In Your Clutches

Part 35: One. Last. Time.

AMELIA

Then she ran across the hall over to her dad. He grinned at her and bent down to take her into his arms. He lifted her up and then brought her face closer to his. He nuzzled her nose with his, as she giggled. They were standing at the other end of the room so I couldn't hear a word of what they were talking about, but I could clearly understand the moment they were having.

She was delighted about the presents she'd received and she wanted her dad to know about it. She wanted him to know how happy she was. And then she began showing the presents to him and pointing towards us. Lucca looked over her pointed finger, and saw Asher and I standing there. He waved, smiling at both of us as he mouthed a thank you. Asher smiled back. And so did I.

The scene before my eyes reminded me of myself. The time when I was a kid. I used to do the same. As soon as I received a present, I would run across my house to show it to Papa. And he would happily hug me in my excitement. Father and daughter. I felt light tears sting at the back of my eyes. My grip tightened around the cup of cocktail I was holding.

Papa.

It had been months since I last heard from him. Was he keeping well? Was he missing me? Questions began flooding my mind. I was such a terrible daughter. How could I not call him?

"Everything alright?" Asher asked me, noticing my worried expressions.

"No." I breathed.

"How do you feel?" Asher asked, and my eyes slid to him. He was staring ahead, and I could make out the sharpness of his jaw.

In a way, I knew he wasn't asking how I felt about the party. He got the idea of what I was feeling.

I answered honestly in a steady voice. "Sick."

My hands were in my lap, almost frozen, so when Asher's hand covered mine, I dropped my eyes, watching him slowly link our fingers together again, just as he had done so many times in the last hour. I was fascinated by it enough that I let go of every single thing that worried me and focused on the only thing that was warming me from the inside out.

"Your hands are cold," Asher muttered under his breath, and I realised how close we were sitting to each other.

Had he moved? He kept our hands on my thigh, mine tightly grasped in his, and I decided I liked the feel of it, the heaviness, the warmth. So I held on just as tight. "I know."

His thumb started rolling my wedding ring around my finger.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

It was such a weird sensation, feeling his skin on mine. Did he feel the same? The tingles?

He nodded once and I peered at him under my lashes, trying not to be too obvious. So what if he was just pretending? I could do the same. I could take this comfort from him and let myself feel loved. I could just stop thinking and enjoy my seconds and minutes with him. I didn't have to analyze my every move. I could just be whatever I wanted to be with Asher while we were out in public like this. I could fool myself, happily, before we had to step back into the real, harsh world.

Lifting my head, I looked at him. Two spots were open at our table to Asher's left, the other four seats taken by two women and two men who were talking among themselves.

"Asher, talk to me," I urged as the emcee of the night took the stage and the lights dimmed just slightly. A hush fell over the crowd in the room, but there was still quiet chatter here and there, which was why I didn't feel guilty about my lack of attention.