March 31st 1987 / Rumson New Jersey

Amelia had been panicking all day. From the moment she wakened she wondered what she'd wear, how she'd do her makeup, what they'd talk about on this all-important date, how she'd successfully sneak away from her parents house without arousing suspicion.

Dates were supposed to be exciting, not terrifying.

Thankfully, Spankie had come over to help her pick her outfit sometime around noon, because you could never prepare too early. Spankie obviously knew how to dress far better than Amelia, she set her up with all sorts of accessories

As for sneaking away, Spankie had also made that much easier. The two girls departed around five o'clock, a whole two hours before Amelia had been scheduled to meet Jon for the date. She figured she'd get ready over at his place, her parents would be suspicious if she left the house all dolled up and she couldn't be bothered to deal with Richie's interrogations. This was supposed to be a good, stress-free day.

"Holy shit," Spankie whistled, pulling her car into Jon's driveway. "The boss has got himself a fortress over here."

"It's pretty magnificent, isn't it."

On the outside the house looked almost foreboding due to the sheer size of it. Beautiful! But anxiety inducing.

"Just think, you and all your spawn could be living there someday."

"Shut up Spankie."

"What! It's a nice house. Keep that on mind during the date."

Amelia slapped the girls arm playfully. "You're ridiculous."

Spankie shook off the accusation easily.

"Anywho. You nervous?"

"Pfft. Shitting myself in the hypothetical sense."

"You'll be fine," Spankie patted her arm harshly, more like a smack. "He's not that scary."

"It's having to face the past that I'm worried about. I'm under no notion that tonight is going to be easy."

"Yeah. Make sure you make him talk. Make sure you ask why he never called. Grill him if you have to, might as well get it all out of the way tonight."

Amelia had forgotten about that. She really did have so much to ask him, and she was sure he had doubly as much to ask her though half the balls to actually say it.

Amelia looked down at her overnight bag with a sigh. Maybe she was a little early, she wasn't quite ready to go in yet.

Spankie tucked a wavy strand behind Amelia's ear. "Did you bring your curling iron?"

She nodded.

"You're gonna look so beautiful. He's gonna love you. Make sure that you're confident, don't second guess yourself."

Amelia looked up at Spankie, then leaned over in a sisterly hug. "God, I love having girl-friends. You're the best, Spankie."

"Oh, shush you sweetheart. Now you're stalling. Go on, off you go."

Amelia hesitated. "What if you come with me? You can help me get ready."

"You don't need to be nervous, Mills. He loved you before and he's gonna love you now, just be yourself."

That was the best advice she could've asked for. She still felt nervous as she rang the doorbell, especially considering how early she was.

It took him a minute or so to answer to door. Amelia wondered how long it must take to really traverse in a house so large.

"Amelia," he exclaimed in surprise. With one hand he held a towel and razor, half of his face covered in shaving foam. "You're... early."

"Sorry," she dipped her chin. "I thought I might get ready over here, if that's alright."

"Of course," he shuffled to the side to allow her in and waved goodbye to Spankie.

Amelia got a good view of his butt as he walked ahead. She wondered bashfully if he got his jeans personally tailored to fit his goods, they were always particularly snug. When he stopped walking she found him staring at her, the edge of his mouth curled upward.

"Even after all these years, your eyes are still glued to my ass."

She sent him a metaphorical hiss. "You flatter yourself. My eyes were merely downcast."

"Downcast, huh." She traced his gaze to her breasts, saw his tongue dart across his bottom lip ever so subtly. Then, airily he muttered, "I like that."

He went forth with the pleasantries, offering food and drink while enquiring about her day. Afterward, he led her upstairs to the master bathroom while he returned to his ensuite.

The master bathroom was larger than Amelia's bedroom by perhaps half the surface area, and she'd grown up well-off. The flooring was marble, the bathtub was marble, hell the damn sink was marble. There was a large window too, overlooking the vast area of abandoned land and greenery, it took significant arm power to draw the hefty gray curtains to a close.

She stood before the mirror and began to strip. She felt almost uncomfortable stripping in a place so unfamiliar, even if there wasn't an ounce of logic to it. She found herself doing it fast and trying to cover herself, half expecting Jon to burst in at any moment. He was a pervert.

She wrapped one of Jon's spare towels around her bare body before laying her outfit over the bathtub to iron it out.

"Makeup," she muttered to herself. "Shit."

She should've made Spankie do her makeup, Amelia was no great artist. At least she had plenty of time.

She applied minimal foundation and ample eyeshadow. She wasn't an overly colorful being and so it felt weird applying a dark purple tint to her eyelids.

It took over an hour to finish her makeup and curl her hair, after which she was forced to concede that she did feel pretty. Now was the hard part, squeezing into a dress without ruining all the hard work she'd put in.

She managed. She gave a little twirl in Jon's full-length mirror. It made her butt look... shapely, something she wasn't used to. She'd never had much in that department. It also wasn't shy on the cleavage, typical Spankie.

She wondered if Jon was ready yet. What would he wear? Where was he taking her? To dinner presumably, but what type of food?

After pulling on her high heels she slipped out of the bathroom. She didn't see Jon when she peered into his bedroom, nor did his ensuite bathroom look occupied. She made her quiet way downstairs, sucking in her stomach with nerves.

She found Jon sitting on the couch. He hadn't spotted her yet but he looked just as nervous as she was. Usually he was a relaxed man, when watching the TV he'd lean back, perhaps man-spread a little. In that moment he was bolted upright, eyes glued to the MTV channel with his knee bounding up and down in a jittery mess.

"Amelia!" He jumped to his feet after spotting her. His throat bobbed, hand rushed to his hair in an attempt to neaten himself. "You okay? You look-"

He searched for a word, none suited or sounded right. Divine, heavenly, a seraphim in human disguise. Oh! If only they were acceptable words to use in social situations. Beautiful simply wouldn't cut it, it would be an unforgivable understatement.

Amelia's smile fell. "Look what?"

There was no look of admiration on his face, no, he looked petrified, frozen.

Jon stuttered a cry. "Beautiful," he said against his better judgment. "You look beautiful."

It seemed to be enough for Amelia. Her smile returned with renewed vigour. "I do?"

He released a small breath. "Yeah. Yeah you do." He leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. "That lipstick's not gonna come off on me, is it?"

Amelia giggled, an angelic noise as it were. Rare, too. "No, it's not." She took her thumb to demonstrate. "See? No smudge."

At the confirmation, he kissed her again. He didn't want to scare her off with a full blown kiss yet so he settled with a little peck. His eyes, of course, landed at her bosom. He salivated like a dog at a bone. She delighted in teasing him with those tight little dresses, he was sure of it.

"My eyes are up here, darling," she plucked up his chin.

"My eyes are merely downcast," he mimicked.

She gave him a little flick of reproval. He turned around and picked something up off the couch. It was a grand bouquet of all sorts of flowers, half of which she was sure she couldn't pronounce. "Got a little somethin' for you."

"Jon, it's beautiful," she sighed happily. "There's so many."

"Well, it helps when your mom's a florist," he shrugged. "I spent about an hour pickin' out all the best ones for you. I know you like purple."

Amelia just about swooned. The gentleman in him hadn't been entirely compromised by the rockstar he'd become.

"Well, I love them. I wish I could take them home with me but my parents would suspect something," she trailed off, disheartened. Way to ruin the mood, Amelia. "Keep them here and think of me when you look at them. Give my thanks to your mom, I miss her."

"She misses you too," Jon spoke softly. He took the flowers from her arms and put them on the coffee table.

"Well, aren't you going to give me a twirl?"

Amelia was glad her blush was hidden beneath her makeup. "Sure, if you'll do me up first." She tucked her hair to one side and turned around. Jon's presence crept up on her, his warm breath fanned her bare shoulders. A knuckle or two grazed along her spine as he pulled the zipper upward, then she felt a pair of lips plant themself on the back of her neck.

"Beautiful." His voice was like a cool mist.

She spun around to divert attention from her blush. The dress wasn't loose nor frilly but she hoped it still made a satisfying twirl.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're perfect," he responded imminently. "You always suited black."

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone suits black."

Jon himself was wearing a black tuxedo. His hair sported an abnormal amount of product even for him, he looked neat and tidy. It was almost unnerving.

"There's always something attractive about a man in all-black." Amelia brushed some fluff off his shoulders and beheld him.

"Oh, you think?" He stood up straighter, his usual smugness running rampant in his expression.

"Yes, though it helps when their tie isn't all squiffy."

Jon crinkled his nose. "Isn't what?"

She cursed. "Squiffy. It's a British word, means askew, wonky."

Jon snorted. "Squiffy? How do the Brits take themselves seriously?"

Amelia tried to hide her smirk as she rectified his wonky tie. "Only the posh ones do."

Jon tucked a loose curl behind Amelia:s ear. "You'll have to teach me some more British words you picked up sometime."

Amelia patted his cheek fondly. "I'd knacker you, darling."

Again, his nose scrunched. "What?"

"It means I'd tire you out. Besides, I can't bare to listen to your attempts at a British accent."

"What do you mean? It's a fine Chuesday evenin' lass!"

"Good God," Amelia prayed beneath her breath. "You really are awful, you know that? They don't sound like that at all."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, I'm the champ of impressions."

Amelia shook her head. Looking down to the ground she saw Jon's shiny Oxford shoes. He must've bought the suit specifically for tonight.

He lifted her face with his forefinger, thumb brushing just beneath her glossy red lips. "You're nervous," he stated softly.

She shivered at his touch. "I haven't been on a date in years."

"It's just dinner, sweetheart. You'll be alright."

She clutched her purse a little tighter. "I can be a messy eater sometimes," she admitted. "Some of the fancy foods can be hard to eat."

Jon started to laugh. "It's a private booth, 'Melia. No one has to see you dribble sauce down your chin."

"You might."

"I won't mind," he chuckled. His eyes were soft, devotion swimming at the glossy surface. "You'd be beautiful even with tomato all over your face."

Ironically she looked like a tomato in that moment. He held a hand out toward her. "Shall we get goin'?"

She nodded. Jon took her purse from her and led her down the hallway, through the porch and to the car.

"How much was your Corvette?" Amelia asked semi-jokingly. It was a magnificent vehicle, sleek, smooth. Amelia had never really understood the hype around fancy cars, she thought a lot of them looked like spaceships, but even she could admit that the Corvette was a beautiful automobile.

Jon gave her a wonky smirk as he opened the passenger door for her. She took a seat in the leather chair, waiting eagerly for his response. He shut the door and walked around the rather large bonnet.

"Fifteen thousand dollars," he responded as he sat down.

"What?" She screeched, jumping up in the seat. She regarded it with a whole new outlook, she didn't want to dirty it with her shoes or scratch it with her jewellery, it was worth a fortune.

Jon chuckled to himself, putting the keys in the ignition and revving it mightily.

With one hand he clutched the gear stick then stroked the steering wheel with the other. "Yeah. She's a beauty."

Amelia thought he was mad. Fifteen thousand dollars on a car was ludicrous, especially when he already had a perfectly adequate existing car.

"You're mad," she huffed, tugging at the seatbelt.

"What's the matter darlin', don't you like Phyllis?"

Amelia's brows furrowed. "Phyllis? What's that?"

Jon laughed again as he backed out of the drive. "Phyllis baby, that's her name."

"The car?" She gasped. "You named your car Phyllis?"

"That's right."

Amelia didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instead she scoffed. "That's a name you give to a horse or something."

"Manners darling, Phyllis can hear you."

Amelia folded her arms across her chest. "Maybe this date was a mistake." Buying a fifteen thousand dollar car? Naming it Phyllis? This was a mad man for certain.

"Oh stop complainin'," he laughed. "Come give me your hand."

He brought it to his lips and gave it a loud, smacking kiss. "Now, I hope you're hungry 'cause this place has it all."

Amelia smiled softly. It'd been a long time since she'd been on a date, she'd missed those butterflies in her stomach. She missed the feeling of having a crush on someone, that giddy sensation whenever they caught you staring or vice versa.

"Mm. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Breakfast? What time was that?"

"Nine?"

Jon took his eyes off the empty roads to briefly glance at her. "Nine? Why didn't you eat?"

Oh, that's right, she forgot how protective he could be. Downright authoritative sometimes.

"I was nervous," she mumbled, turning to look at the lamp-lit streets. "And busy picking out an outfit."

She could've sworn she heard a tut as he turned a corner. "You need to look after yourself."

"Jon, I don't need a father."

He gave her a pointed look, muttering a reluctant acknowledgement.

"Well, you're in for a three course meal, sweetheart."

Her stomach rumbled at the thought. The ride was fairly silent, Jon didn't speak much as he drove, Amelia didn't attempt conversation. She thought of nothing but him, though. She kept stealing glances at him, at his perfect Adonis side profile and his barely-tamed mane.

Why are men so hot when they drive? Is it the concentration? He's such a relaxed driver too, he rarely uses two hands.

"You see somethin' you like?" He teased.

"Shut up." There was no use in denying it. Besides, she loved the way he laughed at her abrupt response.

"The view's all yours, babe."

Babe. She hadn't heard that roll so casually from his tongue in years. It felt right.

She looked down at the hand in her lap. She'd always loved his hands. Warm, large enough to encase hers with ease, manly, calloused, gentle. And he always held her with such tenderness, firm but not overpowering.

"Thanks for taking me out," she whispered after a moment. Her face burned scarlet, she hadn't intended for her voice to come out so meek, nor for it to betray her with a crack.

She heard a small snirtle before he replied. "I should be the one thanking you. I've been beggin' you for another chance, apparently I badgered you enough to make you concede."

Amelia shook her head. "No. I was being a coward. You've been so good to me, the least you deserved was a chance."

"And I hope to prove to you that we're worth it, baby. We're a great team, we worked before and I don't see why we can't work now."

His hand squeezed hers tighter. All she could do was nod.

They sat in silence for the remainder of the drive. The restaurant they pulled up to was grand, the sort you'd see in movies. The red neon sign read Italia.

"It's an Italian establishment?"

Jon nodded. "I know it's your favorite."

The streets were bustling. Plenty of well-to-do folk wandering around in the late hours.

"What if somebody spots us together?" The thought suddenly crossed her mind. The press, the paparazzi, they were all over Jon these days. If photos got out then Richie and her parents would be the least of her concern, she'd have to deal with millions of murderous teenage fans.

"Don't worry about that. I've got us a secret entrance."

He took her hand and discreetly dragged her round the back of the building. There, after knocking on the back door, he was met with a young waitress preparing to greet him.

"Mr Bon Jovi!" She flaunted her pearly-whites. "Welcome. Come on in, your booth is ready."

The interior of the restaurant was bright. Green and red seemed to be the dominating colors, hints of yellow were used for embellishment.

"The boss had us on strict orders to do our very best for you and the special lady," the girl revealed as she lead them through.

Amelia had never seen a display like it. It was a small booth, two cushioned couch-seats on either side of a mahogany table. There was a velvet curtain for privacy, and the table was lit by two candles and one overhead chandelier. It was a fine display of wealth.

"It's lovely, dear. Thank you."

The woman seemed to blush at Jon's compliment. "I'll come back to take your order in a short while. Enjoy your stay."

Once the lady had disappeared, Amelia shuffled awkwardly into the gap between the table and chair. "This is nice."

"You like it?"

Jon took his jacket off once he was seated. Amelia's years of abstinence were catching up on her. Something about a man, a devilishly handsome man no less, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and paired with an even blacker tie... well, he was a sight to behold.

He unbuttoned the cuffs on each sleeve and flipped them upward, loosening his collar ever so slightly.

"I do," Amelia answered, and she wasn't talking about the booth anymore.

Unfortunately Jon was no fool. He was all too accustomed to seeing women drool over him, it was part of his job after all.

"You're cute, honey," he teased as he pulled out two menus and passed one to her. "What would you like?"

Amelia's eyes scanned the piece of card. Everything looked appetising to her in that moment.

"What are you getting?"

"Oh, same as I always get," he stated as if it were obvious. "Bruschetta, obviously. And the risotto."

"I might get that too. I trust your judgement." His family was Italian after all.

He snapped the menu shut. "Do you trust me to choose your wine?"

Amelia nodded.

"Good!" He smiled. "I got the perfect one. I'm sorta a wine connoisseur, you know?"

"Oh, I bet." Amelia placed her menu to the side. She was sitting awfully straight, eyes glued to Jon as if her life depended on it. She was acting more like she were on a business meeting than a date.

Jon took matters into his own hands. He leaned one elbow on the table, placed his chin in his palm and sighed with undeniable ease. "So," he smiled plainly. "We've got a lot to talk about. Where do you wanna start?"

Amelia spewed a barrage of stutters. "Perhaps we should wait until the food arrives for all of that."

It would at least give her something to occupy herself with when things grew inevitably awkward.

"Alright," Jon smiled. "Small talk then. How's your family?"

"They're.. good," Amelia hesitated. "I think Richie's looking to move out relatively soon. My parents aren't too pleased, or at least my mother isn't. I think she'd be quite happy to house us for all our lives."

"I know the feelin'," Jon chuckled. "Mother's, eh? No one loves us as much as they do."

Amelia gave a bittersweet twinge of the lip. "How's your family?" She repeated his question. "I haven't heard anything of them."

"They're doin' pretty good!" Jon replied jovially. "Mom's still a florist, Dad's still a hairdresser- though business is boomin' for him, Tony's still causin' trouble and Matty's still a sweet kid."

Amelia clutched her purse in her lap. She felt herself smile upon the news of their well-being. "Do you think Matthew remembers me? Last time I saw him he was only a boy."

"Of course he remembers you," the man scoffed. "He loved you to pieces. He asks about you all the time."

Amelia's eyes darted upward. "He does?"

"Yeah." Jon hesitated. "He asks when he's gonna see you again. He says you were always cooler than me n' Tone."

Amelia felt her face crumple at the bittersweet nature of his words. "What a sweet boy. I'll have to come over sometime, say hello to them all."

"I think that'd mean a lot to them, 'specially Mom and Matt."

Jon talked fondly of his brothers until the waitress returned to take their order. Afterward, Jon coaxed a little information about Amelia's university experience out of her, he even teased her about the fabeled 'Edward' she'd supposedly fancied.

"He sounds far too clean cut for you," Jon stated, allowing his bias to seep through his words. "I know you always loved a rebel, baby. Every strict catholic girl does."

Amelia felt herself laugh. "You think you know everything about women, don't you Jon?"

"I know that relationships between twenty two year olds and thirty seven year olds usually go pear-shaped pretty early on," he snickered. "And I know you, Mills, you'd never go for someone that much older than you."

"You sound like you could be jealous," she teased playfully. Jon sent her a piercing look over his wine glass.

"I don't get jealous."

"Oh, and here I thought you were an honest man," she sharpened her gaze.

His nose crinkled in faux-denial. "I'd never be jealous of an Englishman."

"If you must know then yes, he was attractive. But I'd be hard pressed to find somebody to compete with you."

Had she really said that aloud? Oh goodness. Her cheeks burned again. At least the booth was red, she could blame it on the reflection.

A smug grin bloomed on his features. Oh, why had she even bothered to feed his already burgeoning ego?

"He didn't look like Brad Pitt then?"

Amelia's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "No. What?"

"Nevermind," he smiled.

Who was to say that even Brad Pitt could compare to the man sitting across from her? Especially not with his sleeves rolled up like that. Did men do that on purpose? Did they know it was hot?

"Edward was handsome- really handsome, but a little gruff looking. He was almost forty, you know? I look back on it and laugh, it's all too ridiculous."

"Well. It's good to know you at least think I'm really handsome."

Again with the red flush. Amelia directed her gaze down toward her purse and stuttered out a small objection. Jon raised her chin with his forefinger, a favorite gesture of his.

"Look at me when you blush," he commanded gently. "I like it."

God, his voice. Why'd he have to ask her all sultry like that. His voice was almost dominant, yet entirely tender.

"Hey sweetheart, why you squirmin' in that seat?"

That was too far. Amelia jumped away from his touch and buried her face in her palms. For once she wished for water instead of wine, she needed something to cool her down.

"Stop," she whined. "You're embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing? What do you need to be embarrassed for? It's only me."

"Precisely," she responded, voice muffled by her hands.

"C'mon. You got no one to impress," he comforted. "I'll always be impressed by you."

That was.. sweet? Surprising. She almost removed her hands.

"What's the need to be embarrassed in front of each other? We know each other well enough, we've seen every part of each other. I've seen your asshole n' you've probably seen mine."

Amelia practically jumped in her seat.

"What?"

Jon burst into bold, hearty laughter. "What I mean, sweetheart, is that I've seen every part of you, even the most private stuff. You've seen every part of me, we were together for damn near five years. You don't gotta be shy, I have nothin' but admiration for you. All of you."

Amelia blinked twice. How he could articulate something so eloquently was beyond her. Amelia could write, sure, she was perfectly capable of writing a moving love letter, but expressing her feelings through speech was near impossible.

But such a beautifully crafted admission was so painfully juxtaposed by his previous sentiment. I've seen your asshole.

"You do have a way with words, I'll give you that," she muttered.

"What can I say? I'm a romantic."

Amelia shook her head in genuine fascination. He was an enigma, a charismatic enigma.

He was correct though, Jon had seen all of her. Jon knew about the beauty mark on the top of her left breast, and the scar on her upper thigh from where she'd been careless shaving. He'd known and loved every little blemish that littered her skin. And she knew of the small birthmark on the back of his left thigh, hidden beneath a matt of hair and close enough to his butt that it'd never be visible even in short shorts. She doubted anyone had ever spotted such a mark, and she knew for certain that no one other than him had seen her bare breasts. It was true that no one knew them like the other.

The waitress returned with food at just the right time. Jon thanked her with one of his charming gleams before tucking into his starter.

"So!" He swallowed a mouthful. "We got lots to talk about. Of the two of us I'd say you've got more to get off your chest."

Amelia had prepared a plethora of questions for him, only she had no place to begin. She sat mute, shovelling more food down in an attempt to delay her response.

"I don't know what to say."

Jon sighed and put down his cutlery. He reached over and pried both her hands away from her plate, holding them firmly on the table. Now she had no means of distraction, nowhere to look but his gorgeous, prying eyes.

"Why don't you start with why you avoided me all this time, hm? Why you were so angry at me when you came back."

"I wasn't angry—"

"And why don't we be honest with each other?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't angry. I was upset, and maybe a little spiteful."

He nodded carefully. "Spiteful because I left?"

"No," she responded a little harsher. "Not spiteful because you left. Spiteful because you left me behind. You didn't correspond with me once, no phone call, no letter. No visit. You disappeared off my radar completely."

Jon had prepared himself for that blow. It didn't soften the impact even marginally. His grip on her hands grew lax, his own gaze wandering off to wallow in grief. He nodded, meditating on his verbal response.

"I know."

Amelia snatched her hands away. "And why is that? If you didn't want to call me then you could've composed a letter. I would've been happy with that much. You completely dumped me!"

He nodded and nodded again. "I know. I messed up."

"You did," she hissed. "And then I returned and found you in Giants Stadium, two ladies glued to either hip. I thought of just how good of a time you must've been having without me, how many ladies you would've taken to your bed while I stayed at home sitting by the phone just praying for some kind of message from you."

"I know—"

"You seem to know a lot! After that, you seemed to do everything in your power to re-establish some sort of relationship. I'd been willing to wait for you - you didn't. Then all of a sudden you want to pick up after we left off? You're right, I was angry. I was spiteful, I was bitter, I was upset. And I still am."

Jon sat thoroughly chastised, searching for an avenue to talk.

"I'm a coward, 'Melia." His voice was hoarse and fragmented. For once he was absent of his smug smirk, his eyes didn't hold their usual confidence. "I always have been."

"That's no excuse, nor is it an explanation."

He looked up at her. "I felt so guilty for running off around the world. I thought speaking to you might make it harder for the both of us, I was being selfish."

There was nothing Amelia could do with that information. It was years too late.

"I was heartbroken, Jon. I cried for weeks. My parents thought I was ill, they worried I was going insane."

He rubbed his face in his palms. "I'm so sorry. I thought hearing my voice might make it worse."

"You conceited ape. Worse? Could hearing the voice of the man I love assuring me he would eventually come home to me really make me feel worse than seeing him gallivanting around on television, flirting with interviewers?"

He shook his head. Fiery tears burned Amelia's corneas. "For God's sake. You pushed me to flee the country. And when I came home you acted as though nothing was amiss. Even Spankie said you were a complete asshole."

"I know. But I was heartbroken too, Amelia—"

"Oh, whipdidoo," she spat. "You're a coward. How did you sleep at night."

"Not well," he responded meekly.

"So if you must know, that's why I was angry. Pissed, even. I was completely pissed. Not only do you run off and forget I exist, but you take my brother from me too."

"That was never planned—"

"Who cares if it was planned. It happened. And if I wasn't already pissed off enough, what angered me even more was how much I still cared for you."

Amelia shook her head. She swallowed back angry tears, pinning him with the most menacing glare she could. "I thought the fame would've gone to your head. Maybe I even hoped it would, it would've made it easier to move on from you. But it hasn't gone to your head, you're still the same man you always were. You still treated me well even after all I put you through and no matter how angry I was I couldn't stop caring for you. You took a piece of my heart with you on that tour."

Jon's brows were permanently fixed in surprise. He reached for her hand again, warming it between his palms.

"I wanted to call you," he responded quietly after prolonged silence. "But the longer it went the more I put it off. I was almost scared you might not answer, I thought you might have moved on with someone else. I wanted there to be a big surprise when I came home, we cancelled the last leg of the tour early because we were sick and tired of it. I still don't think your parents understand why I turned up at your door that day. I asked if Richie was in, then you. They told me you'd gone to England, n' a little piece of my heart died that day."

"You turned up at my parent's house?"

He nodded again, playing with the jewelled ring on Amelia's index finger. "Yeah. Your mother answered the door. She seemed so happy to see me, she gave me a hug n' all. It was all I'd ever really wanted, to be accepted by your family. I asked if Richie was in because I didn't want him to overhear what I had to say, then I asked if you were there."

"I would have screamed at you if I was."

"I don't doubt it," he chuckled softly. "But I would've made it right."

"I don't know if kiss and make up would have worked for this transgression."

It was the first hint of a smile Jon had seen since the beginning of a conversation. It gave him hope of forgiveness.

"No. Do you think propose and make up would've?"

Amelia's head snapped up. "What?"

"I was gonna propose. I figured it was the only gesture that'd really prove to you how much I still loved you, considering what an asshole I'd been. I had a ring and everything."

"You what?"

Her venom had returned. She pinned him with a death glare, tears welling up in her bloodshot eyes. "You wanted to propose to me?"

Of all the things he'd said and done, he hadn't expected that one to stir such anger in her.

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "I didn't care what your parents thought, or Rich. I just wanted you back. It was foolish really- we were so young, but I was in love. Love does strange things to you."

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?" Her voice raised in both volume and pitch. "You- you wanted to marry me! And you kept that a secret—"

"It wouldn't have gone down well, Amelia," Jon said plainly. "I've been on thin ice with you all this time. You'd give me silent treatment for weeks if I so much as flirted with you, if I told you about wanting to propose you'd have poisoned me in my sleep."

Realistically there was no argument to that statement, it was more than correct. However, Amelia could certainly try.

"You had no right to keep that from me. And you want to bring it out now? On our date?"

Bless Jon, he didn't know what he'd done wrong.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to be honest with you."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Hot, passionate, uncontrollable tears. "You're an asshole," she cried, swiping away each tear as it came.

"Please don't cry," he said, trying not to take another misstep. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Forget I said anything."

"Forget?" She demanded, nostrils flaring. "You're daft."

"Please," he was panicking now. Had he fucked up the date? People weren't supposed to cry on dates. The proposal was too much pressure, he knew it. "I know I've been an asshole. I fucked up by not calling you, I fucked up by playin' around with groupies, I fucked up tourin' in the first place but I'll do anythin' to prove I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Amelia stood and made her way out of the booth. "I need a moment to think," she said before storming off. She was gone before Jon could even call her name.

She entered the main seating area. Every table turned to look at her as she entered, all examining her tears with the utmost disinterest and snottiness. She made a quick dart toward the restroom.

Inside she broke down. She used the sink as a crutch, crying her eyes out before the mirror.

Marriage? He'd tried to propose to her? Why had she left?! Why hadn't she waited? If she'd just stayed for a few more weeks she would've been there- she would've been able to say yes to marrying him and then all would be well.

Amelia's sobs became vocal. A pathetic wail. Yet another outburst, she'd been crying a lot lately.

"Are you alright?"

Amelia peered up to find a young woman standing by the door. She wanted to make a rude remark, something along the lines of obviously not, but the woman's comment seemed to come from genuine concern, not the mockery she expected from a sophisticated place like this.

"Yes," she coughed.

"There's a man out there asking after you," she used her thumb to gesture back at the door. "And not just any man."

Amelia turned to hide her face. As silly as it was, she didn't want any chance of being recognized as Richie's sister.

"He says he wants to take you home, he seemed real worried."

Amelia exhaled a shaky breath, and then all of a sudden she became inconsolable again.

What is with you today? You're not due on your period anymore, that was last week. Pull yourself together.

"Hey," the woman cooed. "What's the matter? I can tell him to fuck off if he's bothering you."

Amelia choked out a laugh mid-sob. "No-" she cried, "It's not his fault. I've just had a hard week. My head's all over the place."

Why was she confiding in a stranger? The woman likely asked out of courtesy, not concern.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Amelia wiped her tears. "Aren't you having dinner?"

"God," the girl made a gagging noise. "I came here to escape. Someone set me up with some awful blind date. I've never met such a conceited asshole, he hasn't stopped droning on about his million dollar tech company. I couldn't care less!"

Amelia had to giggle.

"Anyway," the lady grabbed some tissue paper from the dispenser. "I'm Larissa. What's Jon Bon Jovi done that's gotten you all worked up?"

Amelia debated saying proposed and quickly decided against it. "Nothing," she responded calmly. "He's a good man."

"He seemed real worried about you. Not a first date I take it?"

"Far from." She blotted her swollen eyes with the tissue paper.

"Never knew he had a girlfriend."

"It's complicated."

"Well, I won't pry. What should I tell him? If you don't go out there yourself."

Amelia couldn't fathom speaking to him in that moment. He tried to propose to her, for fuck's sake, she could've been married. Instead she was single and half-depressed having buried all her normal human emotions and shut herself out from the world.

Oh, the tears came again. Harder and more gut-wrenching than before. She was officially inconsolable, and in that moment even Larissa had to admit she had no idea what to do.

"One minute. I'll go tell him."

Amelia hardly heard the words over her wails. She sunk against the tiled wall and cried, knees to chest and all.

"How is she?" Jon asked the dark-skinned woman as she exited the bathroom. "Is she okay?"

Larissa clutched her purse. "There's no one else in there. Perhaps you should check on her."

She didn't have to say it twice. Amelia looked up upon hearing the door open again, this time seeing a familiar pair of Oxford shoes and black pants. "Amelia—"

He knelt by her side. "Millie. What's the matter?"

Her sobs echoed in the high-ceilinged room. She felt like a teenage girl experiencing her first heartbreak. Hopeless- she was incapable of even keeping her head upright, it lulled onto Jon's shoulder the moment he perched beside her.

"I should've stayed," she cried deliriously, like a child with a fever. "Oh, look what I've done. I've been a fool."

"What are you talkin' about?" Jon grew increasingly worried. "C'mon. Sit up for me."

He witnessed her chest wrack with sobs, her lip quiver as she attempted to speak words. Not in all his life had he ever seen Amelia cry like that, it scared him half to death.

"We could've been married," she slung her arms around his neck, almost like a drunk. "We could've... Oh God. And now- now look at us. We're estranged—"

She broke off into more desperate cries. Jon could hardly decipher her meaning, he didn't understand.

"Shh." He cocooned her in his arms and hushed her. His palm cupped her wet cheek and he used his body to muffle her cries. "It's alright, Amelia. I'm here."

She shook her head adamantly into his chest. "I messed up," she cried as though it were an absolute.

"Sweetheart," he hoped his tender heart bled into his words. "Come on. Don't cry."

"Leave me. It's a women's restroom, you shouldn't be here. Just leave me."

She became so defeatist when she was emotional. It was as if all her stubbornness dissolved with the first tear.

"Hey, look. Look at me." He tilted her head up, a gesture that always gave Amelia such vicious butterflies. The humility of having her tear-stained face bared to him, having to face him and her past. "You haven't lost me." His lips planted themselves on a falling tear. "I'm right here, baby. Right here."

Amelia hadn't realized how tight her chest had become until she felt it relax. Jon murmured soft affirmations and praise as she took deep breaths.

"I'm sorry for everything," she whispered.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, my darlin'. I'm the one that should be sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry," she sniffled. "I just want..."

Jon's breath hitched in his throat. Her lip quivered, then shut again. "Want what?" He urged.

Amelia's silence was killing him. Want what? Want what!?

She shook her head.

"Amelia, please."

"Will you hold me?"

Her eyes pleaded, batted, watered. He looked down at his arms, each of them were tangled around her small, feeble frame. "I am holding you," the words tumbled clumsily from his lips.

"Properly," she demanded, some of her fierceness returning. "Hold me like you really mean it. Hold me like you used to."

Jon shrugged his tuxedo jacket off and embraced her fully. Her form fitted so sweetly into his own, each delicate curve of her body fit so snug in his strong, masculine embrace. He cocooned her like a baby in a mother's grasp, his embrace was so strong it was needless to reciprocate it, she merely lay there and reflected on her past, present, and future.

"I've got you," she heard him whisper before kissing her forehead. "You're okay."

Amelia shivered. Her head lulled against his shoulder. A vacancy glazed over her mind; suddenly she no longer thought, only felt. Jon's breath at her neck, his muscles quivering as he squeezed her tight, her own sweat and tears coating her skin.

She reached up to touch Jon's warm, smooth-shaven cheek. His eyes fluttered wide at the gesture then softened as he gazed upon her. "I haven't fucked everything up?" She asked meekly for clarification. Jon laughed, laughed, in her moment of worry.

"If you'd fucked it up, Amelia, why would I have asked you on a date? Why would I be here holding you on the bathroom floor, dressed in this itchy tux with my hair lookin' all silly?"

Amelia choked a giggle. "I don't think your hair looks silly."

Aside from the relief that coursed through her chest and lungs, she also felt a much stronger emotion.

Love, she recognized it to be. A dormant, most missed emotion.

Of course, Amelia was still reasonable and level-headed. She hadn't fallen head over heels in love with him again all because she'd learned of a failed proposal. She still had some sense.

But she did feel immense emotions as she looked into his eyes. Gratitude. She was grateful for how well he'd looked after her all this time, how he held her and soothed her and assured her everything would be okay. She felt nostalgia in the arms that were so familiar to her, felt attraction as she looked at the stupidly handsome face mere inches away. Most notably she felt safe, the most wonderful thing you could feel in the arms of a man. So safe, in fact, that if a man were to storm in with a loaded gun she knew Jon would stand in front of her without hesitancy, would shield her from any and all harm.

And what was love? If not safety, gratitude, nostalgia and attraction.

She'd missed that warmth in her chest so much. Love, desire. She might not love Jon again yet, not romantically at least, but now she was certain that she could in time.

And that was as good as loving him now.

She palmed his cheek and pulled him forward. On his lips she tasted the bitter wine Jon had chosen for them both. His breath was fresh, likely from the salad and herbs he'd consumed prior.

She whimpered upon parting. God save her if she'd have to part with him that night. God help her if he dared release her from his manly hold.

"Will you take me home?"

Jon finished up wiping the remainder of her tears. "Depends," he said softly. "Where is home? Your place? Or mine, because I'm not sure I'm ready to give you up just yet, might just have to keep you hostage for a little while."

Amelia caught another much needed glimpse of her past. She'd missed the way he made her laugh. Nobody made her laugh so frequently or so heartily, not even Spankie.

She took a shaky breath. "Home was always with you, rockstar."

Jon pulled her to stand. "You hardly ate any of your dinner."

"Yeah," Amelia snorted. "Maybe you should've saved the proposal bomb until I'd at least finished the bruschetta."

He pressed a kiss between her brows mid-chuckle. "Yeah. Maybe, huh."

"Will the ladies mind if we leave having not eaten anything? I don't want to be rude, we can go back and finish—"

He shook his head and silence her with his finger.

"They'll be fine, I'll compensate them nicely. I come here all the time."

Amelia went over to the car as Jon sorted the bill. It was a little cold out with the absence of the Jersey sun and Amelia wasn't well-versed enough in corvette gadgets to recognize the heater button.

Jon returned shortly after. "We can pick up a couple pizzas on our way home, have a cozy dinner on the couch."

"You don't have to on my account," Amelia began. He sent her a look of reprimand.

"Amelia, it's nine o'clock and all you've eaten is breakfast and a nibble of bruschetta. I'm gettin' you a big greasy pizza and that's final."

Her little smirk betrayed her. She looked outward at the empty private parking lot. "So demanding. I'm hardly hungry."

"More for me then."

Jon put the keys in the ignition and waited for a moment to warm up. During that period he caressed the inside of her palm with his thumb.

"I can't believe I spent the majority of our date crying on the floor of a bathroom," she sighed plainly.

"Majority? Says who. Babe, the night is young."

She smiled wryly. "I'm sorry I got so emotional. I'm sorry I called you names, I shouldn't have stormed off without of communicating."

Jon smiled at her. She had well and truly been tamed. Amelia, sorry? Of her own free will? On this one occasion he hardly wanted an apology.

"You don't have to apologize. We both fucked up and both of us will continue to fuck up for the rest of our lives, that's the beauty of it. Besides, conceited ape was hardly the worst insult I've ever heard from you."

She snickered quietly. "No, and you're lucky it's all I said. I gained an entire arsenal of insults while I was over in England."

The back of his knuckle caressed from her temple down to her cheek. It took her off guard, silenced her.

"You're beautiful," he spoke softly. Jon stood out from the rest of the men that'd taken interests in her. They labelled her as hot, smokin' even, an object of their sexual desires. Jon named her beautiful, gorgeous, he'd worshipped her in the past.

"I can't believe you wanted to marry me."

Jon frowned. "We always spoke of marrying each other."

"No, I know," she twiddled her thumbs, "But.. you know, the real deal. I can't believe you were really going to do it."

He gave a flat smile and an odd sort of nod. "Yeah. Me neither. Twenty three n' engaged, huh."

"In the bathroom I was thinking about just how different my life could've been," she admitted quietly. The silence was piercing, no exhaust, no running cars in the vicinity. Just her and Jon breathing. "If I'd stayed I could be married. None of this would be happening."

"I don't mind startin' over, sweetheart," Jon cooed. "You needed to do that degree as much as I needed to go on that tour. Marriage would never have worked back then."

"I know that," she said. "But my head goes to all sorts of irrational places when I'm emotional."

Her eyes burned again. Though in her heart she knew what'd taken place had been unavoidable, she wished she'd stayed just a week or so longer. She wished she'd seen Jon return, wished she'd said yes to the proposal. She would've cancelled her degree, would've lived a married life with the man she'd loved so dearly back then. None of this loneliness, no pushing everyone away, no debilitating stubbornness leading to her own eventual demise.

She cursed as the tears flowed again. She didn't understand, she'd always been so good at hiding and postponing her emotions, especially in front of people. Apparently she now felt all too comfortable to cry in front of Jon.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what's come over me."

"I know what's come over you." He thumbed her cheek.

She peered up in surprise. "You do?"

"Sure I do. You've been holdin' everything in for so long that now it's all coming out at once.

He was always good at discerning other's emotions, sometimes she felt as though he'd waggled his way into her head.

A sudden thought occured to her. "My makeup must be all over me."

She caught the fraction of a second in which he hesitated. "You look beautiful."

Amelia leaned up and directed the rearview mirror towards herself. "Oh God," she cried instinctively, falling back into the cushioned corvette seats. She glowered at Jon's snickering laugh and whacked him gently with her purse.

"You asshole. Why didn't you tell me when we were in the restroom?"

"I thought getting you home quickly would be the better idea before you changed your mind."

"You're full of shit, rockstar."

"I am dear, aren't I. Besides, I wanted to get outta that women's restroom before I got called a pervert. It's not good for press you know, darling."

She rolled her eyes. "Just drive, please."

He started to back out of the parking lot, doing that sexy reverse thing that men did when they drove. Once he was back on the road, he rested his hand on Amelia's thigh and squeezed it. She squirmed a little but ultimately settled into it.

Jon took them to a Pizza Hut drive thru. "Two large pepperoni pizzas please."

"Two large?" Amelia raised one brow plainly. "Are you crazy?"

"What?" He laughed. "I'm hungry. Thought you wanted me to eat more."

"I do," she stressed as they drove to the second window. "But preferably foods that have some form of nutrient to them."

To his credit, his voice had improved substantially and his figure had gained a little muscle back. He was looking brighter and healthier already, it made him look all the more handsome.

"Stop your worrying." He patted, or rather smacked her thigh. "You sound like my mother."

The guy in the drive thru window handed over two large boxes.

"Hold them," Jon commanded, "And don't you think about opening them in my 'vette."

"Or what?" She dared. "It's only pizza, it's not like pastry."

"You'll be in big trouble, Little Missy."

"You know, there's a certain brand of sexual deviants that enjoy deliberately disobeying their partner in hopes of earning some sort of reprimand? Or sexual punishment."

"Yeah, they're called brats. If you're not careful and you open that greasy box then you might just earn a trip over my knee on the porch step."

"Oh," she giggled. "You wouldn't dare, you know what you'd have coming would be lethal."

"Yeah," he snickered. "You'd spank me right back only ten times harder."

"Try with a hairbrush."

Jon started to laugh. "Anywho, what's this? You're talkin' about sex now? My little prude."

"You of all people should know I'm not a prude."

"Oh baby, you're a complete prude. Especially since you came back from England."

"I am not. Prudes don't joke about spanking their boyfriends."

"Oh, I'm your boyfriend now?"

"No," she blushed a deep red. "That's not what I meant, I misspoke."

"Ah. Freudian slip?"

"Shut up."

He erupted into another fit of laughter. "All right. I dare not push my luck."

"Wise."

Jon thumbed through a few of the CDs he had sitting between them both. "Why don't you pick a track, sweetheart?"

Amelia didn't need to be asked twice. She scoured through all of the CDs he had to offer, some of which she smiled at and others winced.

"I didn't know you liked Madonna."

"Every guy likes Madonna."

"Oh, I see. Do you like her music? Or her boobs."

"Both," he shrugged proudly. Amelia shoved the CD back where it belonged.

Alice Cooper, Black Sabbath, The Eagles, Bon Jovi themselves, Bruce Springsteen, he had an entire collection in there.

"What's this?" Amelia giggled, holding up a compact disc to his face. Jon gave it a fleeting glance and rolled his eyes.

"Mom. That's what that is. Mom."

"You mean to tell me you and your mother have been driving around in this sports car listening to the Chopin Etudes?"

Jon nibbled the inside of his cheek. "Listen darlin', I don't argue with Mom. She gets to listen to what she wants, doesn't matter if it's my car."

"Maybe we should listen to them now."

"God, no. I hear David play those dreaded things often enough, I'm sick of 'em."

"Oh, you wouldn't even play them for me?" She pouted.

Jon remained stern at the wheel. Then, he sighed reluctantly. "Fine."

Amelia giggled. "I'm only kidding. I want to listen to Alice Cooper anyway."

A smile spread across Jon's face. "That's my girl."

Amelia put the 'No More Mr Nice Guy' album on. She listened and watched Jon sing along. "Ah man. You can't beat Alice. He's the best."

"That he is," she agreed softly. It was pitch black by the time Jon pulled back into his driveway.

He opened the car door for her, took the pizza boxes from her arms and rooted through his pockets for his keys.

They made their way through to the living room. Jon set the pizzas on the coffee table and picked up a thick blanket from the side of the couch. He cocooned it around Amelia with a gentle sigh. "I'll be back," he promised with a peck to her cheek. "Don't move."

He returned with a bowl of water and some washrags.

He seated himself cross legged by her side. "Let's get you cleaned up, huh."

He dabbed the cloth in the water and began to wipe away her smeared mascara. He continued until her face was once again a blank canvas, any traces of her despair or distress now gone.

"Beautiful," he professed. He could admit to himself that he didn't understand makeup. He hated wearing it himself, it was uncomfortable and strange feeling, but he also thought it detracted from women's natural beauty. But he understood that for whatever reason, they enjoyed it, and therefore his opinion on the matter was unnecessary.

"Now then. Pizza."

He took one of the boxes and set it across both of their laps. He switched the television on and took a chance by snuggling up close to her.

She unravelled part of the blanket and tossed it over her companion before turning her attention to the television. MTV was playing Def Leppard.

"Hm, I always liked these guys."

"Yeah, they're good friends of ours," Jon said nonchalantly. After taking a bite out of a slice of pizza, he offered the same slice to Amelia. "People say they're the British version of us."

Amelia pondered. "You're similar I suppose, but I think they rely more on the synthetic sounds. The Bon Jovi sound is a little grittier."

"I guess," he shrugged.

The television must've cycled through maybe five songs while the pair sat in silence and ate. She didn't know what to say to him, especially not as Bon Jovi themselves appeared on TV.

"Oh God," Jon rolled his eyes. He grabbed the remote to switch the channel.

"Don't," Amelia said, lowering his arm. "Leave it."

"Why?" He scoffed.

Amelia tried to think of an answer. She remembered the days where Jon would've given his heart and soul to see his music played on TV. She wished she'd been there the first time he'd heard Runaway on the radio or seen the video on TV. Truth was, he'd achieved every single goal he'd set out for himself, exceeded them even.

"Because I'm so proud of you," she responded belatedly. "Look at you, you're on TV. My Jonny made it on TV."

He hummed softly.

"You should be proud of yourself, you worked so hard for it all. You have everything you could ever want, you really did it."

Something changed in his expression.

"What is it?" Amelia sat up.

"I gave up a lot for all of this. I don't know if it was worth it."

"Worth it? Look at you!" She laughed out loud. "You're living in a mansion, you're famous! You're doing the very thing that you love every day. What more could you possibly want?"

He gave her a flat look. "I gave up you, Amelia. I couldn't even enjoy those first two tours."

"Oh," she whispered. Silence ensued, aside from the music of Wanted Dead or Alive playing on television.

"Look," Jon pointed at the TV toward the end of the video. "There you are."

Amelia saw a familiar face in the background of the video; herself. Cameras had followed them all around for months at the beginning of the tour, she hadn't known it was for a video until much later.

"What a terrible shot of me."

"Oh stop, you look beautiful. Look at me! I'm sweatin' my ass off close to a heart attack, I hardly look great."

"You're Jon Bon Jovi for Christ's sake."

"I prefer just Jon."

"Just Jon, huh." She moved in to hug him, one of her arms securing itself around his waist. His concert black shirt was thin, so thin she could feel every muscle beneath her palm.

"Yeah," he hummed. "Just Jon. Simpler times, when the only people that really believed in me were you, Mom and Matt."

"And now all those that doubted you have been made to look like fools," she smiled. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too." He took her hand. "My little English scholar."

Amelia waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't be absurd. All my English degree did was isolate me from you and my family. I'm no scholar, I've put my qualification to no use, I took the degree out of pure spite and stubbornness."

"No you didn't." He tapped her on the knee in a reprimand. "You're a damn good writer, Amelia, I've seen your shit. I know you must've enjoyed that degree, n' I can damn bet you were the best student there. I'm proud of you for taking it."

She huffed a little, then muttered petulantly. "Why couldn't you have come home just a few weeks earlier. Everything would be different."

"It would," Jon agreed with pursed lips.

"We could've been married."

"We could," he nodded again. "But it wasn't the right time. Look at us, we found each other again. I needed to tour and you needed to do your degree, we were young. Too young for marriage. But now look where we are, God saw fit to bring us together again."

Amelia looked up and found her gaze locked on his lips. "Together?"

He brought her knuckles to his lips. "I'm right here, sweetheart," he reminded her in a sultry sort of tone. "All you have to do is ask. Ask and I'm yours."

Her lip quivered, throat betrayed her in an odd sort of squeak. Amelia wasn't sure she had the strength to ask such a question. "Mine?" She whimpered.

He moved her palm to rest over his chest. The steady thump began to calm her worrying innards.

"Yours," he affirmed. "If that's what you want. You don't have to decide yet, our date isn't over."

"You want to be my boyfriend?" She seemed stunned by the revelation. She didn't know why she was stunned, Jon had made it abundantly clear that that was what he wished for.

She thought of Richie, of her parents, of the millions of groupies she'd have to compete with. Dating Jon Bon Jovi was undoubtedly a suicide mission, even if it weren't for the press and the crazy fangirls, Richie would make sure of that.

He'd kill Jon, hang him, castrate him, quarter him, or maybe the other way around.

And then he'd kill her.

But thoughts of Richie receded when she felt Jon's soft lips at her forehead. "Is that a proposition?" He chuckled softly.

"No, a question. I wanted confirmation."

He laughed again. "Then yes. If you'd have me I'd really like to be your boyfriend again, sweetheart."

She gulped cartoonishly. God, those 'sweethearts' were driving her crazy.

He wants to be my boyfriend. He wants to be my boyfriend? For God's sake, say yes!

Who gives a shit about Richie, we don't have to tell him yet. The press can fuck themselves, and my prudish Catholic parents can too.

"Okay," she exhaled a shaken whistle.

"Okay what? I'm gonna need a little more than that."

"On one condition- it stays secret from everyone for now."

"Oh God," the man laughed to himself. No greater delight had ever shone upon his features. "Done, sweetheart. For God's sake, done! I don't care about the conditions, do you really mean it? You want me back?"

She tried to keep her excitement at bay and failed miserably. There were almost tears in her eyes as she nodded, launching herself into a hug rather than a kiss. "Yes," she exclaimed. "I'd be a fool not to, and I've been enough of a fool already."

Jon leapt to his feet, knocking an empty pizza box to the floor and almost elbowing Amelia in the face on the way.

"C'mere."

Amelia had no time to obey his command, for he'd already dragged her into his arms and was twirling her around. She'd thought his embrace was strong in the restroom, but here she could hardly breathe.

"Thank you, God," she heard him whisper. His large hand cradled her head to his shoulder. "Thank you."

Amelia took a moment to process what had happened. She had a boyfriend again, the same boyfriend as she'd always had. In the span of a single night she was no longer a single woman.

And she would've saved herself a whole lot of brooding and miserable-ness had she simply embraced her happiness sooner. But no, deep down she believed everything happened for a reason. If her and Jon were supposed to be back together it had to have happened in the way that it did. And she supposed that all the petty arguments and long distance brooding only made this moment of resolution all the sweeter.

"You're not going to run off of me again, are you?" She joked, her voice muddled against his strong chest.

"Never," he declared. "I don't make the same mistakes twice baby. I ain't ever leavin' you behind ever again. Not anywhere."

"No, I'm going to struggle even getting out of this embrace, aren't I?" She peered up at him mischievously.

"Absolutely. You're stuck with me baby, you can't back out now."

She fit so perfectly against him. She became flooded with memories of him, memories that she'd held so dear over the years. It was strange to start again with somebody she'd known so well, strange to think of him as a whole new man. A twenty six year old man, not the boy she'd met in history class.

"I missed you," he whispered into her hair. "I've been lonely without you."

He hugged her for an indefinite amount of time. He wouldn't release her, as if he was scared she'd slip from his grasp once and for all.

"We should dance together," Amelia proclaimed.

"Dance?" He frowned. "To this?"

He turned around. Mötley Crüe were on television.

"No, not to them," she laughed and flicked the off button on the remote.

"Crüe, the fuckin' bastards," Jon gritted. "Especially that tall lanky one."

"Tommy?"

"Yeah! Tommy- I nearly punched him that night you got drunk. Knowing him he probably would've slept with you if  Spankie n' I weren't there."

"I don't think he's that evil."

"Well I do," the man sneered. "He don't treat women right n' he was so close to getting to you. It drove me crazy."

"Well, he didn't," she said softly, cocooning him in her arms. "I'm all yours."

"And I'm gonna look after you," he promised. "You'll never want for anything again."

The pair shared another emotional kiss. They could hardly pry themselves away from each others mouths, but Amelia had her heart set on a dance.

"Mind if I pick a track?" She began rooting through crates of Jon's records. He hadn't had a chance to furnish his house properly yet, as soon as he'd finalised the purchase they'd been off to tour again. There were milk crates of records all over the floor.

"Sure baby."

She picked out a single and smiled. "I never took you as a Modern Talking fan."

"It's just that one song that I have."

"Cheri Cheri Lady," she placed the needle on the record. "That's not like you."

"I bought it because it reminded me of you."

"Me? How so?" She didn't remember any occasion in which they'd listened to that song together, it surely came out after their break up.

"Do you know what Cheri means?" He asked.

"Cheri? Well, it's French I suppose, has it's derivation in the word cherished. Mon Cherie would mean 'my beloved'."

She seemed to understand what he was saying belatedly.

He chuckled and swooped her into his arms. He began to groove a little, usually Amelia would lead in the dance this was a pleasant surprise.

"Do you have any idea how much I cherish you?" He asked. He spun Amelia around in a twirl that made her gasp. He caught her effortlessly, as if he'd been waiting for this moment and purposely practiced his dance moves.

She didn't have time to answer his question. He was already kissing and spinning her around again.

I've been lonely too long
Oh, I can't be so strong
Take a chance for romance
Take my heart

I need you so
There's no time
I'll ever go

By the time the chorus arrived Jon started to sing. Not in his usual, finely tuned vocal technique, but in a sort of delirious happy laughter.

Cheri cheri lady
Goin' through emotion
Love is where you find it
Listen to your heart

Cheri cheri lady
Livin' in devotion
It's always like the first time
Let me take a part

So often he'd regretted turning down Amelia's requests to dance with him all those years ago. He would never make the same mistake again.

Cheri cheri lady
Like there's no tomorrow
Take my heart, don't lose it
Listen to your heart
Cheri cheri lady
To know you is to love you
If you call me, baby
I'll be always yours

There was no need for wine or any kind of alcoholic beverage, for the pair were drunk enough on each other. Drunk on the high that companionship could bring after such perpetual solitude. They cycled through numerous songs from Madonna to Bryan Adams to Southside Johnny. The pair ended up toppled over on the couch, Amelia laying flat on top of Jon as they attempted to control their intense laughter.

"Your dancing has improved!" She exclaimed heartily. "And I didn't even have to coach you."

"It's all that crowd work I've been doin' baby. They like why I shake my ass."

"I certainly like it when you shake your ass." She blushed when she realized what she'd said.

"Oh really? I'll have to put on a private show for you sometime."

Amelia stilled. She stopped her idle tracing of shapes across his chest and took a moment to realize where she was, laying flat, chest to breast on top of her boyfriend. Not ex-boyfriend, boyfriend. She no longer had to feel guilty about being touchy with him or letting her old emotions run rampant. She was free to let her hands roam wherever she liked.

"You okay?" Jon began to sit up a little.

She felt her joints creak as she nodded. Then, she placed a sensual kiss to his lips. One of her hands gripped his muscled thighs, the other grasping his tight shoulder. A breathy whimper passed his lips, that noise gave her the courage to say what was on her mind.

"Shall we go upstairs?"

He pulled away. His narrowed eyes tried to discern what she meant. Upstairs as in bed? Or bed.

He'd be thankful for whichever.

"If you want," his voice betrayed him. Her lips grazed his once more, enough to leave a line of tingling fire in their stead but not enough to satisfy.

Oh, she wanted. "All right."

He stopped when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Go on up sweetheart. I'll make sure everything's locked and switched off."

She narrowed her gaze. "You're just going to look up my skirt, you pervert."

He laughed. "Oh! So there's what you think of me, a pervert! She lets her true feelings show."

"Don't deny it. Now shoo." She waved a hand at him. He reluctantly backed away and started to switch off the lights. No chance of a pervy glance up her skirt then. She was too accustomed to his antics.

Amelia entered Jon's room with a smile. Finally, for the first time in all the time they'd known each other they had a room to themselves. Not some motel room, not a room in Jon's family home, a room which they could call their own for the night.

And she had plenty of plans.

---

Finally 🥰🎉🍾

I've been wanting to write this chapter since the conception of this story. Obviously the finished outcome is never as good as what you imagined in your head, but I think the chapter came out cute enough 🥰

I hope you enjoyed it. I'm excited to write that smitten phase with the pair of them, and there's lots of drama to come so stay tuned.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments 🩷