CHAPTER
THREE
Asher had no idea whether or not he should bow. He remembered reading something about proper royal protocol in the informational packet the palace had emailed to him before his flight, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall what it said.
The packet had been seven pages long, single-spaced, and covered everything, from when to speak to a royal—only after being spoken to first—to the queen’s preference for self-tying bow ties. Supposedly, the monarch could spot a pretied one at twenty paces. Asher was wearing a traditional necktie, no bow in sight. But he’d knotted his silk Hermès himself, and he figured that had to count for something.
Still, he was drawing a complete blank when it came to whether or not he should bow to the princess. He went ahead and did it. If anything, it’d buy him some time to try to figure out what to say.
Bowing was the wrong move, though, and the princess didn’t hesitate to let him know. “You don’t need to do that, Mr. Reed. I’m a princess, not a queen. And you’re American.”
Asher straightened. “Right.”
He stopped short of apologizing. That seemed like overkill. He’d been hoping for the opportunity to see her again before the wedding. He’d thought about it quite a lot, actually. More than he wanted to admit.
She’d intrigued him.
But as many times as he’d contemplated a situation exactly like this one, it never crossed his mind that the first words out of her mouth would be a criticism of his etiquette.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reed.” She gazed at him impassively and extended her hand.
He took it, convinced she must not remember him. The Abbey had been dark. Even if she’d gotten a good view of him, why would she recognize him now? From the little he knew of her, he didn’t think the princess was a classical-music fan. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”
Upon closer inspection, Asher realized she wasn’t meeting his gaze. She wasn’t focusing on his face at all. Rather, her attention seemed to be fixed squarely on the knot in his tie.
He cleared his throat, and her cheeks grew pink, but her gaze didn’t stray from his half Windsor knot.
Interesting.
Either she was purposely avoiding his gaze, or her mother wasn’t the only member of the family who had some serious feelings when it came to neckties.
“Amelia, Mr. Reed has just arrived from the States,” the queen said. At the sound of the monarch’s voice, the dogs at his feet swiveled their heads in her direction in unison. “Mr. Reed is a soloist with the New York Philharmonic and will be performing at the wedding ceremony.”
Formerly with the New York Philharmonic. But Asher wasn’t about to correct her. Instead, he glanced at the princess and at last, she met his gaze.
He smiled.
Her flush promptly deepened at least three shades. So she remembered him, after all. “Of course I’ve heard of you, Mr. Reed. You’re a virtuoso. But I don’t understand. The orchestra has been rehearsing for weeks, and I was under the impression Yo-Yo Ma was performing the cello solo.”
Again Asher got the impression she was waiting for him to apologize, this time for his failure to be Yo-Yo Ma.
“Mr. Ma has fallen ill. I’m his replacement,” Asher said.
Why did he get the feeling she wouldn’t consider this good news?
“I see.” She swallowed, drawing Asher’s attention to the slender elegance of her throat.
He fought the urge to stare. In the bright light of day, she was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Dazzling. Regal. Yet, there was a wildness about her that he’d never expect of a princess. It was most alluring.
Last night had been strange and surprising in all the best ways. As much as he’d hated hearing her cry, Princess Amelia had worn her sadness like a crown. Once she’d revealed herself, he realized why. Then she’d glided past him, leaving him with the eerie sensation that their meeting had been meaningful in some way.
Special.
In the past twelve hours, he’d managed to convince himself it hadn’t been anything of the sort. He’d just fallen under the spell of the Abbey’s ghosts. Surely the moment hadn’t been as profound as he remembered.
He was wrong about that. Their brief encounter had meant something. If it hadn’t, the princess wouldn’t have so much trouble looking him in the eye.
He also wouldn’t feel as awkward as he did right then.
“It was lovely meeting you. I have wardrobe fittings this afternoon and papers to sign, so I should get back to my room.” He accidentally bowed again.
Damn it.
He turned to say good-bye to the queen, but Princess Amelia tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Excuse me. Your room?”
Asher’s gaze flitted to her fingertips, still resting on his forearm. The queen cleared her throat, and Princess Amelia snatched her hand back.
“Yes, darling,” Her Majesty said. “There’s not an available hotel anywhere in London. Everything is booked solid. Your wedding is bringing more tourists to England than the Olympics did five years ago. So out of necessity, Mr. Reed will be our guest for the duration.”
“Our guest?” The color drained from the princess’s face.
“Yes, I’m staying in the Blue Room.” Asher assumed there was only one room by that name in the palace since James, the royal page who’d gotten him settled in the wee hours of the morning, had called it that. And the room was definitely blue. Very, very blue, from the robin’s-egg walls to the plush powder-blue carpet.
Princess Amelia gaped at her mother. “The Blue Room? As in, the bedroom right next door to my mine?”
Until that moment, Asher had been blissfully unaware of his room’s proximity to hers. It wasn’t as if he’d been given a map of the palace or anything. Although a map would have been nice. Buckingham Palace was enormous.
Instead, he’d been assigned a liveried page to escort him wherever he needed to go. This morning, his escort knocked on his door and informed him that he’d been granted another private meeting with the queen.
The monarch had been waiting for him when he’d arrived the night before, but their meeting had been brief. Asher had been so exhausted he barely remembered it.
Now here he was, shin-deep in corgis and face-to-face with the bride-to-be, who clearly didn’t want him anywhere near her suite, much less sleeping in one of its bedrooms.
“Mr. Reed, please excuse my daughter’s rudeness.” The queen smiled politely at him, then turned sharp eyes on the princess. “Darling, must I remind you yet again that we’re preparing for a royal wedding? Your wedding. The Blue Room is the only vacant room in the building. I’m aware that Eleanor had planned on using that room, but in light of the conversation we just had, I’m sure you’d agree she’d be better off staying in her father’s block of rooms at the Goring Hotel.”
Asher didn’t know who Eleanor was, but at the mention of her name, the princess grew very still.
“Right,” she said woodenly. She gave him a sideways glance. “Please accept my apology, Mr. Reed. I hope you’ll find the Blue Room comfortable. We’re pleased to accommodate you.”
Clearly. She was oozing pleasure.
Asher would’ve rolled his eyes but he thought it might get him thrown out of the country. “I appreciate it, and I apologize for the intrusion during such a stressful time.”
Her gaze narrowed. “A happy time, not a stressful one.”
“Of course.” Asher nodded. Even if he hadn’t recently found her weeping in the Abbey, he wasn’t sure he’d believe her.
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.