Page 83 of Royally Wed
“Amelia.” He said her name in thesame tone her mother had always used when reprimanding her as a child.
She still couldn’t see Asher. She took a tentative step forward. Then another.
Then at last, she saw him. He sat in the chair closest to the altar, dressed in a dashing tuxedo with his cello balanced between his knees and its neck resting against his chest. Right against the beating of his heart.
Look at me.She pleadedwith him with her eyes.See me.
He never looked up. Not once. Not when she walked right past him and the hem of her gown nearly grazed the tip of his shoe. Not when her father lifted her veil from her face and kissed her cheek. Not when Holden moved to stand beside her and her hand closed around the pocket watch in her grasp.
Holding on for dear life.
ASHER COULDN’T WATCH.
He’d sit therein the church as promised. He’d play his solo as best he could. He’d signed a contract pledging to do so. But no piece of paper could make him look on, helpless, as Amelia married another man.
He couldn’t believe it had come to this. After everything that had taken place over the past ten days... she was actually going through with it.
Asher felt as if he’d failed her somehow. Yet at thesame time, he knew how irrational that seemed. He’d been the only one in the palace to tell her the truth. The only one who seemed to care that she was throwing her life away. And for a brief, shining moment, he’d gotten through to her. She’d admitted the truth.
Then she’d given herself to him in ways he’d been dreaming about since the moment he’d set foot in London.
Something had happened.The queen had somehow convinced her she had to marry Holden. It was the only explanation.
But how?Why?Holden was a cheating son of a bitch. He didn’t deserve her. He most certainly didn’t love her. Not like Asher would, if given the chance.
So, what? You think you’re in love now?
Of course he wasn’t. The idea was ludicrous. She hadn’t even seen fit to tell him to his face that she was goingthrough with it. No explanation. No good-bye. He’d be a fool to love her. He’d been enough of a fool with Serena. He wouldn’t do it again.
That was bullshit, naturally.
Feelings didn’t work that way. And he definitely had somefeelings where Amelia was concerned. He just wasn’t altogether sure what those feelings were.
Or maybe he couldn’t deal with the truth. Last night, he’d been idioticenough to believe that he’d stopped the wedding of the century. At last, he’d been the one to rescue Amelia rather than the other way around. He’d even let himself believe she might have loved him for it.
How could he have been so wrong?
Stop.
Just stop.
He couldn’t keep dwelling on last night. He couldn’t keep remembering what it had felt like to bury himself inside her, to watch her as shecame apart. Not now. Not when he had to give the performance of his life in less than five minutes.
Asher swallowed. He tapped out the fingering for his solo on his knee, but kept getting stuck on the second movement.
Amelia was standing less than two feet away in a wedding dress—thesamewedding dress she’d been wearing when Asher had nearly taken her to bed. How could she stand there and letanother man slide a ring onto her finger when hours ago, Asher had watched her shatter in his arms?
Focus.
He kept his eyes glued to the floor and tried some deep breathing exercises. In for three counts, out for five counts. In for three. Out for five. In, out. In, out.
It wasn’t working. His hands were shaking, just as they had at rehearsal. A tremor began in his right foot and made its wayup his shin, until his entire leg was shaking, tossing thecello to and fro. Asher squeezed his knees together, holding the instrument firmly in place. Sweat dripped down his spine.
What he was experiencing was beyond stage fright. It had to be. He was having a panic attack of some sort. Maybe even a heart attack.
He couldn’t do this.
Asher squeezed his eyes shut tight. His head spun. The musicaround him sounded thick and strange, like he was hearing it underwater.
