Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
For I loved her—loved her so fiercely it has become a sickness. I’ve drowned myself in work, in deals, in building an empire to outrun the truth. I can’t forget her, and I can’t get over her. This company, this office, every dollar I’ve made—it’s all because of her, because I had to keep moving, keep breathing. But no matter what I do, how far I run, she’s there, every day, in the quiet moments, her smile, her voice, the naked curve of her back, a little memory from a place when I was happy.
My fingers hover over the card, itching to tear it open, but a wary restraint holds me back. What if it’s her? What if she’s reaching out? Or worse, what if it’s him, pulling me back to that mausoleum, that pain? I can’t. Not when every instinct in me screams to hold her, feel her body move beneath me, sister or not. I’ve kept my distance, no more than glanced at every book she’s illustrated so her name doesn’t cut too deep.
There is no escape.
My hands rush to the card; the sound of it tearing fills my square prison. The words are stark and formal. My father, John Fitzwilliam the third, has passed away, and I’ve been invited to attend his funeral. The details are included. I stare down at the card. News of his death is like wind on a rock, stirring nothing. No grief, no anger, just a void where he never was. He claimed me only to discard me, his check, the final and brutal insult.
But Amelia… a sharp pain slicing through the numbness.
She must be breaking, her vulnerable heart torn open by this loss. Has she changed? I remember she was always alone, her world small, her friends few. I try to picture her in that gray mansion, her bright eyes dim with tears, her lips trembling as she tries to hold it together.
She’s hurting, and I’m here, useless, miles away.
I wonder if she’s found friends, people to hold her through this, or if she’s still that girl who only revealed her true self to me? No matter. I can’t go. There is nothing I can do for her. She doesn’t need me there, stirring up pain. Let her be. I tell myself she’s fine. Just as I am fine.
My fingers tighten on the card, crumpling the edge. Then I slip the card into my top drawer and try to get back to work. I do my best to focus on the screen, but my mind is locked on her now.
Fourteen years apart, and the mere thought of her could still unravel me, thread by thread, until I’m nothing but raw edges and want. This is exactly why I made the right decision to ignore this invitation.
I am not obligated to be there. He was, and is, nothing to me.
But her... I let out a heavy sigh. One look at Amelia—her lovely eyes, soft as dawn, fierce as a storm—could shatter the thick high walls I’ve built, the empire I’ve forged to keep the need for her at bay. But I know without a doubt I'd give up everything if I could have her back.
But I can never have her. Not in this lifetime. So it won’t matter if I see her one more time. Just to know that she is bearing up okay and give her some support. In case she needs anything. In case I can be of help.
In a moment of weakness, my hand finds the buzzer that connects me to Lisa. My voice sounds strained, barely recognizable.
“Call the Fitzwilliam estate. Tell them I’ll be at the funeral.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, her tone has returned to its usual professional mode.
I lift my finger off the button, and the line cuts out. Silence floods the room again. Everything looks the same as it did before the card came, and yet everything has changed. I can feel the blood pounding in my temples. Echoes from that summer stream into my head. Amelia’s voice, warm and teasing, her alabaster skin so smooth and creamy it was almost poreless, the way her pale fingers laced with mine.
She made me feel whole, alive, until the truth tore it all away.
I don’t know what I’m walking into, but I just need to see that she is okay, even if it’s just a fleeting glance across a crowded room. At least make sure that she is not falling to pieces. We are, after all, despite how much I loathe it, related by blood.
A harsh knock rips through the quiet, jarring my frayed nerves like a blade on bone.
“What?” I bark, my voice raw.
The door cracks open, and Lisa pokes her head in, her expression apologetic, her eyes darting to mine. “I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but your wife and son are here.”