It was three in the morning when he slipped out of bed and stood by the window, watching the snow fall. Riley's cat, Miss Bailey, took over the warm spot he'd left on the bed, curling into a ball beside Riley as she lay sleeping.

Dinner had been perfect, roast beef and vegetables accompanied by wine, followed by lovemaking that left Ashe sated and exhausted. It certainly was the perfect end to Riley's hectic day at the coffee shop. She fell asleep immediately, her head resting on his arm and her breathing warm against his chest.

As if a movie was playing on a loop inside his head, the visit he'd paid to Riley's father earlier that evening nagged at Ashe. He left the window and sat down on the couch, exhaling as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. How he wished things had turned out differently. So many things had gone wrong the moment he'd walked into that house.

Just because Sid had assumed he was a reporter was no reason to approach him under false pretenses. No matter how despicably he behaved, Sid was still her father, a man who deserved some respect or at least the courtesy of a proper introduction. For an actor who'd had no problem doing a full-frontal scene for his first movie and who could pull off any emotion for the camera, Ashe had completely failed at being the one thing that mattered: himself.

Well, it was useless to beat himself up over what had already happened. Had falling in love with Riley really changed him? No, it was because he'd seen how Riley had flinched at the sound of her father's voice on the phone, on the two occasions Ashe had overheard him barking insults at her. The first call had been to tell her that property taxes for his house were due and that he needed some money to cover the fees, and the second time was when she'd been a day late to wish him Merry Christmas while she'd been on holiday with Ashe.

'What? Are you such a hotshot now, dating your fancy boyfriend and too good to wish your old man a Merry-fucking-Christmas? Why am I not surprised? You were always no good. Why can't you be like your sister?'

The buzzing of his phone interrupted his thoughts, and he reached for it from inside his jeans pocket draped over the armrest. Though he had certain people set with a specific notification alert, only one of them was sure to text him at the oddest times.

Gareth: So I ran into your ex-girlfriend tonight.

Ashe knew he should leave it alone, but he answered anyway.

Ashe: You already ARE dating my ex-girlfriend.

Gareth: Not that one. The other one. The one you never talk about.

Ashe frowned. There was only one woman he hardly ever talked about, nor did he relish thinking about her.

Ashe: And?

Gareth: She asked about you. Said you don't answer her calls or text messages.

Ashe: Do you answer all your ex-girlfriends' text messages?

Gareth: U crazy?

"I can't believe you're working," said Riley as she stood behind the couch, beginning to massage his shoulders. He hadn't even heard her get up. "I hope Miss Bailey didn't kick you out of bed."

"She didn't," replied Ashe as he tossed his phone next to his jeans. He reached over the back of the couch and playfully pulled her down next to him. As she rested her head on his chest, she pulled a blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over them.

"If you want to be alone..." she began, but Ashe placed a finger on her lips.

"I just couldn't sleep, that's all. It might be the time difference. It's midnight in L.A." And that's why Gareth was still awake and most likely attending a party.

"But you must be tired. Don't you have rehearsals today?"

"Yes. The car's going to be downstairs at 6:30."

"That's early, too early for someone still running on L.A. time to be sitting out here in the dark, awake. Is anything bothering you?"

"I'm all right," Ashe said, and for a few minutes, they sat in silence, something they were used to doing. There were nights when all they did was sit opposite each other reading a book, usually the same story read on their respective tablets, and then comparing notes when they'd finished. This time, the book he couldn't stop thinking about was the one that he'd let slip through his fingers because of his arrogance. How hard would it have been just to tell Sid he'd pay for the bloody book without berating the older man about morals?

"What was your mother like?" he asked. "You never really talk about her."

"It's not that I don't want to talk about her. I just find it hard to bring her up without remembering what happened on the day of the fire. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, either." Riley took a deep breath as she nestled into the crook of his shoulder. "We can always talk about your latest trip. Was it fun?"

"I'm afraid that since we returned from our vacation, life has somehow revolved around me again," said Ashe, his voice lowering as if he were a radio announcer. "'Ashe Hunter, soon to be Coriolanus for nine weeks on Broadway. Purchase your tickets now!' or 'Ashe Hunter in talks over Sentience sequel slated to begin filming in the fall.'"

He sighed, shifting to his regular tone as he continued. "It's so easy to lose Riley Eames in the shuffle, and I hate that. I don't want our relationship to be just about me. In fact, I'm tired of this Ashe Hunter person because he takes over everything, even you."

"That's because you're the one everyone wants a piece of," Riley said. "I'm only a barista."

"Never say you're only this or only that. You've never been only a barista to me. You're the woman I got trapped in that elevator with, the one I love, the person my whole world revolves around. Even when there's an entire team focused on me, there's only you in my world."

Riley sighed. "All right, I'll tell you a little about my mother if you promise to stop talking nonsense. Honestly, Ashe, you've got more important things to focus on than me."

"Riley..."

"She was a librarian, although, by the time I was born, she was working part-time because she had to take Paige to her photoshoots in Manhattan after school. I was about seven or eight when she started to need a wheelchair, but that never stopped her from taking me places in Manhattan. She used to come up with fun stories about my adventures. Once we went to the Museum of Natural History and she made up a story about the dinosaur in the lobby coming to life, and then I tamed it, and it became my pet."

"Did you name it 'Bones,' by any chance?" Ashe asked.

Riley chuckled, and Ashe remembered that the dinosaur had in fact been called 'Bones'. He'd seen it in her book. "Yes, and they went clackety-clack as I rode it through the museum. Then Mom made up another one about her wheelchair turning into a plane. I'd sit on her lap as we flew over Manhattan and she'd point out the landmarks to me. It was a lot of fun." She became quiet then, her smile fading. "Sometimes I worry that I can't remember what she looked like, but I remember the smell of muscle balm when she was in pain, which was often, or onions, especially on nights when she cooked these amazing dishes that always made Dad happy."

Riley yawned and Ashe pulled her closer. How he would have liked to have gotten that book for her, he thought, feeling his frustration build up again. He held her until she fell asleep in his arms for the second time that night, and this time Ashe stayed with her on the sofa until the alarm on his phone chimed 5:30 a.m. Then he carried her to her bed and tucked her in next to Miss Bailey, who slipped under the covers to stay warm.

By 6:20 the car was already parked downstairs, its engine idling as Ashe carefully navigated through the snow piled on the sidewalk. As soon as he slipped into the warm leather interior with Lance telling him how his day was shaping up—phone interviews between rehearsals, signing glossies to send out to fans, and phone calls with Betty, his publicist—Ashe realized it was showtime.

He was back to being Ashe Hunter, the actor, around whom the world revolved, while his world lay sleeping upstairs in a warm bed that he wished he'd never left.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 

Thank you so much for reading, for all your votes and your comments!