by Teri Wilson
Not that he cared. Why should he? He didn’t even know Princess Amelia.
Except last night, it almost felt like he did.
But this wasn’t last night.
“Because I’m happy.” Princess Amelia smiled a little too brightly. “Obviously. I’m getting married. Duke Holden and I are very much in love.”
“Glad to hear it.” There was an edge to Asher’s voice that he hadn’t intended.
What was wrong with him? He didn’t have the vaguest idea who Duke Holden was. Asher had had enough on his mind lately without leafing through gossip magazines.
And was he really having this conversation in front of the queen of England?
Indeed he was.
Her Majesty lifted a brow at James waiting just inside the entrance to the sitting room, then smiled. “Mr. Reed, thank you for stopping by this morning. Now that you’ve met the princess, we’ll let you get back to business. We wouldn’t want to keep you from your rehearsal.”
He was being dismissed, which was just as well since he’d managed to tick off the princess with no effort whatsoever.
Welcome to England.
“Very well. Thank you again for your hospitality, ma’am.” He bowed to the queen.
Then he turned his attention to Princess Amelia one last time. “It will be an honor to play for you, Princess.” Again. The word floated, unspoken, between them. “I’ll see you at the ceremony.”
But as the royal page ushered him out of the queen’s sitting room, Asher couldn’t help but wonder if he’d see her before then.
After all, they were neighbors.
* * *
THREE HOURS AFTER THE unfortunate encounter with Asher Reed in her mother’s sitting room, Amelia was situated between Holden and Eleanor in the Palm Court at the Ritz. Holden held her hand under the table, but somehow she still felt like he was the third wheel in their little gathering.
Amelia was accustomed to being out and about with Eleanor. Try as she might, she still couldn’t seem to get used to Holden’s presence.
A white-gloved waiter poured tea and delivered a fresh tray of finger sandwiches while Eleanor chatted animatedly and Amelia listened.
Well, pretended to listen.
She was still reeling at the thought of sleeping under the same roof as Asher Reed. In her suite—the room right next door. He may as well climb into bed beside her.
Amelia’s face grew warm. She glanced at Holden, took note of his loving smile, and then gulped a sip of champagne. Thank God tea at the Ritz traditionally included copious amounts of Dom Pérignon.
Holden’s phone chimed. He looked down at it and frowned. “I’m afraid something’s come up at the office. I need to dash. Will you two be all right without me?”
As if Amelia and Eleanor had never been alone together before.
Amelia smiled. She really needed to get her attitude under control. “We’ll miss you obviously, but we’ll be fine.”
He winked and kissed her hand. “Sorry, love. Duty calls.”
Amelia resisted the urge to wipe her hand with her napkin while he bid good-bye to Eleanor. Once he’d gone, Eleanor resumed her monologue. Amelia did her best to pay attention, but soon found herself humming a tune. To her great mortification, it sounded an awful lot like the song Asher had played for her in the Abbey.
She cleared her throat and refocused on Eleanor.
“Have you heard a single word I’ve said?” She glared at Amelia from across the table.
No. “Of course I heard you.”
“So you have no reaction whatsoever to the news that the Duchess of Silva is being stripped of her title?”
“What?” Amelia choked on a sip of Dom. “Renata? Why?”
“I just explained why. I knew you weren’t listening.” Eleanor popped a macaron into her mouth.
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted. To be honest, I’m sort of losing it. Between the wedding and the . . .” The stranger who probably knows exactly how I feel about marrying your father. She cleared her throat. “. . . the leopard. It’s just a lot.”
Eleanor’s hand paused as she reached for another macaron. “There’s a leopard?”
“Yes. It’s a whole thing.” Amelia forced herself to smile. She was getting married. She had a fiancé who kissed her hand. Who didn’t love that sort of thing? She was happy. Why did she keep forgetting? “Never mind. Tell me what happened to the duchess again. Please?”
Eleanor shrugged. “There’s a sex tape.”
Of course there was. The Duchess of Silva had been infamous for her wild behavior since their days at university. Her latest scandal had involved a game of naked beer pong that had ended up on the cover of every tabloid in Europe.
But a sex tape?
“It’ll blow over. They won’t really strip her of her title, will they?” Amelia picked up a sandwich, eyed it, and put it back down.
“Spain doesn’t mess around, you know that. King Felipe’s sister isn’t even a duchess anymore. If he stripped his own sister of her title, he won’t hesitate to do the same to Renata. She’s a minor royal.”
“Not anymore, I guess.” Amelia tried to imagine Renata living a regular life. She couldn’t quite picture it. The last time she’d seen Renata, she’d been drinking Veuve Clicquot out of a red-soled Christian Louboutin stiletto. So had Amelia herself.
That had been prior to her engagement, obviously. Before Holden. Before the leopard. Before Asher Reed. Asher Reed, with his elegant hands and his soulful music.
Amelia frowned. Why did he keep popping into her thoughts? It was beyond annoying.
She reached for her champagne flute, but then remembered Renata and redirected her hand toward her cup of Earl Grey.
“Not anymore, indeed.” Eleanor let out a little laugh.
A waiter slid quietly to the table and bowed. “Is everything to your satisfaction, Your Royal Highness? Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you. Everything’s wonderful. Quite lovely.” Amelia smiled.
The waiter beamed at her and backed away.
Eleanor looked pointedly at Amelia’s full plate. “Lovely? You haven’t eaten a bite.”
“I have a wedding gown fitting in four days, remember?” It was an easy excuse for the fact that Amelia hadn’t had much of an appetite lately. The thought of a cucumber sandwich made her want to gag.
Eleanor sighed. “What are we doing here, anyway? High tea? Really?” Her gaze darted among the glittering chandeliers overhead, the heavily gilded molding, and the gold statues peeking out from behind thick palm fronds.
The Ritz wasn’t exactly understated. Sitting in the tearoom was like being inside a Fabergé egg, with one notable exception—the people.
Amelia smiled. She was fairly sure nine out of ten patrons in the room had already taken her picture on the sly with their cell phones. “It seemed like a good idea when I had it.”
After the meeting with her mother, she’d wanted to see Eleanor. Seeing the cellist again and knowing how close she’d come to making a mess of things right before the wedding had left a knot of panic in her chest that wouldn’t go away. It was still there now, mocking her while she sipped her tea.
Right now she just needed a friend, even if only on the queen’s terms. Eleanor understood her. Besides, Amelia hadn’t ventured out of the palace much lately. Other than her fateful visit to Westminster Abbey, that is.
Eleanor sighed. “Is it terrible to admit that I’m glad my dad had to leave? I’m just happy to have you all to myself for a little bit. I feel like I haven’t seen you in an eternity.”
Amelia could feel her smile growing strained. “I just saw you last night at the wedding rehearsal, silly.”
“Not the same. It’s been ages since we had any real girl time.”
“I know. It’s just . . .”
“The wedding.” Eleanor lifted a brow. “And the leopard, whatever that means. I get it, though. I do. It’s all a big deal. A royally huge, giant deal.”
The knot in
Amelia’s chest tightened.
“But it’s been ages since we’ve had any real time, with real conversation.” Eleanor waved a hand at their opulent surroundings. “And as nice as this is, it doesn’t exactly count. Everyone is staring at us. I feel like we’re on display.”
Welcome to my world.
Amelia thought she’d had a handle on the whole royal thing by now. She’d grown up in the public eye. Bodyguards and photographers had followed in her footsteps since she’d learned how to walk. Her first day of school had made the front page of the Daily News, as had her graduation from university. But the level of interest in her daily life had risen to a fever pitch, and whereas a month ago tea at the Ritz would’ve required one bodyguard and resulted in a handful of photos on the Internet, now she couldn’t sneeze without trending on Twitter. Her security detail had expanded to four armed guards, who sat at nearby tables poised to jump up and protect her from any imminent threat. She was fairly certain every sip of tea she’d taken would be described in excruciating detail on the front page the next day.
“So I was thinking . . .” Eleanor leaned across the table. Her eyes glittered and Amelia had a feeling their conversation was about to take a turn for the worse. “Maybe I can go ahead and move into your suite tonight. I know I planned on staying at the Goring and keeping my dad company until the end of the week, but he’s never there. I’m sitting by myself every night watching The Great British Bake Off.”
“Tonight?” Amelia thought she’d have days to figure out how to tell Eleanor she wouldn’t be staying in the palace for the wedding week. “Um.”
“It’ll be fun. You’re in serious need of a bachelorette party. We can have a proper hen do before you become a boring wife.”
“You mean before I become your stepmother?”
Eleanor blinked. They’d both been tiptoeing around that word since the engagement announcement. Now there it was, out in the open.
Amelia smiled as if this conversation was the most normal thing in the world, as if marrying her friend’s father was a perfectly ordinary thing to do.
Well, it was. Wasn’t it? It wasn’t unheard of, anyway. At least not in royal circles.
“It’s really happening, isn’t it?” Eleanor went eerily still. “You’re actually going to marry my dad.”
“Of course I am. You’ve seen us together. You know how happy we are.” Amelia’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so hard. “We’ve been engaged for weeks. I thought you’d grown accustomed to the idea by now.”
God, she was a hypocrite. The biggest hypocrite in the world.
“I guess it hasn’t actually seemed real.” Eleanor’s gaze flitted to the ring on Amelia’s left hand. “Until now.”
“It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be more than fine. Different, but wonderful. I promise.” Amelia took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid you can’t stay in my suite, after all. Yo-Yo Ma is feeling poorly.”
Eleanor frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, but what exactly does Yo-Yo Ma have to do with your suite?”
“Everything, I’m afraid. He’s been replaced with another cellist. An American. And since all this has come about at the last minute, he’s staying in the Blue Room. I’m sorry.” So sorry, on multiple levels.
“The substitute cellist is staying in the palace? He must be a pretty big deal.”
“I suppose so. I met him this morning, but only briefly. I barely even remember it.” Liar, liar, tiara on fire.
Eleanor’s mouth quirked into a half grin. “What does he look like? Is he single? I could use a date for the reception.”
Amelia shrugged. “I didn’t notice his looks, and I have no idea if he’s single. Nor do I care.”
“Wow, love really is blind.”
“I suppose it is.” Amelia nodded.
Was she really saying these things? It was one thing to lie to herself, but now she was lying to Eleanor. She should be used to it by now, though. She’d been lying to Eleanor since the engagement, just as she’d been lying to everyone else.
“So no hen do. Just this.” Eleanor’s gaze drifted to her cup and saucer. “Just tea.”
“I’m sorry,” Amelia said again.
It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be more than fine. Different, but wonderful.
Maybe if she repeated it enough times, she’d believe it.
“I understand,” Eleanor said.
But clearly she didn’t.
Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew that Amelia had brought her here so she could break the news while half of London was watching and Eleanor couldn’t confront her about the horrible mistake she was about to make.
It was a cowardly move. But effective.
“Shall we go?” Amelia stood on shaky legs. She wanted nothing more than to get out of there and back to the palace. It felt like the gilded walls of the Ritz were closing in around her.
Eleanor didn’t say a word as they made their way through the rose-colored marble lobby. Nor when they hugged each other good-bye and Amelia’s security team ushered her swiftly into the limousine waiting at the entrance to the hotel. As she rode back to the palace in silence, Amelia felt relieved to be alone. She didn’t have to pretend when she was by herself.
Once the stress of the wedding had passed, she’d be fine. Holden was a good man. She’d loved him for as long as she could remember. Maybe not in the traditional, romantic sense, but it was still love. In a way.
She wasn’t lonely at all. She was happy. At least, she would be.
Soon.
But later that night, when Amelia heard the soft strains of cello music drifting through the wall she shared with Asher Reed, she wasn’t so sure.
Maybe this was what loneliness felt like, after all.
CHAPTER
* * *
FOUR
On his second morning in England, while Asher drifted in that hazy place between sleep and wakefulness, he thought he felt a suffocating weight on his chest.
But then he opened his eyes and found two bright, copper-colored eyes staring down at him and realized the weight was very much real. Real, and covered in fur.
“Hello there,” Asher muttered.
The corgi on his chest responded with only a cold stare. Its breath was horrendous. What on earth did the palace feed the queen’s dogs?
Better yet, how had the creature ended up in his room? On his bed. More specifically on his body.
“Seriously, you weigh a ton. Hop off now.” Was it normal for corgis to be so heavy? They looked so small on the ground.
The dog made a snorting sound and shifted, so instead of standing on Asher’s chest, it was lying down with its chin propped on its paws. It sighed and closed its eyes. Within seconds it was snoring, still planted squarely atop Asher’s sternum.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Asher gave the dog a gentle poke and hoped he wasn’t breaking some kind of law against harassing the royal corgis. The animal didn’t budge. Asher tried to nudge it to the side, but his efforts were met with a snarl.
Marvelous.
The button to summon the royal page was situated above the nightstand, just out of reach. Asher eyed it longingly.
“James?” he called, hoping the page was still stationed right outside the room.
The dog on his chest opened its eyes to narrow slits. Asher was starting to get a distinct Cujo vibe.
He gave yelling another go. “James? Are you there?”
The door to Asher’s room slowly swung open. “You rang?”
But the person standing in the doorway wasn’t a servant. It was the princess.
Asher folded his hands behind his head and leaned against the headboard as he met her gaze. “No, I didn’t. But it’s nice to see you. Good morning.”
She glanced at the corgi and lifted a brow.
“Fine. I might have called for assistance. But I was calling for the page.” He’d never considered the princess would come strolling into his room. Did other pala
ce guests get this sort of royal treatment?
Somehow he doubted it.
She nodded, and her bow-shaped lips twitched. Asher could tell she was trying not to laugh. Not that he blamed her. “He stepped away. Lucky for you, I was walking past your room when I heard you screaming in terror.”
“I was hardly screaming, and I’m not terrorized.” He should’ve risked getting bitten and given the dog another good heave. But it was the queen of England’s dog, for God’s sake.
And Asher had noticed surveillance cameras positioned discreetly in the palace hallways. He wouldn’t have been surprised if there was one planted somewhere in the Blue Room. The last thing he needed was to be caught on camera shoving one of the queen’s beloved pets.
“If you say so.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder, drawing Asher’s attention to the fact that she was dressed in a silk kimono. Its deep aqua color brought out the jewel tones in her eyes.
Asher’s mind reeled. In what reality could he be having an impromptu pajama party with the princess of England?
This one, apparently.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked as a giggle escaped her lush mouth.
She nodded. “Quite a bit, yes.”
Asher shot the dog a wary glance. “Is there a trick to getting him to move?”
“Her,” the princess said. “It’s a girl. Her name is Willow, and she’s a bitch in every sense of the word.”
“I can see that, although I’m going to refrain from name calling when her teeth are so close to my face.”
“Her bark is much worse than her bite, and she’ll move if you prod her hard enough.”
He cast a wary glance at the gilded corners of the posh bedroom.
The princess followed his gaze. “There are no cameras in here, if that’s what you’re looking for. None that I know of, anyway.” She shrugged. “I could be wrong.”
Not exactly encouraging, but Asher took a chance. He scooped his hands under Willow, ignored her snarls of protest, and pushed her to the side.
He flashed Princess Amelia a victorious grin. “You were right. Thanks for the advice.”
Asher hopped out of bed before Willow could scramble on top of him again. It wasn’t until he was standing in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms that he thought about his state of undress.