Chapter 46

Amelia's POV.

The drive back gave me too much time to think.

I watched the buildings blur past the window and kept coming back to the same three things no matter how many times I tried to let them go. 

The tea. The skincare. The clothes.

I had not mentioned any of those things to anyone inside that penthouse, not once. 

Yet they had all been there, like someone had gone through my life quietly and taken notes.

I pressed my fingers together in my lap and fixed my eyes on a point on the glass.

There was a version of this that could have been sweet. 

A man who paid attention, who noticed the small things most people walked right past. 

I had never had that. Raymond never once remembered how I took my coffee, let alone the specific brand of moisturizer I used. 

He never noticed anything about me that didn't benefit him directly.

***

Marcus held the door when we got back, quiet and efficient the way he always seemed to be. 

He was the kind of man who understood that silence was its own form of service. I walked past him with a small nod and stepped inside.

The scent of the penthouse settled over me the moment I crossed the threshold and I hated the way my shoulders dropped slightly in response.

As if my body had already decided this place was safe even though my head hadn't caught up yet.

I went upstairs, changed out of my clothes and sat on the edge of the bed.

I didn't do anything for a while. I just sat there, hands in my lap, staring at the floor without really seeing it.

My mother's face came to mind. The color that had returned to her cheeks. The machines that were fewer than before. I held onto that image for minutes, feeling grateful for her progress.

Whatever Mateo was, whatever his reasons were, she was breathing easier tonight because of him.

I couldn't dismiss that. Even when everything else made me want to, I couldn't dismiss that one thing.

I lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the quiet of the room. 

The last thought I had before my eyes grew heavy was that needed to ask him soon. 

Because not knowing was starting to feel more dangerous than knowing.

***

I found him in the study.

I hadn't been looking for him specifically. I had just been walking, moving through the penthouse with no real direction, and the half open door with warm light spilling out from it made the decision for me before I did.

I stopped just outside and looked in.

He was at his desk. 

His jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading something I couldn't make out from where I stood. 

He looked different like this. He looked calm and reserved, like the version of him that existed when there was no one watching. 

There were no guards with him which was a relief because I wanted to speak to him privately anyway. 

I knocked on the open door and he looked up.

He looked up without any surprise on his face, like he'd already known I was standing there.

I stepped inside and kept my arms loose at my sides because I had decided on the walk over that I wasn't coming in here nervous. 

I wasn't going to fidget or stumble over my words or give him anything to read on my face. I just asked him plainly.

"The tea," I said, stopping a few feet from his desk.

He lowered whatever he was reading and looked at me.

"The skincare on the vanity. The clothes in that wardrobe." I held his gaze, "They're all mine. The exact brands, the exact sizes, things I have never mentioned to anyone in this house." I tilted my head slightly, "How did you know?"

He set the papers down slowly and leaned back in his chair, those dark blue eyes steady on my face like my question hadn't unsettled a single thing inside him.

"I make it my business to know the things that matter," he said.

I stared at him for a moment, "That's not an answer."

He said nothing.

"How long?" I asked, "How long have you been paying attention to me?"

He didn't say anything for a few seconds. 

"Long enough," He finally said. 

I searched his face for a crack, for something that said he was sorry for invading my privacy but all I got was an unapologetic look. 

One that said he would do it over and over again. 

I didn't know what to do with that so I nodded once, said nothing else and walked out of the study.

Back in the hallway I stood with my back against the wall and exhaled slowly to steady my breath. 

And once I was breathing steady enough, 

***

I'd been avoiding him since the study and I wasn't exactly subtle about it.

I took my meals at odd hours. 

I stayed in my room longer than I needed to and found reasons to be somewhere else whenever I heard his footsteps in the corridor. 

It worked for two days.

On the third morning I came downstairs earlier than usual, sure I had the timing right, and walked straight into him in the kitchen.

He was standing at the counter with a cup in his hand, already dressed, looking like he'd been awake for hours.

 He glanced at me once and said nothing. 

I moved to the other side of the kitchen and busied myself with the kettle, keeping my back to him and pretending to be very interested in the wall in front of me.

I reached for a mug on the upper shelf and misjudged the distance, catching it wrong.

 It slipped and before it could hit the counter his hand closed around it, his arm crossing just above mine, his chest close enough to my back that I could feel the warmth coming off him without either of us actually touching.

He set the mug down.

Neither of us moved for a second longer than was necessary.

Then I stepped back and thanked him without looking up and he returned to his side of the kitchen like nothing had happened.

But my hand was still warm where his arm had brushed against it and the kettle had long finished boiling and I'd completely forgotten to pour it.