Chapter 9
Sophie
The next morning, I move into the castle.
I have two broken toes, no concussion, and I don’t like all the fuss being made over me.
Nor do I need it. My father escorts me to what had been Lady Camille’s rooms when she came here from Saint Pierre to marry Prince Odin.
The fireplace warms both the bedroom and the sitting room, and it’s already three-alarm blazing.
There’s a pot of tea on the table, as well as a fruit basket and a tin of cookies.
This is the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in.
Dad helps me to the couch before the fire, asking me four times if I want to lay down in the bedroom.
I don’t. I’ve been laying down for two days, and even though my foot aches whenever I put weight on it, it’s nice to be upright again.
Mrs. Theissen, the chief house manager of the castle, follows us in, and shows me where everything is. I remember her from when I was a kid, and she seriously hasn’t changed at all save a few gray hairs tucked into her neat chignon.
But the attention from them is nothing compared to Stella.
For the next two days, my sister doesn’t leave my side.
She all but moves into the castle with me; not a big move since she often stays here with Gunnar, but this time she stays in my room.
I’m glad to have her because we haven’t spent this much time together in awhile, and I honestly need the help learning how to use the crutches. It’s surprising how much you need a healthy foot.
But by the end of the second day, I’ve got the hang of it, and Stella’s temper is thin.
That might have a lot to do with the constant visitors—the princes, Gunnar, Kalle and Bo, stop by, along with Princess Hettie and little Princess Tema, and Kalle’s fiancée, Edie.
Fenella and Silas personally deliver my morning coffee, and Kate comes by whenever she takes a break.
Lyra and Spencer show up together and separately, and Dad comes by morning, noon and night.
All six of the Castle Cats pay me a visit, followed by Ajax filming Freddy and Jon for a TikTok.
The only regulars at the castle I don’t see is King Magnus and Ashton. Not that he’s a regular, but I know he’s still here because Fenella—who apologizes for him—and Lyra and Kate all tell me he’s still here.
I’m grateful for the visits, although it’s not necessary. But my sister is more of an introvert than I am, and I know the constant traffic into my room is getting to her. That night, I convince her that I will be fine here by myself and that she really needs to get back to the shelter.
She leaves the next morning after arranging for one of the castle maids to check up on me every hour.
Stella wanted every thirty minutes, but that was too much for me.
The nurse has been by twice by the time Ashton appears.
One moment I’m looking down at my ereader, and the next minute Ashton is at the door, left open so I don’t have to keep getting up to answer it.
Seeing him standing there doesn’t exactly take my breath away, but there is a breathless flutter. He’s so good-looking—a cross between Timothée Chalamet, Miles Teller, and Finn Wolfhard.
It’s an odd combination, but it works.
The dark hair is mused in a way that suggests he’s on his way somewhere special, the dark denim jeans aren’t the lounging type, and Ashton’s dark green sweater looks softer than Bono the cat’s fluffy fur.
Bono the cat is a Scottish Fold, and he’s very soft. I should know because he’s curled up beside me, and keeps nudging me to pet him.
To me, Ashton looks like he’s on his way out, but maybe that’s just his usual billionaire outfit.
“Hey,” he says, lounging against the doorframe. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I tell him in a flat voice. “Nothing at all.”
The corner of his mouth raises just a little. “Already bored of castle life?”
“Not the castle, but—” I point to my foot, wrapped up in my sandal boot, but with one of my father’s socks to keep the broken and non-broken toes warm, propped up on the coffee table. I have to adjust every time I bend over to pick up my tea. “I’m not a fan of being an invalid.”
“No? I love it. All those pretty nurses giving me sponge baths.” His mouth twitches again, the only sign that he’s joking.
Not that I’m looking at his mouth. “I’m surprised that you’re still here,” I say, to stop myself from staring at any part of his face.
Or all of it. He’s almost too good-looking.
Ashton seems surprised. “Where would I go?” he asks, strolling in to take the seat on the couch beside me.
Me, still wearing my flannel pajama pants and an old Battle Harbour High sweatshirt, most of my hair caught up in a messy bun perched on top of my head.
It is clear, based on my appearance, that I am not going anywhere. But there’s no sense of being embarrassed to be caught like this, because Ashton is not here to see me.
Or maybe he is, but why should he care what I’m dressed like?
“I would have thought you’d be anywhere that my father isn’t,” I say. Stella told me Dad went on a tangent about Ashton staying here after he—in Dad’s own words—caused this entire mess. Apparently, King Magnus likes Ashton almost as much as he enjoys keeping the guest rooms full.
Dad may be the chief advisor for Laandia, but even he can’t tell the king who he likes.
Ashton laughs uneasily. “I’m not afraid of your father.”
I lift an eyebrow at the obvious lie and he slings an arm along the back of the couch. “Are you close to him?”
“I would like to be,” I tell him honestly.
“But my mother wasn’t that keen on us getting to know him when we were growing up.
Dad was here at the castle with Spencer, and Mom kept me and Stella in town.
There wasn’t a lot of quality time with him then.
Lately, though… it’s getting better, but he’s very busy. ”
“From the sound of it, Duncan runs the castle,” Ashton muses. “And most of the country.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. The king is pretty hands-on. Dad advises.” There’s a pause, and I realize I don’t know much about Ashton, other than what he lets people see at first impression. “Are you close to your father?”
He opens his mouth to speak, then stops himself. “I amuse him,” he says finally. “I don’t think he thinks much of me.”
The thought of that makes my heart ache a little for him. “Why do you say that?”
“Just a feeling. He never demands anything of substance from me. My older brother Evan has all the responsibilities, and he’ll take over when Dad retires. He’s never given me the option of being involved.”
“Would you want to?”
“I don’t know. I’d like the chance to find out.” He shifts, and his expression smooths out. End of Ashton conversation. “This is all very princess-locked-in-the-tower,” he says glancing around with a smile.
“The door is never locked but if you take my crutches away, I am pretty stuck here. It could be worse.”
“What would be worse?”
“My apartment. They blocked off the stairs in the house, so I have to use a fire escape to get inside.”
He gives a little huff, which might be condescending or humour. “Do you have to climb in the window?”
“No, they put in a door. But still not great when you bring in groceries. And it might be a while until I can climb up with one leg.”
“How else did I mess up your life?” he asks in a cool voice.
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”
He meets my gaze, studying me with those dark blue eyes. “No, you wouldn’t. But what about work? Boyfriend?”
If I mixed Prussian blue with azurite and a touch of light violet, I might be able to match the colour of his eyes. “I obviously took some time off work, which isn’t a bad thing,” I say, again needing to stop staring. “I enjoy not smelling of fish and chips.”
Ashton laughs, and I’m caught off guard how few times I’ve heard him laugh. He chuckles, smiles, but rarely a true smile.
I’m wrong—I would need to mix ultramarine violet with the Prussian blue.
“Boyfriend?” he asks again. “I’m going to say no, because I’ve been in Battle Harbour enough times that I would have seen him. Or heard about him. Plus, I didn’t see anyone come into the hospital with a bouquet of flowers.”
No, but if anyone was watching, they would have seen Ashton steal into my room last night after visiting hours were over, carrying a grease-stained brown paper bag that smelled heavenly. My stomach had rumbled loudly at the sight of them.
He dropped off a burger and fries, just like he said he would, and then he vanished.
I haven’t seen him since I left the hospital two days ago. I also haven’t let myself wonder why?
Why the burger? Why the visit? Why is he here now?
While he’s been out of sight, I convinced myself that it was only a dream—not only that Ashton Carrington had left to buy me dinner, but that he had come to visit me at all.
So many questions and enigmatic Ashton isn’t very forthcoming with answers.
“So you’re admitting that you were stalking my hospital room?” I ask lightly, hoping that if I bring it up, I might get a few answers about the whys.
He raises an eyebrow. He’s got the ability of raising one at a time, arching a brow high onto his forehead, and it’s not a look that gives me the warm and fuzzies.
There’s nothing about Ashton that gives me the warm and fuzzies.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself that.
“Not exactly stalking,” he says, his tone cool. “I may have felt a little responsible for you being in there in the first place.”
“I told you not to. I was in the middle of the street and you—”
“Do you always try to make people feel better even when they’re clearly in the wrong?” Ashton interrupts.
I catch my breath. Yes, he sounds abrupt and maybe a little rude, but I’m not offended. In fact, it’s the opposite. I feel like he sees me.
Ashton had been on the latest season of The Suitorette—both Lyra and Abigail’s seasons. I had gone to Saint Pierre when they were filming, and the night they shut down the town for the celebration, I danced with him.
Ashton had been there for Abigail, but instead of chasing after her attention, that night he picked me. He danced with me. He held me not too close, but with just the right amount of space between us. His fingers traced circles on my back, and my fingers itched to run through his dark hair.
And then I left, and Abigail sent him home. Ashton showed up here in Battle Harbour, and I thought for a few heady moments that maybe he came for me.
Maybe more than a few moments. It might have been a few days.
But he wasn’t there for me. Because there were no more dances, not even any conversation when I saw him on the street. It was like it never happened.
I’ve been trying to convince myself it didn’t, but every time I hear Teddy Swims, I remember how it felt to be held by Ashton.
And this isn’t the time or place to be thinking of it.
“I have flowers.” I point out the bouquets from Fenella and Hettie and Bo, and the Christmas cactus from King Magnus.
“Boyfriend flowers,” he corrects. “A bouquet that takes up half the room. Roses and—” He pauses, studying me. “Sunflowers. And daisies. Bright and sunny flowers. At least, if I were a boyfriend, that’s what I would bring.”
“No boyfriend,” I admit in a shaky voice. I tell myself because it’s never something a single woman wants to admit, but it’s really because I can’t get the image of Ashton hiding behind handfuls of flowers. Especially daisies, my favourite flower.
“If I’m sticking around, maybe I can help with that?”
Things screech to a halt. What?
“You want to help me get a boyfriend?” I take the easy way out of that one. Because, of, course, that’s what Ashton was implying.
He shrugs, a simple lift of his shoulder in an effortlessly graceful manner. Like he shrugs all the time.
“I don’t date a lot,” I say carefully.
“And why is that?” Ashton says, mocking my tone.
“Because I’ve known these guys most of my life. I went to high school with them. Primary school. After a guy snaps your bra strap when you walk by, you tend to take him off the maybe-someday date list.”
Ashton makes a motion with his hand that I assume would look like if he snapped a girl’s bra strap. “Why don’t you leave and find a boyfriend somewhere else?”
“I like Battle Harbour. I like my life here. I haven’t found the need for a significant other.”
Ashton frowns. “What would one do on a date in Battle Harbour, anyway?”
The way he says it, the casual indifference that could be hiding a real interest in the subject—if it was anyone else. I really doubt Ashton is looking to date while he’s here in Battle Harbour.
“There are a variety of drinking establishments that seem to be pretty popular,” I report, keeping my tone casually indifferent. “Coffee for the Sole is always a good choice.”
“So… beverages? Not surprising that you don’t date if those are your options.”
“It’s not the only thing to do on a date,” I protest.
“No? You’re not helping push Battle Harbour if you don’t have a list ready with options.”
“I like to be by the water,” I confess. “There’s a nice spot by the beach.”
“Do you have those fish rolling in here?” He shudders.
“The capelin roll?” It had been summer on Saint Pierre when they filmed The Suitorette, and the show had highlighted many aspects of Maritime life, including the infamous capelin run, where thousands of silvery little fish swarm the beaches to spawn, creating a rolling, glittering fish carpet that tourists and townsfolk flock to.
The event takes place in Laandia, as well as Saint Pierre, and it was fun to watch the handsome and well-dressed contestants wade into the water to fill their bucket of the little fish.
“I saw the episode. You don’t seem to be a fan. ”
“Did you watch all the episodes?” Ashton asks with a sly grin.
“Of course. Lyra is a good friend. And Abigail is great.”
He nods, his expression unreadable. “She is. They both are.”
“Did they break your heart?” I ask, amazed at my directness.
“It’s widely believed that I don’t have a heart,” he deflects.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Then I must be doing something wrong.” He smiles, and my heart gives an extra thump. “Why don’t you believe that?” he asks.
“You stuck around Battle Harbour to make sure I’m okay,” I tell him.