Dancing On My Own

“really? see, i kind of pictured you with a loft,” selin said, nodding as if she could see it clearly. “like, a really cool, chic loft.” amelia had founded her own empire, after all. the idea of her going home to some shoebox apartment where she could hardly move without bumping into the fridge wasn’t exactly what selin had imagined. “are you, like, just really modest? or do you prefer a smaller space?”

another mental image selin had a difficult time conjuring was amelia gardening. ans she realized there were probably a lot of things she would learn about amelia if they lived together. the thought was terrifying and exciting in equal measure. they were the same age, but amelia often felt worlds ahead of her. more successful, more certain, more adult, maybe. “i keep saying i’m going to move out west,” she admitted, looking back toward the garden. “what made you pick new york? i mean, i’ve heard the weather is much better out there.” a grin crossed her face when amelia brought up decorating. “okay, luckily, i love decorating. i’ll bring swatches. i’ll make pinterest boards. i do suck at those ikea picture directions, though. so you’ve gotta promise not to judge.” she continued to glance around, taking the space in.

"I don't know." She shrugs, an honest answer as they walk up to the second floor. "I didn't grow up with money. Never have. I'm just figuring out I don't have to live like I'm back in Uni." She admits, embarrassed by it all. Having money still feels like a mistake most days. "For what it's worth, if I didn't know you, I'd think you're one of those girls with a gorgeous penthouse somewhere." Like any consummate actress or influencer, with undescribed wealth and glamor. But Selin's always been humbler than someone with her looks and talent is expected to be.

"Cause it's the greatest city on Earth." Amelia answers easily, no hesitation. "'Cause L.A. may have the sun and the beach, but there's nowhere like New York." She loves everything about it; the busy streets, the shoebox sized restaurants, the aggression. "You make it here, you can make it anywhere. Don't you think?" Surely it's part of why Selin moved here. She understands her desire to climb the ranks, to make her mark. Where better? Laughing, she shakes her head. "Judge? Never. Worse case, we go through Facebook Marketplace and find something already made." As they finish at what would be Selin's bedroom, she relaxes against the window.

"What do you think, Sel?" Amelia asks softly, after a beat. "Think we can make this home?"

At the mention of the blackmail, Lottie almost laughed. They had ended up right then and there due to their combined efforts to sabotage one another; including a grand finale by Omar. Regardless of all of that, working together and seamlessly as they were now felt almost natural. "That's a good catch." Alexis Noble, that was. She was one of the channel's biggest opponent, after all, so lack of coverage on stories that Amelia and her team were covering seemed strange. "Can you look into her? I'll talk to Alfie, have him check out her digital footprints."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the photos of the property, head tilted to the side. Something she'd learned from Amelia - meeting in the middle mattered, and truthfully, she was free to live wherever she please. These sessions were more about getting to know her sister than anything else. "You're gonna miss the penthouse so much, Amelia." It was a tease more than anything, even if she looked serious. "Speaking of money, I have to meet with Jamie soon, we're still finding properties and bank accounts."

At the mention of Alfie, Amelia instantly bristles. Since their blow-up at the bar, he seems to be everywhere; the Upper East Side, the Reserve, on her social media (and so what if she looked him up herself?). She's got half a mind to just ignore Lottie's words. But they are 'sisters' now... "Listen, you know I don't like getting too personal." They have that in common. "But just so you know... Well, we dated. Ages ago." And implicit in that is how serious it was, and how seriously awful they left it. "I'm doing my best not to rip his head off, obviously. But with the way we go at it lately... No guarantees." And Lottie needs to know that, for no other reason than being in the know of her own organization.

"That's alright. I'll keep the amenity pass, if you don't mind. Cheaper than a Barry's Bootcamp membership." Amelia teases back. Just because they won't be living together, doesn't mean she won't be around. Her eyebrows quirk up; Omar's estate has been somehow of a mystery since his passing. But one thing she knew for certain? "You realize that whatever he's left behind, he left for you... Right?" His favorite daughter, his 'legitimate' heir. Lottie was meant to inherit, Amelia was meant to hide. And though his wishes mean fuck all these days, she's honest enough to say it.

" you give yourself too little credit , it was at least an hour. " though it was a lie , he wasn't sure he had gotten over it to this day. eventually he forgot , forgot what it felt to wake up next to her , to call her , the familiarity of her warmth but that was his avoidance , he couldn't avoid it now. amelia knows he rather accomplish things on his own , even when together she didn't know how he managed to get pocket change , two phones --- for what ? he had no job , no aspirations , nothing that he could be proud of. brow furrowed as she dropped her own piece of information , " you say that like you hate her. " and she probably did , but he wasn't going to pry. he could almost scoff at her poor attempt at making a high school musical reference. in her defense , he didn't want some sort of happy reunion , that was never in the books for them.

"And you knew who I was too." How singularly-minded she could be, how guarded. Alfie knew her work ethic and ambition, so was it surprising when it inevitably won out? She scoffs, unable to hide the ways in which Alfie's won with the final word. "Alright, then." She has her things and the path out is wide open. Still, Amelia hesitates, just for a moment. "I'll keep out of your way, then." Even if fighting with Alfie is like coming back to life, tortured hearts and all. Sighing, she makes her way out the door.

He can tell it comes as a surprise. Nan is the type to dedicate herself to everyone, but herself. Maddox listens with intent, settling into his seat. For him, the choice is easy; letting off steam, verging on self-destruction. But Nan isn't like him, she holds it together for her friends and family. And the cost? It's in the way her blue eyes lost their sheen when they talk. "Listen, I'm not exactly the best example. But there's gotta be an in-between, right? Something between keeping a stiff upper lip, and letting things go." She's right, though. Something beautiful amidst the mess is needed. He lifts up one of the lilies, pointing it in her direction. "I like what we've got here. The calm you make. But sometimes even the best women gotta scream and let it out." And in that, Maddox can help.

That particular memory, though tinged with the dull, familiar sting of her mother’s disappointment, remains fond because of Maddox. All of their escapades are like that to Cleo. “Olga can make a reappearance,” she purrs, wiggling her brows. “Wenn du ein braver Junge bist.” If you’re a good boy. Like him, Cleo knows German, was taught by her father - a Calhoun family relic, supposedly meant to honor her great-grandmother (as if being named after the woman was not enough). She is avoiding the whole ‘Romeo’ of it all, not wanting to break the post-coital spell by bringing up bereavement. Cleo shakes two pills into her palm, places them on her tongue, swallows without water. Then she stands and crosses to slide the window shut before her cat Brontë slips out. “C’mon,” Cleo motions to Maddox, ditching her duvet for a kimono. “What are you thinking? If I do wine this late, I’ll have a raging hangover tomorrow.” She leads him out of the bedroom, through her brownstone that glitters and spins with junk, a mix of vintage found objects and exorbitant designer furniture. “Impromptu cocktail? I’ll be your bartender,” she suggests once they make it downstairs.

"Ich werde zu deinen Füßen anbeten." I will worship at your feet. It's said with all the playful dedication of a long-standing, physical relationship. Their track record is proven, and Maddox makes a note to dig up his Lederhosen. He gives Bronte a once over, "Which sister again?" He asks, whilst pulling a shirt over his head as he follows her out to the living room. He's partial to Emily himself. "How's about a Negroni?" A quiet toast to the friend they do not mention, whose bartending skills are just the surface of what he and Cleo miss.

Corporate mixers were, unfortunately, a necessary evil. Niharika had learned that lesson sometime between law school and her third year of practice, around the same time she'd realized that half of being a successful attorney involved actually being seen. The work itself was only part of it, the rest lived in rooms exactly like this one, the ones filled with expensive suits, carefully rehearsed conversations, and enough business cards exchanged in a single evening to supply the city for at least a month.

Glass in hand, she lingered near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, politely nodding through a conversation she had absolutely no intention of remembering tomorrow. It wasn't that she disliked all people. She simply preferred interactions with purpose, which wasn't really a bad trait or anything. A quick glance at her phone revealed three unread emails, two missed calls from a client, and a reminder she'd forgotten to dismiss three days ago. How likely was it that she could excuse herself from this conversation and dip out early to finish her work?

Her attention drifted across the room, scanning familiar faces from firms she'd crossed paths with before, some investors she vaguely recognized, and the occasional politician pretending not to be recognized at all. It was during that quick glance that she spotted a face she knew. Or at the very least, a face she'd seen often enough to place. Maddox Hope. Lifting her glass slightly, she offered the sort of polite smile she'd perfected over years of professional interactions.

Using this as an excuse, she stepped away from the conversation boring her and headed in his direction, standing shoulder to shoulder with him when she spoke. "Tell me you're at least enjoying yourself," she said, her attention still on the room. "I'd hate to think I'm not the only person here counting down the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave."

"Don't I look it?" He quips back, smirking as he approaches Niharika with his third glass of scotch. Barely registers for someone with as formidable a tolerance as he. Still, she's a corporate lawyer. One of the best, Maddox knows. She can easily read past the bullshit charm. "The key to mixers? Run the room, make a few good impressions, and Irish exit before one of the decaying partners tries to dance the YMCA."

the man sighed as he rolled his eyes as she called him by his full name , a pet peeve of his , he had told her but of course she had ignored his request. " you threw me to the bloody curb like a piece of meat , amelia. " his tone laced with all the hurt he had yet to express since he walked out and never looked back. " i don't want to talk about this , " he decided , downing the drink the bartender had brought out just moments ago. he pulled a face , eyes trained in front of him before turning to watch her once again. he watches as a single bead of wine trickles down the corner of her lip , he almost instinctively reached forward and dabbed it off but it wasn't his place.

they knew plenty of things about each other , but obviously they hadn't learned every single thing about each other. " i'm a harrigan , amelia. my cousins needed help , so i am helping. " meaning he was going to be around whether she liked it or not. whether he liked it or not. he'd already been avoiding going near 212 but he knew it was inevitable.

So they are bound together, committed to this cause for family. Neither will leave, which means Alfie is back in her life. "We're in this now, even if we don't want to be." And if there was hope in avoiding a fight, then it's lost when his derision echoes through the posh bar. She's sure everyone's looking now, and frankly, Amelia can't bring herself to see anyone but Alfie.

"No, no--" She interrupts, voice loud as she reaches for her purse. Talking over each other, eyes alight with fire... How messed up was it, that she's missed this? "I wanted you to be more than a rich guy with a trust fund. I believe you can do anything." Alfie's intelligent and sharp, charismatic and observant. He had all the opportunities, and Amelia wanted to see it come together for him. Her eyes drop to the cash, but doesn't make a move to reach for it, either. "The rest is a tip, for the working person behind the bar." A point of emphasis.

"I'm not going to stand here and interrupt everyone else's fucking dinner." There's enough people looking at them go at it as is.

" who else to remind you but me ? just don't do anything stupid that nico finds out about --- he's got enough on his plate. " despite his little incident with nico and despite nico and celestina's refusal to get married , nico was still somewhat family. he'd lost someone close , santiago understood loss -- familial loss , but he hoped he never had to lose a sibling. " i went with lottie , " he wouldn't emphasize what that meant for santiago , maddox surely had caught on to how santiago looked at lottie compared to anyone else. " it's not the company , it's just boring. plus , if i wanted to talk real estate i'd just talk to emiliano or cel. " though real estate bore him to death as well , as a kid he used to pretend to be asleep when real estate came up.

"You and me both. Gwen and the rest of them always 'handling shit.'" As if Maddox hasn't moved a few needles as a prosecutor in his lifetime. Still, the grief is fresh for everyone, and fighting is hardly at the top of his list. "Never." He clicks his tongue. "We'll be those old folks playing chess and feeding pigeons at Central Park."

going radio silent was very unlike alfie , he always had to share his thoughts , voice his opinion but once she broke things off he just abandoned all hope when it came to her. she ceased to exist in his head and he moved on. at least that's the impression he gave off , his abrupt return to london caused speculation , his parents seemed worried and yet he dismissed them and continued on. her number did remain unblocked , name simply changed to a big red stop sign. " that seems a bit anticlimactic. " and it was , truthfully he didn't know what to say to her , so instead he said nothing. silence was the better option , he had always thought heartbreak was idiotic , but now he understood all those songs. " so you were paying attention , " to something other than what she was doing --- he found it surprising.

She reaches for her glass of wine. These days, she drinks too much. A high-stress job, the death of her violent father, her newfound sister. Amelia swallows back the glass of red, allowing a drip of red against her pale skin. God, she could spit. Only Alfie could do this. He was the best fighter she's ever met, which made every fight of theirs epic, for better or for worse. "No, you didn't. Did I ever tell you mine?" The point is clear in her eyes; neither of them were honest about the things that mattered. Their relationship, their histories, their pain. Instead, they dig into each other. Case and point -

"Not all of us are like you, born with a silver fucking spoon and zero chances of actual failure. Look at your hands--" She gestures to the ones she's held down the street, the ones that held her face. "You've never done a day's work in your life. You're spoiled and privileged, and despite being glaringly self-aware of that fact, you still manage to judge me." Well, she's having none of it, and Amelia reaches into her purse out of spite. Dropping two hundred dollars in the bartender's tip bowl to cover her cheque, and pushing out of her seat. "Fucking hell."

he knew her at the start of her rise to fame , humble beginnings as one called it but he thought she didn't need to be humble about what she had accomplished. he always pushed her to be bold , to be outspoken , have nothing to fear and yet that very advice bit him in the ass when all he wanted to do was say he was proud of her. the very pride that once attacked him to her , now he could only look at with a bit of disgust. " would you have rather i sent you a lengthy text of what i actually thought ? " mainly about how they fought over everything , anything and yet neither put any effort to fight for their relationship. " ingrid , " he said a bit too quickly , finishing up his drink. " then it was candice and then ava --- do i need to go on ? " he questioned , tone a bit more harsh than usual.

"I moved in with my sister." She defends immediately. "Who happens to live in a fucking penthouse. Not my choice." It's embarrassing, really, and Alfie knows how she feels about it. Another item to add to the list of reasons why it didn't work out. Yet nothing is logical, least of all love, and none of the reasons for why not stopped her... Until it did. "No, it's fine. I've got it." Amelia tries, failing when the bartender's eyes jump between them. Sighing, she slumps into the seat. "Thank you." She says, because she can hear how he means it, despite the animosity. Amelia turns to her meal, eating with just enough purpose to be out the door in ten minutes. "Why the Reserve?" she asks, after a long beat. "You could've done anything with your life." Implicit in that, he could achieve so much more than a life of crime and living off a trust fund. Amelia believed in Alfie, even when he didn't.

𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐩 to the bar, fully intending to keep chasing down the lead lottie had given her. the screen sat open between her and amelia, glowing blue over scattered notes, a half-finished drink, and an ashtray neither of them were supposed to be using inside. “so,” rin said without looking up from the document she hadn’t edited in twenty minutes. “what would you say if i told you i was going to go sober?” it came out flat, almost bored. it was the kind of question that would have sounded like a joke to anyone else. amelia, unfortunately, was not anyone else. rin finally glanced over, brow lifting. “and also gonna quit and write romance novels?” it was a little flare sent up in their own private, shared language of ambition and self-destruction. where saying i might quit meant tell me not to be stupid. she reached for her glass, then seemed to remember the first part of what she’d just said.

At the mention of Oktoberfest, her eyes roll instinctively, a groan escaping. “I remember parts of Oktoberfest.” Cleo near-shudders under the duvet strewn across her shoulders. “If you hadn’t sweet-talked that cop, I would’ve gotten us thrown in a German jail.” She had only gotten that drunk after a conference had brought her mother, whom she had not seen in a year, to Germany that same week, yet she couldn’t even be bothered to meet up for lunch. Cleo had taken eight jäger shots back-to-back. ‘Fuck her, Mads, fuck her.’ She’d been in a particularly anti-authoritarian mood that night. His offer to stay makes her pause. For a second, Cleo looks at him through the mirror, bare-faced. Then she smiles wanly. “No, it’s alright, really. I have to be up at 6, anyway. Driving to Jersey,” she crinkles her nose. “Plus, I'll be sleeping either way,” She rattles a bottle of pills at him like a maraca. “You need?”

"Who knew I was that big, old bear's type, eh? I figured you'd have a better shot--" But there's no accounting for preferences, and that's what makes them a dangerous duo. At least one of them is bound to be someone's cup of tea. "I liked your rendition of Olga, the hot and very strict bar maid." Complete with an outfit and everything. Cleo doubles down at every turn, always game to match his energy. Of course, it comes after parental disappointment. With Maddox and Cleo, sex and danger are the escape route from their family's burning pressures. At her answer, he catches her eyes, taking one more inspection of her before nodding. "Mhm, 'kay. Let me at least drink you to sleep." He jokes, giving her a quick kiss on her temple. "I got some back at my place. Save it for you, and get me a drink for the road instead."