Cameras flashed and the room was abuzz as she made her way back to the table where James—along with everyone else—was giving her a standing ovation.
He gathered her in his arms and held her close. ‘You were amazing, darling,’ he said. ‘Truly amazing.’
Aiesha gave a self-deprecating grimace. ‘I missed a key change in that first bracket. I hope there were no musos in the crowd. So amateur.’
He held her by the hands, looking at her with a thoughtful gaze. ‘You’re always doing that.’
‘What?’
‘Putting yourself down.’
‘Yeah, well, best to get in first is my take on that.’
‘Miss Adams?’ A man came over with a business card in his hand. ‘I’m George Bassleton. I’m a talent scout for a recording studio in London. I manage recording contracts for up-and-coming musicians. Would you be interested in coming into the studio for a sound test?’
Aiesha took the card with a hand that was close to shaking. ‘I... Thank you.’
‘You could be the next big thing in music,’ George Bassleton said. ‘The new Amy Winehouse or Norah Jones. You have a lot of soul in your voice. It’s unique. Call me when you’re back in London. I’ll set something up.’
James smiled at her once the man had moved back to his own table. ‘See? What did I tell you? You’re a star in the making.’
She whooshed out a quick breath. ‘You reckon I could slip out and take a breather for a minute? All this attention is going to my head.’
‘Come on.’ He took her by the hand. ‘I know just the place.’
Aiesha followed him to a quiet alcove behind a huge flower arrangement where two velvet-covered chairs and a small brass-inlaid drum table were situated. James had organised a waiter to bring an ice bucket and champagne as well as a long, cool mineral water with a twist of lime. He waited until she had drained the mineral water before he got down on bended knee in front of her chair. ‘What are you doing?’ she said, glancing around the legs of her chair. ‘Have you lost something down there?’
He took her hands in his. ‘I almost did lose something. You.’
Aiesha chewed at her dust-dry lips. Time to get the mask back on, even if it didn’t feel as comfortable as it used to. ‘Hey, I know my music is a tad sentimental and all that but you’re really spooking me. It looks like you’re about to propose to me, which would be a really dumb thing to do for a guy in your situation.’
His brows came together. ‘Why?’
She gave one of her tinny laughs. ‘You and me? Are you nuts? We’d kill each other before the honeymoon was over. Nice proposal, though.’
His hands gripped hers. ‘Aiesha, I love you. I’m not sure when I started loving you. It just...happened. I want to marry you. I mean it. This isn’t a joke or a set-up. I’m serious. I want you to be my wife.’
Aiesha got to her feet, almost knocking him off balance in the process. ‘But here’s the thing. I don’t love you.’
He got to his feet and took her firmly by the shoulders. ‘That’s a lie. You do love me. I see it in your eyes. I feel it when we make love. You love me but you’re too scared to say it because, hell, I don’t know why. Maybe you’ve never had anyone love you before. But I love you. My mother loves you. You’re the woman I’ve been waiting for all my life.’
Aiesha wanted to say it. She ached to say it. But the words were trapped in her chest. Years of heartbreak and disappointment and crushed hopes had buried them so deep she couldn’t access them. She had loved her mother. She had loved Archie. But both had been ripped away from her, tearing her heart out of her chest each time, leaving a gaping, empty hole that still pulsed and throbbed with pain.
It was better to get out now while she still could. James would get over it. He would find some other girl from his nice, neat, ordered world.
‘I’m sorry, James.’ She steeled her gaze and iced what remained of her heart. ‘Believe me, it’s for the best. You’re a nice guy and all that, but you’re too nice. I’m already feeling bored.’
His frown was so heavy it closed the distance between his glittering eyes. ‘I don’t believe you. You want what I want. I know you do. Why won’t you admit it?’
‘Let’s not make a scene,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be good for your image. Howard Sherwood might change his mind about recommending you to his posh polo-playing pals.’
‘Do you think I give a freaking toss for that?’ he said. ‘It’s you I care about. I’d give it all up for you. All of it.’