Page 35 of The Princess and the Fraud

I laughed, tipping my coffee cup back, draining it. I wasn’t someone who needed caffeine to function, but it’d help to cope with the chlorine fumes and screaming children. “Well, I’ll see you?—”

“Lovisa?”

Paige and I both turned to find Aaron coming out of the hotel corridor. He had a navy quarter-zip jacket over top of a white collared shirt, a pair of sunglasses hanging from it. His cream-colored cotton shorts grazed the tops of his knees, navy athletic shoes pulling the look together. His dark hair was gelled out of his face today, and that, paired with the outfit, made him look verycountry club-like.

“Tennis?” I guessed.

Aaron looked down at his outfit. “Pickleball, actually. The more refined sport.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, but before I could go further, Paige bumped my shoulder—hard enough not to be accidental. “Uh, Aaron, this is Paige—she’s a floater at Alderton-Du Ponte.”

“A ridiculous title most of us have.” Paige gave a little roll of her eyes. “They like to be able to plug us wherever they need us.”

Aaron’s expression was very polite. “It’s good to meet you, Paige.” He stretched forward to offer his hand out. “Aaron Astor.”

“I know.” She shot him a smile. “Everyone around here knows who you are. Son of the biggest travel empire in the country. Should I call you to be my agent the next time I book a trip?”

He shifted on his feet, offering a complicated smile. “I’m not really involved in that sector. But if you need anything involving the Strategic Planning Department, I’d love to help you out.”

“Strategic Planning Department?” I asked, blinking at him. I couldn’t tell if it’d been a lie that slipped from his tongue, or the truth. “You… work at Astro Agencies?”

“Of course he does,” Paige said with a little scoff, nudging my arm. “He’s an Astor, after all! Astro, Astor—get it?”

His parents disowned him, but he still worked at their company? I shook my head a little. “I just didn’t?—”

I stopped midsentence, because a new song started playing over the country club’s speakers, demanding my attention. It was faint, the volume criminally low, but it was still there. The soft, aching melody seemed wholly out of place.

Alderton-Du Ponte normally played covers of pop songs that’d been transposed for piano or something similar, notrealclassical music, not often. But this—this was Schubert’s “Ave Maria.” The hypnotic piano, with a cello arrangement. The notes the instruments played bit into my chest, bringing my spinning world to a standstill.

It was a well-known piece—especially the hymn—but one I rarely heard in its pure instrumental state. One I never sought, not even in my weakest moment where music called my name. There were some compositions that held memories, and this one transported me back to a time I never wanted to relive: my mother’s funeral.

It was a popular piece for funerals, especially Catholic ones, but my mom wasn’t religious. I hadn’t chosen the lyrical version, either, but a Yo-Yo Ma performance. It wasn’t heartbreaking in the way other popular compositions played at funerals were, but instead, it was a piece that was almost comforting. One that stirred your soul and left you at peace. The world was still ugly and wrong, and my mom was gone, but for the duration of the short arrangement, I’d been at peace.

Aaron leaned over a little to catch my eye. “Are you okay?”

The melody was prayer-like, the slow tempo washing over me. “This piece,” I said, as if the two words explained it all.

Aaron glanced up at the speakers. “‘Ave Maria,’ right?”

My gaze settled on him, the words rattling in my chest. Like I said, it was a popular composition, but in that moment, it was like Aaron slipped into a language I hadn’t heard in years, sealing Paige from our conversation, limiting to just us. Of course Aaron knew the piece by the few opening notes. Any pianist would’ve recognized the chords of “Ave Maria.”

It shouldn’t have felt like such a startling revelation, but it was my mother’s piece, and so it was.

Aaron seemed to realize that. His eyes bounced between mine, searching for the reason as if he’d find it painted there. His lips parted, but it wasn’t his voice that filled the air.

“Aaron!”

My head was full of the notes, and I was slow to turn toward the voice, catching a glimpse of the face before the person launched themselves at Aaron. She was a flash of orange hair and a blue tennis outfit—matching Aaron perfectly.Fiona.

As Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down into a hug while the notes swelled, I didn’t move.“Ave Maria” was only three-minutes, and the intimate harmony of the cello and piano began to exhale to a finish. Maybe it was random. Maybe someone had finally plugged a good piece on the Alderton-Du Ponte playlist. Or maybe it was a sign.

Fiona pressed her lips to Aaron’s cheek, his body jolting, lashes fluttering with surprise, andyes—yes, it was a sign.

I’ll get your house, Mom, I thought as the bow slid across the strings for the final note.I’m almost there.

And then there was silence. The speakers were only quiet for a beat before a piano rendition of a pop song filled the air, waking me from a daze.

Fiona fell back onto her heels, gazing up at Aaron with a shy smile. “You look perfect,” she said, smoothing a hand down the front of his collar. Her fingertips tickled the sliver of his neck.

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