55__Marry me… again

The way he spoke was so gentle, so sincere, Amelia found her entire heart melting.

She didn’t think it through, she just found herself in his arms, hugging him tightly.

He only paused for a moment before his arms wrapped around her.

“You must have been frightened,” he whispered. “It’s okay now. I’m here.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, tears dampening the dark lashes. She felt so warm. She had expected him to get angry, to unleash his fury on her.

But he asked her if she was okay. He comforted her.

How could she dare revel in this feeling? He was only reacting this way because he didn’t know the full story.

Guilt crept into her heart like venom through veins and crippled her joy. Amelia pulled away from him, lowering her gaze.

She had no right to enjoy his generosity. Not with all the lying she’d been doing.

She heard a sound behind her and looked over her shoulder.

Arson was coming down the stairs, Christopher behind him…

Amelia gasped.

Both her mouth and eyes were wide open, but the sight before her made her completely speechless.

Christopher was nothing more than a crumpled mass of blood and wet clothing fabric.

His face was… God, it was a mess!

Arson was wiping his knuckles with a handkerchief. Amelia saw dots of blood on his eyeglasses and went even more pale.

“Well, Marc?” he said in a voice so carefree, you’d never think he’d just plummeted his fists into another man’s face.

Thames could barely stand, hunched over as he gripped his ribs, blood dripping out of his nose.

“W-what… what did you do to him?” she questioned, her voice softened by the sheer horror she felt.

“Nothing much,” Marc said easily, looking at Thames. “What exactly happened, Arson?”

Arson looked pensive. “Oh, I’m not sure. What happened, Thames?”

Christopher managed to cough, gurgling like his throat was clogged. “I… I fell. Fell down the stairs…”

Amelia was totally shaken at the state of him. She could already tell several of his teeth were loose.

“Ah!” Arson nodded. “He fell down the stairs. How many times have I told you to get that stair fixed, Marc? Now our guest is in terrible condition from his fall.”

“My deepest apologies,” Marc said lifelessly. “Thames, I assume you’ve already realized you’re not joining my company, or any other company in England, for that matter. Get *that* treated by Dr Lance at the Hills Foundation Hospital. After that, you’ll stay out of my bloody sight. If, at any given moment, my wife decides that you were not punished enough for what you did to her, I’m dragging your ass back here for round two. Are we clear?”

Thames nodded weakly.

Amelia spotted the patterned shapes of blood soaking through his white shirt and had a terrifying suspicion that whatever had made him scream so much was hidden by his shirt. She was afraid to find out.

Slowly, Marc stepped forward, only stopping when he was inches from Christopher.

“If you ever threaten Amelia again, if you ever contact her again, I *promise* you… If you even think of attempting to hurt her, Thames, I will crush you. I’ll do it with my own hands. If you haven’t heard the rumours, I tend to not know when to stop because I can’t tell when the fuck you’re nearly dead, so if you piss me off again, you won’t be making it out alive.”

Christopher was trembling, his swollen eye seeming to swell even further as his busted lips grew red.

“You may leave,” Marc said.

Not daring to look at Amelia, he painfully made his way to the lift.

Her gaze watched him go, a weird feeling filling her chest.

Arson leaned in. “You really want to let him live?”

She gasped. “Well, you can’t kill him!”

“You want to protect him?” Marc asked curiously. He gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair. “But he hurt you, darling.”

Her heart hammered and Amelia struggled to yank it back into obedience. “Marc, Christopher’s a lowlife, but… I don’t want you to sink to his level.”

Arson made a face. “What’s this odd situation? You two are taking method acting a little far.”

They looked at him and he narrowed his eyes, pulling off his glasses to wipe them. “Or… are you not acting anymore?”

It took a second for his words to sink in and then they broke apart, Marc clearing his throat as he glanced at Amelia. “Uh, call Liza. She should bring James back inside.”

“You do realize it was irresponsible to fire that gun with James in the house, right?” she said.

He nodded, his gaze lowering. “I know. I’ve never done that before; I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Arson waved a hand. “Relax, no damage done. I’ve got to go; I need to clean up.”

Marc nodded. “Call me when you have the results.”

“Will do.” He glanced at Marc for a moment. “Don’t forget to make time to see her.”

Green eyes fell closed on a sigh. “I have nothing to say to that woman, Arson.”

Amelia looked wearily between them. “Who? Jenna?”

“No,” said Marc.

“Well, then.” Arson turned on his heel and stalked away.

Marc turned back to Amelia.

She raised a brow. “What woman are you—”

He pulled her into his arms, hugging her so tightly, her mouth was sealed shut.

She blinked twice, barely seeing over his shoulder. *“Mmm… hmmff?”*

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, brushing over her hair with precise, repetitive strokes of his hand.

The action was so methodical, Amelia could tell that he’d practiced it. When his father had put him in therapy, the old man had probably demanded that they make him seem as normal as possible. There was no better disguise for his condition that the automatic offer of comfort when he saw someone in pain. He’d done it when Jenna had first appeared, despite the fact that she was harassing him, and he did it all the time with Amelia.

She sighed against him, despaired to find that her heart melted in the warmth of his arms. Even if it was practiced comfort, rehearsed, and learned, it was still so genuine, she wanted to believe that it was truly for her and not his programmed response to her distress.

She pulled out of his arms, glancing nervously at him before avoiding his eyes. “You can stop doing that. Arson’s right. We’re getting a bit too comfortable in our roles; we don’t have to pretend all the time.”

His brows pinched together in a puzzled frown. “Pretend?” His head tilted. “Who’s pretending?”

“We are.”

“Were we pretending last night too?”

Her mouth parted in shock. “That’s a different matter!”

“Ah. You’re a far more clinical thinker than I realized, Amelia. You firmly separate sexual and emotional intimacy.”

No, she didn’t. Staring at him, she bit her lip. She couldn’t separate them for the life of her, her stomach was already well accustomed to flipping upside down whether he was seducing her or comforting her.

He seemed confused. “From what I recall, you’ve offered me comfort at times you thought I was upset. Like in the car, I mentioned how my mother died. You tried to comfort me. You’ve done that several times, with words, gestures. You’re always offering comfort, even if I don’t need it. Why can’t I do the same?”

His frown darkened and, almost petulantly, he marched away.

She blinked, watching him go up the stairs. “Wait, Marc…”

He didn’t stop nor turn around and she stood there, once more left speechless. Had he just gotten cross because she wouldn’t let him comfort her?

Pursing her lips, she slowly sat on a sofa and folded her hands together. She was dealing with a man who created melodies with her body like she was an acoustic instrument and then proceeded to sulk when she refused to let him cuddle her.

Why was he becoming more and more her type with each day that passed?

Amelia shut her eyes, trying to rebuke the uncontrollable feelings bubbling up inside her.

Elizabeth. She had to phone Elizabeth.

Sighing, she searched for her phone to make the call.

*********

Amelia had probably just put James to sleep. Marc was peeking out of his office door, frowning as he listened for her footsteps.

With a sigh, he shut the door and crossed his arms. He would have to start going in to the office in a few days but he hadn’t gotten any work done at all today.

He was offended that she'd accused him of faking his sympathy over what she'd experienced at the hands of Thames. It felt like she was looking at him through the lens of his condition, doubting his ability to genuinely comfort her.

'Pretending'. Marc scoffed. Months ago, he certainly would have agreed with her.

He, too, would've thought that his sympathy wasn't real or that his comfort was pretence. He couldn't agree with her now, however.

Marc always decided based on the evidence at hand, he was as clinical a thinker as he'd accused her of being.

And the evidence he had right now showed that things had changed.

He was no longer the same, not since Amelia appeared.

Of course, he still had to identify the emotion people presented him with by summary and elimination of different emotions until he was left with the few that were accurately described by the indicators he read in their expressions.

That hadn't changed, but what certainly had was his recognition of his own emotions.

He'd gone from reading his own bodily indicators just like he read those of others in order to identify his own emotions, to immediately carrying out actions perfectly appropriate for his emotions without pausing to read them.

Amelia brought humour out of him, she brought anger, laughter, arousal.

She'd even brought out fear and sympathy when he'd heard that she'd been hurt.

He'd immediately thought of how rough he'd been when he'd falsely believed she'd tried to give James to Jenna and had experienced, for the first time, a crippling surge of regret. How much had it frightened her to be tossed about like that, considering the terrible experiences she had? No wonder she’d cried. Marc felt terrible.

It was the first time he’d ever analysed his past actions and their effect on someone’s feelings. Not to mention his regretting them.

It wasn't so much that he'd experienced these emotions as it was that he had naturally, easily recognized them.

He sighed. Why was that so hard for her to believe?

Pretending? Not him.

For her information, he'd been very human lately, she didn't even realize it. A faint smile of pride touched his lips. Was this a breakthrough? He didn't know.

All he knew was that none of these changes had been present before Amelia.

She was good for him.

The door behind him opened and Marc froze.

"Marc?" her soft voice called.

He wanted to turn around and wrap her in his arms. There was this gentle feeling that made his entire body warm, his heart giving him the overwhelming urge to physically touch her as gently as he could. He felt affection for Amelia.

"Are you still mad?" she asked.

Marc turned and looked at her, making her blink.

He was frowning. "I've made up my mind."

She looked worried for a moment. "Over what?"

He raised a hand, wagging a finger between them. "Us."

"Us?"

"Us. I've come to the realization that you believe every emotion I've shown you has been a pretence."

She was watching him curiously.

"Because of the contract," Marc said. "Not so?"

She seemed flustered. "Well—”

"And my condition," he went on. "You don't believe that, with my condition, I could genuinely feel anything for someone I've hired to spend time with me."

She sighed. "Well, can you blame me?"

"No, but only because you don't know everything. If our contract was null and void, I'd still treat you the same."

Her eyes narrowed. "I feel like you're trying to get at something."

"Marry me."

She stared at him, in simple shock. "You’ve lost me…”

"I believe you've positively influenced me, Amelia. I've lived with this condition for thirty-two years and I can see the distinct difference in myself. I want to see how much more I can improve and I want to prove to you that I can act on genuine emotion, I can comfort you without... pretending. So, marry me. For real, this time."