Page 44 of A Bossy Proposal

Chapter 13

West

Ican’t sleep.

Amelia’s soft breathing beside me should soothe, but my mind races. Her story doesn’t add up. First, she had no family, but now she has an uncle who stole her inheritance. I should believe her, but it seems too convenient, too neat.

There is definitely more to her story. Her parents are dead, and she pretended it was a car accident. She never wanted me to pry, but now she’s telling me they died in a sailing accident.Why?

Does she want me to know more for a reason? Or is everything one big fat lie? And somewhere along the line, she forgot the truth.

I glance at her peaceful face, guilt gnawing at me for not trusting her. And I shouldn’t pry, but I will. I need to know the truth.

Carefully, I slip out of bed. Amelia stirs slightly, and I freeze until she settles back into sleep.

I make my way downstairs and to my home office, closing the door with a soft click. The glow of my computer screen illuminates the room as I power it on. My fingers hover over the keyboard.

Am I really going to do this? Invade her privacy?

But I need answers. For her sake. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

I type her name into the search bar. “Amelia Ross.” Nothing unusual pops up. Social media accounts, private or inactive. Nothing with her picture, not even a few old articles from her high school newspaper.

I dig deeper, searching for obituaries related to her parents. Nothing. No sailing accidents reported in the last five years involving a Ross family.

My unease grows.

Who is she?

I try a different tack. I search for any legal disputes involving an inheritance and the Ross name.

Again, nothing.

Frustration builds. I’m missing something. Or she’s lying. The thought makes my stomach churn.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. This feels wrong, but I can’t shake the feeling that Amelia is hiding something big.

She’s running from something. Something that could put her–or both of us–in danger.

Something creaks outside the office. My heart jumps into my throat.

I close the lid and creep to the door, my bare feet silent on the cool hardwood.

I steal a glance down the corridor but see nothing but shadows. My heart is still racing, and I take a deep breath when I realize it’s just my imagination running wild.

Back at the computer, I hesitate before powering it up again. This feels like a betrayal, but I can’t shake off my need to know.

My fingers hover over the keys for a moment before I type:

Boating accidents in South Carolina.

The search yields several results, but one catches my eye. It’s from a little over three years ago, matching Amelia’s timeline.

I click, and my breath catches in my throat.

There she is. Younger, but unmistakably Amelia.

The caption reads:

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