Everything I Need, page 17
He didn’t look at all convinced. “You’re sure?”
She kept her game smile firmly in place, secretly relieved that she wouldn’t meet the Queen just yet. This new phase of her relationship with Anthony seemed daunting enough without that additional complication right now.
“I’m positive.”
“I’m sorry this first trip will be so short. And that we can’t fly together. But I’ve got to get back early for preparations and whatnot.”
“And I need to stay and help Samira with a few wedding duties. Strange that we have two huge events scheduled for the same week, isn’t it?”
“Yes, well, I can’t expect Baptiste to schedule his wedding around my investiture. But it’ll all work out. I can’t wait to show you everything. All the museums. Westminster Abbey. The Tower. St. Paul’s. The bridges. The local pubs and markets. Not all on this trip, of course, but soon.”
She laughed, wondering when she’d seen him this excited about anything.
“I don’t hear you saying Harrods and Selfridge’s. Is that an oversight, or…?”
“You don’t want me showing you around department stores. I don’t shop.” He shuddered. “My head would explode and shower brain matter all over the lovely display cases. It would be disastrous for everyone.”
She laughed.
“You won’t need your own car this go round,” he continued.
A car?
“But next time I’ll have to start teaching you to drive on the other side of the street.”
“Don’t you mean the wrong side?” she said, trying to keep it light before her head began to spin with everything he’d just thrown at her. Was he seriously thinking of getting her a car?
“Funny. You can borrow my car for now. We can drive around the grounds at first. Make sure you don’t kill too many unsuspecting members of the general public. And then we’ll eventually look at getting you your own car. Oh, and I want you to see the hospitals. You’ll love St. Mary’s. It’s not too far from KP. Very manageable.”
As always when they tiptoed to the edge of this line, she felt the inevitable prickle of nerves up and down her arms and a growing tightness in her chest.
“I can’t wait to see all of it,” she said, which was true even if the thought of her pending introduction into his world—and the attendant expectations—overwhelmed her.
There was a pause while he eyed her a bit more closely than she would have liked.
“So why do you look so scared?” he asked gently. “And don’t bother denying it.”
Why did she—?
Did he seriously need to ask?
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m about to step way outside my comfort zone. Maybe because I’m about to become the world’s biggest fish out of water, spending time on the grounds of Kensington Palace, which is where my boyfriend, the prince, lives.”
“I’m not a prince.”
She barked out an incredulous laugh. “Do you want me to smack you right now? Is that it?”
“Look,” he said, leaning in and hunkering over the table as he lowered his voice. “This is about you and me and our relationship. Bottom line. And I am very clear about my feelings for you. I’m equally clear about my determination to protect you. I know my world can be daunting—”
“Can be?”
“But I will always do everything in my power to smooth the way for you. To make sure you have the best possible life.”
She said nothing, frozen inside her ambivalence and her equally strong desire not to hurt his feelings.
He frowned. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you believe me?”
She ran a hand through her hair, struggling for the right words.
“I believe you mean it. But I’ve seen some of the coverage your cousins and their spouses have gone through. I saw some of the things the tabloids said about them. Slut-shaming and weight-shaming and fashion-shaming. You name it. The way their privacy got destroyed and everyone they ever knew and trusted, down to their kindergarten teachers, sold stories about them. Were they protected? Isn’t it a pipe dream to think you can protect someone?”
“These are bridges we’ll have to cross when we get there. Because the two of us are a great team. And we’re very happy together.” His gaze, hard and searching, held hers. “Aren’t we?”
With that, he melted her heart. The way he always did.
“We’re ecstatic together.”
He smiled without smiling, an event that deepened his dimples and made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and reached across the table for her hand.
She gave it to him. They held on tight while he smoothed a thumb over her spoon ring, a long and delicious moment of complete understanding.
“Isn’t that the most important thing?” he asked. “Aren’t all the rest minor details to be worked out later?”
It would be so easy to swallow her trepidation, take a handful of antacids to mitigate the resulting stomachache and agree with him. She wanted to agree with him and bask in this glowing warmth forever. But she’d lived too long and knew too much about life to ignore her gut feelings. No matter how tempting it was to do so.
She thought about her hospital, which she loved.
Her colleagues and friends, including her mentor, Dr. Muhammed, who she loved.
Her apartment, which she loved.
Her town.
Her life.
Was she ready to let all this go, move thousands of miles away and engineer an entirely new existence solely around her relationship with a man, no matter how much she cared about him?
Could she do all of that?
Her doubts crowded into the front of her mind, demanding to be recognized and counted.
She withdrew her hand and put it in her lap with the other one, sorry to see his expression fall.
“That’s easy for you to say,” she said quietly. “Because all the minor details are on my side of the equation.”
He blinked and turned away, his jaw hardening.
“Is that you, Melody Harrison?” said a cheery male voice to one side of their table. “Just the woman I need.”
Startled but also eager to exit this increasingly difficult conversation with Anthony, she manufactured a pleasant smile and super-glued it to her face, hoping it looked authentic. Then she looked around to discover none other than Raymond Martin, Journey’s End’s real estate agent extraordinaire, accessorized with a bright smile and a to-go coffee cup. Today’s dapper ensemble included a Panama hat, pumpkin colored Oxford shirt and dark pants creased to razor-edged perfection. His dog and omnipresent sidekick, a terror of a Jack Russell terrier named Bobsy, wore a bandana speckled with fall leaves in coordinating colors and carried…yes, that was a stuffed hedgehog… in his mouth.
“Hey, Raymond,” Melody said, standing for a quick hug and kiss. “Hey, Bobsy. What’ve you got there?”
Raymond grimaced.
“The vet says this canine is too anxious. Probably because I’m always yelling at him when he gets into stuff. Like the neighbor’s root garden the other day. Bobsy ate every turnip, carrot and beet in sight. He ignored the parsnips, but I can’t really blame him for that. So the vet suggested he needed a support object to take with him everywhere and keep him occupied.”
“Is that working?”
“Well, since he’s chewed up the stuffed bunny, the stuffed cat and the stuffed bear so far this week, I’d say that’s a big, fat, expensive no. Hello,” he said, turning to Anthony and extending his hand. “Raymond Martin. Don’t I know you?”
“I don’t believe so,” Anthony said, looking amused as they shook. “I’m—”
“Oh, my God, you’re Anthony Scott, the Queen’s grandson.” Raymond gaped at him, covering his mouth with his free hand. “I just saw you in a documentary about the Queen a couple of weeks ago.”
Oh, shit.
“Well…yes,” Anthony said. He glanced around to make sure no one else was paying them any attention, shot Melody a let me handle this look and leaned closer to Raymond, acquiring a conspiratorial air. “Could you do me a favor and not mention it, though? I’m on a, ah, private visit here. I’d hate to have it ruined by the paparazzi.”
“Of course,” Raymond cried, now pressing Anthony’s hand between both of his and shaking vigorously. His speculative gaze, meanwhile, swung between Anthony and Melody. Melody focused on keeping her polite smile in place and looking innocent of any romantic activities, but to no avail. She saw the exact moment the lightbulb went off over Raymond’s head and the corresponding widening of his eyes. “Of course. I’m the soul of discretion. Well, not normally,” he added with a rueful chuckle, “but I will be this time. I won’t even tell my husband, Fletcher. Who would die if he knew. Tell me…what’s she like?”
Anthony looked startled. “Who? My grandmother?”
“Yes! Who else?”
“Well, she’s terrifying, obviously,” Anthony said after a thoughtful pause.
“I knew it!”
“And also a huge teddy bear. But I will deny I ever said that.”
Raymond laughed and finally turned Anthony’s hand loose.
“I like him,” Raymond told Melody.
“Glad to hear it,” Melody said, pointing at Bobsy. “But your little friend is about to get himself into trouble.”
Bobsy, true to form, had taken advantage of Raymond’s distraction, dropped the hedgehog, put his paws up on a recently vacated but uncleared table and was happily helping himself to the remnants of a giant muffin and a bowl of fruit.
“Bobsy!” Raymond cried. “Bad dog! See what I have to deal with? I should be the one with the emotional support toy. Get down, Bobsy. Get down!”
Anthony and Melody grinned and did their best to smother their laughter behind Raymond’s back while Bobsy took his time about finishing his snack and lowering his front paws to the floor.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Raymond said, now brushing crumbs off the dog’s bandana. “We’d better get out of here before the health department shows up. I’m sure your British dogs are much better mannered, Anthony.”
“Not at all,” Anthony assured him. “My grandmother’s beagles are just as bad.”
“I knew it!” Raymond grabbed the hedgehog from the floor, handed it to Bobsy and focused on Melody. “Good news, Mel. The Jamesons have finally decided to make the move to the retirement community. I knew you’d want to be the first to know.”
“The Jamesons?” Melody clapped her hands together while her excited heart thundered into high gear at this news that her dream house might finally be coming to market after she’d had her eye on it for over a year. It actually sat high on the hill overlooking the gazebo, down the street from Howard’s Folly, the house Baptiste and Samira had recently renovated and now occupied. The Jameson house was about a third of the size of that house, but it would be perfect for Melody’s needs with its four bedrooms, solarium, newly renovated gourmet kitchen and proximity to the hospital. “Are you serious? Don’t toy with my emotions.”
Raymond grinned and crossed his heart. “I’d never lie about something like that. They’ll need about a month to declutter and get it listed, so now’s the time for you to make sure you have your financing all set.”
“What’s all this?” Anthony’s gaze, flinty now, swung between the two of them. “What’s going on?”
Melody froze, her heart crashing through the floor as her two worlds collided.
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit.
She couldn’t very well buy a house here in Journey’s End while also exploring the possibility of moving to London with Anthony, now could she?
“My dream house is about to hit the market,” she said, watching the color slowly leach away from Anthony’s face.
16
London!
She was in. Freaking. London!
Melody hurried down the jetway, rolling her carry-on behind her and turning her phone back on with her free hand. Honestly, she didn’t know why people complained about jet lag when they flew to Europe. You hopped an overnight flight, you popped a sleeping pill and—boom! There you were, refreshed and ready for your grand overseas adventure. Someone had even ordered up a sunny fall day for her. No rain in sight.
Grinning to herself, she sped up, dodging a slow-moving couple that evidently had nowhere to be today or possibly ever.
Okay, so…Think, Mel. Get yourself organized.
First thing? Let Anthony know she’d landed safely. And he’d sent a driver to meet her, so she should also send him a quick text to let him know she’d made it to the gate—
Her phone pinged.
And pinged and pinged and pinged. Like twenty times.
She frowned down at it, resisting the nightmare thought that someone had died.
The first message was from Samira:
OMG! I’m so sorry! Call and let me know when you land!
Next message? Anthony:
It’ll be okay. Call me.
Dread crawled up her spine and tightened around her throat.
From her mother:
Call us, Sweetie. We love you!
After that? A bunch of messages from people at work that she didn’t bother reading.
But what the hell had happened? She darted out of the flow of traffic and over to the nearest wall, where she frantically scrolled through her messages with rising frustration. Why didn’t anyone say what was going on—
And there it was, finally, a British tabloid article’s image and headline popping up in a message (WTF??? Why didn’t you tell me???) from one of her med school besties:
The Earl and His Girl?
And it included a picture of Anthony smiling down at her in the receiving line back in Tanzania all those months ago. With the veiled heat on their faces as they looked at each other, they might as well have been caught doing the morning-after walk of shame outside the presidential suite at the Waldorf. The two of them were actually in the background. The dancing children were the subject of the picture, which probably explained how she and Anthony had been able to fly under the radar this whole time.
Still.
Their little cat was out of the bag now, wasn’t it?
She slumped against the wall, her head spinning because she knew that, no matter what happened between her and Anthony now, life as she’d known it up until three minutes ago was over.
O-V-E-R.
“Dr. Harrison?” A female airline employee hurried around the corner and craned her neck as she scanned the crowd. “Is there a Dr. Harrison here?”
Melody cringed, privately debated whether to make a run for it or raise her hand and finally decided on the latter.
“I’m Dr. Harrison.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” The woman’s expression cleared as she beckoned Melody over, shook her hand and set off walking at a brisk pace. “I’m Bridgette. Your escort. Let’s get you out of here.”
Escort?
“I’m a little confused,” Melody said. “I thought I had a driver to pick me up.”
“Oh, he’s here as well, ma’am—”
Ma’am?!
“—but the press are all congregated outside baggage claim like jackals around a carcass. So you need the escort. Here we are.”
And she stopped in front of one of those golf cart things that Melody had only ever seen used for the disabled and the elderly. Oh, and there’d been that one time out of JFK, when she’d been on her way to a medical conference in Miami and she’d sworn she’d seen Denzel Washington zoom by with his handlers, but she couldn’t be sure.
Stifling a burst of hysterical laughter, Melody reached for her overnight bag—“I’ll get that for you, ma’am,” Bridgette said, snatching it from her before she could exert herself—and climbed aboard.
Bridgette whisked her through customs. Whisked her through the airport. Whisked her through baggage claim. All of it went like clockwork to Melody’s stunned mind, making her wonder what the big freaking deal was and why she couldn’t just grab her bag and go like all the other passengers were going.
But then Bridgette whisked her through some side door, to where “the car,” which turned out to be a brand new gleaming black Range Rover that had evidently driven straight from the factory assembly line to pick her up, idled at the curb.
“This’ll all be over in a jiffy,” Bridgette said with a deep breath and a supportive squeeze to Melody’s arm. “Do you have sunglasses with you? Why don’t you go ahead and put them on? There you go. Right, then. Someone will grab your bags for you. Don’t you worry about that. All right. On three. One…two…three.”
They hurried through the doors and outside to where a bright London morning, a cool breeze, a couple of airport security guys, the car and—oh, shit!—five or six shouting photographers waited to swarm her. One of the security guys took her arm and frog-marched her to the car, which was good because stunned paralysis had set it and she probably would have stood there gaping at the unfolding scene if not for them.
“Melody!”
“Over here, pet! Keep your head up!”
“Has he proposed, then?”
“Will you be meeting the Queen at the investiture?”
“Where did you meet?”
“Move your hair out of the way, Mel. Let’s get a picture of that scar.”
Melody reached up to smooth her hair and make sure it was covering her scar—
“There it is. Isn’t that the Queen’s spoon ring, Mel?” The shutters clicked even faster. “Did he give it to you? Is it a promise ring?”
“Pretty little thing, aren’t you? Why don’t you give us a smile? Start things out on the right foot on this side of the pond. Go on, then. It won’t hurt you to help us out a bit. We’re only doing our jobs, Mel. No need to be a bitch.”
Melody hurried faster, resisting the strong urge to swing on that guy. She wished she’d bothered to brush her hair and take a bit more time with her makeup now that her picture was going to be splashed all over the place. Wished she’d worn something other than her favorite weathered jeans and white peasant shirt.
Wished she’d had just a bit more advance warning that her life was about to blow the fuck up.
