Sloane stood next to the open car door, blocking me and Asher from the view of any passersby.
“Earl’s taking you both to the Ashworth,” she said, naming one of London’s top luxury hotels. “I have to deal with the paps first, but I’ll be in the car behind you. I’ve already briefed the hotel staff. When you arrive, the general manager and security will personally escort you to your suite.”
“Wait.” My heart climbed into my throat. “Why are we going to a hotel? I thought I was going home.”
I didn’t want to sleep in another strange bed.
“You can’t go home. The place is swarming with press,” Sloane said crisply. “So is Asher’s house. The best thing you can do is lie low in a place where they can’t find you. The Ashworth is the most discreet hotel in the city. They’ll keep your presence a secret.”
I flinched at the mental image of paps overrunning my quiet, tranquil neighborhood. It was my safe haven, and knowing that its sanctity had been breached felt more violating than any picture or video they could’ve snapped.
“It’ll only be for the night,” Asher said, ignoring Sloane’s sharp glance. “We’ll get you home tomorrow.”
“If the situation improves,” she caveated. “I’ve contacted a security company that’ll assess the situation and implement measures as necessary, but that’ll take time. I’ll see you later at the hotel.” She closed the door before we could ask more questions.
The cramps worsened. “How bad is it?” I asked as Earl pulled away from the curb.
I’d purposely avoided clicking on the links friends, coworkers, and random acquaintances had sent me since the news broke, but curiosity gnawed at my insides.
Asher hesitated. “It’s not too bad,” he said carefully. “Right now, it’s mostly fact-based stories—if you define ‘fact’ loosely. Who you are, how we started dating, my history with Vincent. That sort of thing.”
“But?”
“But it’s early,” he said with no small amount of reluctance. “The news just broke. I don’t know what narrative the tabloids will spin in the upcoming weeks and months. They could tire of us before it gets really bad, or…”
“It could actually get really bad,” I finished. I’d seen the way they tore public figures apart in the past. The thought of them doing the same to us made me want to throw up. “I can’t believe we live in a world where people are that invested in others’ relationships.”
“A lot of people are deeply invested in a lot of strange things.” Asher squeezed my hand. “Luckily, I have the best publicist to guide us through it.”
“The scariest one too.”
“That’s why she’s the best.”
This time, my smile inched a tad higher. Having Sloane on our team did make me feel better. She was a professional. She knew what to do, right?
Fatigue weighed heavy on my limbs. I’d slept for nearly sixteen hours straight, but I was still groggy and prone to fits of exhaustion.
However, I clung to consciousness the best I could. I had a feeling this would be my last truly peaceful moment alone with Asher for a while.
“How’s the public taking your absence from yesterday’s match?” I asked.
Given the fanaticism of certain fans and the bitter rivalry between Blackcastle and Holchester, I dreaded their reaction to Asher skipping the match.
“Ironically, they seem to be taking it better now that they know why I missed the match,” Asher said, his tone wry. “Of course, there’s a vocal minority that’s furious with me, but a majority of the internet thinks what I did is romantic.”
“It is romantic.” I reached between us and laced my fingers through his. His warmth traveled up my arm and settled in the vicinity of my heart. “But I’m sorry you missed it. I know how much it meant to you.”
“I’m not,” he said simply. “It doesn’t mean as much as being with you.”
Emotion tangled in my chest. I didn’t trust myself to respond with words, so I squeezed his hand and looked out the window while I gathered my composure.
We had to pass by the hospital entrance to reach the main road. The SUV’s tinted windows prevented anyone from seeing in, but that didn’t stop the skitter of chills down my spine when I saw the crowd of paparazzi near the entrance. Armed with giant camera lenses and an air of rabid anticipation, they reminded me of an angry mob on the verge of hysteria.
And they were all there because of us.
Asher Donovan dating his biggest rival’s sister would’ve been a story.
Asher Donovan having a secret relationship with his biggest rival’s sister and skipping the first major match of the season to run to her hospital bedside? That was a sensation.
Bile sloshed in my stomach. I tore my eyes away from the spectacle and refocused on Asher.
“Have you talked to your parents?” I asked in an attempt to take my mind off the scrutiny awaiting us. I’d received a dozen voicemails from both my mother and father. I imagine his parents were equally concerned. However, based on what he’d told me about his father, the elder Donovan was probably more upset about his skipped match than anything else.
“Not yet.” A grimace tugged at his lips. “That’s an issue for tomorrow.”
“At least you and Vincent made up.” I tried to look for a silver lining. “If I’d known a few punches was all it took to heal your relationship, I would’ve tossed you two into a ring myself ages ago.”
I’d hated their fight while it was happening, but it turned out for the best. I’m glad one good thing came out of this craptastic weekend.
Vincent wasn’t here to see me off because Sloane pointed out that we needed less attention, not more. The fewer famous faces hanging around the hospital, the better.
“What can I say?” Asher’s grimace morphed into a small smile. “Men are simple creatures.”
“You mean Neanderthals.”
“Basically.”
We finally left the hospital grounds and pulled into traffic. Yellow from the streetlights and red from the surrounding taillights blurred into a giant, jumbled stream that matched the chaos of my thoughts.
