Everything I Hoped For

by Ann Christopher

His heart sank. Maybe she didn’t agree.

  Or maybe she felt exactly the same way and wasn’t willing to concede the point at the moment.

  “And when I had the chance to rise or fall on my own merits with you—and I damn near fell the first time I opened my mouth, didn’t I?—I couldn’t bear the thought of mucking it all up by bringing my family into it. I wanted you to know me as a man before you knew me as a royal or a billionaire.”

  Her gaze flicked back to him, flinty now. “I want to know you as you really are.”

  “You do know me as I really am,” he said. “You’ve seen me at my awkward worst. You’ve seen me have a panic attack. You’ve laughed and cried with me. You’ve fucked me.” Her flush deepened. “What more do you think there is between a man and a woman?”

  “Honesty.”

  There would be no compromising with her on this point, which made him want her all the more.

  It also scared him all the more, because he wasn’t at all sure he was getting through to her.

  “Then let me be completely honest,” he said, rising panic making him louder than he’d meant to be. “I grew up in Texas knowing that other kids wanted to come to my house and hang out not because they liked me, but because I had the house with the biggest pool and the coolest game room and the best horses to ride. So there’s the rich kid thing. I went to boarding school knowing that most of those kids wanted to hang out with the prince and maybe get an invite to some palace or other. So that’s the prince thing. Then I went into the service, where I did my job like all the other blokes, but now I get the war hero thing. And none of that’s me. It’s three titles that people hang on me. And half the time, I don’t give a fuck. People can think what they want.”

  “Anthony—”

  “But with you?” He laughed shakily. “I was scared to death that you wouldn’t like me when we met, but the thought that you might want me only because I’m a prince or because I have money is worse. I may be half of a prince and half American, but I’m not going to do anything halfway with you. Either you know me and want me as a regular man, or you don’t. And that’s it. Now you know everything there is to know about me and you can decide whether you want things to go any further or not.”

  With that, his pent-up energy overcame him and he could no longer sit still. He got up and paced the length of the room. Then a new thought hit him—the most important thing—so he wheeled around and came right back.

  “Actually, that was a lie,” he said. “That was only part of what you need to know. Here’s the rest: I’m crazy about you. I’ve been joking about falling for you, but maybe the joke’s on me because I’m pretty sure I’ve already fallen. And if you’ll do me the honor of investing in this relationship with me, then I will always do everything in my power to smooth the way for you and make sure you have as normal a life as possible. And that’s everything you need to know about me.”

  “But this is about more than whether I like you or not, Anthony! On top of the long-distance thing, I’m a black woman! With a scar on my face! You think folks across the pond are going to want their precious prince to marry someone like me?”

  He flinched. Maybe he had blinders on, but he really hadn’t thought of it like that. Wasn’t this the twenty-first century? Wouldn’t everyone back home immediately see what he saw—that she was an extraordinary person whose spirit was every bit as beautiful as her face?

  “Melody—”

  “I’m a private person from a sleepy little town, Anthony. I’m a doctor. That’s what I know. I’m not cut out to have paparazzi taking my picture and digging around in my past or for meeting the Queen. All that sounds terrifying to me.”

  “Fair enough. But you need to know that the thing that terrifies me is the thought of losing you ten minutes after we’ve found each other,” he said quietly.

  Something in her expression softened. She helplessly shook her head. “You’re naive.”

  There was something no one had ever called him before.

  “I’m not naive. I’m focused on the big picture.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked tiredly.

  Anthony did his best to get a little air into his constricted lungs, knowing that his happiness was on the line here and it had never been more important for him to get his words right.

  “You and I are well suited to each other. In every important way.”

  “Anthony—”

  “But if you don’t agree with that assessment, then now is your moment to say so.”

  She blinked. Opened her mouth. Faltered. Shut her mouth. Looked away, her gaze sliding out of focus.

  He managed a deeper breath, all but sagging with relief.

  “I’m not saying our road will be easy—”

  She barked out a humorless laugh.

  “—but this relationship shows incredible promise. All the rest are details.”

  “Details,” she said wryly. “Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.”

  He gave her his most withering glance, the one that always worked with his men.

  She met it with a hitched brow and steady defiance.

  The silence stretched between them, every passing second infusing him with increased certainty. A magnification of the feeling he’d experienced when he’d clicked on Baptiste’s link and seen Melody’s face— her glorious eyes—for the very first time.

  Her.

  He wanted (needed?) her.

  No one else.

  Joy streaked through him. Quiet. Undeniable.

  This one would not be dominated. She could not be bent or twisted. The trauma of her burn and then her medical training after that had molded her into someone with a titanium spine who could handle anything. Nothing that ever happened to her would be worse than that, and she knew it.

  She would always be herself. This woman sitting right in front of him, ready to take him off at the knees if need be.

  His thumping heart swelled until he felt like it reached every far corner of his body.

  He doubted Melody even realized how strong she was. But he knew.

  He tried to picture Annabella Carmichael or any of the women he’d dated occupying Melody’s spot right now, staring him down with a steel-infused gaze. He tried to imagine any one of them standing strong in the face of paparazzi fire, or speaking up for herself when confronted with, say, his father or his grandmother.

  The idea was so patently ridiculous he could almost laugh.

  “I need some time to think about all this,” she finally said.

  He nodded, happy to give her whatever time she needed.

  Because he was smart enough to know that a woman like this wouldn’t come along twice in his lifetime.

  19

  “Welcome to Howard’s Folly!” Samira sang when she opened the door to her new house for Melody about an hour later. “Enter at your own risk.”

  “I don’t want to enter at all.” Melody stood where she was on the threshold, folded her arms and gave her a doleful glare. “I’m not speaking to you or your French sidekick. I just came to announce that you’re in the doghouse so you’ll know I’m ignoring you.”

  “What did I do?” Samira asked, widening her eyes and putting a hand over her heart in a D-list stab at innocence that had the potential to fool no one.

  Melody jabbed her index finger at her face. “You know very well what—”

  “Melody!” Baptiste appeared beside Samira and threw the door open wider. “You came to see our new house. Come in, come in.”

  “I don’t want to come in,” Melody said, splitting her glower between them while also tipping her head to each side so she could receive his double-cheeked kiss. “You’re terrible friends and human beings. I only came to tell you how bitterly disappointed in you I am and to write you off forever.”

  Baptiste shot Samira a sidelong look, brows raised. “That’s a lot of drama for this early on a weekend morning. Do we have any clue about—”

  “I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Melody
snapped. “You two knew all about Anthony’s status as a royal, and you didn’t say one word about it. Not one word.”

  “That’s a complete lie,” Samira said. “I tried to tell you, but you were too busy speechifying about how the two of you had taken a blood oath to get to know each other the old-fashioned way. Ringing any bells?”

  It rang a bell, but Melody was in no mood to be reasonable about anything. “Thanks for giving a sister a heads-up. That’s all I can say.”

  “Well, say it inside.” Samira hooked an arm around Melody’s waist, steered her inside her massive foyer and shut the door. “It’s freezing out there.”

  Melody looked around with interest, noting the stately staircase, dusty but beautiful floors and paneling, high-ceilinged rooms spinning off hallways on either side and the spectacular view from the kitchen windows.

  “Oh, my God,” she said.

  Baptiste beamed at her. “You like it?”

  Melody took off her jacket and thrust it and her bag at his chest before heading for the kitchen, where a massive fire blazed in an oversized hearth big enough to park a compact car in.

  “I’m going to suspend hostilities only long enough to tell you that this house is amazing. I can’t believe you actually bought it, Baptiste. It’s been sitting empty for years.”

  “Yes, well, as I told you the day of the Halloween bonfire, I had a very strong feeling about this house.”

  “As well you should. Look at this view! Samira, can you believe this?”

  “I cannot.” Samira, all but levitating with happiness, joined her at the kitchen sink while they admired the glittering Hudson River in the distance. “It was a wonderful surprise.”

  “So what kind of work does it need?” Melody asked, eyeballing the swimming pool, which appeared to have caved in on one side, and the kitchen counters, which rightfully belonged in a linoleum museum.

  “Everything,” Baptiste said cheerfully, pointing to a yellow legal pad and several sheets of its paper already lined with notes. “We’re pretty sure we dislocated a family of birds when we lit the fire, so maybe we should start with a fireplace inspection. We’ve been making a list. It needs windows. HVAC. New kitchen. New bathrooms. New roof. New pool. We’d be better off hiring a demolition expert and blasting the house to smith—ah, what’s the word?”

  “Smithereens,” supplied Melody and Samira.

  “Yes! We should blast it to smithereens. But we want to restore the house to its former glory. And it will be fun. Right, Samira?”

  “I’m not sure if fun is the right word,” Samira said darkly. “It’ll be an adventure for sure. And that’s enough about the house for now. We’ll give you a tour in a minute. Right now we want to hear about you and Anthony.”

  “Yes.” Baptiste’s grin was pure mischief. “Tell us everything.”

  “A billionaire prince?” Melody cried. “And you two didn’t say anything to me? You didn’t think I needed to know what I was getting into? Are you insane? Well, yes, of course you’re insane. Only insane folks would’ve bought this crazy old house. Why are you grinning at me like that? You should feel guilty.”

  “Why should I feel guilty?” Samira demanded. Still grinning. “You’re the genius who agreed not to look him up online. You knew that could lead to disaster. You were the one who looked Baptiste up online and warned me about his shady past. So you knew how important it was to do your research with a new man.”

  Baptiste scowled. “My past is not shady. If anything, it’s a little, ah, colorful.”

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.” Samira gave him a condescending little pat on the shoulder before focusing on Melody. “So what happened? Baptiste says Anthony hopped a ride with him last night? To surprise you? I thought he wasn’t coming back until next weekend.”

  “He couldn’t wait to see our beautiful Melody again,” Baptiste said, shooting a fond smile in her direction. “I’ve never seen him so excited.”

  Melody’s conscience squirmed guiltily. She ducked her head, running a hand through her hair. “He definitely surprised me.”

  Samira’s face fell with dawning comprehension. “Hang on. He didn’t catch you on your blind date, did he?”

  “Sort of…?” Melody said, cheeks burning.

  Samira’s jaw dropped. She clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, my God. I told you that stupid blind date was a bad idea.”

  “A bad idea?” Outrage got the best of Melody. She’d never even have been on the dating site but for Samira. Melody had been happily minding her own business as a spinster and nun to her career. “You’re the genius who signed me up for—”

  “Hang on.” Baptiste cocked his head, his expression sliding into unmistakable horror. “My English isn’t very good, clearly, but did you just say that Anthony saw you on a date with another man? After he dropped everything and flew back here from London because he missed you so much?”

  Melody’s heart sank like the caved-in section of the pool.

  “I’m not the bad guy here,” she said. “We’d never had any discussions about the future.”

  Baptiste snorted and muttered something in French. Then, “Why not stab the poor man in the heart and be done with it?”

  Melody winced.

  “So what happened?” Samira said.

  Melody told them about their words outside the restaurant last night and how she’d followed him back to the hotel.

  “So what was the upshot?” Samira asked.

  Another snort from Baptiste. “The upshot? The upshot should be obvious. Look at that mark on her neck.”

  He pointed.

  Cringing and blushing furiously, Melody clapped a hand to that side of her neck. Too late, as it turned out.

  “What’re you? In high school?” Samira cried gleefully. “You talked about me getting pregnant with my irresponsible sexual behavior, but look at you.”

  “Get off your high horse,” Baptiste said smugly, now pointing to Samira’s neck. “You have one, too.”

  “I do not,” Samira said.

  Melody checked Samira’s neck. Smirked. “Yeah. You do.”

  Samira made an outraged sound and started to smack Baptiste’s arm. He laughed and deflected. When the ensuing scuffle was all over, he was leaning against the sink with Samira in his arms in front of him, both facing Melody.

  “So you and Anthony are a couple. Judging from the way you blushed just now, you’re very happy about it,” he told Melody, pressing a kiss to Samira’s temple. “Now you know everything about him. What’s the problem? Why are Samira and I in the doghouse?”

  “What?” Melody said, wishing her face would cool off a little and aghast that anything so obvious required an explanation. “Why did he hide it from me? It’s not the crime. It’s the coverup.”

  “You know what? I don’t blame him.” Baptiste hiked up his chin with a tinge of defiance. “I don’t. His whole life, people trip all over themselves, trying to get close to him, but they don’t care anything about him. They think he can get them access to his family or his money. I’ve seen it. It’s horrible. They think if he’s famous and they hang out with him, then they will also be famous. They see him as a figure. A tool. The man inside the tool is an afterthought. What would that be like? I get some of that because of my money.” He paused, frowning thoughtfully. “And because of my stunning good looks. Let’s be honest.”

  Samira rolled her eyes and whacked him in the belly with the back of her hand.

  “But I don’t get anything like what he gets,” Baptiste continued, repressing his grin. “I wouldn’t want to change places with him. I can’t fault him for wanting Melody to be interested in him as a person. Not at all.”

  “I didn’t come here to listen to some rousing defense of Anthony,” Melody snapped, her heart aching at the thought of what Anthony’s life must be like if he had to constantly question the motives of everyone he met. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Why do you think I came here?”

 
“Sorry,” Baptiste said gravely. “I’ll try to stop being so truthful.”

  “And he’s part of the royal family,” Melody said, vaguely mollified. “The press follows them around everywhere they go. They have security and no privacy. They can’t walk down the street without people gawking at them, much less go to a store to buy groceries. They have rules and protocol. They have to ask the Queen for permission to do everything—”

  “That’s not technically true,” he said, turning Samira loose with a pat on the ass. “And even if it was, she’s a lovely person. Very reasonable.”

  “Wait, what?” the women said, gaping at him.

  “You’ve met the Queen?” Samira asked.

  “I’ve met her many times,” he said, shrugging. “Anthony would often invite me to spend the holidays with him because my mother was off somewhere with a boyfriend. So I’d go to Sandringham for Christmas.”

  “As one does,” Melody said, brows raised.

  Samira sniggered.

  “The point is,” Baptiste continued, ignoring the interruption with dignity, “that everyone has a family that you have to deal with. And Anthony is a minor royal. There’s no chance of him inheriting. Several of his cousins sail under the radar—”

  “Fly.”

  “And the press hardly notices them at all.”

  “I just don’t think it’s that easy,” Melody said. “This whole thing terrifies me. It was enough to deal with when I thought the biggest obstacle was the fact that he lives in London and I live here. But now… I don’t exactly look like Cinderella, do I? ”

  She slumped against the cabinet, crossed her arms and ankles and studied her shoes, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

  “Then it’s simple,” Baptiste said, his voice clipped. “Say good-bye to him. Tell him it’s over.”

  Melody’s head came up. “What?”

  “You don’t want him? You’ve decided he’s not worth the effort?”

  “I never said that!”

  Baptiste shrugged, green eyes flashing. “Do him a favor. Let him go before you hurt him any worse. I’ve known him for over twenty years. I’ve seen him date many women. All kinds of women. And I’ve never seen him as excited as he was last night, coming here to see you.”