Page 19 of Royally Wed
Jeremy exhaled a weighty sigh. “You haven’t performed in quite some time.”
“I was on sabbatical.”
“I get that.” Jeremy nodded. “We all need a break fromtime to time.”
A break? Was he serious? Asher had the sudden urge to punch him in the face. He was finished being polite. “Shouldn’t we be rehearsing? Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me why you’ve called me in here?”
“Look, I’m sorry I have to ask you about this.” Jeremy sighed again. “I assure you, this entire situationis as awkward for me as it is for you.”
Asher highly doubted that. He crossed his arms and waited for whatever question was coming.
Jeremy shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned in awkwardly. “Are you up to this? Can you play?”
Asher’s answer was swift and unequivocal. “Absolutely.”
Jeremy finally managed to meet his gaze. “You’re sure?”
Asher had never been less sure of anythingin his life. “I haven’t forgotten how to play, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Good. This wedding is important. The BBC estimates the television audience will top half a billion.”
Half a billion. That seemed completely insane. Then again, Asher knew the princess. Sort of. There was no denying she had a certain appeal, especially when she was wearing that silky kimono of hers.
He clearedhis throat. “If you’re so worried about my playing, why am I here? You could have chosen anyone.”
“I did, actually. When it became clear that Yo-Yo Ma would be unable to perform, the royal family asked me to recommend alternate cellists. I gave them a list of five names.” Jeremy’s gaze flitted nowhere in particular.
The implication was clear. Asher’s name had been nowhere on that list.
Jeremygave him a hard smile. “They wantedyou. The queen heard you play two years ago when you were a guest of the London Philharmonic. You made quite an impression. When I heard they’d reached out to you and you’d accepted, I was surprised.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, maestro. But here I am.” Asher shrugged. It was getting harder and harder not to indulge his wholly inappropriate whim to pummel Jeremyon the spot. Probably because he was right to doubt Asher’s ability to perform. He wasn’t up for the task, and he knew it.
They both did.
“If this is going to be a problem, you need to tell me. Right now. Tomorrow will be too late. The wedding is days away. We’ll never get a replacement if you can’t handle it,” Jeremy said.
“I can handle it.” Asher said through gritted teeth.
He had a sinkingfeeling in the pit of his stomach. The walls of the tiny room felt like they were closing in on him.
He’d never been much of a liar.
AMELIA HAD LEARNED Along time ago that wearing a tiara wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, especially when said tiara was one of the family heirlooms that had been around since Queen Victoria’s day.
The older crowns were crafted mostly of genuine jewels andplatinum. They were the real deal, which meant theywere far heavier than they looked. It mostly felt like walking around with a glittering, sparkly brick anchored to your head. After an hour, Amelia usually developed a raging migraine. Plus, there just seemed to be something inherently wrong about sporting a piece of jewelry valuable enough to feed a small country for a year. On the few occasionsshe’d worn something from the family’s collection of crown jewels, Amelia had felt like an imposter.
Her mother, on the other hand, could probably walk into a prison cell rocking Queen Mary’s tiara from 1893 with total confidence. So naturally, she expected Amelia to turn up on her wedding day bejeweled to the tune of a few million pounds.
A Mr. Smith from the House of Garrard, the company thathad served as the crown jewelers for the monarchy for over one hundred and fifty years, had dragged almost the entire collection to the palace. A half dozen armed guards had accompanied him and now flanked the perimeter of the queen’s sitting room. The heavy conference table sagged beneath the weight of eight tiaras, which had been polished to glittering perfection.
Amelia needed sunglasses.“Is this really necessary? Can’t I just stick with a veil?”
Her mother’s lips curved into a patient smile, which meant she was feeling the exact opposite. “A tiara is a necessity. Have you forgotten who you are, Amelia?”
She hadn’t, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. “I get that, but can’t I wear something more modern? A nice, dainty diadem, maybe?”
The queen all but shuddered in horror andpulled Amelia to the side of the room, away from Mr. Smith and the men whom she’d begun to think of as the diamonds’ bodyguards. “Darling, this isn’t a game. You’re not playing dress-up. You’ll wear one of the historical pieces from the vault because the Becketts and the rest of Britain need to be reminded that your family belongs on the throne.”
