My Dear Amelia | Enzo St. John

Two

 Amelia was back in her place in the kitchen the next morning. She still found it hard to believe that the daring woman in the club the night before was actually herself. It wasn't something she ordinarily would have done. But perhaps she was not the same anymore. Perhaps she had become someone different from the girl she used to be.

 She turned around when she heard feet moving towards the kitchen. It was the younger Mr. March.

 "Oh. Excuse me, Ms. Black," he said. "Must have come down the wrong corridor." He eyed her up and down as he moved to leave.

 Amelia turned back to her work. It wasn't the first time young Mr. March happened to stumble across her. She knew he did it on purpose, but she refused to indulge him by giving him any thought.

 Instead, she began to think about the man she had met the night before. Enzo. There was something mysterious about him, something alluring, but possibly dangerous. She wanted to go back there, feeling the need to see him again, even though she would be risking serious trouble with the law. And perhaps she would, when night came and her work for the day would be done, which now included carefully avoiding young Mr. March.

~~~~~~

 Enzo sat alone in his hotel room. He would like to see Ms. Black again, he thought. But if he went back tonight, would she even be there?

~~~~~~

 Amelia entered the club doing her best not to draw attention.

 "You've returned, I see."

 Except for one.

 "Mr. Enzo," she said, trying not to smile. "You're still here."

 "Of course I'm here. And please, call me Enzo. Shall I get you a drink, Ms. Black? Or are you sworn off alcohol after your encounter with it last night?"

 Amelia shook her head. "You're perfectly welcome to buy me one, Enzo."

 She took her place at an empty table and watched as he asked the bartender for the drinks. He was handsome and charming, certainly, but that didn't mean anything. Young Mr. March was a bit handsome and could be charming, but she knew what he was really like. She didn't know that Enzo was any different.

 "Here you are, Ms. Black," he said, handing her a glass. "Something a little less strong this time. Tell me, what brings you back here?"

 "I still don't see why it's any of your business why I'm here. Why are you back here?"

 He leaned back in his chair. "It's so clear you're not used to this sort of thing. Vey well; I'll indulge you. I'm here because I'm lonely. I need friends, and I thought I would find some here. So far, that hasn't worked very well. There. Now you know why I'm here? What brings you here?"

 "I spend so much time with responsibilities that I wanted to do something bad and reckless for a change," Amelia replied.

 Enzo raised his eyebrows. "And you don't care that you're breaking the law?"

 "Look around, Enzo. No one here cares. Everyone is enjoying themselves. Why should I?"

 He smiled. "You, Ms. Black, are correct. Why shouldn't we enjoy it? So, you spend a lot of time with responsibility. Family matters?"

 "If I still had one, perhaps. It's my job. I had to get away, just for a little while. But you are not from around here, are you? That accent isn't American."

 "No. English, actually. But I've been in America for some time now, though. I quite enjoy New York."

 "Do you? I've lived here my whole life and hope to leave." She drained the rest of her glass. "I don't have many good memories here."

 "And I didn't have many good memories in England. That was why I left. Shall I get you another?" He gestured to her now-empty glass.

 Amelia shook her head. "Much as I would like to stay, I should go home. Or what is supposed to be home. Good night, Enzo."

 "Just a moment, Ms. Black," he said quickly. "Why don't you meet me on the corner tomorrow evening? We can meet and...talk, I suppose."

 She stared at him for a few seconds. Then she nodded.

 "I'll meet you there," she said. "Until tomorrow night." 

 Enzo was a little surprised by their conversation. That woman was cold as ice. It seemed a shame, for someone so young. But they had a meeting tomorrow night; perhaps he could melt some of that icy exterior.