CHAPTER
NINETEEN
No.
No!
Amelia was screaming inside.
Asher couldn’t leave. She had to stop him. But it was too late. His performance had brought the house down. She’d never heard anything like it and never would again. People were clapping and cheering so loud that the chandeliers shook. If she called his name, he’d never hear her. The church was too noisy, and he was moving much too fast. His footsteps were swallowing up the space between the altar and the grand entrance.
And in the blink of an eye, he was gone. He’d left everything behind.
His cello.
His bow.
Her.
“No,” Amelia whispered. Her throat felt achy, raw. Like she hadn’t spoken in years.
The archbishop gave her an odd look. “I’ve never heard the cello played like that before. I wonder where he went. He’s really something, isn’t he?”
You have no idea.
Holden cleared his throat. “Shall we get on with things, then?”
“No,” Amelia said, louder this time.
The archbishop’s gaze flitted toward the BBC television cameras and then back to Amelia. “What did you say, Your Royal Highness?”
“I said no.” It felt good to say it out loud. Right. And now that she’d done it, her fears began to fall away, one by one.
Fear of disappointing her family. Fear of losing the crown. And mostly, fear of never being the perfect daughter.
She wasn’t perfect. She never would be. But if Asher could stare his fear in the face and overcome it, so could she. She could do the right thing and face the consequences, whatever they may be. She could bring the house down just like he had.
“Amelia, what are you doing?” Holden blinked. His face went pale against the deep red jacket of his military uniform, but somewhere beneath the panic in his gaze, Amelia spied something else.
Relief. Just the barest hint of it, but it was there.
He didn’t want this any more than she did. How could he when he was in love with someone else?
“I can’t marry you, Holden,” she said.
“Thank God,” Eleanor groaned from the second pew.
“Turn off the cameras!” someone yelled.
Her mother. Of course.
She was standing in the first pew with her chin raised in defiance and pointing at the camera crews from BBC, ITN, and Sky News. “As your queen, I order you to stop filming at once.”
The journalists—who numbered nearly two dozen altogether—exchanged worried glances. One by one, the red lights went dark on their television cameras.
“Your Majesty.” The nearest cameraman from the BBC cleared his throat. “The fixed cameras are being manned remotely. We can’t control those from inside the church.”
He pointed toward the ceiling, where tiny, nearly invisible cameras continued to document the ceremony, giving the entire world an aerial view of the unfolding chaos.
The queen stood still as stone, peering up at the camera situated above the sacrarium. For the first time in her life, she was powerless.
“I’m sorry,” Amelia said. “But this is wrong for everyone involved. I can’t do this. We can’t. Right?” She lifted a brow at Holden, prompting him to agree.
He glanced toward the third row of seats, where Lady Wentworth had begun quietly sobbing beside her thoroughly confused husband.
Holden took a deep breath and turned to address the congregation, but before he could utter a word, Gregory Beckett sprinted toward the altar so quickly that his feet nearly slid out from under him. The queen was hot on his heels.
“I advise you most strongly not to say a word.” Gregory’s gaze dripped with disdain as it slid from Holden to Amelia. “Both of you.”
If he thought he could force her to back down, he was delusional. The hard part was over. Amelia had spoken up, and there wasn’t a thing Gregory or her mother could do to make her take it back. “Too late. I already said the only word necessary—no.”
“Amelia,” the queen said. But the authority had gone out of her demeanor. Amelia had never seen her mother look quite so human before.
She’s afraid. She’s been afraid all along.
Just like me.
Perhaps they had more in common than Amelia had ever realized.
“There will be consequences if you walk away from this wedding,” Gregory hissed. “I advise you to think long and hard about what you’re saying, young lady.”
Holden took a step toward him. “It’s over, brother. Maybe it’s even for the best. Let it go.”
“Never.” Gregory glared at Amelia.
She shot him her sweetest smile. “Have you forgotten protocol, Mr. Beckett? I’m the princess of England, and you are to address me as Your Royal Highness. Now and forever.”
She held out her fist and opened it to reveal the pocket watch. It flashed gold beneath the overhead chandeliers and lights from the camera crews, showcasing the intertwined initials with dramatic effect.
“Oh, dear.” Holden sighed.
“What is that?” Gregory demanded.
The queen gaped at the watch. “Amelia, how did you . . . ?”
“It doesn’t matter how. I have it now, and I won’t hesitate to hand it over to any one of the reporters here today.” Amelia looked at her mother and searched her gaze. “This gift meant exactly what I thought it meant. I can’t do this, Mother. I shouldn’t have to.”
“Is this true, Holden? Have you been lying to my daughter all along?” The queen’s voice had turned to ice.
Holden bowed his head. Defeated.
Over her mother’s shoulder, Amelia could see Lady Wentworth’s hand lift slowly to the pendant around her neck. The older woman had gone white as a sheet.
She needn’t have worried. Amelia wasn’t going to publicly out Holden and Wilhelmina. Not unless she had to. And from the looks of things, it wouldn’t be necessary.
Holden turned toward the archbishop. “The wedding is canceled. We’re sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t!” Gregory’s nostrils flared. An angry vein throbbed to life on the side of his neck. He looked as if he might be on the verge of a heart attack, which would be about the only thing that would have upped the drama of the spectacle unfolding. “We had a deal. The Becketts deserve to be close to the throne. The crown is rightfully ours.”
Holden shook his head. “It’s over. If you want to fight that battle, you’re going to have to do it on your own. I gave it my best shot, but I’m finished.” He turned toward Amelia. “May I have my watch back?”
“No.” Amelia held it close to her heart. It was getting easier and easier to say that word.
The queen stepped forward and held out her hand. “You can give it to me if you like. I’ll keep it safe. I should have done so before. You have my word this time, daughter.”
Daughter.
Amelia’s breath caught in her throat. She nodded, and as she handed the watch to her mother, tears pricked her eyes. “Here. I trust you. From now on, do you think you can trust me?”
Her mother squeezed her hand and nodded. “Yes, my darling. I will.”
The crowd was growing restless, and so was Amelia. She’d said her piece, and now it was time to walk away from her wedding once and for all.
She handed her bouquet to her mother. “I’ve got to go.”
Gregory threw up his hands. “Bloody hell. You’re running away?”
Amelia smiled. “No. I’m running toward something.”
Toward life.
Toward music.
Toward love.
IT TOOK ASHER A while to navigate his way through the mass of people who’d gathered outside Westminster Abbey in hopes of a glimpse of the royal bride and groom. The wall of people seemed never-ending, and hordes of people lined the streets for as far as he could see. But once he’d managed to push through to the other side, London was a virtual ghost town.
The silence was astounding.
Asher’s head had been so full of noise that at first the serenity that settled over the outskirts of Central London was a comfort. He’d emptied himself at the Abbey, and now it seemed only natural that he could make his way across one of the biggest cities in the world without speaking to another person.
The tube was running, but Asher was the only passenger on board. When he exited at the Regent’s Park station, the platform was empty. Desolate. There was no attendant at the ticket counter and no one working at the underground shops. It was as if the entire city was holding its breath, waiting for Princess Amelia and Duke Holden to become man and wife.
Had it happened yet?
Asher didn’t know. He’d lost track of the time, and that was fine. Being in rehearsals for the past nine days had drilled the order of ceremony into his head. He knew the exact moment that everything was supposed to transpire inside the church, down to the final I do’s. One glance at a clock or at the time display on his phone and it would be over. It would be real, and there’d be no escaping the knowledge that she’d done it. She’d given herself away.
Until death do them part.
He bowed his head and walked past the stately manors in Regent’s Park and the candy-colored townhomes of Primrose Hill—pink, yellow, mint, and robin’s-egg blue. Asher felt out of place in the middle of so much whimsy. He didn’t belong here, but this had been the plan. This had been the place—the place that was to become his and Amelia’s. And now he had nowhere else to go.
When he arrived at his destination, he reached into his pocket for a few bills, but the woman at the entrance waved him through. “No charge today, sir. The royal wedding is on! It’s a national holiday.”
A holiday. Right.
“Thank you,” he said.
She gave his tuxedo a curious glance, but then turned her attention back toward the iPad propped inside her Plexiglas booth without mentioning his odd state of dress.
Asher hastened his steps to prevent himself from glancing at the image of the ceremony on the small screen. He’d begun to believe it was required viewing in the entirety of the United Kingdom. Gravel crunched beneath his feet and colorful leaves danced and swirled in the air as he made his way down the shady path.
He settled on a park bench to wait. Surely it was almost time.
Minutes after he sat down, he heard the rattle of a chain. He sat up straighter and peered into the distance, but as the noise grew closer, he realized it wasn’t coming from the direction of the horizon. The sound was coming from just down the path.
Asher squinted toward the sun-dappled trail, and drew in a sharp breath when he spied a corgi trotting toward him at the end of a leash. The dog’s tags were jangling and its mouth was drawn open wide. It looked so much like it was smiling that Asher’s heart seemed to freeze, then began to pound hard and fast.
He pushed to his feet and walked toward the dog, trying to catch a glimpse of the human on the other end of the leash, all the while telling himself not to hold out hope, not to believe. But when the white dress came into view, with its layers upon layers of cascading tulle and lace, he realized he’d been expecting her all along. His Amelia. His runaway bride. His princess.
He knew he was only imagining things, but he could have sworn he heard music—Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat Major, opus 9 no. 2, a piece he’d always associated with intimacy. The quiet joy of the soul.
“Hello, Asher,” she said as Willow collided into his shins in an explosion of fur and happy barks. Amelia looked much less confident than the audacious dog. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and the zoo’s gravel path had taken a toll on the hem of her wedding gown. Asher had never seen her look quite so lost before, not even the night he found her crying in the Abbey. “I realize I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but here I am.”
“Here you are.” Asher’s hands were shoved deep inside his pockets, and he struggled to keep them there. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to touch her and never stop, but first they had things to say to each other. Things they’d been fighting to hold inside for what felt like years.
“You found me.” He glanced toward the wide, green space on the opposite side of the stone wall that lined the path as Willow settled on his foot to gnaw on his shoelace.
“James helped me,” Amelia said. “He was watching the wedding on the telly and when he realized I changed my mind, he came to get me. I found him waiting for me outside the Abbey. With Willow, obviously.”
I changed my mind.
My God, she did it. She walked away.
“Obviously.” Asher glanced at his feet. His shoelace was completely severed now. He didn’t give a damn. New laces weren’t a problem . . . new shoes . . . a whole new life. “James is a good guy. You might want to think about giving him a raise.”
“Done.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Questions shone in her deep green irises. So many that there wasn’t room for anything else. “I never should have gone to the church to begin with. I thought I had to . . .” She paused, swallowed. “. . . but I should have stood up for what I wanted before it was too late.”
Asher nodded. The ache in his chest was almost unbearable.
“Is it too late?” She peered up at him. “Please tell me it’s not. I’m sorry. So sorry. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life.”
A gust of wind lifted her frothy tulle skirt in the air and blew an auburn curl into her eyes.
Asher couldn’t help himself any longer. He reached to sweep the hair from her eyes and ended up cupping her face in his hands and kissing her so hard he nearly suffocated them both.
“It’s not too late. You’re right on time. I love you, you know,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.
“Tiara and all?” she said.
“The whole package,” he said. “Even the beastly dog.”
“I love you, too.” Amelia wound her arms around his neck, anchoring herself to him. She snuck a sideways glance beyond the stone wall, toward the newly created enclosure, and lifted a brow. “So this is where you wanted to take me? To the zoo?”
“Surely you know why.”
Her lips spread into a slow smile. “Not the leopard.”
“Yes, princess. Your leopard.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then watched as the spotted cat prowled out from behind a cluster of trees.
Amelia gasped. “You found her.”
“I did, and today is her liberation day. No more cages. She’s got a wide-open space now. The London Zoo just finished building the largest exotic-cat enclosure in the world.” He removed her arms from around his neck and took her hand in his, so they stood, side-by-side, watching the beautiful animal. “Isn’t it crazy? Who knew?”
“You did.” Amelia rested her head on his shoulder, and once again, music wound its way through Asher’s head.
Not just one song, but all of them. Every song he’d ever heard. Every note he’d played before, and even the ones he’d yet to stroke to life with his bow.
It was the sweetest, purest sound, and on and on it flowed, while Asher and Amelia watched the newly liberated leopard find her way in the wide-open world.