Epilogue
Epilogue
~ASPEN~
W hat in the hell am I doing in London? Not just that, but at the freaking palace, as a guest of the royal family?
Whose life is this, anyway?
Ellie invited me to her wedding months ago, but I sort of tucked it into one of the little boxes in my head and ignored it for as long as possible—like I do with a lot of things.
I’ve learned that life doesn’t hurt so badly if you compartmentalize.
Before I knew it, it was time to come to London to celebrate the wedding of Princess Eleanor and Liam Cunningham.
“I’m happy for them,” Natasha says. She’s sitting next to me, watching the newly married couple dance their first song. “The wedding was absolutely gorgeous.”
“And insane ,” Monica says and nods. “I mean, eight hundred guests?”
“Just at the wedding ceremony,” I remind her, watching as Liam sweeps Ellie across the floor. “There are only about a hundred people here at the reception.”
“I didn’t think she could top the Versace gown she wore for the ceremony,” Nat says with a happy sigh. “But look at that little number.”
Ellie changed into a shimmery white ballgown, perfect for a princess. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, and she looks so damn happy as she gazes up at her new husband, it’s almost enough to make the likes of me shed a tear.
And I’m not a crier. I’m also not a romantic, so there’s that.
“Aspen,” Monica says in a loud whisper. “Ten o’clock.”
I frown but see him out of the corner of my eye. Callum walks toward me, his blue eyes pinned to mine. They’re hypnotic. I can’t look away.
I hate him. Hate. He forgot me. I’d been naked, writhing beneath him, and he fucking forgot.
But I have to admit, he’s a fine specimen of a man. I can hate him and still find him hot as hell.
“Do me the honor of a dance?”
“N—”
“Yes,” Natasha says, pushing me into his arms. “Dance.”
I don’t have a choice. The next thing I know, Callum has a grip on me and is whirling me around the dance floor.
“I’m not really much of a dancer.”
“You’re doing brilliantly,” he says and touches his cheek to my temple. Holy Moses, he’s too close. I remember every touch, every sigh from that night almost two years ago. The hand holding mine was in places no one had ventured in years—or since.
His body fit mine as if he were made just for me.
And he forgot.
I pull back and shake my head. “I’m not feeling well. I’d better go lie down.”
“There’s no reason to leave.” His eyes have lost their welcome. He’s cold now. “You’ve made yourself clear, Aspen. I won’t bother you again.”
And with that, he walks away, leaving me alone on the dance floor at a royal wedding.