Page 66 of Promise Me Forever

“I know her better than I know any other employee we have.”

“Let’s fucking hope she’s the only one you know so intimately,” he mutters.

I roll my eyes. “Get your head out of the gutter. I don’t mean like that. I know when I can trust someone, Nathan, and I can trust Amelia.”

He runs a hand over his jaw, staring past me at the painting hanging on his office wall. He does his best thinking staring at the painting of the beach in Spain that Mom finished before she got too sick to paint anymore. “If this gets out…”

“It won’t. At least not until we’re ready for it to. Hey, maybe it’ll just fizzle out and we’re worrying for nothing.” Even as I say that, I find myself thinkinglike fuck it will.

We sit in silence again, with nothing but the relentless ticking of his clock and my own heartbeat in my ears. Like always, it’s me who cracks first. “Just please tell me you have my back. It’s not like the way you and Mel started up was conventional.”

“I always have your fucking back, dickwad. That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you do or throw a fuckingticker tape parade at every stupid decision you make. You really, truly like this girl?”

I can’t help but grin at him. “Yeah, I do.”

“All right. Then I suppose you’d better find a way to make it work, hadn’t you?”

I will find a way, I vow to myself. Amelia Ryder is mine, and there’s not a chance in hell I’m ever letting her go. I’m going to make that woman happy if it’s the last damn thing I do.

Chapter

Thirty-One

AMELIA

“Amelia, honey?” Mom says as soon as I answer my phone. She sounds different than usual—more excited, more like her old self.

“Hey, Mom! I was just on my way over. I’m in Mr. Aziz’s place. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Look, there’s a man here who says he knows you.”

I place the ice cream I was inspecting back in the freezer and give her my full attention. Mom has lived in New York all her life, but I still wouldn’t call her streetwise. She’s always been quick to see the good in people, and I usually think that’s an admirable quality, but maybe not where strange men are concerned.

I quickly pay for my goods, give Mr. Aziz a little wave as I leave, and start to power-walk the five blocks to my childhood home. “What’s his name, Mom? And you haven’t let him in the house, have you? Look, I’ll be there soon. Is the slugger still in the hallway?” Two women living alone need to take a few precautions, and we’ve always kept a baseball bat by the door.

“Amelia, sweetheart, stop worrying. Constantine is a perfectly lovely man. He’s been showing me photos of his baby girl.”

I stop in my tracks, flooded first with relief, but then confusion hits. What the hell is Drake’s driver doing at my mom’s house?

It’s been almost a week since we finally worked out that we wanted to be together, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Sure, the secrecy thing is a drag, and our living arrangements leave a lot to be desired, but I’m not complaining. The man drives me crazy in bed, and added to that, he’s great company. I know it’s early days, but every time I think of him, I get this goofy grin that I can’t quite wipe off my face.

“Right. Okay, well, I do know Constantine. Can you put him on for a moment?”

“Hi, Miss Ryder.” His familiar deep voice sounds amused. Constantine is one of the few people who knows the truth about me and Drake, and I can’t help but think it must be like watching a soap opera for him.

“Back at ya, Constantine. You mind telling me what you’re doing in Brooklyn? Specifically at my mom’s house, at night?”

“Uh, I could tell you, Miss Ryder, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Ha ha,” I say, deadpan. “Spill.”

“It’s a surprise. Organized by our lord and master himself.”

I have to laugh at that. He’s a funny guy, Constantine. I sigh and tell him I’ll be there soon. He gives the impression of being super laid-back, but he’s a tough cookie. He won’t crack over the phone.

When I arrive at Mom’s, Drake’s SUV is taking up most of the street and net curtains are twitching in every window. A few neighborhood kids stand a couple feet away, staring at it in amazement. Seeing a car like that in a place like this is prettymuch akin to a spaceship landing and little green men walking down a gangplank.

“Moving up in the world, Amelia?” shouts Mrs. Katzberg from across the way. She’s sitting out on her porch, doing a crossword puzzle and smoking a cigarette, which has been her nighttime routine for as long as I’ve known her.

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