Page 53 of Royally Wed
CHAPTER
TWELVE
The first thing Amelia did the next day was take over the whole thank-you note writing situation herself. All of it. No more signing her name to letters written by her ladies-in-waiting. Amelia’s engagements had dwindled to nearly nonexistent, so she had the time. And she was consciously aware of thereasonher daily calendar had become so light—the wedding.Herwedding.
She wasgetting married the following day.
Tomorrow.
She had no business kissing a handsome American cellist. None whatsoever. Especially not while he’d been practically naked and she’d been wearing her wedding gown—a dress she’d wear when she exchanged vows withanother man.
She’d had anorgasm. Every time she thought about it, she wanted to die.
She was a horrible person. What kind of bride didthose things with someone else just days before her wedding? Granted, it was sort of an arranged marriage. But Holden had been nothing but kind to Amelia for her entire life. Heprofessed to love her. And if she had hopes for any kind of a real future, a real family, she needed to learn how to love him in return. Arranged marriages grew into genuine love all the time. Or so she heard.
She andHolden would be one of those couples. They had to. She couldn’t live the rest of her life with this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was time to stop living in denial. The wedding was happening. Holden was ready and willing to be her husband. The only thing standing between them was Amelia’s sense of doubt.
And possibly, her recent infatuation with Asher Reed.
No more of that. Sheshook her head as she reached for another cream-colored thank-you note.No more running around the palace late at night. No more lying in bed, listening to his music.
And no more kissing.
It had been a lot more than a kiss this time, but it was so wrong that Amelia couldn’t even think about it.
Wrong, yet so very, very enjoyable.
Stop.
She had a plan, and that plan involved staying so busythat she wouldn’t have time to even think about Asher. The thank-you notes would make certain of that. Tonight, she’d just have to use noise-canceling headphones so she wouldn’t hear his cello. Better yet, she’d issue an order forbidding him from rehearsing in the palace. She’d have James deliver the news. Those were two problems solved right there.
Which left only the biggest problem of all.The orgasm.
It couldn’t happen again, obviously. Her one saving gracehad been that Asher had initiated the whole encounter rather than the other way around. But if she was being honest with herself, that was merely a technicality. She should have stopped him. A proper royal bride would have slapped him in the face.
Slapping Asher had never entered Amelia’s thoughts. She hadn’t been thinkingat all. The moment Asher’s lips touched hers, she’d done nothing butfeel. She’d been hyperaware of every sensation, every point of contact between herself and the world around her—her back against the bedroom wall, her nails sinking into Asher’s beautiful flesh, the forbidden warmth of his mouth.
God, it had been like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The numbness she’d worked so hard toachieve over the past few weeks had melted away in an instant. She’d felt alive again. Whole. Yet at the same time and in some strange and thrilling way, hollow. Her entire body had seemed to sigh in relief.At last.But a searing yearning had also taken hold of her. An aching emptiness. She’d been inflamed.
Desperate.
Just thinking about it made her squirm in her chair.
She should be mortified,and she was. But she was also strangely fascinated at how quickly she’d been ready to give herself to Asher when he’d uttered those tantalizing words.
I want you.
“Everything all right, Your Royal Highness?” Amelia’s private secretary stood beside the banquet table, frowning down at her.
No, actually. Everything is the exact opposite of all right.“Fine, thank you.”
“Very well. Here’s thelist you requested.” She set a bound notebook down on the table’s smooth surface and opened it. “This spreadsheet details every wedding-related gift. The column on the left identifies the item, and the column on the right indicates who the gift is from.”
Amelia glanced at the page. The first entry in the right-hand column said, “the country of France.” She wondered if that meant she was expectedto write a thank-you note to every French citizen. Probably not, although she should. She deserved that kind of penance.
She deserved far worse. She’d let Asher Reed kiss her. She’d let him do far more than that, too. And now all she wanted was for him to do it again.
“You’re rather flushed, Your Royal Highness. Can I get you anything?”
