For one confused second, she lay perfectly still beneath the covers, staring into the dim morning light spilling through the bedroom windows.
Then her stomach rolled.
“Oh, no.”
She threw the covers back.
Bryson stirred beside her. “Sweetheart?”
Amelia was already halfway across the bedroom.
That woke him.
By the time she reached the bathroom, Bryson was behind her. She barely made it to the toilet before dropping to her knees, one hand gripping the edge as her stomach emptied itself with absolutely no regard for the lovely Christmas she'd just had.
Bryson gathered her curls away from her face with one hand while the other moved slowly over her back.
He didn't speak.
Didn't ask a dozen questions while she was miserable.
He simply stayed there.
When the nausea finally eased enough for Amelia to sit back on her heels, she closed her eyes and groaned.
“I knew it.”
Bryson reached for a washcloth, ran it beneath cool water, then crouched beside her.
“Knew what?”
“I shouldn't have said anything.”
He pressed the cloth gently against the back of her neck. “About?”
“Feeling better.”
His mouth twitched.
Amelia opened one eye.
“Don't laugh at me.”
“I'm not.”
“You're thinking about it.”
“Maybe a little.”
She frowned.
“I jinxed myself.”
“Sweetheart, that's not medically how pregnancy works.”
“You don't know that.”
“I'm reasonably confident.”
Another wave hit before she could argue.
Bryson immediately gathered her hair again.
Several minutes later, Amelia sat on the bathroom floor with her back against his chest, exhausted. Bryson had somehow managed to get a toothbrush, water and a cool towel without moving far enough away for her to notice.
She rinsed her mouth and handed the glass back.
“This baby has terrible timing.”
Bryson's hand slid around her waist and settled over the small curve of her stomach.
“Our baby waited until Christmas was over.”
Amelia considered that.
“That's true.”
“Very considerate.”
“Maybe we are raising them right.”
He laughed quietly and kissed her temple.
For a few minutes, they stayed exactly where they were.
Amelia rested against him, eyes closed, while Bryson's thumb moved lazily over her stomach.
Eventually he asked, “How are you feeling now?”
“Better.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.”
“Cramping?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
Amelia opened her eyes.
Bryson waited.
She slowly turned her head toward him.
“Are you reading from Marcus's questionnaire?”
A laugh escaped him.
“Apparently we've developed protocols.”
“Between you and Marcus, I'm going to spend the next seven months answering medical intake questions every time I sneeze.”
“If necessary.”
“It isn't.”
“We'll determine that.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
Amelia stared at him.
Bryson smiled and kissed her forehead.
“Come on.”
He helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her even after she'd steadied herself.
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you holding me like I'm ninety?”
“Because I like touching my wife.”
That effectively ended the argument.
Amelia allowed him to lead her back to bed.
He tucked her beneath the covers, disappeared briefly and returned with crackers and fresh water.
“I don't want those.”
“You don't have to want them.”
“Bryson.”
“One.”
She frowned.
“One cracker.”
“You're negotiating food with me now?”
“Apparently.”
She took one.
He looked unbearably pleased with himself.
“I don't like you.”
“I can live with that.”
Amelia ate half the cracker before setting it aside.
Bryson climbed back into bed beside her, and she immediately curled toward him. Her cheek settled against his chest, one leg slipping between his.
His palm returned to her stomach.
It had become something he did without thinking now.
Amelia covered his hand with hers.
“I really thought this part was ending.”
“It probably is.”
“Yesterday was so good.”
“Yesterday was busy.”
“Christmas doesn't count.”
“Your body disagrees.”
She sighed.
There had been christmas day then flight home. The excitement. The gifts. Everyone downstairs. Too much food, too little sleep and enough emotion packed into one day to exhaust anyone.
Bryson brushed his fingers through her hair.
“Nothing today.”
Her eyes opened.
“I have things to do.”
“No.”
“Lila's opening is tomorrow.”
“I'm aware.”
“And the wedding—”
“Is January twelfth whether you answer emails from bed today or not.”
She lifted her head.
“You've become very mouthy since getting that mug.”
His chest moved beneath her with laughter.
“Go to sleep.”
“I just woke up.”
“Then this should be easy.”
Amelia lowered her head again, muttering something he deliberately pretended not to hear.
Within ten minutes, her breathing changed.
Bryson looked down.
She was asleep.
He didn't move.
His fingers continued their slow path over her hair while the city brightened beyond the windows. He watched her face soften in sleep, the exhaustion disappearing from between her brows.
Then his gaze lowered.
His hand spread gently over her stomach.
His wife.
Their child.
Their home.
For a man who had spent most of his life believing control was the closest thing to certainty, it was unsettling how much of his heart now existed outside himself.
Bryson leaned down and kissed Amelia's temple.
She didn't stir.
He stayed another fifteen minutes.
Only when he was certain she was deeply asleep did he carefully ease himself from beneath her and arrange the pillow where his chest had been.
He picked up his phone.
Bryson: She's asleep. Let her sleep. Bruce can make her something light when she wakes.
Samantha's response came almost immediately.
Samantha: Already told him. I've got her.
Bryson smiled.
Of course she did.
He dressed quietly and left the bedroom.
By late morning, the penthouse smelled like coffee, toasted bread and whatever Bruce had simmering on the stove.
Bryson walked into the living area to find the household scattered comfortably through the space.
Ethan and Cole were arguing over something on Ethan's phone. Evan sat at the island with coffee, while Martina occupied the stool beside him, listening to something he was saying with a smile she seemed to be trying not to show too much.
Marcus stood near the windows, phone in hand.
Bruce was in the kitchen.
Samantha emerged from the hallway just as Bryson entered.
“How is she?” Marcus asked immediately.
Bryson noticed the speed of the question.
“Sleeping.”
Marcus nodded.
“Good.”
Bryson's gaze remained on him for half a beat before moving on.
“I need everybody for a few minutes.”
Bruce glanced toward the stove.
“Do I need to turn something off?”
“No.”
“Then I'm listening.”
Bryson shook his head.
“Come sit down, Bruce.”
That got everyone's attention.
Within a few minutes they had gathered around the living room.
Bryson remained standing.
“The key I gave Amelia yesterday wasn't symbolic.”
Ethan leaned back. “I figured that when she said you built a house.”
“The property is in Bedford. Westchester County.”
Bruce's brows lifted.
“That's not far.”
“That's part of why I chose it. Far enough outside Manhattan for privacy. Close enough that we aren't disconnecting from the city.”
Marcus asked, “How large is the property?”
“Large enough.”
Cole groaned. “Rich people should be legally prohibited from answering acreage questions that way.”
A few people laughed.
Bryson ignored him.
“The main residence is nearly finished. There's a private lake, pool house, guesthouse, multiple garages and a security station at the main gates. Security systems are being completed now.”
Marcus nodded, already mentally somewhere else.
Bryson looked directly at him.
“Schematics are in your inbox.”
Marcus pulled out his phone.
Ethan laughed. “Of course they are.”
Marcus checked.
“They are.”
Bryson continued.
“There's another residence on the property.”
Samantha tilted her head.
“A staff house. Separate from the main residence, pool house and guesthouse. Six bedrooms. Four bathrooms. Full kitchen, living areas, laundry, everything you'd expect in a home.”
Ethan stared at him.
“Six bedrooms?”
“Yes.”
“Four bathrooms?”
“Yes.”
“That's a house, boss.”
Bryson looked at him.
“I believe I just called it one.”
Cole started laughing.
Ethan waved him off. “You know what I mean.”
Bryson did.
But he let him suffer.
Then his expression grew more serious.
“Amelia and I want all of you to come with us.”
The room quieted.
Samantha was the first to speak.
“You're asking us to move?”
“I'm asking if you want to come.”
The distinction settled over the room.
Bryson slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Nobody's position depends on living there. If you want to keep your own place in Manhattan, keep it. If you want to use the staff house only when schedules make commuting inconvenient, that's fine too.”
He looked around at them.
“But Amelia and I are building our family there. The household we've built here matters to us. We don't want moving to mean dismantling it.”
Samantha's expression softened.
Bruce asked the most Bruce question imaginable.
“How long to Manhattan?”
“Roughly an hour. Traffic dependent.”
Bruce shrugged.
“Fine.”
Everyone looked at him.
Bruce frowned.
“What?”
Ethan stared. “That's it?”
“What else is there?”
“You just found out you're moving onto a billionaire's private lake estate.”
“I found out my commute changes.”
Cole leaned toward Ethan.
“I want to be Bruce when I grow up.”
“You should aim higher,” Bruce muttered.
Laughter loosened the room again.
Samantha smiled. “I'm coming.”
Ethan raised his hand. “Obviously.”
“Same,” Cole said.
Evan nodded. “I'm in.”
Marcus didn't hesitate. “You already know my answer.”
Bryson looked toward Martina.
She hadn't spoken.
Her fingers were linked loosely in her lap.
“What about Maya?”
Bryson frowned.
Martina shifted. “If I lived there. Would Maya—”
“Of course.”
She stopped.
Bryson seemed genuinely confused by the question.
“Maya lives with you.”
“I know, but—”
“Then Maya comes with you.”
Martina's eyes immediately glistened.
She looked down.
Bryson's voice softened.
“I'm not asking you to choose between your job and your sister.”
“I didn't think you were.”
“Good.”
She nodded, blinking rapidly.
“Then... yes. We'd love to come.”
Beside her, Evan smiled.
Martina caught it.
Something quiet passed between them.
Small enough that nobody commented.
Not small enough that Bryson missed it.
He wisely said nothing.
Ethan leaned forward.
“So when do we pick rooms?”
“You don't.”
“What?”
“The house isn't a dormitory.”
“But if we're all staying there—”
“Sometimes,” Samantha reminded him.
“Fine. When do we sometimes pick rooms?”
Cole pointed toward himself. “I want lake side.”
“You don't even know which bedrooms face the lake.”
“Then whichever one does.”
Bryson rubbed his forehead.
He was beginning to regret this meeting.
Marcus was laughing.
“There's one more thing,” Bryson said.
The room settled again.
“When the baby comes, things will change.”
Samantha smiled. “We know.”
“No.” Bryson looked around at them. “I mean this household will change. Amelia and I are going to need all of you in ways we probably don't understand yet.”
Bruce leaned against the chair.
Bryson's voice lowered.
“Yesterday made something clear to both of us. You aren't just people who work here.”
Nobody made a joke this time.
“You're family,” he finished simply. “The house was designed with that in mind.”
Silence followed.
Warm rather than uncomfortable.
Then Ethan cleared his throat.
“So... lake side?”
Bryson pointed toward the door.
“Meeting over.”
Amelia woke shortly after noon feeling considerably more human.
She showered, changed into a soft lounge set and climbed right back into bed with her iPad.
Technically, she considered that compliance.
She was reviewing an email concerning Lila's gallery when someone knocked.
“Come in.”
Samantha entered carrying a tray.
Marcus followed behind her.
Amelia immediately smiled.
“Please tell me Bruce didn't send enough food for six people.”
“He considered it,” Samantha said.
She placed the tray across Amelia's lap.
Chicken-and-rice soup, toast, sliced fruit and ginger tea.
Amelia looked at it.
“This is manageable.”
“That's what Bruce said.”
Samantha spotted the iPad.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You know that isn't resting.”
Amelia looked down at herself.
“I'm in bed.”
“With an iPad.”
“Details.”
Marcus chuckled.
Samantha shook her head.
“Eat.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And all of it.”
“Now you're getting ambitious.”
Samantha adjusted the tray before heading toward the door.
“I'll check on you later.”
“Thank you.”
When the door closed, Amelia reached for her spoon.
Marcus remained.
She noticed after the second bite.
He stood near the foot of the bed, hands tucked into his pockets.
Amelia swallowed.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
But he didn't leave.
She studied him.
Then yesterday came back to her.
The watching.
The hesitation.
It's just not a story I want to put on Christmas.
Amelia set her spoon down.
“You ready to tell me your not-on-Christmas story?”
Marcus gave a small smile.
“I guess Christmas is over.”
He gestured toward the chair near the windows.
“Can I?”
“Of course.”
Marcus pulled it closer and sat.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Amelia didn't rush him.
Finally, he leaned forward, forearms resting against his thighs.
“I had a sister.”
Had.
Amelia's expression softened.
“Her name was Mariel.”
Marcus looked toward the windows.
“She was younger than me. Not by much. Three years.”
A faint smile appeared.
“She was a pain in my ass.”
Amelia smiled gently.
“I'm sure she'd say the same about you.”
“She did. Frequently.”
His smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
“You look a little like her.”
Amelia stilled.
“Not enough that anybody would mistake you for each other. It's something around the eyes. Sometimes when you smile.”
He rubbed his palms together.
“I noticed it when I first started working around you. Didn't think much of it.”
Amelia waited.
“Then you got pregnant.”
Something changed in his voice.
“Mariel was pregnant when she died.”
Amelia slowly lowered her spoon.
“Oh, Marcus.”
He shook his head.
“Don't yet.”
She understood.
He needed to get through it.
So she remained quiet.
“The father wasn't her boyfriend. Not anymore. They'd been together, broken up, had one of those stupid nights people have when they know better.”
His mouth pulled faintly.
“When she found out she was pregnant, they talked. They decided they weren't getting back together. Mariel didn't want him back. He didn't want her back. But they were going to raise their child together.”
Marcus stared at his hands.
“He had an ex.”
Amelia felt something cold settle in her stomach.
“She wanted him back?”
“Badly.”
Marcus nodded.
“And once she found out Mariel was pregnant, something changed.”
His jaw tightened.
“Calls. Messages. Showing up places. Watching her. Asking why Mariel was trying to steal him when Mariel wasn't trying to do anything.”
Amelia's hand moved instinctively toward her stomach.
Marcus noticed.
His eyes followed the movement.
Then he looked away.
“Mariel kept saying she'd get tired.”
His voice had grown quieter.
“I told her it was getting weird. She laughed at me. Said I was being her overprotective big brother.”
He swallowed.
“I let her convince me.”
Amelia already knew this story didn't end there.
“One night she left work. She was walking toward her car.”
Marcus stopped.
The room became painfully still.
“The woman was waiting.”
Amelia's chest tightened.
“She hit her.”
Marcus's voice cracked for the first time.
“With her car.”
Amelia closed her eyes.
“She kept going.”
“Oh, God.”
“Mariel died at the hospital.”
He looked down.
“So did the baby.”
For several seconds, Amelia couldn't speak.
Marcus stared through the windows at Manhattan below.
“Everybody kept telling me afterward there was nothing I could've done.”
His jaw worked.
“I hate that sentence.”
Amelia's eyes burned.
“Because there were things I could've done. I could've listened to myself. Could've picked her up. Could've gotten somebody to watch her. Could've made her take the threats seriously.”
“Marcus—”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“I know logically that woman killed my sister. I know Mariel didn't cause it. I know I didn't cause it.”
He tapped two fingers lightly against his chest.
“But knowing something up here doesn't always change what lives here.”
Amelia understood that better than most.
“When you got pregnant,” he continued, “something changed for me.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her stomach.
“You already reminded me of her. Then suddenly you're pregnant on top of we've got people following you. Women showing up places. Sending photographs. Threatening you. Carl losing his mind.”
His mouth tightened.
“And every part of me keeps thinking I've seen this story before.”
Amelia finally understood.
Every doorway.
Every elevator.
Every time she'd caught him looking across a room.
“So every time you look for me...”
Marcus gave a small, humorless smile.
“I'm making sure you're still there.”
Her throat tightened.
“Marcus.”
“I know you're not Mariel.”
“I know.”
“And I know this is my job.”
“I know that too.”
“But sometimes...” He exhaled. “Sometimes it doesn't feel like a job.”
Amelia reached across the space between them and rested her hand over his.
He looked down at it.
“You didn't fail your sister.”
Marcus's expression barely shifted.
“I know that's what people say.”
“I'm not people.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“And I'm not asking you to believe me today.”
Something in his face broke just slightly.
Amelia squeezed his hand.
“You don't make me uncomfortable.”
“I probably should sometimes.”
“You're annoying sometimes.”
That surprised a laugh out of him.
She smiled.
“Overbearing? Occasionally. Bossy? Absolutely.”
“Sounds like I'm doing great.”
“But uncomfortable? Never.”
Marcus nodded.
Then his eyes dropped toward their hands.
“Thank you.”
Amelia released him and reached for her soup again.
“You know Bryson is going to be worse than you eventually.”
“Eventually?”
She laughed.
“Fair.”
Marcus stood and pushed the chair back toward the window.
“Eat your lunch.”
Amelia looked up.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The bossiness.”
“Doctor's orders.”
“You are not a doctor.”
“Security orders.”
“That's not a thing.”
“It is now.”
He headed toward the door.
“Marcus?”
He stopped.
Amelia smiled at him.
“Thank you for telling me about Mariel.”
His hand remained on the door handle.
For a moment, the professional mask slipped completely.
“She would've liked you.”
Amelia's eyes filled.
“I think I would've liked her too.”
Marcus nodded once.
Then he left.
Amelia remained still for a long time afterward.
Her hand drifted over her stomach.
Outside the bedroom, she heard Marcus's footsteps receding down the hallway.
For the first time, she understood what she'd been seeing in his eyes recently.
It wasn't suspicion or just vigilance.
It was memory.
Marcus had once watched obsession turn into violence.
He had once lost a pregnant woman he loved because someone else's jealousy had become more important than another person's life.
And now, every time he looked at Amelia, some part of him was still standing on that terrible night, wishing he had looked sooner.
Wishing he had been there.
Wishing he had gotten one more chance to protect his sister.
Amelia looked down at the small curve beneath her hand.
Then quietly, to the child growing beneath it, she whispered,
“He's going to drive us crazy, isn't he?”
A tiny smile touched her lips.
“But I think we'll let him.”
Outside the bedroom, the penthouse returned to its ordinary rhythm.
And for the first time in a very long while, Marcus walked away from Amelia without looking back to make sure she was still there.
He made it all the way to the elevator.
Then stopped.
His eyes lifted toward the hallway.