Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I have to go,” I whisper, voice rough.
“I know,” she murmurs, dry-eyed. Her body is limp and without energy.
I dress quickly, pulling on my jeans and a T-shirt. I glance back at her, her eyes glistening, watching me. “Max,” she says, voice trembling, “be safe today.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I want to lean down and kiss her one last time, but I don’t.
“You too,” I call softly, forcing myself to the door. The door clicks shut behind me, and I’m alone, the hallway dim, the air filled with loss and emptiness.
In my own bedroom, the bed is cold and untouched. Sara’s side is a stark reminder that she’s coming. I collapse on the bed, and stare at the ceiling. My chest feels hollow. The loss of Amelia is unimaginable, worse than anything I’ve felt, worse than that night fourteen years ago when her father tore us apart.
My hands rake through my hair, tugging hard, as if pain could drown my grief.
I can’t go to work today, that’s for sure. There is no way that I can face the glass walls and droning voices. Activity. Activity is what I need. I jump into the shower and get ready for the day. Grabbing my laptop, I head over to my office downstairs. I try my best to focus, but despite how hard I try, the emails on the screen blur, and the numbers seem meaningless. Without her everything is meaningless.
I’m fucking unraveling, thread by thread.
Sara should be back this afternoon. I told the driver to pick her up from the airport. My mind returns to Amelia. I wonder what she is doing now that her painting is complete. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left her alone, but I don’t want to make it more difficult than it needs to be when she meets Sara. A knock shatters the silence. It’s sharp and jarring, and my heart flares with hope. It’s Amelia. It can only be Amelia at this time of the morning.
“Come in,” I call. My voice is rough as I try to steady myself, but when the door opens, it’s Sara. She’s early. Her hair is swept back as usual, and her eyes are friendly but guarded. The sight of her is like a punch, reality crashing in.
“Hey,” she says with a smile. Her voice is light and practiced, but there’s a strain in it, a distance we’ve perfected over the years. She steps inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and sets her purse on the desk.
“I didn’t expect you so early. I told the chauffeurs to pick you up this afternoon,” I say casually.
She shrugs. “I took an earlier flight. Why? Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Of course,” I say tightly.
She knows I’m lying because her lips tighten. “Where is everyone anyway?”
“I gave them a vacation.”
She frowns. “What? Who’s been cooking and cleaning?”
“Amelia, Jason, and I.”
She raises her eyebrows and looks at me strangely. “Really?”
“Yeah. How are you?”
“Good, good,” she says distractedly.
“How’s your mom?”
“She’s doing good,” she replies flatly.
“That’s good.”
She looks at me from beneath her eyelashes. “So it seems the house was perfectly managed while I was gone. I was hoping you’d all miss me terribly.”
To this, I don’t respond, and her teasing smile falters.
“Jason missed you, I’m sure,” I say, my voice flat as I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking.
“Yes, he is such a sweet child. We really did well with him, didn’t we?”
“I guess we did.”
I expect her to leave after all the pleasantries have been concluded, but to my surprise she shuts the door and begins to head over to me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’m really sorry, Max, but there’s no way around it. I’m afraid I have bad news.”
My stomach twists, a cold dread creeping up my spine.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my eyes locked on hers, searching for a clue. Her face goes pale, her lips tight, as she lowers her head and prepares to speak.
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
AMELIA
It feels like forever since I’ve started this new painting purely because I couldn’t bear not to work. I’m feeling zoned, unwilling to think about anything else beyond my work. As soon as Max left, I jumped out of bed, got ready, and headed here, determined to work because I will be leaving soon. Perhaps tomorrow, I will be able to make some excuse and go back.
I have to for the sake of everyone.
The studio still wraps around me like a sanctuary, its tall windows spilling golden sunlight across the hardwood, but I’m slumped on the stool before the easel. My legs are curled beneath me, and a paint-stained rag is twisted in my hands.
The dragon on the canvas stares back, its emerald scales shimmering, wings arched as if ready to leap into the sky. It’s finally and truly done, and I can see that it is the best work I have ever done. Born from the fire Max reignited in me.