Melody hesitated. “But I’m not sure I could handle his family or the press, Baptiste. And that’s assuming we get over the distance hurdle.”
“It’s not his fault where he was born,” Baptiste said fiercely. “He didn’t ask to deal with the press. He wants to live his life, just like you and me. And he comes the way he comes. If he came with diabetes, you wouldn’t use that against him, would you?”
No, she would not.
Melody floundered, turning to Samira for support, but Samira only shook her head and held her hands up in a you’re not getting any help from me gesture.
Melody frowned and thought it over, no mean feat with Baptiste’s stern profile accusing her in silence as he turned to look out the window.
She thought about the fun she’d had with Anthony. The rapport they’d developed. The things they had in common. Their incredible night together in his suite. She thought about the way he looked at her and the way she’d missed him when he was gone.
She thought about letting him go and either resuming her workaholic ways or launching herself into a search for a life partner on DoctorLove.com. She thought of Anthony winding up with an Annabella.
Her belly clenched in protest.
“I can’t do that,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “I don’t want to let him go.”
Baptiste studied her closely for signs of sincerity, then eased back from rabid best friend mode. “Good. Then there’s your answer. You can deal with the rest together.”
Melody blinked and felt a wild surge of relief.
There was her answer.
Simple.
Actually, it wasn’t simple at all—on top of everything else, when would she and Anthony find time to see each other? And what would they say about all this at the hospital if and when it ever came out?—but it would become simpler if she and Anthony focused on getting to know each other and building a strong foundation for their relationship.
Baptiste watched her cycle through a thousand kinds of turmoil, then made a scoffing sound.
“You women. Why all the worry?” he muttered. “Honestly, you do it to yourselves.”
Melody rolled her eyes. “Says the guy who freaked out when he saw this house for the first time.”
“Whatever,” he said, shrugging. “Why not see it as a grand adventure for the two of you to enjoy together?”
She nodded. That made sense.
But there were still shadows over her heart.
“I just feel like…” Melody struggled to put it into words without sounding overwrought. “I thought I’d met a guy with potential. But he’s not the guy I thought he was. That’s very unsettling.”
“Did you think he was a good guy?” Baptiste asked.
“Yeah.” Melody tried her best, but there was no killing her smile. “I think he’s a great guy.”
“Then he’s exactly who you think he is,” he said. “He’s a little bit more, too, but he’s exactly that guy. And he deserves a chance.”
Melody nodded, turning to Samira. “Sami? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
Samira and Baptiste exchanged a long and measured look, at the end of which Baptiste dimpled and gave her a tiny wink. Samira flushed to the roots of her hair, repressed her answering smile and focused on Melody.
“What’s that saying? ‘Life’s what happens when you’re busy making other plans’?’” Samira asked.
“Yeah.” Melody clicked her fingers. “Who said that? Buddha?”
“John Lennon,” Baptiste said.
“I was busy making plans to marry a man who turned out to be gay,” Samira continued. “I planned a dress. I planned a wedding and a life. And that was all the wrong plan for me. I didn’t plan to fall in love with and get pregnant by a French guy in a Phantom of the Opera costume while I was dressed as Queen Nefertiti. But here I am. And I’ve never been happier.”
“I can see that,” Melody said. “You two are pretty much incandescent with joy these days.”
The lovebirds made quick goo-goo eyes at each other.
“The point is,” Samira continued, “that I’m not so good at making plans for myself. Maybe you’re the same way. You planned to devote the rest of your life to your career or maybe to meet a great guy via online dating. Planned for him to be local. Planned for him to be a doctor like you. But what if God or the universe or whoever has a better plan for you? What if your perfect guy is a British royal? The only way for you to find out for sure is to see what happens.”
“Wise as well as beautiful,” Baptiste said, staring at Samira with his heart-shaped eyes. “No wonder I’m crazy about her.”
“Yeah, okay, lovebirds,” Melody said sourly. “I hate it when you talk sense—”
There was a loud knock, then the sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut and a deep male voice with a posh accent.
“Baptiste? I hope you’ve got some advice for me because I’ve royally mucked things up with Melody. You need to help me get my arse out of a sling. And did you know that your front doorbell is hanging by the…hanging by the, ah, wires?”
Anthony arrived at the kitchen threshold and froze at the sight of Melody. His breath hitched. His face turned red and blotchy, as though it belonged to a prizefighter leaving the ring after a particularly difficult round.
“Hi,” he said to Melody, his voice softening.
And there was her answer, her last lingering doubts scuttling back into the shadows whence they’d come. The way his eyes lit up when he looked at her; the way her heart thundered when he walked into the room; the way thoughts, words and feelings crowded into her mouth, demanding to be shared with him.
She’d never felt any of this with another man.
Not even close.
And she’d thought her best option might be to cut him loose? Because she wasn’t sure about his family or the potential loss of her privacy? Really?
No, ma’am.
Not her.
She might be a closet coward, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Hi,” she said, keeping most of her simper on lockdown.
Anthony dimpled at her, then took a deep breath and surveyed the room.
“So,” he said crisply. “I see you’ve convened the meeting without me.”
They all laughed.
“We voted on the future of your relationship with Melody,” Baptiste said. “Almost all of us are in favor of it.”
More laughter, during which Anthony came over and took Melody’s hand, lacing his fingers with hers as he kissed her cheek. A surge of something arced between them the way it always did. Electricity. Rightness. Belonging.
“I need to borrow Melody.” He glanced around, spied the dining room and tugged her toward it. “Won’t be a minute.”
“Take your time,” Samira said, shooting Melody a veiled Don’t screw this up! look.
“This is a beautiful house, by the way,” Anthony said. “I do hope you plan to patch up the broken cobblestones in the driveway, though. I’d rather not break an ankle.”
“Add that to the list,” Baptiste quickly told Samira, pointing to the legal pad.
Once they got to the dining room, Anthony turned to face Melody, holding tight to both her hands. “I suppose Baptiste and Samira now know more about our relationship than I do?”
“Sorry about that. I came to talk to Samira, and he was here too. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine.”
“And I hope you weren’t coming to discuss all our personal business with Baptiste,” she said sternly. “You said something about that when you walked in. You wanted to get your arse out of a sling.”
He pulled a confused face. “Not at all. I said my arse would be in a sling if they didn’t fix the broken cobblestones in their driveway.”
They laughed together, and it was an enormous relief after the emotional roller coaster of making love all night followed by their tense discussion this morning. Evidently he felt the same way, because he leaned in for a kiss that
was hard and urgent.
He broke away when they were both breathless, resting his forehead against hers.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she said.
“I hate that we’ve spent our limited time today being cross with each other.”
“Me too. But we had to talk about it.”
“Yes.” He straightened and looked down at her with those intense blue eyes. “Baptiste wants to leave around dinnertime. He’s got meetings in the morning. So do I. But I can’t go with things so unsettled between us.” He paused, giving her heart the chance to thump into overdrive. “We have to come to an understanding, you and I.”
She took a shaky breath. Nodded.
“I know. But there’s something we need to do first.”
20
“I have to confess,” Anthony said around lunchtime, hanging on to the sticky trunk as they navigated the freshly cut Christmas tree through Melody’s foyer and into her living room. “When you said we had something to do first, I was hoping it involved a bed and significantly less clothes for both of us.”
“You poor victim. You just suffer through life, don’t you?” Melody said.
“I’m glad you’ve noticed.”
“Well, you can’t just pop into town and derail all my weekend plans. Today’s the day for me to pick out my Christmas tree and decorate my place. It’s only fair for you to help. And by help I mean for you to do all the chopping and heavy lifting.”
“It did give me the chance to show off my manly muscles. Were you impressed?”
“I was deeply impressed. Let’s put it right here for now. I’m so excited. I think we got a good one. I love Fraser firs.”
They leaned the tree in a corner near the fireplace, and Melody dusted off her hands with satisfaction.
He headed for the kitchen and washed his hands. “I think you made a grave mistake not going for the blue spruce. I’m not mad. Just bitterly disappointed.”
She followed, bumping him aside with her hip so she could wash her own hands.
“That tree was about ten feet tall and ten feet wide. I don’t know how big you think my living room is, but it’s not that big.”
“I see that buyer’s remorse has set in. You’ll just have to live with the terrible consequences of your irresponsible actions.”
They both laughed. He greedily noted her dimples and the way the sparkle intensified in her eyes, storing the images away for later, when she wasn’t right there within arm’s length.
“Do you decorate for the holidays?” she asked.
“No. That’s never been very high on my bachelor agenda.”
He hesitated before plowing ahead, grateful that the truth was now out and he no longer had to censor his words with her. It took far too much effort when he wanted to tell her everything about himself and his life.
“My father always hired a team of professional decorators to descend on the ranch and turn it into a winter wonderland. And the staff at Sandringham take care of Granny’s trees, although she does like to have all the little kids in the family come for tea and decorating. Some years all the decorations are stacked on the bottom branches of the tree. That’s as high as they can reach.”
Melody laughed.
He looked down at his hands, which still had sap on them. “I’m rather proud of myself. This was my first official Christmas tree chopping.”
“Well done,” she said, beaming up at him.
His heart contracted, hard.
He hesitated, not trusting himself to be judicious with his words just at the moment. They were all crowded on his tongue, surging forward and demanding to be said.
How much she was growing to mean to him.
How her smile undid him.
How he planned to move heaven and earth to see her as often as he possibly could.
“I don’t want to leave,” he said helplessly. “You have no idea.”
She slowly sobered.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said, surprising him.
Time for their talk.
“Here,” he said, lifting her by the waist and plunking her on the counter. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “How are we going to handle this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a long-distance relationship before. Maybe we should set some ground rules?”
“Good plan. Rule number one: we’re not seeing anyone else.”
Disbelieving look from Melody. “Didn’t we settle all that last night?”
“The topic can never be too settled,” he said darkly. “Rule number two: we have to talk every day. Talk. With voices and preferably images. Not just texting.”
“Agreed.”
“We’ve done a very good job of that so far, don’t you think?”
“I do think. But…and I’m not trying to be too clingy or anything, but please don’t play games with me.”
“What?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I know it’s been fine so far, but a lot of people use texting to play passive-aggressive mind games. It’s like they don’t want to text too soon, or reply too soon, or act like they’re too anxious to hear from the other person—”
A lightbulb went off over his head.
He laughed, incredulous. Maybe he should be grateful that she truly had no idea how bad he had it for her. At least a shred of his dignity remained.
“I just flew back here because I couldn’t wait to see you. Did you forget already?”
“No, but—”
“You’ll be hearing from me. Promptly and often. So spend your time worrying about something more likely to happen.” He thought that over. “Like the US deciding to rejoin the UK because they miss having a monarch.”
“Good.” Her quick laughter faded. “And if you change your mind about wanting to be with me—what? Stop glaring at me all the time.”
“What else do you expect me to do when you talk such nonsense? Haven’t you been listening? I’m looking for ways to spend more time with you. Not ways to get rid of you.”
“But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“Anthony.” Her brown eyes flashed with frustration. “Will you please listen to me?”
“Fine,” he snapped, struggling with his own frustration.
She didn’t get it, this one. She really didn’t get it at all.
She took a deep breath. “If you change your mind about wanting to be with me, please just tell me. Just call and tell me. Don’t drop off the face of the earth and ghost me. I have this terrible image of you hiding behind, I don’t know, your private secretary or the palace or something, and me never hearing from you again. Please don’t do that to me. Okay?”
She was dead serious.
“Okay,” he said quickly. “You have my word. And I want yours.”
“Oh, I have no problems dumping people face-to-face,” she said cheerfully.
He had to laugh.
“What else?” she asked.
“I want pictures.”
“Pictures?” She gave him a narrowed look. “What kind of pictures?”
“Just what you’re up to every day. You in your natural habitat.”
“Oh, good. I thought you were going to ask for nude pictures.”
“What for?” He frowned at her, honestly puzzled. “We’ll be having phone sex every night, so we won’t need the pictures, will we?”
“Phone sex?”
“Phone sex. Nonnegotiable.”
“We’ll see,” she said, but he could tell from her speculative gaze and the slight purr in her voice that she found the idea as arousing as he did. “And I want to see pictures of London. You in your apartment.”
“That can be arranged.”
“And don’t glower in them.”
“No promises. I’ll probably be thinking about how much fun you, Samira and Baptiste will be having here without me.”
“I work all the time. How much fun do you think I have
?”
“I don’t know,” he said, smoothing a stray curl away from her temple.
They watched each other for a quiet and wistful moment or two.
“Maybe I’ll be like a toddler when Mummy drops him off at nursery school,” he finally said. His voice had gone hoarse. “The moment of parting will be difficult, but then I’ll stay busy and get into a routine and the time will pass.”
“Oh? Out of sight, out of mind? Does that work for you?”
“It didn’t work at all this week, no. Did it work for you?”
“No,” she said quietly.
His sadness was one thing. Seeing hers felt as though a tiny corner of his heart had been ripped out. He rubbed her sweet lower lip with his thumb. Gently kissed her.
“So, listen.” Easing back again, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and produced a small rectangular tin tied with a red bow. “I wanted to bring you something from London.”
She brightened, beaming up at him. “You did? Thank you! What is it?”
“It’s some of my grandmother’s favorite tea. Some hearty breakfast blend that she drinks all day. It’s what we drank when I saw her for tea this week.”
Melody took it with a blank look that quickly turned into an incredulous frown. “Are you telling me that this is your grandmother’s personal tea? From her kitchen?”
Every now and then, he experienced moments of profound gratitude that he was who he was. Like at this precise moment, as her expression eased into absolute delight.
“It’s from her kitchen,” he said. “And she hopes you enjoy it.”
Melody practically choked on her tongue.
“The Queen of England hopes I enjoy her tea?”
He shrugged, trying not to laugh. “I believe I’d mentioned that I told her about you.”
“Oh, my God,” she said with a semi-hysterical laugh. “Should I give you a thank-you note for her before you go? I have nice stationery.”
This was the woman for him. No question
“I’m sure she’d love that.” He kissed her forehead again. “One final thing before I go: Christmas. What’re your plans?”
“I’m working most of the week. Probably dinner with Samira and Baptiste since my parents will be in Florida. And then I have the week after off. Scheduled vacation. What about you?”
Everything I Hoped For Page 23
