“Well, if you ever need a sounding board, I’m here,” I said. “Therapist in another life and all that.”
A faint smile wisped around his mouth. “Thank you.” Our server returned with our food, and Asher waited until he was gone before continuing. “If I gave you a pound every time I said those words to you, you’d drain my bank account.”
“I mean, if that’s what you feel called to do, I won’t stop you. London rent is expensive.”
His smile blossomed into a low laugh.
Pride unfolded in my chest as we dug into the food. Asher was right. It was delicious, and our silence as we ate was a testament to that.
I went in for seconds as my phone buzzed against my leg. It was probably Carina digging for updates or Brooklyn confirming our upcoming coffee date, but I’d text them back later.
I had something else to discuss, and we’d put it off for too long.
“So…” I snuck a peek around us to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Should we talk about what happened on Friday?”
The look Asher gave me could’ve melted a glacier. “Which part?” he drawled. Velvet braided his voice.
Just like that, my mind hurtled into the past—past the hospital, past our drive to Holchester and my speech about Pluto, all the way back to when we were tangled in my bed, our bodies slick and hot against the sheets.
“You know which part,” I hissed, my cheeks flaming. “I’m talking about when we, um…”
“Gave each other mind-blowing orgasms for the first time?”
“Shhh.” My face was hot enough to reheat any leftovers from dinner. “Do you want to end up in the tabloids?”
The speech I gave him for why we wouldn’t work after our first kiss was rooted in truth. I didn’t want the press digging into my life for dirt. I didn’t want to relive the accident again, nor did I want them nitpicking everything I did and wore. The scrutiny wouldn’t be as intense as if I were, say, a member of the royal family, but it would still exist, and it made my anxiety want to run screaming.
“No. I don’t.” Asher’s expression sobered. “But you’re right. We should talk about what a relationship would mean.”
The clatter of plates and glasses around us filled the empty pockets of our conversation.
What, exactly, was our relationship? Were we dating now, or had Friday night been a one-time thing?
Both options twisted me with unease.
I didn’t want a one-night stand, but an official relationship sounded so, well, official. I liked Asher more than I’d ever liked anyone, but my last relationship had ended in disaster, and I wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.
He wasn’t my ex. But I couldn’t discount the little voice telling me that, no matter how well things were going in the present, they could always go wrong in the future.
“Do you want a relationship?” It was like Asher read my mind. “Or do you want something else?”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes were sharp and cautious in the face of my silence.
“I…” I hesitated, trying to organize my thoughts into a coherent response. “I don’t want to see anyone else, and I don’t want you to see anyone else. But I’m also not ready for a serious relationship until we’ve figured out our issues with my brother, the paps, everything. I just…everything’s happening so fast, and I’m…” Scared.
I didn’t say it, but Asher must’ve heard it somehow anyway.
The tension that’d crawled into his shoulders when I said I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship relaxed. “Fair enough. So it’ll be an exclusive nonrelationship with dates. And sex. And many shared memes.”
A soft puff of laughter escaped my lips. “Yes.”
It was basically a real relationship in everything but name, but that was enough for now. I’d never dated someone with Asher’s public profile before. I needed to know what I was getting myself into before I inadvertently got burned again.
However, I was glad it was exclusive. The thought of Asher with someone else made me squirm with jealousy.
“I can’t control the paps,” he said, bringing the conversation back to one of our main issues. “But Sloane has her ways of keeping them in line. They’re more scared of her than they are of most publicists.”
True. A sliver of hope entered my heart.
“And people make it work,” I added optimistically. “There are lots of celebrities with non-famous partners, and they’re not in the news every day.”
“Exactly. After the initial spike, interest will wane, especially if we don’t give them anything to write about.”
We. That one word alleviated my worries more than anything else he could’ve said. We meant we were in this together.
I wasn’t alone.
Warmth rushed to fill one of the tiny, fear-hollowed crevices in my chest.
“That being said, you’ll never have full anonymity again.” Asher’s tone gentled. “Like you said, there are always people watching. It can be a reporter. It can be a fan. It can be a random passerby. The average person usually has enough decency not to invade our privacy, but you never know for sure. There’ll be comments on online forums, social media posts, tips to the tabloids. People might make up rumors, and others will believe them even if they’re blatantly false. Old friends and acquaintances will come out of the woodwork with stories, real or fake, for their fifteen minutes of fame. These are all possibilities.”
The warmth dissipated, and my dinner hardened into cement sludge in my stomach. “It’s like you’re trying to scare me away,” I quipped, but anxiety pitched my voice higher than normal.
I’d been in the spotlight as a prima ballerina, but that was different. I was recognized mostly by my peers and ballet enthusiasts. The general population wouldn’t recognize a dancer on the street even if she was the most famous ballerina in the world.
Footballers, on the other hand? They were mainstream, especially in the UK. Especially when they played for a top club like Blackcastle. And especially when their name was Asher Donovan.
He’d never dated anyone for more than a few weeks at a time. The sheer novelty of our relationship (if we lasted longer than that) would drive incredible amounts of interest.
