I rub her back until she has her stomach under control and guide her to the sink so she can brush her teeth. When she is steady on her feet, she walks back to the bed, me in tow, and climbs in, curling her knees into her chest.
Walking over to the bed, I take a seat next to her. “Can I get you anything? I feel terrible you’ve been sick all day. Do you want to see a doctor?”
Leah’s crystal blue eyes look up at me, rimmed with worry. She shakes her head, “No, I’m fine. I haven’t gotten sick in a few hours.” She notions toward the bathroom, “That wasn’t from being sick. I threw up from nerves.”
My body is on alert. Confusion etches my brain. What in the world would make Leah so upset she’d get sick over it? “What are you talking about?”
“I’m so worried about you. I don’t know if this will set you back. You’ve made so much progress. And yesterday, you were so happy,” she says, her eyes looking everywhere but at me.
“What happened, Leah?” She’s scaring me.
She rolls her head and then lifts a magazine from the ground. It’s an American magazine, one I easily recognize, as well as the face on the cover.
“This came under the door this morning.” Leah holds the magazine out two feet in front of her as if it is going to catch on fire. “I didn’t pay any mind to it at first but when I finally got a good look, I called Adam.”
I take the magazine and look down at the golden eyes gracing the pages.
“Why is Asher—”
Leah takes the iPad that was sitting on top of the bed and places it on her lap.
“Adam was mad. I told you. He couldn’t believe that we went on that yacht. So he did some investigating.” Leah punches her code in her iPad. “Devon doesn’t own the yacht, Emma. He doesn’t even come up on a Google search.”
I cross my arms in front of me and balk at her. “So what?”
Leah inhales deep. “The boat belongs to Alexander Asher.”
My face scrunches up in annoyance. “Who’s Alexander Asher?”
Oh, wait.
Asher.
Asher?
Leah turns the iPad to face me. On the screen is a picture of Asher, my Asher, dressed in a gorgeous suit. His hair is styled perfectly, slicked back but a little spiky at the top. On each side of him is a gorgeous woman, both of whom I recognize from a certain lingerie catalogue. On the top of the screen the headline reads, “Billionaire Playboy At It Again.”
I drop the magazine on the ground and grab the iPad from Leah and skim the article. Leah leans over and places a hand on my arm. “He’s a womanizer, Ems. There’s article after article of this guy and every woman under the sun. He’s known for being an elusive cad and leaving women wanting more. I wanted you to have an international fling but I know this means more for you. I’m so sorry I steered you in the wrong direction. I never would have pushed you toward someone like him.”
My head darts up at that comment. Not someone like him? Like who? Like Asher? There has to be an explanation. “I don’t understand. Are you telling me Asher’s been playing me?”
“I don’t know what I’m telling you. All I know is that he has been manipulating you the entire time. Pretending he’s someone else. Why would he lie about being rich, Emma? According to Adam, he was lying to get in your pants and when it’s over you wouldn’t know how to find him because you never knew who he really was. I want you to have fun—but not with someone like this. Not with someone who is going to make a fool of you. You’ve been through too much. I screwed up. I’m so sorry.”
I drop the iPad on the bed and shrug my arm away from her. Here I am again. Poor Emma. Damaged and broken, needing to be looked after. Because apparently I can’t even have a proper one-night stand without it being a major catastrophe.
A one-night stand? A one-day stand? Whatever.