Page 44 of Promise Me Forever

This is also a trick question. My middle name is actually Amelia, which I’ve always been known as. My first name is Nora, after my long-gone grandmother. Mom gave me the name as a gesture of love toward her own mother, but she said it didn’t really suit me and raised me very much as an Amelia. I have no clue if Drake is aware of this or not.

“Ah. Well, that one’s easy,” he replies, giving me that lopsided grin that always makes my tummy flutter. “Your middle name is Scarlet.”

Without breaking eye contact, he runs his hands along his thick thighs and leans forward. He’s undone the top button of his shirt, and even that tiny flash of exposed flesh is enough to make me lick my lips. I remember so vividly the first moment I laid eyes on him, sitting at that table at the wedding. He was so good-looking that I could barely speak, and although we’ve come a long way since then, he still takes my breath away.

“Close enough, Mr. James, close enough. Though I let you off easy. I didn’t get into any of the really tricky stuff, like what Hogwarts house I am or what my favorite karaoke song is.”

He stands up and walks toward me. His eyes are on mine, and despite the chatter of the watching crowd, it still feels like we’re the only two people in the room.

“Well, I look forward to finding out more about you, Miss Ryder. But for now, would you mind getting me a coffee?”

He earns some laughter and jeers for that, and I smile and wave to everyone as I walk back to my seat. Now that the adrenaline rush has passed, I feel weak at the knees and amazed at what I just did. I didn’t only stand in front of a packed room and speak; I called Drake out in public. He played along, but he didn’t really have much choice, and I wonder if he’ll make me pay for that later. Part of me hopes he does. The idea of being punished by Drake is more than a little exciting. What the hell is wrong with me?

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of meetings, games, and a surprisingly amusing scavenger hunt around the hotel. I’m aware of Drake, of course, and our paths cross frequently throughout the day. He’s polite each time, friendly and approachable—the polar opposite of the way he’s been treating me recently.

My feelings for Drake are complicated, and I’m not sure I entirely understand them myself. I know I feel more physically drawn to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone and that when things are going well between us, I enjoy his company. And I know that he can be kind, funny, and easy to talk to. But I also know that he can be unpredictable, cold, and dismissive. It’s the not knowing which one I’m going to encounter that makes him dangerous, this constant game of “will the real Drake James please stand up?”

Today has been good. I got a version of Drake James that I like and who seemed to like me back. Tomorrow? Who knows. For now, though, I put him out of my mind for a few moments while I sit outside in the gardens. It’s a beautiful summer day, and the blue sky and birdsong are the perfect accompaniment to my break-time coffee. I’m messaging my mom, trying to persuade her to come to the movies with me this weekend.One of the theaters in Times Square is showing a back-to-back Indiana Jones marathon, and Harrison Ford is her all-time favorite actor. So far she’s a definite no, which is disappointing.

“Amelia? Are you okay?”

I look up and see Drake himself standing before me. I shield my eyes against the sunlight. “Yes, I’m fine, why?”

“You looked kind of sad. May I?” He gestures at the bench, and I nod. He sits next to me, and I shuffle away when I realize he’s close enough for our thighs to touch.

“I’ve been trying to convince my mom to come out with me. To go see a movie. She used to love that, but now she’s more or less housebound, says she finds it too overwhelming to be out and around too many people. So I suppose I am sad, yeah. I want her to enjoy life again, you know?”

“Of course you do. What kind of movies does she like?”

“Oh, all of them. She’ll give anything a chance. Big blockbusters, little art-house flicks, rom-coms, thrillers—she has very eclectic taste. But she especially loves Harrison Ford, so I was trying to tempt her with someRaiders of the Lost Arkaction. No go, sadly.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his tone sympathetic. “It’s so hard to see them reduced, isn’t it?”

“Reduced. That’s a good way of putting it. And yeah, I hate it.”

He gazes off into the distance, and I guess his mind is drifting back to his own past. “My mom fought like hell against the cancer that eventually claimed her. She had a warrior spirit, and she tried so damn hard not to let it defeat her. But near the end, she was in so much pain—and loaded up with so many drugs—that she just wasn’t herself. This proud, magnificent woman was confused, saying things she never would have said normally. She was, well, reduced. Realizing she wasn’t superhuman after all came as a shock to all of us. I suppose with your mom, all youcan do is what you are doing—keep trying and always be there for her. Make the most of every minute you have together.”

He doesn’t add “because you never know which might be your last.” He doesn’t have to. The thought is lurking there between us, and his eyes are full of pain and regret. I reach out and touch his hand. He gazes down at my consoling fingers and squeezes them briefly in his.

Then he stands up and gestures back to the hotel entrance. “Come on, Nora. We’d better get back in. We can’t let Linda catch us holding hands. Plus, it’s time for the trust exercises.”

“Nora? You knew that all along?”

“Sure I did. I’m not the kind of guy to leave a personnel file unread.”

I pull a face behind his back but follow him inside.

Chapter

Twenty

AMELIA

We’ve been split into groups again for the afternoon activities, and the first one involves blindfolds and an obstacle course. It’s a lot more fun than I expected. One person has their eyes covered with a bandanna while the rest of the team provides verbal instructions to guide them over steps and around chairs. It’s pretty hilarious, especially when it becomes clear that some people still haven’t figured out their left from their right.

After that, we’re put in a circle and have to hold hands in different shapes, forming something called a human knot, and then we are put into revolving pairs to practice eye contact. That one is a lot harder and a lot more fun than it sounds, depending on who you’re paired with—sixty seconds can fly by or it can take forever. One of the girls I recognize from the mail room keeps sticking her pierced tongue out at me when none of the prison guards—sorry, facilitators—are watching, and it cracks me up every time. My final partner is Drake, and as he settles down across from me, both of us cross-legged on our bean bags, thethought of spending sixty seconds gazing into his eyes makes me so nervous I can’t speak.

“Just breathe,” he says quietly, obviously picking up on my reaction. “It’ll all be over before you know it.”

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