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I wake once Amelia begins to stir beside me. I stretch lazily; it’s early evening, still the same day. My eyes drift to the woman waking up next to me. She arches and it is insanely distracting, but I am intently focused on the meeting coming up. I don’t think I’ve ever been so anxious to meet someone.
“There’s still time to go see them,” Amelia says, looking at the clock by the bedside table. “Maman should be there as well.”
“We should probably clean up before,” I respond.
She nods and stands. I follow behind her into the shower, admiring the sensational view of her ass. I would like to say we do more than kiss and share soap, but nothing more happens. It’s sheerly domestic and I’m not sure if I enjoy that more or not. There’s something comfortable and safe in this moment shared with her. Within this shower stall, there is no more and no less than us, together.
We check out of the hotel and then pile into a cab, giving them the name of the hospital where her father is staying. It’s a quiet ride and Amelia’s leg jiggles next to me anxiously.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“Of course,” she scoffs.
“I should be more nervous than you, but I have a feeling you’re more nervous than I could ever possibly be,” I tease.
“Yeah well, I’ve never brought a boy home. Let alone my fiancé.” She rolls her head against the back of the seat hopelessly.
“Oh?” I raise my brow in surprise. “You plan to introduce me as your fiancé?”
She’s about to answer when the driver announces our arrival, and I am forced to rush to find his payment. Amelia taps her foot beside me, and I know it’s because she’s anxious, not because she is irritated. She whispers a French phrase under her breath, something I don’t quite catch, and I chuckle as I step out of the back seat.
“You shouldn’t be laughing,” she murmurs.
“I’m probably more aware of that than you,” I say, and yet I can’t stop giggling. “But even though I am, I also think this will go better than you think it will.”
“We’ll see,” she whispers.
I wrap her hand in mine, sliding my fingers through hers, and tug her after me. “Show the way.”
When we arrive at the room, her parents are immensely surprised.
“Amelia, what are you still doing here? Who is this?” her mother asks in English, though more accented than her daughter.
“Hello, Mrs. Cormier, I’m Adrian Saunders,” I step forward and reach out my hand. “I’m…”
My words fall off as I look back at Amelia for the answer.
She moves beside me and says, “This is the man I told you about. Adrian is my fiancé.”
My hand hangs in the air a little longer before her mother grips it tightly in a handshake that her small frame doesn’t look capable of. She narrows her eyes at me.
“What do you mean fiancé? I thought you were just interested?” she asks.
“Well, funny thing,” I begin, “there’s a long story behind that—”
I prepare to tell her the truth when Amelia cuts in again. “He asked me to marry him when I told him how I felt. He came to get me, to tell me the same.”
Mrs. Saunders’s eyes flick between our faces. I can see the disbelief in them, but she accepts it readily enough with a small nod. Mr. Saunders, who has been quiet until now, seems tired but interested.
“He’s the one who convinced me to come see you, Papa,” Amelia fidgets nervously.
I look at the man, once proud, now bedridden and sickly.
“Thank you…Adrian, was it?” he says slowly, and I nod. “If not for you, she’d probably never come back. I’d probably never have seen her again, and neither would her mother.”
I nod again, though this time it’s because I feel awkward. Being shown gratitude for something I don’t deserve is always uncomfortable.
