Chapter 25 Don’t Mess Things Up for Me
“No,” Andrew replied immediately. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Sounds like it to me.”
He leaned back, running a hand down his face. “Can you just leave it to me?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“If your goal is removing her, let me handle it,” he said firmly. “I just need time and proper planning.”
Amelia studied him for a long moment, lips pressed together.
“Okay,” she said finally. “If you say so.”
Her voice was calm, but her eyes told a different story.
With that, the tension eased— at least on the surface. Their conversation drifted to lighter topics, laughter returning in measured doses, but beneath the candlelight and soft music, something dark had already settled between them, heavy and irreversible.
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'MOMENTS LATER'
The soft clink of cutlery faded as Andrew dabbed his lips carefully with the white table napkin, folding it once, then again, before setting it beside his plate. He leaned back slightly in his chair, shoulders relaxing, and lifted his gaze to Amelia.
“Are we done?” he asked.
Amelia didn’t look at him immediately. Her posture was stiff, her back straight, arms close to her body. When she finally glanced up, her expression was flat.
“Yeah. We are,” she said coolly. “I’ve been done for a while now. Just waiting for you to finish.”
Andrew’s eyes drifted to her plate. Barely touched. The food sat there untouched, pristine, almost offended.
“You barely even finished half of your food,” he said with a faint smile, lifting his hand and pointing lightly toward her plate.
She rolled her eyes, slow and deliberate. “You know I’m a light eater.”
He caught the movement instantly. The smile faded just a little.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Amelia shot back without hesitation. “You tell me.”
Andrew let out a soft chuckle, trying to keep things light. “This is a happy night. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“I never said I was unhappy,” Amelia replied, rolling her eyes again.
Andrew frowned. “Then why do you keep rolling your eyes? I don’t get it.”
“I never rolled my eyes,” she snapped.
“You just did— right now.”
“No, I didn’t,” Amelia hissed. “I don’t know where all these lies are coming from.”
She reached into her purse sharply, pulled out her phone, and placed it on the table with a muted thud. Her fingers immediately began tapping the screen, nails clicking faintly against the glass.
Andrew exhaled slowly, the sound long and tired. His shoulders slumped just a fraction.
“Let’s just go back to the hotel,” he said.
“Yeah,” Amelia echoed, her tone clipped, condescending. “Let’s just go back to the hotel.”
Andrew raised a hand and gestured toward a waiter standing nearby. The man hurried over, smoothing his vest as he approached.
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said, offering a slight bow.
“We’re done,” Andrew said, already reaching into his pocket.
He pulled out his debit card and handed it over.
“Here.”
“Okay, sir,” the waiter replied, taking the card and inserting it into the POS terminal in his hand. The machine beeped softly. He waited a moment, then removed the card and handed it back.
“Here you are, sir. Thank you.”
Andrew nodded. “Alright.”
He slid the card back into his pocket, rose to his feet, and straightened his jacket.
“Let’s go. Our ride’s here.”
Amelia stood without a word, pushing her chair back just enough to clear the table. She didn’t wait for him, didn’t look at him. She simply turned and walked toward the exit. Andrew followed.
Outside, the Parisian night greeted them with a cool breeze that brushed against their faces and slipped beneath their clothes. Neon lights reflected off wet pavement. A black Mercedes van waited at the curb, engine idling quietly.
The driver stepped out, opened the rear door. Amelia climbed in first, sliding to the far side of the seat. Andrew followed, settling beside her, leaving just enough space between them to make the silence noticeable.
The door shut. The van pulled away smoothly, merging into the flowing streets of Paris.
Andrew shifted slightly, adjusting his position, then turned his head to face her.
“Are you gonna talk to me?” he asked.
Amelia didn’t look up. Her eyes remained glued to her phone.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Oh,” Andrew muttered, turning forward again. “I see. You’re still moody.”
“I’m not moody,” she said flatly, still staring at the screen.
“Alright,” he replied. He paused, then spoke again, his voice calmer, measured. “But if this is because of my response to what you suggested earlier— take your mind off it. Leave it to me.”
She remained silent.
“I’ll handle Maggie myself,” he continued, his tone lowering. “And this is a warning. Not a joke. Don’t mess things up for me.”