Chapter 160 Watch Me
Chapter 160 Watch Me
Over the next thirteen days, something remarkable happened.
Nothing.
No late-night phone call sent Bryson reaching for his phone with dread. No unfamiliar face appeared outside the penthouse. No emergency interrupted breakfast, no threat arrived disguised as coincidence, and no one tried to turn Amelia and Bryson’s happiness into something that belonged to them.
Life simply began moving again.
At first, Amelia did not entirely trust it. She did not wake each morning expecting something terrible to happen, nor did she spend her days looking over her shoulder, but she noticed the absence of chaos in ways she never would have before. An entire afternoon would pass without James calling. Bryson would disappear into his office for an hour and emerge talking about an acquisition or a meeting instead of investigators. The elevator would open and Marcus or Evan would step out without grim expressions or news that changed the temperature of the room.
Ordinary things began reclaiming space.
The bruises along Amelia’s shoulder and hip changed from deep purple to unpleasant shades of green and yellow before slowly beginning to disappear. The soreness in her side eased with each passing day, and her obstetrician remained pleased with the pregnancy. There had been no bleeding or cramping, and every follow-up gave them another reason to believe that Baby Hearst had emerged from the ordeal completely unbothered by the chaos surrounding his or her parents.
The morning sickness, unfortunately, remained deeply committed to its position.
One morning, after Amelia had spent several miserable minutes in the bathroom, she returned to bed and informed Bryson that if their child came out looking anything like him, she intended to hold him personally responsible for every wave of nausea she had suffered.
Bryson, who had been waiting with water and crackers, regarded her seriously. “That is not remotely how genetics work.”
“I don’t care.”
“You cannot assign nausea according to facial resemblance.”
“Watch me.”
He handed her the water. “Drink.”
Amelia took it while glaring at him. “You’re very bossy for someone currently being blamed for my suffering.”
“I have accepted that reason has no place in this conversation.”
“Good.”
Bryson kissed her forehead. “We’re making progress.”
Some things, thankfully, returned to normal very quickly.
Marcus’s recovery did not.
Getting stabbed and drugged, as his physicians repeatedly reminded him, required considerably more than forty-eight hours and an unreasonable amount of stubbornness to recover from. He was eventually discharged under strict instructions that prevented him from doing almost everything he considered useful. Amelia privately suspected his greatest medical complication was boredom.
His first attempt to involve himself in a security briefing from home lasted twelve minutes before Evan informed him that glaring at a laptop did not constitute rest.
Marcus disagreed.
Evan closed the laptop.
Marcus threatened him.
Evan reminded him that he had been promoted.
Bryson refused to become involved.
Amelia considered the entire exchange deeply satisfying.
Ethan recovered more quickly. His arm remained sore, and the sling continued to offend him on a personal level until his doctor finally permitted him to stop wearing it. Cole responded to the news by asking whether Ethan planned to frame the sling in remembrance of their time together. Ethan told him exactly where he could put it.
Bruce cooked. Samantha fussed. Martina quietly kept the household moving. Maya drew. Cole found reasons to annoy everyone. Evan resumed pretending he was the only sensible person among them, an argument nobody accepted.
Little by little, the penthouse stopped feeling like the place everyone had gathered after Amelia nearly died.
It became home again.
The gallery moved forward too. The necessary inspections were completed, and the public explanation remained exactly what it had been from the beginning. As far as anyone outside the investigation knew, Lila’s opening had been interrupted by a suspected utility emergency that required an evacuation. The gallery itself was unharmed, the artwork remained safe, and Lila threw herself into rescheduling the event with enough determination to make one thing very clear: no one was taking that accomplishment from her.
The investigation continued, but increasingly, it happened beyond Amelia’s front door.
James handled calls. Attorneys handled filings. Detectives continued tracing the remaining connections between Ashley and Jason while Amy cooperated with investigators. The district attorney moved forward with the evidence already gathered against Ashley, including the case surrounding Elysa Brooks, and for once, neither Amelia nor Bryson needed to know every development the moment it happened.
Bryson struggled with that last part more than Amelia did.
He still asked James questions.
He still read every security update.
He still knew precisely which member of the security team was assigned where whenever Amelia left the penthouse.
But he also went back to work.
He sat through meetings without checking his phone every five minutes. He left Amelia downstairs with Samantha or Maya without finding an excuse to walk through the room simply to see her. He slept through the night more often than not.
Amelia noticed.
She never pointed it out.
Some fears did not disappear because someone announced they were gone. They loosened quietly, one ordinary day at a time, until the things that had once occupied every corner of a life no longer had enough room to dominate it.
And then, almost without Amelia realizing exactly when it happened, the thing consuming their lives was no longer an investigation.
It was the wedding.
The transformation began with Lila.
She arrived at the penthouse one morning carrying two phones, a tablet, three garment bags that belonged to no one Amelia recognized and an expression suggesting that someone, somewhere, had already disappointed her.
Amelia was eating toast at the kitchen island when Lila walked past her without greeting.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Not now.”
Amelia looked at Bryson.
He continued drinking his coffee.
“Your sister appears to be having a crisis.”
“She has several a day.”
Lila stopped and turned. “The linen company tried to substitute ivory for winter ivory.”
Amelia waited.
Bryson waited.
Lila stared at them.
Finally Amelia asked, “Those are different?”
Lila’s face went blank.
Bryson quietly put down his coffee.
Amelia immediately began laughing.
“You know what?” Lila said. “Neither of you deserves this wedding.”
“You’re probably right,” Amelia agreed.
“I have spent months protecting you from ugly chairs, offensive napkins and people who think warm white and cool white are interchangeable.”
Bryson leaned toward Amelia. “I think we should apologize.”
“I think so too.”
Lila narrowed her eyes. “I hate both of you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No. Unfortunately, I don’t.”
The problem was resolved before lunch.
Amelia never learned how.
After that, wedding preparations seemed to multiply overnight.
Danielle and her team moved into the final stages of transforming the designs Amelia and Bryson had approved weeks earlier into something real. There were calls about lighting, flowers, transportation, musicians, seating and enough candles to make Amelia question whether fire codes had been consulted. Danielle assured her that they had.
The finished venue, however, remained completely off-limits.
Amelia had seen the concepts. She knew the palette they had chosen, the Midnight Bloom tones blended with the lighting of Winter Solstice, the white florals and touches of gold, glass and midnight blue. She knew about the fiber-optic canopy that would turn the ceiling above the dance floor into a field of stars, the suspended glass orbs, the candles and the illusion of softly falling snow. She knew the ceremony would begin on white carpet surrounded by candlelight and live strings, and that the reception would carry the same quiet magic into the night.
But Danielle refused to allow either of them to see the completed room.
“You told me you wanted breathtaking,” she reminded Amelia during one of their final calls. “That requires you to stop trying to look at things.”
“I wasn’t trying to look.”
“You asked Paige for photographs.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is exactly the same thing.”
Amelia smiled. “Fine.”
“And Bryson is worse.”
Her gaze shifted across the room toward her fiancé.
Bryson looked up from his laptop.
“What?”
Amelia covered the phone. “Danielle says you’re nosy.”
“I asked one question.”
Danielle’s voice carried loudly enough through the phone that Amelia heard, “He asked Leo for the lighting test.”
Bryson looked completely unrepentant.
Amelia laughed. “We’ll behave.”
“No, you won’t. That’s why I stopped sending either of you anything.”
Danielle hung up shortly afterward, leaving Amelia amused and Bryson mildly offended.
The dress became an even more closely guarded secret.
Matteo had completed the gown Amelia had chosen at Maison de Lumière, finishing every detail that had existed only in pins and promises when she first tried it on. The final fitting took place several days before the wedding, with Maggie, Maddie, Lila and Claire surrounding her while Matteo made his last adjustments.
When Amelia finally stood before the mirror in the completed gown, the room went quiet.
The dress she had fallen in love with weeks earlier was no longer unfinished.
Matteo had completed her wedding dress.
The train flowed behind her exactly as he had promised, and the details he had spent weeks perfecting transformed the gown into something that made Amelia stare at her own reflection without immediately recognizing the woman looking back.
She turned slowly.
Nobody spoke.
Amelia looked toward Lila. “Say something.”
Lila continued staring at her.
“Lila.”
“My brother is fucked.”
“Lila!”
Claire burst out laughing.
Maggie covered her mouth, although her shoulders were shaking.
Maddie dabbed at the corner of one eye. “She could have chosen a more elegant way to say it.”
“But am I wrong?” Lila demanded.
“No,” Maddie admitted.
Amelia looked back at herself and laughed.
Matteo stood behind her with his hands folded, satisfaction written across his face.
“The light found the bride,” he said softly.
Amelia met his gaze through the mirror.
“It did.”
Bryson had never seen the dress.
Not the original version. Not a fitting photograph. Not a sketch.
Nothing.
Amelia discovered very quickly that this bothered him.
The completed gown was delivered to the penthouse in an enormous garment bag and immediately relocated to a room Bryson had been explicitly forbidden from entering.
He stood outside the closed door later that afternoon and looked at Amelia.
“One detail.”
“No.”
“One.”
“It’s a dress.”
“Amelia.”
She walked past him.
“It’s very wedding-ish.”
“Sweetheart.”
“Mostly fabric.”
Bryson caught her gently around the waist before she could escape and turned her toward him.
“You are enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
“Everyone has seen it except me.”
“Not everyone.”
“My mother has seen it.”
“Yes.”
“My sister.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Claire.”
“Yes.”
“Beverly?”
“She was there when I chose it.”
Bryson stared at her. “Beverly has seen my wife’s wedding dress before I have?”
Amelia’s eyebrows rose. “Your wife?”
“Future wife. Stay focused.”
She laughed. “You have four days.”
“That is an unreasonable amount of time.”
“You waited this long.”
“I didn't know there was a dress in my house then.”
Amelia leaned up and kissed him.
“Four days.”
Bryson watched her walk away.
“I could have someone open the door.”
She turned.
“You wouldn't.”
“No.”
“You thought about it.”
“Yes.”
She laughed all the way downstairs.
The closer they came to January twelfth, the more the penthouse seemed to expand to accommodate people Amelia loved.
Maggie and Quincy arrived first, followed not long afterward by Maddie and Charles. Beverly came into the city. Claire seemed to be everywhere at once. Armando and Roderick appeared often enough that Bruce finally stopped asking whether they were staying for dinner and simply began cooking for them.
There were relatives, friends, final fittings and conversations happening in every room.
But unlike the last time the penthouse had been full, nobody had gathered because they were frightened.
No one was waiting for a doctor to call.
No one was discussing evidence.
No one was asking whether Amelia was safe.
They were there because she was getting married.
That difference struck her one evening when she came downstairs and found both sets of parents in the living room, Charles and Quincy discussing something near the windows while Maddie and Maggie sat together looking at photographs Lila had pulled up on her tablet. Claire and Beverly were arguing over something Amelia couldn't hear, and Bruce was trying unsuccessfully to convince Roderick to stop stealing pieces of food before dinner.
Amelia stopped on the last stair.
Bryson came up behind her.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
His hand settled against her back.
Amelia looked at the room again.
“Everybody's here.”
Bryson followed her gaze.
“They are.”
“For us.”
He looked down at her.
“For you.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Don't start.”
His smile appeared.
Amelia descended the remaining steps and joined them.
The days moved faster after that.
Seven became five.
Five became three.
Amelia woke on January eleventh to Lila standing at the foot of her bed.
She screamed.
Bryson sat upright beside her.
“What the fuck?”
Lila didn't flinch.
“Good morning.”
Amelia clutched the blanket to her chest. “Why are you in our bedroom?”
“Because today is the day before your wedding.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“It does to me.”
Bryson looked toward the clock and then back at his sister. “It is seven in the morning.”
“I know.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
“Lila.”
She pointed at him. “You have approximately ten hours left with her.”
Bryson's expression changed.
Amelia stared at Lila. “Excuse me?”
“You're spending tonight apart.”
“No, we're not,” Bryson said immediately.
“Yes, you are.”
“No.”
Lila smiled.
Bryson looked suspicious.
Amelia did too.
“What did you do?” Amelia asked.
“Nothing.”
“That is exactly what Bryson says when he's guilty.”
“I spoke to the mothers.”
Bryson closed his eyes.
Amelia started laughing.
Lila continued, entirely too pleased with herself. “Maddie and Maggie agree that after everything the two of you have done however the hell you wanted, we are preserving one wedding tradition. You will not see each other after this evening until Amelia walks down the aisle.”
Bryson looked at Amelia.
Amelia was trying not to laugh.
“Do not encourage her.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“Your face has.”
Lila clapped her hands. “Wonderful. We agree.”
“We absolutely do not.”
“Ten hours,” she repeated before walking toward the door.
Bryson stared after her.
“She cannot make us do that.”
Amelia turned toward him.
“Your mother is involved.”
He was quiet.
“Exactly.”
By afternoon, resistance had become pointless.
The women had apparently planned the separation long before informing either of them. Amelia's things for the evening had already been moved. Maddie claimed innocence. Maggie did not bother pretending.
Charles found the entire situation hilarious.
“You own buildings,” he told Bryson when his son complained. “Surely you can survive one night without your fiancée.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?”
Bryson considered it.
“I don't like being told where I can sleep.”
Charles laughed. “There he is.”
Amelia spent most of the afternoon entertained by his irritation until shortly before six, when she realized she was about to leave him.
Then it became considerably less funny.
Bryson stood in their bedroom while Amelia checked the small overnight bag someone had packed for her.
“You know we could simply refuse.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“And disappoint both of our mothers the night before our wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Your loyalty is questionable.”
“My survival instincts are excellent.”
He came closer.
Amelia turned fully toward him.
For a moment, the teasing faded.
Tomorrow.
The word seemed to settle between them.
Bryson touched her cheek.
“You're really leaving?”
“For one night.”
“I know.”
“You're being dramatic.”
“I know.”
She smiled.
His thumb brushed slowly along her cheekbone.
“I'll see you tomorrow.”
Amelia's chest tightened unexpectedly.
“At the altar.”
Bryson's gaze held hers.
“At the altar.”
He bent and kissed her.
It was not a hurried kiss or a desperate one. There was no need for either. His hand settled at the back of her neck while hers rested against his chest, and they stayed there long enough for Amelia to forget that several people were undoubtedly waiting downstairs to drag her away.
When Bryson finally lifted his head, he remained close.
“Last chance.”
“No.”
“I have a car.”
“So does your mother.”
“I have a plane.”
“Where exactly are you planning to take me the night before our wedding?”
“I haven't worked that part out.”
Amelia laughed.
“I love you.”
His expression softened.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
She kissed him once more and left before either of them could become ridiculous enough to actually change the plan.
The evening Amelia expected to feel unnecessary became one she knew she would remember.
There was no loud party waiting for her, no elaborate final celebration of being unmarried. Instead, the women who loved her had created something intimate.
Maggie, Maddie, Lila, Claire and Beverly were there, along with a few of the women closest to Amelia. There was food spread across the table, flowers, music low enough for conversation and champagne chilling for everyone who wasn't currently carrying Baby Hearst.
Amelia held up her sparkling water.
“This is discrimination.”
Maddie lifted her champagne glass. “You may file a complaint with my grandchild.”
“Your grandchild has been making unreasonable demands for weeks.”
Maggie's eyes dropped to Amelia's stomach. “Already sounds like a Hearst.”
Lila nearly choked on her drink.
Amelia looked toward Maddie.
“I didn't say it,” Maddie replied serenely.
They ate. They laughed. They told stories Amelia had heard before and others she hadn't.
Beverly resurrected memories from childhood Amelia would have preferred remain buried. Claire contributed details that made them worse. Maggie corrected both of them when their exaggerations became offensive.
At some point, Amelia realized she had stopped checking the time.
The night was not about keeping her away from Bryson.
It was about giving her this.
Her mother beside her.
His mother beside her.
The women who had known different versions of Amelia throughout her life gathered around the same table on the last night before she became Bryson's wife.
Later, when the others had drifted into another room and Lila and Claire were arguing over whether anyone was permitted to contact Danielle after nine o'clock, Maggie found Amelia standing near the window.
She came beside her.
“You all right?”
Amelia smiled. “I'm good.”
Maggie studied her face.
Then she asked simply, “Are you happy?”
Amelia looked out at the city.
There had been times in her life when that question would have required thought. Times when happiness had been something she measured against responsibility, expectation or the amount of peace she could preserve for everyone around her.
Tonight, there was nothing to calculate.
“So happy.”
Maggie's eyes immediately filled.
“Mom.”
“I know.” Maggie laughed softly and wiped beneath one eye. “I promised myself I wasn't going to do this until tomorrow.”
“You're going to be a mess tomorrow.”
“I am.”
Amelia leaned her head against her mother's shoulder.
Maggie wrapped an arm around her.
“I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
They stood quietly for a while.
Amelia eventually smiled.
“You know what's weird?”
“What?”
“I'm not nervous.”
Maggie looked at her.
“Not even a little?”
Amelia considered it.
“No.”
Tomorrow would be enormous. There would be people watching, cameras somewhere beyond the private boundaries they had created, a dress that required assistance simply to move correctly and enough flowers to supply a small country.
But marrying Bryson?
That part did not frighten her at all.
“I can't wait.”
Maggie kissed her temple.
“Then that's all that matters.”
Across the city, Charles found his son standing near a window with a glass of bourbon he had barely touched.
The evening had been quieter on their side too. Quincy, Armando and Roderick had joined them for dinner, and for several hours Bryson had tolerated jokes about marriage from men who seemed far too entertained by his inability to see Amelia until the ceremony.
Eventually the others drifted away, leaving Charles and Bryson alone.
Charles stood beside him.
“You're thinking too loud.”
Bryson glanced at him.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You never have to.”
Charles looked out at the city.
Then, after a moment, he asked, “You happy?”
Bryson's expression changed.
The question was familiar.
So was the answer.
“I really am.”
Charles nodded.
“I know.”
Bryson looked down at the glass in his hand.
“I've spent so much time trying to get her here.”
Charles glanced at him.
“Not the wedding. Just... here. Safe. Happy. Able to breathe without somebody finding another way to make her life harder.”
“And now?”
Bryson was quiet for a moment.
“Now I want tomorrow.”
Charles smiled.
“Then stop staring at the clock. It won't move faster because you're intimidating it.”
Bryson looked at him.
“That was terrible.”
“It was.”
Charles clapped his shoulder.
“Get some sleep, son.”
Bryson almost laughed.
“Apparently everyone thinks that's possible.”
It wasn't.
Amelia discovered the same thing sometime after midnight.
The room was dark except for the light spilling in from the city beyond the windows. Everyone had finally settled, and Amelia lay beneath the covers staring at the ceiling.
Her wedding dress hung across the room inside its garment bag.
Tomorrow she would wear it.
Tomorrow Bryson would finally see it.
She rolled onto her side.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Amelia smiled before she even looked.
Bryson.
She answered quietly. “We're not supposed to talk.”
“We're not supposed to see each other.”
“I'm fairly certain Lila meant both.”
“Lila isn't marrying you tomorrow. I am.”
Amelia pulled the blanket higher and settled against the pillow.
“You lasted longer than I expected.”
“I've been considering calling for two hours.”
“Why didn't you?”
“My father told me to stop staring at the clock.”
She laughed softly. “How's that working?”
“Poorly.”
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Then Bryson asked, “Are you tired?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to sleep?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Amelia smiled.
“You called me to encourage insomnia?”
“I called because I miss you.”
Her heart squeezed.
“It has been six hours.”
“Seven.”
“You counted?”
“Yes.”
“That's embarrassing.”
“I don't care.”
She laughed again.
Bryson's voice softened.
“Are you nervous?”
Amelia looked toward the garment bag.
“No.”
There was a pause.
“Not at all?”
“Not about marrying you.”
She heard him exhale.
“What about you?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Amelia, I have been trying to make you my wife for months. The only thing making me nervous is the possibility that someone discovers another tradition before morning.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing too loudly.
“You'll survive.”
“I've been told.”
“Go to sleep.”
“You called me.”
“No, you called me.”
Bryson was quiet.
“Right.”
“You're tired.”
“I need tomorrow to get here.”
Amelia's smile faded into something softer.
“Me too.”
Another silence passed, but neither seemed willing to end the call.
Finally Bryson said, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight.”
Neither hung up.
Amelia waited.
“So?”
“So what?”
“You're still there.”
“So are you.”
He laughed quietly.
“Go to sleep, Amelia.”
“Bossy.”
“Tomorrow you can complain about your husband.”
The word moved through her differently now.
Amelia smiled into the darkness.
“My husband.”
Bryson went silent.
She knew immediately what she'd done.
“Say that again.”
“No.”
“Amelia.”
She laughed softly.
“Goodnight, Bryson.”
“Sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, husband.”
His answering laugh was low and warm.
“Goodnight, wife.”
The call ended a few seconds later.
Amelia lowered the phone and lay quietly, still smiling.
Across the room, her wedding dress waited inside its garment bag, hidden from the man who would see it for the first time tomorrow. Somewhere else, Danielle's finished creation waited behind closed doors, the world of candlelight, winter white, gold, glass and midnight blue that had once existed only on boards and in Amelia's imagination finally complete. Their families were sleeping beneath the same anticipation that had followed her into this room, and the man she loved was probably still awake despite ordering her to sleep.
Amelia rested her hand over the small life growing inside her.
Tomorrow.
Her phone vibrated again.
She picked it up.
Bryson: I miss you.
A laugh slipped from her before she could stop it.
Amelia: We literally just hung up.
Three dots appeared.
Bryson: I know.
She shook her head.
Amelia: Go to sleep. You're getting married tomorrow.
His answer came almost immediately.
Bryson: That's exactly why I can't.
Amelia held the phone against her chest for a moment, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.
Tomorrow Matteo's finished gown would finally come out of its garment bag. Danielle would open the doors to the world she had promised to create for them. Their families and friends would gather. The quartet would begin to play.
And Amelia would walk toward Bryson.
Not toward uncertainty.
Not toward a life someone else had chosen for her.
Toward him.
Because after everything she had learned about love, forgiveness and herself, Bryson was still the man she chose.
And tomorrow, in front of everyone they loved, they would choose each other all over again.