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And this scar—that’s new to me, too.
“I heard about the fire at the dorms,” I say softly. “I’m sorry.”
Asher’s eyes open again, and he pulls his face away. My cheeks burn. I drop my hand, turning away from him. I shouldn’t have touched him like that.
He clears his throat and shakes his head. “It was a long time ago.”
When his eyes meet mine again, the pain inside them calls out to the agony I’ve pushed down. His suffering is so raw it makes me want to spill my heart open and show him, Look, I’ve suffered, too.
I’ve worked too hard to bury my own pain—I can’t let those rich brown eyes carve new wounds in my flesh.
“Roses have always reminded me of you,” Asher says in a gravelly voice.
I close my eyes, trying to ignore the thrill his words elicit. I shake my head. “I haven’t seen roses in a long time.”
Then, Asher surprises me. He extends an arm to me, letting his lips tug into a smile. “Walk with me,” he says. “Tell me how you’ve been.”
Every thought in my mind screams at me to turn away. I try to will myself to shake my head, to take my leave, to turn my back on this beautiful man and retreat into my castle made of ice.
But a delicious kind of warmth tugs deep in my core, and I find myself slipping my fingers into the crook of his elbow. When I fall in beside him, I inhale his scent.
Rugged. Spicy. Male.
It makes my head spin. For just a second, I close my eyes and let all my senses revel in the beauty that is Asher Gerhard. The strength that radiates from him. The need that pulses through me.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he rasps, his voice sending shivers tumbling through my veins.
“Me neither.” When I glance up at him, his eyes are on me. Drinking me in. Staring at me like nothing else in the world exists, and he’s perfectly happy to let it fall away.
“You look good, Pen.” His lips tug.
No one has said anything like that to me in years. So casual. Easy. No Your Majesty, or as you wish, or this dress will be appropriate in the eyes of the press.
A casual compliment layered with complicated desires. Blinking, I glance at Asher to try to see if he feels this fire, too. Have I been so cut off, so cold, that a simple compliment makes me feel like my world is spinning?
Asher’s smile widens. “You don’t believe me?”
“I’m getting new wrinkles every day,” I say. “I found two gray hairs last week. I don’t think I look that good.”
Asher laughs, as if I’m joking. He puts his palm over my hand in the crook of his arm, as if making sure that I’m actually real. His fingers are calloused, but their roughness sends another shiver tripping down my spine. As we let our feet carry us into the rose garden, I inhale the sweet scent of the flowers, mixed with the smell of him.
For a moment, I’m that happy little girl. I’m there, on the roof, showing Asher a pretty leaf I found in the school yard. I’m sharing the box of cookies I received from my parents in the mail. I’m laughing at the funny faces he’s making.
I’m happy.
We walk around the perimeter of the rose garden in silence, stopping at the arch near the pulpit where Gabriel and Jolie’s wedding will take place. My heart clenches at the sight of the chairs, the flowers, the flowing gauzy material.
Seeing me waver, Asher squeezes my hand. “It’s hard to pretend to be happy when the world you know is bleak, isn’t it?”
Meeting his gaze, I know he understands me. He must have heard about my husband dying. He must see that I have no children. He understands my suffering like no one’s understood it before, and I haven’t had to say a word.
Somehow, standing here with Asher, I feel like I’ve found someone who knows me.
And that is dangerous. That makes politics fall away. It makes me not care about mines in Roston or rich businessmen wanting to exploit my kingdom. It makes me not care about anything except the danger in Asher’s eyes and the warmth of his skin against mine.
I should walk away, but I already know I won’t.
4
