by Teri Wilson
Apparently she had.
Her chin trembled in a way that Amelia couldn’t bear to look at. “Who was that guy? And don’t say no one, because that’s clearly not the case.”
Amelia took a deep breath. She couldn’t keep standing there, mute. She had to say something to fix the mess she’d gotten herself into. “He’s the cello player from America—one of the musicians for the ceremony.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word wedding.
Still, it loomed over them like a dark cloud.
“You’re marrying my dad,” Eleanor said. “Tomorrow.”
As if Amelia could forget. “I am, yes.”
Her gaze flitted toward the door, and she realized she was tapping her foot. She knew she needed to stay put and make things right with Eleanor, but all she wanted to do was go after Asher so she could explain.
“Then why is an American musician knocking on the door to your bedroom at nine o’clock at night? A hot American musician?” Eleanor shook her head, as if she could rattle the memory of Asher’s hotness clear out of her mind.
It wouldn’t work. Amelia ought to know. She’d attempted that kind of voluntary amnesia herself on more than one occasion in recent days.
“It’s not how it looks.” Amelia’s cheeks grew warm. Wasn’t that precisely what people said when things were exactly how they appeared? “He was a last-minute substitute for Yo-Yo Ma. Every hotel in London was booked solid, so he’s staying here. Right next door.”
“This is the person you mentioned before? The one who’s staying in the Blue Room?”
Amelia nodded and allowed herself to breathe a tiny sigh of relief. She’d forgotten she’d already told Eleanor about Asher. She hadn’t tried to hide anything.
Keep telling yourself that.
She glanced at the door again.
Stop it.
“Is there any particular reason you failed to mention that Asher Reed is the musical equivalent of Ryan Gosling?” Eleanor’s lips compressed into a flat line.
Amelia didn’t have a reasonable explanation for such a glaring omission. It was exactly the kind of thing they’d normally talk about. So why hadn’t they?
“I hadn’t noticed his looks.” Now she was really piling it on thick. There was no way Eleanor would buy that. “Okay, maybe I did, but it didn’t seem relevant at the time.”
“Is it relevant now?” Eleanor’s tone was growing more accusatory by the minute. “Is this why you were just asking me about my dad and Willie? Are you looking for an excuse not to go through with the wedding?”
“Eleanor, no. I promise. That has nothing to do with Asher Reed.” She sighed.
Now was the time to mention the watch. She had no choice.
“Asher and I have become friends. He’s . . .” Amelia swallowed. “. . . nice. But the reason I asked about Lady Wentworth is because she sent a gift to Holden. It seemed strange, but no one else thinks it’s odd except for me.”
She launched into an explanation of finding the watch and made sure to mention that the intertwined initials perfectly matched the engraving on Lady Wentworth’s necklace.
Eleanor nodded. “I’ve seen that locket. She wears it all the time.”
“Well? Don’t you think it’s strange that she gave Holden a gift with the same engraving on it, especially if the initials on the necklace are supposed to stand for her and Lord Wentworth’s?” Amelia began to pace back and forth. If she couldn’t get out of here to go find Asher, she might jump out of her skin.
What if he’d gone? What if he’d packed up his cello and gone back to America?
“You said you spoke to the queen about the watch. What did she say?”
“She thinks I’m losing it.” But her mum had a vested interest in making sure Amelia walked down that aisle. Everyone in her family did. “Do you think that, too?”
Eleanor shook her head. Slowly. “It’s taken me a whole month to get used to the idea that you and my dad are getting married. Now I’m not sure what to think. But I do know one thing—instead of talking about this with me or your mum or Asher Reed, you should be talking to my father.”
Then she stood and walked right out the door, just like Asher had only moments ago. Amelia’s impromptu hen do had ended as abruptly as it had begun.
I should go after her, she thought. She’d known Eleanor her entire life. They’d stuck together through good times and bad. But this was beyond bad.
Amelia had crossed a line with Asher, and it wasn’t a secret anymore.
* * *
ASHER DIDN’T REALIZE HE’D been staring at the door until someone knocked.
On some primitive level, he must’ve been waiting for it. Hoping for it. Wishing she’d come chasing after him.
He knew better than to give in to that secret desire, though. Whatever he thought was happening between him and Amelia was a figment of his imagination. He’d been an idiot to dream otherwise . . . and an even bigger idiot to give in to temptation and venture beneath her wedding gown. He’d suspected as much after she’d pushed him away, but didn’t quite believe it. He’d seen the fire in her eyes. He’d felt her melt against him when their lips met. He’d heard his name falling from her tongue as she fell, breathy and desperate. Like a prayer.
She’d wanted him.
Or so he’d thought.
She knocked again. When he didn’t answer, her voice came through the door. The softness of her tone seemed to wrap around his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “Asher, it’s me. May I come in?”
The words barely registered. His mind had snagged on what her friend had said moments ago in Amelia’s room.
He’s no one. You mentioned that already.
It kept playing over and over in his head, like a vinyl record stuck on repeat.
No one.
So that’s what Amelia thought of him. That’s how she talked about him when he wasn’t around.
Fine. At least he knew.
“No, you may not come in,” he said sharply.
He was done with all of this. So done. Done with England. Done with the godforsaken royal wedding. Done playing secret companion to the princess bride.
After tomorrow, he’d get the hell out of here and never come back. The wedding couldn’t come soon enough, as far as he was concerned. If Amelia wanted to marry a cheater who was old enough to be her father, so be it. He’d been a fool to think he could stop her.
No one.
Asher yanked his tie from around his neck and tossed it on the bed. His gaze drifted over the cool blue sheets, and he tried not to picture Amelia lying there. Waiting for him.
Stopping what they’d started earlier had been almost impossible. He’d been flooded with want—desire so deep he’d been drowning in it. He would have given everything he had to unbutton all that delicate lace and look at her. Really see her.
“Asher, please,” Amelia called through the closed door, her voice breaking.
Something inside Asher seemed to break along with it.
Damn it.
He should have left well enough alone. He should have kept the promise he’d made to himself to keep his distance. He should have obeyed her order and never spoken to her again. Asher doubted he would’ve been able to exercise such restraint, even if he hadn’t seen what he had at Westminster Abbey.
Amelia cleared her throat. “Look, either let me in, or I’ll just call James and have him unlock your door for me.”
Of course she would. From what Asher had seen, she pretty much found a way to indulge her every whim.
Asher was finished being a whim. He marched to the door and flung it open.
Amelia jumped back in surprise. They stared at one another for a beat without saying a word. Asher was suddenly acutely aware of the pounding of his heart and the roar of his pulse in his ears. He was slipping under again. Drowning.
She was as beautiful as ever, even with her brows drawn together with worry and her smeared mascara forming smoky shadows beneath her eyes. Her hair was ga
thered to one side, tumbling over her shoulder in a mass of tousled waves. She was barefoot, standing beside some sort of silver beverage cart. All in all, she looked more like a semigoth flight attendant than the princess of England.
Asher liked it.
This was his Amelia, the woman. Real. Raw.
His grip tightened around the doorknob until his knuckles went numb.
“I want to explain,” she said, glancing past him, toward the quiet blue room. The untouched bed.
He couldn’t invite her in. Obviously. He’d made enough mistakes in the past twenty-four hours to last a lifetime.
He shrugged. “No need. It was nothing.”
Nothing.
No one.
“Bollocks.” She planted her hand on the door and pushed hard.
The doorknob slipped from Asher’s grasp. Amelia took immediate advantage of his surprise and maneuvered the cart through the doorway.
He stumbled backward out of her way, then righted himself and jammed his hands on his hips. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You’re just going to force your way in here?”
“Yes, I am.” Her chin lifted in defiance. She plucked a bottle off the silver cart and waved it in the air. “But I have alcohol. Consider this hundred-year-old Scotch whisky a peace offering.”
Asher didn’t want peace. He wanted to stay furious with her for as long as possible—until he left the country, if he could manage it. Anger was good. Anger just might keep him from kissing her again.
If he was lucky.
He grabbed the bottle. He needed all the luck he could get, even if it was only the liquid variety.
“Mission accomplished.” He uncorked the Scotch and took a swig right from the bottle. “All is forgiven. You can go now.”
She ignored him. Because of course she did. Why would he expect otherwise?
He watched as she sauntered across the room. Not the bed. Anywhere but the bed. She plopped down, cross-legged, with her back leaning against his pillow.
Asher released a tense breath. He was going to need lot more Scotch. Better yet, he ought to ditch it altogether. He took another gulp. Too late.
Hell if he was going to drink alone, though. He poured two fingers’ worth into a couple of highball glasses from the cart, kept one for himself, and handed the other to Amelia. When she reached for the cut crystal, her fingertips brushed against his. Their eyes met, and held.
Asher cleared his throat and deliberately took a seat in a blue velvet chair situated a chaste five feet away from the bed.
Amelia’s gaze dropped to her lap. “When I came home today, James told me I had a visitor waiting in my room. I thought it was you.”
She sighed and shook her head. “No, that’s not right. I hoped it was you. I wanted it to be you so much that I burst through the door and said your name.”
Asher swallowed. The highball glass in his hand shook ever so slightly.
“It wasn’t you, obviously. It was Eleanor.” Amelia smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“And where is Eleanor now?”
“She left. I probably should have gone after her.” She glanced at the door, but didn’t move a muscle. “Have I mentioned that Eleanor isn’t just my friend? She’s also Holden’s daughter.”
Holden.
A muscle in Asher’s jaw tensed. “I see.”
“So that’s why I said you were no one. I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t.” She took a deliberate sip of her drink.
“Do I?”
She lifted a brow.
Yeah. He’d known as much all along. She’d just been trying to throw Eleanor off the scent, which was an appropriate response. Appropriate and necessary, because she was marrying another man. And that fact, Asher realized, was the more likely target for his fury. Not Amelia.
Shit. He took a huge swallow of Scotch, immensely grateful for the five feet of space between them.
“You should go after Eleanor,” he said flatly. Please, please go.
He was on the verge of doing something idiotic again. And this time, he wouldn’t be able to blame his actions on impulse.
“I should, but I won’t.” She let out a bitter laugh and drained her glass. “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. I mess things up. I ruin things. It’s what I do.”
Asher looked at her long and hard. She stared right back at him through red-rimmed eyes. She was serious. “We’ve got that in common, then.”
“Please. You’re a world-class musician. People call you the next Yo-Yo Ma. Only younger. And hotter.” She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink.
Asher hid his smile behind his glass of Scotch. “I see you’ve been Googling me.”
At least he hadn’t been the only one engaging in some light cyber-stalking lately.
“You get to be the musical genius. Do you have any idea what people call me?” She let out a notably unregal snort.
Asher knew better than to pretend he didn’t know the answer. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He winked. “Princess Naughty.”
“Yep. That’s me.” Her bow-shaped lips curved into lopsided smile, as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
Asher’s gut churned. He wouldn’t be able to handle tears. If she cried, he’d go to her and wrap her in his arms. There’d be no stopping him.
He clutched the arms of the chair. “Don’t believe everything you read. I’m not a musical genius by any stretch. I was good once. Now I’m not so sure.”
The excuses were wearing thin. He’d been so ready to attribute his nerves to anything and anyone else, but he was going to crash and burn in front of the whole world. And he’d have no one to blame but himself.
“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t the best. I’m not sure if you noticed, but this wedding is the spectacle of the century.”
“Complete with leopards,” he added. “Or so I’ve heard.”
He wondered what had happened to the animal. He wished he’d asked James about it again. Maybe Asher could have even taken Amelia to see the leopard, wherever it was. That would have made Amelia smile, and he had a deeply rooted need to make her happy, even though he knew it wouldn’t last.
Of course it wouldn’t. They weren’t dating. They weren’t even friends. They’d never spend an afternoon at the zoo together, even if James tracked down the leopard. It was a pipe dream.
Asher cleared his throat. “Seriously, though. I can’t play. Not like I used to. I told you what happened.”
“Between that awful conductor and your ex?” she asked softly.
And it was the softness in her voice, the tenderness that drew the rest out of him. “She’s here, too. They both are.”
“Ouch.”
“Serena plays the viola. Jeremy is conducting, obviously.” He swirled the dregs of his whisky around the bottom of his glass, then polished it off.
He braced himself and dragged his gaze back to Amelia’s, expecting to see the same look of pity on her face that he’d seen on pretty much everyone else’s for months now. He’d grown accustomed to the sympathetic glances, the knowing frowns. But it would kill him if Amelia looked at him that way.
She didn’t, though. Quite the opposite. She almost looked jealous. “Do you want her back?”
“Hell no.” But he didn’t hate the fact that the thought had put a possessive little gleam in Amelia’s eye.
She gave him a decisive nod. “Screw Serena and Jeremy then. You’re better off without both of them. They sound awful.”
He smiled. “They are, actually.”
“Right.” She nodded again. “So I’m still winning. I’m the biggest screw up. You can concede now.”
“Never.” He rose from his chair and refilled both of their glasses.
“Challenge accepted.” Amelia clinked her glass against his, and the next thing he knew, Asher was sitting beside her on the bed.
It was fine. Normal. Appropriate, even. They were having an open and honest conversation. It would hav
e been weird to walk all the way back across the room.
He stared into his glass. When had he become so adept at lying to himself?
“I almost caused a war in Norway a few years ago,” Amelia blurted.
“What?” Asher laughed. Clearly he’d had too much to drink. War wasn’t a laughing matter.
Except Amelia was laughing, too. When her giggles subsided, she shrugged. “I flirted with the admiral of their navy, and he took it a little too seriously.” She frowned. “Or was it the Norwegian air force?”
It was the navy. Asher remembered reading something about the incident in his Google search.
“I promised James I wouldn’t set foot outside of this room without notifying him first.” Possibly getting James fired didn’t compare to a near war in Norway, but it was the first misstep that sprang to mind.
Amelia pulled a face. “Let me guess. He doesn’t know about earlier?”
“Nope.” Asher sighed. “If he gets sacked, it’ll be my fault.”
“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it.” She shot him a triumphant smirk. “There’s no way you’re winning this little competition. I’m the biggest screwup. Admit it.”
He shook his head. “No way. I’m still holding onto my ace.”
“Your ace?” Amelia’s eyebrows rose.
“Yep. It’s a guaranteed win. You’ll never top it.”
“Never is an awfully strong word. I’m not sure I’m buying your supreme confidence in this area. Between the two of us, I’m obviously the biggest screwup. Just ask any tabloid.” She took a sip of her drink.
Asher slid his gaze toward her. “Serena told me I never played her with as much passion as I played my cello. She said I was cold.”
Amelia’s smile faded.
Asher shrugged one shoulder, but the conversation didn’t seem playful anymore. It was starting to feel serious. And intimate. “Still think I can’t mess things up as badly as you can?”
She looked at him. “I think Serena is an even bigger fool than I realized. That’s what I think.”
Asher’s body hardened.
Damn it.
He didn’t utter a word. He didn’t move. Anything he said or did right then had the potential to get them both into big trouble.
