Chapter 66: take a pic

Chapter 66: Chapter 66: take a pic

The room went completely dead silent. A few nearby servants froze right in their tracks, and even Skye’s eyebrows shot up.

The three brothers looked thrown off by their own reaction for a second. Amelia’s face flushed so fast she got dizzy. She ducked her head, trying—and completely failing—to hide the blush as she managed a tiny, stuttered, "Th-thank you."

The brothers handled it in the absolute worst way possible: by trying to wipe every bit of expression off their faces at once. Their sudden, stone-cold deadpan only made the whole thing ten times more embarrassing.

The tension broke when Madame entered, her sharp eyes taking in the scene with immediate interest. A small, pleased smile touched her mouth as she looked Amelia over. "That dress suits you perfectly. You look lovely." Her gaze softened further. "I’m fortunate my sons found such a beautiful flower."

Enzo cleared his throat. "It’s time to leave."

"Not so fast." Madame lifted a hand. "I want a picture of the four of you together first."

Reid opened his mouth. "Mother, this really isn’t—"

Madame ignored him completely and began arranging them with the efficiency of someone who had never once been refused.

She positioned Reid on Amelia’s right and Dean on her left, then firmly placed Amelia’s hands in theirs and guided the two younger brothers to lean in closer. Enzo was steered behind Amelia; Madame gently lifted his arms and settled them around her shoulders.

"Leave them there," she said in a sweet tone that still carried unmistakable warning. "All of you."

Amelia’s entire body felt overheated. Every point of contact burned with awareness. Their intoxicating scents wrapped around her, making it harder to breathe evenly. She was certain she might actually combust.

Madame gestured to the nearest servants. "Take several. Different angles." Then she fixed her sons with a calm, implacable look. "If the three of you refuse to smile, none of you are going anywhere today."

The brothers’ answering smiles were somehow even worse—stiff, strained, and deeply unconvincing. It was so tight it might as well have been a grimace.

Madame took one look at the three of them, let out a dry laugh, and just shook her head.

"Enzo looks like he’s posing for a funeral portrait. Reid’s smile could curdle milk. And Dean—dear, you look like someone just informed you the world is ending and you’re trying to be polite about the inconvenience."

Reid’s fingers twitched once against Amelia’s before he forced them still. "You know perfectly well we can’t just produce a smile out of thin air on command."

Madame waved a dismissive hand, and was not impressed.

"Fine. Then I’ll simply start recounting a few childhood stories. I’m sure the memories will make you all laugh—and then the smiles will arrive naturally."

A muscle jumped in Enzo’s cheek. As much as Amelia privately wanted to hear those stories, the combined heat and pressure of the three men around her was making her legs feel unsteady. Their scents layered over one another until she could barely think straight. She spoke up before Madame could continue.

"There will be plenty of other chances to take pictures with my partners. Moments when we’re not rushing out the door... when we can stand closer, hold each other with so much love. Today doesn’t have to be the only one."

Madame sharp eyes flicked between Amelia’s flushed face and the rigid postures of her sons. Finally she relented with a small nod.

"Very well. I’ll allow it—this time."

The relief that passed through the three brothers was almost visible. None of them would ever admit they were grateful to her for the intervention, but the quiet, unwanted gratitude settled in each of them all the same.

Madame walked with them to the waiting convoy of black vehicles. The four of them climbed into the lead car—Reid and Dean taking the seats on either side of Amelia, their thighs brushing hers, while Enzo settled directly opposite on the facing bench. Madame remained outside, lifting one hand in a calm farewell as the vehicles pulled away from the estate.

Inside the enclosed space, Amelia felt immediately suffocated. Their scents filled every breath. The lingering memory of their hands on her skin made her pulse skip.

She fixed her attention on her phone and scrolled without absorbing a single word, painfully aware that all three of them kept stealing glances at her whenever they thought she wasn’t looking.

The brothers were no more comfortable. The closeness sat under their skin in a way none of them wanted to examine.

After several long, heavy minutes Enzo finally spoke.

"Stop the car."

The driver obeyed at once. Once the vehicle had slowed to a halt on the empty stretch of road, Enzo didn’t look at any of them as he continued.

"We’re far enough from the estate. We’ll take separate cars for the rest of the journey."

Amelia understood immediately. They had only shared the vehicle because Madame had been watching. The realization left her with a strange, quiet mix of relief and something that felt uncomfortably like disappointment. She kept her eyes on her phone and said nothing.

The three men stepped out without further comment. Doors shut in quick succession as they dispersed to the other vehicles in the convoy. Within moments the line of cars began moving again.

Alone in his own car, Enzo leaned back against the seat and rubbed both hands hard over his eyes, as if he could physically scrape away the lingering image of Amelia’s cleavage in that dress—the soft shadow between her breasts, the way the fabric had shifted when she breathed. It had been enough to make him harden, and the reaction left a sharp, unwelcome edge of embarrassment in its wake.

He was simply sex-deprived.

That was all.

Nothing more.

He was not reacting this strongly just from the memory of her chest—from the sudden, intrusive want to suck, to fondle, to press his face between those soft curves and stay there. The thought alone was unacceptable.

What the hell am I thinking?

He tried to redirect his focus to anything else, but all attempts failed. The more he pushed the images away, the filthier they became: pinning Amelia against the leather seat of the vehicle, one hand in her hair, the other shoving that dress higher, the sound she might make if he—

Enzo abruptly lifted his hand and struck the side of his own head hard enough to sting.

The sharp flash of pain helped for exactly half a second.

His erection remained obvious, straining against his trousers with humiliating persistence. He tipped his head back against the seat and muttered under his breath with pure frustration.

"Amelia is fucking doing something to me."