by Teri Wilson
No one would believe him. Not after the way he’d just played. His only hope would be to nail his solo on the next run-through.
Once he’d made his way out of the nave, his heartbeat began to slow. His hands were damp, and he realized he’d nearly perspired through his dress shirt. He loosened his tie, pushed open the Abbey’s heavy wooden door, and stumbled out onto the sidewalk.
How was his stage fright getting worse instead of better? This trip to England was supposed to be a fresh start. A new beginning. But he’d gone and made things worse by falling in lust with the bride.
Deep down, he wasn’t altogether sure his feelings for Amelia were quite that simple. But physical attraction was all he was willing to admit at the moment, even to himself.
Asher took three deep breaths, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. Just as he started to feel better, he realized it was raining. A steady gray drizzle fell from the sky. His face was soaked, as was his suit jacket. But at least he could breathe again.
He glanced at his watch. The orchestra was probably halfway through its second movement. He still had time before he needed to be back in his chair. He ducked beneath the closest covered walkway and scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed to get his shit together. If he didn’t, the royal family would probably fly Yo-Yo Ma back to England and beg him to play in his hospital gown.
He hastened his steps when he saw a door marked WC, for water closet, at the far end of the walkway. With any luck, the bathroom would have a hand dryer in it. If it didn’t, he’d have to slog back inside, dripping all over the church floor.
He opened the door. The room was dark, so he reached for the light switch and flipped it on. His gaze landed immediately on the hand dryer attached to the far wall, and at first his sense of relief was so acute that he failed to notice the man standing at the counter.
The man’s back was facing Asher, and when he turned his head, Asher froze. It was Holden.
And he wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER
* * *
THIRTEEN
“Your Royal Highness?” At last James’s voice broke through the fuzz in Amelia’s head. ”Your Royal Highness?!”
She could hear a distinct thread of panic in his tone. How long had she been standing there, staring at that godforsaken watch?
“Yes, James?” she said. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in her voice. Not even a waver. She sounded like a robot.
No, that wasn’t quite right. She sounded like the queen—cool, detached, noble. So much like her mother it was scary.
“You seem . . .” James paused to choose his next words with discretion. Because every interaction that took place beneath the roof over their heads was carefully orchestrated and choreographed. Even the crises. “. . . shaken.”
“I’m not,” she heard herself say, again in that eerie monotone voice.
She wished she were, though. She wished she felt anything. She would’ve preferred devastation over the nothingness that had crawled beneath her skin and made itself at home.
She wasn’t even all that surprised. For all the feelings Holden professed to have for her, he’d never shown much interest in her. Amelia had blamed it on the chaos surrounding the wedding and engagement. The innocent pecks on the cheek . . . the awkward hugs . . . now they made sense. Her fiancé was in love with another woman.
Forever.
She closed her eyes, and still she saw that word etched in gold. The letters were becoming imprinted so permanently in her mind that they were beginning to lose their meaning, like when you repeated a word over and over again until it tasted strange and foreign in your mouth.
She opened her eyes and found James eyeing her with concern.
His gaze dropped to the pocket watch in her hand. He cleared his throat. “Shall I put that away for you, Your Royal Highness?”
Amelia’s fist closed around the trinket. “No.”
“No?” His voice raised an octave, like it did whenever he was worried.
She was causing trouble again. Poor James. He probably thought she was on the verge of a breakdown or something. Most other brides would be, if faced with this situation. Of course most other brides probably didn’t conclude their wedding gown fitting by being pinned against the wall by their cello soloist.
Maybe that’s why she wasn’t upset. She had no right to feel angry after what she’d done.
“I need to speak to my mother.” She turned and headed for the door with such speed that Willow seemed to think it was a game. The corgi scurried after her, nipping at her heels.
James trailed behind both of them calling, “Wait!”
Amelia didn’t feel like waiting. The queen was probably busy. She typically spent afternoons in her sitting room, receiving guests. She’d adhered to the same schedule for Amelia’s entire life. Amelia could remember running down the Queen’s Hall when she was a little girl, anxious to share something with her mother. She couldn’t remember what it had been—a drawing, maybe? A book? It could have been anything. Her search for her mummy always ended on the wrong side of a closed door.
This time would be different. She didn’t care if the prime minister herself was taking tea in the queen’s sitting room. She’d just have to sit there and sip her Earl Grey while Amelia explained what she’d just found.
“James, don’t try to stop me. Not now.” She spun around to face him, so abruptly that Willow plowed into her shins. Ouch. “Just stay out of it. Pretend you had no idea.”
He blinked. “But . . .”
“But nothing. I’m serious, James. Go someplace else.” She was basically telling him to go run and hide. She didn’t want him to get in any kind of trouble for what she was about to do.
But speaking to her mother couldn’t wait. The wedding was in less than twenty-four hours. Unless . . .
Unless the watch in her hand changed things.
It could, couldn’t it? Surely her family wouldn’t expect her to marry a man who was planning on forever with someone else. Of course they wouldn’t. The throne would have to be secured another way.
“Your Royal Highness,” James said. There was a warning in his tone, which Amelia chose to ignore.
She took off down the hall toward the queen’s sitting room. Thankfully, James chose to save himself and didn’t follow her.
As usual, her mother’s secretary and a palace guard were situated in the anteroom right outside the queen’s door. Before either of them had time to look up, Amelia charged past them and pushed the door open.
The queen was sitting on the corner of the floral sofa, facing a wingback chair where her brother Edward sat facing her with a stack of papers on his lap.
“Amelia? What are you doing here?” Edward frowned, then looked past her, where the queen’s assistant and the security officer were rushing through the door.
“I live here, remember? It’s our family home,” Amelia said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. When had the palace ever felt like an actual home?
The security officer came to an abrupt stop beside Amelia, and his gaze flitted back and forth between her and the queen, as if trying to work out whether or not he should arrest her. “Um.”
Amelia’s mum glared at her, and without breaking her gaze, dismissed the bodyguard. “Never mind, Peter. The princess must be facing a matter of life or death if she’s chosen to barge into my sitting room without warning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The stiff smile on her mother’s face flattened into a straight line. “Amelia, have you lost your mind?”
She kind of felt like she had. Logically, she knew it wasn’t normal to feel numb like this. But it made things so much easier. “I’m sorry, but I’ve just found something you need to see. Something important.”
Amelia hated herself for apologizing. She’d interrupted a meeting between her mother and her brother—they might be the current and future monarchs, but they were still her
family.
“What is it, sis?” Edward asked. The gentleness in his tone made Amelia want to hug him.
“This.” She lifted the pocket watch by its slender gold chain. It spun a few circles. W and H. Forever. W and H. Forever.
Edward squinted. “Are you trying to hypnotize us? What’s with the watch?”
“It’s a gift to Holden from Lady Wentworth. I think it was inventoried with the wedding gifts by mistake.” She offered it to her mum. “Given the personal nature of the inscription.”
Her mother took it, ran her thumb over the intertwined initials, then flipped it over to read the opposite side. For a flicker of a second, she froze. It was such a brief slip of composure that if Amelia had blinked at just the wrong moment, she would’ve missed it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Amelia.”
When she glanced up, her expression had returned to its placid, neutral state.
“You can’t be serious. It’s got their initials on it. And the word forever. They’re having an affair,” Amelia said flatly.
“Nonsense.” The queen rolled her eyes.
Edward held out his hand. “Let me see it.”
She handed him the watch, while Amelia gaped at her. “Nonsense? Now who’s lost her mind?”
Edward shot her a warning glance. She was treading on the thinnest of ice now. Bursting into the room was one thing. Speaking to the monarch with disrespect was another. Amelia had gotten into more than her fair share of trouble over the years, but she’d never spoken to her mother in such a way before. Not ever.
The corgis at her feet all swiveled their ears. Except Willow, who’d apparently grown bored with the drama. She let out a squeaky dog yawn and sauntered out of the room.
Amelia braced herself for the worst, but the queen patted the empty sofa cushion beside her and said, “Sit down, dear.”
Relief coursed through her. Finally. Her mum was going to be reasonable about this. Sympathetic, even. Of course she wouldn’t expect her to go through with the wedding now. What kind of mother would do that?
Amelia’s eyes locked with Edward’s as she lowered herself onto the couch. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen such an uncertain look on her brother’s face before.
Amelia’s mother took her hand, and she held her breath. This is it. I’m not going to have to marry Holden. She finally understands. The watch was a game-changer, just as she suspected.
The queen gave her hand a squeeze. Amelia tried to remember the last time her mother had treated her with such tenderness before, but she came up empty. “I know you’re stressed, Amelia.”
Amelia nodded. She was beyond stressed. She was on the verge of either some kind of catatonic episode or coming completely apart.
“But you must get ahold of yourself. It’s simply a case of cold feet. Perfectly ordinary.” The queen smiled. “But you’ll get through this.”
Cold feet?
Amelia blinked. Of course she had cold feet. She’d been plagued with doubts for weeks. But what did that have to do with Lady Wentworth and the watch?
“What do you mean I’ll get through this?” Amelia’s hand went limp in her mother’s grasp.
“The wedding.” The queen’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.
That damn, calculating eyebrow. Amelia should have known better than to get her hopes up. She wasn’t on the receiving end of a get-out-of-jail-free card. She was getting a premarital pep talk.
“Surely you don’t expect me to marry a man who is in love with another woman.” Amelia glanced at Edward, pleading with her eyes for him to speak up and agree with her. But he didn’t look up. He was studying the engraving on the back of the watch.
Forever.
Another shiver snaked its way up Amelia’s spine. Would she ever be warm again?
“You know nothing of the sort. Wilhelmina and Holden have been friends for years. And need I remind you that Wilhelmina is married? She and Henry have been together for more than two decades.”
“Married people have affairs all the time,” Amelia said. God, she was about to be in one of those marriages, wasn’t she? “They’ve probably been secretly in love for years.”
She wondered briefly if the affair had been going on since before Eleanor’s mother died, then decided she was probably better off not knowing. Ignorance truly was bliss sometimes.
“Amelia, stop this right now. Holden and Wilhelmina are not lovers.”
“But the engraving matches Lady Wentworth’s locket exactly. The H stands for Holden, not Henry.”
“And why shouldn’t it? They’re friends, dear.” She placed Amelia’s hand back in her lap and gave it a final pat. “Forever friends. You’ve misinterpreted this entire situation.”
Amelia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew her family was in danger of losing the crown, and her marriage to Holden was supposed to put all those worries at rest. But if that’s why her mother wanted her to continue to go through with the wedding, why not just say so? Why insist she was imagining things?
She couldn’t be jumping to the wrong conclusion. The odds that they were just friends seemed absurdly far-fetched.
“What do you think, Edward?” She swiveled her gaze toward her brother.
He let out a sigh. “I don’t know, sis.”
“You’re telling me that if a female friend gave you something like this, Jane would be completely fine with it?” Amelia wholeheartedly doubted it. In addition to being the world’s most perfect princess, Jane was also head over heels in love with Edward. Finding a gift like this would bother her. A lot.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” Edward said calmly.
Too calmly.
Why was everyone being so rational? Amelia couldn’t shake her own eerie composure, but she’d expected a reaction of some kind. If not outrage, then maybe at least disappointment? But as usual, she was the one causing the disappointment. Not Holden.
“Mum’s right. Holden and Lady Wentworth are longtime friends. They’ve known each other since boarding school. Remember when Eleanor’s mother died? Lady Wentworth helped the staff with all the funeral arrangements. She was really there for Holden. Eleanor adores her.”
He was right.
Still. Something seemed very off.
Maybe things seem wrong because you nearly had sex with another man last night.
Amelia swallowed, and considered the possibility that she was projecting her own disloyal feelings onto Holden. Was that possible?
Surely not. The orgasm had been an accident. An accident that would never be repeated.
She swallowed. “You really think it’s just cold feet?”
“I do, darling. But if you’re so concerned, leave the watch with me and I’ll get to the bottom of things. I assure you, there’s a perfectly rational explanation.” Her mother held out her hand.
Amelia didn’t particularly want to let go of the watch. It seemed important, but she didn’t have much of a choice. And her thoughts kept spinning back around to Asher. And the things they’d done together.
Was she just looking for an excuse to get out of the marriage? If she was being honest with herself, the answer was yes. She would latch on to any reason she could find.
So she pressed the watch into the queen’s hand and hoped for the best.
* * *
“GET OUT. NOW!” HOLDEN’S voice boomed throughout the tiny room, echoing off the stone walls and shaking Asher from his state of profound shock.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
God, was he sorry.
“I’ll just be going.” He averted his gaze and spun around as quickly as he could, but it was too late. He’d already gotten a royally awkward eyeful.
A woman was sitting on the bathroom counter with her skirt hiked above her knees and Holden positioned squarely between her legs. They were both fully clothed, but Asher got the distinct impression that if he’d interrupted them a few moments later, Holden’s trousers would have been pooled at his feet.
D
idn’t anyone in England believe in locking doors?
Holden was the groom, for crying out loud.
Asher practically tripped over himself in his haste to get out of the room. He slammed the door shut behind him, and a second later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt sliding into place.
Now they locked the door. Perfect.
He stalked back inside the church. The orchestra was nearing the completion of the second hymn, with only two more selections to go before the recessional. Jeremy did a double take as Asher reentered the nave, but didn’t miss a beat with his baton.
Asher realized he probably seemed unhinged. His performance thus far had been a disaster, he’d left in the middle of rehearsal and now he was returning looking like he’d just been pulled out the Thames. But suddenly none of that mattered.
He’d just walked in on Amelia’s fiancé on the verge of having sex with another woman. What the hell was he supposed to do with that information?
“Asher? Are you okay?”
Someone was tugging at his sleeve. Asher turned to find Serena gazing up at him with wide eyes.
Not her. Not now. His mind reeled. He was operating on complete and total overload. Serena was the last person he wanted to talk to.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
What was she doing, speaking to him, anyway? Shouldn’t she be playing her instrument?
“I’m worried about you,” she whispered. “Despite what you must think of me, I still care about you very much.”
Asher barely heard a word she said. He needed to get back in his seat. He needed to prepare for his featured piece in the recessional. I need to stop the wedding. “I can’t deal with you right now, Serena.”
She flinched. “I suppose I deserve that. But look at yourself, Asher. Something’s wrong. Let me help you.”
Something was definitely wrong. He wanted to stop the wedding of the century. On some level, he’d probably wanted to put a stop to it since the moment he’d met Amelia. But he’d only allowed himself to consider the possibility since he’d come so close to bedding her. It had been his first thought upon waking this morning.
