Chapter 17
Sophie
They stay until after ten o’clock. I would be fine with them here longer, but once Kate catches me mid-yawn, once, Spencer frowns and says I look tired, Ashton takes that as a sign to tell them to go.
Kate and Gunnar tidy the pizza boxes, and Spencer collects the wine bottles, while Lyra straddles the arm of the couch and regales us with her last conversation with Prince Kalle and how nervous he seems about the upcoming wedding.
“It’s not until the spring, so your foot will be better by then,” Lyra assures me.
“I’m not going to miss a royal wedding, especially if I get an invite,” I promise her.
“Of course you’ll get an invite,” Spencer says. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Do you think you’ll be okay for the Sea Queen dance?” Fenella asks. “That sounds like fun. I’ve already asked my date.” She twines her arm through Silas’s, who looks bemused.
Sometimes I think Silas looks overwhelmed just by being around Fenella, like he can’t believe that she picked him. Other times, he looks at her with such love in his eyes that it makes my heart ache.
I want someone to look at me like that.
I want the easiness of Lyra and Spencer, in how he holds her bag, waiting patiently until she finishes talking. I want the playfulness of Gunnar trying to jolly Stella into smiling, and how she laughs when they’re together.
I want someone to love me.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being alone. Kate is single and happy… and so busy with her work at the castle that she wouldn’t have time to give to someone else. But I am not busy, and I want someone looking at me like I’m the most important person in the world to them.
I’ve never had that before. And I want it.
Fenella is waiting for my reply, so I have to blink away the sudden heat in my eyes. “I should be,” I tell her. “I’m not sure about dancing, but I can start with the exercises next week, and the doctor says that will help. I might still have the crutches though.”
All eyes go to the crutches resting on the floor beside the chair, at my foot propped on the table.
“I kind of forget about that,” Silas says in his deep voice. “You never complain.”
“There’s nothing to complain about. I have a couple of broken toes. I get to stay in a castle, and everyone comes and visits me. It could be a lot worse.”
“I think it is a lot worse, but you just don’t say anything,” Kate points out. “We should go and let you get some rest. I need you as my date for the Sea Queen dance.”
Because she doesn’t think I can get a date myself.
I huff with disappointment, but quietly so no one notices. “I’ll be there for you.”
“What if Sophie wants to ask someone as her date?” Ashton demands.
He stands beside me with a scowl on his face.
“Do you really think you’ll still be in town at the end of the month, brother dear?” Fenella asks him with an incredulous expression.
“I didn’t mean me,” he says rudely. “I mean… I’m sure lots of guys around here would want to go with her.”
“The line-up is out the door,” I manage to joke, confused with his intensity. And yes, saddened by how quick his I didn’t mean me was.
Not that I would ever expect Ashton to go to the dance with me. That’s just insanity. He could get any woman in Battle Harbour—any woman in the world—so why would he settle for me?
“There’s still a few weeks to go,” Gunnar cuts in, looking between a scowling Stella and a frowning Ashton. “Lots can happen before then.”
“I just want my foot to be a normal colour before then,” I say, pulling myself out of the chair as they begin to move toward the door.
Ashton catches me under my arm to help. He hands me my crutches when I’m on my feet. “Thanks for coming,” I tell everyone.
Kate, Lyra and Spencer give me a hug. Stella, who doesn’t do displays of affection, frowns at me. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow.”
“It’s fine if you can’t. I know you’re busy.”
And then they are gone.
All, except for Ashton. Fenella gives him a sharp look, and he mutters something to her before she disappears, and Gunnar claps him on the back, but no one else seems to think it’s strange that Ashton is the last to leave.
Or that we’re alone in my room.
“I wanted to make sure you don’t need anything… if you need help to get to bed,” he says awkwardly as we stand by the fire, no longer giving off the warmth the room needs. Gunnar stoked it when he arrived, but with that many people in here, we let the fire go down.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “But if you could do the fire? Maybe another log. It gets cold in the night if I don’t stoke it.”
Usually my father does that when he stops in, but Dad poked his head in earlier and smiled when he saw the gathering.
“Sure.” He turns to the woodpile. “I think you have the best fireplace in the castle,” he points out as he adds another log, and pokes it.
The crackle of the fire is the only sound in the room. “Thank you, Ashton” I say quietly.
“It’s just a log—”
“Thank you for tonight. That was… unexpectedly sweet of you to bring everyone here for me.”
He looks down at me with those dark blue eyes, so inscrutable. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” I echo, with a mocking smile. “You really have issues with people thanking you for doing nice things.”
“Because I don’t do nice things.”
“But you do.” I take a halting step, leaning heavily on my crutches. I’m not sure if I’m intentionally trying to move closer to him, but the end of a crutch catches on the bottom of the chair, and I stumble.
Ashton catches me.
His arms grab my waist, swathed in my heavy sweater, but I still feel the heat of his hands.
And then I kind of lean into him, and his arms go all the way around me.
My head rests on his chest, another sweater, this time soft enough to be cashmere. It’s a dark red, hugging his shoulders the way I am now hugging him.
He smells of money.
It’s not actually money, but Ashton’s scent is of expensive things. Leather, and tobacco leaves, like an exclusive gentlemen’s club but with hints of vanilla, and maybe cocoa?
Like a cup of hot chocolate made with expensive chocolate and real milk being served in a gentlemen’s club with books lining the wall and fantastic art to look at.
I have no idea of the cologne, but it works for me. Or maybe it’s a type of bodywash. Something more than deodorant.
Seconds tick into minutes, and I realize I’m still holding him, my arms wrapped around his waist, nose buried in his sweater.
And Ashton’s arms are still around me, one of his hands slowly stroking my back like he did when we danced.
One of my crutches clatter to the floor as I clutch the back of his sweater. And still, we stand there, pressed tightly together. I feel the rise and fall of Ashton’s chest, hear the beat of his heart.
It seems very fast for a heartbeat.
In the fireplace behind us, the log catches with a loud crackle, and the spell is broken.
“That should keep you warm enough tonight,” Ashton says.
I nod as I pull away, reluctantly letting go of his warmth, wondering if he means the fire or the hug.
The fire hisses, yellow-orange and red flames dancing as Ashton quickly says goodnight, firmly shutting the door after him. The fire will keep me warm tonight, which is good because I suddenly feel cold from the way he left.
And I shouldn’t be feeling like that. I shouldn’t be feeling anything at all.