Charlotte is slightly ashamed of herself. What self-respecting twenty-four year old holes herself up in her boss’ kitchen on a Saturday morning? This one, Charlotte thinks sarcastically to herself and her pride bristles slightly but lays quiet at the remembrance of her arrival this morning. Amelia had been in near hysterics, tearing around the apartment fluffing pillows and shaking out the drapes, complaining about paint fumes although Charlotte could smell nothing but gardenia blossoms and fresh baked pastries. The new Great Room is as awe inspiring as ever, just decorated differently, the new furniture rearranged, new light fixtures and drapery giving the room a light modern feel while still retaining that certain French elegance that Amelia is known for. Charlotte has to admit that she envies Amelia’s design sense. Of course it couldn’t have been that hard with the team of interior decorators she employed to assist with her vision of “the perfect Great Room.” But with Amelia nothing is ever deemed perfect no matter how close it comes to her plan. Charlotte had been moving things and rearranging chairs while Amelia barked orders at her, nearly running smack into Marletta and Suki who had been busy laying out trays and tidying place settings right up until the guests began to arrive. Charlotte would have been impressed with how quickly Amelia went from psychotic bosszilla to gracious hostess if she hadn’t been near hyperventilation from stress.

She knows she should be upstairs, hovering around in the shadows, waiting for Amelia to beckon but she can’t seem to summon the strength to care at the moment. She’s sure that if Amelia were to come down to the kitchen to find her she’d care a whole hell of a lot but she’s playing it fast and loose these days, or as loose as she feels comfortable with Amelia’s volatile temper always near the screeching point. It’s all about baby steps, this is what she keeps telling herself. Since her earlier revelation about her changing habits she’s been slowly coming back to herself, finding that spunky small town girl that interviewed for this job, the one Amelia had commended for her ability not to buckle under pressure, the one who doesn’t hide in the kitchen to avoid being humiliated in front of thirty or so of New York’s highest society ladies. How she longs to be the girl who couldn’t care less about such things.

It’s all about baby steps.

Right now she is simply content to drink her tea and pretend to be catching up on some paperwork. She’d even had the foresight to scatter it around her laptop in case someone should come down here looking for her. She’s quite the clever revolutionary she thinks to herself and then snorts, amused by her own sarcasm. She sighs opening a new browser window and the cursor blinks back at her in the Google search bar as if daring her to ask another question. She’d been searching with reignited fervency over the past several days, looking for any way to pull herself out of her rut, surveying community colleges and other universities in the city that might offer some interim classes or anywhere that might accept her for a spring quarter. She is determined to figure out her life, her focus unwavering and while she doesn’t know where it’s going to take her she knows she can’t stay where she is, can’t be Amelia’s slave or Justin’s toy. A lump rises in her throat and she swallows it down, forcing herself not to wonder what he’s up to this morning, where he is and whom he’s with.

She stares gloomily at her screen typing “solution to my fucked up life” shaking her head slightly and she hears a snort from behind her before:

“I’m going to laugh if that spits back porn at you.”

Charlotte lets out a small screech, nearly toppling out of her chair and large hands close over her shoulders to steady her, her racing heart galloping unevenly in her chest. She turns slightly and his hands fall away, allowing her to look up at him over her shoulder and she finds Justin smiling amusedly down at her, his face scruffy and unshaven.

“What are you doing here?” Charlotte blurts and Justin’s eyebrows raise, giving a small scoffing laugh as he looks around, sidestepping her chair to lean against the counter next to her.

“Well…I do live here,” he says crossing his arms and grinning at her.

Charlotte shakes her head, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. “Well yes I know that but I figured you wouldn’t be here…you know...” Charlotte lets her eyes travel to the ceiling and Justin nods.

“Oh I was going to go golfing but as you can see…” he trails gesturing to the window and she turns her head finding the sky gray and drizzling.

“Oh,” she says simply and he nods, sighing sadly. “Bummer.”

“The biggest,” Justin responds, giving one last longing glance out the window before turning and leaning over the counter next to her, his body close to hers, the hard muscle of his bicep pressing against hers as he surveys her computer screen. “Whatcha workin on?” he asks inhaling deeply to heave a sigh and his nostrils are filled with the scent of mint and skin, his chest warming at the familiarity of her. “You smell good,” he says without thinking, turning his face toward her so that his cheek rests against her shoulder, his nose pressing to the sleeve of her shirt and inhaling again, his eyes closing.

Charlotte giggles slightly to herself, looking around nervously. If someone were to walk in right now they’d have some serious explaining to do. They aren’t necessarily doing anything wrong, he is just standing extremely close and his nose is slowly dragging up her shoulder, causing her eyelids to flutter when it presses against her pulse point. The warmth of his breath stirs the hair against her neck, lips brushing her skin almost as if by accident but when she feels the slick swipe of his tongue she knows it’s no accident. She shifts away from him slightly.

“You better quit,” she whispers and his mouth is gone but his nose is still dragging a line up her neck, nuzzling at her jaw now. “Justin…” she says her voice a warning.

“Seriously you smell…” he trails, intoxicated by her and the effect she’s having on him, his chest full and warm, his palms itching for her skin, the pleasant tug in the pit of his stomach, “…so good.”

He’s walking a pretty thin line. He can feel it in his bones, the adrenalin pumping through his veins and the fear of getting caught battles with the urge to feel her skin against his, taste her lips and surround himself with the scent of mint and her skin. If Amelia were to come down at this exact moment…but no she wouldn’t. She’s too busy graciously accepting extravagant gifts from her debutante friends, too concerned with how the house looks and what everyone will say about it when they leave. She probably doesn’t even know he’s still here, thinks he’s out on the golf course and out of her way for the afternoon. His nose presses to Charlotte’s cheek ignoring the wrenching of his heart and his hand goes to the other side of her face, applying the lightest pressure so she turns, almost unwillingly, but when his lips press to hers she softens, her lips pressing to his in the hungry way that he loves, kissing him in the way that only she can.

She tastes like sugar and icing, the sweetness of her lips catching him off guard and he hums softly pulling back just slightly to lick his lips. His nose presses against hers, their eyes creaking open to look at each other from under heavy lids, lips puckering against each others’ almost absently. He licks his lips again.

“You even taste good,” he muses and she lets out a soft laugh, just a rush of breath against his lips and he kisses her again, tongue slipping in and it’s her turn to hum. “Seriously,” he says between slow pecks.

“I stole a pastry from upstairs earlier,” Charlotte admits sheepishly and he grins at the guilty look in her eyes, pressing another kiss to her mouth. He shifts closer, leaning against her chair causing it to creak and they both jump, sucking in gasps before their brains catch up and realize its nothing; they’re still alone. But the recklessness is starting to wane and the guilt begins to gnaw its way back into his consciousness.

“You are a bad girl,” he teases, trying to ignore it for as long as possible, smiling against her mouth and she chuckles, leaning back in her chair to try and escape his mouth but he doesn’t let her.

“You wish I was,” Charlotte responds nervously, doing her best to ignore the softness of his lips, trying to keep her eye out for anyone who might intrude but its impossible, the room having too many points of entry.

“Oh I think you’ve got a little bad ass streak,” Justin teases, his hands finding her thighs, warm under the linen of her pants and she presses her hands to his shoulders in warning.

“Watch yourself,” she cautions lightly but there’s an uneasy edge in her voice, her hands applying the lightest pressure and he smirks at her.

“I’m watchin’ you,” he teases, leaning forward to nip at her bottom lip, the sharp pressure of his teeth jarring her and causing a jolt to fire down her spine and settle in her lower belly.

He knows he shouldn’t tease this way, knows she’s right and finally allows the seriousness of what he’s doing wash over him. Kissing another woman, hands all over her in his kitchen while his fiancé is having her bridal shower upstairs? He swallows hard as his hands slide off her thighs, doing his best to hide the hatred he feels towards himself and his situation. Why does everything have to be so goddamn complicated?

“Justin…” she says carefully as he pulls back, sensing the shift in his mood even though he’s doing his best not to let it show.

“Are there anymore more of those pastries?” he questions lightly, reaching up to scratch his ear and turning to shuffle over to fridge cleverly disguised under the same wood as the rest of the kitchen cabinets.

“I think they’re all upstairs,” Charlotte says softly, watching him survey the contents of the refrigerator, his shoulders tensing.

She often wonders what he thinks about the situation they’re in, how he feels about what he’s doing. She knows he’s felt guilt before but if he does now he doesn’t let her see it. Not really anyway. Sometimes his mood will shift, like it has now, and she thinks it may be all of this catching up to him but she can never be sure. He plays so close to his chest when it comes to his emotions, never letting her get too close or giving her any indication if she has.

“Found one!” he says, pulling out a small Danish wrapped in saran wrap from the fridge, peeling the plastic away and taking a large bite, the filling squeezing out the sides. “Mmm,” he frets, his mouth full, trying to catch the cream cheese before it drips on his shirt. He shoves the rest into his mouth quickly, licking his lips thoroughly after he swallows and his eyes finally fall on Charlotte who is watching him somewhat mesmerized. He can’t help but smirk as he sucks at his fingers slowly, licking them clean.

“I’m not having sex with you here,” Charlotte says emphatically and Justin laughs, deep and throaty, causing Charlotte to chuckle herself, a soft blush creeping up her neck.

“No?” he asks, eyeing her playfully, as he shuffles over to the trashcan and tossing the saran wrap inside before leaning over the counter across from her and letting his body sway ever so slightly, mischief in his blue eyes.

“No,” Charlotte responds firmly, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms and forcing her smile down. “There are just some lines I won’t cross.”

Justin raises an eyebrow and responds with a musing, “Huh,” as if he is fascinated by the very idea and Charlotte knows he’s just playing but something about his disbelief is unsettling to her. She’s crossed a lot of lines since she’s met him and continues to cross them now even when she knows it’s wrong. She still feels guilty, hates that it has to be this way, her sneaking around behind another woman’s back, even if that woman is Amelia. For him to act as if it means nothing to her doesn’t sit right. For him to think that because she’s crossed that one line that she’s willing to cross them all.

“You think that’s funny?” she asks lightly and Justin grins.

“Well you’ve never told me ‘no’ before,” he teases and something about his arrogance hits her hard, jarring her and tearing at her insides.

She simply raises her eyebrows. “Wow, you know I think this relationship is doing unhealthy things to your ego,” she deflects leaning back from him, and she can’t help but notice his slight cringe when she says “relationship.”

Justin actually feels himself retract at Charlotte’s words, his shoulders curling in and his hands slide from her thighs, reaching up to scratch at his ear. He’d always said they’d had a relationship but something about the way she said it, with his hands all over her. It implied that they are more than just two people who are connected. It implied that they are more than that and maybe they are but it causes something heavy to sit in the pit of his stomach. He’s already in a relationship.

“You okay?” Charlotte ventures, her hand reaching involuntarily for his cheek and the scruff of his beard barely tickles her fingers before he back pedals, shuffles himself away from her and out of her grasp.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head and forcing a brilliant smile that he knows doesn’t fool her. “Yeah sorry. My mind it just…” he trails watching the skepticism swim in her green eyes, “…went somewhere else for a minute.” He chuckles watching his socked toe trace the lines in the tile.

“You seem upset,” she ventures, giving just the gentlest push, trying to feel him out and his face pinches as he shakes his head and scoffs, neither an affirmation or a denial. “Well I don’t know Justin,” she says her voice slightly defensive and she tries again, pushing a little harder this time. “It’s not like I know what you’re feeling or anything.”

Justin’s body tenses but he covers it with an amused chuckle. “We’re gonna talk about feelings now?” he questions and he watches her face fall just slightly.

They’ve never had this discussion, where this thing between them is going even though it’s painfully obvious. They’ve never talked about what it means, or what they’re really doing. They’ve never asked the hard questions, tried to figure out their motives, never wandered into the no man’s land of feelings and consequences. Charlotte knows the logical answers to a lot of these questions and maybe if she were smarter or cared more about her own well-being than she does about being with him then all the answers would be obvious to her. But something inside of her won’t accept those conclusions, won’t believe any of it until he says they’re true. She wants to hear him say that this is going nowhere, that what they’re doing is wrong, that he feels nothing for her but lust and some fucked up version of friendship. She won’t believe it until he confirms it. Just the same as she forces herself not to believe the opposite until he denies it.

“I mean…” Justin says when she doesn’t respond and she looks up at him as he leans so that his elbows rest on the counter top, his palms pressing together in that way that says he’s calculating what he’s about to say. Charlotte’s heartbeat picks up as his eyes meet hers and he smiles as he says, “that’s not us Charlie.

His closing chuckle is like a kick in the gut and Charlotte has to look away, pulling her balled fists into her lap to control the sudden surge of anger. Yeah that’s not them; they don’t do feelings and emotion they just do his dick inside her and you don’t have to care about someone for that to happen. She curses herself for letting her hopes rise, for every time he’s looked at her, his soulful blue eyes drawing her in only to lacerate her and then kick her to the curb.

“No…no of course not,” she says, coughing out a quiet laugh as if to demonstrate that she too thought the idea absurd but the smile doesn’t quite come to fruition.

An awkward silence descends upon them, Justin shifting his feet slightly as he nudges at the papers on the counter. He and Charlotte aren’t like this. Their relationship is usually effortless and while he wouldn’t exactly call it easy, guilt nipping at his consciousness, it has always been something he didn’t have to think about, something that didn’t require contemplation. He doesn’t have to think about how he’s acting or what he’s saying when he’s with her, doesn’t have to worry that she’ll freak out on him. Well, at least that used to be the case. He chances a look at her, finding her eyes trained resolutely on her laptop screen, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. He sighs, wishing that just once his life wouldn’t over complicate itself like it has a tendency to always do.

“So…” he starts, dragging out the vowel in the word as he searches for something to cut the tension and comes up blank. She doesn’t look at him, but tilts her head slightly, inclining her ear towards him to show that she’s listening. He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Did…uh…” he glances around at the mess of paperwork on the counter. “Did Amelia have you come all the way over here on a Saturday to do paperwork?”

“No I just brought it,” Charlotte responds and Justin nods, his head bobbing, pursing his lips as he searches for something else to say. Charlotte sighs. “I guess I should be up there helping but I need to make a decision about these CPA classes.”

Justin’s face registers slight shock before it goes blank and Charlotte does her best to keep her face neutral, chancing a glance up at him and finding him standing stock still, his shoulders tense. She hadn’t planned on telling him that she was looking for a change, afraid that he would try and stop her, even more afraid that he wouldn’t. But she’s tired of worrying about how he feels and what he’s thinking when he obviously doesn’t care about her enough to warrant her with that information. Maybe he’ll care when he realizes she’s not always going to be around.

Justin does his best to control his face but can feel that he’s doing a poor job. He really shouldn’t be so surprised. He knew that she would eventually decide that being Amelia’s whipping girl isn’t a valid career choice. She’s too smart to be making Amelia’s coffee and picking up her dry cleaning, he’d always thought that and he figured someday she’d realize it as well. He guesses he’d just hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.

 “Oh…I didn’t know you were thinking about going back to school,” he offers carefully, a pit of panic settling itself deep in his belly and he tries his best to ignore it.

“Yeah,” she replies nonchalantly, looking at her screen and refusing to meet his eyes, her finger swirling over her track pad absently. “I mean I should have gotten my license when I was still in school but it was going to be a hassle to fit it into my schedule and I wasn’t really interested in pursuing it then.”

“But you are now?” Justin asks, his voice light and Charlotte looks up at him, finding his head tilted to the side, regarding her curiously but she can see that his guard is up.

“Maybe,” she responds slowly, watching his face diligently for a reaction and finds none, his face blank for a beat before giving a careless shrug, a gesture that he never makes unless it’s calculated.

“Sounds cool,” he replies nonchalantly, leaning over the counter and she tries to ignore the way the muscles in his bicep stretch the thin cotton of his t-shirt sleeves. “I mean at least you’re trying something new,” he encourages, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as hollow as he feels and she smiles at him, shifting in her seat.

“Yeah,” she responds, looking down at her lap and tucking her hair behind her ear. She should be happy that he’s being supportive, that he has her best interests in mind but a little part of her hurts when she realizes he’s not going to fight for her. She scolds herself silently. Of course he’s not going to fight for you, Charlie. You’re not his to fight for.

“So are you gonna put in your notice or…” Justin asks, unable to stop himself and he lets his voice trail watching her carefully. She looks up at him, her hands twisting in her lap as she shifts in her chair.

His heartbeat accelerates, his mouth suddenly dry. What would he do if she quit? If he didn’t have the option of seeing her everyday? He’s taken that for granted, he knows, the way she drops by, sometimes with a purpose, sometimes without. He likes that he doesn’t always know when but he knows he’ll see her eventually, see her smile and hear her laugh, feel her skin and taste her mouth. What would his day be like if he didn’t have that certainty? What would it be like to not have the excuse to call her and tell her random shit about his day and listen to her talk about what crazy antics the other girls have gotten up to? He feels a crippling sense of loss and even though she’s just across the kitchen island from him he can’t help but feel she’s out of his reach.

“No,” she says after a moment and then gives a shake of her head as if to emphasize it. “No, I… not yet.”

Not yet. A flood of relief causes him to exhale shakily and Justin can’t contain the smile that pulls at his lips. Charlotte is dazzled by it, doing the only thing she can when the corners of his eyes crinkle like that. She smiles back, but it’s weak and doesn’t quite reach her eyes, Justin noting the slightest tinge of sadness in them. He wonders if she really does want to leave – who could blame her really? – and if she does he wonders what it is that’s really keeping her here.

“Good,” he says softly, not sure what else to say as he stands straight, flattening his hands on the counter and she smiles back feebly, awkwardness washing over them again.

“…no I don’t want to keep any of the leftovers just toss them on your way out…”

Charlotte sits bolt upright in her chair and Justin steps back from the island, moving to lean against the counter behind him as Amelia breezes into the kitchen. She’s holding a bottle of wine the color of the silk blouse she’s wearing, the ruffling of the front giving the illusion that her body is curving snake-like when she’s actually standing straight. A rose colored belt cinches her waist, accentuating the curve of her hips hugged in dark denim and Justin is surprised to recognize that they’re his line, the Amelia fit, midwaisted skinny jeans. A smile threatens to pull at his lips – just like her. She looks slightly bewildered at the sight of them, her blue eyes jumping from Justin to Charlotte and back again.

“I thought you were golfing,” Amelia says and Justin’s eyes narrow slightly, watching her stride up to the kitchen island and set the bottle on the counter. Something in her voice isn’t right.

“It’s raining,” he says, matter-of-factly, brushing it off. She’s probably upset over something stupid like someone being rude enough not to use a coaster on one of her overpriced end tables.

“That’s too bad, I knew you were looking forward to it,” Amelia replies absently, walking up to him and she gives his hip a nudge with the back of her hand, causing him to shift down the counter a little so she can rummage in the silverware drawer.

“What are you doing?” Justin asks, slightly annoyed when she nudges him again, searching in another drawer.

“Looking for the wine opener,” Amelia snaps back and Charlotte cringes watching Justin roll his eyes and move completely away from his fiancé.

He moves to lean against the island, bracing his arms against it and sighing, his eyes meeting Charlotte’s and he looks tired, as if he’s aged years just in the time span of that little exchange. He raises an eyebrow as if asking what crawled up her ass? and Charlotte can only shrug, clueless as always to Amelia’s mercurial moods.

Amelia returns to her bottle, cork screw in hand and she sneers at the mess of papers spread out around her before her eyes fall on Charlotte. “You can go.”

It’s not so much a grant of approval as an order and Charlotte scrambles to shove all of the papers in her bag, closing her laptop and stowing it away. She’s shouldering her bag as Amelia finishes peeling the foil from around the neck of the bottle. Justin is watching his fiancé with masked disdain, but his eyes are curious standing by as Amelia attempts to wind the screw into the cork, her fingers clumsy with inexperience; Charlotte is almost surprised that Amelia hasn’t asked her to do it for her.

“God, let me do it,” Justin mutters, his elbow nudging her arm and she melts out of the way, leaning against the counter and watching as he shoves the screw down into the cork.

“Don’t get cork in my-”

“I know what I’m doing, Amelia.”

Charlotte watches them for a moment, Amelia standing in stony silence next to Justin, her arms crossed as he works to get the cork out and she can’t quite explain it but the scene makes her feel hollow. Something about the way Justin’s eyes are cutting to Amelia every now at then, something like curious concern surfacing quickly before his mask of indifference slips back on and Amelia watching with her usual stoic expression, something about the innocence of it, the simplicity of him standing in their kitchen, helping her open a bottle of wine. It’s moments like this that what they are doing behind Amelia’s back is almost too much for Charlotte to bear, the idea that he’s really not hers playing out so plainly in front of her that no amount of petty excuses or justification can make up for her sins.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” she says softly to no one in particular and Justin barely glances at her as she crosses the kitchen to the door.

“Bye,” he replies absently, continuing to work the cork free and Charlotte turns for one last look, finding them standing together, Amelia’s blond head inclined towards him, almost touching his shoulder and Justin’s body tense but leaning his weight on the leg closest to his fiancé. Charlotte shakes her head, her heart thick in her throat as she makes her exit.

“How was the party?” Justin asks stiffly when the echo of Charlotte’s footsteps fade and they’re enveloped by the silence of an empty apartment.

“Lovely,” Amelia says, a cheerful hint to her tone but Justin can hear the hollowness of it. “We got a lot of nice things for the house. Bianca got us that beautiful painting from the Jen Bekmen gallery we’d been eyeing.”

Justin makes a face. “The creepy one with the bird heads for the middle of the flowers?” Amelia blinks up at him, a frown pulling at her lips but the disappointment in her eyes sends a little thrill through him.

“It’s not creepy. It’s a brilliant interpretation of hybrid creatures,” Amelia argues. “It’s going in the bedroom.”

“I am not sleeping with that creepy fucking thing in our room,” Justin replies, enjoying the way she tenses next to him when he finally gets the cork out.

“Well it’s a good thing you aren’t sleeping in there, isn’t it?” she snaps back and the words are like a whip to his chest, stinging and burning, cutting him open as she snatches the wine bottle from his hands and stomps over to the other counter, ripping a cabinet open to pull out a wine glass.

Justin watches as she pours herself a glass, taking in the way she leans her weight on one leg, her ass sitting perfectly in her jeans and he shakes his head, ignoring the tug of longing in his chest. He raises an eyebrow as she drains her glass in one swig and pours herself another before turning towards him, leaning back against the counter, swirling the wine in her glass, watching it stick to the sides and something isn’t right. He can feel it but honestly he can’t be compelled to care at the moment.

“So did you just sit around all day?” Amelia asks, eyeing Justin’s t-shirt, her gaze flicking to his socked feet and he shakes his head chuckling. Here we go.

“So?” he replies defiantly noting the slight roll of her eyes as she takes a sip of her wine. “It’s what you did.”

She glares at him. “I entertained people who got us some very nice things,” she spits and he scoffs.

“Yeah that bottle of wine is for us.” Justin spits sarcastically and watches Amelia’s face go blank. “Someone forget a gift or something?” he asks nodding towards her glass but his voice trails as he watches her eyes fill and she swallows hard before turning away from him, her shoulders tense.

He’s at a loss, taking a stuttering moment to try and assess what’s happening. She’s leaning heavily against the counter, her back rising and falling steadily taking in slow, controlled breaths. He feels like an ass, like the biggest jerk on the planet, like he always does when he somehow stumbles onto just the right thing to make her cry. It doesn’t happen often but when it does it cuts him to the bone and just like that his anger seems trivial, his defiance juvenile and all he wants to do is hold her. It always comes back to that, he finds. No matter how pissed he is, how much he thinks he hates her, he always comes back to loving her. He supposes that’s why he’s marrying her.

“Amelia,” he says gently, taking a step toward her, his hand reaching for her arm and he fights the jolt to his system as his skin comes in contact with hers, the first time he’s touched her in weeks. “What’s…”

“It’s nothing,” she says quickly, her voice a little deeper than usual as she gives the smallest sniffle, shrugging him off to walk over to the sink, pouring her glass down the drain.

“You’re crying-”

“I’m not crying,” she spats quickly and he fights the urge to growl. It’s always a fight with her, no matter what.

“Fine,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Why are you not crying.”

Amelia takes a deep breath, turning back towards him. “Don’t be smart,” she says, snatching the bottle from the counter and walking back over to the sink.

“What are you doing?” he asks, slightly alarmed as she turns the bottle upside down and the deep rose liquid gurgles down the drain. “That was an expensive bottle,” he says though it’s really just a guess.

Amelia snorts. “It’s a Cab,” she says, her voice thin and unbelieving. “You’d think if she was going to blow off my bridal shower she’d at least get the wine I like.”

Justin lets his eyes close, letting out a soft sigh as it all falls into place.

“Your mom didn’t come?” he asks, his brow furrowing when he watches her shoulders tense even more and Amelia shakes her head, not turning towards him, just standing over the sink, her hand still curled around the empty bottle on the counter. “Why?”

Amelia sighs, rolling her eyes as if annoyed by the question. “Because she had an offer to visit  Roberto Cavali’s studio in Paris,” she says taking the bottle and brushing past him to drop it in the trash. “She gets to see his entire collection before he shows it at Fashion Week.”

“When did she decide this?” Justin asks and Amelia shrugs, her hands on her hips, every part of her screaming that she’s confident and unaffected and Justin’s heart wrenches at the sight, anger boiling in him. How could her own mother miss her bridal shower? “So she just sent you this bottle of wine and that’s it? Didn’t even tell you she wasn’t coming?”

“It’s Roberto Cavali, Justin,” Amelia says as if the reasoning should be obvious but her jaw is tight.

“It’s your bridal shower, Amelia,” Justin says emphatically as he watches her eyes turn hard, her face setting in a blank mask, the one she only wears when she’s trying not to show that she’s hurt, looking down as her eyes fill again.

Something softens inside him, taking the few short steps to close the gap between him and he reaches for her, running a hand down her arm before pulling her into him. Her arms wrap a little reluctantly around his waist, one hand pressing against the middle of his back as her other holds him at his waist. He holds her tighter, annoyed by her resistance. Why does she always have to fight him?

“The bath towels your mother sent were very nice,” she offers, her cheek against his shoulder and his hand slides up her back into her hair, cradling her head against him and he feels her tense a little more before relaxing and giving him a soft squeeze, her face turning into his neck as her arms finally wind all the way around him.

Once again it all comes back to this. No matter how poorly she treats him, how many times she hurts him, how crazy she makes him it comes back to this, his arms around her and the tug in his chest when he holds her. He loves her. He knows her, can tell when she’s upset, knows just how hard to push to get her to open up. He knows her past, knows how much it hurts her when her mother chooses something over her, how her father’s constant absence leaves her empty. All the little things that no one else sees or knows because she doesn’t let them, he knows. And he loves her. He loves her.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Amelia says quietly, her voice muffled against his skin and he gives her a squeeze.

“I’m so sorry baby,” he says, heaving a sigh.

He is sorry. Not just for what happened to her today but for what he’s been doing to her for the past several months, sneaking around and trying to justify that it’s because of some fault of hers. Maybe the fault is his? Maybe he’s the one not paying attention, not trying hard enough. Instead of trying to find what was missing in Charlotte maybe he should have been working harder to find it in Amelia. The shame and the guilt are almost too much for him to bear, his eyes closing as he presses his face to the softness of her perfumed hair, gardenia overpowering him, the scent almost stifling.

“This is silly,” Amelia says after a moment, giving a soft sniffle and pulling back from him, waving her free hand. “No use crying over bad wine.”

Justin can’t help but laugh. There’s his girl. She gives him a weak smile, patting his chest lightly as she moves around him to scoot in the chair that Charlotte had occupied. He watches her, the gray light from the window making her flaxen hair glow white and the soft skin of the nape of her neck is barely exposed by the ruffles of her shirt.

“I’m…” she starts, her shoulders tensing as her hands wrap around the iron of the back of the chair and Justin tilts his head to the side, watching her heave a sigh before glancing at him. “I just wanted you to know that…” she trails in a sigh, letting her head hang back.

“What?” he prompts his brow drawing in confusion.

“I’m sorry okay,” she spats quickly and Justin’s eyebrows race to his hairline, shock washing over him.

“For what?” he questions and he thinks he hears her growl softly before her eyes meet his. Her face is defiant and slightly pained and he can’t help but chuckle. She hates to apologize.

“For…for the past few weeks,” she says crossing her arms over her chest, looking down and to the left. “You know…”

Justin hums in affirmation watching her shift uncomfortably and he smiles softly. Maybe…maybe it is all for the best, Charlotte deciding to move on. His heart gives a slight shudder at the thought of losing her but he pushes it away. He’s not losing her, she’ll still be around…won’t she? He shakes his head, not wanting to think about that right now, forcing himself to be content with the fact that he and Amelia are seemingly okay again.

“Well,” Amelia snaps jutting her chin out and Justin is slightly startled. “Are you going to forgive me?” she demands and Justin laughs.

“Yeah,” he says shaking his head. “Yeah babe. We’re good.”

“Good,” Amelia says, a satisfied smile pulling at her lips but Justin sees the relief behind it, warming slightly at the idea that she was even worried to begin with. “Now come up and help me sort out these gifts.”

She breezes past him and up the stairs, Justin heaving a sigh as he turns to follow her. And that night is the first night in three weeks that Amelia and Justin share a bed.