CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Cold feet. That’s all it is.
Amelia repeated this mantra to herself, over and over again, as she made her way back to her suite. Still, she wasn’t sure she believed it.
She didn’t know what to think anymore. About anything. What had happened with Asher had thrown her into a tailspin.
Her footsteps slowed as she passed the door to his room. It was still early, but he might be back from rehearsal by now. She could always knock and find out.
Right. After you were so rude to him yesterday, you’re just going to knock on his door and invite yourself inside like nothing happened?
A lot had happened. Too much.
Besides, she’d vowed not to see him again just a few hours ago. She couldn’t go back on that promise to herself now. No matter how very, very much she wanted to.
“Your Royal Highness.” James cleared his throat from somewhere in the periphery.
Amelia hastened her steps. Maybe if she pretended she hadn’t been contemplating a visit to Asher’s room, James would buy it.
Or not.
He wasn’t an idiot. He was rather sweet, actually.
She stopped and turned around. “Hi, James. I’m sorry about earlier. Thank you for not following me to my mother’s sitting room. I know my behavior could have gotten you in trouble. I appreciate your cooperation. Very much.”
Her vision grew blurry. She couldn’t cry. Not again.
“Please don’t apologize,” he said, dropping the formal, clipped tone he typically used. He reached into the inside coat pocket of his uniform and offered her a handkerchief.
The unexpected kindness made Amelia’s chest ache, especially after her mother’s distance just moments ago. But the pity in his gaze made it hard for her breathe. “Um . . .”
“You have a visitor,” he said. “Waiting in your room. I thought it best to let you know before you entered.”
“A visitor?” she echoed.
James nodded. “Yes, I . . .”
Asher.
Relief coursed through her with such force that her knees nearly buckled.
She cut James off, and her fist closed around his handkerchief. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Heart pounding, she headed for her room. Thank God Asher hadn’t listened when she’d told him she couldn’t see him anymore. Thank God. Right or wrong, he was the only person she wanted to talk to.
James scurried alongside her. “Your Royal Highness, perhaps you should know . . .”
Before he could finish, she burst into the room. “Asher, I . . .”
She stopped, and her heart sank to her shoes.
It wasn’t him.
“Lady Eleanor asked if she could wait for you in your suite, and I obliged.” James couldn’t seem to meet her gaze anymore. He looked as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him before.
He’d tried to warn her. Why hadn’t she let him finish? Because you wanted it to be Asher so badly, you couldn’t see straight. “Of course. H-hi, Eleanor.”
Eleanor, situated in the middle of Amelia’s bed with a copy of the latest British Vogue, frowned. “Did you just say ‘Asher’?”
Amelia shook her head with a tad too much force. “No.”
“You did. I heard you.” Eleanor tossed the magazine aside and climbed down from the bed. “Who’s Asher?”
James interjected. “Will you need anything else, Your Royal Highness? Tea, perhaps?”
God bless him. He was probably just trying to change the subject. How many times in the course of the day was he going to have to save her from herself? And when had her life turned into such a royal soap opera?
“I think we’re going to need something much stronger than tea.” Eleanor crossed her arms.
“James, could you bring us the cart, please?”
It had been a long time since Amelia had requested the portable bar on wheels, since before her transformation into the perfect princess. She hadn’t missed it as much as she’d expected. The partying had never been as fun as she’d pretended it was, anyway.
Suddenly though, the cart seemed a like a good idea. The best.
James didn’t seem to think so, if his frown lines were any indication. “Whatever you like.”
He slipped out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Eleanor lifted an accusatory brow. “What’s going on? You two are acting strange. And again, who’s Asher?”
“No one.” Amelia swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Things are just a little crazy around here. The wedding is tomorrow. I’m losing my mind.” It was probably the truest thing she’d said in recent memory.
Eleanor’s gaze narrowed. “Is that why you’ve been ignoring all my texts and calls?”
Amelia nodded, grateful for the change in subject, even if it meant directly addressing the awkwardness that had descended over their friendship. “I’m sorry. To tell the truth, I’ve been a little overwhelmed.” It was the understatement of the century. “But wait, what are you doing here, anyway?”
“Did you honestly think I’d take you seriously when you said no hen do?” Eleanor let out a laugh. “Come on, you know me better than that.”
“I can’t leave the palace. It’s impossible right now. The press is watching my every move.”
Eleanor shrugged. “So? We’ll do it right here.”
As if on cue, James reappeared, pushing the fully stocked drinks cart. Eleanor grabbed a silver martini shaker and began dropping ice cubes into it. Beyond the cart, Amelia could see Willow in the hallway, pawing at the closed door to Asher’s bedroom.
“Will that be all, Miss?” James asked. He’d gone back to being 100 percent businesslike again.
Amelia realized she was still clutching onto his handkerchief like it was a lifeline. She should probably return it. Not now. Not in front of Eleanor. “Yes. Thank you very much.”
Without a word, he vanished.
“What’s your poison?” Eleanor held up the martini shaker and gave it a rattle.
Amelia shook her head. She didn’t want to sip a cocktail. She wanted to get drunk. Drunk enough to forget about Holden, Wilhelmina, and her mother. But mostly, drunk enough to forget about the cello player next door. “Shots.”
Eleanor’s brows rose. “Shots? I must say I’m surprised, especially after our ladylike tea at the Ritz the other day.”
“If this is my hen do, we’re doing it right.” What was the worst that could happen? Things were already a royal mess.
“Shots it is, then.” Eleanor filled a shot glass to the brim with vodka and handed it to her.
Amelia tossed it back, and the alcohol burned its way down her throat.
“I heard you went to the opera a few nights ago with my dad,” Eleanor said.
Amelia nodded and held out her glass for a refill. Her head was already fuzzy. “Mmm hmm.”
“Was it as romantic as the papers made it out to be?” Was Amelia imagining things, or was there a hint of sarcasm in Eleanor’s tone?
She stared into her glass and contemplated her answer. “Truthfully, it was a little strange.”
She didn’t want to lie anymore. Not to her closest friend.
“Oh, thank God.” Eleanor poured them both another drink. “I thought we were going to keep on pretending that it’s completely normal for you to marry my father.”
Amelia set her shot glass down on the coffee table. She should probably slow down, especially if she didn’t want to say something she shouldn’t.
“You’re right. It’s weird.” She released a breath. It felt good to get the strangeness of the situation out in the open. “But does it bother you?”
She was almost afraid to look at Eleanor. They’d never discussed the engagement so openly before. Amelia had avoided asking her if she opposed the marriage because she was afraid Eleanor would say yes. She’d pretty much been avoiding her friend altogether, in case she voiced her opinion on the matter unprompted. Since they were little girls, Eleanor had always been brash and outspoken. It was one of the things Amelia loved best about her. Eleanor said what she meant. Unlike the queen. With her mother, Amelia often felt like she was playing a guessing game. Usually, she was on the losing side.
“No, I wouldn’t say it bothers me.” Eleanor frowned. “It just feels different than I thought it would.”
“It does for me, too.” Amelia reached for her drink, but sipped it this time. Now that they’d broken the ice about Holden, she wanted to ask about his relationship with Lady Wentworth, and that required a little more liquid courage.
“I thought it would be fun, you know. Like when we were kids and you’d spend the night. That sounds so dumb when I say it out loud.” Eleanor slammed another shot.
“You’re not dumb.” Amelia had convinced herself of pretty much the same thing. She still wouldn’t call it dumb. Just hopelessly naïve.
Emphasis on hopeless.
“Thanks for saying that. I’m still hoping I’ll get used to the idea and it will feel like a sleepover, because I can’t handle thinking of you as my mum.” She shuddered violently. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Amelia took another sip of vodka. She could feel the numbness falling away now, slowly being replaced with a familiar liquid feeling that she quite liked. You’re going to regret this come morning. She expected to have plenty of regrets in her future. Getting drunk the night before her huge, posh wedding seemed almost insignificant in comparison.
“Don’t worry. I don’t want to be your mother figure.” She hoped this didn’t directly contradict what she’d said at the awful tea at the Ritz. She couldn’t worry about that now. Not when she was so close to getting to the bottom of things. “Besides, you kind of have a mother figure already.”
Eleanor’s brows knit together. “I do? Who?”
The conversation wasn’t quite going as planned. Amelia hadn’t wanted to be the one to mention Lady Wentworth’s name. “Um . . .”
Eleanor blinked. “Oh, you mean Willie?”
Bingo. “I nearly forgot that’s what you call Lady Wentworth. It’s so sweet.”
“Well, I’ve known her all my life. I guess you could say I do think of her as a mum of sorts.” She took another shot of vodka.
Amelia picked up her glass, then put it back down without taking a sip. “She and Henry were at the opera the other night.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. She’s around all the time. I think she’s with my father right now, actually.” Eleanor shrugged. “But you probably know all about that. You and my dad probably text all the time, right?”
In fact, Amelia had never gotten a text from Holden. “Sure we do.”
“Oh bloody hell, he doesn’t sext you, does he?” Eleanor pulled a face. “Don’t answer that. If you say yes, I might vomit. The answer is yes though, isn’t it? Half the time I see him, he’s glued to his phone.”
“He’s on his phone a lot, is he?” Amelia did her best to sound nonchalant, but apparently she failed.
Eleanor cast her a quizzical glance. “Yes, isn’t everyone? What exactly are you trying to ask me?”
Amelia took a deep breath. It was now or never. Tomorrow would be too late. “Don’t you ever wonder about your dad and Wilhelmina?”
“Wait a minute. You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?” Eleanor let out a laugh. “Willie and my dad are not having an affair. That’s crazy.”
“Is it?”
Eleanor nodded. “Yes.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because first of all, ew. That would be beyond gross.” She made a gagging sound. Lovely. “Willie is practically family.”
“And?” Amelia lifted a brow. She needed a more solid argument than Eleanor’s disgust at the idea.
“And she’s married. She and Henry just went on a fancy ski vacation to Klosters. They seem perfectly happy.” Eleanor grabbed her phone. “Look, it’s all over Instagram.”
Amelia scrolled through a half dozen images of Wilhelmina and Henry, adorably clad in matching Moncler parkas, in front of picturesque views of the Swiss Alps. They did indeed look happy. But appearances could be deceiving.
She handed the phone back to Eleanor. Eleanor looked at the pictures again, peering at them more closely this time. She sighed. “I’m not sensing any kind of marital discord here. You don’t really think she and my father are sleeping together, do you?”
Amelia grew very still. Maybe she should tell Eleanor about the pocket watch. It was the only compelling piece of evidence.
If she did, Eleanor would probably confront her father. Did Amelia really want that? Now, right before the ceremony? No. At least she didn’t think she did. She’d never been quite so unsure about what she wanted before.
Asher’s image flitted briefly through her mind . . . his impossibly square jaw, the fathomless blue of his eyes, his musical hands.
She inhaled a ragged breath.
Eleanor reached for her hand and squeezed it tight. “I mean, you’re getting married in less than twenty-four hours. I know he’s my dad, but if you don’t trust him, you need to say something. But honestly, I think you’re worried about nothing.”
Could that be true?
Amelia had been so convinced when she’d first seen the engraving on the pocket watch. But no one seemed to agree with her. Not one other person. She was beginning to feel like she was seeing things that weren’t actually there.
“Someone’s at the door.” Eleanor’s gaze flitted to the closed door, and she stood. “I just heard a knock. Should I let them in?”
Amelia hadn’t heard a thing, but she’d been pretty preoccupied with trying to figure out if she was delusional or not.
“I’m sure it’s James,” she said. Then louder, she called, “Come in.”
As the door opened, she realized her mistake.
It was Asher, not James.
She knew before she saw him. The air felt different somehow—thick with longing, just as it had the night before in the Blue Room. Her breath caught in her throat, and she knew she should do something to stop what was about to happen. Get up. Run to the door. Tell him to go away before Eleanor saw him.
But she couldn’t seem to make herself move. Because somewhere in the midst of her panic, there was an unmistakable swell of relief at the thought of seeing him again.
He’d never come to her room before. Not once. She’d told him she never wanted to talk to him again.
Yet there he was.
Asher stood at the threshold, with his hand still on the doorknob. He was wearing a suit, and the knot in his tie was loosened just a bit. He must have just returned from rehearsal.
Without thinking, Amelia blurted out his name. “Asher.” It tasted sweet on her tongue. Decadent. Like fresh strawberries with the finest cream.
He frowned, and it wasn’t until his worried glance flitted to Eleanor that Amelia remembered they weren’t alone. For a moment, she’d been struck with such unexpected joy, she’d forgotten everything else. Everything and everyone.
“Wait, you’re Asher?” Eleanor swayed. Liquid sloshed over the rim of the glass in her hand and dripped onto the floor.
“Yes, I am,” he said, without elaborating.
Amelia shot to her feet, but she was too late. Everything had already begun spinning in a terrible, terrible direction. “Eleanor, Asher is . . .”
“He’s no one. You mentioned that already.” Eleanor lifted a brow, and the corner of her mouth quirked up into a half grin. “He doesn’t look like very much like a no one, though.”
Oh God.
Asher’s eyes went hard. Flinty.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
“Wait.” Amelia shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I didn’t . . .”
“She’s right. I’m no one,” Asher said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. This was a mistake.”
Then he turned and walked away, shutting the door firmly behind him.