AMELIA

"You haven't gotten dressed?" I giggle, coming out of the bathroom in the same robe as him, soaking off my wet hair with a towel.

Cam smirks and briefly inclines his head, checking the robe. "This thing is comfy."

"That I won't argue with," I laugh, and he smiles over at me, climbing down the bed and approaching me.

My hands stop their movement with the towel around my hair. I freeze, watching him towering in height and looking freshly showered, hair damped and disheveled in the sexiest arrangement.

"You-Are you ready to proceed on our tour?" I quickly inquire, not knowing why it all comes out of my mouth when it's not the most important thing to discuss at this moment. I look at the closed curtains; the brightness outside seems to dim. Knowing that the last time I looked at the clock it was six in the evening, it must be late now. "If we leave now, there will be time to see some places and catch up with the train on time." I falter, my voice betraying my nerves at Cam's sudden presence before me, making me look at him with a lift of my head by his fingers under my chin.

Affection glints in his eyes.

"You really want to show me the city," he remarks, and I nod, even though it wasn't a question. He smiles charmingly and takes my hand. "Okay, but first, come with me."

"To where?" I ask as he pulls my hand in his. He looks back over his shoulder, beaming winsomely. I can never get enough of him.

I let him steer me towards the door, and with one push, it opened to the most unexpected scene.

"This isn't how it was when we came in," I utter, bewildered, and Cam chuckles at my confusion.

The sun is setting, its orange rays piercing through the glass windows. It's a very beautiful sight from here, but that's not all; there are red rose petals everywhere, candles making a bridge to a two-seater table adorned with flowers, a bottle of champagne and ice, and tableware.

"When?" I gasp over at him. He had let go of my hand and was probably holding something behind him because it was the only explanation for why he was hiding his hand. "How?" The whole time we lay on the bed or when I waited for him while he was in the shower, there was no sign of movement from outside the door, and I am sure this was something that so much effort was put into. How did they keep it so quiet and unsuspicious?

"I thought we should have a good New Year's time together," Cam smiles and reveals a huge bouquet of roses. Standing a few feet away, he looks like an angel, making me emotional. I lean my head in my palms, not knowing how to take it all in.

"Come on," I feel a soft touch at the small of my back, and I look up at him. "Here," he brings the bouquet; it fills my arms, smelling so good.

"Is this what you had planned at the desk downstairs when we came in?" I curiously ask after inhaling the fresh roses.

"Yes," he nods his brows and pulls out a seat for me, making sure I sit safely.

"This is so nice," I giggle while he circles over to the seat opposite me.

"Treats of dating Cameron," he brags, biting his bottom lip slowly, making me laugh even more.

The main door opens, and a polite man, definitely the attendant, comes in pushing a food trolley.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds," he greets, and my eyes widen at Cam, my jaw dropping before I then chew on my lips, holding back the smile as my nerves are getting the best of me, but this time, it was for a good cause. Cam is also suppressing his smile, keeping an eye between the man setting dishes of fancy meals in front of us and me, whose cheeks are probably red.

When everything is set, the man opens the champagne, pours it into our cups, and straightens up.

"Would you like me to help in any other way?" The attendant, whose name is Rex, questions.

Cam sighs and shakes his head. "No, thank you."

"Enjoy your meal," Rex says and leaves us alone.

As the door closes, I let out in shock, "No! You didn't."

He knew what I was talking about because he checked us in with that name, and now he's stifling a smile, his tongue rolling against the walls of his inner cheeks.

"The name suits you just right."

Laughing, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks, I mumble shyly, "I don't know..."

"Amelia Reynolds," he taunts, making me hide my face in my palms, and he laughs softly, enjoying mortifying me to the core. "I'm optimistic," he adds, this time sounding sober. I look up at him; he isn't smiling anymore. His lips are pressed into a hard line, and he is watching me.

"So why do you choose a history major?" He asks, diverting the subject. As much as I want him to explain what he means by his optimism, the course of the discussion right now weighs heavily on me. So I let it go.

"I uhm-I just like history," I awkwardly answer while he takes a taste of his steak.

"You've always liked history?" He curiously asks, continuing to chew in an elegant manner.

"Not really. I used to admire literature. I wanted to write my own book, have it on shelves of bookstores among best-selling authors' masterpieces," I explain with a smile on my face, reminiscing about my childhood dreams.

"So why didn't you?" Cam questions, attracting my concentration back to him, and my eyes averted from the intensity of his gaze.

"Things changed," I shrug and scoop a portion of mashed potatoes onto my spoon.

"Like what?" He presses.

I didn't know the direction of our conversation would bring us here. What he is asking is not my best memory to talk about.

"My father used to support me whenever I would tell him about my dream. He would read to me and teach me how to spell words. He was my concrete supporter until concrete proof of its unsteadiness. Teaching me nothing is reliable,"

"You gave up your dream because your father chose to be a fucker?" Cam frustratedly scoffed.

He wouldn't get it. "It is so much more than that."

"Amy, do not do that," he shakes his head in refusal.

"What?" I swallow, despairingly. He sits forward in his seat, searching into my eyes.

"How can you be the exact girl who told me to be strong for my mother but then you are letting someone unworthy take a huge part from you? Don't do it," he begs.

"It is not that easy."

"It is," he nods, wetting his lips while he pauses. "Your letter, despite its purpose, is a sample of your incredible writing. I was amazed by it. You shouldn't let that go to waste," he says, and I smile down at the quite heavy bouquets on my lap.

We talk about more things, but all are fun topics that cheer our mood. We had dessert and laughed the whole time.

Every time with Cameron, I'm the happiest I've never been. It is like my mood is only elevating every second.

We check out of the hotel after nine, and we tour the city on foot, buying new pairs of clothes from a boutique and giving out our old ones to homeless people we find on the street.

In Times Square's vibrant atmosphere, where Cam is finally amused, he is approached by some people who recognize him from his debut fight. Naturally, he has this appeal that seduces people, so now that he's becoming famous, it's easier for them to approach him. He snaps pictures with them, and we find a spot to sit and snuggle, enjoying the commercials on the billboards and the lively crowds, taxis honking, and people's chatter.

We spend the time there, conversing about a lot of things until it is past eleven-thirty, and Cam remembers the last train to Portland leaves in about ten minutes.

"Shoot!" I exclaim.

He gets up and pulls my hand, getting me on my feet. We race through the crowds, squeezing and pleading, like the desperate that we are.

Cam gets us a ticket at the station, and we run to the train at the last minute. We are lucky, for as we step in, the doors close.

But it is a success. Laughing relievingly along with Cam, I look around the car finally. It is scanty; there are only a couple of people in there.

We find a seat and slide in. Cam looks to his sides, making sure no one is watching, and then he grabs my nape, locking our lips.

It is the most energetic of kisses; it doesn't stop. My head is against the window; he is desperate for more, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I loop my hands around him as we savor each other like tomorrow is never coming and that he and I are the only ones alive.

I love this feeling. It is life. It is everything.

I love him.