October 13th, 1986 / Osaka, Japan

By the end of the week Amelia had mostly settled in to her job as Jon's assistant. She was presented with easy enough tasks, the scheduling business hardly took any time at all, and the occasional coffee was no hassle. It made her wonder what she was really being paid ten dollars for.

That morning, Jon had attended an hour long interview which he'd later declared was a waste of time, half of it being spent sat in silence as people translated his words right in front of him. From that interview he'd gone straight to soundcheck, finding Amelia backstage. She'd been there all day spending time with the crew and watching them work their magic. She'd watched the riggers, electricians, light and sound engineers, pyro-technicians and ground men all set up the stage. It was an amount of work she couldn't have previously fathomed.

They had rocked Osaka that night, and it had been Amelia's favorite night of the week. They gave Japan a real sweet send-off.

She handed Jon a fluffy blue towel as he came off stage sweating like a pig. "Thank's darlin'," he said absently before joining the rest of his band and crew in their post concert rituals.

Jon called everybody darling. To him, all women were either darlings, sweethearts or dolls, but Amelia couldn't deny that the endearment had awoken something years dormant.

She promptly shook herself out of it.

Of all of them, Jon looked to be the most exhausted. Even as he jumped around on the balls of his feet, boxed the air and yelled like an ape, it was clear that he would soon crash. Amelia felt bad for him; the tour was set to stretch well into the next year. It'd been a week and already he seemed burned.

They'd be worked to the bone by the end of it. Amelia had an inkling that the hardships the band faced on their first two tours would pale in comparison to this tour now that they'd made it big, as backwards as that seemed. She hoped dearly she was wrong.

The five men all left for the showers together, Amelia being left alone. She made her way through the halls of backstage, smiling at some of the crewers she'd briefly met that morning. She'd quickly grown fond of Steve, the rigger who ensured that Jon didn't fall and die during his little flying stunt. Rich too, the tour manager who seemed particularly close to Jon and Richie. Then there were Mark, Mick and Steve, some of the lights men.

She hoped she'd soon get to know other members of the thirty or forty people crew.

Upon entering the band's dressing room, Amelia was surprised to find another woman sitting in the corner, sewing. Her hair was braided into a long brunette fishtail, and she wore colorful patchwork overalls. Amelia looked at her strangely before it hit her. She must've been Spankie, Jon's wardrobe manager.

"Oh, hello," the woman said upon spotting her. Her voice was well-rounded and cheerful, Amelia thought it contrasted her own often more bleak tone.

"Hello," she responded. "Are you Spankie?"

The woman jumped up and put down the jacket which she was sewing. "Let me guess, you must be Amelia."

Amelia smiled and took the hand that Spankie had offered her. "Yes, Jon told me about you. You're the wardrobe manager, and the only other woman in this place it seems."

"He's told me about you as well," she smiled, surprising Amelia. "And don't I know it! This place could use a few more women."

"Agreed," Amelia chuckled. "It's nice to meet you, Jon had promised to introduce us though it seems he forgot."

"Well, I hardly need an introduction to Miss Amelia Sambora. You're practically a famed woman in these quarters, Richie's always gushing over you."

"He is?" Amelia blinked with surprise.

"Oh, always. We all know about your degree in English Literature."

"Oh," she blushed. As endearing as it was to have him gush over her, it was equally embarrassing.

"And you come highly recommended by Jon and David too," she added. "Jon was really excited to take you on as an assistant."

"He was?"

"Yep. Your reputation precedes you around here, and from what I hear from other crewers you don't disappoint."

"How odd." Amelia chuckled slightly. She'd had no idea she was somewhat of a celebrity amongst the crew; she also found it most peculiar. Had Richie really talked about her that much? "Although I'm afraid I won't live up to Richie's compliments. I'm not much of an outgoing person these days."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that," Spankie shrugged. "Most of the crew are extroverts, it'll be nice to have some quieter people around for a change, it can get a little too loud around here sometimes."

"I bet. It's all that testosterone."

Spankie chuckled, and Amelia noted that she had a lovely white smile. "You might be right. Anyway, what are you doing back here?"

"Uhh, well I was going to make Jon a drink, I guess. Do you know what he likes to drink after the show?"

Spankie took a seat again and went back to her sewing. "Well, he drinks a lot of beer but if I'm honest I think it's because he can't be bothered to make anything else, he gets tired after the shows."

"So, coffee?" She asked.

"Oh no, he won't want that," she shook her head vehemently. "He wants to wind down after the show, not get another shot of adrenaline."

"Alright. Soda? Hot chocolate?"

"Hot chocolate probably. I think he enjoys those."

Amelia set to work on making him a hot chocolate. "So what's your job as wardrobe manager like? It's not an occupation I'm familiar with."

"Richie said you were fancy," Spankie snickered, taking a sip of water. "I like the way you talk. It's all.. well I don't have any doubts that you took your degree in England and came out with an A*."

"Richie really told you that, huh," she muttered to herself with a smile. She supposed she should've found it sweet how proud of her he was.

From times past, Amelia remembered that Jon liked his hot chocolate extra chocolatey to the point where you were in danger of exceeding caloric intake. She poured a liberal amount of coco power in.

"Absolutely. You must be pretty smart to have done so well over there. Too smart to be working with us, that's for sure."

"I doubt that," she chuckled. "I was watching Steve do the riggings today, I couldn't possibly fathom it. And all the sound stuff, the light work, it's all so complicated to me. I could never do anything like that, and I most certainly can't sew the way that you do."

Spankie smiled at the compliment, beholding the tasseled jacket that she was sewing proudly. "We're good at what we do," she shrugged.

"And what do you do? Besides sew, of course."

"Lots of little things," she smiled. "I coordinate all those outfits for them."

"So you're the culprit?" Amelia joked.

"Not necessarily. There are plenty of outfits the band have gone out in that I've implored them not to wear, trouble with those men is they don't listen, they don't know what's good for them. I just try to do the best with what I'm given."

"Do you sew any of the outfits yourself?" Amelia asked, looking at the jacket.

"I don't usually make full outfits, I'm no fashion designer but you bet I can sew. I'm putting some tassels on this plain jacket for Jonny. I'll probably put some other details on it later, too."

"It looks lovely," Amelia complimented. "You're very talented."

"Well thank you," Spankie smiled. "That's probably the best part of the job, just getting to do what I love, sewing. The rest of it isn't so glamorous."

"How so?"

"Well, being the wardrobe girl I gotta do all the nasty shit that none of the men wanna do. I have to be there right as Jon comes off stage for his wardrobe changes, then I've gotta use all my strength to get those sweaty, stinky skin-tight leather pants off him. Rich, our tour manager told me the reason I was hired in the first place was because he was being forced to do it! He said he wasn't being paid to go eye to eye with Jon's love-muscle every night."

Amelia, frankly, was gobsmacked. "You have to do that?" She sputtered.

"Well, yeah," Spankie said as if it were obvious. It was not obvious to Amelia, she was astonished. "He can't get those pants off quickly enough on his own, especially not while holding the microphone. In fact, it's difficult even with my help. I often have to lean against a chair or something so I can use all my strength. They really stick to the skin with the sweat, sometimes the thought of them make me feel claustrophobic."

Suddenly those leather pants Amelia had somewhat admired previously seemed far less sexy. She couldn't believe he had to have women come and help him take them off each night.

"I say it's not glamorous, but I'm sure there are plenty of women that'd kill to come face to face with my boss's naked junk every night," Spankie pondered mainly to herself. "Anywho, I'm sure he'd kill me if he knew I was telling you any of this."

"Don't worry, I won't mention it," Amelia muttered. She hoped she'd forget the knowledge.

Although, she had to laugh at the thought of a man doing it in the previous years. She couldn't imagine Jon standing there pants-less with a man staring eye-to-eye with his junk, she was sure he'd be mortified! He must really have been desperate back then.

She couldn't quite look at him the same as he returned, she felt like she had some forbidden or otherwise carnal knowledge of him.

"Mm, thank you," Jon murmured as she handed him his hot chocolate. He took a seat in the chair furthest away from everybody, facing away from all the commotion. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and exhaled a deep, tired sigh. He allowed his eyes to rest.

"Man, my synth solo rocked," David said, drawing Amelia's attention away from Jon. He was right, 'Pink Flamingos', as they'd called it, was a brilliant start to the night. With all his classical training and background, David was a real rockstar.

"Where's my hot chocolate?" Richie whined, first directing his question to Jon and then Amelia.

"Jon pays me to make him them," Amelia retorted, sticking her tongue out at Richie in pure, immature sibling rivalry.

"What, to make him hot chocolate? I have a hard time believing that's in your job description."

He was right, really. Amelia didn't think it common for personal assistants to actually fetch drinks for their bosses. She only did it because, well, the workload had been miniscule so far. She wanted to at least do something to warrant a paycheck, she was worried enough about it as it was.

Jon looked entirely too tired to be dealing with the Sambora's antics. He merely sent a friendly smile Amelia's way; a thank you for his drink.

"For future reference, he prefers beer after a show anyway," Richie said gloatingly.

"Actually I'm very fond of hot chocolate after shows. It's just I can never be bothered to make 'em," Jon corrected.

"What if I gave you ten bucks?" Richie began. "Would you fetch me a beer?"

"No chance. I'm not a servant."

"Asshole, you'd do it for Jon but not your own brother?"

"Jon and I have a contract," Amelia said, albeit a handwritten and likely not-legally-binding contract.

Beside her Jon watched with a glint of entertainment in his eyes. "Did you meet Spank?" He asked, changing the subject entirely.

"Yeah," Spankie answered for her, standing up. "She makes me wonder what went wrong with Richie. She seems to have an air of intelligence about her."

"She might be able to read books but she's no guitar prodigy, right Millie?" Richie winked at her.

"You flatter yourself too much," she replied. "Spankie and I were just discussing some of your infamous outfits," Amelia announced, turning back to Jon.

"Particularly the process of getting them on and off, especially the pants," Spankie supplied somewhat teasingly. Jon seemed too tired to even blush, or perhaps he just didn't care. Amelia leaned toward the latter possibility.

"Dreaded things. They need to invent somethin' that makes it easier to get them on or off, pant lube or something."

Amelia sighed. He really hadn't changed.

"Speaking of clothes, do you like this?" Spankie directed toward Jon more quietly. She showed him her progress on his jacket, his eyes surveyed with intrigue.

"You know I love everything you do, Spankie," he smiled softly. "It looks great, when will it be done?"

"Next week I hope. I've gotta do the other side and I've gotta fix all those pants you've given me."

"Cool. I'll look forward to it."

Spankie sat back down and continued her sewing. Behind Amelia there seemed to be a slight commotion involving Richie, Tico, David and Alec, all of whom now seemed to be drinking alcohol and celebrating the success of the show. Jon, as Richie had once described him, was the loner.

He sat, alone, in complete silence turned away from the rest of the group. He turned to look at Amelia, his eyes speaking nothing but exhaustion as he gestured for her to sit by him. "This is very good hot chocolate," he complimented. "I've always loved the extra chocolatey ones."

"I know," she mumbled, glancing around. "I debated on whether you'd want soda, beer, coffee or hot chocolate."

"Not coffee," his eyes widened. Spankie was right. "Sometimes I enjoy a good beer after a show, but I usually like to wind down with a warm drink. I usually leave soda for before the show, gets me pumped."

"Well, I'll stick to the hot chocolate then," she nodded.

Amelia wanted to talk more with Spankie, hoping to establish a real friendship that they could move forward with. She drew up a chair next to her and disengaged with the rest of the room's antics.

"Do you sew at all?" Spankie asked her.

"No, not since I was a child. My mother used to try and teach me crochet and sewing but I was never any good."

"Well neither was I, as a kid. Maybe I'll have to show you sometime, it can be handy in all kinds of situations. I always love spicing up my store-bought outfits."

"I'd like that," Amelia smiled.

It was the last night in Japan and all the band were drained. Everybody was silent on the ride back to the hotel, Amelia had noted Tico and Richie had nodded off.

Jon summoned her to his hotel room and she wondered anxiously what he wanted. She felt sympathy, the man looked absolutely exhausted, too exhausted to be talking with her and yet there she was. She'd never seen such prominent circles beneath his eyes, not even when he'd had three hours sleep after a gig at the bar.

"Is everything alright?" She asked.

It took a moment for the question to process in Jon's sleepy state. "Yeah, just wanted to give you your paycheck," he said, staving off a yawn.

He reached into his bag for a white envelope, handing it to her.

Amelia, too excited to consider her unprofessionalism, dug her fingers straight into the envelope. Jon watched with a smile.

Her excitement soon plummeted. "There's too much," she frowned, sifting through the maybe five hundred dollars there. She didn't know what to do, it was impossible for him to have miscalculated so spectacularly. He was never good at math, but no.

Jon laughed, causing Amelia to scowl. She didn't understand how he could find such a situation at all funny, to hand her maybe five hundred dollars, more money that she'd ever seen in her life in cash, more money than she could dream of earning, almost as if he'd done it on purpose just to see her reaction.

It was cruel. It could not have been a mistake, though she dearly hoped it was.

She handed him the envelope with a stale expression. "You've miscounted."

"Let's see," he chuckled. He took out the slip of paper from the envelope, a hand written account of the work she'd done that week. "In total you did about fourteen hours of work over the week, meaning-"

"One hundred and forty dollars," she said demandingly.

He merely smiled. "I'm not paying you ten dollars an hour, Amelia. I'm paying you your thirty five. I thought you'd have figured that out."

"What?" For a split second she went light headed.

"It's about what the rest of the crew earns," he shrugged. "I wouldn't do any less for your salary."

She was almost angry. "The rest of your crew are rigging harnesses and building catwalks," she sputtered. "Have you gone nuts? I bring you hot chocolates and towels."

She felt bad for having a go at him when he was so clearly tired, but she felt that she had to. She needed to talk some sense into him, he couldn't pay her that much, it was a complete waste of his money. Their deal was ten dollars.

Jon shook his head. "Oh, Amelia. You're the only person I know that'd turn down thirty five bucks an hour for the sake of their pride."

He'd said it so lovingly, as if she was just this funny little oddity.

"You're nuts!" She said again. "Delusional. How much money do you really have? Have you lost your mind in it all? What I've been doing hardly qualifies as a personal assistant, hardly qualifies as anything! Why are you paying me at all?"

Jon hadn't expected her outburst, although in retrospect he thought himself silly for not having done. He was too tired for it, too fed up.

He lay down on the bed with a hand beneath his hair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Well, you're my employee so I pay you. That's kinda the basis for our relationship," he muttered grimly. "As for the thirty five, like I said it's our standard rate. I know that it's a lot but we can afford that now, some members of the crew earn more but most earn thirty five."

His calmness made Amelia's hairs stand on end.

"Then why did you tell me I was going to be earning ten dollars?"

"Why do you think? You're smart, Amelia, I wanted to make sure you really wanted the job," he emphasized. "I didn't want you to come on tour just for the salary, I wanted you to come because you wanted to."

"Well I don't want your thirty five," she insisted. "I haven't earned it. And you say that you have money now but if you spend it so frivolously it'll soon be gone."

She placed the envelope back on the bed.

"Goodnight Jon."

Just as she'd almost left the room, Jon called back to her.

"You're a pain in the ass, Amelia." He turned over in his bed. She went back into defense mode, ready to spit back her own insult like a viper spitting venom. "You always were."

She stopped in her tracks, heart panging against its will. She hesitated, only for no words to come out.

She closed the door behind her and stalked off to her own hotel room, thinking angrily about all the things she could've said back to him. She found it hard to sleep that night with thoughts of the miniature argument and Jon's allusion to the past, along with thoughts of Europe and all that it might bring.

She awoke early the next morning and packed, dressing in a black skirt and her new leather jacket.

Knock knock

"Yes?" Amelia called. She assumed maybe it was just some member of the crew there to tell her they were leaving shortly. Instead she was met with an angry visitor, her own brother.

"What's the matter?" She frowned. It was rare Amelia saw her brother in such a state, his brows furrowed and jaw clenched tight.

Richie took a deep, labored breath and closed his eyes. Amelia approached him, now filled with worry.

"What?" She asked. "What is it? Is everything alright?"

Her brother's eyes opened and Amelia found a deep flame within them. Anger, anger that Amelia wasn't accustomed to seeing directed towards her.

He dug into his pocket and retrieved a white envelope, thrusted it angrily to Amelia's chest.

"Jon tells me you two had a little tiff last night," he muttered, closing the door behind him. He folded his arms across his chest and looked to her for an answer as if she was a small child under chastisement.

"Tiff? It was nothing of the sort, just a minor disagreement on my wage."

Usually when there was a quarrel over wages it was due to being underpaid, rarely if ever the opposite.

"Oh yeah, I heard," Richie said, glaring at her. Amelia hated the look, it was a glare of disappointment, not anger. Nobody ever wanted to disappoint their elder siblings. "And during this disagreement you stormed off like a kid? Left without your pay? Told him to lower your wage?"

He sounded like her father when chastising her for misbehaving or being a brat as a child. It was only emphasized by how small she felt, at five foot four inches her six foot brother towered over her.

"You don't understand, it was ridiculous Richard, he tried to pay me thirty five dollars an hour. He shoved five hundred bucks in my face and tried to tell me what I'd done this week was worth that extortionate amount of money."

"That's the average wage for our workers. Hell, you're probably on the lower end of it being new here. Get your head out of your ass and stop being so stubborn. Jon's a good employer and he's my good friend, don't make his life harder than it has to be. Stop bein' an asshole."

Amelia tried to speak but Richie wouldn't allow it. "My god Amelia I love you to pieces, probably more than I love anythin' else! But you can be a real piece of work. Trouble with you is you don't know a good thing when you see it, now take your five hundred bucks, get your ass into gear and apologize to Jon. And get ready, we're leavin'."

Amelia didn't have time to explode on him, for Richie had already left and slammed the door behind him. She was left in an eternal state of shock, mouth gaping as she tried to process all that Richie had just said to her.

Stubborn? Prideful? An asshole? Well, she knew at least the first two were true, but she hadn't seen her actions as overly asshole-ish. She still agreed with her assessment that thirty five was too much.

And who was Richie to tell her to apologize to Jon? He wasn't her father and she wasn't a child. Had Jon put him up to that? She couldn't bear the thought, it was too embarrassing.

She spent the hour before their departure brooding. She tried to admire Japan from her window for the last time; it calmed her.

The coach ride was quiet. Many people had fallen asleep including Spankie whom she'd been sat next to. A few seats in front of her Jon sat alone and stared out of the window. She had calmed down in the last hour or so and had come to see that on many points Richie was correct, though she cursed the way he'd put it.

She went and sat herself next to Jon, startling him. "Amelia?" He breathed, sitting up straighter. "What's wrong?"

She was surprised to find no traces of animosity in him. Last night he'd been fed up, truly, but perhaps that was mostly because he was tired.

He didn't seem to be expecting an apology, perhaps he hadn't asked Richie to talk to her, maybe that was on her brother's own accord.

"Nothing's wrong," she said softly. Richie was at the back of the coach, she didn't have to worry about him overhearing. "I just wanted to apologize for last night."

Jon's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Really?"

She looked at him flatly. "I am capable of apologizing, you know."

He laughed a little. "No, I'm just surprised is all. Did you get your paycheck? Richie said he'd give it to you."

"Yeah, he did," she sighed. "He also told me I need to stop being an asshole, which I've come to realize to be true."

"You weren't an asshole," Jon tried graciously. "I was just tired, I didn't have the energy to deal with a dispute last night, I'm sorry I snapped."

Amelia was bewildered. Somehow, in her apologizing to him he had ended up apologizing to her. She didn't understand it, it was obvious to her that Jon had done nothing wrong in snapping at her.

Her and Jon were fundamentally different like that. Amelia would actively hold back from apologizing even knowing she was being difficult, whereas Jon, no matter whether he was at fault or not, would apologize just to make things easier.

She didn't know whether that was respectable or not, in times past she wished he'd had more of a backbone, wished he'd stood his ground more when he knew he was right. Like for instance now, he had no business in apologizing to her. This was Amelia's apology.

"It was warranted," she admitted grimly. "You were being gracious as ever and I was being difficult. Forgive me, I'm new to this whole world, I'm not used to such crazy amounts of money, I'm sorry that I accused you of being frivolous and delusional, I should've just said thank you and moved on."

Jon seemed in awe of her apology. Knowing her he knew it must've been difficult, she never liked to be in the wrong, and yet she'd put all her words so eloquently and so kindly to him.

"It's alright," he assured. "Thank you for your apology, I wasn't expecting it."

She blushed a little. "Well, you can thank Richie for talking some sense into me, even if he didn't put it too kindly."

Concern flashed through Jon's eyes. Eyes which Amelia found to be most beautiful and expressive. "He didn't yell at you, did he?"

"No, not yell. You don't ever want to hear my brother yell. He just put it rather harshly is all. I probably needed it like that to tell you the truth."

"Well, at least he didn't shout," Jon said. "It'd be silly to yell over such a thing."

Amelia shrugged. He didn't really need to raise his voice, Richie could convey all his anger and disappointment through his facial expressions alone.

"Will you stay with me?" Jon asked. "I'm a little lonely over here. I've got a pack of cards on me."

He dug them out of his pocket and began to shuffle, looking hopefully to Amelia for an answer.

"Sure," she smiled a little. "I don't have much better to do."

The pair played various card games until they arrived at their jet. As she had done on the first trip, Amelia sat alone and nodded off for a little while.

The first stop was France. Paris, France. The city of love as they say. Amelia would definitely be sneaking off for some sightseeing around there, she hoped maybe Spankie might join her.

She settled into her hotel quickly, and soon after there was a knock on her door.

"Come in!"

Her brother slowly peeked his head around the door. The pair hadn't spoken since that morning and tensions between them had been high on the plane.

"You alright?" Richie asked softly, taking a seat on her bed.

"Fine," she mumbled, turning her gaze to the window. Richie tapped his knee awkwardly, he wasn't good with conversation; never quite knew the right words.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said hoarsely. He placed a hand on his sister's knee. "I was being an asshole, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

Amelia hadn't expected the apology at all, and much like Jon's she didn't think it was warranted.

"I deserved it," she said, blushing slightly. Amelia was a terrible blusher, she blushed at everything. "I was being stubborn."

"Well yeah but what's new?" Richie chuckled, earning himself a glare. "You've always been stubborn, you were born that way."

"Well you were too. At least I admit I'm stubborn, you're too stubborn even for that," Amelia smiled.

"Guess I can be a little stubborn," Richie conceded. "But not like you!"

"Sure," she rolled her eyes.

"Anyways, I uh, didn't really take into account how new this whole world is to you. I forget you've just been in England."

Amelia shrugged. "Yeah, well I was still being an asshole. I apologized to Jon."

"Yeah, he said," Richie nodded. "Thank you for that. He's a good guy, he'll take care of you. We don't have to struggle anymore, Mills, we've got money now."

"Yes, I'm not used to that. I like knowing that I've earned my keep, the work I've done this week doesn't at all equate to five hundred dollars, that number is just alien to me. I'm still figuring it out."

He patted her knee. "You'll get there. Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. I'm sorry. I don't like being annoyed at you, and I realize you're not as young as I remember you being, I don't really have a right to tell you off any more."

Amelia smirked. "I'm sure that won't stop you."

"Well, I am your older brother," he smiled. "Anyways, will you forgive me?"

Amelia shook her head. "There's nothing to forgive."

Richie shook his head. He'd gotten himself into a real funk throughout the day, if she didn't directly accept his apology he was sure he wouldn't sleep that night. "I felt terrible as soon as I shut the door on you. Say you forgive me," he practically pleaded with her.

"You're my brother, Richie. I'll always forgive you."

He seemed to relax a great deal. "A'right. Thank you, I just needed to hear that." He opened his arms, patting the space next to him. "Can I get a hug? It's been a while."

Besides a brief hug after getting off the plane from England and another hectic and sweaty hug after coming off stage in Giants Stadium, Amelia hadn't actually hugged her brother in many years.

He was different to how she remembered him. More laid back, he was protective over her but not authoritative. He seemed desperate to rebuild a close relationship with her; their small dispute that morning had set his teeth on edge. He was glad to not have had a show that day for he was sure he wouldn't have been able to play properly.

Amelia shuffled into his arms and relished in the strong and comforting embrace of her older brother. It was an embrace that she'd craved from him for a long time and hadn't experienced since she was maybe sixteen. Any time she'd hugged him after that was merely obligatory, he'd driven her so far away in his quest to hunt down her mysterious boyfriend.

She hoped now that they could start anew. After all, she did love him dearly despite his faults.

"I love you Mills," Richie said, his throat constricted with a strange emotion. "I really do." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I was wondering if you wanted to come sight seeing with me. Just us, thought we could look around some Parisian stores, maybe visit the tower?"

"Yeah, I'd like that a lot," she nodded. She gave him a big kiss on the cheek just like she used to when they were little. "Just let me get changed out of these clothes."

"Alright, I'll meet you outside."

He ruffled her hair teasingly before standing, leaving and closing the door behind him.

Amelia felt one step closer to repairing the damaged relationship between her and her Richue. She looked out of the window, excited by the prospect of wandering around the town and catching up with her elder brother.

---

New chapter :)

I wanted to establish a friendship between Spankie and Amelia, makes it easier and more interesting to write if the main character has more people to talk to than just Jon and Richie.

Next chapter or the chapter afterwards might be a flashback, who knows. I'm hoping to keep up these quick-ish updates although I'm going back to school soon so it'll be difficult.

Comment what you thought about the chapter 😁