12. Sophia
12
SOPHIA
Five days have passed since the gala night and also since the time I’ve stepped out of my house. As I open the door, I don’t miss the shiny black McLaren parked across the street.
The first two days, Asher knocked and rang my bell every thirty minutes, but when I confronted him with a burning fever and a sore throat, begging him to stop, he relented. But I soon realized he hadn’t agreed to leave, instead, just not to bother me. Now, he shows up every morning with warm breakfast, soup for lunch, and a home-cooked dinner. Even though I haven’t spoken to him, I know it’d be stupid of me to not accept the warm and healthy food.
My hands shake as I lock the door. I can’t stop wondering if everyone now thinks I got to perform because of Asher. The Best Performer trophy, which has become the bane of my existence, sits on my dining table. I hate him for turning my best achievement into my worst nightmare.
“Soph, let me take you.” Asher catches up to me as I march toward my car, which has been sitting in the garage unused for a few weeks, as I like to take the bus during Christmas season. The hassle of finding a parking spot while I visit main street for shopping isn’t worth the few minutes I save with my own ride.
I get inside the car, ignoring Asher like he’s nothing but an irritating fly buzzing around me, and it effing feels good.
Crap! I should have wiped the glass. Even though the garage was closed, I see dust on the windshield and side mirrors.
I hate getting out with Asher still around. It’s an ordeal to ignore that man. For five days, my brain has thought of nothing but him, asking numerous questions and answering them as my mood saw fit, ranging from Asher being a self-centered asshole to him loving me so much that he lied to me. Of course my traitorous heart wants to believe the later.
I unbuckle my seat belt, but before I can step out, Asher picks up a microfiber cloth from the rag basket and starts wiping the windshield. I hate the hitch in my breath at the way his powder blue shirt stretches under his navy blue striped suit. He’s sporting a blue tie with white polka dots today, which I’d missed until now.
Am I stupid for believing this man, who exudes such power and command at everything he does, was a common man?
No! Don’t you dare go down that rabbit hole, Sophia.
Asher lied to me. There’s no excuse for that. Even after knowing how I feel about the rich, he lied.
With renewed determination, I tug my head high, and once he goes to put the rag back into the basket, I crank the car. The grinding sound of the engine dies as soon as it starts, and my determination sinks with it. I try again with similar results.
God! Please don’t let the battery act up again. I promise I’ll take it to the workshop in the evening.
Beads of sweat collect on my forehead and above my lips as I try to start the car multiple times. Asher’s tall and broad frame as he stands by the side, arms crossed above his chest, doesn’t help.
My effort to hold my self-composure lasts for a few more seconds before I hit my head against the steering wheel. I don’t look up, even when the driver’s-side door is ripped open.
“Go away, Ash. I don’t want to see you, especially now.”
He doesn’t say anything for several seconds, but I still keep my face hidden. While I’m waiting for him to leave, at the same time calculating how fast I need to run to the bus stop to catch the next bus and make sure I’m still on time, the back door opens. I turn around to see Asher grabbing my bag, which I’d thrown into the backseat earlier.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“I’m going to drop you off at school.”
“Listen, Mr. Miller, you might think the sun, the wind, and all the people in this town bow down at your commands, but news flash, I’m not your servant or your staff.”
With the way his molars grind, I think a few will fall out. “No, you are not. Because if you were, we would already be halfway to your school. I know you’re upset with me—”
Upset, my foot. I’m downright livid, but he doesn’t let me express my feelings out loud.
“—and I deserve it. But this…” He sweeps his hands around. “This is stupidity. You know you’re late for school. Get in my car and let me drop you. You can sulk in the passenger seat.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Then don’t.”
I look down at my wristwatch before storming out, not even bothering to close the garage. He can do that.
I’m waiting for him, and it’s not long before Asher returns with my bag in hand and slides into his seat. I curse my hormones for the shiver that runs through my body as he turns on the ignition.
“I like you fuming over crying, Soph. When you’re angry, I know you feel for me, even if it’s anger,” Asher says after we are a few minutes into the drive. His somber voice is devoid of the usual sass.
I don’t reply because I don’t want to give him the pleasure of thinking he has won in some way. But I’d lying if I say hating him is easier than thinking I’ve lost him.
Once at school, I’m about to get out when I remember something. “Don’t even think about coming to my class with lunch.”
I take some solace in the way his eyes widen as I render him speechless and skid away, not knowing there’s one more surprise waiting for me.
For some reason, the ache that has found a permanent place in my chest for the past five days subsides as I walk inside the school building. On the way to the staff room, I’m surprised to find Miss Tee inspecting the display case. “Miss Tee, what are you doing here?”
She leads me to the outdoor courtyard. “I’m an alumnus of the school, so the principal allows me to visit in search of talent when I’m organizing new events. But today, I’m here to congratulate you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to see your performance. I had to take my daughter to the ER due to food poisoning. Struggles of a single mom.” She smiles softly. “But right now, I only want to talk about you.”
Until today, I was so focused on impressing Miss Tee that I failed to see her as a normal person. A burning feeling develops in my chest, realizing she’s possibly here because of Asher.
“I’m so happy that the judges chose you as the best performer. I saw the recording. You moved the stage, Sophia. I haven’t seen such a strong performance at the gala in years.” She clutches her hands close to her chest without a mention of Asher, giving me courage to ask the question that has been haunting me for the past few days.
“Miss Tee, does the jury include… the guest of honor?”
Her furrowed eyebrows rise up before she shakes her head. “No. Mr. Miller refused to cast his vote for the best performance.” After a moment’s pause, she says, “I was confused and surprised to see him with that lapel, until it dawned on me why you decided to keep his true identity a secret. You wanted the selection committee to not be influenced by your boyfriend’s stature. And I respect you more for that.”
“So Ash had nothing to do with my selection?” I bite my lip when Miss Tee’s eyes narrow.
“No, and Sophia, please don’t ask that question again. You’re not only disrespecting Mr. Miller but also the committee.”
“I’m sorry.” My chest unfurls for the first time since the event. I did it on my own.
When it’s lunchtime, I decide to grab a salad from the faculty cafeteria. The thought of the tasteless salad in comparison to the warm, delicious soup and fresh bread that Ash delivered to my doorstep every day churns my stomach. I’m already berating myself for having such thoughts when the gatekeeper calls my name.
“Miss Sophia, there’s someone for you at the main gate.”
He didn’t! No way is he here after I explicitly told him not to come.
I’m fuming by the time I reach the main gate, and that anger dissipates a little at the sight of a young man in black pants and a white shirt. He has a small paper bag with him.
“Miss Sophia?”
“Yes, but who are you?”
“This is for you,” he replies instead and hands me the bag before sauntering away.
When I bring it to the staff room and open it, it’s carrot soup with sourdough garlic bread. As I take a sip of the deliciousness, my mind automatically goes to Ash. What is trying to do here, and why?
Ashcroft Miller isn’t hurting for women. In fact, girls would kill to spend a day or night with him. And after spending time with him these past few weeks, I know it won’t just be because of his wealth.
He’s a man girls dream of. He’s caring—I look down at the soup, which is proof of that fact—but at the same time, he exudes a power that sometimes feels like that he might be able to command even nature. How had I felt so at ease with him? Every time I saw him, it was like coming home.
The day drags, with my mind restless and going back to Ash after every few minutes. When it’s time to go home, I feel a hum of electricity in my chest. Nervousness courses through me as I anticipate seeing him. At the same time, I hate myself for the streak of disappointment that runs down my spine at the thought that I might have pushed him too far.
“Miss Sophia.” The gatekeeper approaches me before I can step out. “Someone brought your car. It’s parked on the street.” He drops my car keys into my hand.
When I get inside my car and turn the key, it starts. Of course Ash took it to the garage and fixed the battery. But that’s not the only thing. The black seats, which were in need of serious repair, have been exchanged with soft beige leather. I turn on the new music system, and my heart pounds when the beginning notes of Franz Liszt’s“Liebestr?um”blasts through the speakers.
Does he know how romantic this piece is?
Are you that naive to think that Ashcroft Miller has nothing better to do than prepare a romantic playlist for you?
At dinnertime, seven sharp, I hear footsteps on my porch. But like other days, I don’t wait for him to leave. Ash is just placing the paper bag onto my porch table when I pull the door open.
There’s a moment of surprise in his eyes, but it’s gone as fast as it came. “I hope you like Thai.” He half turns his head toward the bag.
“What are you doing, Ash?”
“Trying to feed you. Trying to show you that I’m not the jerk you believe me to be.”
“I don’t believe any such thing, but I know you lied about something that matters to me.”
“Why are you upset, Soph? Is it the fact that I have money or the fact that I lied to you? Because if it’s the latter, tell me, truly, would you have even considered going out with me if I had told you who I really was that night at The Queen’s?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “I saw a girl who was on a date with someone else. Never had my heart raced the way it did then. And behold my luck, she hates the one thing that draws people toward me.”
“You’re more than your wealth,” I whisper at his frustrated words.
“If you truly believe that, then let me show it to you. Spend tomorrow with me.”
“I have school.”
“Then take a day off. If by the end of the evening you believe I’m the devil you think all rich men are, I promise I’ll leave you in peace. As much as it’ll rip my heart out to be away from you, I’ll do so for your happiness, Soph. Just give me one day.”
I look away from his anguished face. “Okay.”
“I’ll be here at seven in the morning. Be ready.”
As promised, Ash shows up on my doorstep at seven o’clock on the dot. Instead of his McLaren, today there’s a limousine parked outside my house. “What is this?” I ask as he gets out and greets me.
The smile that lights his face at my gasp could warm the icy winter air. “You’re getting the full Ashcroft Miller experience today, sweetheart. No secrets. No holding back.” He holds my hand and tugs me toward the street.
A driver opens the door, and I recognize him immediately. “You were at my school yesterday. With lunch.”
“Nice to meet you again, Miss Sophia. I’m William.” He tips his head before sweeping his hand for me to get inside.
“He’s your driver?” My voice rises in pitch as Ash slides next to me. Everything around me is causing sensory overload. The smell of leather, mixed with Ash’s pine-tree smelling cologne. The shiny minibar, with crystal glasses and a matching decanter filled with amber-colored whiskey.
“He is today,” Ash replies and presses a button, which slides the dark roof back, and in its place appears a clear panorama glass. I’m so mesmerized by the sight of falling raindrops that I jolt in my seat when the car suddenly moves.
“Where are we going?”
Ash grins and leans back in his seat. “To where it all started.”
It’s a herculean task to pull my gaze away from him as he crosses his leg. He stretches one arm and effortlessly drapes it over my seat while the other elbow rests on the window. He runs his fingers under his lip, and I swear, all I can think is that this man is a gift to women.
“Don’t miss anything today, firecracker. It’s a day in the life of your man.” Even though his lips twitch, there’s an underlying seriousness to his voice. He’s unlike the cocky, playful man I’ve come to know all this time.
Maybe that’s because he isn’t that man today. Instead, he’s the great Ashcroft Miller.
The limo stops outside the town library building, and before I can ask Ash why we’re here, the door opens. He places his hand on my back and guides me to the entrance, then further into the library. Instead of going to the bookshelves, he leads us to the door marked RESTRICTED. Through the hallway, there are a few closed doors, which I assume are offices of some kind, before Ash stops at the last one. There’s a golden nameplate on the door, which reads The Miller Family, and he unlocks the door before turning the knob.
The unexpected interior takes me by surprise. There’s a writing desk at the center, over a turquoise carpet. The walls are painted in sky blue, and the furniture is white. There are a few potted plants, and sheer curtains finish the look.
“I didn’t know you had such feminine taste.”
Ash chuckles. “This was my mom’s office.”
I don’t know how and what to make of it. “Why are we here?”
But instead of replying to my question, he guides me behind the desk and gently nudges me to take a seat.
“I can’t,” I say. “It’s your mother’s.”
“She isn’t going to be angry, Soph.”
When he doesn’t budge, I flop down begrudgingly, and Ash opens a thick ledger on the table. It’s more like a picture book. The first image is of the library, the same building where we are now but several years older.
“My mother was a bibliophile to the point that me and my father were often on the verge of being jealous of fictional characters.”
“Now that’s a stretch.”
“It’s not. Unlike mothers who only want to talk about their sons, my mom loved to talk about Mr. Darcy or Mr. Rochester.”
“So, your mom was a fan of romantic classics?” I raise an eyebrow.
“My mother was a book fan. She read everything from Sun Tzu’s The Art of War to Bronte’s Jane Eyre . And given how much time she used to spend here, it’s no surprise she met Dad here. She was a librarian at that time.” He carefully slips in the fact that his mom hadn’t belonged to an affluent family before her marriage to his father. “But this building was very different then.” Ash nods toward the picture.
I’ve heard stories of how the Miller family paid huge amounts of money to renovate the library, but I’m not stupid enough to ignore that The Queen’s Hotel is above this floor. Its walls might be lined with books, but reading isn’t what makes it so popular. It’s the lavish parties that generate huge profit every night.
“I’ve been to The Queen’s, Ash. Don’t try to tell me that your family renovated this place out of goodwill. We all knew the hotel was always a part of the renovation plan. I’ve heard the rumors that your father wanted a hotel at the town square, and the library renovation was just a ruse to acquire the best spot.”
“My father knew our family name was synonymous with luxury in this town, and like you said, The Queen’s was always a part of the plan, but for different reasons.” Ash jerks his head toward the forgotten book before me. “Turn the pages.”
It takes me a moment to switch the context of our conversation. I flip the pages, which are filled with photographs of the renovation work. I stop on one with man in a suit in deep conversation with the workers as they all look at maps on a table.
“That’s my dad,” Ash says, and the same man appears in several more images, making it clear that his father was personally involved in the work.
Then there’s a woman in a yellow dress with a young boy dozing on her lap. There are several paint swatches spread out on the table before her. I can’t believe the Millers treated the work as if it were the remodeling of their own living room and not a public building. There are several more images of young Asher and his parents while the library slowly comes to life.
“These are members of the library trust.” He points to the group, sitting in a circle. “On the next page is the agreement that was made on that day.”
I turn the page, and even after reading everything twice, I can’t believe the printed words.
All the profits made from The Queen’s will go into the upkeep of the library, and the remaining amount will be donated to different schools in town.
“My father ensured that my mother’s favorite spot in the world never falls into its initial state ever again. Yeah, The Queen’s was always part of the plan, but not for the reasons you think.”
“But people—”
“People say a lot of things, Sophia. Some due to ignorance, and others due to jealousy. But the Miller family has no authority on the running of this place.”
Before I can say anything, he offers me his hand. We leave the library building and get inside the car. I’m lost in my thoughts as Ash’s driver drives for another half hour before stopping outside a hot dog stand. There are only two customers before us and once they are served, the owner, an elderly man with a thick, bushy mustache, gives Asher a wide grin.
“Today, you are not alone.” He tilts his head toward me.
“And you are not subtle.” Asher chuckles. “Sophia, meet Don, who likes to think of himself as the hot dog king.” He points toward the stand banner.
Donald’s Hot Dogs. The best in town.
“Hi, Don. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, young lady. Be careful with this boy.” I smile at his referring to Ash as a boy, and Don says, “Two, I assume.”
“Three. William is with us.” Asher nods toward his car. Once our order is ready, he hands me one and then marches toward the parked car to deliver the hot snack to his driver.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s the richest man in town, isn’t it?” Don asks. Like mine, his gaze is focused on the electrifying man before us.
“So you know who he is?”
Don looks at me as if I’m crazy. “Of course. Ashcroft has been coming here since he was a kid. This is where his mom brought his father for their first date. She was from my neighborhood. A sweet but headstrong girl. Maybe a little like you.” He scratches his chin as if imagining Ash’s mom in me.
“Hey, you didn’t start.” Ash jogs to me and looks at my untouched snack.
“I was waiting for you.”
We sit down on a bench a few feet away from the stand.
“It’s really good.” I break the silence that has stretched between us.
“Don’t say this to Don, but this is the best breakfast in town.” Ash grins before taking another big bite.
“You have many happy memories here?”
He nods. “I had all the luxuries growing up, but my parents made sure to teach me that nothing comes for free. My great-grandfather, my grandfather, and then my dad worked hard for the wealth that they amassed. They also showed me what money can do. It can change lives. You might not like this. But”—he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin—“I’ve always encouraged my staff to work hard, and they get paid well for it. Hard work has the potential to change not only one life but also of the future generations. Money isn’t evil, Sophia. It’s man’s relationship with money that is good or bad. Wanting something that isn’t yours is evil.”
I turn in my seat to look at Asher, and he’s smiling at me. “Come, we have one more place to visit.”
This time, the car stops outside the Miller house. An elderly woman opens the front door. “Welcome home, Mr. Miller.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Hardy. This is Sophia, our special guest for today, and Soph, this is Mrs. Hardy, the life of the Miller house. Though she has decided to leave soon.” The petulant pout on Asher’s face is so cute that I can’t resist my smile.
“Not again, Mr. Miller.” Mrs. Hardy takes my coat and motions for me to enter. “You say it as if I’ve not spend fifty years of my life working in this house. This old lady wants to retire.”
“Then retire here. You don’t have to work. Hire someone for the both of us.”
My eyebrows rise, watching this foreign side of Asher. I take a seat on the couch next to him while Mrs. Hardy fixes the fire.
“I have a feeling you won’t be alone for long.” She looks over her shoulder at us and smiles. “Now, I’ll get you both some cake and coffee.”
Once she leaves the room, I ask, “she’s leaving?”
“Yep. She’s been in this place for too long.” He lets go of a frustrated sigh. “I understand, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Several seconds fly by, and I finally muster the courage to say, “I see what you’re trying to show me, Ash. My encounter with rich men has been limited, and I… might have been too fast in judging you.”
He turns in his seat. “Thank you for saying that. Does this mean… you’ll go out with me?”
My heart hammers at the hint of hesitancy in his voice. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”
Asher grabs my face, but before his lips can make contact with me, we hear Mrs. Hardy’s squeal. “That’s so nice to hear! This boy has been sulking since the night of the gala. I was worried he might forget how to smile.”
“I wasn’t sulking,” Asher says, holding my hand in a tight grip.
“Of course not. That was your twin brother.” Mrs. Hardy places down a tray with two cups of coffee and gingerbread cookies. “Eat them all. These are the best cookies in the world.”
Once she leaves, Asher offers me the plate. “She’s right, you know. These are Nuremberg’s gingerbread cookies. You will not get a more authentic taste.”
“So this is another perk of the rich?” I surprise myself with the joke.
“Oh, you haven’t nearly seen all the perks, Soph. Next year, I’m gonna have a renowned chef make these for us in our hotel room in Germany while we enjoy some red wine overlooking a Christmas market.”
“Really?”
“It’s a promise, babe. As long as you promise not to be upset with me ever again.”