Page 110 of The Princess and the Fraud

“And it wasn’t?” I pressed my lips together, fighting the wave of sadness. The warmth and peace from performing had nearly worn entirely off now, with nothing but the memory of that feeling. “You said that if it was up to you, you’d run Alderton-Du Ponte into the ground before giving the board what they wanted.”

“If it was my money, I would’ve. But it wasn’t.”

I guess it made sense, in a way, that he wouldn’t use his personal vendetta against the club to the detriment of a charity. But still.Still. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

Aaron looked away, clenching his jaw. “I should’ve. I had—other things on my mind.”

Like Fiona. Like calling off his engagement. Like jumping off his metaphorical bridge. I reached for his hand at his side, picking up his fingers. “It’s… disappointing.” Disappointing to think that this was yet another dream of someone’s meeting its end. I tried to catch his eye. “But at least I got to play on it once. Is that why you pushed me to perform? You knew what I needed?”Just like every other time?

Aaron wouldn’t look at me, though, his gaze locked on the cello case. We were once more back to last night, when he withdrew into himself, so distant that I hadn’t been able to reach him. “You were… You were beyond magnificent, Lovisa. Like watching someone remember who they were. It was an honor playing with you.”

I tilted my head, trying to catch his eye. “It was an honor playing with you, too, Aaron.”It was everything I’ve ever wanted.

Now, Aaron slowly lifted his head, and I could fully see how pale his face was. Before I had more than a second to analyze him, he caught me in a sudden grip, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me in. He gathered me with the same intensity Grant had, the urgency catching me off guard. Unlike with Grant, though, I didn’t try to wedge away.

“Can I be selfish?” he whispered, voice constricting almost as if he were the one being squeezed. “Just—one more time.”

I smoothed my hand down his back, breathing in his scent. “Sure.”

“—Astor has been such an integral part of this agreement,” a new voice said from the stage, though her words were drowned out by Aaron’s next ones.

“Promise me you’ll keep playing.” He drew a shaking breath in, one that matched his trembling hands in the way they pressed against my back. He squeezed me—tight. “Promise me that… you won’t look at the cello and resent it.”

There was no ignoring his mood any longer, no pretending everything was okay. I clung to him, though, as if will alone could chase away whatever was bothering him. “Why would I resent it?”

Aaron turned his head ever so slightly, his cheek brushing mine, words a whisper against my skin. “Because you’ll hate me.”

“Hate you?” I tried to pull back, to see his face, but his embrace was too firm. “Aaron, why?—”

“What do you say?” the newcomer on the mic asked the crowd, as if she were an entertainer and not a country club member. “Should we bring myfiancéback out for another song?”

Looking back, I wish I could’ve stopped right there, paused in the moment before clarity. Before the uncertainty turned to horror.

Fiancé—as if this person had just been on stage. But the only two who’d been on stage a moment ago had been Aaron and me. I finally opened my eyes, still rendered immobile in Aaron’s arms, but I could see over his shoulder. Just barely.

The new voice on the michadbeen familiar, because standing there, illuminated by the spotlight, stood Caroline.

And she stared squarely at us.

Her eyes, though, didn’t shine with normal happiness—they glimmered with a dark glee. “I’ve finally met my match,” Caroline said sweetly, lifting her hand with a flash of a sparkling ring. A ring I hadn’t noticed until now. “And I couldn’t be happier. I mean, who would be disappointed withtheAaron Astor?”

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

Anticipation was one of the most memorable things about a composition. The musician of any instrument could build the tension, creating an almost breathless connection between the notes and their listener. Like in Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto, there was a weightless pause of anticipation before the notes swelled, and in that moment, the listener almost had no choice but to hold their breath.

But unlike the concerto, Caroline’s words were not the melodic, goosebump-inducing arpeggios that felt like a deep exhale. Instead, they were fingers that slammed onto the keys, tearing out a discordant sound that was more similar to a scream.

I mean, who would be disappointed with the Aaron Astor?

Aaron’s arms were a vise around me, chaining me still as the melody fell apart. It was like he hadn’t even heard Caroline out on the stage, as if he existed in a world that was solely him and me.

With Aaron, I’d always been a short fuse, quick to anger as it snapped like fire underneath my skin. This time, though, that fire was absent. I just felt cold.

I was right earlier. His words hadn’t been a white flag.

“When?” The word was low. Aaron’s silence stretched, and this time, I pressed my palms to his chest and shoved. Hard. He fell back from me easily, though, not putting up a fight. “When?”

Aaron seemed to understand. “I gave her the ring last night.”

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