Everything I Need, page 19
All she knew was that, for better or for worse, she’d now slipped through the looking glass with Alice.
Or maybe she’d left Kansas and entered Oz with Dorothy.
Either way, she was a big-ass fish out of water swimming into the unknown.
“Miss Mel? Any of that make any sense to you?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, just as the car rolled to a stop in front of Anthony’s current home, Loxley Cottage, a cozy ivy-covered and white picket-fenced red brick structure that felt much more manageable to her than ye grand olde palace over yonder. “It makes perfect sense.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Hell if I know,” she admitted.
“You’ll figure it out. Least I think you will. Otherwise, you’re not the woman I think you are. And I may be a lot of things, but a bad judge of character is not one of them.”
She laughed until she saw the cottage door open and her pulse began to pound.
“Gotta go,” she said quickly, just as Anthony stepped out with his phone pressed to his ear, his expression tight and anxious as he looked for her. “Thanks for the advice. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Miss Mel,” Tony said, chuckling. “You’ll let me know how this fairy tale turns out, won’t you?”
“As soon as I get it figured out myself.”
17
Mindful of Hank, who busied himself with her bags, Anthony gave her a subdued “Hello, darling,” and peck on the cheek. Then he led her into the cottage’s sitting room, which was a window-filled slice of English country chic heaven. With its expensive navy-patterned upholstery and high-end antiques, it wasn’t exactly the sort of leather-drenched man cave/bachelor pad she might expect to see back home, but she was betting it was also a far cry from the grandeur next door at KP. She checked it all out with keen interest, well aware of Anthony’s watchful and concerned attention on her the whole time.
“I think that’s everything, then,” Hank said after he’d taken her bags down the hall to the bedroom. “Give a shout if you need anything. Pleasure to meet you ma—I mean, Melody.”
“You too, Hank,” she said, shaking his hand. “Thanks again.”
Anthony frowned. “You didn’t just call Dr. Harrison Melody, did you, Hank?”
“I didn’t want to, boss,” Hank said, holding his hands up. “She told me to.”
“Well, you’d better do what she says,” Anthony said with a resigned sigh. “She’ll make my life a living hell otherwise.”
“That’s what I figured. You don’t want to mess things up with this one. She classes the joint up,” Hank said, winking at her as he ducked out the front door and quietly shut it behind him.
Alone at last.
Melody raised her brows and looked across the room at Anthony.
“Welcome to London,” he said in that dry voice she loved so much. “Good flight?”
She burst into startled laughter, but he didn’t look amused.
He didn’t look amused at all.
“Come here,” he said, opening his arms for her.
They hurried toward each other, coming together in front of the sofa for one of those joyous rib-splitting hugs that always made her feel as though she couldn’t breathe and (conversely; simultaneously) as though she could finally breathe again.
The smell of his peppery and sophisticated cologne was embedded deep into his starched white shirt. She reveled in the scent that now meant home to her, whether they were in Tanzania, London or Journey’s End. He whispered her name, his voice husky and urgent. She answered him with her own whispers. They swayed together, his hands delving deep into her hair to cup her head and anchor her for his fervent kisses.
Forehead…cheeks…eyes…nose…
Mouth.
She’d had a long overnight flight and a rough morning, yeah, but things would have to get a damn sight worse than this before she stopped melting when he kissed her. The kissing tapered down to a few lingering nuzzles before Anthony pressed his nose to her hair and breathed her in as though his life depended on it.
When he finally loosened his grip and pulled back enough to see her, his eyes were a thrilling blaze of blue. Bright enough to stop her heart.
“This seems like a good time to mention that I love you.” He cleared his hoarse throat, color flooding his face. “I’m crazy in love with you.”
Joy erupted from her on a startled laugh.
“Well, I would hope so after all this.”
He ducked his head and laughed with her, his complexion turning even redder.
“About damn time,” she grumbled, sitting on the sofa and pulling him down beside her.
“Sorry about that,” he said, tugging an earlobe and trying to contain his grin by pressing his lips together. The effort deepened his dimples and made him look delightfully boyish and vulnerable. “It’s best not to rush into these things when one can help it.”
“Really?” She arched a brow at him. “So it wasn’t until this very second that you realized you were in love with me?”
That sobered him up.
“No,” he said, his smile slipping away and leaving raw adoration shining in his face. “I’ve loved you since the night we met. As I’m sure you probably know. But that seemed like a lot to spring on you on top of everything else.”
“Hmm,” she said, now running her thumb across his bottom lip, mesmerized by its lush tenderness. “Well, thanks for telling me. It would be really embarrassing if you didn’t love me now that my face is splashed all over the Internet.”
Another thrilling grin.
“You’re very welcome,” he said, leaning in for another lingering kiss.
She looked down at her spoon ring when they pulled apart, wiping away a fingerprint that marred its brilliant shine. When she looked back up at him, he was alert and waiting.
She felt her heart rise into her throat. She opened her mouth, but took her time, wanting to tread carefully.
“One of the photographers said that this is your grandmother’s ring. That’s not true, is it?”
Long pause.
“My mother made the pair of them when she was at some summer camp as a teenager. Granny has the other.”
“Your mother made this ring?” she echoed, the room spinning around her. “Didn’t that seem like the kind of thing you should mention when you gave it to me?”
He shrugged, a shadow passing over his expression.
“I might have. But it wasn’t the right time, was it? Not when I couldn’t even convince you to visit me here until now.” He hesitated. “I didn’t want to scare you off. And there was time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her heart swelled, making it harder for her to speak.
“So…you gave me your mother’s ring when we’d only been together about a month?”
Another shrug, his gaze steady and warm on her face.
She studied him hard, not certain what she was looking for, but determined to find it.
“Quite a gift to give your new girlfriend,” she said, trying to lighten things up.
“I thought you understood.” Unsmiling, he stared her in the face. “I wasn’t giving it to my girlfriend. I was giving it to my future wife.”
A tidal wave of emotions surged through her, too many and too fast to identify.
Relief. Gratitude. Excitement.
She took a deep breath, working hard to keep her butt on the sofa and not soar away like a balloon overfilled with helium. “Can I tell you something?”
He reached out. Took great care about wrapping one of her spiral curls around his finger, then letting it spring back into place. Flicked his sober gaze back to hers, his eyes everywhere, seeing everything.
“You can tell me anything, darling.”
But he seemed to know already. His eyes crinkled at the corners, encouraging her.
“I love you, too.”
His breath hitched.
“I was hoping you did,” he said, leaning in a kiss that was tender. Infinitely persuasive.
But they couldn’t live in that moment, much as she wanted to. Too much had happened today.
“I’m sorry,” he said when they pulled apart again. “I’d hoped we’d have more time to get things figured out.”
“It’s not your fault. It was going to happen sooner or later. I’m just wondering why it happened now.”
“That much I know,” he said, his expression souring. “I was speaking to the press office when you arrived. All the interest in my ennoblement tomorrow has made photographers comb back through their photos to see what they can sell.” His lips quirked. “And you weren’t exactly subtle with the way you were looking at me that day in Tanzania, were you?”
“That’s on you,” she said, smacking his arm. “No one told you to make cow eyes at me.”
“I can’t help it! What do you want me to do?”
They laughed together for a delicious moment, but then all her newfound fears and insecurities caught up with her again. Especially when she thought of the jostling throng of shouting men and the way she’d been just an object to them, no more sentient or worthy of consideration than a Porsche they might have photographed for a magazine ad.
It must have all shown up on her face, because Anthony noticed.
“How bad was it?” he asked, his jaw tightening. “I know they cornered you at the airport. And I expect they were waiting for you outside the gate just now.”
She spent a couple of beats in a private battle between two parts of herself: the part that wanted to be perceived as Wonder Woman, a cape-wearing phenom capable of saving children’s lives while also laughing off something as trivial as being photographed on the street when she wasn’t expecting it, and the part of her that wanted to be safe and protected from people determined to stare at her.
“On a scale of one to having third-degree burns on my face?” She tried for an ironic smile that never quite took hold. “I’d give it a six.”
Anthony looked murderous now.
“The press office is working on a statement asking for your privacy. We’ll put it out later.”
Her jaw dropped. “A statement? From who?”
“From me.”
Thus commenced another private battle: the part of her that secretly yearned to be protected by a powerful man and the part of her that yearned to tell the press to go fuck themselves while she held her head high and went about living her regularly scheduled life regardless of what anyone thought of her.
“But…won’t that make things worse? By drawing attention to it?”
“No. A statement will indicate the seriousness of our relationship, which will in turn indicate to the paparazzi that they need to give you a respectful distance and time to become accustomed to your new role and circumstances. My cousin’s spouses were all given that consideration. It will also allow us to begin working on your training and visit the hospitals and see which ones you might like to apply to. I’m sure you’ll have your pick, but still.”
Melody gaped at him, her mind slowly replaying all of that and trying to come up to speed.
As someone who had completed her residency in the not so distant past, the idea of training for some new thing was enough to make her nauseous.
“Training?”
“There’s a certain amount of protocol one has to get used to. And also security, of course. Self-defense training. Don’t worry. We have people to help you with all of that.”
Protocol? Security?
She’d thought about them, of course, but in the abstract. As something she and Anthony might one day have to discuss the same way they’d have to one day discuss where they’d live and when to have children. She hadn’t thought the issues would be staring her in the face this quickly.
“I’m sorry it happened this way, but it’s something of a relief that we’re out in the open now rather than tiptoeing around our feelings,” he continued. “It was like we’d taken a vow of silence or something. That was making me mental, to be honest, pretending there wasn’t this big elephant in the room. Now we can begin working on putting our lives together here.”
She nodded shakily.
“And you wouldn’t be too unhappy living here for now, would you, darling?” He swept his arm wide to encompass the entire cottage. “They remodeled it a few years ago, before I moved in, but you can make whatever changes you’d like. The kitchen has been updated, though, so we won’t have to worry about that. And Jameson Hall comes with the earldom. It’s in Norfolk, near Sandringham. About two and a half hours from here. And it will need remodeling.”
She blinked. Wished she had a Bloody Mary.
“I’ve actually started on a list of things we might—Melody? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
But her fake smiling skills had only ever been sketchy at best. And she discovered she couldn’t quite meet his eye.
He focused all that intensity on her.
“Tell me what’s going on in that clever brain of yours. I’ve been doing all the talking.”
She opened her mouth and discovered, way too late, that her words didn’t want to line up in any sort of a coherent manner. Nor did she want to say or do anything that dimmed the light in his eyes or rubbed the joyous sheen off their confessions that they loved each other.
But…
She closed her mouth. Ran her fidgety hands up and down her thighs because she had to do something with them. Became irritated with the rubbing noise they made with her jeans and crossed her arms instead. Forced herself to look him in the face (he seemed vaguely concerned now), opened her mouth and tried again.
Probably best to just throw it all out there.
“I love you. I want to marry you.”
He broke into that ecstatic smile that made her heart sing. Nodded encouragingly.
“But…I think it makes sense for us to live together for a while and see how that goes first. Because absence makes the heart grow fonder and we’ve probably been benefitting from honeymoon periods every time we get together again. You need the chance to see how bitchy I can be when I come off a long shift and want to barricade myself alone in my room without speaking to anyone for a while. See if you still want to stick around.”
His expression cooled off. Just a bit.
Flattened out just a bit.
“No bitchier than when you’re miserable with the flu, surely.”
She hesitated, knowing that this conversation, already a dicey trek through a minefield to begin with, would not benefit from them getting irritable with each other.
“Maybe not, but back then we were in our own little bubble. We didn’t have to deal with security and protocol and reporters jumping in my face and calling me a bitch when I don’t smile for them or give them a better shot at my scar. Which is what happened earlier. So maybe we need a stronger dose of reality for a while before we start printing the invitations.”
He stiffened. Stared across the room for a moment, a muscle working in his jaw. Looked back at her.
“You need an adjustment period,” he said soothingly. “I completely understand that. I do.”
She seriously doubted that anyone who’d grown up with this level of opulence and scrutiny could understand what a civilian needed to do to get used to it, but she gave him an A for effort. Somehow resisted the urge to snort.
“But I can’t help feeling like this is some further test of my feelings for you. And as far as I’m concerned, the last several months—almost a year now—have been test enough already.”
“I’m trying to use common sense. But you make it sound like I get off on making you jump through hoops,” she said, stung.
“Not at all. But you need to understand that if we’d been doing things my way, that would have been an engagement ring I gave you back in Tanzania. Not my mother’s old spoon ring.”
Melody stared at him, astonished, searching his face for signs of exaggeration and finding only steady honesty.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “I told you back then that I wanted you to come to London and see how you liked it. What did you think that meant?”
“I don’t know,” she said, rubbing her heart. “I guess that you thought things were moving in that direction. Not that you were already sure.”
“Well. Now you know. And you should also know that watching your face lose color while we have this discussion is particularly painful. Because I’ve been certain about what I want from this relationship since the beginning. And you’re still not sure even though you just sat there and told me you loved me.”
“It’s not that I’m not sure about our relationship,” she cried. “That’s not it at all.”
He went very still. “Enlighten me, then.”
“It’s moving to London and all of this,” she said with a sweeping gesture at the room and KP next door. “I’m not sure I want to move to London. And I want you to think about moving to Journey’s End.”
18
Anthony cocked his head, looking as though she’d suggested a move to Atlantis’s final resting place at the bottom of the sea.
“Excuse me?”
She hitched up her chin. “You heard me. You love Journey’s End; you’ve told me a million times. You have Baptiste there. We’d have less press intrusion there.”
“I made a commitment to my grandmother,” he said, his expression turning stony. “I have engagements booked here for the next six months, if not longer.”
She shrugged. “After that, then.”
He emitted a disbelieving snort as his brows shot up.
“And what would I do for work in Journey’s End, pray tell?”
“Practice law. You could take the bar in New York. Practice in Journey’s End or Manhattan. Do the human rights work that’s so important to you.”
There was a poisonous pause.
Then his face closed off as though a switch had been thrown.
“I’m not licensed. I thought we’d been over this.”
“I thought we could reopen the topic,” she said evenly. “Remember when I gave you those study books over Christmas? I don’t feel like you’ve really given the idea a fair shake.”
