Chapter 411: A Reason To Meet

"What if she saw the left overs, you would have stopped her."

"Immediately."

That earned a small amused breath from her. "You are rather protective."

Stan shrugged. "Well, she’s my sister."

"I know." Camilla looked down at the dish again.

After a moment, she took another portion.

Stan watched her with a smile, "You really did like it."

Camilla ignored the comment, instead, She tasted it slowly, her expression as composed as ever.

Stan smiled, knowing she was trying hard to not let him know that she liked kt

He watched as she took another bite.

"And yet you somehow managed to make something I would want again within a few hours."

This came as a surprise, but Camilla’s calm voice made it seem off...

"That’s a complaint or a compliment?" He asked

"No." She paused and added, "A criticism of your cooking would be more difficult to justify."

Stan laughed at her dry joke, "That’s an unusually generous review."

"Don’t become arrogant."

"Too late."

She gave him a sideways look, "You are already difficult enough."

"And you’re still eating."

Camilla looked down at what she was holding. Then back at him, "I haven’t finished evaluating it."

"You’ve been evaluating it since earlier."

"I am thorough."

Stan shook his head, amused, "Right."

Camilla calmly took another bite. For once, she didn’t bother defending herself.

The quiet that followed was comfortable.

Then Stan’s phone suddenly rang. Both of their attention shifted toward the sound.

Stan reached for it and glanced at the screen. His expression shifted.

[Amelia.]

Camilla noticed the shift.

"Another one?"

"Yeah." He answered then picked the call before saying softly to the caller at the other line

"Amelia?"

"Stan." A soft, sweet feminine voice came... There was a small unfamiliar quality in her voice. Not composed. Not controlled. Something quieter and more careful than either, the small nervousness of a woman who had, apparently, been rehearsing the opening line for longer than she wanted to admit.

He noticed it.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." A tiny pause echoes before her soft voice continued, "I just, wanted to ask you something."

He waited and then heard her say, "I’ve just arrived in Inksea."

Stan’s eyebrows rose. "You’re in Inksea?"

It came as a surprise cause he knew she was abroad...

"Yes." She replied...

He was, honestly, surprised. He had told her he was back only yesterday. Which meant that Amelia Don, a woman who owned significant shares in a significant film studio, who ordinarily moved with the small careful choreography of a person whose calendar was scheduled three weeks out, had, within roughly twenty-four hours of learning he had returned to Inksea, dropped whatever she had been doing on the mainland, boarded a flight, and physically transported herself to a coastal island several thousand miles from her ordinary life.

She had not waited. Not for a decent interval. Not for a plausible pretext. Not even, apparently, for the small dignity of pretending she had a reason to be in the area anyway.

Something warm settled quietly in his chest.

"I didn’t know if you’d be busy today," she continued, careful. "So I wasn’t sure whether it would be possible to meet you."

He was about to answer. She did not let him, fearing that he might cancel her out...

"I wanted to discuss something important." Her tone changed, steadier now, deliberately. "It concerns the Vanguard’s investigation."

Stan’s expression sharpened. "About Streak?"

"Yes." A small pause. "There have been developments regarding the people impersonating you and using the Streak identity. I would rather discuss it face-to-face than over the phone."

He heard it, then. Underneath the businesslike delivery. The small tight quality of a woman who had, in the split second between her question and his answer, hurried to give him a reason to say yes, because she had been afraid, in that same split second, that without one he might say no.

She had traveled here to see him.

And she had been afraid to say so.

Something in his chest turned over, quietly and without permission.

He softened his voice.

"Of course I’ll meet you."

There was a very small silence on the other end.

Then Amelia exhaled, the small released breath of a person who had been, for the last thirty seconds, unconsciously holding one.

"...Really?"

"Yeah. You came all the way to Inksea. It would be rude not to see you."

Her voice became noticeably lighter.

"Thank you."

"Send me the location."

"I will."

A pause.

"Amelia."

"Yes?"

"You didn’t have to worry about whether I’d meet you."

A quiet moment.

"...I know." Her voice was quieter now. "But I still worried."

Stan smiled faintly. "I’ll see you soon then."

"Okay."

The line clicked off.

He lowered the phone.

Camilla was looking at him with the small unhurried attention.

She was listening but had been pretending not to listen to.

"Another one who has come looking for you."

"Apparently."

"She traveled a long way because you told her you were back."

"You caught that too?"

"It was obvious."

Stan didn’t answer. But the small warmth had not left his chest, and he suspected, from the small trace of amusement in Camilla’s red eyes, that it was also not entirely invisible on his face.

"You don’t seem pleased."

"Is she another one of your harem?" She asked stiffly...

"Soon to be..." Stan replied casually...

Camilla said nothing further.

...

[Meanwhile, the Grand Aurelia Hotel, ninth floor.]

Amelia stood in the middle of the suite, phone still resting against her chest, staring at nothing in particular.

For several seconds, she did not move. Then, slowly, her lips pressed together.

Her eyes closed. A smile spread across her face, small and involuntary and entirely unlike the composed one she wore in boardrooms.

He had said yes. He was actually going to meet her.

Her heart, which had been running at an elevated rate since the moment she’d tapped his name, escalated by another small notch.

’I’m going to see Stan.’

She had been thinking about this moment since the flight had boarded. She had imagined it in the small idle way one imagined pleasant things during long transits, what he would say, how he would look at her, whether he would smile, whether he would notice that she had come immediately, whether that noticing would show on his face.

A small blush crept up her cheeks. ’I probably look ridiculous.’

She tried to compose herself. It did not work. Her thoughts betrayed her instantly.

’Maybe he’ll be happy to see me. Maybe he’ll ask why I came so quickly. What should I say if he does.’