His Red Carnation (Forbidden Blooms #1)

41. Epilogue

I knew I shouldn’t have come to this gala. It had only been six months since the complete disaster Sarah caused. I spent most of that time in Spain, trying to gather the courage to face the world again. As much as I tried to come off as strong, the whole thing nearly broke me.

Now, here I was, sitting at a table full of celebrities, a glass of champagne in hand. Oscar winners, pop stars, rock stars—they were all around me, offering kind words and encouragement, but I could see the pity in their eyes. It was overwhelming, and I was more than ready to leave.

My bodyguard of six months stood by the wall, his gaze scanning the room before landing on me. He was a kind man, not much for words, but funny when he wanted to be, with a dry sense of humor. We locked eyes, and I gave him a small nod, signaling that I was almost ready to go.

Then someone sat down next to me. I recognized him instantly—Charlie Ashford. He started out in a British boy band and later branched out on his own. He must’ve been in his late twenties now, strikingly handsome, with brown wavy hair styled deliberately messy and eyes the color of emeralds. He was cool—too cool—and I had no idea what to say when he smiled at me, his sharp jawline momentarily distracting me.

“Ana Martin, wow,” he said with a shy chuckle.

“Del Rosario now,” I corrected. “But please, just call me Ana.”

I wanted nothing to do with Jake’s last name anymore. I should have never taken it in the first place. Sloane was even thinking about taking my surname when she married Callan next spring, though I encouraged her to do whatever felt right. I didn’t want her to feel like she was giving up her identity by changing her name to Holt.

Charlie lifted his eyebrows with a surprised grin. “Sorry, Ana.” His British accent was charming, and I felt embarrassingly typical for swooning at it.

I laughed nervously, shaking my head. Why was I so flustered around this attractive, younger man? My cheeks burned with embarrassment as we made eye contact, perhaps for a little too long. It was so unlike me to feel this way, and it left me wildly confused.

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Ashford,” he said, putting his hand to his chest.

“I know,” I replied with a polite laugh. “I think the whole world knows who you are.”

He chuckled softly and bit his lower lip. My heart fluttered. He’s too young for you, Ana.

“I think you’re much more famous,” he quipped, then his eyes widened a little. “Because, you know…you’re a former First Lady.”

No one ever mentioned the affair, and for that, I was grateful.

“I suppose so.” I shrugged, unsure of what to talk about with him. What could we possibly have in common? He was a British rock star, and I was a former First Lady. I figured that’s what I’d always be known as now, even though I had once considered running for office myself. But after everything with Jake, I didn’t want to be in the spotlight anymore. I’d change the world in different ways.

“So, um…” He leaned closer to talk over the music. “Do you live in New York, or are you just in town for the gala?”

He’s trying to make small talk. That’s sweet.

“I live here now,” I said. “Only a few blocks away.”

Did he need to know that?

His eyebrows shot up again in surprise, making him look even more charming. “Me too.”

My heart raced. Cut this out, Ana. You need to get out of here.

“Hmm.” I nodded, trying to get out of my head. My eyes scanned the table; I felt uneasy under his gaze. It wasn’t unwanted, but the way he made me feel was throwing me off balance.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on me.

I glanced down at my half-empty champagne flute. “No, thank you. I was just about to leave,” I said, sitting up straighter.

“Oh, well, hey neighbor,” he teased lightly. “Do you want to…I don’t know, meet up for coffee? Or a drink?” He placed his arm on the table as if he was thinking of reaching out.

I glanced at the tattoo peeking out from under his shirt cuff. “Are you trying to ask me out?” I asked bluntly. If he was, I needed to shut it down quickly.

He chuckled nervously, looking down before locking eyes with me again. “Yeah. What do you say?”

I let out a surprised laugh. “Charlie, I’m at least ten years older than you.”

His smile didn’t fade as he shrugged. “I don’t care. Do you?”

Why did I care? I had been so accepting of Sloane and Callan’s relationship, and they were twenty years apart. What was ten?

I shouldn’t do this. I should say no. But what was the harm in one drink? Maybe I could use a little fun. But perhaps I should make him work for it, if he really wanted it.

“Alright,” I said, giving him a challenging look. “How about this: figure out how to contact me, and I’ll go for a drink with you.”

His smile widened, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Challenge accepted. I’ll see you soon for that drink, then.”