Heart Captivated

by Lindsay Bergman

  I straightened in my chair, remembering the sight of him watching me from the trees—even though I hadn’t recognized him at the time. “I saw you that day.”

  Jonathan smiled ruefully. “Yes, you did.”

  “Why didn’t you approach us then?” I questioned.

  “I spoke with Logan that afternoon, when he was riding alone through the herd. He didn’t think either of you were ready to see me, so I left.” Jonathan rubbed his neck and pushed aside his plate so he could lean forward onto his forearms. “When I came across that article about you girls spending the summer here in Coradova, I decided to make a trip out. I’d hoped that I would have a chance to talk with you, without Cameron or Logan to interfere. They’re both very protective of you—just like that royal prince, Ashton.” He turned a curious eye on me. “I’m surprised he’s not here, actually.”

  “He’s not our boyfriend,” Sophie clarified, her voice a bit stern. “That article was just gossip.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Jonathan apologized, his face turning red. “I’ve seen him out with you several times, and he was overly concerned that day he saw me speaking with Brielle on the street.” He shrugged slightly, as if that explained his assumptions.

  We lapsed into awkward silence, neither Sophie nor I willing to explain our complicated love triangle with Prince Ashton.

  “If he’s the reason you’re here,” I said slowly, “then you should just turn around and leave now.”

  Jonathan stiffened. “What are you saying, Brielle?”

  “If you’re here looking for money, then you’ve wasted your time because we don’t have any.”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” Jonathan insisted.

  “So you’re really just looking for a second chance to be in our lives?” Sophie asked, the hope in her eyes clear as day.

  Jonathan tentatively reached out to cover her hand. “Yes, sweetheart. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

  There was a collective gasp from the front of the restaurant, followed by resounding squeals that spread through the building in a wave. I glanced around my dad to see Prince Ashton striding toward us, with two guards trailing closely behind him. The other guests whispered excitedly and snapped pictures of him as he passed. For once, he was unsmiling and didn’t acknowledge any of them as he moved straight to our table.

  He stopped at my side, and allowed his gaze to travel briefly over my father before he bent down to whisper in my ear, “I need to speak with you and Sophie in private.”

  I nodded without question, and turned to repeat his request to my sister. A buzzing vibrated across the tabletop as the screen on my dad’s cellphone flashed with a phone call. I caught sight of the name Tracy, before he snatched it off the table, his expression guilty once more.

  Sophie had noticed it as well. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who’s Tracy?”

  The color drained from his face as his eyes flitted between us. Jonathan cleared his throat and answered evasively, “Oh, Tracy. She’s … um … someone I know from Phillips County.”

  Ashton took hold of my arm and implored once more, “Brielle, I need to talk with you right now.” He tried to lift me from the chair, but my eyes were set solely on my father’s nervous expression. I ignored the tugging of Ashton’s hand on my arm as Sophie once again demanded an answer from him.

  “Who is Tracy?”

  As time seemed to move in a slow, sluggish tempo that matched the anxious beating of my heart, Jonathan reluctantly met her eyes and finally answered, “She’s my wife.”

  “You’re married?” Sophie demanded, shoving back from the table and rising to her feet like an angry, avenging angel. “You just fed us some sob story about loving our mother too much to watch her die—and yet you conveniently forgot to tell us that you remarried?”

  Every person in the restaurant swiveled in their chairs to stare at our table, eagerly craning their necks to catch every word of the drama unfolding from our corner of the restaurant. Now that her floodgate had been unleashed, Sophie continued on in a tirade while I fell back against my chair with a small gasp, wishing I could just disappear.

  Ashton knelt down beside me and reached for my hands. His guards enclosed him, helping to block him from view of the overly excited crowd.

  “Your hands feel like ice, and your face is white,” Ashton murmured in concern. He rubbed my hands between his and searched my face. “I’m sorry, Bree. I just heard back on the background check I’d ordered on Jonathan weeks ago. I wanted to warn you before you found out about his other family.”

  “It’s okay,” I whispered, “it’s not your fault.” I jerked upright in my chair, and stared at him. “Wait a minute—did you say his other family?”

  Ashton cringed. “Brielle—”

  But Sophie had overheard my outburst. “Wait, what?” she exclaimed, searching my face in surprise. She turned an accusing eye on our father. “You have another family?”

  Jonathan flinched at the harshness of her voice, and nodded mutely. He roughly cleared his throat before trying to speak. “Tracy was a widow with two boys when we were married nine years ago.”

  Nine years ago, I thought with a stabbing ache. He’d remarried only two years after leaving us—before my mom had even died. Had he ever really loved us, or was it all just a lie?

  “Do you have any kids of your own?” Sophie demanded, unaware of the turmoil within my heart.

  “An eight-year-old,” he admitted. “A daughter.”

  The pain drained right out of me. Instead, I suddenly felt empty. “You have another daughter?” I whispered, unable to hide the quiver in my voice. “Why are you even bothering to reconnect with us when you have a whole other family?”

  “Brielle, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about my other children. I still want a life with you.” He turned to include Sophie in his gaze. “And you, Sophie. And Logan.”

  I shook my head, unwilling to believe him, and unable to hear any more. I couldn’t even think straight. All I could feel was the gaping wound in my chest that had been ripped open by the existence of a half-sister. He’d left us all behind, and then replaced us with a new family. Was his eight-year-old daughter everything that I wasn’t? Did he love her more than he’d once loved me?

  Trembling from head-to-toe, I staggered away from the table and bumped into Ashton’s chest. I felt the warmth of his solid presence behind me, and his hands on my upper arms, helping to steady me.

  “I’m right here, mon coeur,” he whispered softly against the back of my neck.

  “Ashton,” I breathed, spinning around to find the solace in his arms that I so desperately needed. Uncaring of the nosy spectators watching us, I pressed my face against his chest and fought to hold back the sobs.

  “It’s all right, bien-aimée,” he soothed, gathering me close. “I’m right here.” His strong, protective arms hid me away from the rest of the world—and the father I didn’t know if I could ever forgive. “Come on, let’s get you home,” Ashton said urgently. He turned his head away to instruct his guards. “Get Sophie and let’s go.”

  “Brielle, wait,” I heard my dad speak from behind me. I chanced a peek up at his face. His pleading brown eyes met mine, swimming with guilt. “Please, Bree-belle. Please don’t let this be over.”

  “I’m sorry, Jonathan,” Ashton said in a commanding voice. “But the girls aren’t up for anymore tonight.”

  He tried to lead me away, but I stopped him in order to ask the one question that had festered within my heart for eleven years. “Did you ever love me?”

  Jonathan’s face softened with undeniable sincerity. “I’ve loved you for every day of your life, sweetheart. Even when I wasn’t a part of it. I love you to the moon and back, Bree-belle.”

  My tears blurred the vision of his face. That was what my mother had always said. I blinked back the tears and struggled to speak past the tremor in my voice. “I loved you, too. That’s why it hurt so much when you left me. I don�
�t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

  His dejected expression was the last thing I registered before succumbing to the pain hammering away at my severed heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It took two days to wrap our minds around the truth bomb our father had dropped. I’d spent an entire day filling Ashton in on every word of our conversation, and another hour wrapped in his arms as I shared the heartache over learning about my dad’s other family. Lost in an emotional haze, the days passed by far too quickly, until only one final day in Coradova remained.

  When I awoke that last morning, a scattering of clouds filled the sky and blocked the sun. The morning had dawned as gray and dreary as my mood. Before I could climb out of bed, a knock preceded my personal maid into my guest bedroom.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” Ann greeted me, bustling over to my bed with a full tray. “Prince Ashton ordered breakfast for you in bed.” She arranged the tray over my bedcovers and removed the plate cover. “Bon appétit.”

  As she left the room, I surveyed the tray. A single red rose stood erect in a narrow, clear vase. Beside it was a glass of orange juice, and a plate stacked high with fresh berry pancakes and syrup. Tucked under the edge of the white cloth napkin was a note. I plucked it off the tray and opened it.

  Brielle —

  Meet me out on the terrace tonight for a secret midnight rendezvous.

  — A

  My heart sighed with pleasure at Ashton’s thoughtful and romantic gesture. A secret midnight rendezvous with my charming, blue-eyed prince? Yes, please. A heartbeat later, I sighed with regret and carefully refolded the note.

  Over the last couple of weeks, it had seemed as if Sophie was encouraging us to be together, but I was still worried about hurting her. I couldn’t actively pursue a relationship with Ashton unless she gave us her blessing. I wouldn’t push for one either. I would wait until she was ready to offer it.

  Brushing the regret aside, I took a bite of the pancakes and was surprised by the familiar taste of huckleberries. “How in the world did he get fresh huckleberries to Coradova?” I said out loud, stunned by the forethought and effort Ashton had put into arranging this breakfast in bed.

  “I had them imported a few nights ago,” Ashton explained from the open doorway. I hadn’t even heard him knock. Grinning, he crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “What do you think? Are they as good as the huckleberries you have in Montana?”

  “Even better.” I stabbed my fork through the stack and held it out to him. “Would you like a bite?”

  He crossed the room and snagged the spot in the center of my bed. After propping two pillows up behind his back, he snaked an arm around my shoulder and leaned over with the intention of letting me feed him the bite from my fork. Hiding a smile, I shook my head at him and dutifully obliged.

  He was a prince, after all.

  Ashton frowned in exaggerated contemplation while he chewed. “I’m not sure if these are really the best. I think I need another bite.”

  His adorable crooked smile was too cute to resist. I fed him another bite, much to his smirking delight.

  For the next half hour, we ended up feeding each other while laughing our way through each bite, and making a mess with the syrupy pancakes. Dribbles had landed in various spots on the tray, bedsheets and even our clothes. I dangled the sticky handle of the fork from my fingertips and dropped it onto the now empty plate.

  “Well, that was the best breakfast in bed I’ve ever had,” I commented, then cocked my head in thought. “Actually, that was the only breakfast in bed I’ve ever had.”

  “And I can see why. You’ve made a huge mess.” Ashton laughed and dodged my hand when I reached over to swat him on the arm. “Maybe I should pack you a bib next time,” he teased, struggling to hide another laugh. I shot him a dirty look, which only made his smile widen.

  “Not everyone has table manners as refined as yours, Your Royal Highness.” I poked at a spot on his chest. “Although you didn’t escape entirely un-syruped.”

  When Ashton glanced down at his shirt, I playfully flicked his nose.

  “Hey!” he objected on a laugh, reaching up to snag hold of my wrist.

  The movement unexpectedly shifted me closer to him. My shoulder and right arm were now pressed against the length of his muscled torso, and our faces were only inches apart. Our eyes met, both surprised and suddenly wanting. The laughter in the room faded into a heavy, palpable air of longing.

  Ashton’s gaze flickered down to my mouth, and a smile curved his lips. “You have syrup on your face. Let me clean it for you.” He clasped my chin with his hand, and leaned toward me.

  “Don’t you dare lick my face clean, Ashton,” I warned, trying not to twitch in his grasp.

  He grinned, a hint of mischief twinkling in his blue eyes. “Now there’s an idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” When he leaned toward me again, I tensed, but he only reached around me for the white cloth napkin. After wetting it on the condensation from the half-full glass of orange juice, he very meticulously took his time cleaning the syrup from the corner of my mouth. He held my face still, his own hovering so close to mine that the urge to kiss him nearly drove me crazy.

  I wriggled in his hold. “How much longer is this going to take?” I asked, a little too breathlessly.

  Ashton smiled and set the napkin back down on the tray. “All done, bien-aimée.” He stroked his knuckle along the smooth skin of my newly cleaned cheek. “You’re as beautiful and flawless as always.”

  I sighed over his compliment, then lost my breath entirely when he framed my face between both hands and lowered his head to kiss the corner of my mouth. He eased back a few inches and searched my face, seeking my permission for more—for a more passionate, lengthy, toe-curling kiss. I wanted to say yes with every fiber of my being, but no matter how badly I longed to kiss him, a relationship with him was still off-limits.

  “Sophie—,” I began, on a whisper of regret.

  “—is right next door,” Ashton finished, on a heavy sigh. He held my gaze for a moment longer before gently kissing my beauty mark and shifting a few more inches away until we were no longer touching. “This distance is killing me,” he complained, crossing his arms.

  “I know,” I murmured. Wringing my hands together in disappointment, I looked down at my lap. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you get my note?” Ashton asked a moment later.

  I winced and ducked my head lower. After all the trouble he’d gone through to arrange this breakfast in bed, I hated having to deny his request—but what else could I do? I bit my lip, and tried to find the words to explain. “Ashton …”

  Without needing to hear any more, Ashton sighed. “Let me guess. You want to meet me for a romantic midnight rendezvous, but you can’t, right?”

  I gave the barest, perceptible nod. A frustrated silence filled the room.

  When I said nothing more in my defense, Ashton slipped off the bed and stood. From the corner of my eye, I watched him smooth out the wrinkles in his finely pressed blue shirt and dark slacks. “Maybe I’ll see you around the palace later,” he said a bit too brusquely. “The least I deserve is a goodbye before you leave tomorrow.”

  As he moved briskly toward the door, I gathered my courage and looked up at his stiff back. “Ashton, I’m sorry,” I called out, wanting him to understand my turmoil. “You’re asking me to choose between two halves of my heart—you, or my sister. If I meet you tonight, I’ll be betraying her trust. If I don’t meet you tonight, I’m destroying our relationship before it’s even begun. This is nothing but a losing situation.”

  With his back still to me, Ashton braced his hands on hips and dropped his chin to his chest, letting out another frustrated sigh. I knew this tentative relationship would eventually take its toll on his seemingly endless amounts of patience. Despite what he’d said before, Ashton was most likely ready to give up on me entirely. Not even a saint could wait forever.


  I said slowly, “I understand if this changes things.”

  Ashton straightened and turned to cross back over to my bedside. “Let’s get this one thing clear, Brielle,” he said sternly. “I love you, and no matter how much you push me away, I will never stop loving you. I understand that you need to take this slowly, but even turtles move faster than you.”

  His dry remark almost made me smile.

  As it was, Ashton’s familiar smirk played around his lips. “Yes, I’m disappointed that you can’t meet me tonight, especially since it’s our last night together before you leave. But you turning me down has not changed my mind about us.” Bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, he leaned down until we were eye level and said with a teasing arrogance, “I’m still determined to win that bet.”

  I frowned. “What bet?”

  “The one where your love is my prize.”

  “But I’ve already admitted to loving you,” I pointed out.

  “You have, but until you’re mine, I don’t consider the bet won.” His dimpled smile deepened as his gaze darkened with promise. “I may have lost one bet to you already, but I will not lose this one, mon amour. Some day, you will be mine.”

  After a quick kiss on my flushed cheek, Ashton left the room. A moment later, I heard a creak from the adjoining door between my room and Sophie’s. I looked over in time to see her knock softly and peek her head around the edge.

  “Hey, Bree. Can I come in?”

  I nodded and sat up straighter, hoping that my previous disappointment wasn’t written all over my face. Before Ashton, I’d been an expert at hiding my emotions from my family. Now it felt like I was often wearing my heart on my sleeve—or maybe that was only because Ashton always saw right through me.