Page 87 of Mail Order Valentine (Hawthorne Billionaire 2)

“Australian? Perfect. How about you join this bloke on stage for a song later?” he asked, then turned to leave, assuming it was a yes. “I can’t be mucking around now. I have a show to start. I’ll see you out there. Slater, my new friends.”

I burst out crying and half laughing from pure joy and excitement. Asher walked to the door, stuck his head out then motioned for me to hurry. The show was beginning. We had front row seats and, as promised, Keith Urban called me up on stage to sing a song with him- badly, I might add, on my side of the microphone, but he just smiled and encouraged me to keep singing. I looked out over the crowd but the lights were so bright I couldn’t see anyone. I was over the moon being this close to Keith Urban. He invited me to stay on stage so I stepped back and joined the back up singers. When the concert ended, I was completely stuffed.

“Asher, I can’t thank you enough for the best night of my life,” I said, hugging him again.

“Watching you thoroughly enjoy that concert made my day, made my month,” Asher said, taking my hand. “You ready to go to the hotel or do you want to hang around here longer?”

“I’m ready. Although I am wondering how I’m going to be able to not only match that gift but top it,” I said, climbing into the limo that was waiting on us.

“You don’t need to match it or top it. Watching you love it was gift enough,” he said, looking directly at me. “You didn’t eat much at the concert. Are you hungry? Should we stop for food?”

“I had a saveloy and chips on one of the breaks, but I could use more food,” I answered, leaning back and closing my eyes. “I don’t want to go out, though. Can we just go to the hotel, put on some comfy clothes, and relax with take-out food?”

“Take-out food? Do you mean room service?” he asked, confused. “I don’t know this term ‘take-out food’.”

“Take-out food is food you order from somewhere and go pick it up, or sometimes get it delivered,” I explained. “It’s kinda like room service, just not in the hotel.”

“What do you want to do?” he asked. “I’m okay with this take-out, but I don’t know from where? Or, the chef at the hotel will make whatever you ask for.”

“I really need to learn how to live in your world, Asher. I like your idea better, that way we can get cozy sooner,” I said, and laid my head on his shoulder.

The limo stopped at the entrance to another Hawthorne Hotel. Since we were in Rome, and I wasn’t thinking about how I got to this point or Brice or anything, I had let my guard down. We stepped out of the limo and cameras flashed, reporters were shouting, and I felt nervous without Gunner there.

“Do they ever leave you alone?” I asked as we ran into the hotel lobby and were whisked away to a private elevator. “Do you have a penthouse in this hotel too?”

“No, I guess they never do. But when you lead an Asher Hawthorne lifestyle, this is what you get,” he said, looking rather disappointed in the situation. “I don’t come here as often as the other places, so I don’t have my own suite, but there is always a penthouse for the Hawthorne family members to use in every hotel we own.”

The penthouse was beautiful. It was very romantic, with flowing curtains and a large two- person chaise lounge facing the fireplace. The concierge brought up our overnight bags. Asher told them to just leave the bags by the couch instead of unpacking them. He asked what I wanted to eat, then called in the order. I walked out on the balcony to check out the view. It was without a doubt the best view from the top. I knew the minute Asher joined me on the balcony when I felt a slight shiver go through me, and then he put his arms around me from behind without saying anything. We stood, just enjoying each other’s presence and the view, until the elevator dinged and our food arrived on the fanciest take-out plates I’d ever seen.

“I’m going to slip into my onesie, then we can curl up on the chaise and eat,” I said, pulling the handle on my bag up and going to one of the rooms. “Turn on the television, let’s see if there is anything to watch.”

We were both in our comfy clothes, eating our specially made “take-out, billionaire style” meal. I flipped through the channels until I saw our faces on the screen. It wasn’t in English, so I only understood some of it. Asher was able to translate for me. The video showed us running into the hotel trying to hide under our cowboy hats.

“It looks like Asher Hawthorne has finally been tamed. This fiancée named Solitaire has him acting and dressing differently. Maybe our women are finally safe from this billionaire playboy,” the reporter said, looking straight into the screen as if he was looking right at us.

“You really do have a bad reputation, don’t you?”

Chapter 66

AUGUST

The mood of the night had been ruined. I could have lied to her about what they were saying, but I’d been lying about so much, and it had to stop. Imogen had gone to bed shortly after watching the reporter. The next morning, Imogen was in much better spirits, so I tried my best to fake it, even though my insides were a mess. We stayed in the limo most of the day while sightseeing because paparazzi followed us. I needed to be August again to end this.

“Are you ready to get back to Paris and away from this nonsense?” I asked, taking her hand. “This will settle down once we’re married, and Asher Hawthorne is an old, married man. No one will care.”

“Do you want to be an old married man?” she asked seriously. “It seems you have had a very fun lifestyle until now. All I see you do is work, then spend time with me.”

“I like spending time with you,” I answered, looking right into her concerned eyes. “I find myself not wanting to work. I like spending my time with you that much.”

“You don’t have to say that. I’m here to help you with this problem. That was the plan from the beginning,” she said, never looking away. “You don’t have to lie. I hate being lied to. So, let’s just be honest about everything.”

“I’m not sure where all this is coming from today, and I’m not lying when I tell you I want to spend every waking moment with you,” I said as the limo pulled up to the plane. “Come on, we can talk more in-flight.”

What started out as the best trip I’d ever planned and enjoyed was falling apart because of Asher. I was feeling terrified about losing Imogen, yet she was bought secretly as a mail order bride for Asher, so I had no right to keep the truth from her. Once we were buckled in, we began take-off. I got my cell out and sent Asher a text.

“I can’t do this anymore. I care too much about this girl.”

“I’m glad you messaged me. Mom has been texting non-stop. She saw some video on the beach,”Asher responded

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