Some may call it selfless to encourage Amelia to go live her life without me holding her down.
Or maybe I’m the selfish one. The second I step foot on English soil, I’ll have leveled up to billionaire status.
Lex Edwards officially won the bet.
Yet all the money in the world means nothing if I can’t have the woman I love.
The beautiful woman still standing in front of me.
Amelia Edwards.
Thirty-Two
Amelia
For the longest time, my theory on love has been conceptualized to be a feeling of overwhelming happiness.
It’s the holding of hands on a beautiful summer’s day, the endearing smiles while eyes lock together as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
It’s the gesture of holding the door open or pulling out a seat in a restaurant.
It’s offering to drive, to removing your coat when the other person is cold.
Love, in my eyes, is the hardest of lessons if ever fate is not on your side.
I turn to lay on my side, the complete view of Will asleep beside me. His body appears worn, tired after our emotional goodbye which led to truthful admissions, then one last night together—no sex, no lovemaking, just in each other’s arms.
We both want the best for one another, yet neither of us is the best for each other.
I drink in the sight of him, knowing this will be the last time. The small pout of his lips, lips which have kissed every single part of my body. The bridge of his nose, sitting between the bluest of eyes. Above them, his dark lashes curl so naturally. Against the black satin pillowcase, his hair appears lighter than the usual dark shade of brown. His usual controlled style is nothing but a wild mess, making me smile softly.
My gaze falls upon his shoulders, broad and toned, to his perfectly sculpted chest. My fingers ache to run their tips on the edge of his skin but touching him will wake him up. I need to savor this moment for as long as I can.
Something drags my eyes to his chest, watching the rise and fall and what appears so effortlessly. Beneath the movement lays his heart. I so desperately want to be everything it fights for, the only thing making it beat. But the longer I sit here and stare, the deeper my own heart weeps. Every inch of me feels like an open wound, a pain so visible you’re unable to escape the severity of its presence.
I can’t do this—pretend it doesn’t hurt when not one part of me has been affected.
Beside me, Will stirs softly before his eyes open wide, the blue ocean torturing my already weakened heart.
“I have to go,” I whisper, lowering my head. “It’s time.”
He takes a deep breath, twisting his body, so he’s flat on his back. Staring at the ceiling, his cheekbones tighten while he bites down on his lip.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” His change of mind comes across uncertain, and I know him well enough to know he’s scared of the unknown.
“And love isn’t supposed to be this hard,” I tell him.
His gaze shifts, and perhaps the word love was premature to use. Our feelings are strong, our emotions run deep, but love doesn’t end by saying goodbye.
“So, this is it…” he states, rather than question. “We go our separate ways. Pretend this never happened.”
I shake my head. “I’ll never be able to forget, Will.”
My hand reaches out for my jacket which so carelessly lays on the foot of the bed. I admire the fabric inside my hands, but, of course, this jacket will be another memory of him amongst everything else.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do, Amelia.”
I stand up, placing my jacket on, ignoring the pain crippling my simple moves. Adjusting the skirt of my dress, I find my boots on the ground and grab them.