CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Asher
Having Bailey at the palace filled Ash with something. He could’ve called it hope or positivity, but even then, he knew it wouldn’t have been right. He couldn’t put a name on how he felt in Bailey’s presence. Not just texting, but talking, and taking long walks along the coastal path.
They’d visited all of the sights, eaten hot banana and Nutella crêpes on stools in the kitchen, explored the palace’s vast library, and even scoured the Winter Palace’s walls to name every one of Ash’s ancestors. He should’ve felt trapped, what with the press attempting to follow their every move. Instead, he was . . . almost happy. It was definitely unexpected.
After two days together, he couldn’t remember a time when Bailey hadn’t been with him. That day, he’d decided to take her out to lunch at Frerique’s, his favorite restaurant. He knew what it would mean—even more paps on their tails—but it would get the message out for their big interview in two days’ time.
“Okay, worst borsht ever?” Ash asked.
Bailey burst into laughter. Her laughs were magical, almost like the tinkling of wind chimes. “I can’t say I’ve eaten enough borsht in my lifetime to award one the title of ‘Worst.’”
“Ah. Clearly, you’ve been missing out.” Ash chuckled. “Well, I have. It was on an estate visit to Élysée Palace in Andorra. I was nine.”
“What happened with the borsht?” Bailey asked, tapping the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin.
“There was something alive in my helping. A mouse, to be precise.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no.”
“I rescued him. I named him Philippe.”
“That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Bailey seemed like she’d meant it, too. She’d pressed her fist to her heart as though Ash had made it hurt.
He sipped his wine, his attention dropping to the smooth curves of Bailey’s exposed collarbone. He imagined his lips there. What would she taste like in that small hollow between her neck and shoulder? He had to stop. She was his friend. Besides, he needed to find an heiress.
After Grandmother dropped a hint about him marrying for money, he’d enlisted Jenson’s help in tracking down suitable future queens. Four candidates showed a great deal of promise. He’d already slept with one last year: Lady Kovačič from Slovenia. She’d been most accommodating. Willing to go down on her knees for the job. Ash shouldn’t want more.
But as he sat with Bailey, he finally began to understand. Being with someone, committing to someone, wasn’t just about great sex, though it didn’t hurt. No, it was about friendship, trust, understanding and love. If you combined all four of those things together, the great sex followed.
His parents once had those things in abundance, though he couldn’t bring himself to think about the sex portion.
He and Bailey had formed a friendship. They got each other. Ash was pretty certain no one had ever understood him.
He also trusted Bailey. She could have gone to the press and done a massive interview on her time working with him. She hadn’t. She’d kept his family’s secrets.
He didn’t love Bailey, but he wanted her. God, did he ever want her.
But wanting was one thing, and taking was another. He couldn’t be with her. He had a duty to his family.
“I’ve been wondering something about you.” Ash ran a finger along the stem of his wine glass. He glanced up and met Bailey’s wide, brown eyes.
“What’s that? I’m pretty sure you know everything about me.” Her smile was easy, warm, as she picked apart a pastry with her thin, sure fingers.
“Why did you stay in New York? Why not come back to Florico after college? It’s a great country. I hear the royal family is top notch.” He smiled, expecting a snappy retort.
He didn’t get one, and Bailey didn’t glance up. She continued with her croissant, though she’d started to bite her bottom lip.
“Too hard a question?” Ash asked. “I’m sorry if I’m prying.”
She shook her head. When she glanced up, tears had formed in her eyes. She blinked furiously, but it was too late. Ash had seen them, as well as her expression. There was no mistaking the emotion in her eyes. Trapped. Bailey felt trapped.
If she didn’t want to share, he wouldn’t be the one to force her.
“Worst fast food?” Ash smiled, taking her hand in his, squeezing it in apology. A jolt shot through him. It was more intense than any adrenaline rush he’d ever experienced. He didn’t let go, even when Bailey’s face reddened or when she met his eyes.
That should have been the moment Ash told Bailey about his growing feelings for her. If it had been any other situation and he another man, he would have. He released her hand, sliding his under the table, and pretended not to see the hurt on her face.
Bailey cleared her throat. “The worst fast food I’ve ever eaten was at this restaurant called Juan and Antonito’s. It was Mexican. It practically had a health department violation stamped on the front door. I was sick for three days afterward.”
“Are you ready to get out of here?” Ash asked.
Bailey nodded. “Yeah.”
They’d no sooner stood when one of Ash’s hired bodyguards rose from a table near the front door. “Your Highness. There are quite a few members of the press outside. We’ll need to move quickly.”
Ash took Bailey’s hand. “Stay close.”
She nodded, pressing herself against his side, almost making Ash forget everything. Then the guard opened the front door and chaos ensued. Cameras clicked, shutters rapid firing as Ash and Bailey ran outside.
The guard had been right. The press had tripled, but the throng also seemed to include onlookers and other random fans.
Bailey looped her arm through his, and together they ran toward the waiting back door of the limo. The door shut and she collapsed into the seat beside him, her breath heavy, and her eyes wide.
“Are you all right?” He took her hands in his. They were so close—hands clasped, shoulders touching. All he’d have to do was lean forward an inch. Then he could’ve kissed her and taken her sweet lips with his own.
She must have sensed it, because her lips parted, as though she were waiting for the same thing. Maybe if he could kiss her once, just get it out of his system, he’d be able to move on, to forget her. He’d be able to do his duty and save his family.
“Highness, we have a bit of a problem,” the bodyguard in the front seat announced.
Ash didn’t take his face from Bailey’s. “Yes?”
“We can’t get through the crowd. We’ll need to call the Florican police.” The guard whipped out a cell phone.
Bodies pressed in around the car. People clamored to see through the one-way glass. He’d never experienced anything quite like it before. What had changed? His relationship with Bailey, certainly. Ash hadn’t anticipated the public’s curiosity.
Bailey sat up straighter and stared across the street. “What about the cemetery? Can you get us in there?” She pointed across the street to the Florican National Cemetery. Hedgerows blocked the inside from view, as did the high, stone walls. “They won’t bother us in there, will they?”
Ash could have kissed her. “You’re right. The law forbids them to follow us into places of worship or onto holy ground. Get us as close to the cemetery as possible.”
The guard pointed and the driver inched the car around and across the street until he’d pulled up alongside the entrance. Once the gates were in plain sight, the guard exited the front seat and then swung open the back door. He shielded Ash and Bailey as they sprinted from the limo.
Ash entwined his fingers with Bailey’s, but soon, she was the one leading him, through the gates of the cemetery, past headstones, and down a grassy embankment. They’d almost reached the boundary of the graveyard. It wasn’t until they were feet from a fence that overlooked the rocky sea cliffs when she jerked to a stop and froze.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” But he didn’t have to work hard to find out.
At Bailey’s feet lay a headstone engraved with a very familiar name.
PARKER.