Page 44 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

I break off, laughing when the call notification appears, the vibrating green phone bursting to life with cinematic timing.

“Is that them?” Emma asks.

“Yep, Mom’s calling. I should answer it.”

“What are you going to say?”

“No idea. The truth?”

“Good luck.”

I hang up, then answer Mom’s call. She and Dad are sitting in the kitchen, one of her mannequins just about visible in the studio in the background with a big styled wig on it. Mom, at least, doesn’t look angry. More excited. She’s got dyed red hair with small hippy-style gems interwoven into it. She’s thirty-nine, having me when she was twenty, and Dad was thirty-three.

Is that already a defense mechanism, thinking of arguments? People are often shocked Mom and Dad are together. He has neat salt-and-pepper hair, a trimmed goatee, and wears a sweater with a shirt collar, his hands folded.

“Having fun in London, Amelia?” he says.

“Don’t use that tone with her, Charley,” Mom says.

“Samantha, please.”

The exchange isn’ttootaut, but there’s some tension there. I didn’t meaneverythingwhen I told Emma I would give them the truth. For example, I should probably leave out the part where Tommy made me orgasm on the Eye and then took me to a designer store, where I posed for him in lingerie. Then he had to leave, raising his hands.

“I’ll fuck you right here, and everybody will hear you moan.”

“So what’s happening, sweetie?” Mom’s bubbly voice urges me on.

“A lot,” I say.

Then I tell them aneditedversion of the story: Tommy showing up to protect me, yes; Tommy already being interested in me through the video, yes; the kidnapping, kind of, but I frame it as me wanting to stay here, which is true anyway; about the day out, I take out the steamy parts.

“What are his intentions, then?” Dad says. “It sounds like you’ve had some fun, but what does he want from you? Billionaires only want one thing from young women.”

“Oh, please,” Mom says. “Don’t muddy it before we even hear how she feels.”

Dad strokes his goatee, smiling tightly. “I’m sorry. I worry about her. I worry about you, Amelia.”

“We’re dating,” I tell Dad. “You can go online and search for photos of Tommy with other women, and you won’t find anybody. I get what you’re saying.Usually, rich men only go after young women for one thing, but this isn’t the usual scenario. Tommy isn’t like that.”

“Tommy isn’t like that,” Dad repeats. “You don’t even know him. Also, will we allacceptthat he lured you to London?”

“He told me I was the most qualified candidate. The CEO refused to pick me just because Tommy wanted him to.”

“Did you believe him?” Mom asks.

She says it differently from how Dad might. He might phrase it as an accusation, but Mom genuinely wants to know. It warms my heart to know she trusts my judgment.

“I did,” I say. “I don’t think he would lie to me about something like that.”

“I think it’s exciting,” Mom says.

“Here we go…”

Mom turns to Dad when he says this. “What’s the problem?”

Dad sighs like a teacher indulging an overactive student. “Let’s see… the age, for one. He’s forty-two. She’s nineteen.”

“Charley… really?”

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