Asher noticed the crack in my shield and pounced. “You know what they say. Spontaneity is the spice of life.” His expression gentled when I didn’t reply. “If you really don’t want to go, you don’t have to. But if you’re concerned about work, Carina said she can squeeze in your holiday and find someone to cover you.” As Lavinia’s executive assistant, Carina was in charge of overseeing the staff’s schedules. “Aoki is also flying us out on the company jet, so we don’t have to worry about being spotted in the airport. I can bring a plus-one, so they’ll also cover your expenses, and the Japanese press won’t hound us the way the paps do here. I have a bunch of work obligations while I’m there, but I’ll have free time too. We’ll actually be able to enjoy ourselves without looking over our shoulders every minute of the day.”
I drew my bottom lip between my teeth. That did sound nice.
Asher and I made our relationship work in London, but we spent half our time hiding out in one of our houses and the other half hoping people wouldn’t see past his disguises when we were out and about. We couldn’t hold hands or kiss in front of other people. Even in “safe” spaces like the Angry Boar, we were constantly on alert for eavesdroppers.
I wanted to experience what it was like to be a normal couple with him.
In the end, that was what sold me. Not the private jet, not the all-expenses-paid trip to Tokyo, but the prospect of simply spending more time with him.
“Okay,” I said, torn between nerves and excitement. “Let’s go to Japan.”
I’d visited Asia only once in my life. My parents took Vincent and me to Disneyland Shanghai before their divorce, but I was so young I only retained vague recollections of a pink castle and the fairy-light sugariness of candy floss.
Tokyo was the polar opposite of that sweet, hazy childhood memory.
Glittering skyscrapers and giant neon signs draped across the skyline like jewels adorning a crown. The streets teemed with people, and the energy of the city pulsed with such vibrancy it seeped through our car windows and reverberated in my bones.
It was electric. It was frenetic.
It was incredible.
Asher’s publicist Sloane met us on the tarmac when we landed. Blond, statuesque, and intimidating as hell, she issued orders and shepherded us through the city and into our penthouse hotel suite with the brusque efficiency of a four-star military general.
I didn’t know what Asher told her about me, but she didn’t question why her star client popped up in Japan with his summer trainer in tow.
“Here’s a detailed itinerary for the next three days,” she said, handing Asher a thick sheaf of stapled, color-coordinated papers. “Call time is at seven a.m. tomorrow. I’ll be here at six-fifteen sharp to make sure you’re awake and ready. If you need anything, call, text, or email in that order. If it’s a true emergency, find me in my room. I’m staying in 805.”
“Got it.” He took the papers without looking at them. “You know, it’s still early in the evening. You should hit the spa for a massage or something. My treat.”
Sloane’s mouth pursed. If anyone looked like they needed a massage, it was her, but she didn’t acknowledge his suggestion before moving on.
“One more thing,” she said. “You’ll see you have several blocks of free time. They’re highlighted in yellow. You are, of course, free to spend that time however you wish. But”—she jabbed a finger at his chest—“if I find out you’ve so much as stepped foot near a sports car while you’re here, I will personally fetch a Japanese steel knife from the kitchen and castrate you with it. Scarlett is my witness. Do. You. Understand?”
She punctuated her question with additional jabs.
I hid my grin behind my fist while Asher raised his hands in surrender.
“Sports car. Japanese steel. Castration.” He nodded. “Understood.”
“Good.” Sloane dropped her arm, took a deep breath, and smoothed a hand over her flawlessly tailored skirt suit. “Scarlett, it was lovely to meet you. Asher, stay out of trouble.”
With that, she left. Her heels clacked against the marble floors of the suite’s entryway before the door opened and closed, and silence descended once more.
“You could look a little less entertained by her threat,” Asher said dryly. “Castration would be unfortunate for both of us.”
“Yeah, but it’d be worse for you.” I offered a cheeky smile. “At least I have dildos to take over the—aah!” I squealed when Asher swept me up with a growl and carried me to the bedroom. “Let me down, you Neanderthal!” I pounded a fist against his back, but I was laughing when he finally laid me down on the bed.
He hovered over me, his face creased with a mock scowl. “What were you saying about dildos?”
“That they’re one of mankind’s greatest inventions?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed away his adorably boyish pout. “But they’re not as good as something else I can think of.”
“That’s the right answer.” His lips lingered on mine for a moment before he pulled back and examined me. “How was the plane ride? Do you want me to draw you a bath?”
Warmth dripped from my chest into my stomach.
“It was okay.” Eleven hours was a long time to spend in the air, but the private jet’s luxurious amenities prevented any bad flare-ups. The seats had pressure-relief cushions, and I could walk around and stretch my legs whenever I started getting stiff. They even had a heated massage chair onboard. “I can take a bath later. Right now, I need to eat. I’m starving.”
While Asher ordered us room service, I explored our home for the next three days. The suite was twice the size of my flat in London. Its living room boasted a home theatre system and a state-of-the-art universal remote while the lavish dining room was big enough to accommodate eight. Delamonte soaps and gels lined the bathroom’s double marble vanity, and a wall of one-way tinted windows provided a dazzling view of the Tokyo cityscape. There was even a grand piano and a balcony with a second dining area.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Asher came up beside me as I stared out at the sea of lights below us. “Makes me want to watch Tokyo Drift again. Do you think Sloane will consider that ‘stepping foot near’ a sports car?”
Exasperated laughter erupted from my lips. “Don’t even joke about that. She will actually castrate you, you know, and she’ll spin it into a good PR move too. She’s terrifying.”
He grinned. “That’s why I pay her the big bucks. She puts up with a lot of shit from me.”
“Mmhmm.” I could only imagine. Being a celebrity publicist sounded like the most stressful job ever. “Like your car crashes over the past few years?”
I didn’t ask the question with the intention of being combative. It came out soft, almost hesitant, but the ease with which it escaped proved it’d always been there, lurking beneath the layers of my denial and avoidance.
Asher’s grin faded. “Yes,” he said after a long pause. “Like the crashes.”
We’d avoided the topic all summer, but Sloane’s warning had ripped my layers to shreds and bared the ten-ton elephant in the room.
My hang-ups about cars and driving were known quantities. That was why Asher hired Earl to drive me to training every week and why he was careful to stick to the traffic rules when I was with him.
But I didn’t know what he was like when I wasn’t there. Was he the same guy who made headlines for destroying his Ferrari in an illegal street race with another footballer? The one whose off-pitch antics fed into the controversy of his transfer because people worried his recklessness would eventually catch up with him and screw the whole team over?
