CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Amelia stared at her reflection in the gilded, full-length mirror in her suite’s dressing room and tried not to cry. “What do you think?”
Willow blinked, then walked away without commenting.
The dog was judging her. It seemed like a ridiculous concept, but Amelia was sure of it.
“This is precisely why I chose to get dressed on my own,” she muttered to the corgi’s retreating backside.
She deserved Willow’s disdain. She deserved far worse. After she left the queen’s sitting room, she’d gone back to her suite and tried to come up with a way to stop the wedding without jeopardizing her family’s place on the throne. She’d gone over everything over and over again, but couldn’t come up with a plan. When she realized she couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer, she’d returned to Asher’s room to tell him good-bye.
But she’d been too late.
He’d already left for the church.
The hairdresser had arrived at the palace only minutes after Amelia left Asher’s empty room, and once her royal updo was complete, she’d sent the stylist packing. Same with the trio of makeup artists. Three of them. Really? Was she so bad off that she’d needed an entire team of professionals from Bobbi Brown?
Yes. Amelia couldn’t exactly deny it. Her eyes were swollen, and her complexion was a blotchy mess. She suspected she was also nursing a hangover, but she wasn’t sure if the pounding in her temples was due to the alcohol, stress, or her frequent bouts of crying.
After the beauty team left, two stylists from Alexander McQueen showed up. Amelia politely declined their assistance. She could get dressed on her own. Mainly, she didn’t want to have to feign excitement.
She’d be doing enough pretending once she climbed into the glass coach that would take her and her father to Westminster Abbey. Amelia would be required to smile and wave for the duration of the twenty-minute ride from the palace to the church. Her stomach churned just thinking about it.
You can do this.
She could. Pretending to be a blissful bride would be torturous when she could practically still feel Asher moving inside her, but she could. She had to. For her family. For the crown.
But she wouldn’t pretend a second longer than she absolutely had to, so she’d put a stop to the revolving door of people entering her suite and shut herself inside, all alone.
Asher had given up on her. He’d left.
That’s not true. You’re the one who’s giving up.
She inhaled a ragged breath. No more crying. It was almost time to leave for the Abbey. She was nearly ready, but she needed a little help with the seventy-plus tiny buttons that ran up her spine, so she’d called for James.
Ever the professional, he managed to button her up without mentioning Asher’s name.
Amelia was certain James knew what had transpired between the two of them, although she was equally sure Asher hadn’t told him about their night together. James and Asher had become friends, though. And James was no idiot. He’d worked in the palace long enough to develop a keen sense of observation. He knew.
When he finished fastening the last button, he met her gaze in the mirror. “You look beautiful, Your Royal Highness.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said, earnestly avoiding her own reflection.
Her wedding gown reminded her of Asher now. Everything did. She couldn’t shake the memory of his smile, his voice, his touch. Of him. He was everywhere, it seemed. He’d kissed her the last time she’d worn this dress. The folds of delicate lace at her waist had been balled in his fists as he’d pressed her against the wall and kissed her and touched her as if she belonged to him. As if he would be the one waiting for her at the altar.
She couldn’t look at the dress without wondering what it would be like if that were true. It hurt so much she could barely breathe.
She squeezed her eyes closed tight.
“Your Royal Highness,” James said softly. “Mr. Reed is a good man. You don’t need to worry about whether or not he’ll speak to the press. He won’t.”
She nodded. “I know he won’t.”
Asher could be trusted. Amelia was the dishonest one. She was the one who was about to lie to the entire world.
“His bags are packed, and they’ll be taken directly to Heathrow after the ceremony. He won’t be back.” James’s left eyebrow lifted, ever so slightly. “That is, unless . . .”
She held up a hand. “I’m ready. There’s nothing else to be done here. Understood?”
Her voice was sharper than she’d intended it to be, but she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t stand there while James offered to find Asher and bring him back. If she let him utter the words out loud, she’d grab onto them like a lifeline. And she couldn’t do that. It was already too late.
James nodded. “Very well. The coach has been summoned from the Royal Mews and will be at the palace gates momentarily.”
“I’d like to wait here.” She needed time to get her game face on, and time was running out. Every second counted. “You’ll let me know when it arrives and my father is ready?”
“Of course, Your Royal Highness.” He lingered for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else.
He didn’t have to. Amelia knew what he was thinking. She was thinking the same thing. This isn’t right. I have feelings for another man.
But there was a soft knock at the door, and Eleanor poked her head inside. “Can I come in?”
Amelia had never been so happy to see a friend in her life. She pressed a hand to her stomach and took a steadying breath so she wouldn’t cry off all of her makeup. Because after all, what was more important than appearances? “You came.”
“Of course I came.” Eleanor lingered at the threshold.
Amelia’s heart gave a little hitch. “How thoughtless of me. You’re here for your father.”
For a split second, she’d allowed herself to believe Eleanor was on her side, as she’d always been. But of course she wasn’t. There was no one on her side. Not even Asher. Not anymore. Amelia had ruined that, too.
“I’m not here for my father, Amelia. I’m here for you.”
“You are?” Amelia choked back a sob. “I thought maybe after the way we left things . . .”
Eleanor shook her head. “Stop. Stop it right now. You’re going to cry off your eyelash extensions, and there’s no time to fix them.”
Amelia let out a laugh. It was just a small chuckle, but it was the first time she’d laughed since she’d left the queen’s sitting room that morning. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“I’ve known you my whole life, remember? I practically know what you’re feeling before you do.” Eleanor’s shoulder lifted in a half shrug.
Amelia sighed. “True.”
Eleanor had been right to be suspicious of Amelia’s attraction to Asher. She’d been right about everything.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “Something important.”
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder, toward the hallway. “Wait. There’s something I need to say, too, and there’s not much time . . .”
“It’s over,” Amelia blurted.
Eleanor frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Asher Reed.” Amelia swallowed. Hard. “I swear. I . . . we . . .”
She didn’t know how to confess. She just knew that she had to, or her friendship with Eleanor would never be the same. Amelia was giving up so much. She couldn’t lose Eleanor along with everything else.
“Amelia, stop. I don’t care about Asher Reed anymore. I promise. I have something . . .”
The jangle of a dog collar interrupted her, and at first Amelia assumed Willow had also decided that forgiveness was in order. She realized she was wrong when not one, but five corgis trotted into the room. Their arrival could only mean one thing—the queen wasn’t far behind.
Amelia’s gaze flew back to Eleanor. “What is it? Talk fast.”
She opened her tiny clutch handbag and reached inside. “Here . . .”
“Amelia!” Her mother barked as she swished into the room. Everyone jumped, including the corgis. “What are you still doing in here? The coach will be here any second. Your father is already waiting at the gate.”
Eleanor’s handbag snapped shut, and she lowered into a curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
“Oh hello, Eleanor.” The queen’s gaze flitted back and forth between her and Amelia. “What is going on in here? As I just said, the coach is on its way.”
“I know, Mum. James is to let me know when it arrives. We were just having a little girl time. That’s all.”
Her mother squinted, reached for the tiara atop Amelia’s head, and gave it a little push.
Amelia flinched. “Ouch. What are you doing? That thing is anchored to my head.”
The beauty squad had attached it with enough pins so it would stay put in a tornado. Keeping a tiara in place was considered Princessing 101. Even Amelia couldn’t screw it up.
“Good. I was just checking. We wouldn’t want any unexpected surprises today, would we?” Her mother’s gaze narrowed.
Eleanor cleared her throat.
Amelia glanced at her, and then focused once again on the queen. “Of course not.”
“Right.” She gave a firm nod. The glittering crown on top of her head didn’t budge. “This is an important day. Not just for you and Holden, but also for the country. For Britain.”
Amelia swallowed. “I know.” How could she forget?
The queen clapped her hands. “Come now. You don’t want to keep your father and the rest of the country waiting.”
The corgis swarmed at her feet as she headed for the door. The pack seemed less chaotic than usual today. Quieter. Calmer. Bee glanced over her furry little shoulder, as if checking to make sure Eleanor and Amelia were following.
They fell in line behind the monarch and her dogs. Amelia’s full tulle skirt trailed behind her, weighing her down. James entered the room just as they were about to exit, probably to announce the coach’s arrival.
“Allow me to assist you, Your Royal Highness.” He bent to gather the hem of Amelia’s gown in his arms.
“Thank you.” She paused, twisting to see if she could somehow help. But when she turned her head, her gaze snagged on the open door to the Blue Room.
It was pristine. The bed was made and the blue carpet was crisscrossed with fresh vacuum lines. Amelia glanced at the corner, half-expecting to see Asher’s cello in the spot where he always kept it. The instrument wasn’t there, of course. None of Asher’s belongings were. The only indication that he’d ever been there at all was Willow’s stubborn presence in the center of the bed.
She’d abandoned the pack, which was tantamount to corgi treason.
“I think I’ve got it,” James said.
“All right, then.” Amelia faced forward again and made her way down the Queen’s Hall, toward the palace gate facing the quadrangle, where the coach would be waiting to carry her and her father to the Mall.
Everything was happening so fast now. Too fast. Her head felt fuzzy. Amelia forgot that Eleanor was walking alongside her until she said something.
“It doesn’t look like we’re going to have any more time together before the ceremony, so here. Take this.” Eleanor opened her bag and removed a small bundle of lace, tied into a square with a blue satin ribbon.
Amelia turned it over in her hand. “What’s this?”
“You know—something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue . . .”
Amelia smiled. “. . . and a silver sixpence for your shoe.”
When Amelia’s brothers had gotten married, she and Eleanor had talked about the tradition and vowed to gather the appropriate items together for each other on their respective big days. Amelia’s throat grew tight. That day is today.
“You remembered,” she said.
“Of course I did. We’ll always be friends, Amelia.” Eleanor reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Always. Remember that.”
The promise was almost enough to take away the sting of never getting to tell Asher good-bye. Almost. “I will.”
“You can tuck the lace square into your bouquet. It’s your something old. The lace is from Jane’s wedding gown. There’s a diamond horseshoe pinned inside, something new. And the silver sixpence. When you get to the church, you have to open it so you can put the sixpence in your shoe.” Eleanor squeezed her hand so hard that it hurt.
Amelia doubted she’d have either the time or the opportunity to untie the bundle, fish out the sixpence, and get it into her Jimmy Choo. “I’ll try.”
“You have to. It’s bad luck if you don’t.”
They’d reached the gate. Two pages stepped forward to corral the corgis before the doors opened. Amelia could see her father standing outside in his military uniform, with its collection of medals sparkling in the sunshine.
And the coach, of course. It stood there like something straight out of a fairy tale, ready to whisk her away to a happily-ever-after ending.
She took a deep breath.
You have to. It’s bad luck if you don’t.
“Promise me,” Eleanor said. “I’m serious. Promise me you’ll do it.”
Eleanor had always been the superstitious one. She followed her horoscope more faithfully than she followed the weather. Maybe she was onto something this time, though. Amelia didn’t want to tempt fate. Her impending marriage had enough things working against it without adding a heaping dose of bad luck to the mix.
Amelia closed her fingers around the lace square. “I promise.”
JAMES WAS RIGHT, ASHER thought. The wedding is still on.
He’d held out hope on the ride to the Abbey. It had been difficult to convince himself that there wouldn’t be a royal wedding when every street between the palace and the church was lined with cheering crowds and decorated with blue, red, and white bunting. But he’d somehow managed to grab onto the tiniest shred of faith.
Then he walked into the nave at Westminster Abbey and his faith took a serious hit.
There were television cameras everywhere. A red carpet had been laid out that started at the street and went right up to the altar. The choir was dressed in immaculate white robes, and every member of the orchestra was already in place, warming up. All of England was prepared for a royally huge production.
But the thing that got to Asher most of all was the hush that fell over him when he walked into the nave. Despite all the chaos, Westminster Abbey was still a church. A place of worship. Holy ground. For all its pomp and circumstance, the royal wedding was a serious occasion.
He stood beneath the Abbey’s massive gray arches and looked up. He’d never felt so small. Kings and queens had been crowned here. They’d been christened and buried in the very spot where he stood. Who was he to think he could change the course of destiny? Amelia and Holden would be exchanging vows here today, whether Asher was ready to accept it or not.
“Asher.”
He turned around. His ex stood in a shadow between two stone pillars, wringing her hands. “Serena?”
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
He shook his head. “Now isn’t a good time.”
As he turned to walk away, she blurted, “I made a mistake. I want you back.”
Asher slowed to a stop. She couldn’t be serious. He was battling enough emotions today without adding this to the mix. “You don’t mean that. Let’s just go to our seats and prepare for the ceremony.”
“I’m sorry, Asher. So, so sorry.” She shook her head and pressed her fingertips against her lips the way she used to do when she was trying not to cry.
He’d seen that gesture dozens of times—when her cat died, when she’d botched her Philharmonic audition, when she’d broken her wrist and had been unable to play her viola for the entire spring concert season. She’d even done it when Asher had found out about her and Jeremy. Now she was doing it again, and the circumstances were exactly the opposite.
I want you back.
Asher would be lying if he said he’d never fantasized about this moment. He had. Especially in the early days, right after she’d gone. He’d missed her. He’d missed Jeremy. He’d wanted everything to go back to the way it had been before.
But that wasn’t possible. And even if it were, Asher wouldn’t go back. Not anymore.
He still hadn’t conquered his stage fright, but he’d realized something in England. Something he’d forgotten along the way to becoming Asher Reed, Cellist.
There was more to life than music.
“Don’t be sorry. You were right, Serena,” he said quietly.
“No.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. Jeremy isn’t the man for me. You are. I know that now.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Asher stiffened. He felt nothing. Not even the tiniest spark of revenge. If anything, he pitied Jeremy. He pitied them both.
“I’m not.” He peeled Serena’s arms off of him and took a backward step. “I meant you were right about the music. I was too wrapped up in it. It was everything to me. You were right to leave.”
It was probably even for the best that she’d chosen to leave him for Jeremy. If it had been anyone else, he might not have ended up here. He’d lost everything again this morning. But he was still standing. Still breathing. And for one bright, shimmering moment, he’d felt alive. More alive than he had in decades.
“Go back to Jeremy, Serena.” Or don’t. He gave her a grim smile. “It’s almost showtime.”