Amy wrote that to Bea and Clare as she prepared to go into work two days later.
Clare was uncharacteristically silent, not answering texts or emails for the last few days, which was worrying, but Bea called her immediately. “I vote you be promoted to Executive Director of Executing Bastards. You’re my hero. I love you.”
“Where are you? When are you coming back?” Amy asked her.
“It’s a lot to explain,” Bea began.
“Oh, God. Wait,” Amy said as her phone pinged with a text. “My mother is threatening to come see me. I haven’t spoken to her since before Tokyo.”
“You don’t have to see her,” Bea reminded her.
“That’s what I’m going to tell her.” Sort of. “I’ll call you back soon.” Amy signed off and tapped her mother for a video call.
Her mother looked surprisingly frail, not wearing her usual makeup and designer day dress. Instead, she was in her dressing gown. Her skin looked sallow and aged and, if Amy wasn’t mistaken, she was putting out a cigarette off-screen.
“There’s a lot of paps outside, Mom. And I’m heading into work so don’t come over here. I won’t drag them to you, either.”
“That’s fine, but I wish you would have seen all of that old business from my point of view, instead of airing it publicly. In New York. Do you have any idea how traumatizing it would have been to put you through a court case over that prat? It was the best thing for you that we made it go away like that. You should be thankful.”
“You have a right to your opinion. Is that all?” Amy propped up her phone so she could use two hands to load her bag.
“I’ve spoken to your father. He’s arranging to release your trust fund as soon as possible.”
“I don’t need it, Mom.” She kind of did, but... “I never wanted money from you and Dad,” she added with a sharp break in her tone that she couldn’t help.
“For God’s sake, Amy. Have you never realized there was none? It was a recession! Your father borrowed from the trust to keep his company afloat. He stopped paying me support. That’s why I married Melvin, so I could sell the house and make your tuition payments. You were adamant that you finished school with your friends. Then you got yourself expelled. I honestly didn’t know what to do. We both thought you needed a dose of reality.”
“And the reality was, I couldn’t count on my parents to be honest with me.”
“Do not play the victim here, Amy. You were an absolute pill.”
“This is not a productive conversation, Mom. Let’s take a break. A long one. I’ll call when I’m ready to chat. If you don’t hear from me by my birthday, you can call me then.”
“In five months? No. That stupid Mason fool will not cost me my only child again. I swear, I want to track him down and stab him in the eye.”
“Let me know what they set your bail at. I’ll see if I can raise it online.”
“You think I’m joking.”
“You think I am.”
“I’ll see you at Wednesday’s lunch,” her mother declared.
Amy rolled her eyes, not caring that it made her mother sigh the way it always had, ever since she’d been a young, rebellious pill.
“I’ll text you once I’ve checked my schedule at work,” Amy conceded. “Bea and Clare are away and this is my first day back. It will be hectic.”
A short time later, her bodyguards cut through the paparazzi and she entered London Connection. Despite Bea’s supportive phone call, however, she wasn’t sure of her reception.
“Amy!” someone shouted, and everyone stood up to applaud her.
Which made tears come into her eyes. She was deeply touched and had a queue of hugs to get through before she arrived at her desk and began putting things in order there.
It was a busy day. Some clients had dropped her and the agency, claiming they were “no longer a good fit,” but the phones were even busier with potential new ones. Even more heartening were the emails from colleagues in her industry who not only expressed support for her personally, but told her how much they admired her professionally.
“I would rather work for you than the agency I’m at,” more than one said. “Please let me know when you have an opening.”
As Amy absorbed what an opportunity for growth they faced, she held a quick meeting with the department heads. She tasked them with helping her make a case for expanding London Connection that she could present to Bea and Clare the minute they were back.
It was exciting and consuming and kept her mind occupied so she wouldn’t think about how thoroughly her letter had dropped the ax on any chance she might have had of a relationship with Luca. She kept waiting for his rebuttal to hit the airwaves, maybe something that would deride her for daring to be so comfortable with costing a king his crown. The arrogance! The cheek! Did she not know she had destabilized a nation?
There was only a short statement from the palace that they would not comment on the prince’s personal life. When she arrived home, however, a pair of stoic-faced men in dark suits were waiting in the lobby of her building.
“Will you come with us, Miss Miller?”
“She will not,” one of her own bodyguards said firmly, placing himself in front of her.
“It’s fine, I know who he is,” she said, nudging her man aside. Her heart began to race and she searched the face of Luca’s bodyguard. He gave away nothing.
He probably didn’t know what she faced any more than she did.
Would Luca rail at her? Force her to write a retraction? Have her thrown off a bridge?
There was only one way to find out. Despite her trepidation, she dismissed her own guards and went with the men.
They took her to a beautiful Victorian town house in Knightsbridge. The facade was white and ornate. Vines grew up the columns on either side of
