Chapter 337: Up North
"James." Amara’s voice softened instinctively, the way it always did around him. She eased out of Julian’s arms, suddenly a touch self-conscious, smoothing her blouse as she sat up.
Julian, for his part, only chuckled low in his throat and kept one arm looped loosely around her waist, entirely unbothered at being caught mid-embrace by the man who had, for all intents and purposes, been standing in for Amara’s father since the day her mother had passed away.
James had never been just an assistant, never just an employee, though that was the title that had technically appeared on his contract all those years.
He had shown up at every crisis with steady hands and a steadier voice, had shielded her from things she never even knew to be grateful for, and had done it all with the fierce, unglamorous loyalty of a man who had appointed himself her guardian and never once asked to be thanked for it.
Which was exactly why the shadow behind his smile now made her stomach tighten.
"No, you’re not interrupting," Amara said, studying him. "James, what’s wrong? You look a little sad."
For a moment James said nothing, and in the silence Amara felt Julian’s hand tighten almost imperceptibly at her waist, a quiet show of solidarity, of I’m right here, whatever this is.
"I’m fine, Amara dear." James stepped further into the room, and only then did she notice the cream envelope he held loosely in one hand, turning it over once between his fingers before he seemed to decide there was no gentle way to do this.
"Janet sent me a resignation letter. She asked me to deliver it to you in person, she said she couldn’t bring herself to do it herself."
The words landed like a dropped glass, shattering something in the easy quiet of the afternoon.
"What?" Amara’s mouth had gone dry. She sat forward, all traces of drowsy contentment gone from her posture in an instant. "James, that’s, that can’t be right."
Because Janet wasn’t just an employee. Janet was the girl who had believed in Amara with her talent, back when Ara Clothing had been nothing but a name scrawled on a whiteboard and a shared, half-mad dream.
Amara had brought the money, the family name, the connections, the sheer bullish will to make something out of nothing, but it had been Janet’s hands, Janet’s eye for a silhouette, Janet’s genius for turning a bolt of handmade fabric into something that made women stop in the street, that had actually built the brand from the inside out.
Amara had never made a single major decision in that company without her. She had left Janet in charge of nearly everything, production, design, half the staffing, because there wasn’t another person alive she trusted the way she trusted her other than James.
The idea of Janet resigning wasn’t just startling. It felt, for one disorienting second, like the floor tilting beneath a house Amara had thought was finally, finally standing on solid ground.
"How is that possible?" Amara’s voice cracked slightly, and she turned instinctively toward Julian, though she didn’t even seem to realize she was doing it. "Did I do something?"
Julian didn’t say a word. He simply reached over, without fanfare, and laid his palm flat against the small of her back, warm, grounding, present.
He didn’t try to answer for her, didn’t try to fix it before she’d even understood what was broken. He just let her feel that he was there, solid as a wall at her back, exactly the way he’d promised he’d always be.
James’s expression softened immediately, and he lifted a hand as if to physically wave the fear away. "No, no, not any of that. Amara, she is so grateful for everything you’ve given her. All of us are. That’s not what this is." He exhaled, and the sad half-smile finally reached his eyes, warm now instead of shadowed.
"She’s found, love. She wants to get married. And she wants to move up north to be with him." For a long beat, Amara only blinked at him.
"Up north?" she repeated faintly, as though the words belonged to a language she was only half-fluent in. "That’s, James, that’s far."
"It is," James agreed, not unkindly. "But she said she wanted to be close to him once they’re married. Properly close. Not visiting on weekends and holidays close."
"I see." Amara pressed the back of her hand briefly to her mouth, feeling a strange, complicated knot of emotions tangle in her chest, happiness for her oldest friend fighting for space against the sharp, unexpected sting of loss, and underneath both of those, a flicker of something almost like guilt.
As though she should have somehow known, should have seen this coming, should have been there for the parts of Janet’s life that hadn’t involved a sewing machine or a spreadsheet.
She shook herself and reached for the practical, the way she always did when her heart threatened to run ahead of her.
"I’m happy for her. Truly. Let’s get her anything she could need before the wedding. I’ll call her myself, see if she needs help with the arrangements, the venue, anything." She was already twisting around, scanning the side table for her phone, her mind already halfway into planning mode, cataloguing florists and guest lists and gown fittings.
"I don’t think that will be much help," James said, and there was an odd note in his voice now, something caught between amusement and apology.
Amara paused, phone half-lifted. "Why not?"
"Because they’d already registered the marriage. Quietly, at the courthouse. I was a witness." The room went very still.
"What?" Amara set the phone down slowly, as though it had suddenly grown too heavy for her hand.
"James, what do you mean you were a witness? When did this happen? Why didn’t anyone tell me?"
"It happened fast, and with everything with Amira," James said, and there was a rueful sort of fondness in the way he said it, the tone of a man who had stopped being surprised by love’s timing a long while ago.