NICKOLAS

"She knows," I tell Eric, taking a sip of bourbon lounging in a brown armchair beside the crackling fireplace. The warm glow paints the living room in comforting hues. Eric leans forward, his own glass in hand.

"Which 'she'?"

"Amelia," I respond, taking another sip, my throat tightening at her name.

"How does she know?"

“I don’t know, but tonight she questioned me about it.”

“She’s sharp. It only took her the second time to figure it out.”

“Let’s hope she knows how to shut her mouth and doesn’t mess up the plan.”

“I don’t think she has anyone to spill to. Nothing to worry about.”

“Beatrice is her...