STORM. A Standalone Romance - Glenna Sinclair

STORM A Standalone Billionaire Romance

Glenna Sinclair

Copyright © 2016 All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 1 She had never met the man walking toward her, yet she wouldn't consider him a stranger, either—after all, she had just spent the night at his house, and even slept in his bed. Not that he had been in the bed with her; that would have been a far more conventional start to their relationship. Cara Langford tried to move her legs again, but she was stuck fast. Escape was impossible. The fields of mud that she had been navigating around on the property all morning had caught up with her at last. The black mire sucked at her borrowed galoshes, drawing her farther into the earth the more she moved. It was like a quicksand scene in an old-timey movie. The man had reached the foot of the hill, and paused at the shore of the mud patch. Cara twisted her body to look at him, but was unfortunately caught in a position with her back facing toward him. She couldn't make out much before her pride dictated that she turn away and try to raise her foot again; sure enough, she was still rooted to the spot. "Need some help coming unstuck?" an unexpectedly posh voice inquired. She thrilled at the unexpected English accent and blushed. This was the Connecticut countryside, after all; nothing she had encountered so far had indicated that her mystery host was an Englishman. His voice was deep and educated, and full of amusement. "I'm not stuck," she said confidently. Confidence was key in these sorts of situations—at least, she thought that it was. She tried her left foot again, and struck her shin against the inside of the unmoving boot, nearly

collapsing forward in the process. Her arms pin-wheeled. "Don't be daft." She could hear the man slogging out to join her. Cara finally stopped moving, going beet-red as she felt a pair of hands alight on her waist. His fingers glided along the outline of her bra band and slipped beneath her armpit as the other arm hooked beneath her legs, pulling her out of the foundered boots and hoisting her into his arms. She latched onto his neck at the last second and tried to fix her eyes on everything but his face. Even from a distance, she had perceived that he was handsome—the English accent only made it worse. Scratch that, the hand pressed firmly on the outer swell of her breast made it worse. "I'm not," she said sulkily as her rescuer began to stride back through the mud. "I just didn't want to leave the boots I borrowed out there is all." "The boots you stole," the man corrected mildly. "Before you came out here to spy on me." "I wasn't spying. I was interested, and…mobile." "Mobile. Certainly." She felt his hands clasp her a bit harder as they came to a deeper patch of mud. His touch was so assured that she couldn't help but imagine how it would feel, were they locked in a very different embrace. Cara glanced down to look at their progress, before finally summoning the courage to glance up. The man holding her wasn't looking at her; he was concentrating on navigating the treacherous terrain, which made it easier to conduct an up-close-and-personal study. He was much younger than she had guessed he would be—he couldn't be much older than thirty, though he hadn't shaved yet that morning, and the stubble

that abraded his jaw might have given him the appearance of additional years. His hair was auburn, almost copper-colored. He was probably in dire need of a haircut, because it looked a little long behind his ears, but he had effortlessly groomed it back before setting out on his morning walk. His eyes were a deep-set blue, and fringed with dark eyelashes. They were in such close proximity that Cara could see the shallow divot of a scar at the left corner of his temple. Somehow, coming to the realization that her rescuer was even more gorgeous than she’d thought at first made their situation all the more worse. Thankfully it would be over soon. Thankfully the press of warm, insistent hands wouldn't be distracting her for much longer. Their progress halted abruptly. The man hefted her closer and gazed about himself. "Uh-oh." "What do you mean, 'uh-oh'?" Cara looked as well. They were stuck about ten feet from the perceived shore of the quagmire. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, she found herself once more stranded at the mercy of this stranger.

CHAPTER 2 The first time Cara Langford had found herself stuck had come late last afternoon. She had been driving home from Hartford to New Haven, taking the backroads to avoid holiday traffic, when the wheels of her car decided to stop churning the mud on a seemingly abandoned stretch of road. It was her second summer coming home from Trinity College, and she thought she had traveling all figured out. What she hadn't accounted for was a rash of summer storms washing out every means by which she had planned on getting home. She exited her car, and as soon as she did, it started to rain. She pulled a windbreaker out of the backseat and stretched it over her head, stooping to assess the damage, even as the downpour threatened to drive her into the ground. All four wheels were sunk; what's worse, the back right looked more deflated than usual. She managed to salvage a discarded piece of board she found submerged in the ditch and prop it beneath her back tire. Another attempt at accelerating out of the mud had only splattered the side of her car with black mud. The rain certainly wasn't helping matters. By the time Cara decided to abandon ship, she was soaked to the bone and shivering. Her phone was dead, and she had no idea where she was. She was in dire need of help. The stranded woman looked around. Through the sheeting rain,

she thought she spotted an estate on a hill maybe a half mile from the road. She trudged toward it, pulling her windbreaker closed around her until all but her vision was obscured. By the time she arrived at the gate, she looked more like a frightening apparition who had drowned along the road and haunted it ever since than a student seeking help. Her chin-length blond hair was streaming water, her mascara was running, and her jaw was jumping with cold—she knew all this because she could see herself in the monitor posted at the gate. She pressed the button beneath the screen to buzz up to the house. She didn't have long to wait. The gate swung open. # She was greeted at the entrance to the mansion by two individuals: a stuffylooking older man, and a harried-looking woman. She was given no time to introduce herself or her situation before she was ushered in out of the rain by the latter. "Come in! Come into the foyer! I've brought towels down from the upstairs," the woman urged her. Cara found a stack of freshly laundered towels thrust toward her, and quickly shed her windbreaker so that she could take one and wrap it snugly about herself. "My car broke down," she explained through chattering teeth. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I didn't see any other houses around."

"I'm afraid we're the only residence for miles," the woman said gravely. "It's a lucky thing you broke down when you did. Can I get you some coffee? Some hot tea?" She motioned to the elderly gentleman without awaiting Cara's answer; the man bowed stiffly and disappeared, presumably to start the preparation of both. Cara wanted to reject any offer of further hospitality, but her body craved heat more than her brain craved ceremony. She nodded gratefully. "I'm sorry again. I promise I won't be long. I was wondering if I could use your phone?" The woman showed her down the hall, and didn't seem to mind that Cara trailed water behind her on the expensive-looking runner. Come to think of it, everything looked expensive—the ceiling vaulted up to a grand old height, and a single chandelier hung suspended from the rafters, although she could see that it was cobwebbed and undusted. And that was only the main hallway. She suddenly couldn't remember how large it had looked from the outside, and felt grateful for her ignorance. She had clearly wandered into more wealth than she had ever known in her life, and doubtless would ever know. And she was now more certain than ever that the woman who led her didn't own the estate. While she clearly had a comfortable relationship with the house, she led Cara like the latter were part of a museum tour group, and she the guide. There was a landline posted toward the back of the hallway; Cara nodded gratefully, but caught the woman with a word before she could escape. "I'm Cara. Thank you so much again. You've really saved me."

"I'm Melinda." The woman smiled, and pleasant lines fanned around her eyes. "I'll be back in five minutes with something more to warm you. Please call me if you need anything before then." Cara nodded gratefully. As soon as she was alone, she fumbled for her wallet with numb fingers and extracted her insurance card. She dialed several numbers before she managed to reach anyone. The forecast wasn't good—literally. The male voice on the other end informed her that they wouldn't be able to reach her for another day at least. She would have to overnight at a hotel until a tow could get to her. Cara ground her teeth and tried to remain calm. She could feel the strain manifesting in her expression, and she heard it in her voice in the next instant. "I'm just borrowing this phone, actually. There are no hotels where I am." The man didn't know what to tell her, other than to stay dry and appeal to the sympathy of complete strangers. Cara stood frozen in the hallway with the receiver still pressed to her ear long after the other line had gone dead. She was just summoning her scattered thoughts to decide what to do, when she thought she heard the distant click of another headset being hung up. What the hell? Had someone else been listening in on her conversation? #

"So you see, you aren't any trouble to us at all," Melinda informed her. "The master has already given his permission for you to stay here, and I've already sent the servants down to collect your things from the car. We aren't lacking for spare bedrooms, as you can probably tell." Melinda chuckled and brought her own tea to her lips. Cara's cold hands tightened around her mug of coffee. They were seated together on the steps of the stairs; she was still cloaked in the bath towel, but unwilling to trespass any further into the house for the time being. Melinda seemed unfazed by her decision to remain in the foyer. "The master?" Cara repeated in disbelief. "You mean the homeowner?" "The very same. He's a very private man, but he has a good heart. He sympathizes with your situation and would not have it any other way. Please, you must allow us to host you for as long as it takes." "It won't take long," Cara assured her quickly. "They might even be able to send someone by today." Both women glanced out the tall windows at the apocalyptic rain outside. Within minutes of her saying as much, the scattered-marbles sound of hail could be heard bouncing on the roof. Cara sank back into the towel. Melina patted her shoulder warmly. "Come. I'll show you where you'll be staying." Cara's room was on the second floor, and it almost defied description. After living on campus for two years, an adjoining bathroom was already a heavenly concept to the young woman—but the sheer size of the quarters with which she was presented dwarfed almost an entire story of her dorm room. When Cara attempted to back out of it into the hallway,

Melinda pushed her fondly from behind. "Now, I've already asked the servants to draw you up a bath. Rest assured that you'll be allowed complete privacy. You must feel free to treat this room as your own for the time being, Miss…?" "Cara really is fine," Cara stressed. "Miss Cara," Melinda insisted. "I'll have the servants bring your things up for you while you're washing up. I'll have dinner brought up for you as well." Cara's immediate instinct was to ask after the master—she wanted to properly thank the man who had invited her into his home. At least, she assumed he was a man. Weren't female masters 'mistresses'…? But by the time she could think to get the vocabulary right, Melinda had vanished back into the labyrinth of the mansion's hallways. Cara realized too late that without the woman around to guide her, she stood little chance of finding her way around on her own. She closed the bathroom door and locked it immediately behind her; then, she peeled her wet clothes off and dropped them on the floor. She was in and out of the bath in less than five minutes—while she would have liked to languish, she was too aware of the fact that she was in somebody else's home to feel comfortable being naked for long. If someone could listen in on her phone conversation, might someone also be able to spy on her as well? Maybe she was just being paranoid. When she exited the bathroom with a fresh towel wrapped securely about herself, she found her luggage waiting for her on the bed, and a steaming meal waiting for her on

the table. She got dressed and tucked into her dinner; it was easy to eat with gusto when the food was that delicious. It was so good she imagined a five-star chef must have prepared it—but whose chef, and why was he here, and not running an expensive restaurant? Twenty minutes later, and she had resigned herself to the fact that her mysterious benefactor would not be making an appearance.

CHAPTER 3 He made an appearance the next morning. Cara knew him at once, the same way she had known that Melinda was not the owner of the estate. She had woken early and was sitting by the window, gazing out across acres and acres of land, when she saw him. He was a tall figure, with broad shoulders—his posture appeared slightly sunken beneath the camel cardigan he wore. The sky outside her window was light, and yesterday's rain had evidently retreated for the moment. Cara watched the figure disappear quietly up the hill. Then, she slid from the window seat and quit her borrowed bedroom. She was able to navigate the house easier than she’d thought. By the time she had rediscovered the landing, she already had a plan in mind: she would follow the stranger to satisfy her curiosity, perhaps to introduce herself and properly thank him if he seemed approachable—then she would return to her car and try to start it again. If all went well, she would be out of everyone's hair by the time Melinda and the other servants awoke. Cara borrowed a spare pair of galoshes from the vast hallway closet and pulled them on. They were much too large for her; she almost felt like a kid again, trying on her father's shoes for fun. She followed the man's own boot prints out onto the property and up toward the hill, confident in her plan to express her thanks and hit the road. She hadn't expected to end up in the arms of a stranger.

# "I'm going to need you to climb onto my back," the Englishman was saying. Cara tightened her hold on his neck and pressed her lips firmly together; she could see him read her expression in a glance. "It's either that, or I throw you over my shoulder," he threatened. He spoke mildly, as he had before, but it only made his disregard for her own opinion on how they should proceed even more infuriating. She felt like he had already helped himself to touching every inch of her—the last thing she needed was for his hands to find the curve of her backside. "I don't even know you," Cara responded curtly, as if that were all that needed to be said. In the normal world, that was all that would have been required to end their conversation; unfortunately, she had never held a dialogue with someone who also happened to be holding her. "If I told you my name, would that really make things more expedient?" Again, she felt the warm press of his hands; his fingers curled around her ribcage in a fan, remaining just shy of the seam of her bra. Cara didn't know how he managed it, but he really was a perfect gentleman in the way that he conducted himself—other than in how he spoke to her. The accent, and his intelligent way around words, might have fooled somebody else, but she had detected his condescension from the moment he first opened his mouth. "It would give me courage for the trials to come if I knew who I was dealing with," she replied.

"That didn't stop you from putting on my shoes," he pointed out. "And it certainly didn't stop you from listening in on my phone conversation," she snapped. "But I'm not going to bring that up." "I can see that." The man had the good grace to look faintly sheepish, and Cara knew she had been right in her suspicion that he had been the one eavesdropping last night. The expression softened some of the natural arrogance of his face, making him appear almost shy, and she could clearly see the picture of a shut-in. She relaxed her own expression a little in response. "Please. I'd like to know your name. It's the whole reason I came out here." "Simon." The man slowly eased his hand out from underneath her until Cara found herself sliding vertically against him. She blushed at every bump and swell; she could feel every inch of him, and understood that he could probably feel the same. Their faces hovered, inches apart, as she maneuvered her slighter weight around to the side. She was too conscious of their position to wrap her legs around his waist fully, but she hiked one knee up over his hip. In a matter of seconds, Simon had managed to swing her around to his back—had she been ignorant of his strength before, there was no dismissing it now. The unassuming man appeared to be hiding a good deal of muscle beneath the frumpy sweater. Once she had settled on his back, Cara twined her legs around his waist; Simon's hands came up once more to hitch her into place. She dropped her burning face into his shoulder as he stepped out of his boots

and continued through the mud in his socks. They were out of the mire within moments. Simon kept walking, ferrying her up the face of the hill he had been climbing originally. Cara wanted to protest, but she also didn't want to call any more attention to their position, so she remained silent. She could see the sun had risen almost fully over the horizon. It looked pale and fragile, as if last night's rain had extinguished some of its light. Simon carried her to a lone tree on the crest of the hill and deposited her on the ground. Cara took a step back, self-consciously tucking her blond hair behind one ear. He was looking at her despite the view. After a moment, she decided to return his scrutiny, narrowing her eyes against the sunrise that backlit him. Simon withdrew something from his pocket. "Cara Marie Langford. Born March 25th, 1995. Height: five feet, five inches. Weight: one hundred and ten pounds. About eight stone. That part doesn't sound exactly true, now, does it?" "Give me that!" Cara exclaimed, and all but dove at him for her driver's license. The man didn't withhold it from her, possibly to his credit —not that she was in a particular mood to give him any. "You left it on the mantle downstairs by the phone," he said. "I figured I couldn't let you leave without it." "You're right," Cara said. "I am leaving. Thank you so much for the hospitality, but I really can't intrude upon you any longer. Please give Melinda my regards." She turned to start back down the hill, when she felt a hand catch her elbow. It wasn't forceful—the pressure of his hand was

gentle, almost beseeching. Her heart leapt unexpectedly at the contact. "I'm sorry, Miss Langford. Please stay a moment." Cara turned dubiously, and Simon released her. She allowed her gaze to climb him, taking in the full image of a man who had clearly spent a good deal of time alone. He reminded her most of his mansion: classically handsome, but in a transient state of disrepair. Then again, maybe what was going on with the man was more than transient. She had no way of knowing how long he had resided there alone, or how long it might be before someone else came along to knock on his gate. "I really meant it. I really meant to thank you," she mentioned after a moment. "I thought I was going to be stranded out in the storm all night. When I saw your gate…" "I first laid eyes on you through the security camera," Simon admitted. "I couldn't leave you out there." That was unfortunate. "Oh." Cara laughed, remembering her sad, bedraggled appearance in the monitor. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to frighten anyone. I must have looked barely human." "I can assure you no one was frightened, Miss Langford," Simon said. "It was the opposite, really." Silence descended between them as Cara mulled this information over. What was the opposite of frightened? Simon looked embarrassed, and she thought she had her answer. Now it was her turn to feel embarrassed.

"Do you really live out here all by yourself?" she asked in an attempt to change the conversation. The man's hands eased back into the pockets of his slouching sweater. Cara tried not to remember the other places they had been that morning, but her body felt warm just thinking about them, in areas specific to where they had touched her. "Not by myself," he said. Cara gazed up at him a moment, before crossing her arms across her chest in disbelief. "The servants keep me company," he continued. "Melinda is a good woman. Very entertaining. Gerald, the butler, is more of an acquired taste. The others and I get along well enough." "Do you know their names?" Cara asked him. Simon scratched the back of his scalp and glanced off. "They're seasonal," he said. "I see." "As you have probably guessed by now, Miss Langford, you are the first outsider to have been allowed onto my estate for quite some time. I would be honored if you would join me for breakfast before you go." The invitation was formal, a bit stiff, but Cara thought she could see the faint sheen of desperation in his eyes. It was gone again in a moment, replaced by confidence in what he clearly thought was already a confirmed acceptance of his invitation. Cara assessed him for a long moment. She couldn't decide whether she found him pompous and annoying, or infinitely intriguing. There was a disparity to his character that she had never before encountered in another person—it was as if his naturally arrogant nature was vying for control over

something hopelessly disassembled and insecure. He seemed even more mysterious to her now than he had been the night previous, when his presence was nothing more than the phantom click of a receiver on the other line. "I'll need to call my family," she mentioned. "Of course." "I'd prefer it if you didn't eavesdrop this time." "You have my word as a gentleman." Simon gazed at her expectantly, but Cara found she couldn't argue with his self-assessment— he really did seem faintly aristocratic. She believed that he wouldn't overstep the bounds of her privacy again. They walked back down the hill together; midway down, Cara pulled her socks off. She managed to avoid the mud this time.

CHAPTER 4 The man who joined her for breakfast wasn't completely altered, but there was enough of a difference for Cara to sit up and take notice. Simon was completely clean-shaven, and his hair was freshly combed; he had traded his early morning attire for a port-colored sweater with a steeper neckline that might have hung carelessly off anyone else, but only managed to further pique her curiosity at what lay beneath. She could see the swell of his pectoral muscles beneath a clearly defined clavicle. She thought it very likely that Simon spent much of his time in solitude working out. Cara, who was an avid runner herself, found she couldn't blame him. She couldn't even begin to imagine what other diversions there might be around here—he was a man who owned everything, and there was absolutely nothing to do. It made her immeasurably grateful for her friends at school, and immeasurably sad for the man who appeared to have given up friends entirely. They sat at opposite ends of a long table and settled in to eat without a word. Simon took a long pull off a glass of orange juice as Cara occupied herself with her coffee; she tried not to notice the way his throat slid when he swallowed, or the way he watched her over the rim of his glass the entire time. She had also taken the ten minutes before they reunited for breakfast to polish up her appearance, warning herself the whole time that it was a wasted effort. The moment breakfast was over, she was gone. She wasn't going to wait around for the tow company to come

and rescue her from the mud—she had already had enough of rescues for one morning. "I wanted to get a walk in early," he began conversationally. "The weather report this morning called for—" He barely had time to complete the sentence before Cara heard the clatter of hail on the roof. She pushed off from the table in disbelief and went to the window; Simon met her there. The countryside that sprawled before them was a dull gray once more beneath the shadow of roiling storm clouds; she could even see a white mist starting to creep around the hillside from the woodland border. She sighed deeply in frustration, and tried not to feel too annoyed when she saw that Simon's reaction to her plight was one of consciously subdued cheerfulness. "—rain," he finished. "There's going to be flooding if this weather keeps up," Cara mentioned. Simon, orange juice in hand, looked thoughtful, but she could tell the weather wasn't as immediate a concern to him as his equally stormy guest. She resolved herself to try and be a little less on-edge around him. When the person you were forced to seek help from was that handsome, and that rich, it was…difficult. She felt at a constant disadvantage. She was an all-American girl with all-American student loans just trying to make her way in the world. She didn't want to owe anyone anything else. But Simon asked nothing of her. So long as she asked nothing of him other than what he was inclined to provide, she thought this might just stand a chance of working. Simon finished his orange juice and set the glass down on the

windowsill. "Want to see the pool?" he inquired. "It's indoor." Of course it was. # The mansion's pool took up an entire underground level of the complex. Cara trailed behind Simon down the stairs slowly, eyes taking in the vast rectangle of water that stretched on and on before her. Threads of aquatic light danced across the tiled walls; the smell of chlorine stung her nose pleasantly, taking her back in time to memories of middle school swim lessons. She realized that she would have loved to have taken a dip in Simon's private pool—too bad it was out of the question. There was more orange juice down here, filling up an entire crystalline pitcher and sitting on a silver tray. Cara poured herself a glass and took a hearty sip; she nearly spat it out the next instant. The taste of alcohol raced like fire down her throat. "This is a mimosa!" she exclaimed. Simon extracted the pitcher from her hand and poured himself one as well, drinking it as he had the others during breakfast. Cara watched him, suspicious for any signs that his earlier orange juices had been less than innocent. "Of course," he said. "Shall we?" She followed him to a recliner set out by the poolside. There was only one, so they both took a seat on it, sitting a polite distance apart from one another. It was better than the alienation of the vast table at breakfast.

"You have to understand how weird this all is for me," Cara said after she had taken another sip of her drink. Simon's eyes on her were patient. "You clearly have a lot of money." "Was that clear?" He feigned surprise. Cara flushed and crossed her arms, holding her glass aloft. "I don't get you. You could probably be doing anything, be anywhere—why are you in Connecticut? Why do you live out here by yourself with no neighbors?" "It's better this way. Believe me." The man's face sank into an expression Cara hadn’t yet seen him wear; it aged him significantly. He almost looked like a different person. "I've been out there in the world. I'm better off without it—rather, it is better off without me." "You seemed pretty excited to have company," Cara pointed out. Simon raised an eyebrow. "'Excited'?" he repeated flatly. "Well, no. Not excited. Do English people get excited?" Cara inquired. "It does happen on occasion." His gaze caught hers and held it significantly, and Cara's heart stuttered at the possibility of his meaning. Was this man actually flirting with her? He was so dry she couldn't tell. Half the time it seemed like he was borderline insulting her. Maybe it was the mimosa already starting to kick in, but she was feeling adventurous. She couldn't recall the last time she had actually gone swimming in a pool—much less a private one as nice as Simon's—but

maybe that wasn't the only reason she stood suddenly and peeled her shirt off. Maybe she wanted an occasion for her mysterious host to get excited. Cara was a journalism major, which meant that a large portion of her time was spent hunched over behind a laptop or poring over her notes. She made up for the more sedentary aspects of student life by running and attending nightly yoga classes, and she was glad for her level of fitness now. She undulated a little as she pulled the shirt over her head, keeping her back to Simon so that he wouldn't get a full view; she thought she heard his startled intake of breath behind her, and smiled to herself. She dropped into a straight-legged bend and took her time wiggling out of her jeans, sashaying her hips from left to right. She had never taken such pleasure in undressing before, and wondered if it was because she had never held such a captive audience. "We have…" Simon trailed off. "What? A woman's bathing suit I can borrow?" she inquired nonchalantly. "Fortunately not," the Englishman muttered. Cara turned back to him and grinned, before bounding to the water's edge and diving gracefully into the pool. The water that washed over her felt temperate and refreshing, nothing like the freezing rains that had driven her to his doorstep only the night before. Cara wondered how often he found occasion to go swimming as she allowed herself to sink down to the bottom of the pool. How often did Simon find occasion to do anything? It had to be so boring living here by himself. Did he ever invite the servants down for a party by the poolside? Were any of them attractive women?

Cara shook her head once, expelling a stream of bubbles that raced each other back up to the surface. She pushed off from the bottom of the pool and rose back above the water with a gasp of pleasure; she looked expectantly over to the pool chair, but realized too late that Simon wasn't there. Only when a shadow passed over her did the girl realize the danger. In the next instant a body crashed down beside her, and she found herself plunged back beneath the water. She struggled back to the surface, grabbing for anything within reach to keep her afloat. Her arms found something solid, and she immediately wended herself around it. When she opened her eyes, she was staring into Simon's dripping, grinning face. The thing she had wrapped her arms around was his neck, his shoulders. It was almost déjà vu from their encounter earlier, only this time felt a lot more intimate. "…You're not wearing anything," she noticed after a moment. "I could say the same for you," he pointed out. Cara blushed hotly. "I'm in my underwear. You're completely naked! I can feel it!" she exclaimed. "What can you feel?" Simon asked interestedly. As if he didn't already know. As her body drifted closer, Cara felt herself brush against his stomach, and against what nestled just south of it. She could feel the bushel of coarse hair through the all-too-thin fabric of her underwear, and Simon's length… She didn't know if he was half-aroused by their proximity, or if that was how Simon came naturally, but she struggled to keep her astonishment in check. By the amused expression on his face, she was failing utterly.

"I can feel that I'm a sheltered American girl unused to your foreigner's ways," she said, though her breath was starting to come short. It was just that she had been submerged in water twice within the past ten seconds, she tried to argue with herself. It had nothing to do with the gorgeous Englishman in her arms. Simon leaned his head in then to whisper wet words into her ear; Cara could feel each drop of water that arced off his angular chin and fell on her bare shoulder like a hammer strike. She could smell the alcohol on his breath—almost taste it, if she was being honest. She knew that it would taste divine. Was Simon drunk, or was he just taking their flirting to the next level? How could she have possibly prepared herself for this? "Do you find them barbaric?" he asked in a quiet voice. Cara shivered "That remains to be seen, Mister…?" "Banning. But I prefer that you continue to call me Simon, Cara." His lips dropped away, but his forehead found hers, and she breathed in quickly at the surprise contact. "Don't try and put up a worthless barrier now." "Barriers aren't worthless," she argued. "Especially when you're a —what are you, anyway, a millionaire? Especially when you're a hermit trying to hide out in the New England countryside." "I certainly believed that once," Simon mused. He reached up with one finger to tuck a wet piece of hair behind her ear, and it was all she could do to resist leaning into the caress. His strong arms churned the water around them, and he ferried them over to the side of the pool. The

sensation of floating together was gently intimate; Cara felt like she was being carried off in a dream. She couldn't let this rich stranger sweep her off her feet, but she knew it was already too late—their current situation spoke to that. When they reached the shallows, Simon—who had evidently thought ahead, and set their drinks down on the edge of the pool—passed her a newly refreshed mimosa. Cara held up her hand to protest further drinking, and Simon looked confused. "Sorry, am I coming on too strong?" He sounded genuinely concerned, and Cara's lips tugged in a rueful smile. "No, I… This is nice," she admitted. "I'm just… I'm not of legal drinking age, you know. I'm only twenty." Simon looked stunned by this admission, long enough for Cara to start to earnestly wish she had never opened her mouth on the subject, before his astonishment dissolved into laughter. "Of course! You must forgive me, Cara. The legal drinking age back in England is eighteen." "I'll be twenty-one this year," Cara said quickly. "And it's not as if I haven't before. I just thought… I didn't want you to get in trouble, or… Oh, I don't know what I was thinking." She sounded like an idiot, and she snatched the drink out of Simon's hand just to take some of the edge off the immediate memory of her rambling. She thought the Englishman would be amused by her, but was startled when she saw a very different expression on his face. It was so fleeting that she almost thought she might have imagined it, but Simon looked touched by her concern. Her stupid, illplaced concern. They were on his private property drinking his alcohol in

the midst of a rainstorm; of course there was no chance of them getting into trouble. "I could play a drinking game," Cara allowed. Simon raised an eyebrow. "What sort of game were you thinking, cheeky girl?" Cara tried not to let herself thrill at the very English endearment, and failed miserably. "How about…" She pointed to the far shore. "The last one to make it the length of the pool has to drink?" It sounded lame, but she couldn't think of anything else under the circumstances. Unluckily, Simon seemed to have more of an imagination than she did. "And what would you say if I was to raise the stakes?" he inquired. "If you win, why don't I pay for your tow?" "Oh no," Cara said quickly. "I couldn't possibly let you—" "And if I win, you take off an item of clothing," Simon finished. Cara stared agape at the man in the wake of his terms. She was starting to feel a lot less reluctant about letting him loan her the money for her car.

CHAPTER 5 She set her drink down and moved to haul herself up out of the pool. Simon caught her by the elbow with an apologetic laugh. "I'm sorry, Cara, I was only joking—" The girl turned and shot out of his grasp, propelling herself off the side of the pool and diving back into the water for an easy head start. She tried not to grin triumphantly as she arced through the water, pulling one arm up over her head, then the next, as she swam like hell for the finish line… Her body may have been perfectly streamlined, but Simon's was more powerful by far. Her eyes popped open as he surged past her, his arms and shoulders working in perfect tandem to form a swimmer's wingspan she had no hope of matching. She realized too late that she had made a huge error in judgment by challenging the man to a race in his own pool. Her hand came down on the jutting edge of the pool, and she raised herself up from the water with a gasp. Any hope she may have had of still winning against him was crushed when she saw that Simon was awaiting her arrival. His auburn hair was dark with pool water and slicked back from his chiseled face, giving her a comprehensive look at just how strong his bone structure really was. He was gazing at her strangely, as if he didn't know what to expect. But Cara had lost, fair and square, even if she hadn't exactly played

by the rules to start with. She turned without a word to deliver Simon's prize. Her hands came up around her back, but she froze when she felt them butt up against his own. “This wasn't part of the deal,” she breathed, even as her hands fell away to allow him access. She felt the clasp of her bra constrict and release beneath dexterous fingers; she thought she felt an additional stroke down her bared back, but it might have only been a glancing touch. She shivered as Simon took her bra away and reverently set it aside back on dry land. She turned herself fully to face him, refusing to react with the shyness she felt. Her pert breasts glowed almost incandescently beneath the water as she issued a wordless challenge to him: a real gentleman wouldn't look. But challenge or not, how could any man be expected to resist the pull between them? It might have been gravity that caused his eyes to drop and take in his reward. Though the water that they had submerged themselves in was warm, her nipples pebbled and hardened beneath his gaze. She waited for him to lift a hand—could feel that he wanted to—but the man did not. "One more race," he whispered, and Cara folded her arms across her chest to obscure it from view. "No more races. You're clearly going to win, and I have a feeling I know what the stakes are going to be this time." Simon grinned unabashedly. "I'll even give you a head start this time." She didn't know why she thought this race would turn out any differently. She had helped herself to a head start the first time, after all, but something about his smug expression made Cara believe she actually stood a chance of wiping it off his face for good.

Less than a minute later, they were both on the opposite end of the pool, and the smug expression still hadn't left Simon's face. Cara could feel the flush that burned its way across her cheeks. There was no way she was letting the arrogant Englishman undress her any further; she hastily wriggled out of her panties, all the while resisting the urge to fling them at his face. He would probably enjoy that too much. Instead, she deposited them in a wet heap on the side of the pool and turned back to him defiantly. "You win," she said haughtily. "Do you play this game with all the women you invite down to your private pool, or is this a special occasion?" "There are no other women." Simon's smile folded into a more serious expression, almost contemplative. The admission took Cara by surprise: clearly he was wealthy, and clearly he wasn't unattractive. If anything, Simon was one of the single most attractive men she had ever seen in her life, and it wasn't just his Gentleman's Quarterly good-looks at play. He was an infuriating person to talk to, but talking to him came so easily. Meeting him for the first time out on the lawn had almost felt like reuniting with an old friend…a friend she admittedly knew nothing about. She didn't even know what part of England he was from, or why he had isolated himself out here alone in the first place. Cara drew closer to him. "You know…" she began quietly, "I've never been able to float. I always sank like a stone when I was a kid. That's why my parents were so adamant I learn to swim." She paused. "Will you try something with me?" They swam together out to the center of the pool to where Simon's feet could still touch the bottom. Cara turned herself over in the water,

breasts breaching the surface to glisten in the light, her taut, smooth stomach bared to him; Simon's hands came up at once beneath the arched incline of her back to support her, and she remained floating at the top of the water. She smiled up at him, before allowing her arms to drift out over her head. While the feeling was heavenly, having his eyes riveted on her the entire time felt completely sinful. A little payback for his victory in their race against one another: she would make him hold his trophy. "I confess I could have never imagined myself in this situation," Simon murmured as they revolved together in the water. "Not when I first saw you standing rain-soaked at the gate yesterday. I thought you were so beautiful. My thoughts didn't do you justice." "I can't believe any of this either," Cara confessed as she drifted lazily at the mercy of his touch. "At first I was a little scared of this place. And you… I thought you were so infuriating." "And now?" Simon asked quietly. He took his hands away, and Cara floated right-side up to face him. She moved her arms instinctively around his neck to keep herself from sinking. "I still feel the same," she admitted. Simon was watching her lips move earnestly, but it wasn't to better understand the shape of her words. She had barely told him she found him insufferable before his mouth was swooping in to capture hers, his large hands coming up to cradle her face. Her reaction to the kiss was instantaneous, and in direct opposition to everything she had just said she felt about him. Cara met his challenge for a third time that afternoon by eagerly pushing back against him, opening her mouth against his and allowing his tongue to slip inside. She wrapped her

legs reflexively around his waist, securing herself to him, feeling his rapidly hardening length rise up beneath her. The firm insistence of Simon's erection took her breath away as much as the dominating power of his kiss. He pushed them through the water until Cara felt her naked back come up against the abrasive side of the pool. She arched in protestation of being pinned, but the pressure of Simon's body against her was relentless. She was helpless in his arms, helpless to do anything but submit to the explosive way that he kissed her; she felt taken, and he hadn't even entered her yet. He pulled her full lower lip between his teeth, and Cara gasped wildly into his mouth at the sensation. One hand had come up to grasp her bare breast; Simon rolled the flesh in the heated palm of his hand as he kissed her, until both of her nipples hardened with the extremeness of her arousal. His other hand gripped her flank beneath the water, pulling her against him, making her feel his erection butting up against her entrance. She was completely at his mercy. An intelligent young woman with a blistering wit, and this was what he had reduced her to in an instant—a slick, aching body pliant and ready to be used as he saw fit, if only it would bring her physical release from the torturous ministrations of his touch. The hand moved up from her breast to grip the roots of her scalp, pulling her hair. Cara let her head fall back with a gasp, and Simon's mouth found the exposed curve of her throat. She clutched at him as he sucked her tender flesh, raising a mark that neither of them would be able to deny the existence of—she felt utterly claimed by him. "Cara." He murmured her name into the base of her neck, and she gasped her response, too dizzy to come up with anything clever, not even his own name. She was too distracted by the kiss to notice immediately that

one of Simon's hands had disappeared beneath the water, and it wasn't until she felt the gentle press of it at the crevice of her thighs that she understood. She bucked in response, disbelieving what he was doing, but the hand was insistent. She felt his pointer finger unfurl and delve for her core, petting and pressing the mound of flesh until she was helplessly moaning with every stroke. She tried to bite down on her lip to keep quiet, but Simon would have none of that; he raised his head back up and kissed her once more, deeply and thoroughly, and Cara could taste the sweet nectar of oranges and alcohol on his lips. Then he pulled back to admire the breathlessness of her expression, his eyes hooded with desire. "It's not so bad losing to me," he murmured, and in that moment Cara felt a slick finger enter her. She gave a start, gripping Simon's shoulders as he bent his mouth once more to her neck. She let her head fall back, her eyes drifting closed, as she let herself ride the sensation of— A door closed somewhere back down the hallway, and the two of them wrenched apart like guilty schoolchildren caught playing doctor. Cara barely had time to sink her chest back down below the water's surface before a very proper man in a suit appeared at the entrance to the underground natatorium. He looked to be in his sixties, and was such a jowly, severe-faced fellow that she wasn't at all surprised to discover was English. "Sir," the man addressed Simon. Simon had managed to move to the opposite end of the pool, and was currently pouring himself another glass of orange juice. Cara wondered if he actually intended to drink it, or if it

was all a ruse to distract their intruder. "You told me to bring you the day's updated weather report within the hour." "Has it been an hour already?" Simon asked airily. Cara, too, had lost track of time. "Well, go ahead with it, Gerald." "Sir, it's not looking as if the rain will let up anytime soon," the butler replied. "Downpours have been predicted for the entire day, with only intermittent breaks in the weather. Thunder and lightning with possible gale-force winds have been predicted for the evening. I'm sorry, ma’am," he added, surprising Cara as he addressed her directly. "It appears as though you are to remain our guest for a while longer." "Oh, that's…" Cara lifted her hand up out of the water to signal it was no problem, and tried not to look at the very real problem who was currently pretending to occupy himself with the pool's glassware. "… Really, I hope I'm not intruding," she finished. It was not the complete sentence she had hoped for. Gerald the butler inclined his head, bowing stiffly, and excused himself without a further word. Once he had gone, she returned her gaze to Simon, but the man wouldn't turn around to look at her fully. "Sorry," he said after a very long and drawn-out moment."I, ah… haven't had company in a while." Cara blinked. She had no idea what to say to this. His words seemed vaguely ridiculous considering where his hands had just been, but the man remained steadfast in his refusal to resume their earlier intimacy. Instead, she watched as Simon lifted himself easily out of the water; she was too confused by his words to fully enjoy the vision of his tight and

well-formed backside, but as her gaze drifted upward, any distraction she may have felt vanished in an instant. How had she not noticed it before? The bunched muscles of Simon's back relaxed as soon as he was back on dry land…revealing a tortured network of old scars that crossed and re-crossed the naked canvas of the man's flesh. The raised marks covered his entire left side, although they must not have extended all the way to the front—Cara was sure she would have noticed them before if they had—they trailed as far as his right shoulder before dissipating. Simon crossed to pull open a tall cabinet and remove two silk robes. He donned one, concealing the scars from view once more, before turning to offer her the other. By this time, Cara had glided the length of the pool and was making her way slowly up the stairs in the shallows. Simon met her at the top of the pool, and she paused, hand still on the slick railing, her legs ankle-deep in the water. She met his eyes, and saw something strange pass across his expression. Was it remorse? She took the offered robe eventually, and he politely turned his gaze away as she put it on. Like that was going to make a difference now to either of them. "Of course we don't mind having you stay with us another night," he added quickly. "I'll see to the dinner preparations, shall I? …All right. Miss Langford." He dismissed himself in a jumble of good manners and left. Cara gripped the shoulders of the robe, searching around her for something to find fault with. Her eyes alighted on the drained pitcher of mimosa and she

glared at it. Mainly, she wanted to find fault with Simon's dutiful butler, Gerald, but the latter wasn't here at the moment. He had departed, just as Simon had, leaving her alone and physically frustrated beyond belief.

CHAPTER 6 Two things had been made clear to Cara in the course of that afternoon. One: intermittent breaks or not, the rain wasn't about to let up long enough for any tow company in the county to risk coming to her rescue. Two: Simon Banning, the mystery man who housed her, was an amazing lover. True, they hadn't gotten anywhere close to doing the deed—at least, not as close as Cara in that moment would have wanted—but she felt that there were plenty of clues to lead her to this conclusion all the same. She tried not to imagine that it was her journalist's instincts that were being put to use now, but the evidence was increasingly being stacked against him: evidence like the sinfully skillful way he had first kissed; the way he had pinned her beneath him against the wall without an ounce of reservation about it; the expert way his fingers had caressed and opened her to him. He had made her crave the treatment, crave his touch and his touch alone, and now he had left Cara high and dry in every maddening sense of the words. "'Sorry'?" she hissed to her reflection in the mirror. "'I haven't had company in a while'?" She was currently holed up in her quarters and sitting in front of the vanity. It had taken a while to find her way back, admittedly, considering that Simon had just left her there alone in the basement story

of the mansion. It was only after she had wandered the upper halls for ten minutes in nothing but an expensive bathrobe that she had managed to grab hold of a servant and request a guide back to her room. Her aggravation with her host was full-bodied. Any positive thoughts she had been entertaining about the man now seemed to have vanished completely; the only credit she would grudgingly admit to giving him was that he knew what he was doing when it came to making love. Her body still burned with the echoes of his touch. She might have felt extremely cross and annoyed by him, but there was no part of her that would resist him if he came on to her again. Cara was so mixed up in Simon that she had already arrived at the conclusion that the only way to get the man out of her mind—and out of her system—was to let him finish what he had started. But that seemed unlikely now. Cara set her hairbrush aside on the vanity, and tried not to notice the disappointed look that her reflection wore at the thought. She needed to turn her mind to other things; otherwise she risked going crazy. Inevitably, her thoughts returned to the vision of Simon's sculpted, dripping body, but she decided to hone her attention in on something very different this time. His scars. The memory was still fresh in her head, and she thought she could recall the old injuries clearly now. How had he gotten them? Was the story behind them what had contributed to his complete withdrawal from society? They were expansive, but hardly hideous—at least to Cara's mind. They were storied, and interesting, which were traits she coveted as a student. They gave fascinating character to a man that she was increasingly starting to suspect might be otherwise physically perfect in every way.

So what was the story behind Simon Banning? Was it vanity at a perceived disfigurement that kept him imprisoned inside his own vast estate? As much as she currently didn't want to give the man credit for anything, Cara somehow doubted it. Simon was a bit eccentric, but she doubted the scars were capable of striking a true blow to his confidence. Maybe it was the circumstances surrounding how he had acquired them, then, that had traumatized him. She sighed in frustration and rose from her seat at the vanity. All of this would be relatively simple to work out if the man himself were here. Cara would have had a few other things to work, too, with Simon in her bedroom. He did not join her for dinner that evening, but she found him in one of the downstairs studies, nursing what looked like a strong drink and staring out the window. Rain buffeted the side of the house, driving against the mansion's foundations so relentlessly that it no longer sounded like the onslaught of individual drops from the morning, but more like a dull roar. Simon turned when she entered, his expression severe. "It's not getting any better out there," he said, but Cara cared nothing about the weather. She crossed to the center of the room by the blazing hearth and stood before it with her arms stubbornly crossed as she glared at him. "I'm leaving tomorrow," she informed him. "Rain or shine." "Rain," Simon said with certainty. "I wanted to thank you for your hospitality," she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. "But there are a few things I think you should know,

as one person to another, and I don't think these are things your servants will feel comfortable telling you." Simon's expression changed immediately to one of amusement, and Cara wished the reappearance of the man's smile didn't flood her with momentary relief. She didn't like seeing him look worried, or haunted; she wondered what expression he was used to wearing when she wasn't here. Simon detached from the window to join her by the fire, alighting on the opposite end of the mantle and propping his forearm comfortably atop it. He leaned toward the warmth of the fire and sipped his drink, eyes never leaving her. He was dressed in slacks and a drab-colored sweater once more, but the light of the fire edged him in gold; he couldn't help but look wealthy in his complete ease. "The staff tells me everything," he said. "Even the things I don't want to hear. That's why I keep them hired on. Do you really think you have any special insight into me after having only been here a day?" Cara was undeterred. "This is how I'm choosing to express my gratitude to you," she said. "These are just my observations, and you can take them or leave them. I think you have a drinking problem." Simon's eyebrows lifted at the unexpected introduction to her list. He opened his mouth as if about to argue, before his gaze was drawn to the conspicuous crystalline glass he held in his other hand. Cara almost imagined she could smell the pungent aroma of the expensive alcohol drifting to her from where she stood. "…How can you possibly arrive at a conclusion like that already?" he inquired. He did not appear angry with her directness, only genuinely

perplexed. "I have a predilection for alcohol, it's true, but there's nothing much else to do when the weather gets like this. Why do you perceive it as a problem?" "It's not the fact of your drinking," Cara said. "But it's the fact that I can only assume you started this morning, early, when we were both having breakfast, and have carried on like this all day. It doesn't seem to having a significant effect on you outside of…" But she quickly skipped over a recollection of their earlier exertions. "It doesn't seem to be having a significant effect on you, which leads me to assume you have already developed an extremely high tolerance to it. A man of your size and weight should be able to put away more than someone like me, it's true, but this sort of extended day-drinking shouldn't be sustainable, unless it's something you're used to doing often." Simon said nothing immediate at the conclusion of her monologue. After a moment, he set his drink down on the mantle, but Cara noted that it was empty anyway. "Go on then," he said quietly. "What else?" She hesitated slightly, but the invitation to continue had been extended. She noted the amused smile had faded from Simon's face, but the way the flickering fire cast shadows across his expression was making it difficult for Cara to interpret what he was thinking. "You're lonely," she said finally. "I don't know how long you've been living this way, but I'm guessing you've been here a while. Real friendships with the people you employ, with the individuals whose livelihoods you are directly responsible for, are next to impossible…but I think you know this already. So you can't

use them as an excuse for not seeking out human connection. I think between alcohol and solitude, you're slowly killing yourself. I think you might even be doing it on purpose." The room plunged into silence in the aftermath of her conclusion. Even the thundering of the rain outside seemed to dissolve into the background as Cara felt the weight of her words. It had been a fleeting thought, to be sure, but she hadn't expected that she would express it now to the man. Her anger at him had long subsided, and she appeared to now be processing what she had said as much as he was. They stood across from one another, but neither made eye contact. "What did you say it was you do for a living?" Simon asked after a long moment. "I'm a student," she said simply. The spell was broken, and she moved away from the fire to occupy a chair close to it. The cushion was so wide that she was able to pull her legs up and cross them beneath her. She felt suddenly self-conscious, though she didn't know why she should feel this way. She had only been telling Simon the truth as she saw it. Besides, after tomorrow, it wasn’t like she would ever see him again. The man did something surprising, then: he moved to join her where she sat, lowering himself down onto the rug until his head was level with her knee. Cara hadn't expected the change in positions, and drew back slightly at his sudden closeness…but Simon did nothing untoward, only propped his arm on the cushion beside one of her legs. She wished she didn't feel the warmth of his proximity so acutely—maybe it was only due to the fact that he had been standing so close to the fire.

"It's interesting," he said finally. "To have an outsider's perspective on things. You are right in presuming that these are not things anyone on the staff would feel comfortable telling me. It is a lot for me to process." "Feel free to forget everything I just said," Cara mentioned. She hated herself the next instant for trying to retract her statements, but she was afraid she had overstepped. "I mean it. It's just…" She struggled silently for the words. She hadn't been expecting such a ponderous reaction from the man—then again, Simon always reacted in a way that she wasn't expecting. "I…I don't know why I felt like telling you. It's none of my business. You're just…" She sighed gustily. "I felt like you deserved to know. Because I think you are a good person. At the end of the day, you've been nothing but compassionate toward my situation—even if you do drive me a little bit crazy. I'd even go so far as to say I might miss you when I'm gone." She let her eyes fall to him, and saw that he was looking up at her from his position on the floor. The hand beside her leg moved, and she felt the touch of his fingers alight on her thigh, gently. The mansion was kept warm, and she had left her room earlier in a skirt and stockings—maybe it had been her intention to make him look, a little, at the tight young body he had abandoned back in the pool. "Miss me?" he repeated. "I doubt it. You'll forget all about me once you're back out there in the world. I'd prefer it if you did, actually." "You're lying." The ghost of a smile turned up one side of Cara's face, but it was hard to maintain amusement at his claims with his hand moving up toward the high hem of her skirt. She didn't sense any lascivious

intention behind the man's touch—it was almost absentminded on his part, as if his hand sought the comfort of a physical connection without his full awareness. The drag of his fingertips across her bare skin set her heart fluttering faster, and all of a sudden she wanted it again—the press of his fingers in her most secret spaces, the feeling of him stroking her deep inside. One hit and she was already addicted to the rush he could give her, the feeling of forbidden pleasure stolen in a heated moment. "I am," he admitted. "I don't want you to forget me so easily. That's why I—" He appeared to notice the ascent of his hand then, but he didn't withdraw it. After a moment's quiet consideration, he allowed it to trespass beneath the girl's skirt. Cara, no longer able to contain her reaction to his touch, shuddered at the luxurious feeling. She felt his fingers massage her inner thigh, his thumb stroking measured sweeps across her trembling flesh. Her muscles tensed at the intruder in a last, desperate attempt to resume control of her body's too-eager responsiveness. He was driving her crazy, but she refused to come undone so early and so easily—especially when he was watching her to gauge her response. "That's why I had to touch you," he whispered. "That's why I couldn't help myself in the pool. From the start, you seemed so eager to enter my life and throw it into complete turmoil, that I had to make you feel some of what you had done to me. I've been desperate to claim some part of you ever since you walked through my front gates. I never realized you would be so willing. I thought just being around me infuriated you." "You do infuriate me," Cara panted. The hand was pushing against her harder now, gripping her thigh almost possessively, and she wanted so badly to be possessed by him. "I can't wait to leave. I wish I could leave

right now." "You're lying." Now it was his turn to flip the quiet accusation on her. "I felt you in the pool earlier. You might remember how deeply I felt you." As he spoke the word, she felt the stroke of a finger across the crotch of her underwear, but he gave her nothing more. Cara tried to summon the wherewithal to hold perfectly still beneath his toying caresses, but it was not going well for her. "You let me inside you, Cara. I never imagined you would be so tight." "You can't have had long to imagine it," Cara noted quietly. "Since I first laid eyes on you," he said. "I've wanted absolutely nothing else. I barely slept at all last night, and that was before I'd even spoken to you. The thought of your body beneath the sheets that I owned… It seemed cruel that I shouldn't be beneath them with you. I don't think I've ever met someone as exquisitely and effortlessly sexy as you are. And that fire…" Simon breathed in suddenly, and Cara realized he wasn't talking about the one burning in the hearth beside them. "What a temptation you are." "Just let yourself be tempted, then." Cara pushed back against him, and now it was Simon's turn to shudder. "Come on," she egged him. The fire in her, the fire that enflamed Simon, made it sound almost as if she had just issued a challenge. "I promise I won't think you're a bad host if you take advantage of your position." Simon had risen to kneel before her in the chair. Cara uncurled her legs, and was pleasantly startled when the man grasped her thighs and yanked her against him. Seeing him momentarily lose control of his urges

for her was an incredible aphrodisiac. Cara threaded her arms around his neck to keep herself upright, moving in for a kiss in the same instant she ground her hips against his. Simon moaned deeply, and Cara took advantage of his helplessly parted lips to return the kiss he had given her back in the pool. Their tongues met in a hot tangle, and she slowly undulated against him all the while, relishing the pelvic friction. She felt Simon's hand come up beneath her ass to grip it, completely oblivious to the obstruction of her skirt; his fingers pressed against the tissue-thin fabric of her underwear from behind as he grasped her rear, dictating the rhythm of her movements. It wasn't long at all before Cara felt the telltale bulge in the front of his pants that told her she was doing an excellent job. She aligned it for her next upward sweep, and was rewarded for her efforts when they both gasped aloud into the kiss; were they not wearing clothes, they would already be fucking. The thought sent a dark thrill through her, and she insistently thrust her hips against him again. The hands on her waist pushed her to an immediate stop, and she could see that Simon was breathing raggedly. "I can't," he said. "This is a mistake, with you. I'm your host, and… you shouldn't feel as if you owe me anything, Cara. It's best if I don't let myself get into this position with you again." Simon rose, and Cara shifted forward in the chair, pulling her skirt back down. She was too aroused to feel properly angry this time; there was confusion, certainly, but also a vague sort of amusement felt at Simon's expense. The Englishman who had proved himself so adept at seduction looked ruffled, torn between his duties as a host and his desires as a man. His auburn hair, still just a bit too long, fell in his face, and he pushed it

back distractedly. She watched him leave the room, still aching for him, but she didn't follow after him. She took satisfaction in the fact that there was only one place he could escape to with an erection like that, and that there could only be one thought on his mind as he took care of the inconvenience himself.

CHAPTER 7 That night Cara dreamed that Simon entered her room. In the dream she sat up expectantly. She was unsurprised to see him, had even been anticipating that he would come. A low knock, and then the door eased open before him. He stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light of the hall. Cara shifted the blankets aside eagerly, about to stand to go meet him, but Simon was already entering the room. He showed no hesitation in advancing on her. That's how she knew it was a dream. She knew it, also, because he was shirtless, and she could see that the scars she had observed on his back now extended to his neck and chest. She didn't care—it was her brain's way of telling her that she needed to focus more on solving the puzzle of the man's accident, when all she really wanted to do in that moment was solve the puzzle of how they fit together. Simon came to her, and she threw her arms around him as he mounted the bed and forced her down beneath him, moving himself with urgency between her thighs. Suddenly they were naked and entwined, sweating, rocking and moaning and calling out each other's names into the night… Cara awoke the next morning in a tangle of sheets and matted blond hair. Her heart was hammering in her throat, and she ached all over with unreleased desire. She couldn't take much more of this. She needed to

leave today, or she risked devolving into a complete sexual deviant. In the aftermath of her scorching hot dream, she could scarcely think of anything else. She took a very long, very cold shower, and allowed the fantasy events from last night to fade away beneath the sobering sting of the water. Her struggle to cast the dream aside left her thinking on the very real events of yesterday, which weren't much better by comparison. There was no denying that Cara and Simon were extremely attracted to each other, to the point that they were willing to forego their usual reservations to give into their passions completely… Well, almost completely. Not completely enough. It was disappointing to think about, but maybe an ultimate union between them really was better left to dreams. Cara stepped out of the shower, feeling slightly guilty for subconsciously using Simon like that. Her embarrassment only increased as the day wore on, until she could scarcely look her host in the eye without blushing at the thought of what he had been unknowingly doing to her all night long. Simon, too, seemed to have some difficulty looking at her directly, but this may have only been due to the memory of where his hands had been—repeatedly—the day before. "I was going to go down to the road and have a look at your car," he mentioned over their late breakfast together. "If you'd like to come with me." "Probably a good idea," Cara agreed, and the two of them set off together into the morning. A rare break in the weather allowed for their journey off the property, but they dressed appropriately: sweaters, rain

slickers, and galoshes that easily extended over the top of Cara's knees. There was nothing her size stocked in the closet, so she was once more forced to wear his. They slogged together through the mud as they made their way down the driveway. Her car was parked along the side of the road where she had left it. The ditch beside it was filled almost to brimming with rushing, claycolored water—Cara really didn't like the look of it, but it seemed a while yet before it was liable to spill over into the road. She checked all four doors for any sign of a leak as Simon stooped to examine the black mud below the undercarriage. "Somehow, I thought I'd be able to solve this for you," he apologized. "The servants already gave me a full report of the damage, but I wanted to have a look myself. It looks like you're completely bogged down. We might be able to get you out if everyone on staff spent the day out here with shovels and boards, but that unfortunately wouldn't solve the situation with your back tire. It's…" "Completely blown," Cara finished for him. "I know. I guess I was hoping you might have a spare somewhere in your garage." "Nothing that would fit this model, unfortunately." She thought she didn't need to ask what kind of car Simon drove. She was sure it was something expensive, something he wouldn't want to risk out on the open road. She was sure that he… "There's the potential that I could drive you into town," he mused. His offer took her by complete surprise. Cara stood up from where she had been rummaging through her glove compartment, blinking in astonishment.

Simon still wasn't looking at her, but he was gazing back down the long stretch of road this time, musing on his idea as if he could see it coming toward them in the distance. He was wearing a knit winter hat to keep the chill wind off; it pulled his shaggy hair back from his face, and she could see his expression with striking clarity. It took her a moment to recover from how handsome he looked. "I have it on good authority that the road south is blocked," Simon continued. "That's on the authority of Gerald and Melinda, anyway, who've scarcely been away from their radio in the kitchen. It's possible I could take you up north into the next town. It would be a few hours' drive to get there, and it would be in the direction opposite of where you're trying to head. But you might stand a better chance of convincing someone face-to-face to drive back out here with you and help you." "You personally?" Cara inquired, before realizing that the standalone question didn't make any sense. "I mean, you would take me into town?" Simon ducked his chin quickly, appearing to regret his words. "One of the servants would take you," he said eventually. "I have a professional driver residing on the property that I can vouch for personally. He would be happy to finally be put to some use." "I'd like it better if you drove me, though." Cara closed the passenger side door and circled back around behind the car. Simon still wouldn't look at her. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "But trust me when I say it's better for everyone this way."

"But I don't trust you," Cara pointed. "I think you're sneaky. I think you seduce unsuspecting young women you find broken down along the road, and that you listen in on peoples' phone calls." Simon glanced up sharply at this, but Cara was smiling victoriously. He hadn't let himself look at her all morning, but now she had his full attention. The man immediately saw what her game had been, and smiled sheepishly in response. "You don't want me to drive you, Cara," he said finally. "I don't have a license to drive here in America, and I'm certainly not going to let you behind the wheel of my car while I ride shotgun. Judging from the state of your own vehicle, it would be far too expensive a risk." "So I guess I'm stuck here," Cara concluded as they walked back up the road to the mansion together. It was certainly not the outcome she had been hoping for when she woke up that morning—at least, not the outcome she was willing to admit she had been hoping for. Regardless, she tried not to sound too giddy at the prospect of one last night spent in Simon's company. A sly look his way caught the tail end of a smile, before the Englishmen glanced off in the opposite direction. "That would be a good guess," he mused. "Shall we go swimming again?" Cara suggested innocently. The man immediately froze on the path beside her, but she kept walking as if she hadn't noticed. A few quick strides carried him back abreast of her. "Absolutely not," he whispered harshly, as if they were in danger of being overheard. Cara's eyebrow tugged upward in amusement, but she made no remark as they continued up the driveway. "Rather, I mean…you

are more than welcome to use the facility as you wish. I've had…quite enough swimming for the week." He was making it too easy to tease him this morning, and Cara wondered at the flustered change. She hadn't noticed him drinking over breakfast—maybe that had something to do with it? Or maybe it was something else that now triggered his easy embarrassment. Something like a dream… They had barely made it halfway up the hill before the clouds converged once more overhead. The sunlight waned, and they simultaneously glanced up to watch it vanish completely. Cara felt a first drop of rain splash down on her nose, and scrunched her expression in distaste. "Won't it ever let up?" she exclaimed as they started to run for shelter. "Even for a moment?" In response, she felt Simon grasp her hand. Her heart thrilled at the unexpected contact, but she lost it in the next moment when the sole of her boot slipped in the freshly churned mud and she fell elbows first onto the ground. The splash back of her fall seemed absurd by comparison; it burst upward, completely painting the front of her jeans, jacket, and, worst of all, face. Cara's mouth fell open in a gasp of horror. It was as if time froze as she picked herself back up again, running similarly drenched fingers along the crease of her eyes in an effort to clear holes in the mud mask. She was dimly aware of Simon's uproarious laughter—so much for being a gentleman—and then was made more immediately aware of the fact that the man had slipped on his way back to her. He went down backwards in

another eruption of mud, but the angle of his fall didn't save him from a fate similar to Cara's own; the mud collapsed back down in a wave on top of him, covering him completely. Cara raised herself up victoriously from the stew and laughed. "Karma!" she exclaimed. "I was coming back to get you!" Simon yelled miserably, but she could hear the helpless laugh in his own voice. The rain ran in twisting rivulets down through the filth that covered him. It might have been in their best interest to stay out there and let the rain wash them clean, but it was colder now that the clouds had eclipsed the New England sun completely. Cara struggled through the mud back toward him and held out her hand. "Come on," she invited. As soon as Simon had grasped her and started to haul himself up, she pretended to lose her grip; she let the man's hand slip between her fingers, and turned her head aside at the last minute to avoid getting splashed with more mud from his fall. "Cheeky girl!" he exclaimed. Cara tried not to let another laugh at his expense give away her game, but it failed. She had just bent to offer her hand again, when she felt a leg sweep hers out from beneath her. She had time to emit a very colorful curse before she fell forward. Thankfully, rather than face-plant in the mud, it was the body of a very filthy Englishman that caught her fall. Then they were kissing, and through the mess and the driving rain, Cara felt her feelings for the man surge unchecked to the forefront once more. She didn't care about the dirt or the grit or the swampy consistency of his driveway; all she cared about was how familiar the press of his lips

felt now against hers. All she could think was that it had been too long already since their last session, and that she was determined to make up for lost time. Simon reared up into a sitting position beneath her, carrying her out of the worst of the mud astride his lap. Cara never broke from him; her lips roved against his firmly, desperately, and Simon returned her energy with an eagerness all his own. She felt his hands push up beneath the back of her shirt, painting the arched incline of her bare skin with mud as he kissed her with abandon. The rain washed their faces clean, and made each joining of their lips more slippery and sensuous than the last. His other hand cradled the back of her head as he kissed her, and Cara felt herself melt against him. The heat of her attraction to Simon burned almost unbearably hot, it was true, but this felt different than their previous encounters. This felt deeply passionate, and Cara sensed something tremble within her at the realization that her feelings for the man extended much further than just needing sexual satisfaction. He was interesting, and funny, and more than a little mysterious…and God, the way he kissed her, alternating sides and tonguing his way to the roof of her mouth, as if kissing was the filthiest and most fulfilling thing that a man and a woman could do to each other… A booming crack of thunder overhead broke them apart. Cara gasped and turned her head up. She regretted the move instantly. Rain flooded down her face, and she took in another startled, slightly choked breath. The noise resolved into a laugh of disbelief at their circumstances. She felt Simon's hand cup the back of her neck, and glanced down to see the man smiling fondly at her. His smile receded some with the next boom of

thunder. "We had better get inside," he said. "Melinda will not be happy with me, but I'd rather face her rage than that of the oncoming storm." "I think the storm has arrived," Cara mentioned as they got to their feet; no tricks this time. "Thank you for letting me stay another night." It was getting harder and harder to assume the role of the indebted guest when her host insisted on kissing her senseless every chance he got. Simon nodded, studying her a moment longer, before seeming to arrive at some private conclusion about her. He raised his hand to her face, sweeping his thumb through a patch of mud on her cheek, but there was no hope for it: he was right. They needed to head back inside. They walked slowly together up the remaining length of the driveway, and were admitted almost at once. Cara found herself whisked off to her room to change by Melinda. She managed a glance behind her as she disappeared up the stairs, and watched as Simon accepted the towel that Gerald offered him; in the next moment, she saw him put his hand up to refuse the drink that was poured and ready to be pressed into his palm. As Melinda tutted, Cara turned back around and smiled to herself.

CHAPTER 8 She could hardly wait for dinner to arrive that evening. By the time it struck seven o'clock, Cara was already halfway down the stairs to the dining room. She had cleaned up well, and after drying and curling her hair into soft golden ringlets, she had crossed to her suitcase and pulled it open. She had brought most of her nice things with her from school, considering she was spending the holidays with her family. The Langfords were definitely a clan that liked to dress up for pre-meal photos; now that most of the children were older, photos tended to dissolve fairy quickly into drinking games after that (Cara hadn't been excluded from these since she turned eighteen). She pulled out a blouse she had worn last Christmas at their family gathering and smiled fondly at the memories. She loved her family, and missed them fiercely while she was away at school. She had been out of communication with them for a few days now. She had finished finals midweek and left campus earlier than she had originally planned, intending to surprise them with her arrival home. They had no reason to be worried about not hearing from her, but she wondered if she should use the mansion's landline to call them. Something told her this would be more trouble than it was worth. She would have to explain that she had broken down, that the weather was bad and she couldn't get a tow, that she was staying in a stranger's house. She would have to explain Simon. And Simon, she was coming to find, was a man who was often

beyond explanation. When she was let into the dining room that evening by a smiling servant, Cara had already decided that she wouldn't make the call home. She would arrive on time like they had originally planned, and if the circumstances surrounding her eventful drive home to New Haven came up, well…she didn't think she would lie. There were a lot of parts she would obviously omit, but she didn't see the harm in sharing her harrowing story of survival with her family. She entered the dining room wearing a lightweight white dress with floral trim. She had bought it at Target, and she hoped the expensive decorations that surrounded her in the room wouldn't highlight the relative cheapness of her selection. She rarely wore it, even though it was her favorite dress. Tonight seemed as good an occasion as any to pull it out. This might be their last dinner together, after all, and Cara wanted to leave an impression that would last them both for a very long time to come. The man sitting at the end of the long table rose when she entered. It took Cara a moment to realize who it was—it was Simon, having undergone yet another minor transformation. His hair was cropped much shorter than it had been that morning, and was combed to the side handsomely. Most astonishing of all, he was wearing a dinner jacket. He no longer looked like a high fashion model trying to remain unnoticed in a knitwear magazine. He looked exactly like the man he was supposed to be, and it was only now that Cara recognized him. She breezed by the place that had been set for her at the opposite end and approached him, as if drawn by magnetism. Dark blue eyes took her in,

and she knew that the retail origins of her white dress didn't factor at all into his final estimation of her. In fact, after a long moment of being looked over, Cara was starting to doubt whether Simon saw the dress at all. Perhaps he was admiring his own memory of the body underneath. He lifted his hand to her, and Cara saw that he was holding a rose. "Where did you find that?" she gasped. She accepted it without a second thought, turning the beautiful blood-red flower over in her hands, before remembering that this sort of thing wasn't supposed to affect her, a modern American girl. She screwed up her expression to one of careful neutrality as she examined the rose. She could see Simon's amused smile lighting up his clean, handsome face, and knew that her efforts at impartiality to his gift came too late. "I mean, I would think it's been raining too hard to grow them yourself," she continued, as Simon signaled for a servant behind her to redress the table closer to him. "And I doubt that they drove it out from town to you in this weather." "I have my ways," Simon said mysteriously as they sat down. It really wasn't as effective when he was deliberately trying to be mysterious. Cara raised her eyebrow, but decided she wouldn't inquire further into the rose's origins. All that mattered was that it was with her now, and that Simon was the one who had given it to her. "I've been thinking…" Cara said, as pairs of hands appeared and disappeared around them, leaving behind plates of salad and steaming meat and sparkling water. "About my family mostly. They really are the best people to spend the holidays with." "Tell me more about them," Simon invited as he took her dinner plate

and served her himself. He sounded genuinely interested in her home life. "For instance, are your mother and father still together?" "Yes. And I have three brothers." She could feel herself becoming derailed, even though her family had been her intended topic of conversation. She needed to pull the trigger on her ultimate question before he distracted her any more. "What are their names?" Simon asked curiously. "Ages?" "Don't worry about those goons," Cara said with a brief flare of temper. Her idiot brothers were the last thing on her mind at the moment. "Simon, I'm trying to ask you if you would like to come and spend the holidays with my family." The hands above her plate stilled, and Cara took it away before the man could distract himself any more with it. His startled eyes locked with hers, and her expression softened at the genuine surprise she saw registered there. "We don't have to tell them who you are, or…what you come from." Cara gestured to the expansive hall of the dining room and all that it encompassed: the chandeliers, the crystals and fine china, the paintings on the walls, which she was pretty sure weren't reproductions. "We can make up a backstory. Really, I don't mind lying to my family. We do it all the time. They might not be the upper-crust types you're used to dealing with, but…" "I'm not used to dealing with anyone recently," Simon said quietly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that's the point of this invitation."

Cara fell silent as Simon reached for his glass. He didn't seem angry with her—quite the contrary. He appeared to be struggling with an expression of deep gratitude, which was why he was distracting himself with the water—but he did seem to be closing himself off to her invitation. When Cara couldn't immediately grasp his reasons for doing so, she felt the reemergence of temper once more. "Yes," she snapped. "Yes, Simon, that was the point of my invitation." One of my points, she corrected herself privately. The point is that I don't want this to be the last time we see each other. "The thought that I have a family to go back to, and that you, for whatever reason, have decided to exile yourself from society, is why I brought it up. Nobody deserves to be alone over the holidays…or any time of year, for that matter." "There might be people in the world who deserve it," Simon countered, and Cara's blood froze. He said it offhandedly, almost dismissively, but the expression on his face… He really meant it. And he meant it almost as a personal statement, like it was a motto or mantra he had forced himself to adopt long ago. "No!" Cara said rebelliously. "No, there aren't! And if there are, I refuse to believe you're one of them!" It was all she could do to keep herself from pounding the table to punctuate her point, but she had a feeling she had already lost this argument. She didn't want to let it go, but the more she pressed him, the more childish she was in danger of becoming—especially if the argument had already devolved to completely subjective opinions like "yes" and "no". "Cara." She felt two hands grasp hers beneath the table, and found

herself pulled to the edge of her seat. Simon was gazing at her once more in a way that made her heart quiver, like it had in the driveway. She hated how helpless she felt to help the owner of those kind blue eyes. "Thank you. You don't know how touched I am that you would say these things to me. And you don't know how tempted I am to accept your offer…but please understand that I cannot. I cannot spend the holidays with you or your family." "But you'll spend them here," Cara said. "All alone in this enormous house. Because you'll let the staff go home, won't you? They all have families they have to get back to. You'll dismiss them, and then you'll be left alone." Cara gazed at their joined hands beneath the table and said nothing more. Simon shifted uncomfortably at her summation of events as she foresaw them, but he didn't deny that she was correct. "What did you say it was you do for a living?" He echoed his own question from the day before. "Really, Cara, you could be a detective. The way your mind works these things out is extraordinary." "Stop it," she said. "I know you're trying to comfort me, but just stop it. I can't bear the thought of you being here alone, and now you know it. If you can't respect me enough to just give me a straight answer, then don't say anything at all." Simon withdrew his hands suddenly; the dishes rattled on the table, and for a moment Cara thought he had struck it. But he hadn't. He had risen so quickly that his knees had banged the underside of the dining table, but he didn't appear to notice. "And you must respect me enough to realize when you are asking for

the impossible. I can't tell you everything about myself, Cara. Don't you think I would have told it all to you already if I could?" Simon crossed to the window and stood, facing out toward the storm. Cara, who found that she had similarly lost her appetite, rose as well. "What's stopping you?" she demanded. "Simon, I have to know. I thought I didn't need to know anything more about you, but it does matter to me whether or not you're happy…regardless of whether or not I'm here to see it for myself. I didn't ask to break down in front of your house, and I didn't ask to give a damn about you, but all those things happened anyway. So just help me out with this one last thing—help me understand you!" "I can't," the man said quietly. Cara watched as the shadows from the rain sliding down the window were reflected in his face. "I respect the hell out of you, Cara, but I can't." It wasn't how she had wanted the night to end. She hadn't wanted to argue at all, and had even steeled herself against anything aggravating he might say or do before she came down the stairs. Now, she had no one to be angry with but herself. It had been a stupid idea to even bring the topic up. She should feel embarrassed, but all Cara really felt in that moment was disappointed. She set the rose down on the table and walked out. Simon didn't turn to watch her go; he said nothing as she departed, only kept his gaze on the window and the streaming world outside. She had made the mistake of caring about the man who had taken her in. She could see that now. She had allowed their flirtation to sweep her off her feet, when at the end of the day they could be nothing more than

strangers. Cara climbed the stairs to her room alone and tried not to think about what a waste their last night together had been. At the very least it had been a waste of a pretty dress. # A shadow moved beneath her doorway. Cara lay awake in her room, pretending to read, when really she had been waiting all along to see if Simon would show up. She positioned herself upright on the bed. She was still wearing her dress from dinner, but most of her curls had fallen out as the night progressed. The hours ticked by, conveyed to her by the clock on the mantle, but she had noticed no one outside her room until this moment. The shadow from the hallway skated restlessly back and forth beneath her door. It was Simon, of that she felt certain, but the man was clearly deliberating on whether or not he should knock. He would have seen the light from her lamp beneath the doorway; he knew she was awake. Then, anticlimactically, the shadow departed, and every sorry feeling Cara had been entertaining for them both gave way to a white-hot flash of anger. She threw the covers off the bed and stomped for the door— if she moved a little more quickly than usual, it was definitely not with the intention of intercepting him while he was still on her floor. That idiot! Was he really going to create, and then summarily give up,

their last chance to bridge the gap that had formed between them during dinner? Cara pulled the door open, but there was no one to be seen. Disappointed, she was just about to turn back around and put herself to bed for good this time, when something on the floor caught her attention. She squatted down, and lifted the rose that Simon had given to her at dinner back into her hands. This time there was a note attached to it: Cara, I went out yesterday morning to pick this for you. That is the secret. That was the day I found you stuck in the mud, if you recall. We hadn't even spoken yet, but I thought that you had met with so much dreariness and misfortune already that you deserved something beautiful to bring a smile back to your face. Imagine that you are the rose gifted to me under similar circumstances, and you will understand something of the feelings that I cannot express to you. You will find this in the morning, by which time my driver will have prepared the car to take you into town. He has instructions to do so regardless of weather. Thank you again for your invitation. Even if I cannot accept it, I will always remember it. Simon

It appeared as if there had been more written toward the end, but it had been hastily scribbled out. Cara stood in the doorway, clutching the rose and Simon's note tightly in her hands. If Simon thought she was such a brilliant detective, then surely he knew she would read between the lines of his words. He wasn't planning on being around in the morning when she left. The conversation in the dining room was to be their last real conversation. Cara's temper returned. How dare he decide the terms for her departure? Obviously it was his house, and obviously he had every right to send her on her way whenever he wished, but did he really get to dictate the terms of their final goodbye? No, Cara decided. No, he did not. She roamed the darkened halls for ten aimless minutes before she found Melinda. "Oh! Melinda, excuse me," Cara greeted the elder woman with an apologetic smile. "I just needed to let Simon know where the driver will be taking me tomorrow. Do you know if he's downstairs?" "He's just retired to his room for the evening," Melinda replied, pointing up a smaller flight of stairs that Cara had completely missed in the corner. "I'm sure he won't be bothered if you go and knock on his door. Mr. Banning is a bit of a night owl, you see, and I'm afraid he doesn't like storms much. I've just dropped off a nightcap for him." Cara climbed the stairs to the top floor of the mansion. She was greeted with fewer doors on this story than the seemingly innumerable ones

below, but she was uncertain of which was the door to Simon's room. She moved quietly out to the middle of the hallway, before noticing an empty silver tray lying in front of the centermost door. Cara raised her fist and knocked.

CHAPTER 9 Simon was relatively quick in answering the door; she assumed this was due to the fact that he probably thought she was Melinda returning with more alcohol. Just like her, he was still wearing his clothes from earlier in the evening. His shirt was untucked, and his dinner jacket hung off one shoulder as if he had been in the process of undressing. Cara slipped by him before he could say anything, or worse, bar her from entering. It was a rude thing to do in either of their cultures— enter without an invitation—but she assured herself that she was only doing what he had been too hesitant to do when he had hovered before her own door. "I got your note," she said unnecessarily; she was still holding it clutched in her hand. "I know I have to leave in the morning. I know you didn't want to see me again, but I couldn't just let it end with where we left it. Simon, I—" "Of course I did," he interrupted her fiercely. "Of course I wanted to see you again. But I knew what would happen if I did." Cara had crossed to the center of the man's bedroom. She turned now, and in the next moment, she dropped his parting gifts to her and forgot about them completely as he swept her up into a heated kiss. He dragged a hand down the side of her face, cushioning her head in his shoulder as he forced her mouth into submission to his; she tasted the burn of alcohol on his tongue, but noticed that he had set aside his glass to come to her. Cara threw her arms around his neck as she reclaimed his lips with

hers—or was it the other way around?—her head spinning with the final, intoxicating realization that she had brought down his last defense. Deep dark secrets or not, he was as helpless to resist the pull between them as she was. Simon whipped his dinner jacket off, never breaking from the kiss long enough to allow either of them to catch their breath. Cara grasped his face in her hands, and they moved backward together through the darkened room as he undressed. His shirt came off next, although she hadn't noticed when he had unbuttoned it; the sound of small scattering objects in their wake implied that he had wrenched it from his body without bothering to save a member of his staff a future repair job. She felt the flush of his naked chest against her, the tension in his coiled abdominal muscles, and thought she would go insane if she didn't find an expedient way to strip herself out of her own clothes. Favorite dress or not, Cara was so afraid of any little hitch halting the proceedings now that she was very near to tearing it off herself. Thankfully, Simon got to it first. He pulled the dress up and over her head, as if he had known all along that was how to get it off her; it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that his earlier study of her that evening had been for the express purpose of figuring out how to best get her naked. The thought made her shiver with barely contained happiness. No more swimming pool challenges—she had placed herself entirely in Simon's very capable hands. "You weren't wearing anything underneath it?" His breath caught at the sight of her standing in the spill of moonlight before him. Shadows from the rain outside raced across her pale, slender figure. "All evening?"

Cara raised an eyebrow and bit her lip, but she gave no response. Simon's hands roved down her, dipping into her every curve as he explored her thoroughly for the first time. This wasn't a stolen moment in one of the downstairs rooms, where they risked discovery at any moment—this was the privacy of the master's bedroom. And I'm here to be mastered, was Cara's fleeting thought, as she twined her arms around his neck and allowed Simon to carry her down onto the bed with a worshipful kiss. He trailed his lips down every exposed inch of her. Cara basked beneath his attentions, reveling in the articulation of that talented English mouth. When Simon made his next pass upward to kiss her lips, she arched against him and flipped him over. He was clearly the bigger and the stronger of the two of them, but he gamely allowed her to top him, and in the next instant she had his pants off. Cara raised her eyes to him, taking in his expression, before lowering her mouth down to encase his rigid length. Simon reacted immediately by bucking his hips up to meet her. An explosive moan tore from his throat, and Cara guessed that it had been a very long time since anyone had done this for him. She took him fully into her mouth, lowering her head back down as Simon's hand came up to grasp her hair by the roots. "Cara…" he moaned. "Cara, come here." She raised herself off him and kissed her way back up the length of his body. "What's wrong, Simon?" she murmured against his lips. "Too intense for you?" "If you want to make me come already, that's your prerogative," Simon gritted out through his teeth. No sooner had she surfaced from

beneath him than he was throwing her over onto her back and climbing on top of her. The box spring protested loudly beneath their bodies; Cara kicked her leg out as Simon lowered himself down between her thighs, aligning his pelvis with hers. He kissed her punishingly, before drawing away to whisper huskily: "But I'd rather shag, if it's all the same." "Finally," Cara gasped. "I've been waiting days for this. You really know how to keep a girl in suspense." "And you really know how to keep a bloke running to the cold showers," Simon muttered as he attacked her beneath her jaw. Cara turned her head sideways and gasped into the pillow, twisting and writhing in expensive and thoroughly sweat-soaked sheets. Her thighs felt slick with wanting as Simon thrust along the outer crease of her entrance. Cara gasped, pleaded, swore at him in turns for teasing her when she knew neither of them could bear it any longer. She could feel his hot breath on the sensitive shell of her ear, his lips murmuring words that she could scarcely put together anymore. "How badly do you want it, Cara?" Another thrust against her clitoris, and stars exploded behind her eyes and beneath her skin. It wasn't enough. She was in utter agony left unfulfilled like this. "Please," Cara begged him in a whisper. "God, Simon, I'll say anything you want if you just fuck me." She felt an almost unbearable pressure between her legs, and then a rush of release as Simon slid himself inside her. Cara cried out and clenched instinctively, and Simon groaned as she tightened around him. He drove into her, burying himself inch by agonizingly slow inch, drawing a

long and uninhibited moan from Cara. She really hoped that Melinda had gone to bed; at this rate, Simon was liable to wake the whole household with her. She felt helpless to contain her cries of pleasure as she contracted around his thick length. She had never been filled so completely. It was everything she had ever wanted, but her body told her it still wasn't enough. "You feel amazing," Simon murmured in her ear. He pushed a sweat-slicked curl back from her feverish forehead, and Cara moved her hips needfully. "God, Cara, you're going to make me come just by looking at me like that." "Fuck me," she whispered. "Please. Like you wanted to in the pool." Simon groaned and slid into her again. "Is that what you wanted? When I had my fingers inside you? God, that made me so hard. Just thinking about it later…the way you moved against my hand, wanting more…" "And in the living room," Cara gasped as he thrust into her. "When you had your hand beneath my skirt. I thought you were going to bend me over and take me right in front of the fire." "In front of the servants?" Simon asked as he bucked between her legs. Cara raised her hips off the bed and moaned in pure bliss at the friction he commanded. "Is that what you wanted?" He pumped into her again, and she cried out beneath him as his hand slid behind her back and kept her elevated. Each angled thrust hit something deep within her, something secret, and she could feel a sweet, unbearable pressure starting to build inside her. No man had ever made love to her with such

unrestrained intensity, and she doubted any man ever would. She was putty in his hands, moving as he dictated, certain that they had both imagined this scenario enough times to have the choreography memorized. Her hands stroked down his straining back, running over the scars, clutching at every raised muscle she could find. Cara was beyond returning his dirty talk. Her tongue felt heavy, and she was breathless with exertion; her ribs rose and contracted, her breasts slid and bounced beneath him, as he pushed her closer and closer to climax. Simon must have read something in the tensing expression on her face, because an irregular, penetrating thrust sent Cara unexpectedly over. Her eyes flew open, and she arched against the hand cradling the small of her back. The hands that gripped his shoulders dug into tendon and bone, and Simon hissed—not with pain, but because the vision of her own orgasm had ripped any control out from underneath him. He came hard, thrusting into her repeatedly as he spent himself. They gasped and moved together, until the rush of their shared pleasure slowly started to fade away again. Cara fell back against the pillow, raising a disbelieving hand to her forehead as Simon fell into bed beside her with a groan. Her heart raced as if she had just run a marathon, pumping blood through her still-singing veins. Had she really just come that hard, and in Simon's bed? Had they rbeally just done that? The sex was beyond description… Cara had never felt so physically satisfied in all of her life. And to think she had found complete gratification in the arms of the one whom she found completely infuriating. Speaking of arms, Simon's right arm snaked around her midriff

now to pull her against him. Cara, still distracted by the intense level of what they had just accomplished, was surprised by the move. She cemented against him snugly; of all the things to pass between them that night, it seemed ridiculous that this should be the thing that made her blush, but she could feel herself growing red all the same. "Aren't you going to kick me out?" she whispered. "I have to be gone in the morning, remember?" "Don't go," Simon muttered into her neck. She could feel her heart flutter up in her ribcage like an eager bird at his words, but she knew he didn't mean it. He looked half-asleep already, and his eyes were closed. She turned over in his arms and planted a chaste kiss on his lips in response. They would just have to see what the morning would bring. If there was one thing Cara was certain of, it was that absolutely everything had changed.

CHAPTER 10 Cara woke to weak sunlight and driving rain the next morning. She stirred groggily, raising a hand to the mussed-up left side of her hair, before her eyes flew open with the memory of the night before. She glanced wildly around for Simon. There was no one in the room with her; the sheets beside her were wrinkled, but cool to the touch. Wherever Simon was, he had left a while ago. She got out of bed and dressed herself, slowly, in the discarded number from the night previous. She then tiptoed out of the master bedroom and down the stairs to her own room to change. She shot frequent glances out the window as she did so, hoping to catch a glimpse of the master of the estate walking out on the grounds in the distance. It was hard to see anything through the continuous rain. She doubted Simon would have gone out in such weather, but where else would he be? As she came down to the foyer, she saw more servants than she had known were employed at the mansion assembled near the front doors. She moved immediately to Melinda, who made room for her by the window; the older woman hadn't taken her eyes off the pouring landscape outside. "What's wrong?" Cara murmured. She kept her voice low. "They're worried about Mr. Banning," Melinda replied. "He went out with the car several hours ago and hasn't been back since. He's not supposed to drive, you know. One of the servants overheard him telling Gerald that he was going into town to get a spare tire."

It took a moment for this information to sink in. Simon had left early, then, to procure the means to help her get home to her family. Cara pulled her hood up and grasped the spare pair of galoshes that were still stationed by the door from yesterday. "You know, I have to go down to my car anyway," she lied breezily. "Why don't I take a look anyway? Maybe his car got stuck like mine did, and he needs a hand getting it out." "Oh, would you, dear?" Melinda pressed her. "I would hate it if he was out there all alone. These country roads flood so easily, you know. Just be careful." Cara nodded and pulled open the door. The rain was far, far worse than she had realized—it fell in a torrential downpour around her that felt almost biblical. She might as well have been walking through hanging gray sheets. "I can't believe none of them came out here to check on you themselves," Cara muttered as she reached the bottom of the driveway. "Simon?" she called down the road. She could see the hulking figure of her own car outlined in the rain. Cara turned and shaded her eyes beneath her hood, trying to improvise a visor so she could see farther down the road. She saw it, then—the outline of another car careening halfway out of the ditch. Cara gasped in horror. She was already running before she knew she had directed her legs to move. "Simon!" she screamed into the downpour. As she reached the car, she saw that the driver's side door was ajar, and that the cabin was submerged in gushing brown water. She couldn't get any closer to look

without risking falling into the rushing water of the flooded roadside ditch. Cara turned frantically to scan the horizon. Whichever way she considered, she could see nothing to indicate that the man had escaped safely back to the road."Simon!" Her boots were bogged down in mud, and there was water rushing past her ankles. Cara looked back down the road toward the estate, and saw that the ditches were spilling over and beginning to flood the street. She needed to leave, now, if she stood any chance of making it back before she was swept away. "Simon! Where are you?" Only the driving rain answered her.

CHAPTER 11 The water rushed past Cara's ankles. She looked back over her shoulder down the road, cursing, before doing something both incredibly brave and incredibly stupid: she climbed on top of Simon's car. The vehicle listed dangerously beneath her and gave a groan at her additional, albeit slight, weight, before settling once more into position. Once she was on the roof, Cara straightened carefully, striking out with her hands to keep her balance as she navigated the slippery surface of the top. The rain still made it hard to see things up here, but she had a better vantage now—besides, she would rather not be in the road proper with all that rushing water coming toward her. All it would take was a fallen branch big enough to knock her off her feet to send her straight into the flooded ditch, and who knew how easy it would be for her to struggle out after that. Cara cupped her hands around her mouth to improvise a megaphone: "Simon!" She was drenched and miserable and frightened, and had more than a few unkind things to say about those servants keeping dry back at the house, but all of that was forgotten in an instant when she thought she heard someone calling back to her. Cara started, and nearly slipped down from the roof of the car in the process; she caught herself at the last minute and eased herself back into the road. The water was above her ankles now, but the galoshes she had borrowed from the house managed to keep most of it off her. She began to run as best she could, slogging through the mud and the rain that never seemed to want to let up. As soon as she graduated, she was moving the hell out of Connecticut. "Simon, where are you?" Cara cried frantically. She turned, before hearing the voice again. It was still far enough off that she couldn't understand the nature of the words being yelled—or pick up on an English accent, for that matter—but whoever it was sounded in desperate need of help. She saw it then: a dark, collapsed figure in the field across from her, barely distinguishable through the rain. Cara made to run to it immediately, when she saw what the trouble was—the figure was pinned beneath a fallen tree. Not only that, but a dangerously flooded ditch lay between them. The man must have spun out while driving and crashed off the road; when he opened his door to bail out, the

floodwaters must have swept him down the road. It seemed the only viable explanation for him having managed to crawl out on the other side. "I'm coming!" Cara shouted. She glanced around quickly for any means to ford the river, but she came up empty. The only thing to do was to jump, and to make it count—otherwise she risked the same fate that had befallen the man, and she wasn't certain she was powerful enough to swim against the current. Cara backed up into the road before taking a running leap across the trench. She rammed her hand down over the hood of her rain slicker to keep it from ballooning out behind her and slowing her descent. She extended her leg out and managed to land the jump. When the ground started to give beneath her, she latched on with her hands and managed a mad scramble to the other side. "Oh my God," she muttered to herself. "I can't believe I just did that." But there was no time to savor her victory over the elements. She darted across the lawn to the figure lying prone beneath the tree. It was Simon. His face was sheet-white, and there was blood trickling from his nose. He managed to sit half upright when he saw her coming, and Cara felt a rush of relief. The tree had only managed to pin his leg, and there didn't appear to be any damage above the waist. "Oh my God," she mumbled again as she fell to her knees beside him. "What happened to you?" She hated herself the next instant for asking the question—there were a lot more pressing things she needed to attend to. "Do you think you can help me lift this tree off you?" "I can certainly try." He sounded dazed, almost as if he couldn't fully believe in her presence there beside him, and Cara had to wonder how long he had been struggling out there on his own. How early had he left the house? How many hours between then and now? "On my count," she beckoned. She rose to a squatting position beside him, and they both tensed with their hands on the trunk. "Ready? One…two…lift!" The tree slid downward, and Simon cried out in terrible pain. Cara ignored him, though her heart seized at the sound; he had ceased pushing almost immediately, and it was up to her now to keep the momentum going. She gritted her teeth and turned, digging her shoulder into the massive trunk. The tree

rolled fully off him, landing with a tremendous splash back down in the mud. Simon's face was completely bloodless, and he looked about to pass out. Cara returned to him quickly, and tried not to look at the state of his left leg—she could see in her peripheral vision that it was twisted at an unnatural angle, and the last thing Simon needed right now was for them both to faint dead away. "Can you stand? If you lean on me?" she pressed. "Stay with me, Simon." "I'm with you," the Englishman mumbled. He reached for her, and Cara ducked beneath his shoulder. Together, they managed to haul him to his feet. Simon winced, and she felt his entire body go rigid with the effort. "My leg is completely buggered." "Don't look at it. Just lean on me." Cara glanced frantically around them, but the only thing they would have stood a chance of seeking shelter beneath was the tree that the storm had already brought down. She couldn't distinguish anything else that might help them through the gray landscape of rain. "There's a cave," Simon muttered next to her. "More of a cliff, really. Well, less a cliff, and more a…" "Where?" Cara interrupted him quickly. The man raised a limp arm and pointed. She started across the field, struggling to keep him upright, trusting completely in his knowledge of the neighborhood. "Don't tell me…" she began to say, in an effort to keep his mind occupied and awake. "That this is my property?" Simon finished for her. "I'm afraid so." "How much of the surrounding area do you actually own?" Cara asked. She could see a dark hole rising up before them, and assumed it was the entrance to the cave. She hurried in her steps. "From here to town?" Simon gasped beside her. "All of it, I imagine." Despite the rain, and despite their dire circumstances, Cara rolled her eyes. Simon's cave was embedded in the side of a low hill. It was tall enough to admit them both, and relatively shallow, set about six feet back into the hill; there was a natural shelf in the rock above that acted like a roof to shield them from the rain. Cara helped deposit Simon against the back wall, flinching every time he winced. She tenderly pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and waited to see what he would do.

"You're waiting for me to pass out," he said eventually. "So that you can take advantage of me." He managed a tight smile, one that they both knew was for the benefit of letting her know he was all right. "Cheeky girl," he added. Some of Cara's concern for the man dissipated at this, and she rocked back on her heels with a scowl. "How did you know this cave was out here?" she demanded. "Is this where you lived before they decided to let you into the house, you old hermit?" Simon choked an appreciative laugh and leaned back against the wall. The leg that was clearly broken he left out in front of him, but he drew the other one in beneath him; Cara wasn't about to argue for a readjustment. She knew basic first aid, but nothing that would assist Simon now. All she could hope for was a break in the weather, one that would allow her to return to the house and get help. "I'm only twenty-seven, you know," Simon mentioned. "I know the accent makes me seem older and at least several intellectual levels above the men you're used to seeing." "We're so not seeing each other," Cara said. Simon turned his head against the wall to give her a look that was half-amused, and half-disapproving. "If I recall, you're the one who invited me home with you over the holiday," he reminded her. Cara bristled slightly. "And if I recall, you're the one who refused the invite, ruined dinner, and then got into a car that you are legally not allowed to drive, in weather that any man operating at a sub-intellectual level would have known was too dangerous to hit the road in." "Well, if further recollection serves, there were events that occurred in the interim that weren't all bad," Simon mentioned, and Cara flushed immediately. She had been so preoccupied that morning with panicking over how to best rescue Simon that any thoughts of last evening had been put on hold. It all came rushing back to her now: how she had angrily gone upstairs to provoke a proper goodbye from the shut-in, and how Simon had wound up provoking her to call his name out, again and again and again, as he took her atop his expensive bedsheets. A hand came up to touch her face, and Cara turned. Simon pulled away again, looking immensely pleased with himself. She realized he had been testing the heat of her blush.

"Seriously, Simon, why did you come out here?" Cara pressed him. "They told me you were going into town early. I thought you never left your property for anything." "I don't," Simon agreed quietly. "At least, I've never had anything worth leaving the property for." The hand was back, smoothing down her face in a fond caress. "But the way you spoke about your family last night…I know it's important to you that you find your way back to them." Cara covered his hand with her own, pressing and holding it there against her. "Your life is more important than that," she intoned. "Please, Simon, I don't want you doing anything else dangerous on my account." "I think I'll be out of commission for a while," the man replied. He shifted and winced, before arriving at the conclusion that it was probably better to hold himself still. Cara rose and crossed to the cave entrance to gaze out into the storm. "I'll go for help as soon as it clears," she promised. "In the meantime—" "In the meantime, Cara, I want to tell you about myself," Simon said from the back of the cave. Cara turned, her fine eyebrows shooting up toward her scalp in surprise. She raked every inch of his face for any indication that he was joking. Some of the color had returned to his cheeks, but he still looked deathly pale. The muscles in his face looked permanently constricted against the pain in his leg, lending him a hard-edged look that she wasn't used to seeing. If speaking to her about himself now would help ease the pain, or at least distract him from it, then Cara felt it was well worth risking the dark nature of anything he might tell her. She moved to the back of the cave and slid down beside him. After a moment, she held her hand out to him; the man took it, and gripped her hard. "What do you want to tell me?" she asked quietly. "I want to tell you how I got my scars," Simon said.

CHAPTER 12 Cara wasn't sure what to say to this. So, of course, her brain went with its most immediate and ridiculous selection. "What scars?" Her tone of voice was perfectly innocent in its inquiry. Simon stared at her for a long moment, before a startled, appreciative laugh escaped him. Cara winced. "Cara," he said slowly, "I know you've seen them. Is this your attempt at good manners?" "Glad I could make you laugh," she muttered. "Of course I've seen them. I just didn't know if you were maybe self-conscious about them, or—" "You needn't worry about that," Simon reassured her quietly. "I already know they're hideous. I'm used to them." After a silent moment, Cara shook her head. "They're not hideous." This time, nothing about her assertion rang false. "They're a part of you. And I…I think they're interesting. But we don't have to talk about them if you don't want to." "Talking about my scars doesn't bother me," Simon replied. "It's the story behind them, and what they've come to represent. Very few of the people who work for me even know about them. When I moved here from the U.K., I brought only Gerald with me." "The thing that happened to you…" Cara said hesitantly. "It happened there, didn't it? That's why you came over to the U.S. and closed yourself off. I've been thinking about it," she added when Simon shot her a surprised look. "Sorry. I knew I couldn't ask you, so I've been trying to put two and two together this entire week." "It makes sense that you would be curious," Simon said. "You are the first visitor I've had to the estate, so I wasn't sure what to make of you. Well, I was sure about a few things," he admitted. Cara felt his hand alight on her neck before trailing down to press possessively against the swell of her breast through her wet T-shirt. Evidently her rain slicker had come open during his harrowing rescue. She

shivered against him, but it wasn't from the cold. "I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted you," he whispered huskily. "But I knew I couldn't let myself have you. I'm not used to depriving myself of the things I want." The hand on her breast squeezed, and Cara leaned into the touch helplessly. He had been in command of her every desire ever since he had thrust her up against the pool’s side and ravished her, but she didn't need to be so obvious…she needed to cool down, especially if Simon, the injured party, was the one trying to initiate intimacy at the moment. She needed to keep a straight head for the both of them. Cara grasped his hand and drew it away from her, smiling wanly. "You were telling me about your scars." Simon nodded. "It was less than a year ago, while I was still living in England… You might not think it to look at me now, but I often threw large parties. And, you probably would think it to look at me now, but I used to drink. Quite a bit." Cara was silent. The pieces of the puzzle already felt like they were starting to come together, but she kept quiet, waiting for Simon to tell the story himself. The man appeared to momentarily struggle with continuing, and Cara squeezed his hand. Simon sighed. "This particular party was put on at a very expensive hotel. I was one of the earlier guests to leave—I hadn't thought I had very much to drink at all by this point, but I was mistaken. When I couldn't locate my driver, I decided I would drive the car home myself. "The other driver involved in the accident had also been drinking, but that hardly seems to matter now. On my way home, I collided with his vehicle. Both cars flipped, and the other driver went straight into the water. There was a river by my old estate…but I knew how to swim it. As soon as I had extracted myself from my own car, I stumbled into the water after him. I managed to pull him out of his car and revive him on the road. We were both the worse for wear, but by the time the ambulances arrived, it looked like he was going to make it. "He died en route to a hospital." Cara, who had been starting to expect a different ending, stilled beside him. "He was only sixteen," Simon concluded quietly.

"But…" She struggled to form her first question. "How did he die? Did he sustain injuries? Internal bleeding?" "Alcohol poisoning." Simon was looking off past the cave's entrance into the rain. "He died of alcohol poisoning. His parents were distraught, understandably. I offered to pay for the funeral, and they were willing to forget the whole thing…until they found out who I was." The unvoiced question lingered between them. Who are you really? Cara thought, with a sideways glance at the pale, drenched man sitting beside her. Who was Simon back in the society he had fled from? More importantly, who was he to her? "They pressed charges. Their case is founded on the belief that my attempts to revive their son directly contributed to his death. They want to strip everything from me and destroy my life. But my life is already destroyed." Simon said nothing more after that, and Cara was led to believe he had concluded the story. She had been wrong—Simon's dark secret, the one that had sent him into exile, was about a hundred times worse than anything she could have ever imagined. But there were still a lot of unanswered questions. She peered up at him, wondering if he noticed the holes in his own story, but Simon gazed past her distantly, as if he were an ocean away. His face was contorted in remorse, and Cara knew he believed every word of what he had just told her. If there were holes in the story, they weren't his. "But then you came along…" Simon continued, startling her from her thoughts. "And the strangest of circumstances forced us together. I've never met someone so combative, so fierce, in all my travels up and down the world. I thought my days of discovery had ended when I vowed to lock myself away. Yet here you are, despite my best efforts. And I feel as if I am slowly but surely coming back to life once more." He looked at her then in awe, and Cara found she couldn't help herself any longer—she leaned in, and caught the familiar part in his lips with hers. The sensation of their mouths meeting flooded her with warmth, and she forgot all about the rain outside. Simon was kissing her back immediately, ardently, as if he had only been biding his time with his story—as if any moment shared between them was only in

anticipation of the next time they came together. The injured man pulled her onto his lap, and Cara followed, stripping herself out of her rain slicker and thrusting Simon's own coat down his squared shoulders. She broke from the kiss and dropped her lips to the column of his throat, nipping and sucking as she rocked her hips against his beneath her. Simon gasped into her hair and clutched at her waist, and she could feel him rising already to the occasion; the crotch of his pants swelled, exciting a deep, molten feeling in her core. She couldn't help herself: she needed him, now, and she had every indication that the Englishman needed her the same. His hands hesitated no more. He unzipped the front of her rain-soaked jeans and hooked his thumbs in the waistband as he teased them down her hips; Cara wiggled sensuously atop him to aid in their descent. The tantalizing patches of skin revealed beneath her jeans were flushed and red with cold; once he had her pants off her, Simon struck her backside with the flat of his hand. Cara arched against him with a cry of startled pleasure, throwing her head back over her shoulder to watch the pale handprint fade away. The offending hand returned to grip the swell of her ass in a greedy handful, parting and massaging her as she rocked atop him. Cara shuddered, loving every minute of the unexpected exploration. She threaded her arms over her head and yanked her shirt off as Simon pulled her against him. The moment between them felt heated, almost feverish, but she knew she would have to be careful—he was injured, after all. Fortunately, there were parts of him that were still extremely functional, and Cara intended to take full advantage of them. She pushed her breasts insistently against the damp fabric of Simon's shirtfront, distracting him with the swell of her cleavage over her black bra as she dipped her hand between them. The man gave an appreciative groan as her dexterous fingers worked him free. There wasn't anything to be done about his clothes in this position, but Cara didn't mind—she was desperate to have him by any means necessary. The hand that gripped her rear steered her against him as her own hand encircled and stroked his thick, smooth length. Simon groaned again, this time deep in his throat, and rested his head back against the cave wall, his eyes falling shut. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state despite his dominating grip on her excited Cara, and she stroked him again, fingers applying a teasing pressure to his throbbing cock. Simon moaned and bucked beneath her, his eyes half-opening to look at her.

"If you don't get on now, I will break my other leg throwing you onto your back," he promised through clenched teeth, his voice a husky whisper. A thrilled shiver ran through Cara as she felt Simon's finger tug the seam of her underwear aside to allow him access. She lowered herself down, feeling the slick dome of his erection plunge inside of her. She cried out as she was penetrated, her voice echoing in the cavernous room. Anyone who happened upon them in that moment would have been treated to the sight of a half-naked college student impaling herself on the rigid cock of the landowner. Simon seemed to be sharing her debased line of thinking. "You're so loud, Cara," he gritted through his teeth, clearly struggling to speak through the wave of intense pleasure their union inspired. "You're lucky there's no one living close by. If anyone happened by, they would surely hear you. What would the neighbors think?" "I don't care," she gasped back to him. It wasn't her most brilliant moment, but it was difficult to remember how to form words when her sole focus was on how Simon filled her utterly. She moved with him inside her experimentally, and moaned when she was scarcely given the leniency to do so. Were she not so aroused already, she was certain that taking Simon into her like this would have been too much for her. "Is it big, Cara?" he murmured with affected curiosity. She shuddered at the profound filthiness of his question. "How big is it? Does it fill you? Do I fill you?" "Fuck you," she moaned. His words were agonizing. All they did was call attention to the truth: Simon was the biggest she had ever encountered. After last night, she had found herself awake that morning and immediately craving that feeling of deep completion he awoke inside her. It was maddening even without his teasing and coaxing her. "I'd hate to put you out of a job," Simon whispered into her ear. Cara rolled her hips and thrust herself down against him, and was rewarded when she felt the man's grip on her tighten reflexively. He shuddered, and when his lips parted, she lowered her mouth down to join with his. Her tongue slid past her lips to tangle with his own as she rode him, her repeated thrusts guided by his hands and by pure, primitive instinct. The pounding of the rain outside and the smell of grass, dirt, and slick rock drove her to seek release, as did the heady noises of the man pinned beneath her.

She felt his hand climb her back, palm pressing the indent of her actively tensing muscles, and his fingers freed the catch of her bra. The fabric fell away, revealing a pert pair of breasts fast tightening from contact with the cold. Cara felt the warm, wet press of his mouth as he covered the hardened peak of one nipple. His tongue flicked the pebbled flesh, and she gasped wildly. His hands forced her to keep a controlled pace, but she couldn't help it—the attentions of his mouth inspired her to speed up, to take him into her harder and faster until she felt as if they were galloping at breakneck speed toward the finish line. Simon's deeper moans echoed with her own as she called out, wordless and frantic, for the building pressure to release and send her hurtling over the brink. Simon thrust up into her, hard, and Cara called out his name as she came in his lap. She was beyond caring about whether or not he would take her last words before climax as a victory. She was, in that moment, wholly concerned with rocking herself against his turgid member and letting it plumb her most pleasurable reaches; every swirl of her hips brought her another white-hot thrill of pleasure, until she thought she couldn't possibly take any more. The Englishman bucked up beneath her again, and Simon came with an oath that Cara belatedly recognized as her own name. She felt the hot jet of his seed fill her, and thrust herself down against him to claim it all. She kissed him sedately in the aftermath of their completion, mouthing his parted lips with her own to coax them back to life. Simon returned her attentions lazily, his hand dragging up the curve of her rear to rest in the shelf of her lower back. The rain continued to fall in drifts outside, curtaining them from the outside world. Soon, she would have to journey back into it—for now, Cara was content to dismount her spent lover and curl against his warm side. Simon's hand fell to her hair, and he stroked her measuredly as they dozed.

CHAPTER 13 "Well, that's one way to keep warm." Cara pulled on her jeans, her back turned to him. She wasn't certain what time it was, but the rain outside had let up some, which meant it was time for her to journey back out and get the help that Simon needed. The man watched her dress, eyes lidded contently, hair askew. She supposed endorphins resulting from sex had probably helped to numb the pain in his leg. Still, she had other things to worry about, like food and hydration. It seemed absurd to feel so concerned about the latter when there was plenty of water falling outside, and she wasn't particularly thirsty herself, but Simon had been out here since morning. She bent down for a quick kiss, and Simon's hand came up to scoop the back of her head in for something more. Cara lost her balance, and nearly fell into him with a muffled laugh; he kissed her heatedly, fervently, and she had a hard time pulling away from him again. "I'm going to get help," she stressed. "I'm not leaving forever!" "I'll die without you," Simon reminded her as she pulled her hood up and moved toward the cave entrance. Cara turned back long enough to make a show of rolling her eyes at his one-man show, but his earlier words still hung between them. He had said she brought him back to life, right before they had made love. In fact, his words might have been the catalyst for Cara's sudden and inexpressible need for him. "Hang in there," she said more sincerely, and her face softened. She watched Simon's soften in turn, and felt staggered by how handsome she found him in that moment. He was so good at firing her up— in more ways than one—that it was easy to forget just how attractive he was in their down moments together. She fought a sudden inclination to stay, and instead turned back to the dreary world outside and exited the cave. Her trek across the lawn was a lot easier now that she didn't have an additional weight to haul beside her. The flooded ditch was a little more treacherous, but now that she knew she could make the

jump, Cara barely hesitated. She wound up and vaulted over the gushing water, grasping onto the opposite bank to pull herself the rest of the way up. There had to be a bridge, she thought, maybe located somewhere farther down the road—she didn't want to waste time locating it now, but she felt sure someone back at the house would know a better route to Simon. She could only hope the servants got out onto the grounds at least as often as their employer did. She jogged back down the empty road. She passed Simon's car, and then her own, before turning off into the driveway. She was halfway up the drive when it suddenly occurred to her to feel angry at the party that was likely to receive her at the door. How long had she been gone for? Had the police been called? Or did they just assume she had magically fixed her car and gone on her merry way? She had her answer as soon as she arrived back on the doorstep. She must have been gone at least an hour, possibly more, but the servants and staff looked as if they had barely moved from milling about the foyer. They swarmed her upon entry, giving Cara scarcely enough room to pull her boots off and doff her hood. Any ungenerous feelings she had been experiencing for them on the way up died when she realized how genuinely worried they had all been. "I found him," she panted. "His car went off the road about a quarter mile north, just up the road. He managed to climb out of the ditch, but then…" Her throat clenched suddenly as she remembered finding Simon alone and injured. "…He's been hurt pretty badly. I managed to get him to a cave located out in the field. Does anyone know where I'm talking about?" "I do!" One of the groundskeepers put up his hand, and a few followed suit. Melinda was already on the hall phone, calling for what Cara hoped was an ambulance. "He was conscious when I left him," she continued. "He was coherent, but I'm afraid he's been out there a long time. He's going to need food and water when the medics arrive, and I think he's broken his leg." She swallowed the lump back down again. "I know it's broken. So they might need to take him to a hospital." "He isn't going to like that," one of the maids mentioned. Cara nodded to express that she knew. "I don't think it's anything that can be helped. He was going into town anyway this morning, so hopefully he can think of it like…a change of vehicle."

"The roads are clear." Melinda had returned from her phone call. "The medics are on their way. Oh, I wish he hadn't fired the old doctor!" Then, composing herself, "I'll put in a call for two tows. If that's all right with you?" Cara nodded distractedly, pushing the hair out of her eyes. She had completely forgotten about that. Now that the roads were drivable, she really had no reason to remain at Simon's estate—at least, not unless he gave her one. The thought that he might extend some sort of invitation warmed her some. It wasn't just a passing wish—she knew, with complete confidence, that Simon would want to see her again as much as she wanted to see him. Clearly they would have a lot more complexities to deal with than they would in a more normal situation, but they were both strong-willed people. They would make it work. Two of the maids seized her then and helped to herd her upstairs. Cara relaxed gratefully beneath their attentions, but she wouldn't feel out of the woods until Simon was safely out of the literal woods. Still, she wasn't helping him any by allowing herself to drench his carpets and slowly get hypothermia. She was undressed and dumped into a hot bath almost immediately upon entering her room. She felt too tired and too exhausted to notice or care that she was being waited upon. It wasn't something she had ever thought she would get used to, but the female members of the staff who had assigned themselves to her worked quickly and efficiently, and then promptly made themselves scarce. She was out again in ten minutes, feeling clean and revitalized and ready to lend herself to the 'Save Simon' effort. She exited the bathroom fully dressed and toweling her hair dry. She was surprised to find Melinda, the housekeeper, sitting on her bed. Cara drew the towel away from her blond tresses, and was just wetting her lips to say something, when something else happened to draw her attention. She noticed her camera equipment and various other items she used for her major unpacked and lying out on the bed beside Melinda, all ordered neatly, all decidedly not where she had left them squirreled away in her duffle bag. She felt the color rise to her face, but tried to control her anger. "I didn't go through your things," the housekeeper said offhand. "When the servants brought your luggage up from your car, they saw fit to let me know what you were carrying with you. A reporter, are you?"

"I'm a journalism major." Cara kept her voice level, when all she really wanted to do was ball her towel into a fist and throw it at the woman until she got out. She didn't take kindly to people invading her privacy, but then again, this wasn't her home. Perhaps it was only natural that they would go through her things as insurance that she meant their employer no harm… Then again, she couldn't imagine Simon signing off on such a bald-faced intrusion of privacy. Even if he did listen in on other peoples' phone conversations. "That equipment was bought and paid for by the school. I'm only renting it, because I can't afford my own." "Would you like to be able to afford your own?" Melinda asked pleasantly. "Because I have an idea, you see…oh, but I wouldn't want to get into it just yet. Not before I told you more about the master, Simon Banning. Aren't you curious about the man who has been hosting you?" "Has the ambulance arrived yet?" Cara interrupted. Melinda looked momentarily startled, before shaking her head no. "They're about twenty minutes out, by my reckoning. Some of the boys have already gone out to locate Mr. Banning. You were very heroic, you know, coming to his aid like that. It seems a shame that your efforts should go unrewarded." "Simon already told me all about himself," Cara put forward bluntly. "All of it. The accident, the lawsuit. Everything." "He told you who he was?" Melinda inquired curiously. "How much he was worth? He told you he was a billionaire, did he? That he can afford to spend close to half a million a day, for the rest of his natural life, and never run out?" Cara managed to remain standing for several moments after this revelation; then she sat down, hard, in the armchair beside the window. Melinda's mouth compressed into a tight line of sympathy. "Oh, I see. Then I suppose he didn't tell you…everything." "What do you want?" Cara murmured quietly. "I know you didn't come here just to chew the fat on Simon. I sure as hell know you didn't enter my room, unannounced, and root through my things, uninvited, just to remind me to pack lighter the next time." "Mr. Banning has told you things about himself, yes, but he hasn't told you the full story. Not as I

can tell it." Melinda crossed her legs beneath her house frock and jogged her ankle conversationally. "And I've been wanting to tell this story for a while, Cara, dear. It's so expansive! So interesting! And I'm sure there are a lot of people across the pond who would be interested in knowing Mr. Banning's whereabouts. He pulled a bit of a vanishing act, you know, when he came all the way out here to disappear." "You want to rat him out," Cara surmised. "You want to publish a tell-all. You want me to interview you for a story and share the commission." "Journalism…" Melinda repeated thoughtfully, as if she hadn't heard a single detail of what Cara was proposing. "I wonder what a degree like that costs?" Cara stilled. She had been very close to opening her mouth, and informing the woman exactly what a degree like that cost—more than she was likely to be able to pay back in ten, maybe fifteen years. She was pursuing it out of love, and with the complete understanding that she might never find a job that would render her financially stable enough to recover from early student loan debt. A picture was starting to form in her mind, and Cara turned her head away in shame as she was forced to entertain it. A story on Simon Banning… What might a piece like that go for? Thousands? Tens of thousands? How much would a publication in his own country be willing to pay for an exposé? An exclusive? What might that do for her career? It would not only launch it; Cara felt sure that it would make it. She was only twenty, and most journalists twice her age could only dream of the opportunity she was presented with. It was once in a lifetime. But it was trash. It could be as truthful as could be, but it was exploitative, pure and simple. Even worse, it would be written at the expense of a man she cared for, whom she truly believed was incapable of the wrongs he thought he had committed. Simon already had enough sharks to deal with in his life, and the Great White was currently staring at her from across the room with black, ravenous eyes. Cara adjusted her skirt discreetly, before folding her hands in her lap. "No, thank you," she said. "I am not that kind of journalist, and I am not interested in that kind of story. You might try your luck with the National Inquirer. In fact, I would say a woman of your caliber would be better off going to work for them."

Melinda's face, the gentle, compassionate face that Cara had trusted instantly upon her arrival at the mansion, twisted into something ugly and unrecognizable. She was forced to watch, horrified and fascinated, as the woman before her transformed into someone else completely. Her evolution was made all the worse when Cara realized that this was exactly who Melinda had been all along. So much for her investigative instinct—she should have sensed the housekeeper's deception the moment she set foot through the door. She would have to be more careful in her parsing of peoples' character traits in the future. "Be very careful how you navigate the next few minutes, my dear," Melinda warned her. "What I'm offering you may never come again in your life, and I'm only offering it once. Now is the perfect time to have a perfectly reasonable discussion, with Mr. Banning out of the house." "No thanks," Cara said again as she rose. "I'd appreciate it if you left my room now, Melinda. I can see that I am going to have to repack my things." The housekeeper continued to sit, frozen, with a barely repressed look of astonishment, until Cara crossed to the bed deliberately and yanked her camera bag off the duvet. She conveyed her contempt with every movement, until the elder woman had no choice but to admit defeat. Melinda rose and moved to the doorway, before pausing to turn back into the room. "We'll see how he likes you, won't we?" she said nastily. "Yes, we'll just see how much Mr. Banning likes you in the days—no, hours—to come. He can only expend so much of his time on a common, thankless whore." Cara's mouth fell open at the comment, but before she could fire back with an insult of her own, Melinda was gone. Now that the confrontation was over, she sat down hard on the bedspread, staring into empty space. Finally, she allowed herself to run a shaky hand through her still-damp hair. The movement reminded her of how Simon had stroked her hair similarly, less than an hour before, in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He cared for her. She knew that now. Melinda was either trying to blackmail her, or make a parting, baseless threat against her, and she would be damned if she would allow that viper (in a house frock!) to shake her confidence in her blooming relationship with Simon.

Cara packed her things hastily, listening all the while for the telltale wail of the ambulance siren. When it finally came, she vowed, she would follow it in the tow. She would have the truck driver deposit her at the hospital, and she would tell Simon everything that had just transpired. But before that, she would kiss him. She would fold herself in his arms. And maybe, just maybe, she would find the words to express her feelings.

CHAPTER 14 Within the hour, the mansion where she had spent the last few days was far behind her. The rain had finally let up, allowing Cara frequent and unfiltered glances over her shoulder as she watched Simon's vast estate recede in the distance. She was riding shotgun in the tow truck; the ambulance had come and gone without her knowing, unfortunately. Her own driver had been kind enough to offer to drop her at the hospital. The town just north of Simon's estate hadn't even registered as a dot on her GPS. She had passed through it without stopping on her way home to New Haven. Now, the driver pulled up outside the hospital, and Cara let herself down from the cab. The hospital was a squat building with a single floor— she doubted it even had wings. She gazed at it uncertainly, and the wind picked up. An unexpected gust blew her hair out from underneath her hood. The sky above was overcast. It looked like it was going to rain again. She was getting sick to death of rain. "Thank you," she told the driver, reaching for her wallet to tip him. The man put up his hand to stop her. "Everything's paid for, ma'am. You just come on by the shop in about an hour or so and we'll get you squared away. Hope your friend's doing all right," he added. Cara nodded, her throat feeling tight. Simon had paid for her tow. The first thing she was going to do upon seeing him again was thank him. The driver tipped his hat and rolled the window back up. As he pulled away, Cara turned back to the building and squared her shoulders resolutely. She hadn't been inside many hospitals before in her life —aside from the foreboding sky overhead, it didn't seem like it would be so bad. She entered through the automatic doors and approached the woman at the desk. "I'm here to see Simon Banning?" she said tentatively. "He's expecting me." The woman flipped through several charts on her desk, before opening a program on her

computer and squinting. Cara's pulse sped up anxiously, and she drummed her fingers on the counter. What could be taking so long? Hadn't Simon told them she would be by to see him? She couldn't imagine he would have any other visitors. Just when she was beginning to suspect he might have been checked in underneath another name, the receptionist gave her head a shake as if to clear it. "Oh, there he is. Yes. It looks like there's a note in here saying you might stop by." Might? Cara tried to ignore the ominous feeling that was starting to creep up on her as the nurse pointed her down the hallway to the right and gave her directions. She was barely able to retain them; she just nodded once as if she understood, before starting down the hall. Everything would be fine once she saw Simon again. Once she had reassured herself that he was in good hands—and decidedly not Melinda's— she would get his contact info, and…then what? Head home? She didn't like the idea of a separation so soon in their relationship, but there seemed no help for it. Her family was expecting her, and Simon had already declined her invitation to go home with her. But things had changed quite a bit between them since last night, Cara reminded herself as she pulled open the door at the end of the hall. Maybe Simon had changed his mind about accompanying her, after all. She tried not to smile too hopefully as she entered the patient room. Simon was lying on the bed, and Cara's heart sped up immediately when she saw him. He had been washed clean of mud and forced into a papery gown, but his leg was wrapped and elevated, and his color looked a lot better—in contrast to the tense expression on his face. Cara felt relief floor her instantly at the sight of him safe and sound. She crossed to his bedside without fully registering the look he gave her when he glanced up. "Simon!" she said as she pulled up a chair and sat down. "How is it? How are you feeling?" She indicated his leg before reaching for his hand. Something startling happened then: Simon pulled his hand away, and Cara was left to blink stupidly at the empty spot on the bed it had previously occupied. Oh well, maybe he just didn't feel up for it… She tried to convince herself of that as she soldiered on. "The tow came and got me. They managed to

pull your car out, too, or at least, they were pulling it out when I left. I wanted to thank you for loaning me…" "I haven't loaned you anything," Simon cut her off abruptly. "I paid for the tow. Let's say no more about it." "Oh." Cara furrowed her brow and gazed at him, perplexed. He hadn't made eye contact with her since she entered the room; he was currently looking off toward the door, as if half-expecting (or hoping) for one of the nurses to come in and interrupt them. "I'm… Thank you. Are you sure you're feeling okay?" she demanded. She could feel some of her old, straightforward personality starting to bleed through, and fought it back as best she could. Simon was safe and dry, but he looked miserable: his angular face was pulled into a deep frown, as if it were being dragged down by fishhooks. He looked to be in pain, and Cara wasn't going to stand for it. "Did they give you painkillers? Ibuprofen? Do you need something stronger?" "What I need," Simon enunciated through his teeth, "is for you to tell me the truth, Cara." Cara sat back as if he had struck her. She had been starting to suspect that he was a bad mood, but not on account of her. What the hell had she done, besides pull him out from beneath a tree, drag him to safety, and initiate what would have doubtlessly not been a doctor-recommended session of lovemaking? Cara crossed her arms. "All right. I'm not a real blond." If he was going to be cryptic, then she was going to play hardball until he just came out with it. "Any other truths you'd like to hear?" "Melinda told me what you are." Simon finally raised his eyes to her, and Cara felt a chill through her as his words sank in. "And why you are here. Several of the servants were able to corroborate her story." "She told you that I'm a journalism student?" Cara asked. "I've never lied to you about that. I told you I was a student. You just never asked me what I studied." "And you didn't think that was an important enough detail to tell me?" Simon returned immediately. It was at that moment that Cara realized he had been planning this conversation in advance; he already knew every question he wanted to ask her, and seemed to anticipate the defensiveness of her

responses ahead of time. What all had Melinda told him? "You didn't think it might be relevant for me to know?" "How should I know?" Cara bristled. "Is this because of what you told me in the cave? Do you really think I care about your history, Simon, outside of the direct effect it's had on you? Do you think I might…what? …Use you for my final project? Is that what Melinda told you?" "I think that I have no way of knowing if you're a student," Simon said coldly. "All I know is that my housekeeper, whom I have employed for years and trust with my life, has informed me that you approached her for an interview while I was being loaded into an ambulance. She said you knew precisely who I was all along, and that you were only pretending obliviousness to my situation. She suspects that you were somehow alerted to my address and broke down outside the property on purpose. If that was your plan all along, then you knew I would have no choice but to take you in." Cara was out of her chair in an instant. Despite the voice telling her in the back of her brain to calm down, to take deep breaths and not react to Simon's accusations, she couldn't help but feel her temper provoked by his words. "And you're just going to believe this load of bullshit?" she exclaimed. "After all we've been through? After we…" "See, I've been thinking about that," Simon interjected again. She could tell by his strained tone of voice that he was just as furious as she was, but he was keeping himself in far better control—what was most heartbreaking was the expression on his face. Even if she was being wrongly accused, Cara couldn't stand the thought that she might be indirectly responsible for the tightened, betrayed look he wore. It was starting to look permanent already. "Plenty of people know what I told you already, or at least have access to that information. But there is no one who has ever been in your particular position—or should I say, positions?" "How dare you?" Cara was trembling all over with barely suppressed rage, and she could see that Simon was clenching the bedspread in an effort to fight back similar tremors. "You were just as complicit in that as I was. I thought we—" Her throat constricted, and she had a hard time swallowing the lump back down. She had never imagined that Simon Banning, no matter how infuriatingly clever she found him, would be capable of saying the things he just had. She had never thought him capable of

believing the tripe that he was repeating back to her, but here they were. She had never felt so incredibly distant from someone she was currently sharing the same room with. "…But I see now that it doesn't matter what I say or think," she said. She stared very hard at the floor, trying to keep tears of frustration back. Simon said nothing; he had turned his head away again. "So I'm going home now. Thank you for the tow, and for housing me. I wish I could say it was nice to have met you." I wish I could say a lot of things. Cara strode to the door and pulled it open. "And you know that housekeeper you trust with your life?" she said, without turning back to him. "Maybe you should trust the girl who actually saved your life." Cara closed the door behind her and walked back down the hallway, determined to get herself as far away as possible from the man she had almost made the mistake of falling in love with.

CHAPTER 15 Visibility was terrible, but it wasn't raining—at least, not outside the cabin of Cara's car. She cried as she drove: hot, streaming tears that coursed down her face and fell into her lap unchecked. She tried to concentrate on driving, tried to focus on keeping both hands on the steering wheel as she let her feelings overwhelm her at last. She was just thankful to have escaped the hospital room, to have escaped Simon, before she gave herself over to complete and total misery. How could she have let this happen? How could he? Even if it had all come to an end anyway— and she would have fought for what they had together—how could they let it conclude like that, on a ridiculously hurtful note of complete misunderstanding? "Fuck you, Simon," Cara muttered aloud to the empty car, finally raising her arm long enough to scrub futilely at the wasted tears that painted the entire front of her face. "Fuck you, you asshole. Like I care about your trust issues. If you respected what I had to say, you would have given me the floor… You would have listened to me." Despite her words, a part of Cara grudgingly understood where the man must have been coming from. He had only known her for a few days, and while their connection had felt deep and formidable, it was also still fragile—of course he would have trusted Melinda's word over hers, especially if the former was backed by members of his staff who had no insight into what was really going on. She shouldn't have made herself vulnerable to him so soon. What had seemed like an exciting tryst, and something that it was clear neither of them had ever engaged in before, had been twisted and used against her. She wished she could banish the memory of Simon's arms wrapped around her, of his kiss, as easily as the man himself had apparently been able to. As it stood now, Cara felt completely used, and just as carelessly tossed aside. She could only hope that her time with Simon hadn't ruined her for any future relationships. But she didn't want another relationship. She wanted Simon Banning. Even now she wanted him

—would things between them have gone any differently if Cara had silenced his accusations with a kiss? If she had crawled onto the bed and ripped open that stupid robe and made him listen to the way he made her blood sing? How could he deny the truth then? But she couldn't bear to think about it now. She had left Simon far back down the road behind her, and good riddance. His final words to her still stung. If he had meant them, then he deserved the company of that viper in a house frock. # Returning home was bittersweet for Cara. She made the rounds, hugging every member of her family more than once; she hugged her dog, Indie, almost nonstop, before one of her older brothers extracted her from the blissful old Blue Heeler. "Cara!" John laughed. "If you hug him any more, I'm going to have to call the animal cops on you for rampant abuse!" "Bad breakup?" her other brother, Steven, guessed. Cara's face flooded with color, but at least it didn't flood with tears. Her flush of agreement went virtually unnoticed as the Langfords continued to drink and embrace and laugh about their year. As soon as she was able, Cara slipped away to her room— with Indie in tow, obviously. She unpacked her bags as the dog dozed on her bed. Nothing was apparently amiss, which was good—it meant that nothing had been stolen while strange hands were pawing through her things. She set out her camera and its accompanying equipment, and stacked her notebooks in a neat pile. She tried not to look at it with any undue resentment or blame. It wasn't her dream that had gotten her into this mess, after all, but her dream in the manipulative clutches of someone else. She realized then, sitting on the floor of her tiny childhood room, that she hadn't given up on Simon. Not yet. Maybe he never wanted to see her again, but he didn't deserve to suffer at Melinda's hands—and he would, sooner or later. Cara was certain of it. The woman was biding her time until the opportunity to make a load of money at his expense came along, and if opportunity didn't come again,

Cara knew that she would make one herself. She needed to warn Simon…somehow. But she was completely out of ideas. Cara picked up her phone impulsively, like she usually did when she had hit a dead end, and saw that an unfamiliar number had called her. All thoughts of saving Simon flew from her mind as she hit the redial and frantically raised it to her ear. "Cara Langford?" a semi-familiar voice inquired on the other end. Cara nodded, and was immediately disappointed with an introduction. "We towed your vehicle earlier today, ma'am. Just wanted to make sure that everything is still functioning properly now that it's been fixed." "Yes, thank you." Despite her disappointed expectation that the voice on the other line might belong to someone else, Cara raised the receiver closer to her mouth urgently. "And…sir? Sorry to trouble you, but I was hoping you could get a message to the man who paid for my tow. His name is Simon Banning," she said quickly. The truck driver grunted his acknowledgement of the name on the other end. "He's still in the hospital. It's actually right across the street from you." "I'll have to stop in on him anyway to have him sign a few forms," the man conceded. "Anything in particular you would like me to say?" "Yes." Cara narrowed her eyes resolutely. "I want you to give him my address at school. If you don't mind writing it down." After a moment's hunt for pen and paper, the driver complied. "And please tell him that he needs to hire another housekeeper. This part is incredibly important." "What happened to the old one?" the driver asked curiously. "She lied on her résumé," Cara said severely. "Please remind him of that part." Once she had satisfied herself that the driver would do as she requested, Cara hung up her phone. She put herself to bed early, pulling on her cotton pajamas and climbing beneath the covers beside Indie. Her old mattress was stiff and familiar, and she tried to take to it as easily as she once had—but within an hour of turning off her light, she was tossing and turning with the memory of the sumptuous bed she had shared only the night before. She pressed her hand to the empty place beside her and tried not to think about how cold the sheets felt beneath her fingers. She fell asleep confused, angry, and filled with inexpressible longing. When she awoke in the middle of the night, it was to a dark silhouette standing in her doorway.

Cara sat up at once and scrubbed her eyes, wondering if it was one of the family who had accidentally wandered into her room. She cast her hands around for her bedside lamp, but the lightbulb wouldn't activate when she flipped the switch. Indie was strangely nowhere to be found. "Look, I've had a rough day," Cara explained. "I really need to sleep now. I promise I'll be more involved tomorrow—" The figure crossed to her bed. Surprised to find that it wasn't a member of her family after all, Cara moved back against the headboard as the man joined her; the bed creaked beneath his additional weight as he settled on top of her. Her breath was coming very short now, but she managed to get his name out in a strangled, disbelieving whisper: "Simon?"

CHAPTER 16 This was so wrong. Simon shouldn't have been in her bedroom, and he definitely shouldn't have been pulling her shirt down over one shoulder and fervently kissing her. Cara stared incredulously at the ceiling as a familiar auburn-haired head moved beneath her chin, laving at the sensitive dip where her neck met her shoulders until she was trembling all over with barely repressed desire. It took every modicum of willpower to push Simon away from her. The man sat back obediently, muscles rippling in the spill of moonlight from her window. She saw the shadows of the scars along his side, saw the outline of his impatient, yet always amused, expression. Her heart ached, just as her body did, for him—he had been wearing a decidedly different look when she had stormed out of his hospital room in despair. "Simon," she whispered more heatedly. "What the hell are you doing here? Where is your shirt?" The man looked down at himself. "I don't think you want me with a shirt," he intimated with a raised eyebrow. Cara sighed and squirmed in frustration. "That's not the point! You shouldn't be here. You're mad at me, remember?" She tried to lower her voice in the darkness, afraid of alerting the rest of her family to his presence. Simon laughed indulgently and reassumed his position on top of her. Cara sank back beneath him in defeat, her head hitting the pillow and coming to rest there. He had her locked in his sights, and she trembled with anticipation and longing at the secret, unspoken message those blue eyes conveyed to her. In Simon's chiseled face, it translated to more of a promise. "I'm mad at you," he agreed. "I'm furious at you." His mouth moved down the bare line of her arm, even as his hand lifted her shirt and found the hill of her breast. Cara moaned and pushed against the invading touch; she was very glad that she hadn't decided to wear a bra to bed. "You betrayed me, Cara, but I can't help myself. I want you more than anything, even now." "That's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard," Cara panted as his mouth moved to claim hers in a

silencing kiss. She was lying—it wasn't idiotic. It was hot as hell to think that Simon still desired her against his better judgment. The pressure of his hands conveyed just how angry with her he still was, but it was exactly what she needed. She came alive beneath him, her body bucking helplessly, her skin burning against his. She was already wet by the time his hand moved to massage her between her legs. "I told you," Simon whispered as he watched her gasp and writhe, clutching the bedsheets beneath his touch. "I'm used to getting what I want." His fingers stroked her through her cotton panties, teasing along the outside of her entrance before arriving at her clit. He pressed it firmly, triggering her explosive cry. Cara arched, even as the hand at her breast pressed her back down into the bed again. "You can't have me," she panted. "You threw me out, remember?" "I beg to differ on that first part." Simon bent his head and kissed her forcefully. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, the only interruptions in their passion coming when Simon's finger hit a particularly sensitive spot. When she moaned into him in response, he continued to rub her, harder and faster, until she could hardly see straight for the sensation he was giving her. She said his name repeatedly, wildly. She arched again beneath him, feeling completely out of control of her own body. Her head was spinning, telling her to stop the proceedings once more, that she was still angry at him, but her sweat-soaked frame wanted nothing more than to make itself fully available to him. If she was what he wanted, then Cara wanted to be seduced by him; it was hard to forget just how accomplished those hands were at getting her off. He withdrew suddenly, and she moaned with disappointment. Her hands roved between their tightly pressed bodies, searching for the ultimate key to her release. She felt his erection pressing against the cotton barrier of his boxer shorts and tried to fish it out, but Simon's free hand grasped her wrists and prevented her from doing so. The other continued to massage her breast, pinching and rolling her all-tooresponsive flesh as he kissed his way down to the elastic line of her underwear. He drew the panties down her eagerly moving hips with his teeth. "I want to taste you, Cara. I want you to feel how I want to." She felt that clever tongue, then, the one she loved to spar with, lick a velvet caress along her inner folds. Cara cried out in response; she was certain her family would hear her before long.

"God, Simon!" "Oh yes?" he inquired, as if she had just said something particularly interesting and he wanted to know more. He tongued all around her again, before plunging headlong into the honeyed center between her legs. Cara was in heaven. She rocked her hips against him, moaning at the sensation of his mouth delving where she should have never allowed him. She was strong-willed, she knew, but not this strongwilled. Simon was going to make her come undone completely, and she couldn't find a protestation of any kind to raise about it. When Simon next lifted his head, it was to kiss his way back up her body. "You're so beautiful," he murmured into her skin. Her hands were already on him, freeing him, stroking him; he rocked into her touch, and they moaned together as their foreplay concluded and he slipped inside. He bucked into her, and Cara raised her legs off the bed to wind them around his waist. He slid himself in and out, the muscles of his backside clenching, as she dragged her hands down the surging plane of his back. "I missed you," he muttered roughly into her ear. "I can't let you forget me, Cara." "I won't forget you, Simon," Cara gasped. "Just please… I need you." He dragged the palm of his hand down her bare thigh and scooped his fingers beneath her, yanking her to him and burying himself in her completely. She gasped again, wildly, at the way he filled her, at the recognition and the utter bliss. He held her in place against him, forcing her to feel all of him… and him to feel all of her. It was the sensation, rather than the presence of any friction, that sent her over; she tumbled blissfully, and he followed her with a heady groan, snaking his arms beneath her back and embracing her as if he would never let go. She eased back into the bed, caged and happy, and he followed. Her heart beat from the exertion, her body shuddered with fulfillment, and her thoughts… …Her thoughts remembered reality, and Cara awoke with a start. She was still in her bedroom, still in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, but the body of her midnight lover was nowhere to be found. She scanned the room for any sign that he had been there, but of course she knew it had all been a dream. A steamy, unforgettable dream, definitely on par with the ones that had haunted her back at his mansion

before she finally took matters into her own hands. Cara raised a hand to her temple and tucked a disheveled piece of hair back behind her ear as Indie entered, tongue lolling happily. She could hear activity from downstairs, and realized that she had already overslept—wrapped in Simon's phantom arms, she had forgotten everything. She was still pissed at him, she would never see him again, and she had still managed to let him get the better of her. "Jesus," she muttered to the room.

CHAPTER 17 Her dreams about Simon didn't stop there. Every night over the course her break he tempted her with his shadowed, gorgeous body, haunted her with his touch, until Cara had no choice but to give in to her fantasies to avoid going absolutely mad. “Mad”, she was certain, was a term that the Englishman would have used to describe her current state of mind—she hated him silently all the more for it. Now that she had access to the Internet once more, a search for Simon Banning brought up everything he had told her: the facts of the car accident, his attempts to save the other driver's life, and, more recently, the pending court case against him. His lawyers were doing a good job of stalling the proceedings while they worked frantically to build their defense case, but public opinion had turned against Simon—where once the U.K. public had evidently loved the handsome young billionaire, they now railed against him. Every link that Cara clicked revealed opinion piece after opinion piece until it made her head spin. Now this was poor journalism, but it was rampant. No wonder Simon had retreated to an unknown part of a foreign countryside in his effort to get away from it all. He had inherited his family's fortune, and through smart investing, managed to almost triple it before he was thirty. The Bannings were a veritable empire of entrepreneurs who had also invested wisely; Simon was their only son, and, she was quick to find out, the last remaining member of what had always been a well-liked and respected English dynasty. Most of his money and efforts had been put toward environmental conservation before he pulled his vanishing act from society. Unfortunately, he had yet to vanish off the pages of the U.K.'s worst rags, and parsing every article she found for actual information was starting to give Cara a headache. She gave up. She needed to unplug, and cast her mind from Simon Banning, because this was starting to feel like the obsessive behavior following a break-up rather than old fashioned journalistic investigation. Still, something wasn’t sitting right with her—hadn't sat right with her since Simon had divulged his story to her on that rain-washed moor. She understood the family of the other driver's press

for money; they were looking for resolution, and for someone to blame other than their son. Simon seemed the perfect target, and she had even witnessed a few of his vices firsthand. Why was she so certain that he hadn't been drunk that night? Was it wishful thinking? Where was the toxicology report on him, on the victim? Had he ever looked at the paperwork himself, or had he trusted other people to tell him that he was in the wrong? And even if he had too much to drink that night, that wasn't what the family had focused on when they brought their case against him…which was why Cara was highly suspicious there had not been enough evidence to support Simon's intoxication. It wasn't unheard of for people to go after their rescuers in a courtroom setting for damages incurred by a resuscitation effort—at least, in the United States it wasn't. That was about as far as her knowledge extended without letting herself get too deep down the investigative rabbit hole again. She didn't like it when the puzzle pieces didn't fit together, but she had to keep reminding herself that it wasn't her business anymore. Maybe it had never been her business to begin with. Cara passed the time with her family in and out of a partial daze. Her mind was always working when she wasn't keeping a leash on it, either to solve an aspect of Simon's case, or to keep the image of the man himself in her memories, even if all she wanted at the end of the day was to banish him permanently from her thoughts. She checked her phone frequently in the vain hope that the tow truck driver might have passed her number along with her message to Simon, but no one called. So she ate and drank and laughed and pretended to invest in the usual family drama, all the while biding her time for her return to school. Once she was back at Trinity, she was sure things for her would return to normal: no more stormy nights, no more mysteries, no more treacherous housekeepers, and definitely no more billionaires. And if she still dreamed about Simon, still longed for the narcotic taste of his lips and the memory of his hands, still despaired for all the arguments and witty conversations they had never had, well…she was sure her course load would banish those desires before long. She was just a student, after all—she really had no business tangling with someone like Simon Banning in the first place. She was confident that a goal-oriented young American woman buried in student loans would be able to forget him before long.

If only her subconscious would get the memo. # "Sir?" Simon Banning stood over the mantle, staring hard into the fire. The light from the hearth flickered, casting shadows along the bent figure of the man and illuminating the plaster cast around his leg. "What is it, Gerald?" The elderly butler stood in the doorway to the living area. "Sir," the man continued unperturbed. "It is only that the staff is worried about you. You haven't been yourself since…" "Since what?" Simon's voice was clipped, the accent only sharpening his tongue. "Or did you mean since who?" "…Since the accident," Gerald concluded mildly. Simon gave a forced laugh and turned around. The wind from his sudden movement guttered the fire, gilding his handsome figure in light as much as it cast half of him into complete shadow. "To which accident do you refer, Gerald? The one that destroyed my life? Or did you mean the one that very nearly finished the job?" "The new car will arrive tomorrow," Gerald said. "With your permission, I will have one of my contacts in town drive it to the estate." "Fine." Simon's mouth twisted bitterly. "But it's yours. I doubt if I'll ever get in another car again, Gerald." That night, he dreamed about her. His Cara. She came to him in his room and stood before his bed, an utter vision in the white dress he remembered so fondly. Simon sat up, knowing as he observed her that it was a dream, and feeling guilty for how he would use her. But he could do nothing to stop himself from reaching out to her, wanting to forget all that had been said. Wanting to be forgiven. He would awake in the morning, confused and angry, and uncertain of where to direct his feelings.

But for now, he would have what he wanted. The vision of Cara ignored his invitation to join him, at least at first. She stepped into a spill of moonlight and began to shimmy, sensuously, out of her dress. Simon watched, riveted, fascinated, and so, so incredibly hard, as the woman he desired most did a silent striptease in the pale light filtering in from outside his window. "Simon," she whispered. "You want me, don't you?" "Yes," he breathed. "God, yes, Cara. Please end my misery, even if just for a moment." The naked nymph obeyed his request, stepping to his bedside, and Simon pulled her into his arms. He kissed her, nipping and sucking her plump lower lip until it was flush from his abuse and she was gasping with each labored breath. He rubbed his thick length against her, keeping her close to him all the while, until he had assured himself that she was ready. In his dream he could feel how wet she was, but he needed to feel her deeper. Simon raised her hips off him and lowered her down onto his engorged head. "Simon!" she exclaimed. The elevated timbre of her voice sent a thrill through him, and he groaned as she sank back onto him with a shudder. "I need you, Cara. I need you desperately." She moaned his name again, rocking against him, but it wasn't enough. Simon thrust up into her, again and again, bucking so hard he made the bed shake. Cara rode him, her beautiful body slick with sweat and shuddering, and the sight of her drew him ever closer to climax, even if the sensation of her atop him left him unfulfilled. He fixed her eyes on her face as she reached down and cupped the curve of his cheek with her slender hand. "Cara." He shuddered. She leaned down, and Simon banded her tightly in his arms, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. He smelled nothing, and the dream…the dream was dissolving. "Please tell me it wasn't true," he whispered. "And I'll listen this time. I promise. Just please give me some sign." He was in a foul mood the next morning. He had been in a foul mood for weeks. He stumped down the stairs in his cast, throwing his robe closed over his tensed and hardened midriff, when a polite

voice cleared itself beneath him. Simon made it to the landing before turning to acknowledge the source of the noise. "Sir." The maid held the hall phone out to him. "It's the man from the tow company, from… before. He said he was unable to get in touch with you while you were at the hospital because you refused to see anyone." "Yes," Simon said impatiently. "What is it? Does he require another signature?" "No, sir. He says it's nothing to do with forms this time, but that he made a promise to someone and he intends to keep it." The maid's face pinched in confusion at this, but she continued on. "He says he has a message for you."

CHAPTER 18 "Cara," her advisor barked at her. "I know you can hear me. Get in here. You're not going to want to miss this." With a gusty sigh, Cara sat back from her desk and rose obediently. That was how her advisor began all of his solicitations—right before he was about to assign her an extra uncredited workload that she didn't want to deal with. "This had better be good, Hollaway." She was the only student who talked back to him, but she fell in line just like the rest. Unlike the rest, she always made her deadlines, which was why he continued to allow her the leniency to do so. Professor Bernard Hollaway was a fit and fierce-looking man of approximately fifty who had given up his hairline a long time ago; he now shaved his skull almost every morning, often when he arrived early to the office. Cara entered and bypassed the chair in front of Professor Hollaway's desk to join him behind his monitor. When she realized he was only logged into his desktop, and had no browser windows open to show her, she stood back and crossed her arms. "Was that code for 'I don't want the other students to know why I'm calling you in here'?" she surmised. Hollaway eased back in his chair and unnecessarily straightened a stack of files on his desk. "I've got an assignment for you," he said. "A real one. A real doozy. It's going to get you out of the classroom, and you're going to be gone a while." "Where?" Cara asked curiously. She had never heard of this sort of opportunity coming up before, and definitely not for a student. "New York." Hollaway glanced at her hard through the light reflection off his lenses, as if trying to observe whether or not she was up for it. Cara crossed her arms and tried to appear skeptical, rather than excited, about his offer.

"Do I get credit for it?" She had to cover her bases. "Who will be paying for the trip?" "The client. And it will be credited." Hollaway straightened his files again. "I'm afraid I can't tell you any more about it. It was one of the stipulations of the client. So, you in?" "How long will I be gone?" Cara's brain was awhirl with questions, but she already knew her answer. She needed this distraction to get her mind off things. She had thought coming back to school would be enough of a diversion for her, but her classes were unstimulating. Her dreams, on the other hand… But that was the real problem. She still hadn't been able to forget about Simon Banning, and it felt like it was only getting worse by the day. She found herself staring at maps or at the GPS on her phone, retracing the backroad she had taken, her eyes eventually arriving at the pin that marked his house. She had deleted the pin, but that didn't change the fact that if she got in her car and drove, she was fairly confident she would know where to find him. What was he doing out there, all alone? How did he pass his days now that she was gone? There wasn't a day that went by that Cara didn't wonder whether he had gotten her message. Was Melinda still employed with him? What could she possibly be planning next? A woman with her patience and sharp mind just had to have a backup plan. It's not as if she had waited, biding her time, on the offchance that someone like Cara would break down outside the house. She thought about the message, too, because she wondered if Simon would ever come and seek her out at school. And that was the most dangerous of all, because it was something she hoped for, when Cara knew she should be forgetting all about him now and getting on with her life. But life seemed so boring now without Simon in it to throw her a curveball, to make her pulse race when he entered a room, to make her hot and bothered with just a look… "Can't say." Hollaway was peering at her again, as if wondering where she had just gone. Cara came back to herself and met her advisor's gaze evenly. "I'm in." "Thought you would be." Hollaway lifted his too-straight pile of folders and produced a plane ticket. Cara blinked, but took it without a second thought. Things were moving fast on this. Then again, she

had always been a fast-mover. "You head out tomorrow morning. I'll forward you the address of the hotel where the client has requested to meet. Come back with a good story to tell, all right? And why don't you give me something to publish while you're at it? I'm sick to death of all these lists and opinion pieces you guys keep turning in to me. I want a real story." # That was how Cara Langford, journalism major, found herself in the lobby of the grandest hotel she had ever seen in her life. The Four Seasons New York was one of the top ten luxury hotels in the city. If she hadn't done the research beforehand, she would have known it on sight. Fifty-two floors, and her room was located on the fiftieth. Better start walking. Cara grabbed an elevator to herself and shot to the top of the building. She was grateful for the opportunity to be alone to compose her thoughts; there was nothing like hurtling upward into the sky in a tiny box to put things into perspective. She needed to wash up and change before her meeting with her mystery client. She didn't even know if the client was a man or a woman at this point—all she knew was that she was to meet them in the bar downstairs at nine o'clock. Fairly late for any kind of interview, but maybe this was to be more of an introduction. When Cara got to her room, she shot off a quick e-mail to describe what she would be wearing. She hadn't gotten a direct response back from the client yet, but she figured at least one of them should know what to look for. Then she closed her laptop, took a shower, and got changed. Cara's choice for the evening was a skintight black strapless dress that barely came halfway down her thighs, and black pumps. While it wasn't something she could comfortably traipse around in on the Trinity College campus, she could tell already that it would help her blend in perfectly here. The price tag on black dresses wasn't always as immediately identifiable, and besides, it looked great on her—good enough that she doubted anyone would be looking at the dress itself.

It was also the exact opposite of the white dress she had worn the night she and Simon had spent the evening together Cara turned as she examined herself in the mirror. She looked sleek and sexy while still managing to remain consummately professional. Hollaway would have blown a gasket if he had been there to see what she was wearing, but she wasn't dressing to impress her advisor. She adjusted her breasts before departing from the mirror to finish curling her hair and shading her eyes. The last thing she did before leaving her room was apply another coat of lipstick, and then unglamorously check her e-mail. No response, though it said her message had been received. Downstairs, she was able to turn quite a few heads as she made her way to the bar. Mainly hotel staff; she assumed most of the clientele were out on the town on a Friday night. When she was comfortably seated at the bar, she updated her contact on where to locate her. And then she waited. And waited. She was twenty minutes into her vigil, and just about to satisfy herself that her contact wasn't coming (and that as much as she wanted the credit, she had gotten a free trip to New York out of it), when her cellphone buzzed. Cara set her soda water down and fumbled for it quickly. Her inbox blinked, notifying her that she had one unread message. The e-mail simply read: Sorry. Come on up. Floor fifty-two. Floor? Really? Evidently, the client wasn't even going to give her a room number. Evidently, plans had changed. Cara sighed and shoved her phone back into her purse, signaling the bartender that she would like it all to be charged to her room. Free trip to New York, she reminded herself on a continuous loop as she made her way into the lobby and headed for the elevators. "Excuse me? Miss Langford?" Cara turned as one of the women stationed behind the front desk hastily approached her. "I'm so sorry, but are you Miss Langford?" the woman inquired. "I was told you'd be wearing…" "Yes, I'm Cara Langford." This whole situation was getting weirder and more convoluted by the second. "What's up?"

"It's only that I got a message that you would be heading up." The woman looked at her meaningfully. "The penthouse?" she tried again when Cara didn't register recognition. "Oh." She guessed her research had failed her on that front. "I guess I will be, yes—" "You'll need the key," the customer service agent confirmed happily. She passed Cara a keycard, which the latter stared at incomprehensively. "A key…to the room?" she asked uncertainly. "No." The woman smiled broadly. "To access the floor. Have a good night, Miss Langford." She was left to stand alone in the lobby and scrutinize the innocuous piece of plastic in her hand. Then she raised her head, straightened her dress, and headed for the elevators. Free trip to New York. She could literally afford to deal with a little eccentricity at this point, even if it was starting to wear on her nerves. Were all rich people this annoying, or was she just a magnet for the more special cases? She got into the elevator, slid the card in, and punched the number for the top floor. She was very tempted to just get off on the fiftieth, overnight, and check out the next morning…but as the number of floors flashed ever upward, Cara found that ultimately she couldn't resist her own curiosity. She adjusted her skirt again to make sure it wasn't riding up, before shooting a paranoid look up at the camera. Finally, the door slid open to admit her to the highest level. Cara exited slowly, turning to take in the cityscape outside a long line of windows. It was breathtaking. Even if she decided to turn back now, it would have been worth it just for the view. There was really only one door, and she assumed that was the one that would admit her to the penthouse. Summoning her courage, and pulling her dress down once more for good measure, Cara strode to the door and knocked. To her surprise, it opened almost immediately, as if her mystery client had been waiting for her all along on the other side. Cara looked up, startled.

CHAPTER 19 It was Simon Banning who stood in the doorway before her, dressed in a dashingly expensive black suit. Damn it, but he looked good. It became very apparent to Cara in the course of the five seconds she devoted to taking the man in that her dreams and fantasies had not done him any sort of justice. He wasn't as unreachably tall as she remembered; his shoulders were broader; his face… She had never imagined she would ever see that expression on his face again. He looked at her like she was an unexpected breath of fresh air washing over a man who was suffocating—as if she were the oasis just coming into focus after a long and devastating drought. The way Simon looked at her now made her skin heat, and her heart hammer with unexpected possibility. There was no way that this was happening. It must have just been a new variation on the same old aggravating dream. But it all made sense now. Her mystery story… It was Simon. He had requested her, had even flown her out here for…what? The whole world already knew his story. And when he thought she had been about to tell it the first time… Cara dropped her arms to her sides, letting them hang there as she deliberated. Then, she turned, and started to walk away. She felt his hand catch her wrist before she had even managed to take a step. Cara whirled around, and had been about to open her mouth to protest, when she felt Simon crush his lips against hers. The kiss felt like desperation and relief rolled all into one; it wasn't combative at all, but the fight went out of her immediately as she let the terms of their unexpected reunion overpower her. Simon walked them both back to the opposite wall of the hallway, and Cara felt her shoulders connect solidly with the window. The surface was slick and cool, nothing like the burning heat of the Englishman currently pressing himself against her. Their mouths locked together as if in an agreed-upon resolution of never being parted again; they lipped at each other as if mapping a re-acquaintance, making out in clear view of all of New York below. Cara had never felt so swept up—it was like being suspended in the sky and romanced divinely all at

once. Simon pulled away from her slowly, disengaging the activity of their lips, and Cara felt herself instinctively lean forward to follow. But their reunion had ended almost as soon as it had begun, and the Englishman drew back to meet her eyes. He looked at a loss and in need of direction. Well, he could join the club. "God, Cara. I'm so sorry. Not for kissing you," he added quickly. "Although I might feel differently in a moment if you decide to slap me for the transgression." "You deserve a good slap," she replied once she had regained her breath. "And maybe from me most of all." She slid away from the window and walked past him, although it wasn't back toward the elevators, which was what she had planned initially. She walked right into the open doorway of Simon's room and made herself at home. It wasn't easy to affect disinterest in her surroundings, of course. Simon Banning had never made it easy. The billionaire's suite took up the entire top story of the hotel, excepting the hallway she had just exited. The windows she had become rather duly acquainted with outside of the room extended into the main living space, replacing the far wall entirely; she was treated to another panoramic view of New York, although this one faced out toward the harbor. With the exception of a few low-lit lamps in the farthest corners, the room was dark. Cara crossed to the window, attracted by the lights of the city. She heard the door close softly behind her, but she didn't turn around; she could see Simon's reflection clearly off the dark pane of the window. "I didn't think you'd come," he said quietly. "Yeah, well, it took me longer to figure out it was you than I care to admit," Cara said. In the reflection off the window, she saw a tired iteration of Simon's crooked smile draw his mouth upward. "Really? How long?" "I just told you I don't care to admit it." Cara sighed, and then finally she did admit it. "Until I saw you." "Really, Cara? Do you have many acquaintances who can afford to stay in a hotel of this grandeur?" he asked interestedly.

First she had allowed him to kiss her, and now she was already letting him get under her skin. She finally turned to glare at him, and was glad the dim light of the room couldn't illuminate him the same way that the hallway had. She had never seen him in a suit like that before. Had they met under these circumstances to begin with, dressed as they were, rather than in a muddy field out in the middle of nowhere, she might have reacted to him very differently. Then again, she doubted he would have been able to hold his tongue for very long, and Cara… Cara wasn't the best at keeping her opinions to herself, not even in front of someone who was so clearly financially and culturally superior to her. She crossed her arms over the tight front of her chest, and tried to ignore the fact that Simon's eyes dropped immediately to take in the voluptuous features her posture accentuated. "You made it fairly clear to me the last time I saw you that you had no interest in ever seeing me again. I assumed you were a man of your convictions." "That wasn't the last time I saw you." Simon's quiet murmur carried to her, and Cara felt it along the back of her neck, like a caress. She wanted to be closer to him, but she ignored the whims of her body. "I dreamed about you almost every night. I couldn't get my mind off you, Cara. Everywhere I went in the mansion…" Simon walked slowly toward the center of the room, running his fingers along the backs of the imported furniture as if they longed to be touching something else entirely. "…The memory of you lingered in every single room. The gates, the foyer, the natatorium… my bedroom…" "I was under the impression that you thought our time together was a mistake," Cara said in a raw voice. "And that you felt I was only attracted to you because I thought it would make a good story." She didn't mention her own longing for him, the deep desires that she had squirrelled away in her subconscious. She was more guarded about telling Simon the content of her own dreams. "I was under an impression," he admitted. "But it wasn't my own. I know that I hurt you, Cara, but I've lived with the hope these past weeks that you would find it in you to forgive me when I told you that my own actions came from a wellspring of hurt. I'm not proud of it. Any of it." His handsome face fell miserably. "When I saw your expression when you left my hospital room…it took everything I had in me to not call you back. There was no one else I would have rather had by my side." Tears sprang into her eyes at his confession, but she stood unmoving by the window. "Then why

didn't you listen to me? I mean really listen? After I got back to the house and made sure everyone knew where you were, Melinda showed up in my bedroom. She suggested, and then flat-out offered, to help me write a story on you, Simon." "And then you told her where to shove her story," Simon guessed. Cara's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "I wish it could have had that ending. I wound up going to see you, and when you didn't want to see me, I went home." "But you left me a message." Simon took a step closer. "With the man who towed your car. He was very insistent that I get it." "Good. I was very insistent," Cara whispered. She thought Simon had taken another step toward her when she wasn't paying attention, before then realizing that she was the one who had advanced on him this time. "You cared about my well-being, even when you thought I would have nothing more to do with you," the Englishman murmured. "I already had a feeling that I'd made a terrible mistake by pushing you away. When I heard you tried to contact me, I knew that you had been telling me the truth all along." They were standing so close together now in the darkened penthouse that she could feel his breath stir her hair with every word. "I just have to ask you for one more truth, Cara. Whatever you say to me now, I promise I'll watch you walk out of my life again and do nothing to stop you, if that's what you want." "What is it?" Cara whispered. Her lips parted in the darkness as she raised her chin in question. "What are your feelings for me?" She watched the shadows shift across his expression, playing to his every angular feature as his face hovered above her own. "Are they what they were before? Because before, I thought…" Cara grasped the back of the billionaire's neck and drew him down to her, putting an abrupt end to his suspense. She didn't know the nature of her own feelings for Simon—she didn't know what they should be when everything, including their bank accounts and rocky history, was taken into account—but she knew that what she felt for him was powerful. It moved through her like a tide, like he was as gravitational as the moon, always pulling her toward him. Whenever they collided, it felt inevitable—

there was no existing in a room with Simon for long without needing his hands on her. She got her wish almost immediately. The moment her lips met his, the man ducked his head in submission to her desires; his hands came up to grasp the curve of her waist possessively. He was already familiar with how they fit together, but he let his palms drag down the small of her back to her rear, sampling for himself just how well the material of her tight dress hugged her asset. His hands moved below the elastic of her dress, hiking it up almost to her waist; dizzyingly, Cara thought the women who had designed it must have known what they were doing. She was clothed one moment, and half-naked in his arms the next, all with a sly touch of his hand. "Cara." He murmured her name against her lips, and she silenced him again, jumping in the same moment to wrap her legs around his waist. The hand gripping her ass created a stirrup for her to sit in as she slid their pelvises close together. She felt his zipper catch on the crotch of her underwear as they kissed each other senseless. Their passion was fast and frantic now, as if they were racing together to catch up for lost time. Soon the rush and relief of their reunion was replaced by something else altogether, and that was heat, unlike anything she had ever experienced before or thought she could possibly endure. The way Simon's tongue retreated each time before pushing past her teeth again felt more like he was fucking her mouth than kissing her, and Cara couldn't help but gasp at each insistent intrusion. She slid her lower body against his, moving against his growing erection, and the curve of Simon's hand pushed and pulled to help keep the rhythm. Soon she could feel herself hitting up against him, again and again, fitting the outline of his length against the indent between her legs and climbing it, setting off every pleasurable nerve in her body. One hand grasped her back, keeping her upright in the air against him, even as the other slid downward to explore the exposed crease of her backside. "I love this dress," Simon gasped. He was making love to her in it, Cara realized—all of the movements were there, even if he had yet to penetrate her. He was used to getting what he wanted, and he made his gratification now immediate with her. They were in very real danger of getting off together without ever coming undressed. "Bedroom," Cara whispered in his ear, cupping his face close beside her own. She felt his nod,

and clung on as he carried her the distance of the front room to a darker offshoot past the entertainment center. This bed was even bigger than the one he kept at his estate, of a mattress size that Cara had never dreamed existed for sale. He deposited her gently on her back, and she had just shimmied out of her panties when he grasped her around her waist and suddenly pulled her back up again. "Hey!" she protested, but in the next moment he had whipped her around and thrust her back down, bending her over with her tight end in the air. She felt his hand finish what it had started in the main room as it pushed the clinging fabric of her dress up and retired it to the swell of her plump, naked rear. She had never tried this position before, and her inability to see what he was doing felt inexpressibly frustrating. Cara turned her head over her shoulder, catching his movement in snatches, but it was only enough to see he was stripping quickly. His shirt beneath the open suit was by now untucked and unbuttoned—had she done it in the other room?—and she caught a glimpse of his chest muscles rippling beneath. She reached behind her to take him in her hand, but he pushed her attempts away. His fingers gripped the mound of each exposed cheek, parting her, and she felt the pad of one thumb brush all the way down her slick entrance. Cara moaned and let her head fall as she pressed herself back against his touch. She could feel herself growing wetter by the minute as her body, and Simon's fingers, prepared her to receive him. "I wanted nothing more than to take you in this dress the moment I saw you," Simon murmured behind her. She felt his free hand smooth along her contracting ribcage and up to her tightly-pressed cleavage. Having her at this angle, it took little effort on his part to drag the collar of her dress down and free her breasts over it. The form-fitting material kept them pushed up and into his hand, and he pressed and fondled them both at once as he slid a finger into her unexpectedly. Cara cried out. "Does that make me an awful candidate for an interview?" "I'd say it makes you my best candidate," Cara gasped. "Do you conduct all of your interviews this way, Miss Langford?" Simon's darkly amused voice drifted to her. "On your knees in a rich man's bedroom? Or have you made a special case for me?" Another finger slid into her, and Cara moaned, rocking her hips to encourage the delicious friction he was causing. "Either way, I'd say I'm very lucky indeed."

A low whine in her throat rose unbidden as Simon retracted his fingers, leaving her desperate for something, anything, to fill the space he had left inside her. She had dealt with it for weeks now, and, knowing he was so close to giving her what she wanted, she couldn't bear it anymore. One hand came up from stabilizing herself on the bed to press his hand deeper into the crevice of her breasts, and she felt his groan vibrate through her own body as he slid into her at last. "Simon!" she moaned. The man took his hand from her breasts and snatched her hips, yanking her back against him, and Cara gasped as an explosion of pleasure ripped through her. She had always felt filled by him before, but forced into this angle beneath him, his pulsating member was buried so deeply inside her that she could feel it brushing up against something incredible. Her lips parted in astonishment as she arched against him. Once she had recovered herself, she hunted with lidded eyes for some indication of how he was accomplishing this. She saw her own ass fitted against his pelvis, pressed so firmly between them that it pushed upward toward his navel. His trousers still hung off his hips, and the undone buckle of his belt jiggled as he pulled himself back and thrust into her again. Stars exploded behind Cara's eyes. She gave a cry that was almost a scream, a sound that she would have tried her best to muffle, had she not had some vague awareness that there were no neighbors on this floor. She could be as loud as she wanted as Simon had his way with her, and there would be no one around to halt their proceedings. The billionaire pressed the smooth line of her body, the silken curve of her back, back against his open shirt, and thrust again. His hand roved up the length of her body, passing over her breasts with an almost indecent indifference, before stopping to cup the straining column of her throat. Warmth flooded Cara at the gentle pressure as his fingers stroked her neck idly, collaring her. She felt the other hand leave her hip to skim down her bikini line and delve between her legs. She had almost completely forgotten by this point that she was still wearing her dress. A lot of good the skimpy item of clothing was doing her now. Simon began to take deep, slow thrusts into her. The slap of their flesh each time they joined drove her wild. He was arousing her every sense to its absolute limit, except for her vision; when she realized she couldn't see his face or track how their bodies were moving, Cara closed her eyes and gave herself over to the feeling. She raised her hand to cup the hard edge of Simon's jaw, secure in the fact that this

was real, and not just another hot, wet dream. He pumped into her, his finger stroking her secret recesses all the while. Every move he made against her felt more intense, more incredible, than the last, and Cara knew she was addicted. There was no man in the world who had Simon's talents in the bedroom, and the fact that he wanted to do these things to her and her only sent her soaring with every thrust. She was the thing he had told himself repeatedly he couldn't have—yet every time he laid his eyes on her, he lost complete control of himself and had her anyway. "Simon." She gasped the man's name. "Simon, I'm going to come." "That's the…point…of this exercise," he gasped back to her, his words punctuated by his slow rhythm. "Make me come," she begged. "Please." "Not yet," he murmured. Cara felt the pressure building within her, and another caress along her neck threatened to put her over, but Simon had other plans. He removed his slickened fingers from between her legs and grasped her inner thigh, using it to turn her over. Cara crashed down onto the bed sideways as he hiked her leg over his shoulder and took her at a new, devastating angle. There was nothing she could do but watch as Simon grasped her elevated ankle and pumped into her. Finally seeing the way their bodies came together repeatedly in the dark drove her wild with pleasure. She moaned and snaked a hand between her legs, forking her fingers and fondling herself as Simon filled her to the brim again and again. "You can't touch yourself like that, Cara." Simon's voice sounded strained, and she could see a tendon standing out in his neck as he fought to keep control of himself. "You're going to make me come, seeing you like this." "Is this what you imagined you'd do to me?" she managed to purr. She pressed and massaged herself, flinching and giving little gasps as she allowed Simon to watch her explore her naked body beneath him. "When you were having dreams about me?" "Oh, God." Simon shuddered, and his cock gave a jump inside her. She felt him thrust himself up against the line of her inner leg, and Cara stroked her own center hard; when her orgasm finally hit her,

her cry was deep and enduring. She felt a rush of warmth as Simon emptied himself into her tight crevice, and shuddered again as he slowly and agonizingly withdrew. Pleasant aftershocks raced through her at the slightest movement, taken by either him or her. She felt gentle hands roam the rumpled fabric of her ruined dress and pull it off her completely. Simon shed his own clothes, and then he was on top of her, taking her into his warm arms and kissing her back to awareness. Cara moved herself in his embrace, pressing their naked bodies together as Simon carried her up to the line of pillows. "Cara." She loved the way he said her name. There was reverence, and relief, and maybe something more…although she wouldn't hope for those words, not from Simon. Not yet. They still had so much to work out between them, but at least the line had been crossed now, and they were back together again. Whatever arguments awaited them tomorrow morning, Cara felt their issues could be resolved with a single kiss. It was a strange, sometimes seemingly unworkable relationship that they shared. Cara wouldn't have it any other way. Simon pulled the sheets up over them, planting fleeting, worshipful kisses along her neck all the while, and Cara leaned into him happily. He was in a half-drowsy state, exhausted from the completed terms of their reunion; for her part, Cara felt as if her blood was singing. The sluggish beatings of their hearts joined together like a lullaby, and they succumbed at last to blissful sleep.

CHAPTER 20 This time when she awoke in the morning, Simon was lying there beside her. Cara found herself wrapped tightly inside of Simon Banning's strong, naked arms, and pulled against his chest as if she were the most cherished thing in his billion-dollar world. She peeked up at his dozing face, and was overcome by a sensation she had rarely felt before… She felt suddenly, inexplicably shy. It made no sense, considering all that they had been through already— all that they had done together—not to mention the fact that their exposed erogenous zones were currently pressed up against each other's bed-warmed bodies. She wasn't feeling shy because she was naked in his penthouse, no—Cara felt the way she did because she had never seen Simon so vulnerable before. He slept, his head resting on the pillow above her, handsome face drawn down in sated relaxation. There was no bitter, clever smile in evidence, no wry amusement at her expense, no strain or anger or tortured expression. She couldn't even think of him as Simon Banning; he was simply Simon. Behind him, she could see the dark vestiges of his expensive suit and tie thrown carelessly over the back of a chair. It was such a small detail, but it punctuated so much. Cara hesitated before reaching up to move a swatch of the man's auburn hair aside. She leaned upward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Simon stirred, his arms tightening around her, but he did not awaken. She lay with him like that for a long time, before morning necessities called. She managed to slip out from beneath the enclosure of his arms, though finding the bathroom proved a bit harder. She hadn't realized last night, but Simon's bedroom at the hotel was massive—there was even more than one bed, should a party necessitate numerous guests staying over. After Cara passed a third entry door to the same walk-in closet that was bigger than her apartment at school, she managed to find what she was looking for. The bathroom was cavernous, pearlescent, and glistening. She walked into it slowly, and was struck by how absolutely clean it was. Simon couldn't have been at the hotel for very long at all. There

was a line of three sinks, and, most fascinating of all, a Jacuzzi tub. Cara had never seen one inside before. While she was sorely tempted, she decided to go with her original plan, and stepped into the enormous shower. She eased the door quietly shut behind her. The water that assailed her felt absolutely divine, immediately hot and cleansing. She let it run in rivers down her bare flesh, turning and massaging it into her scalp. The bathtub was lined with exoticlooking shampoos, washes, and oils. Feeling completely alone and at her leisure, Cara twisted the caps off them all and sampled each scent before arriving at one that was a mixture of honey and sandalwood. She shook some out into her palm and rubbed it into her skin, easing the last of the tension from her overworked muscles. Sex with Simon had been an incredible stress reliever, and she wasn't sure pampering herself like this was going to replace its effects anytime soon, but it certainly didn't hurt. She had just turned to rinse the oil from her breasts when a pair of hands alighted on her body. Cara turned quickly, shocked that she had been so enraptured with her bathing that she hadn't noticed another person joining her. Simon grinned down at her. "Isn't this a nice surprise?" he asked. "Did you think it was all a dream?" Cara inquired with a casual lift of her eyebrow. He drew her close until their chests butted up against each other's; she could feel the rigid press of the erection he had woken up with against her inner leg. "Yes," Simon said quietly. "And when I woke just now without you, for a moment I was sure of it." "I had dreams, too," Cara admitted, just before their lips came together. Soon she was riding Simon as he held her pinned back against the slick shower wall. They slid against one another, the eruptive aroma of the oil titillating their senses, lubricating their bodies. The water pounded down between them and pooled in their joined navels and in the valley of her breasts. Cara's moans reverberated off the imported tiles as Simon took her then and there. Coming clean had never felt so sinfully dirty. This was fast becoming his Connecticut estate all over again. There had hardly been a room left on his property where they hadn't done something illicit; even the caves weren't safe. Then again, Cara probably hadn't been admitted to even half of the rooms during her brief stay there. The thought that she

might one day return to sully more of them with Simon filled her with private pleasure. But they had exhausted themselves for now, and Cara was eager to hear what the actual assignment was. She exited the bedroom after Simon and found him at the dining table in the main living area. He had evidently ordered down for room service—that, or they had just habitually brought it up—and Cara was greeted by the sight of a veritable breakfast feast before her. There was a pitcher of mimosa, of course; there was eggs benedict, scrambled, and sunny-side up; there was a loaf of steaming banana bread accompanied by a brick of creamy yellow butter. There was an enormous bowl of glistening fresh fruit, and another bowl of hand-whipped cream that looked the exact consistency of the clouds outside. Cara was in disbelief, and Simon grinned when he saw her expression. "I'll never get tired of seeing that look on your face. It comes so rarely that I think you must be good at hiding it. It makes me feel like an infinitely richer man than I actually am." "I'm not sure that's even financially possible," Cara murmured as she seated herself across from him. The meal laid out before her was unreal, and definitely enough to make her second-guess that Simon's suspicion that this was all a dream might have some basis in fact. "And you shouldn't talk so flippantly about your fortune." "Why not?" Simon inquired curiously as Cara tucked in to eat. She paused to look at him with an arched eyebrow. "Because it could get you into trouble," she finally offered. "I don't think you're in danger of being mugged or anything, but Simon…you're lucky if I only get this expression on my face rarely. There are people out there who could seriously hurt you. There are people out there who will take advantage of you, like Melinda." "You don't have to worry about Melinda anymore," Simon said quietly. Cara noticed he had yet to touch anything on the table; his plate was completely pristine. She pointed to him with her fork. "You mean you fired her?" she asked, feeling an immediate surge of relief. The longer Simon waited, the more likely the woman was to take advantage of his compassion and trust. "No, Cara." Simon glanced up from the table at her, and the look in his pale blue eyes froze her

to her chair. "Melinda has been murdered."

CHAPTER 21 "You mean to tell me," Cara said quietly, "that your housekeeper has been murdered, and the first thing you wanted to do when you saw me was have sex?" "Admittedly, that was also the second thing we did," the billionaire reminded her from across the table. The sumptuous breakfast that lay between them was completely forgotten in the wake of this revelation. Cara sat back, staring at her lover in abject disbelief, as he pulled a napkin off the table and unnecessarily shook it out. He hadn't helped himself to anything on the spread so far except for this choice distraction. "I would like to plead that the third time is the charm," he added. There was no plea on earth that would save Simon Banning from Cara Langford's fury at this discovery. She wasn't traditionally a morning person, anyway—their hot quickie in the penthouse's expansive shower had put her in an extremely good mood, but she could feel her happiness at being reunited with Simon rapidly declining as she stared at him. The man across from her was shirtless, and his torso still glistened with residual water in the morning sunlight that filtered in through the window. Vascular veins snaked along his powerful forearms, aroused to the surface by their earlier physical exertions. He looked as if he had gotten a haircut since the last time she had seen him, although there was the shadow of stubble on his jaw this morning, the same dark auburn hue as his hair. He looked pretty magnificent sitting across the table from her, which made his sheepish smile of apology all the more infuriating. Cara sat in her seat a moment longer; then she rose. She hated to leave a perfectly good meal on her plate before she was fully satisfied, but she needed to leave now if she was going to make it to the elevator in the next five minutes before she imploded. She began to gather up her clothes from the night before. Simon rose and came after her, his expression… well, his expression was a mixture of things. Despair, amusement, and the faintest hint of alarm that she intended to make good on her silent threat to

leave. "Cara! Cara, wait. I'm sorry. You have to know how much I've missed you. Seeing you last night made business seem somehow less important." "What are you, in the mob?" she demanded. "Because the last time I checked, that's about the only place that anyone would consider murder business." "You know precisely what I meant by that," Simon returned in his clipped accent. Cara stopped gathering her things in favor of crossing her arms. She wanted to appear angry and unconvinced in the wake of his explanation, but Simon wasn't buying her act. He took her gently by the arm, and when she didn't raise an immediate protest at being handled, he steered her toward one of the enormous and expensive-looking leather couches arranged about the living room. It wasn't cold, but he switched the fire on anyway, and the effect reminded Cara of the front room of his New England mansion. She wondered if it was meant to put them both at ease. She hated feeling easy, and Simon always made her feel easy in every sense of the words. She was able to guess by now that they had both gone through life with walls up: Simon, due to his fortune, and later due to his heartbreak and betrayal in the wake of the car accident that had destroyed his life; and Cara, because she was, well… Cara. She had been labelled "pretty" at a very young age, but being raised in a large family in the shadow of three older brothers, nothing had even been handed to her for free. She had grown up resenting the inevitable moments when people appreciated her more for her looks than her hard work, and she had receded back behind her book smarts and razor-sharp wit. That didn't mean she didn't know what she desired, though, or how to get it. And Simon had been onto her from the start. She felt easy now because the billionaire knew how to rouse her mind as much as he knew how to pleasure her shuddering body in the bedroom. He wasn't holding her here against her will—Cara was curious. She had never been this close to a murder before, despite what any future job in the journalism industry might hold. Her advisor had clearly seen an opportunity for her to advance her craft outside of the stifling strictures of a classroom. But she didn't think of Melinda's death as an opportunity to personally profit. Maybe that was

why her advisor had allowed her to go, too. "All right. Tell me everything," she said. Simon refilled her glass of mimosa and brought it over to her from the table, before taking a seat on the cushion beside her. He laced his hands and leaned forward, forearms propped atop his thighs as he considered where to begin. "I will begin by reiterating that you were right," he said. "Melinda is… had been in my employ for a considerable amount of time. Her service was second only to Gerald's, and I trusted her implicitly. I was so ready to believe that any chance of happiness I might find would crumble, that I believed her over you. I thought everything you made me feel, Cara, was undeserved, and it came as a strange sort of relief to think that I would no longer need to meet the expectations of a relationship if that was not what you were pursuing. But the relief didn't last." Cara snorted. "Of course not." Simon held up his hand to bar her interjections, and she relented. "And neither did the silence in the household amongst the staff. One maid, a recent hire, found me when I was alone and told what she knew. She said that Melinda had come to her before you had ever arrived with a similar proposition—that is, Melinda had asked the maid if she would be interested in selling my story and location to the press. The maid declined, but as Melinda was her superior in the household, she was forced to keep quiet on the subject at the risk of her job being terminated. While it's not something I'm proud to admit, she was probably right to do so; I was often so preoccupied with my own troubles that her release would have hardly registered as a blip on my radar. She overheard me yelling about you, however, and decided to speak out in your defense." "You were yelling about me?" Cara asked with an incredulous lift of her eyebrow. "To who? Don't tell me you also trashed the furniture." "I threw one dinner tray, but it was stainless steel, and there was no human target," Simon said defensively. "May I finish?"

"Fine. But I want to revisit the part where you were senseless with grief over losing me later," Cara said. She raised her drink to emphasize that her lips were now preoccupied with things other than interrupting. Simon eyed her suspiciously a moment longer, before giving vent to a deep, troubled sigh. "I fired Melinda immediately. I should have fired her sooner. I saw another side of her that day, one I had never been privy to before. She threatened to ruin me. I'm already ruined, of course, since the accident," Simon smiled tiredly at this, "but I wasn't alarmed by her threats. My employees are all bound to silence legally by the contracts they sign upon being hired. This was why Melinda approached the new hire before she had signed the contract, and why she came to you, a guest. She knew she couldn't go public alone without going to court as a consequence. "I gave her a day to get her affairs in order. It was evening by the time all of this came about, so I also offered her an overnight stay in her former quarters for one more night. I was being overly generous. In the morning, she was discovered dead on the floor." "You keep saying she was murdered," Cara pressed him. "Was there blood? A weapon? Where was the wound located, and what did the coroner say?" "Poison," Simon concluded severely. "And there were trace amounts of powder found on her fingers and at the bottom of her bureau. The official word on the matter is suicide, although it is still being investigated on my behest." "You don't believe it." Cara sat back and crossed her arms, studying the far wall of the penthouse, the one without the gorgeous view. Simon took her glass away to go and refill it while she was processing all of this. It should have made her incredibly self-conscious to have a half-naked man who was worth billions of dollars waiting on her like this, but their domestic chemistry felt natural. Cara was beyond noticing, anyway. She was biting the inside of her cheek and squeezing her arms unconsciously. "Going off of what you're telling me, I'm not sure that I believe it, either. Why would Melinda have poison to begin with? And if she wanted revenge via suicide, wouldn't she have been more likely to try and frame you for her murder? She was well within her means to leave a note indicating you in the crime. Say what

you will about her morals, Melinda was a smart woman, and she would have thought about something like that. I suspect she also would have thought not to leave powdered residue over everything belonging to her. She had access to your room, after all—it would have been more than easy to dust everything you owned while she pretended to be in there dusting the mantle. "At the same time, I don't believe she would exact revenge against you this way. Not only was she clearly a self-preserving woman in life, there would be no payoff that she would be around to reap. I'm sorry, I know this is a callous way to talk about someone who is recently deceased," Cara apologized quickly. Simon had seated himself on the coffee table in front of her as he listened to her deductions, his expression half-amused, half-astounded at the rapid workings of her brain. He passed her another orange juice as she carried on. "Furthermore, you said that she was found on the floor. To me, that says that she clearly wasn't expecting to drop dead then and there. Regardless of whether or not she might have been trying to frame you, I think a person who was intending to commit suicide would have sat themselves down somewhere or stayed in bed. You can apply this same logic to the scenario that your investigators have concluded—if she committed suicide because you fired her, what was her incentive to do anything but take a seat and twiddle her thumbs and wait for the poison to take hold? What was the state of her luggage?" Cara asked suddenly, surprising Simon by requiring his involvement once more. "Half-packed," the billionaire said slowly. Cara saw the look of dawning comprehension on his face as he confirmed something she had already suspected. It was a terrible cliché, but she snapped her fingers. Eureka. "Why would she have even bothered packing, much less waited until she got halfway through a process that nobody in their right mind enjoys? It shouldn't have even occurred to her that she would be leaving, not if she had already decided that your mansion was to be her final resting place." Simon took that as his cue to rein her back in. "Dramatics aside," he said, and Cara flushed at her Gothic word choice, "I knew you would be the right person to work with me on this. I want to see her killer brought to justice. Even Melinda deserved better than what she got."

"What are you saying?" Cara asked him incredulously. "You can't go back there. Simon, there's a murderer living in your house!" "I've dismissed all the servants for now," Simon said. "Indeed, in the wake of what has happened, it would be inhuman not to. We've all had a bit of a fright." The turn of phrase made him sound incredibly English. Cara sat back into the couch, relieved despite herself. "I was thinking about staying here, actually. I was about to hire a private investigator to look into the matter, but I wanted to see you first. Thank you, Cara," Simon added quietly as he fished for her hand between them. She watched, her expression softening, as he placed a kiss upon it and allowed his lips to linger. She pulled him up with her as she rose from the couch and embraced him. His arms hung at his sides for a moment in surprise, but eventually the man folded her against him. Cara buried her face in his shoulder, enjoying the fresh smell of him and the warmth of his skin from sitting by the window during breakfast. "Thank you for bringing me out here, and for giving me a chance to tell you my side of things," she murmured. "Thank you for wanting my opinion. I know this can't be easy for you. I have one last thing to say thought, Simon. If you want me involved, I will be—I promise I'll try and get to the bottom of whoever caused Melinda's death. But I need something from you first." Cara drew back until she was at arm's length. Simon's handsome face above her tightened in puzzlement, but he still wouldn't release her from his grasp. "Anything," he said. "I need you to go home." Her throat constricted over the words, but she said them anyway. What was this awful feeling? She wanted Simon to be safe, didn't she? She wanted him to have the best chance possible at getting through all this, so why did the thought of him leaving feel like she was losing him all over again? She soldiered on. "I think you should go home to England. You need to get your affairs there sorted. I think you should distance yourself from all of this, but you have to stop running. You're not going to be able to focus on resolving this problem when you already have another one hanging over you.

And…" This part required a little more courage. If he had been wearing his suit from the night previous, Cara would have reached forward to adjust his tie to keep her hands busy. But there was nothing between them anymore; it was just her and Simon. It was time to be honest. "… and I have a feeling that we're not going to be able to be together until you do." It was a massive step forward in their relationship: the actual discussion of having a relationship. Everything about their courtship so far had been unusual and unorthodox, but even their worst disagreements had felt real in a way that Cara had never experienced before. She was uncertain of the future, but what she was certain of was that she wanted to walk into it with Simon. She wanted him to heal, and she wanted to aid in that healing, and the first step was being honest with her feelings. The man looked at her for a long moment, until Cara started to second guess herself. Had that been too forward? Even after all they had been through together, was it possible that Simon didn't feel the same? "I'm used to getting what I want, Cara," he finally replied. "So you've told me, Simon," she said impatiently. "But I don't see how what I suggested…" "I'm used to getting what I want, but I'm not above a compromise." The man pulled away from her to pluck a T-shirt off the top of his unpacked suitcase. "I'll go home to England. But you're coming with me."

CHAPTER 22 "I can't believe I'm doing this," Cara moaned. "I've never even been out of the country before, much less in the middle of a term!My advisor is going to kill me." She was ignoring the fact that she was currently seated onboard a private jet, which was something else she had never done, or even conceived of doing, before. The interior of the plane accessible to its passenger—or passengers, in this instance—was furnished as lavishly as the penthouse suite Cara had first found herself in two nights ago. It was narrower, of course, and the windows were still the porthole kind you would expect to find on a commercial liner… only here the curtains drawn across the windows flowed like red velvet beneath occasional gusts from the air conditioner. There were no cramped quarters or seatbelt restrictions; instead, there was a bedroom, a fully-equipped bathroom, a lounge, and most incredible of all, a Jacuzzi. The Jacuzzi was where Simon was currently reclining as the jet engine hummed beneath them. Cara, who was out of her element and desperately trying to get back in, had settled for reclining a little more traditionally in a chair across from him. She had her laptop out, and was flipping through Melinda's toxicology reports. She knew how to parse such documents for information, but she still felt a little desperate while doing so. "At least someone is feeling relaxed," she muttered with a mutinous glare out from beneath her rumpled blond hair at the—once again—half-naked billionaire. Simon smiled cheekily. "The world is crumbling around me, love. I deserve a bit of respite before my trial by fire begins. And anyway, it's been a long time since I've used this jet." "It's bigger than my dorm room," she said. She really needed to quit using that as her frame of reference. "Why does anyone need a Jacuzzi on an airplane?" "You should give it a try." Simon patted the side of the massive roiling tub, and Cara sighed in

defeat. If she stared at these pages any more she was going to go cross-eyed. "Come on, Cara. Live a little. You can save my reputation at a later time." "At this point I'm not sure it can be saved." She set her laptop aside and rose, peeling off her clothes. She felt Simon's soulful blue eyes on her, and each patch of skin she revealed tingled where his gaze alighted. "The workup looks incredibly solid. The good news is that the autopsy doesn't look as if it's been tampered with. This means whoever murdered Melinda likely doesn't have accomplices on the outside; what's more, he or she is probably fairly complacent in the fact that the suicide ruling will stick. Have you spoken to anyone in your household about your suspicion of murder?" "Not a soul," Simon conceded as he watched her step primly out of her panties. "Although there is an understanding that I feel responsible for what happened. That was the impression I gave for my departure." "So we really are in this together, just me and you." Cara lowered herself down into the scalding water, wincing pleasurably. She hadn't brought a bathing suit with her to New York, which seemed precisely to Simon's liking. The billionaire set aside a glass of minted spring water and dragged her through the water into his arms. Cara felt his erection bob against the back of her thighs like a friendly reminder. She gave him a hard look. "Is that your control yoke, or are you just happy to see me?" Simon raised a hand up out of the water to smooth her hair back from her forehead. She could already feel her scalp prickling with perspiration, and her blond locks were deflating. Cara arched backward to saturate her hair completely, before whipping the result coquettishly over her shoulder. If she splashed Simon in the process, she considered it a bonus. The Englishman forked a hand through his own hair, slicking it back against his skull as he watched her. "God, Cara, you are incredible," he said unexpectedly, and she felt her face heat from more than just the Jacuzzi steam. "I mean it. Not only are you beautiful in repose, but everything you do only adds to the effect. Are you sure you don't have a boyfriend? Someone back at college?" He was earnest in his line of questioning, but Cara snorted.

"It's not that… I mean, there are a few guys in my major who have tried and struck out. I assume they warn all incoming students against me." She shifted herself backward until she was seated in his lap, enjoying the weightless feeling of being almost completely submerged in the water with him. "It's not that I don't date, I guess I would if I had the time. No, I definitely would make the time." "Then why don't you?" Simon slipped his hands into the seam between her waist and the upper part of her thighs. It felt incredibly natural to have him close. Cara was reminded of all the fitful night she had spent outside of the reach of his touch and knew that she never, ever wanted to repeat it. Even though the nature of her dreams those months had been incredible and lascivious, waking up alone afterward had been nightmarish. "I never met anyone that I could hold an extended conversation with," she said finally. "I mean, not the way I do. You may have noticed I like to fight with you." "Nothing gets my blood racing like a good old verbal spar," Simon said. "You wouldn't believe how many people are afraid to properly in one with me on account of my money. It's as if they're afraid I'll immediately write them out of the will. These are strangers I used to meet on the street, Cara." "Is that part of the appeal of living where you do?" she asked him. "The New England mansion. No one recognizes you?" "No one in their right mind ever comes by," he reminded her. "No one with a working car, you mean." Cara snorted. "Yes. I came to America to get away from my trouble in England, as you know. But I must confess I've fallen in love with your country. I haven't seen much of it, but I would like to someday." Cara's heart exulted at the thought. There had been the very real risk that upon returning to England, Simon would decide to remain indefinitely. But if love could draw him back across the ocean… Cara shook her head to dispel the word, and only managed to succeed in whipping Simon in the face with her hair. The billionaire spluttered, but only pulled her against him harder when she threatened

to move off his lap. It was getting harder to ignore the erection jutting up between her parted legs. Switching subjects seemed safest at this point. "How is your leg?" she inquired. Her hands vanished beneath the water to locate the limb that had been broken during the rainstorm. She pushed at the muscle and bone experimentally with the pads of her thumbs, and Simon groaned. The noise he made awakened a fluttery feeling in her stomach. "Are you about to find out?" he asked hopefully. Cara tipped her head over one shoulder to look at him. "Are you asking for a leg massage, Mr. Banning?" "Oh. I like it when you call me that," he murmured as Cara set her hands to work on him. He raised a hand up out of the water to stroke the back of her skull as she teased the muscles beneath her. "You say it with the perfect amount of sarcasm and sexiness. It makes me hard." "You were already hard," Cara pointed out. She dug her thumbs into a particularly tender area, and Simon groaned again. He dropped his hand from her hair and allowed his head to fall back to rest on the side of the tub. As Cara massaged him, she moved her own hands ever closer to the junction between his legs. She felt his cock twitch with anticipation, but refrained from touching it out right. "Cara, have mercy," Simon moaned behind her. "I'm thinking about whether or not I want a membership to the mile-high club," Cara replied. Simon's hands found her waist beneath the water once more and gripped her. "You do," he answered for her. "Whatever you say, Mr. Banning." She dragged her fingers through the nested curls of his pubic area and wrapped them securely around his length. Simon groaned explosively and bucked up beneath her, nearly raising Cara out of the water as he did so. She bounded back against him, but kept a firm hold of her prize. She licked her lips. "What are you doing, Miss Langford?" He was trying to get in on the game, but Cara could see

that his eyes were hooded, and that he was having trouble concentrating with her hands slowly dragging down his thick length. "Just taking ownership of what's mine." She pumped him with her fingers, and Simon gasped his wordless agreement at her claim. She wondered what the sensation felt like for him, submerged in all that wet warmth. The insides of Cara's legs felt slick despite the water raging around her, and she slid them together experimentally. She could feel Simon's hand moving downward, downward, until his middle digit was pressing her between her legs. He rolled the pebble of flesh he found there in time with her strokes, and they may as well have been fucking, it felt so good. "Do you remember that time in the pool?" Simon's question gusted across the back of her neck. "Our first day together and I nearly seduced you. Seeing you without clothes for the first time… laying my hands on you…" Cara shuddered and sighed at the memory. Simon appeared eager to relive the terms of that afternoon now, and hooked his finger down inside her tight passage. He stroked her velvet insides, petting every pleasurable nerve ending until Cara could feel her core roaring to life. She shifted back against him, wordlessly begging him to go deeper. He complied, slipping two strong fingers inside her. He pumped them in and out of her slowly, and Cara moaned. The hot water of the Jacuzzi had relaxed every inch of her and succeeded in wiping her mind clean; she could concentrate wholly on what was happening to her now, and what Simon's intimate fondling was making her feel. He was so good with his hands. He always knew exactly what she wanted, and how to give it to her. When he slipped in a third finger to test her readiness, Cara nearly went wild. She rocked back against him, milking the sensation of him filling her, even as her hand stroked him fervently. He was rock hard in the circle of her fingers, straining for something, anything, to bury himself in. Cara turned around, and Simon's fingers thrust into her with renewed energy. "Ah!" She bit her lip in the aftermath of the exclamation, but her whole body was shaking with anticipation. He could easily finish her, right then and there, with that skillful hand alone. She almost

thought he was mean-spirited enough to do it, to get her off without ever giving her what she truly wanted. It was well within his power in that moment to bring her to climax, and she would go screaming his name and begging for more. But he craved her as much as she craved him. Simon retracted the hand that tormented her and grasped her by the neck, lowering her down into a languid kiss. The strength and insistence of his tongue as it plunged past her teeth was enough to make Cara go completely boneless against him. She thrust her own tongue back at him and warred for dominance as she pressed herself back into his erection. She rocked herself back and forth against it, teasing him with the promise of the release that lay between her legs. Simon's fingers were tangled in her hair, and she felt his grip tighten; she knew what he was signaling her to do. He was too far gone himself to angle her body the way he wanted it. Cara snuck a hand between them and took hold of him once more, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his pulsing member. She guided herself down onto him and was grateful for the way that Simon's fingers had stretched her to accommodate him; she sank down onto him easily, feeling his rigid length slip inside her fully, until she was mewling and gasping with the unbelievable sensation. She felt her muscles contract helplessly at the intrusion, seeking a tighter fit, a more fulfilling pleasure, and she got it. Cara allowed her eyes to fall shut, half-dizzy from the heat and the sheer relish of having Simon inside her. She wanted to enjoy the sweet agony, but the man beneath her was horny beyond reason and impatient to move. He grabbed the swell of her ass and guided her down onto him again; his thrusts were slowed by the water. He was panting with need, and Cara decided she loved to see him like this. He could have a private jet with its own Jacuzzi and all the money in the world, but he was still a slave to his most basic desires. She leaned forward and snatched his lower lip between her teeth, exerting a sharp pressure on the sensitive flesh as she nibbled and pulled at it. Simon pulled her down onto him and kept her in place. His sudden refusal to move was driving her to distraction. She could feel that he brushed her very center, but

without friction, there was no triggering the ultimate pleasure that awaited her. Cara rose, about to change positions on him again, and Simon followed her up. He exhibited his strength in turning her around and setting her on the side of the Jacuzzi; the open air of the private jet rushed against her fevered skin, and Cara gasped at the cold. She wasn't given very long at all to reflect on it before Simon rose fully out of the water and seized her hip. She parted her legs to accommodate him as they were rejoined, kissing him all the while. His thrusts came quicker now that there was no water to impede him, and the force of them was nearly enough to unseat her. She struggled not to slide back down into the water, and Simon kept her pinned as he took her, hard and fast, against the side of the Jacuzzi. Each jerking motion caused the water to splash up around his tensed flanks, and despite the awkward haste with which they had decided on their new position, Cara knew it was what she needed. She leaned back, keeping a tight hold on his neck, and allowed herself to be jogged upon his rigid member. She was crying out incessantly beneath him, and she didn't care if the pilot heard her in the cockpit. Just the shape of the word made her shiver. She could feel the jets of the Jacuzzi shooting against the back of her legs, and it was this sensation that ultimately drove her over. She came hard and unexpectedly, bearing herself down on Simon's manhood as he milked her for one long, drawn-out cry of release. The sensuous vision of her orgasm inspired his own, and she felt him shoot a hot rush into her to rival the jets. Cara shivered and clenched her thighs around his waist as she rode the feeling out. Afterwards, she collapsed on the mattress in the bedroom with a towel draped around her spent frame. Simon joined her in a similar state of undress. He seemed amused by the draining effect that hot tub sex had on her. "Feeling good?" he asked her unnecessarily. Cara could only groan in response. The billionaire pulled her across the bed and into his arms, where they kissed and eventually dozed off as the jet flew them ever closer to their ultimate destination. When they touched down in England, it was a hundred times worse than Cara could have ever

imagined.

CHAPTER 23 It was too bad she couldn't enjoy her first glimpse of a foreign country between all the flashbulbs bursting. Okay, so they weren't technically flashbulbs. Most of the paparazzi in the crowd had tiny digital cameras and the huge black beastly models with telescopic lenses that Cara liked to rent out from her school. The instant Simon's jet slowed to a stop, the paparazzi were mobbing the stair car outside. Cara stood at the top of the stairs beside Simon, face stricken at the chaos. She had seen these sort of circling shark tactics before, but never at this level, and never in a situation where she had been the subject of attention. This was Beatlemania-level pandemonium. She was seriously considering turning around and disappearing right back the jet until Simon produced a pair of black glasses for her. "I was afraid of this. Put these on," he said under his breath. His own eyes were hidden beneath a pair of Ray-Bans. Cara complied, letting the tinted lenses of her terribly last minute disguise swallow up most of her own features. It was too late for her, she knew—at least ten of the photographers at the head of the line had already snapped her picture. "So much for telling my advisor I'm in New York," she muttered as they descended the stairs together. The bodies swarmed forward to get close-ups, while still parting to allow them passage through the horde. Cara was a bit surprised by this gesture, though there was nothing comfortable about the invasive strangers' continued proximity. She wondered if English paparazzi were politer than the ones they had back in the States. "They shouldn't be here," Simon said below his breath. "How could they have possibly known that I was coming? They didn't know I was away to begin with!" "This is some shady shit," Cara agreed as they fought their way toward the limousine that awaiting them. She could have sworn she saw one of the reporters quickly jot down her quote. She

imagined she could already read tomorrow's headline: Hermitous billionaire jetsetter brings home foulmouthed American floozy. Not bad, actually. She might have a hidden talent for editorializing this sort of thing. She was surprised to find that it was Gerald holding the door to the limousine open for them. "My apologies, sir," said the elderly butler. "But I couldn't bring the car around any closer to the plane." "That's all right, Gerald. I'm sure they would have found out I was back sooner, anyway." Simon held his arm out to invite her inside first, and Cara slid into the expansive backseat of the limo. He piled in after her and slammed the door behind him. She turned immediately to analyze the scene outside and pulled her glasses off. "There must have been at least five news stations out there, not counting all the reporters, bloggers, and freelancers…" She trailed off and shot Simon a look of wonder. The man was sitting slumped in a corner with his arms crossed. Despite his words of reassurance to Gerald, he did not look pleased. His mouth was set into a grim line, and he only appeared to be half-listening to her. "Simon, you're a big deal, aren't you?" It was a strange question to have to ask. Of course, Melinda had told her that Simon was worth a lot of money—that much had been evident to Cara from the moment she first laid eyes on his house—and she now knew that he had also been involved in a highly publicized accident that had left another man dead. Those statistics alone were enough to warrant some media presence at his arrivals and departures, but to become an actual media event? There was more to Simon Banning's image going on here. "I used to do a lot of charity events," the man offered eventually. "And I did some, um… modelling. You know how the princes are considered sex symbols in my country?" "Yeah, but I never understood why," Cara responded without thinking. Then the real message behind his question sank home. "What, you're telling me you're a sex symbol in your home country?" "Not by choice." Simon exhaled a long and drawn-out sigh. He might as well have been

discussing his most recent visit to the DMV for all the enthusiasm he was showing. "Having money will buy you that sort of status. And if you're single, and not unfortunate to look at…" "Why does this remind me of the opening lines to Pride and Prejudice?" Cara glanced out the window as Gerald turned off the runway and onto a major highway. It was disorienting to see all of the cars driving on the wrong side of the yellow line. Everything about the London outside her window appeared modern enough, but Simon's statements still had her grinning with the memory of her English 101 course. "Don't paint me as a stereotype, Cara," the billionaire chastised her. "I'm no Mr. Darcy. And anyway, that seems to be the state of affairs in every country. Money attracts attention, whether you want it or not. And when you have everyone's attention, there's nowhere they would rather see you go than down in flames." "We're going to be in the papers tomorrow, aren't we?" Cara was already opening her laptop with an idea to run an Internet search on the two of them, when Simon reached across to fold the screen closed in her lap. "Yes, but I wouldn't worry about it. I doubt anyone will be able to uncover who you are. Not implying that you're insignificant, or anything." "Of course not. Thank you." Cara glared at him, but couldn't help a reluctant laugh when she saw his sheepish grin. "I'm a better story when I'm Simon Banning's 'mystery blonde'. The truth would only disappoint them." "Exactly. And that isn't a reflection on you." He was adamant on this point. Cara's face softened, and she set her laptop aside to maneuver herself across the aisle and into Simon's lap. At the rate they were going, she was starting to doubt the future necessity of seats at all. She laced her arms around his neck and gazed out the window once more. No more surprises, she promised herself. I'm in Simon's world now, where this sort of thing is

commonplace. I have to act like seeing it all for the first time doesn't affect me so he doesn't feel the need to constantly reassure me. I have to play it cool. # "Are you fucking kidding me?" Cara moaned. "This has got to be a joke, right? This castle isn't yours, right?" She was standing in the dirt driveway of the largest building outside of a skyscraper that she had ever seen. The house—or mansion, or castle, or whatever it was listed as on the billionaire market— loomed over her like a BBC set piece. It was built all out of heather-gray stone, and suited the majestic dreariness of the countryside around it perfectly. She had stopped counting the rows of windows after the fourth or fifth story. "You didn't tell me you lived at Downton Abbey!" she exclaimed as Simon instructed one of the servants on where to take their things. The small staff that acted as the holdover at Simon's English mansion were all attractive, pale, and straight-faced men and women, and they didn't appear to know what to make of Cara. Two of them cast her an obvious look as they walked back inside, but a lack of any clear emoting left the intentions behind their glances unknown. "That's strike two on your xenophobia card, Cara," Simon said grimly. "I suppose I should be happy that you are getting it out of your system now before we have company over." "Are we? Going to have company?" Cara followed the train of servants inside. The interior of the great house was magnificent; she counted three staircases off the top of her head, and that was just her mathematical impression of things from five seconds standing in the foyer. She didn't even want to think about how many of her dorm rooms could fit inside the entryway that was traditionally reserved for housing peoples' umbrellas, and that was it. The ornamental rug that she was currently tracking English

mud onto looked as if a big game hunter had gone up against the entire cultural history of China, bagged it, and sold it as furniture. The rug alone was probably worth more money than Cara would ever see in her life. Most of the furniture pieces were shrouded in dust coverings, and she could see the servants going from room to room now and removing them. A part of her was intrigued by the concept of a house coming back to life around them, but Simon appeared preoccupied by other things, so she followed him into the next room. The fireplace informed her that it was probably the living room—but one of how many? She was seriously not playing it cool right now. "There will be more talk in the tabloids if we don't." Simon's answer reminded Cara of her original question. She plopped down onto one of the room's couches after one of the maids unveiled it. "In all likelihood, the paparazzi will attempt to infiltrate the grounds and snap photos. Just because no one has ever succeeded before doesn't mean that they won't this time. I used to have a lot more security," he lamented. "Had to send most of them on their way when I left the country. There was no use protecting an employer who wasn't there." "So you're going to them, rather than waiting for them to come to you," Cara mused. Not that she considered what the paparazzi did journalism exactly, but it was certainly interesting to be on the other side of the line for a change. She racked her brain for all the techniques she had ever seen persons of interest employ successfully when they wanted to avoid media attention. "Yes. I was thinking a dinner function of some sort, either here or in the city." Simon was about to sit down beside her when a voice cleared itself in the doorway. They both glanced up to find Gerald in the entry. "Sir, there is a phone call on the line for you. Shall I tell them you are not here?" "Who would be calling me on the landline?" Simon wondered as he rose. "My acquaintances

can't know I'm back in the neighborhood already, can they? I suppose it was inevitable." He dropped a quick kiss on Cara's forehead and vanished out into the hall. The move left her making awkward eye contact with Gerald. At least, she felt awkward about it. Gerald looked as stiff and removed as usual. She wondered if he disapproved of her being there. Simon had said he had sent all of his servants home back in the States. She supposed the butler, who was distinctly English himself, was probably not counted amongst their ranks. She had just opened her mouth to ask Gerald more about himself when Simon returned and dismissed the man with a nod. She quickly, and unnecessarily, made room for him on the couch beside her. His expression said it all before he did. "That was Stetson's family. They heard it on the news that I had returned." Simon laced his hands; he looked as if he was about to be sick."They want to set up a meeting with me."



CHAPTER 24 Stetson Pembrook was the youth who had been driving the night of Simon's accident. He was the boy that Simon had pulled out of the river and successfully administered CPR to—and subsequently died on his way to the hospital. His family were the ones who had filed a lawsuit against Simon and singlehandedly wrecked his trust in the human race. "Shouldn't your lawyers be here?" Cara was peeking subtly into one of the mansion's many drawing rooms, where the Pembrooks sat together and waited for Simon to join them. They were thin, unhealthy looking people, and they wore their grief for their son like a perfume. Cara thought she had developed a mistaken impression of them—they didn't look enterprising at all. They just looked… said. "They said this meeting was off the record." Simon was pacing the rug beside her, adjusting his tie repeatedly and running a distraught hand through his hair until his auburn locks stood on end. He was definitely starting to look the part of the insane recluse she had once suspected him of being. Cara reached out a hand to stall him, and stepped away from the door to help him readjust his worried appearance. "You know, for a guy who didn't believe a word I said when I was telling the truth, you sure are willing to trust in people who have your worst interest at heart." "This is the first time since I spoke to them at the scene of the accident that it will be just the three of us," Simon whispered to her. "I believe I told you that they never had it in their heads to come after me until later, and by that point there was no hope of reaching out to them to discuss their loss without a lawyer. This was the exact reason I followed your advice and came back to England. This was the exact thing I was hoping would happen." "Then why do you look so terrified?" Cara inquired as she swept the wrinkles from his shoulders. In lieu of a response, Simon looked agonized, and of course she would be a fool not to know the reason for his sudden case of nerves. "Get in there. I bet they've been waiting to talk to you on the

same terms for as long as you have. Don't make it about the lawsuit, and don't make it about you; just listen to what they have to say." She raised herself up on her toes, pulling him down by his freshlyadjusted tie to plant an encouraging kiss on his miserable mouth. "Be brave. And afterwards, you can show me around the grounds." "You're smart to give me something to look forward to," Simon commended, but there was no more distracting himself from what he had to do. With a sigh, the billionaire straightened his posture, pushed the door fully open, and entered the room.

# They met up again later to walk the grounds, as promised. Cara itched to ask him about the interview. She could not divine the direction Simon's conversation with the Pembrooks had taken, either from his expression or from theirs as they left the mansion an hour later. She had stayed out of sight, but always within reach should anything go wrong. She noticed Gerald doing the same. The grounds of Simon's English estate were even more lavish than his lands in Connecticut. There, Cara had mistaken them for open, unclaimed fields—here, his property was well-manicured and tightly controlled by phantom gardeners, none of which she saw on their stroll but who she had to assume were still employed there all the same. The hedges were kept neatly clipped, the grass watered, the fountains clean of too much algae and stocked full of lazily swimming fish. She still considered it a little gloomy. This estate and the one back in New England had that quality in common. "Does it have a name?" she inquired. "Does what have a name?" Simon seemed preoccupied, but considering what he had just been through, Cara thought she could excuse it… if only she knew what it was that Simon had just been through.

"Don't all these old English estates have names? Like 'Broadmoor' and 'Wuthering Heights' and 'Faulty Towers'?" "You can name it, if you like." They paused to study another fountain, one that she was sure Simon had stopped in front of numerous times while he had lived there, but he assessed it now as if he had never seen it before. Cara dropped down to sit on the side of the pool and stroked her hand across the top of the water. The fat carp rose up from the bottom instantly to see what the commotion was. "Carp Palace," she suggested. Simon made a face as he seated himself beside her. She was pleased with her name, if only because it had succeeded in shaking him out of his stupor. "I take it back. Never name anything," he said solemnly. "What did the Pembrooks say?" she asked now that he had come back to her. "Or would you rather not tell me? I'm okay, you know, not knowing. I'm here for only one reason, and that's to investigate Melinda's death with the information you're able to provide me. I'll leave it to you to vanquish the other demons of your past." "They didn't say a lot." Simon studied their reflections upon the water. "But our conversation was… different. In tone. It felt like I was speaking to them directly for the first time, and not through some proxy in the form of a lawyer. They seem more confused by the proceedings than I am. It didn't feel right to inform them that they are the cause of all this legal drama they seem to dislike." "Probably a good move not saying anything," Cara agreed. "Even though I have to agree that you're right. If they want closure for themselves and for their son, keeping the wound open this way seems counterintuitive. " "I'm not sure what it is they want." Simon looked thoughtful again. He had changed out of his suit and into a cream-colored cardigan and khakis. Cara couldn't decide which look of his she preferred: the casual, borderline neglectful Simon she remembered from their first meeting, or the Simon who dressed like the sharp incarnation of his fortune. His current look seemed like a good balance between the two.

"It's hard to know, when they don't appear to know it themselves. Again, I feel like any suggestion on my part would be a gross overstep. They have to be allowed to grieve, and to decide for themselves what the best balm may be." "You have rights, too," Cara said. "You're suffering, even if it isn't in the same way that they are. Simon, I've seen it." "Maybe I deserve to," he concluded. "I'm alive, and their son isn't, Cara." She didn't know what there was she could say to this, so she simply took his hands in hers to keep him from fidgeting with them. There was so much about the circumstances leading up the Simon's accident that she still didn't understand. For instance, had it ever been ruled that he himself had caused the accident? The other driver had been drunk as well, so it sounded like both of them were equally culpable. But Simon said he hadn't had that much to drink; he was fuzzy on the other details of him leaving the party, but of that he seemed certain. Still, the Simon Banning she had known that first week at the mansion certainly hadn't shied away from alcohol. Cara had been of the impression that he was self-medicating in a doomed attempt to keep his mind off the accident. So had it all started that night, or had it come about only after Stetson Pembrook was dead? She had too many questions, and none of the answers contributed to her own case she was supposed to be solving. Cara sighed. "Out of curiosity, have you told Gerald what I'm here for? He doesn't speak to me much unless spoken to, so I wasn't sure if he knew the circumstances, or if you even wanted him to know." "He is aware that we are dating," Simon replied. Cara froze instantly at the word, and the billionaire's eyes widened. He tried to retract his hand as if it was his statement, but she gripped onto it firmly. No way she was letting him go after that. "Excuse me, but could you repeat that? He's aware of what?"

"I, ah… he's under the impression that we are together as a couple." Simon looked desperately unhappy as he said this; all the while, Cara's blood was singing in her veins. Dating.Couple.All words that she herself had been avoiding. She hadn't wanted to put a label on what she and Simon shared. As intimately as they knew each other now, it felt as if they had skipped most of the traditional steps, and revisiting them now felt as terrifying as if this was their first date together. "I've made you angry," the Englishman guessed. "I'll be sure to correct his understanding of our relationship as soon as we are back at the house." At a momentary loss for words, Cara could only shake her head. "No, Simon. I… it's fine the way it is." Her tongue felt like a lead weight between her teeth, and Cara swallowed. It wasn't like her to get sentimental about things like this. What was the matter with her? Simon, of course, had to ruin her intense moment of self-reflection by raising his eyebrows and beleaguering the point. "So I should tell him we are dating?" "I thought you said he was already of that impression." Cara lowered her face and tried to conceal some of her mounting frustration. Her efforts were for nothing with Simon sitting so close, and knowing her temper as well as he did. "Wait, was that a trick?" she demanded. "Were you trying to figure out where I stood on the issue without having to take any risks yourself?" "I plead the fifth," he replied. "Isn't that what you Americans do when your back is against the proverbial wall?" "Well, Mr. Banning, you can't plead the fifth. We're in England." "And God save the Queen," Simon said solemnly. "But in all seriousness Cara, I want you to forget about Gerald for a minute." The hand that she had pulled into her lap squeezed hers, and Cara felt her heart quickening. "Yes, Simon?" she asked.

"I want you to forget all about broken bones and murders and focus on what I'm about to tell you," he continued on blithely. "Yes, Simon?" she asked again less patiently. "And just know that I… I want to say I'm falling in love with you, Cara. But it would be a lie if I did." Simon forked a hand through his hair. "Because I knew when you left me back at the hospital that I was already in love with you." His words stunned Cara to her core. She hadn't been aware of this, any of this. She had known, deep down, that her own feelings for Simon were more than fleeting, but to hear the confession from his own lips… His blue eyes sought hers, and she could see that expressing his feelings had been incredibly difficult for him. But there was nothing to hide now, and he didn't cast his eyes away from her a second time. He was expecting a response. "I'm not sure I'm any good at this sort of thing," Cara mentioned. "I've never, ah… no one has ever said something like this to me before." She blushed profusely. Where was her composure, her effortless American cool? Maybe she had left it behind her on a foreign shore. "But I think I came to the same conclusion while I was away from you, Simon. As much as I wanted to hate you, I couldn't. You were all I thought about. And all I could think was if I ever saw you again, I would find a way to tell you that I…" She didn't know why she struggled to say the words now. It had been harder and harder to keep from letting them slip in recent days. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, without an impatient or judgmental line in his handsome, open face. She couldn't stand having that face so close to her and not doing anything about it. Cara reached over to take him in her hands, pressing her palms against the clean angles of his jaw. Simon leaned instinctively, and Cara drew him down to her to press a kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she had

found the words again. "I love you." The Englishman leaned in again to capture the words in his mouth. Cara settled her hands on his shoulders as she found herself tilted backward; she felt a strong hand cupping the small of her back, keeping her from falling as he stabilized them both against the fountain with his hand. She didn't know why she did it, but she gave a wild laugh at the sudden rush of exhilaration she felt. She was being kissed by a man who loved her, by a man who had just exacted a similar confession from her, and she had never felt so beautifully free. She threw her arms around his neck and arched her back, pushing herself against him as he tasted the truth of her words for himself. They kissed for a long time, languid in their activity, enjoying the feeling of each and the crisp English air. They parted eventually, and Cara's lips buzzed and tingled as if they had gone numb. She raised curious fingers to them as Simon kissed the corner of her mouth and beyond, trailing his affection all along her cheek and down the curve of her neck. "Simon, when will you see the Pembrooks again?" Cara inquired. The billionaire planted a last, firm brand to her collarbone before glancing off across his property. "I'm not sure. When we meet with each other in the law office again, I suppose." "Why don't you reach out to them?" Cara suggested. "The same way they're reaching out to you now. No matter what the judge decides, it might benefit the three of you to keep meeting and getting to know one another. At the end of the day, I can't help but think they really do understand that you tried to save their son. Everyone made mistakes that night, and now all that there is left to do is attempt to pick up the pieces with the help of the people who still remain." "How would you suggest that I reach out to them?" Simon inquired. She looked thoughtful for a long moment. "Well, why not throw them a party?"

CHAPTER 25 The idea of a "party", as both the college student and the billionaire understood it, was scratched in favor of a sort of memorial gathering for Stetson Pembrook. Cara stressed the importance of keeping it as light as possible, more of a celebration of the boy's life than a eulogy. "This is going to work," she emphasized, "because deep down, I don't think anyone actually thinks you're responsible for his death except for you." "What is that supposed to mean?" the man inquired. Cara crossed her arms. "It means exactly what I said. But I don't have any hope of convincing you of the fact." "Yes, probably because me being responsible for the death of their son is the entire basis of their lawsuit." His tone was wry, but Cara knew the depth of the pain that still lurked behind it. She could only hope that one day very soon, he would be able to forgive himself and move on. As Simon prepared to follow through with arranging the event at an expensive hotel in London, Cara returned to her research into Melinda's death. She still didn't have much to go off of other than a gut feeling, and that was one that not even the people who had investigated her suicide seemed to share. She was able to draw conclusions from various statistics online—the very slim likelihood that someone would choose suicide by poison, for example—but there was just too little she still knew about what had been found at the scene of the crime. Simon was pulling strings to try and grant her as much access as he could, but even his wealth and influence could only extend so far. That, and she could tell already that the Connecticut police department located in that county weren't exactly the most organized in their procedures. She hit a wall in her research in the first hour after they had parted ways. Cara sat hunched over the downstairs dining room table, pulling at her hair and scrubbing her face in frustration. Simon was counting on her to come up with something—he was counting on her to find justice for a woman that had intended all along to throw him under the bus. He believed in her skills as a journalist in a way that Cara

herself did not, and she couldn't afford to disappoint him. But she was going to go crazy if she kept at it now, so she wandered up the grand staircase to the east wing to find him. Simon had wanted to share quarters officially, but something was still holding Cara back—maybe it was Gerald's continued presence, or the scarce presence of the other servants in the mansion, that made her feel (uncharacteristically) as if propriety must be upheld. Maybe it was just the old English feel of the mansion getting to her. They had settled for rooms right next door to each other, with a shared bathroom space that also granted them access to each other's beds. A part of Cara enjoyed the thrill of sneaking between rooms at night, even though she knew it was silly and everyone probably saw right through them. She found Simon in his own room. His shirt was off, and the front of his pants were undone, and there were shed articles of clothing everywhere. A line of deflated black suits were arranged on his bed. She had to assume by the state of his hair that he had been vigorously going through his wardrobe options for the past hour. "It's on," he said without looking up from a tangled snake's nest of ties on his desk. "I have spoken with the Pembrooks, and the memorial will be held next week at the Grand Stanley hotel in upper London. They've already had the funeral and the wake, of course, officially, but the idea of a casual affair delighted them." "So what's the problem?" Cara crossed her arms and leaned in the doorway. Clearly there was a problem if Simon was trying to decide on an outfit a week in advance. He had never struck her as the type to put much thought into his appearance; he was lucky to be athletically built and effortlessly handsome already, and to be surrounded by servants who put more stock into their master's image than he did. The billionaire sighed gustily. "I'm not nervous about the Pembrooks, if that's what you're wondering. I think you were right to encourage me to keep in contact with them despite everything. It's just… I haven't been out in London society in a while, Cara. I'm out of practice with how to go about it."

"Don't tell me you actually miss being a hermit?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. Then she remembered the horde of reporters who had met their arrival on the tarmac, and realized that being a shutin probably wasn't such an unattractive idea in Simon's world. "I do, actually." Simon pulled a tie from the tangle, and Cara made a face at the paisley pattern. He promptly discarded it for another option. "Most of my days at the mansion were spent in excruciating boredom. But all of that changed once you came around. Don't you miss it?" "Yes," Cara said automatically. It felt like exposing a secret, but she had just told the man earlier in the garden that she loved him—admitting that she had loved their time together didn't seem like such a stretch. "But that reminds me of something else I've been thinking of, Simon. You realize that if we do wind up being able to prove that Melinda was murdered, you would probably be one of the prime suspects." Simon lowered himself down on the edge of his bed. "How so?" "Well, you found out she was threatening your privacy, for one thing," Cara mentioned. "And you told me that she had been employed under you for a very long time. That's a huge betrayal of your trust that a jury isn't going to easily overlook. You definitely have motive." "They'll think it a crime of passion, you mean?" Simon asked. Cara pulled a face at the awful mental image his words conjured, but nodded all the same. "I see. Well, I'll just have to risk looking like a murderer in both our countries, then." He rose to start folding his things, and Cara moved to the bed to help him. "I have to get to the bottom of it, Cara. Whatever she may have done, or intended to do, Melinda didn't deserve what became of her. I was her employer, and I feel personally responsible that it happened under my roof." "I know." Cara reached up to cup his face, and Simon stopped folding his clothes. She kept the connection going until someone cleared their throat in the doorway behind them; evidently Gerald wanted a word with his master, so Cara retracted her hand and strolled into the next room to finish unpacking her things.

# She was in the room with Melinda's body. Cara stared in horror at the lackadaisical corpse laid out on the floor. Melinda looked thinner in death, and her skin was paper-white; her limbs were splayed at awkward angles, but there was no way the owner of said limbs was feeling any discomfort at this point. Cara was a serious journalism major. She had always suspected that she might wind up in this situation one day, but she had never expected that her first reaction would be to open her mouth and scream. No sound came out. She was paralyzed, as voiceless as the dead woman on the floor. She wanted to cry with wordless horror, but she also wanted to shout the most pertinent question of all: who did this to you? There was powdered residue covering everything like snow. As Cara revolved to take in the state of the room, she realized she couldn't move without stepping in it. This was evidence, she realized—she had to remain where she was or risk contaminating it. Her ability to find the identity of Melinda's murderer depended on it. But Melinda wasn't dead, she realized in sudden horror. The body on the floor was stirring, spindly white limbs pushing to lift itself up without any living blood to power its muscles. And then Cara really did scream. She bolted upright in bed and flung the covers off her. She hurdled into the next room as if she thought Melinda's body had been bedded down beside her. Her heart was racing; she thought it would burst. It was running an emotional marathon the rest of her had never been trained for.

Simon was halfway out of bed already; she had intended to join him in his room for the night, but she had fallen asleep while researching, and he hadn't come to disturb her. Now, the Englishman wore a bloodless expression that told her he was extremely disturbed. Cara realized the truth: when she had screamed in her dream, she must have screamed out loud for the whole house to hear. She propelled herself into his arms, and the billionaire clutched her close against his bare chest. "Cara! What is it? Are you all right?" There were no tears in her eyes, thank God—she wasn't as upset as he probably thought she was from the way she had come charging into his bedroom. She allowed herself to cling to him a minute longer, before pulling back with a sigh. Her throat definitely felt raw. She had definitely been screaming. "Sorry, I… nightmare." It wasn't exactly a coherent sentence, but it would have to do. Cara was still only vaguely aware of where she was and who she was with. Her subconscious episode where she had been standing over Melinda's body was enough to make her long for the days when it had only been her memory of Simon visiting her at night. The Englishman sat her down on the side of his bed and skimmed his hand across her forehead, pushing the sweat-tangled hair from her eyes. "Lord, Cara, you gave me a fright." She could see his chest slowing, and realized that he had been breathing as hard as she was. When he was done stroking her hair back, she slapped an embarrassed hand to her forehead. "Sorry," she said again. "I guess I shouldn't look over crime scene photos and try and work things out right before bed." "You had a nightmare about the murder?" he asked incredulously. "Alleged murder," she corrected. "We're the ones doing the alleging." "Cara, I can't have Melinda's death disrupting your sleep like this." He squeezed her shoulders, hard, and Cara winced despite herself. "If I'd any idea it would do this to you, I would have never involved you. I ought to call the whole thing off. In fact, I am calling it off, starting now. You aren't to look

any further into this. We'll accept what the coroner has said and move on." "Yeah, right." Cara pushed his hands off her to make her point, but she didn't want to completely give up her present closeness to him. "You should know me better than that, Simon. After all we've been through? I wouldn't be doing this at all if I wasn't one hundred percent certain it's what I wanted to be doing." "I don't know, Cara." His finger returned to her hairline, stirring a yellow-blond lock of her hair. "I'm not sure I can stand to see you like this again." "So we agree that it's you." Simon lowered blue eyes to her, and Cara smiled faintly. She was only making a joke, but she was sure he got the message by now. Just in case, she decided to tell him pointblank: "I'm not going anywhere. And if I'm going to be here while you sort the most difficult part of your life out, I may as well make myself useful. Right?" "You are the most useful woman in the world," Simon praised her. It occurred to Cara in that vast, darkened bedroom that she could find other ways to be useful… ways that she had been contemplating showing him before she had fallen asleep. "Lie back on the bed," she murmured. Simon seemed surprised by the change in subject, but complied, shifting himself back onto the mattress. She followed after him, her hands sliding up the chiseled expanse of his chest until she could feel him shivering beneath her. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?" she whispered into the darkness. "Did you think I didn't want to spend the night with you?" "You seemed tired." His hands alighted on her waist as she positioned herself over him. Cara had fallen asleep earlier in nothing but her T-shirt and underwear, and that was how she came to him now; she could see that the skimpy outfit was already beginning to have an effect on him. His drawstring silk pajama pants were starting to look conspicuously tight in certain areas of interest. "Well, I'm not tired now," Cara offered. She smoothed her hands along his pectorals, and Simon

sighed into the darkness. "I can see that." "Can you?" she asked. "I could afford to see more of you, Cara." His hands smoothed up her exposed belly, playing a concerto on her ribcage and moving upward until they alighted on her breasts. "You're not wearing a bra," he noticed. He fondled her chest until her breathing became ragged. His dexterous fingers pushed and pulled and worked her voluptuous flesh until she could feel the aroused peak of each nipple pressing hard against the palms of his hands. Cara made an appreciative noise in her throat and allowed her eyes to fall shut as she reveled in the sensation of his touch. Once he had satisfied himself, Simon slipped Cara's shirt off over her head. "God, you're lovely," he intoned. She moved against his ever-growing erection, grinding against him through their clothes and inspiring his body to harden rapidly. "I can't look at you for long without wanting to shag the daylights out of you. You look like an angel, Cara. You could wear a brown paper bag and I would still fall to your feet and worship you like a princess." "You're laying it on a little thick, don't you think?" Cara murmured with an upwards stroke of her hips. She lowered herself down, flattening his erection against his stomach and between the heated crevice between her legs. Simon groaned and went rigid beneath her. "And you're being rather unfair," he gasped. "There's not a lot you can accomplish with our clothes still on, Cara." "What is it that you would live for me to accomplish, Mr. Banning?" Simon reached between them and yanked the band of his pants down. His manhood sprang free. "I'm not sure how to ask for it," he admitted. "That night at the mansion…" "I know what you want," Cara assured him in a husky voice. She ran her tongue along her lower

lip and made sure that he noticed; she thought she saw his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed. His eyes followed her descent back down between his legs. When his cock vanished inside her eager mouth, the billionaire groaned explosively and seized a fistful of her tousled blond hair. She loved doing this to him. There was nothing that stoked Cara's own pleasure quite like watching Simon Banning, English sex god, transported to new heights by the mere touch of her hand or mouth. She grasped his member by its root and ran her mouth down it, tasting him with a clean sweep of her tongue. Simon cursed and bucked himself toward her mouth, but the hand on his pubic bone pushed him back down into the bed again. She loved the silky feel of his shaft, and the fact that he tasted like nothing. How could she resist sampling him? But Cara wanted more than a sample. She licked the tip of his penis, tasting the salt-sweet bead of precum, before wrapping her lips around him and lowering her head once more. "Oh fuck me, Cara!" Simon exclaimed. She knew that she would fulfill his request eventually, but right now, the man seemed more like he was ejaculating curses in an effort to prevent himself from ejaculating elsewhere. Not that she would have minded. In fact, it was on Cara's bedroom bucket list to suck Simon Banning dry. One of these days. She loved giving head, and Simon was the best possible subject she could have asked for. She sucked him deep into her throat, relaxing the muscles that would allow her to swallow him utterly. She knew the sensation of being buried deep inside her mouth would feel amazing to him, but she also knew what would be more amazing. Cara pulled him in and out of her mouth, again and again, fellating him until the man's tense grip on her hair signaled that he couldn't take anymore. "Cara, stop," he warned. She released him from her mouth with an audible pop! and grinned wolfishly when she noticed how flushed his face had become. "You don't want me to stop," she said as she climbed up to the pillow to join him. Her talented tongue found the breathless part in his lips and slipped its way inside. She felt his hands pressing against the swell of her waist, guiding her down to sit on his chest as his thumb hooked and pulled the elastic of

her panties down. The head of his penis slipped inside her, and Cara gasped as he forced her down onto him fully. "I love you, Cara," Simon groaned as they came together. The heat of his words made her shudder, and she realized that they had never made love before, not like this, with the word love alive and present between them. "I love you too, Simon."

CHAPTER 26 Gerald drove them to the hotel, where a valet took over parking the limousine for them. The butler came around the side of the car, and Cara stepped out first. She was dressed in her tight black number, and she felt both frightened and thrilled to be showing it off again once more. It clung to her every curve like a sleeve, or a second skin, terminating short inches above her knees. She wore no tights or nylons of any kind, and her long, supple legs were fully presented to the world; a pair of black pumps completed the look below the waist. Cara generally didn't bother with a lot of makeup, mainly because she was a student and didn't have the time, money, or inclination to doll herself up before her last minute morning runs to class. She had done up her eyes heavily for tonight's occasion, offsetting her brilliant eyes with a smoky blue eyeshadow and carefully tapered wings with her eyeliner. She had rouged her cheekbones on the car ride over, and applied a fire engine red lipstick that Simon had been insistent on kissing off of her with almost every application. She had been forced to wipe his mouth clean with a napkin every time so he could avoid showing up at the party looking like he had just gotten out of clown college. Beside her, Simon looked absolutely brilliant in a three piece suit and tie. Cara felt like she was walking out onto the Hollywood red carpet the moment Gerald let her out the door and her heels touched down. She had never felt as 'power couple' as she did with Simon. Whoever was here tonight with the intention of causing trouble had better look out. "You look beautiful." Simon dropped the whisper in her ear as they wound their way toward the entrance of the hotel. "Have I said that already?" Cara laughed. "Yes. Only a hundred times on our way over here!" Not that she particularly minded looking beautiful, and it was certainly good to hear that she had achieved the intended effect from a man who was used to attending these events.

"We still haven't decided on a backstory for you," he reminded her as they revolved together through the glass doors. "How good are our accents? Because if you can come across as passably English, that could be fun. At the very least you should be Australian." "Why should I have to be anything?" Cara demanded. "Are Americans somehow considered unsexy and you didn't tell me?" "I thought it would help to keep our mind off the other people in the room," Simon said as they walked through the lobby. Cara definitely noticed heads turning to follow them as they passed. "You never know who is going to show up to these sorts of things. "How about the people you invited?" "Only half the people invited originally RSVP, and half of those ever actually do wind up coming. Everyone else is just rich enough, and just curious enough, to make their way in to see what the fuss is all about." "But aren't most of these people friends of the Pembrooks?" she reminded them. They made their way to the hotel bar, which also happened to be where the dining room and stage were located. The room was packed surprisingly full of very young and very beautiful people, and Cara suspected that her question had been ill-conceived. "See, you would think that, wouldn't you? Considering that the Pembrooks were the ones with ultimate power over whose name wound up on the guest list," Simon agreed. "Except someone must have gotten hold of it in the press somehow, so now every millionaire an billionaire with nothing better to do is here. What a disaster." "It's not a disaster yet." Cara spotted the Pembrooks over by one of the dining room tables, talking to cluster of people and occasionally glancing about nervously. "Look, there they are. Just go over and talk to them. It will look bad if they aren't the first people you speak to. Reassure them that the attendees they don't recognize really are here to honor their son."

Simon nodded. "Good thinking. If you'll excuse me, I shall return." He detached from his arm and made his way over to the group of invited guests. Cara watched him. Something was bothering her more than just sympathetic nerves. Someone must have got hold of it in the press. How? Cara knew that information escaped its intended channels, but she also knew that the more money you had, the more you could protect yourself against this sort of thing happening. Was the press in London really that good? Well, they had been waiting a very long time for the return of the prodigal son. She watched as a man in a suit stepped to the front of the group and shook Simon's hand. She turned and when to sit at the bar. She hadn't forgotten what Simon had told her about the legal drinking age in England, and she was sorely tempted to order something for herself now, but she was feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden, and she didn't think that alcohol would necessarily help matters. Less than five minutes later, Simon sat down on the stool beside her. "You're back already?" Cara looked puzzled. "I thought you would talk with the Pembrooks a bit longer." "Their lawyer is here!" Simon said sharply below his breath. Cara turned, and once again identified the man in the suit, who looked slightly out of place at the perimeter of the group. "Wait, are you serious? What did he say to you?" "This was a mistake. This was a terrible mistake," the man at her side was muttering repeatedly. "I need to call my own lawyer. I need backup, and legal representation." "Calm down," she said. "And don't call your lawyer." She looked over her shoulder again. "I do think that's strange, but the mood of the evening will totally shift if you meet them on their level. This is so weird!" she said suddenly. "I thought you said you guys were starting to interact better around each other. And I mean, you didn't have to set this evening up for them." "What do I do, Cara?" Simon asked miserably. She laid a sympathetic hand on his elbow, before

noticing Gerald exiting out of the kitchen with a tray of drinks. She met his gaze as he moved to serve the Pembrooks and their guests, and his eyes dropped to Simon's slumped form from across the room. The old butler nodded as if he understood. "Stay here," she said, "and don't talk to them any more unless you absolutely have to. Make them come to you, and set the terms of your discourse—if you don't want their lawyer around, make that clear with your body language. I don't think you can tell them to send him away, but you don't have to engage in anything you don't want to with them, either." "Brilliant." Simon was running a distraught hand through his hair, and it broke Cara's heart to see the styling job he had done going to complete waste now. She squeezed his arm again. "Listen, I think Gerald is going to bring you a drink as soon as he's finished over there. I'm going to run to the restroom real quick." "I love you, Cara." The simple words arrowed through her. She rose up out of her chair, cupped his face, and kissed him. Simon didn't move from where he sat, but submitted to her affection as if it was the draught he had come to the bar for in the first place. She realized then that much of her own nervousness had stemmed from being there with Simon; now, she didn't care who saw or guessed what their relationship might be. She broke away and smiled. "If you think it's a good idea, you can take me over and introduce me when I get back. I'm excellent at breaking the ice." Simon returned her smile, and she departed the room to go and look for the bathroom. It took her longer than she had hoped to locate it. She refreshed her makeup with a compact from her purse, and then checked her phone out of habit. She had several new e-mails pertaining to Melinda's death, and she decided to thumb through them hastily. The biggest development was that the poison that Melinda had "administered" in her "suicide" had been discovered to be of foreign origins. Cara squinted at the name. She had never even heard of it before. She would have to do more

research on the subject when she got back to the mansion, but this was starting to smell fishier than it already had been smelling for the past week. When had Melinda last been out of the country? If she was one of Simon's oldest employees, then he was certain to know the answer. For the first time, Cara felt secure in the fact that she was on the right track. This was the best development that she could have possibly hoped for, one with the potential for a tangible answer, and she would pursue it until she arrived at a conclusion. She exited the bathroom and found her way back to the bar a lot easier this time. She was surprised to discover that everything was not as she had left it. The moment she entered the dining room, she heard the spray of glass across the floor. Someone had dropped their drink and it had shattered; not that unusual. But when she saw that someone was Simon, Cara's heart lodged in her throat. Quite a few people had turned their attention in his direction, and quite a few more turned when they heard the noise the man was making. Simon was laughing.

CHAPTER 27 Cara didn't know what was going on, but she knew that she needed to get him out of there, and quickly, before anyone with a press connection decided it would be a good idea to snap a photo with their phone. She crossed to the bar rapidly and lay a gentle touch on his shoulder. Simon turned, blue eyes shining when he spotted her. She noticed that his face looked flushed beneath the bar light. "There she is! There's my favorite American!" "Don't call me that." For some reason, the endearment sounded unnatural to her. She could deal with being called "minx" or "cheeky girl", but a public space wasn't the place to try out a new nickname. It felt superficial and strange. She was confused by his attitude, and her confusion made her sound angry, so she tried again more softly. "I already know I'm your favorite." "Yes. Yes you do." Simon revolved awkwardly on his stool, and for a moment she thought his elbow would slip off the bar. He already had another drink in his hand—what was he drinking? And how many of them had he had already? She had only been gone for a few moments! "There are all sorts of ways I let you know it—" "Ohhh-kay," Cara interrupted quickly. "Let's go get some fresh air, shall we?" Simon looked positively delighted by this suggestion, and so did the man behind the bar. As she helped the billionaire down from his stool, she shot a look over his shoulder at the bartender and indicated with a quick gesticulation of her hand that she wanted to know how many drinks Simon had already imbibed. The bartender shrugged and slapped his white towel down over his shoulder. How do you not know? Cara mouthed angrily as she steered Simon away. He probably thought there were plenty of opportunities for clients of the hotel to get drunk without him, but Cara hadn't seen any indication earlier in the evening that Simon was pre-funking without telling her.

There were too many people clustered in the lobby and around the revolving doors at the entrance. She didn't feel secure taking Simon out that way—what if someone recognized him? "How do you feel about stairs?" she asked as she turned them back around to walk the other way. Simon grinned. "Brilliant." They climbed to the next floor without incident and wrapped around the indoor balcony. As they walked, Cara kept an eye on Simon's stride. He seemed basically coordinated, although he was blinking more than usual, as if he was having trouble seeing straight. "What happened to you?" she whispered quietly. They passed a group of women who did not appear to be there for the party, but Cara fell silent automatically. It was no good. They needed a quieter place to talk, and she still needed to get Simon outdoors so he could sober up. She chose a dark hallway with an exit sign glowing at the end. One of the lights had gone out overhead, which suited their purposes just fine. She doubted they were going to be able to find a more private place to talk without renting out a room. They were halfway down the hallway when Simon thrust her into a small enclosure indented in the wall. Cara went with a cry of protest; she hadn't expected him to be capable of such a maneuver right now, much less capable of the foresight to execute it successfully. Her back hit the wall, and his mouth was upon hers. She shouldn't have enjoyed the unexpectedness of Simon's passion as much as she did. The man clearly wasn't thinking coherently, but since he was the one who had initiated it, she decided it would be all right… if she didn't let it go on too long. She threaded her arms around his neck and slipped her tongue past his scorching hot lips. His mouth moved against hers emphatically, and a moment later she felt a hand slip beneath her dress. "Simon!" she gasped. She broke away to seize his wrist, but the arm that pinned her between her legs didn't retreat. He did slow his assault, opting to massage her through her panties. She squirmed and gasped some more and tried not to make the noises her body so desperately needed for release.

"You're wet," he murmured into the dip of her neck. His breath felt ragged and hot against the junction of her shoulder, and he was only succeeding in fulfilling his own prophecy. Cara could feel it between her legs, and her heart was already fluttering with anticipation and arousal. She knew that the typically mild-mannered Simon could be a different person in the bedroom, but the way he came onto her so strongly now was unlike anything she had experienced before. Still, she had her pride. "That has nothing to do with it." She could feel her face growing hot beneath his scrutiny. No, this should definitely not be happening, not here, not now. What if someone walked in on them? They weren't even positioned in a room that could be walked in to. "You jumped me in the middle of a hallway. At an expensive hotel in London! At your own party, Simon!" "I want you." The man shivered as if it was agony to be near her and not filling her. The hand continued to stroke her until she threatened to purr like a kitten beneath his caresses. This was insane. So much was at stake, yet she couldn't tear herself away from the sensations of her own body. If they didn't satisfy themselves now, then when? Simon had already put her over the threshold with his too-good fingers; if she didn't give into him now, then she was going to be thoroughly miserable for the rest of the evening. She didn't return his claim, or say anything at all; all she could do was nod, once, to give consent. She had barely raised her chin again before Simon was pressing every line of his hard-muscled frame against the front of hers as he attacked her mouth once more. She could feel the considerable tent he had pitched in his pants as he ground it against her, and realized that there would have been no hope of them returning to the party anyway if it had persisted. She unbuttoned the front of his trousers quickly, happy to lend a helping hand. But Simon didn't want a helping hand. He wanted her, all of her, and he wanted it right then and there in the hallway. As soon as she had freed him, he was pushing his erection beneath the hem of her dress and teasing her entrance. All that remained between them as a barrier was Cara's underwear, and even that was starting to feel completely inadequate in staving him off.

"Simon…" she murmured. He was worshiping the curve of her neck once more with his mouth, and Cara vaguely registered that he had pushed the strap of her dress down one shoulder. He was completely ravishing her in the darkness of a dimly-lit, all too public hallway. This was probably the craziest thing she had ever done. The hand beneath her dress pushed the elastic band of her panties; as soon as its work was done, the hand gripped Cara beneath her thigh and lifted, forcing their hips together in one jerking movement. His member slid past her entrance and missed, although he might have only been teasing her on purpose, because the feeling of him moving against her clit was incredible. The back of Cara's head hit the wall, and she moaned a last futile protest. "We can't do this here…" "Of course we can, love," the Englishman muttered, and in the next instant he was thrusting into her. He yanked her thigh up again to grant himself better access as he penetrated her fully. Despite Cara's own earlier warnings, the cry she gave was explosive. He drove into her with quick, jerking thrusts. Soon her dress was reduced to a sweat-soaked, tangled garment, and she had no idea whether or not it was covering all the parts of her body it was meant to conceal from view. All of her felt thrillingly exposed beneath him. Each thrust of Simon's lovemaking carried her back hard against the wall, and each time he held her more firmly pinned in place until Cara was being pushed halfway up the wall. His strength was incredible that he could do this to her. "Hurry, Simon," she pleaded. She was beyond trying to talk them both out of it now. Their tryst was sending her into ecstasies. Simon must have known what a woman of filthy predilections she was if he had assumed all along that she would enjoy this. A few more quick thrusts sent Cara over the moon. He muffled her unexpected cry of release with a kiss, drawing her moan of pleasure into his mouth as his grip on her thigh tightened. Soon enough he was coming as well, shooting his load into her in a hot, unbearable rush, and she swallowed his own exclamation with a fervent kiss.

There was no time to recover afterwards. Anyone might come by at any moment and find them in their compromising position against the wall. They needed to clean up and get out of there, quick. "Simon, what did you do with my underwear?" Cara slid down from the wall and hunted all around in the darkness for it as Simon withdrew. She noticed him struggling to button the front of his pants, before ultimately giving up and pressing his forehead against the wall with a little laugh. "Simon?" His legs nearly gave way beneath him then. Cara rose from her desperate search and managed to catch him under the arm in time to keep him from spilling over completely. "What's the matter?" she exclaimed in alarm. She struggled to hold him and pull the strap of her dress back up as they made it to the wall for support. Simon leaned his back against it and gazed off happily into space. Cara wished she could say it was the after effects of having sex with her that had put him into a daze, but she had a sudden, dreadful suspicion that it wasn't. All of the puzzle pieces suddenly locked into place: Simon's strange behavior, and the relatively short amount of time it had taken him to arrive at this state, all added up to a possibility she hadn't even considered before. "Oh my God, Simon. I think you'vebeen drugged."

CHAPTER 28 The billionaire's handsome head lolled, and for a moment Cara feared he was about to faint. She ducked under his arm, quickly, just in case he needed the extra support, and all but hauled him out the hallway's back exit. A gust of cool London air hit them; Cara felt it through every inch of her too-thin dress, but Simon seemed unaffected by it. She helped him sit on the fire escape, and he dropped his head into his hands. "It's fine, Cara. I've just had too much to drink. I've been… overserved." He wouldn't raise his chin to look at her, and his tousled auburn hair fell across his eyes so that she couldn't get a good look at him. Cara bit the inside of her cheek. She had been at a party, once, where a girl she was acquainted with had been slipped Rophonyl. Cara had driven her home after noticing more than just the usual symptoms of being overserved. "Let me see your eyes, Simon." She didn't know if it would be the same for him—he seemed basically coherent outside of his strange behavior, and didn't look on the verge of unconsciousness. Simon reacted sluggishly to her request and moved his hands away from his eyes. Even in the light posted outside the door of the fire escape, she could see that his normally blue eyes were almost entirely black. "Dilated pupils," Cara said aloud. Her mind was racing. "Simon, is this similar to how you felt on the night of the accident?" "Yes," he confirmed. He then dropped his head back into his hands with a strange, unhappy sob. His moods were shifting faster than Cara could keep up with him, but he seemed aware of how out of control he was. "Oh God, Cara. I haven't changed a bit. I'm still the same person. I'm still—" "No, you're not," Cara said emphatically. "You're not the same person, because you never were this person. Someone is trying to set you up. Someone is trying to ruin you, Simon, and he's doing such a

good job at it that he even has you fooled." "He?" Simon repeated airily. "Who?" Cara hadn't noticed her own use of the male pronoun until he pointed it out to her, and he was right to be confused. Why had she said that? It's not as if she had a culprit in mind… Or did she? "Simon, I'm going to call security," she said carefully. "I want you to stay out here, and I'm going to send them to meet with you. They might run a few tests." "What kind of tests?" Simon sounded horrified at the prospect, and she tried not to smile at his uncharacteristically childish tone of voice. It was endearing, but it was all wrong. He was reacting to everything she said on a very raw level, and she needed to be supportive of him. "I'm sure they'll check your eyes like I did, Simon, and ask questions. I'll speak with them before." "Don't go." Simon grasped her wrist as she made to stand. "Please, Cara. I'm sorry that I tried to have sex with you in the hallway." "You, er… you succeeded." Cara blushed, and took advantage of his moment of speculation to gently pry his fingers from her hand. "And you don't have to mention that part, by the way, to security. Just tell them what you're feeling, and that your girlfriend thinks you're drugged. I'll try and be back before they get to you, but I really have to see to something first. Don't move." "I love my girlfriend," Simon sighed as she kissed the top of his head and let herself back into the hotel. She didn't want to leave him there, not at all, but she wouldn't be gone for long. This would only take minutes. "Gerald!" She had the good luck of running into the butler on her way down the staircase. The elderly man paused, looking nonplussed by their encounter.

"Miss Langford," he greeted her. "Where is Mr. Banning?" "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." She was gazing at him very hard now. He was dressed in his usual proper attire, but she noticed there was a slight bulge in his breast pocket. "What is that you have there? Ibuprofen? Oh, good thinking, Gerald. Simon is going to have a real doozy of a hangover tomorrow morning." And before he could stop her, Cara reached between them and plucked the pill bottle from his pocket. She had rarely seen any expression at all pass across Gerald's face, but now she was treated to a glimpse of borderline animal panic that flitted across his expression. "No, Miss Langford, I'm afraid that's my heart medication. I'm going to need that back—" "Funny, it certainly looks like a prescription bottle, but I'm afraid I can't read the label. What language is that?" Cara held the bottle out in front of herself, and Gerald made a swipe for it. The butler was out of luck—her reflexes were much quicker, as evidenced by her theft of the bottle in the first place. She raised it out of reach and brought it close to her nose. "Oh, you know what, actually? I forgot that there's a database for this sort of thing online! All I have to do is Google the color and shape of these pills, and their name will pop up! You wouldn't believe how easy it is, Gerald." "What do you want?" the butler hissed. Cara was reminded of the change she had seen overcome Melinda that day in her bedroom when the other woman had realized she couldn't be swayed. "And what are you implying?" "Wrong sequence of questions, Gerald." Cara backed from him a step for good measure and tucked the bottle down the front of her dress. She watched as the butler's eyes darted wildly about, but they both knew he wouldn't reach for it in plain view of any party guest who might just happen by. He thought he still had a chance of retaining his job, even though Cara knew otherwise. And she was about to prove why. "I know you've been drugging your employer. Not every day, maybe not even every month, maybe only two times total; but that's still twice too often." Cara crossed her arms protectively over the pocket she had improvised between her breasts. "You drugged him tonight, and you drugged him the night

of the Pembrook accident. I'm half-suspicious that you drugged him that day in Connecticut when he nearly drove himself off the road and drowned." "You can't prove anything!" Gerald's vicious tone seemed to imply that he thought otherwise. "And anyway, why would I do something like that? Mr. Banning is my employer!" "You resent him," Cara said. "How long have you been working for his family? What have they ever done for you in honor of your service? I bet you aren't even in the will, are you? Or if you were, what Simon's parents gave you when they died wasn't enough. You had to go after their heir. You were planning on wearing him down slowly, weren't you? Making him think he was losing his mind, forcing him into solitude and driving him into the arms of the alcoholism he thought he already had." She was working herself up now, and when Gerald didn't deny any of her claims, it only made her angrier. "Were you hoping for him to leave his money to you? Or maybe you were just trying to have a bit of malicious fun at his expense. Me personally, I think you were shooting for both. You never anticipated the Stetson accident, but you worked that to your advantage too, didn't you? You were in touch with Stetson Pembrook's family; you were the one who advised them to go after Simon. And they probably agreed to give you a cut of what they were awarded for having their best interests at heart." "You Americans and your crime TV shows," Gerald spat almost nonsensically. "You think justbecause you've seen it done on the telly that you can suss out the facts. Well, you're wrong. And I'll make sure Simon realizes once and for all what a lying little bitch you are." Cara wasn't finished yet. "You poisoned Melinda," she said. "You poisoned Melinda and made it look like a suicide. She was threatening to cut the strings on your little marionette show. I bet she wasn't even aware of what you really are, was she? You two could have been like two peas in a pod, but you got greedy. Poisoning Melinda was the perfect incentive for Simon to leave the U.S. and come back to England, where you had a better chance of convincing him to meet with the Pembrooks and possibly settle out of court. You were the one who alerted the paparazzi, and you are the one who has been behind every terrible thing that has happened to him in the past year."

By the time she had concluded her tirade, Cara found that she was too disgusted to sign off with a better ending. She started back up the stairs, intending to return to Simon before security and the police arrived. Gerald grabbed her wrist, his gnarled old fingers digging into her with surprising strength for a man with a so-called "heart condition". "Where are you going?" he growled. "I think the better question is where are you going?" Cara yanked her hand free from him. "I'd lawyer up if I were you. And stay away with Simon." She left him standing there, gazing at the ground, and she didn't look back. # Even though his butler was now in custody, Simon fired Gerald officially the next day. He said he wanted at least that satisfaction. "And now I have to hire new employees," he muttered over breakfast. He had hardly touched his plate, and he was holding an ice pack to his aching forehead. Apparently whatever Gerald had dosed him with the night previous left lingering effects similar to those of a hangover. Cara, who had made breakfast for him in the absence of a cook, tried not to take his lack of appetite too personally. "You definitely need a better screening process," she agreed. She sat across from him at the table with her laptop open, typing her story and frequently checking her e-mail for updates from the police. Since she had been the one to solve the case, she was being permitted unheard of access to the developments as they unfolded. With Simon's permission, she was going to turn his story in as her final project. "Cara." Simon drew the ice pack away from his forehead. "Will you do something for me?"

"Sure." She didn't look up from her laptop. "Will you kiss me before the Pembrooks get here?For good luck." She glanced up in surprise at his request, and was met with a pair of earnest blue eyes. Cara closed her laptop and rose with a smile. "They were going to drop their lawsuit against you, you know," she said as she sat down in his lap and laced her arms around his neck. "Even before they found out about Gerald's involvement in the accident. They like you. I can tell." "I only care about one person who likes me at the moment," Simon said, and their lips met in an easy, loving kiss that sent currents racing all up and down Cara. This kiss felt deeper than any they had shared to come before it, and she knew that a shadow had been banished forever from their relationship. Like Simon, she was looking forward to the sun.

CHAPTER 29 Cara jogged her leg impatiently, and her seatmate shot her an annoyed look. They were sitting in folding chairs out under the hot sun on the Trinity College football field—and by they,she was referring to herself and the hundreds of others who made up her graduating class. She felt hot and itchy beneath her flowing robe and cap, and she could tell others were feeling the same. They were just better at hiding it. She cast another glance over her shoulder. She could see her extended family occupying almost a whole section of the bleachers. When they noticed her looking, her older brothers waved broadly and embarrassingly. She was several yards away from them, but she could still see their shit-eating grins. She was the last of her family to graduate, and she was doing it with top honors and the highest GPA out of any of them. Cara was proud of her achievements, but she still felt like something was missing. Or rather, someone. She noticed a lone figure standing off to the side, in the shadow of the bleachers. The man had his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and he was casually leaning up against the structure. Cara squinted. The man was tall, and wearing what was undoubtedly an expensive suit, although he wore it more comfortably than anyone else she saw dressed similarly around him. The man didn't wave when he saw her looking at him, but he shifted to acknowledge that he felt her eyes. Cara turned forward again quickly, her face red beneath the square brim of her stupid hat. She hadn't expected him to come. She had told him the date, and even sent an official invitation to his mansion downstate, but the last time she had heard from Simon Banning he was flying out to the U.K. for the remainder of the month. Unless he lied to her, in which case he had probably done so just so he could elicit this exact reaction from her. Cara crossed her arms and glowered, her slumped posture and the position of her arms only making the quick beating of her pulse that much more apparent in the back of her ribcage.

Simon Banning was here. Simon Banning had driven up to Trinity College to watch her graduation ceremony. She was feeling the exact opposite of mad at him at the moment. Cara grinned helplessly, and hoped that the shadow from her cap would hide how obviously pleased she was. Soon it was her row's turn, and she rose and walked to the podium with the rest of her group. When they called her name, she mounted the steps and accepted her diploma, shaking hands and smiling for a quick picture. As soon as she made her way back down the aisle and toward the bleachers, she was caught up in a whirlwind of activity. The Langford clan passed her back and forth between them as they hugged and congratulated her; she lost her hat at some point during the proceedings, only for it to pop back up on her oldest brother's head. Good, let him look like the ridiculous one. It certainly came naturally enough. But she couldn't stop smiling, and hugging, and laughing. Once the ceremony was over and her family had finally calmed down enough to start discussing where to eat, Cara excused herself without a word. She made her way around the far side of the bleachers to join the man in the suit. While she hoped the sweaters and bad haircuts of the future weren't entirely gone, Cara couldn't deny that the way Simon presented himself these days was enough to make her heart stutter. He looked healthier and stronger than she had ever seen him; he looked right. He filled his suit perfectly, and the way he styled his hair was effortless. He was clean shaven today, and Cara couldn't help but think the special occasion was her. She sidled up beside him and felt nothing but gratitude toward her brother for stealing her hat. "Congratulations, Cara." She had expected something different from him—a quip about her outfit, maybe, or even a toast to her student loans. But the sincerity of his greeting, coupled with a sense that he might actually be in awe of her, had her walking straight into his arms.

They hugged for a long moment, until Simon pulled back a little to look at her. "Your family looks lovely from afar. Have you told them about me yet?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow. Cara smiled mysteriously. "I may have mentioned I met someone," she allowed. "Although I told them I thought you would be out of the country for my graduation. They still don't know you're English. I'm saving that surprise for when they meet you themselves." "Cheeky girl," he said. "My business concluded early in London." "You never even left, did you? You just lied about it so that I would be even more surprised when you showed up," Cara said. Simon shrugged helplessly. "I wanted to see the expression on your face. Can I meet them?" Her heart thudded in her chest. "You want to meet my family?" She glanced over her shoulder, but it was impossible to distinguish them from the crowd of other people's families. "Right now?" "If it isn't too much trouble," Simon said. Cara turned back to him and tried not to let her amusement show on her face. Trouble was all she had been in since meeting Simon Banning. She didn't give him an answer. Instead, she offered him her hand. Simon slipped his own hand out of the front pocket of his sleek black pants and interlaced his fingers with hers. Cara flirted her head in the direction she wanted to go. "Come on," she said. # He arranged to have him all to himself later, of course. After charming her parents and managing to avoid

pissing off any of her brothers, who were looking for any excuse at all to knock the head of the new guy dating their sister, Simon convinced them to let him spirit her off for the evening. He had nowhere fancy in mind—just a boring old understaffed mansion out in the New England countryside. They had left the Lanford clan to mull that one over. "You didn't tell them about my English heritage, and you didn't tell them about my money?" Simon was incredulous on the long car ride back to his estate. He was sitting behind the wheel at Cara's insistence. She was determined that he overcome his fear of driving, and the back roads of Connecticut were an excellent place to practice. He listed over into the wrong lane a few times, but considering he had done most of his driving in European countries up to this point, a few mistakes were to be expected. "What else didn't you tell them?" "Well, they don't know about the murder quite yet," Cara admitted. "They'll know once my piece is published. I figured reading about it would be preferable to me trying to explain it to them all at once." "If I hadn't lived through it with you, I wouldn't have believed it myself." Simon reached across the car to take her by the hand. So long as he stayed on the road, Cara decided she would allow it. "How did the interview go?" Cara shrugged. "They offered me the job." Simon squeezed her hand happily, and she grinned despite herself. She had been in an hour-long Skype interview with one of the top publications in the U.K. just before her graduation ceremony. Considering she was the journalist who had brought Simon Banning back into the public eye and solved his case in one fell swoop, she was in high demand. There were still some logistics to work out—like the fact that her office was literally an ocean away—but the job was almost all telecommuting. And with what they were offering to pay her, Cara wasn't feeling too worried about the future of her student loans. As soon as they got to the mansion, they relived their first day together. Mimosas and skinny dipping in the pool, followed by sex; conversation in the living room, followed by foreplay that led directly to sex. By the time they reached Simon's bedroom, Cara could hardly see straight.

She came hard for the third time that evening and fell back onto the lush bed with a gasp of satisfaction. Simon rolled off of her and gazed up at the canopy as he ran a hand through his disheveled auburn hair. "Jesus, I don't think I've shagged that much in… well, since ever." "Please don't bring Jesus into this," Cara mumbled sleepily. "I don't want to risk drawing anyone's attention to the sins we're committing." "Feeling this good shouldn't be allowed, to be sure," Simon agreed. He glanced down at his receding erection and sighed. "You've had your way with me, Miss Langford, and now I'm spent. I think I'll be satisfied for a very long time." "I hope not." Cara rolled over onto her shoulder to look at him. "We still have to visit the cave tomorrow." Simon groaned again, and Cara grinned like a fox looking forward to a tasty meal in the henhouse. "My savior is going to be the death of me," he said as he rolled away to fish something off of the bedside table. Cara wasn't paying attention to his grousing. Despite the exhaustion of her body, her mind was awhirl with all of the possibilities the future might hold. "Hey Simon, can I get that exclusive after all?" she teased as the man turned back to her. "You know, the one you thought I was after? I bet the awful gossip rags in your country would love to know every detail of our torrid affair." "Funny that you should mention an exclusive," Simon said, and that was when Cara noticed the small black clamshell box in his hands. She sat up immediately, and nearly hit the back of the headboard with her skull. She cast wide eyes at Simon, her heart pounding in her chest. He fixed her with bright blue eyes, and for a moment, she suspected that they had both forgotten how to breathe. Then, he eased the box open, and a shaft of moonlight from the window sparked off Cara's exclusive. Definitely the happiest day of her life.

~ END of STORM ~ 5 bonus books coming up next! :) But before you continue, I would really love for you to SUBSCRIBE TO MY NEWSLETTER or follow me on FACEBOOK. Thank you!

Billionaires In Love This is my first bundle and contains 5 novels. HIS BEAUTY and the BILLIONAIRE THORN BLINDSIDED ADDICTED TO YOU

HIS

Chapter 1 What do you say when you see your nemesis standing right outside your door? “Hi,” I croaked and wrapped my arms around my middle. I didn’t want to croak. Croaking was the last thing I needed to do when I faced this man. So I tried again. “What are you doing here?” Oh, God! Was that my voice? That breathless ‘I’m about to swoon’ version? This was too much. “You knew I was going to find you,” he said quite flatly. “Why on earth would you want to do that?” That was better. Still croaking, but not as bad. Instead of sounding like a geriatric toad, I sounded more like a teenage toad. That was better, right? That gave me some confidence. I straightened up and pushed my chest out. His eyes immediately dropped to my boobs, and it felt as though some high voltage laser had singed them. My brain was a little muddled, and I could feel my nipples hardening to pebbles right before his eyes. This was crazy. “Maybe because of that.” He flicked his hand toward my chest in reply to the question I had forgotten I’d asked. But then, as his eyes widened a little, I realized he wasn’t pointing to my chest. He was actually gesturing toward the small, round bump that my belly had become over the last few weeks. I was fifteen weeks pregnant. And he was the father. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re here because of the baby.” He raised an eyebrow. “What else? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I’d let you walk away with my flesh and blood?” There was no amusement in his eyes. They were chilly and staring at me quite dispassionately. So he was angry. I got that.

But he was being unreasonable. “I did what I thought I had to do. Can’t you see that?” I asked him, trying to appeal to his better nature. I hadn’t seen any evidence of it, but it had to be there. Any man who wanted a child as fiercely as this man wanted the baby in my womb has to have a better nature, right? I had to believe that. “All I can see is that we are not going to have this conversation on your doorstep.” His tone said it was not up for debate. Yet, I hovered there, trying to look for a way to stall him. I did not want him in my apartment. I did not want him in my space. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt me or anything. Nicolas Costa was a lot of things, but he wasn’t the kind of man who went around hurting women. I wouldn’t have agreed to this insane arrangement if he was. I couldn’t believe I was here, standing with Nicolas Costa, about to have his baby. I put myself in a difficult situation, and I didn’t know what to do about it. Dear God…if only my mom were here, she would tell me everything would be alright. Actually, no. First, she would chew my ass out and tell me what an irresponsible, thoughtless thing it was I’d done, and then she would wrap her arms around me and tell me she understood why I’d done it and that she loved me. I felt my throat grow tight and scratchy, and I had to blink really hard to push back the tears. My chest hurt. I rubbed it absently…not like it did any good. I missed my mother so much. It had only been three months since she’d died, and I’d not yet gotten used to being without her. I sighed again and stepped back. “Come in Mr. Costa.” I kept my voice cool and polite, hoping if I projected that image, I would actually begin to feel it. It was time I stopped running away from the facts—no matter how much I disliked them. The truth was, I was pregnant with this man’s baby and I had signed some legal documents saying that I would give him the baby when it came. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, and I even collected a partial payment. God, that really does sound bad, like I sold the baby in my womb. But it was nothing like that. Nothing like that at all. The baby wasn’t really mine…not really.

The fertilized egg was not mine. I was merely a carrier, a human incubator. But that didn’t stop me from feeling like I was this baby’s mother in every sense that mattered. And that was the crux of my problem. I loved it with a fierceness that amazed me. And I didn’t care what this huge hulk of a man said. He would have to go over my dead body to get to the baby, and I intended to let him know that.

Chapter 2 It all began fairly innocuously. My mom was a maid in Los Angeles, working for a couple of well-known actors, some politicians, and a few rich, but not so famous, business moguls. She’d done it for as long as I could remember in an attempt to keep us off the streets. Her best friend, Constance, was in the same line of work. In fact, they used to work for the same agency. But then Constance got a full-time position with Nicolas Costa, who just happened to be one the hottest Hollywood directors the world had seen since Frank Capra or Alfred Hitchcock. She talked about him constantly those first ten years or so. Sometimes I felt like I knew him just from the things Constance said about him. He seemed human. Kind. That is, of course, until he got married. Constance didn’t have much to say about his wife, actress Aurora Parker, or him, really, after their wedding five years ago. It was like her kindly, honest employer had disappeared and was replaced with something out of that old movie, Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Then, one day, I went to visit my mom and Constance was talking about the Costas needing a surrogate for their baby. When she mentioned the insane amount they were offering to the right woman, I knew I had to give it a shot. I needed the money. Not too long before then, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, and there was just no way her insurance would cover the amount of chemo she would need. Not only that, but the chemo would make her too sick to work, and that would mean losing her insurance all together. So the burden fell on me, but I couldn’t afford the treatments she needed—not on a teacher’s salary. After everything my mom had given up for me…being a single mother is never easy, but being an uneducated immigrant only made it that much harder. I hated the thought of my first pregnancy being a surrogacy. And the idea of giving up a child that I would carry for nine months was overwhelming. But I was willing to do anything for her. She was all I had, and she’d given everything just to make sure I had everything she never did. I would never know my father, but I was okay with that because my mom loved me so fiercely that I never felt anything was missing from my life.

And the idea of doing something that amazing for another couple was exciting. I love kids. I’ve taught kindergarten since I graduated college three years ago. Most of my fellow teachers walk into the school looking like they’d rather be almost anywhere else but there. I’m not like that. I look forward to each and every day with my kids, even when they’re being difficult. So, giving the gift of a child to someone else was another motivation. To give life where none had existed before is miraculous. I filled out some paperwork through the Costas’ attorney and waited, spending all my free time going to the doctor with my mom to find out what could be done for her stage 3 lung cancer. Lung cancer. I found it so ironic that a woman who never smoked a day in her life and always yelled at people who dared to smoke anywhere near me would be the one who would get it. The doctors thought she might have gotten it from exposure to all the cleaning chemicals she’d used over the years. They said some of the stuff she used was highly toxic if used in huge quantities, which, of course, my mother had always done. Who would’ve thought? I’d almost forgotten about the whole surrogacy thing when I got this phone call one Saturday afternoon. Aurora Parker wanted to know if I’d be willing to come to her house for lunch. I was…there is no word for what I was. Shocked just doesn’t seem to cover it. I expected her husband to be there, too, but she explained that he was scouting locations for a movie he was set to film in Ireland and couldn’t make it back, but I’d meet him at our next meeting. Next meeting? Aurora—this beautiful, perfect blond woman who I’d watched in half a dozen movies over the last few years—chose me to carry her child. She said it was because I was a kindergarten teacher. She giggled and said that she knew I wouldn’t be biologically related to the child, but she liked the idea that the baby would be exposed to an academic setting during gestation. I wanted to explain that kindergarten wasn’t exactly an academic setting, but she seemed so excited by the idea that I couldn’t argue with her. We met two more times after that initial meeting—once at her country club while she was waiting for a tennis date to arrive, and once more at the house. Nicolas Costa wasn’t at those meetings either. I didn’t actually meet him until after all the medical stuff was done—the exam and whole battery of blood and urine tests they made me take. I felt like I was preparing to go into space or something. The doctor

they had working on me even asked for details about my sex life. On the one hand, I could see how it was his business whether or not I had ever had a sexually transmitted disease. But did he really need to know when I lost my virginity and whether or not I was into what he termed ‘rough sex’? At one point, about a month into the process, I began to wonder if it was all worth it. After a month of meetings and medical exams and whatever else, I finally met Nicolas Costa. I already knew what he looked like. You couldn’t live in Los Angeles and not know what he looked like. His face was constantly on billboards and magazines and those placards on the side of buses all through the city. Yet, meeting him face-to-face was so intimidating I almost lost my lunch on his toes. And those toes were covered in Prada shoes that were probably worth more than all my belongings put together. “So, you’re the famous Ana Martinez I’ve been hearing so much about,” he’d said, approaching me with his hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to the name.” “It’s nice to meet you,” I’d managed to mumble. And that was the extent of our first meeting. He ducked out a few minutes later, blaming an urgent business matter. However, I met him a few more times after that, particularly the day they did the first implantation procedure. However, the day after that, everything went to hell. My mom was set to begin chemo the Monday after. Aurora gave me a check the day I signed the contracts, another when I passed the health exams, and a huge check the day of the implantation. That was why we had to wait. I was waiting on that check to pay the enormous payment the hospital would want the moment mom checked in for the chemo procedure. The doctor had wanted to admit her the day he found the cancer, then again two weeks later when a CT scan showed that it was more invasive than he had originally thought. But, even with my modest savings and what little my mom had, we couldn’t swing that initial payment. So we waited. I wonder now if that had been a mistake. That Sunday, just twelve hours before she was to check into the hospital, my mom died. It wasn’t even the cancer that got her—it was a heart attack. She was joking about making enough meals to feed me while she was gone when she suddenly grabbed her chest and fell over. I tried to do CPR, tried to bring her back, but nothing I did helped. The paramedics said she died instantly, that there was nothing I could

do. But I still felt like I’d let her down somehow. The funeral was a dark, somber affair. It was all so sudden that even her friends couldn’t wrap their minds around it. At least the funeral gave me something else to think about. That lasted until the last mourner walked out of the little house my mom and I had shared. All that was left then was…nothing. I was devastated. I didn’t know how I was going to face life without my mother. I was alone. No mom. No dad. No cousins or aunts or uncles—at least, none that I knew. My mom’s family was all back in Mexico, and she’d never really made an effort to reach out to them—something about what made her come to the U.S. in the first place. My best friend moved to Texas for college and never came back. As a flight attendant, she was always gone, anyway. I was completely alone. And then Aurora died. I remember Constance pounding on the door—as she had done for the past week, trying to get me out of bed—and she yelled through the thin wood that Aurora was found dead that morning, but thankfully it wasn’t at the house, she said. Apparently, Aurora was in New York by herself to attend some fashion show. She was found unconscious in the back of her limo after she was picked up at a restaurant in Manhattan. A drug overdose was the suspected cause. So my mom was dead. And now the prospective mother of my surrogate child was dead. As that thought crossed my mind, I realized with my mom’s death and the funeral and the weeklong, self-imposed isolation, I had forgotten to go to the doctor to find out if the implantation of Nicolas and Aurora’s embryo had resulted in a pregnancy. I slipped out of the house after a long overdue shower and bought a test at a local pharmacy. And, of course, it was positive. The moment I knew, a wave of absolute unconditional love washed through me. I had a life growing inside of me. And that led to the realization that this baby was all mine. At least, for the moment. I had something to live for, something to get out of bed for. The thought of giving the baby up after delivery tore me apart. Then there was Aurora’s death. How could I give the baby up when its mother died of a drug overdose and its father was potentially another junky, or a hard personality who pushed Aurora to her death? How could I sentence a child to live a life without a mother? Without a mother’s love? To have such a powerful father and a full stable of nannies—because that’s how I imagined Nicolas would raise a

child as a single father—but no mother to wipe snotty noses and kiss boo-boos? That wasn’t happening if I had anything to say about it. Not even if I had to face the wrath of the great Nicolas Costa himself. I sent a check to his address for the money I received from him and his wife, every red cent, with a letter of condolence that said nothing about the existence of the baby. I took off the next day with no intention of ever telling Nicolas Costa about his child. In fact, I never wanted to see him again. After some of the things that had happened between us at the few meetings we had…things I didn’t want to think about, especially now that Aurora was dead. All I knew was that Nicolas Costa was not a good man and I didn’t want anything to do with him now or in the future. So, when he showed up at my house, it was downright frightening.

Chapter 3 Nicolas crossed the room then turned and looked at me, his eyes telling me he knew what I was up to and he intended to stop me. My heart was pounding. I pressed my hands to my belly, wishing I could hide the evidence of my pregnancy and we could go back to him not knowing and me planning to raise a child on my own. However, I knew from the look on his face that was not going to happen. “We need to talk,” he said. I nodded and waved him to one of my chairs. He looked around, and I saw the place through his eyes—a worn sofa, two mismatched arm chairs, and a threadbare rug in the center. Well, I didn’t care what he thought. I was doing the best I could. It wasn’t like I had billions in the bank like the whole world knew he did. He sat on one of the armchairs and raked his fingers through his hair. He looked so gorgeous then that I felt my heart melt. Nicolas Costa was a beautiful man—and I didn’t use that word lightly. Very few men can be called beautiful. But Nicolas…he had the most intense dark eyes, a deep caramel brown that could be almost amber when he was angry or excited. Or aroused. I blushed as that thought crossed my mind. I shouldn’t know what this man looked like aroused. He was married the whole time I knew him. Yet, I did know, and it was a source of deep shame. I watched him and wanted to feel sorry for him. He had, after all, just lost his wife. But I was aware that he had the means to crush me completely. That’s why I couldn’t feel sorry for him, why I had to harden my heart. But I’d never been that kind of person. “Would you like some coffee?” He nodded absently. “Thanks.” I went into the small cubbyhole of a kitchen and put on the coffee maker, turning my face as I scooped out the coffee. I hadn’t had a lot of morning sickness, not like some women. However, there was

something about the smell of coffee that had a power over me that I couldn’t quite overcome. “Does the smell bother you?” I jumped at the sound of his voice almost directly behind me. I didn’t look back as I tried to steady my pounding heart. The kitchen suddenly felt as though the air was being sucked right out of it. “Do you have trouble with the smell of coffee?” he asked again. I nodded. “Some days are worse than others.” He nodded as though he understood completely. At my questioning glance, he said, “I’ve read up a lot on pregnancy.” That made me curious. He hadn’t seemed all the interested before. However, I refused to ask. It really wasn’t my business. His hands came down on my shoulders, gentle but firm, and set me ablaze. I sucked in a deep breath as I felt hot white lust burn from somewhere deep in my center and pool just below my abdomen. The same thing had happened once before…but I tried not to think about that moment. I wanted to step away from him, wanted to go about my business like he hadn’t come into the room at all. He was so still. What would I see in his eyes if I turned around? Did he know how my body was betraying me, how turned on I was just by the sight of him, by the feel of his touch on my body? It is the hormones, I told myself. All the books said that all the extra blood flow that pregnancy created led to a heightened sense of sexual arousal. That is all it is, right? But a part of me knew that wasn’t true, either. I wanted him with a desperation that was new to me, and I was helpless against it. Slowly, he turned me around till I was facing him. I stared at the spot between his shoulder and neck and wondered what it would feel like to run my hands over the muscles there. I could feel my chest tightening, and I was beginning to have trouble catching my breath. The sound of the coffee percolating through the machine and—more importantly—the smell that wafted through the air brought me back to my senses. I jerked away from his touch, marching out of the kitchen to my tiny bedroom, dashing into the bathroom before he could say a word. I couldn’t do this. I needed to get him out of my apartment. “Ana?” he called through the closed door. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I called, as I turned on the water and splashed my face. It crossed my mind to call the police. I had my cellphone in my skirt pocket. But then I realized that Nicolas had a contract I signed that gave him rights to this baby. Any cop in his right mind would never get between a man and what was rightfully his. I could claim the baby wasn’t his, but an amniocentesis could prove it was, and I wasn’t about to put this baby in a position in which it would have to endure such an invasive procedure. I’ve watched plenty of reality television and I’ve seen the needles they used to draw the amniotic fluid out of the uterus. I’m not afraid of needles, but that one kind of freaked me out. That left me with few, if any, options. I stepped out of the bathroom and practically walked into his chest. He was right there, in the middle of my bedroom. My bed, in all its unmade glory, was just a foot to his left. Could this be any more awkward? “Ana?” He touched my face with the back of two fingers. “You’re pale.” “It’s not every day the father of my baby shows up on my doorstep and demands to talk to me.” “Yes, well, it’s not every day the surrogate carrying my child disappears without telling me the procedure worked.” “How did you find out?” He shrugged. “A private detective. It didn’t take much for him to track you down, or for your frequent visits to the obstetrics clinic, or pictures of your growing belly to express the obvious.” “Why would you track me down if you didn’t know about the baby?” His eyes dropped from my face briefly. “I had my reasons.” I felt a little bit of a cold chill wash down my spine at the same time my lower belly began to smolder again. I was afraid I knew what he was talking about, and I really didn’t want to entertain what that might mean. His eyes came back up to mine again, and I wanted to fall into them. He was so handsome! I would have to be inhuman to be able to resist his charms. The memory of his lips on mine was still so strong that it might have happened this morning instead of more than three months ago. My lips

remembered that touch; my skin remembered the touch of his hands on my back, my ribs…I so wanted him to touch me again. And then I remembered the way he pushed me away that afternoon and the shame that rushed over me when I realized that I’d allowed myself to fall into the arms of not only a married man, but the man married to a woman I was quickly considering my friend. I started to walk around him, needing to put space between us. He grabbed my arm and—thanks to that growing baby bump—I lost my balance and fell against his chest. His hands came around me, pressing against the small of my back, forcing me forward just enough that my distended belly pressed against his pelvis. “It’s so firm,” he said, a touch of wonder in his voice. He stared down at my belly, his hand coming around to touch the side of it. A lot of women are embarrassed by their growing baby bumps, but I was proud of mine. However, having Nicolas touch me made me conscious of myself in a way I hadn’t been before. I tried to back away again, but he was still holding me with one arm around my waist, his hand pressed to the small of my back. He pulled me close to him again, his free hand sliding over my belly to cup the very top curve of the bump. “The baby’s about the size of an apple now. Did you know that?” I nodded. I had an app on my phone that told me each week how big the baby was and what I should be experiencing as far as symptoms went. “It’s amazing to think you have an entire human being growing inside of you,” he said, awe and grief mixed in his voice. It was the first thing he’d ever said that I whole heartedly agreed with. I pressed my hand to the top of his, both stilling it from moving any further along the curve of my abdomen and to offer some sort of comfort. I wondered if he was thinking about Aurora. She’d only been gone a little less than three months, just a week and a few days less than my mom. I wondered if he’d grieved the way I had. As I still did. But, somehow, I doubted it. “You’ve been seeing a doctor, right? Everything’s okay?” “Everything’s right on track.”

“Do you know what it is?” I shook my head. “I’m supposed to get a sonogram in a month that should show the sex. But I haven’t decided yet if I want to know.” “I do,” he said. “It’d make it much easier to prepare the nursery.” And with that, my desire to comfort him was gone. I pulled away and again tried to move around him. This time he let me go. He followed me into the living room, but instead of sitting back in the armchair he’d abandoned earlier, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Do you mind?” he asked, reminding me of the fresh brewed coffee. “Go ahead. The mugs are in the cupboard above the sink.” I settled on the couch, as he rummaged around for the cup he wanted, then poured himself a steamy portion of coffee. I could still smell the overpowering aroma, but it didn’t bother me as much now as it had when it was first brewing. It was like my nose had to get used to an unfortunate scent before it signaled my brain that this wasn’t something that should cause my lunch to come back up for an encore. He drank more than half the mug as he stood at the sink. I watched his throat muscles move as he did, wondering how he could stand the scalding heat. However, when he lowered the cup and moved to pour more, I could see the exhaustion that left shadows around his dark eyes. It reminded me of the many restless, nightmare filled nights I’d had since my mother died. I wondered if the same thing haunted his nights since Aurora’s death. He came around the narrow counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and settled again in the armchair. He glanced at me, his eyes finding my belly again, as though he couldn’t quite make himself believe it was real. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “My mother died,” I said, surprised at how quickly tears rushed to my eyes at the mention of that dark, horrible moment in my life. “It happened just two days after the procedure.” “I’m sorry,” he said, a sincerity in his eyes that made me believe the sentiment was real. Then his eyes fell to the floor. “And, I suppose, I didn’t give you much reason to trust me, especially after what

happened the last time we saw each other.” I blushed as the memory of that afternoon burst through my mind, as though it had been waiting at the edge of my mind for just this opportunity to shine once again. I’d stopped by their house at Aurora’s request. It was a day before the implantation appointment. She’d called me at lunch time, overcome with excitement because the doctor had just called to let her know the eggs she’d donated days before had successfully been fertilized with Nicolas’ sperm and were dividing at the appropriate rate. The doctor felt they would be ideal for the procedure that was already scheduled. Aurora wanted to celebrate, but she was apparently alone. So, she invited me over to have dinner with her and talk about this tiny human being that had yet to be inserted into my body. I was excited, too. The idea of creating life when my mother was facing such a dark period in her life had seemed like a nice distraction. But when I arrived at the house, Nicolas was there alone. *** “Aurora went out,” he said quite briskly, as he let me into the house. “But if she invited you over…” “Maybe she forgot.” “That wouldn’t surprise me. She’s done that a lot lately.” Nicolas walked to a nice bar set in the corner of his living room, pouring himself a healthy slug of brandy. As I watched, I couldn’t help but think that Constance would have to wash that glass in the morning. “Do you want some? Might be your last chance.” I smiled as the thought of the soon to be baby crossed my mind again. “No. I’ve never been much of a drinker.” “I never used to be, either.” He swallowed the drink he’d just poured himself and turned to the bar as though he was going to pour himself more. But then he pushed away from the bar and turned to me. His eyes were dark and smoldering, as though he was thinking thoughts that were too deep to be expressed in anything as simple as a general expression. And then he crossed to me and caught me by surprise by setting his

hands on my shoulders. There had been a sort of smoldering attraction between us from the first moment we met. The way he looked at me, the way he asked me questions about this process, about my life, and how having a baby for someone else would change my life. He’d never done anything inappropriate, but there was something there, just under the surface, that I’d been unable to ignore. I thought it was just me, just the way I felt as if I knew him because of Constance’s stories of him, the way his face was familiar because of the many pictures I’d seen of him over the years. I had thought that it couldn’t be anything more than that. But now… “Ana,” he murmured in a sexy voice that’d kept me up almost every night since the first time we met, “you feel it too, don’t you?” I didn’t know how to answer. I was afraid he was talking about something complete innocent and I would make a fool of myself if I answered that I wanted him, too. Then, I looked up and met his eyes, and I was nearly singed by the heat I saw in their depths. We stared at each other in silence, neither saying a word, yet each communicating in a manner that was as old and as ancient as the mountains. One of his hands moved and cupped my breast. I let out a gasp, both because of the pleasure that shot through me and shock that he would want to touch me in such a way. I felt like I was on fire. I should have slapped him, or pushed him away. He was a stranger to me in the most basic way. Yet, I felt like we’d known each other for ages. And so, even though I knew it was a mistake, I held myself still, waiting for his next move. His eyes still on mine, he rubbed the pad of this thumb over my nipple slowly, and it grew even harder than before—impossibly hard. Even though I didn’t want to want this man, my body was doing its best to broadcast a totally different message. A more honest message. Then, slowly, giving me enough time to retreat if I wanted to, he drew me to him at the same time he lowered his head and kissed me. It was not like any kiss I’d ever experienced before. There was none of that tentative getting-to-know-you stuff that first kisses seemed to be made of. Nicolas’s kiss was hot and wild and so passionate that I immediately went up in flames.

I opened my mouth and he slipped his tongue in, and I began to tremble from the curiosity that spoke volumes in his movements. My whole body was responding to this man, and I was lost. I pushed my body against him and sank my hands in his hair. He had one hand on my butt, holding me closer to him, and I could feel the heat of his erection pressing against my belly. It was driving me wild. He broke the kiss and I heard myself whimper in protest. Why did he stop? Then, he began to trail kisses down the side of my neck. I moved my mouth against the column of his neck, using my tongue to taste him, and felt him shudder. I couldn’t believe that I was having such an effect on this powerful, sexy man. “I want to feel you,” he murmured against my skin. “I want that, too,” I whispered. The sensations going through my body were nothing like I’d ever known before. I couldn’t seem to get enough of him and, guessing from the smile on his face, he knew it. But the look in his eyes told me he couldn’t get enough of me, either. Suddenly, he picked me up and carried me across the room, balancing me on the low edge of the corner bar. He stood between my parted legs and cupped my breasts, gently massaging them, paying particular attention to the hard nipples. My head began to spin as my thighs shook. My breasts were so sensitive and his hands so skillful that I moaned deep in my throat. “Oh, Nicolas, I like that,” I gasped out. “Yeah,” he said, his voice raspy. It all seemed so surreal. It couldn’t be real, could it? This was Nicolas Costa, billionaire director and husband to Hollywood screen goddess, Aurora Parker…Aurora. With that, I suddenly remembered that the man touching me, the man making me feel things I had never felt before, was a married man. Not only that, but this married man was the father of the embryo that would be inserted into my uterus first thing tomorrow morning. I felt such disgust for myself that I was sure it was seeping from my pores. Nicolas was kissing me again, and I could feel myself melting into a puddle. I began to panic. I needed to do something before I grabbed him and kissed him back like I so badly wanted to do. I

wanted to slip my tongue inside his mouth and kiss him with all I had. I wanted to feel his hands all over my body and his mouth everywhere his hands had been. I wanted to… I bit down hard on his lip. “Ouch!” He jerked back, his finger pressed to his lip. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “Get off me, you bastard!”

Chapter 4 It was official, I had finally gotten in touch with my inner slut. At least that was how I felt as I ran out of Nicolas and Aurora’s house. Kelly, my best friend, would have been so proud if I’d told her about it. Kelly and I are so different that it’s amazing we’re friends at all. Kelly is a flight attendant who looks like a lingerie model. All those clichés about models? That’s Kelly in a nutshell. I, on the other hand—after that debacle with my college boyfriend, Travis—decided I was done with relationships. Besides, there was my mom. But when Nicolas touched me, everything I thought I was just flew out the window. I do not do casual sex. Ever. I’m just not like that. Oh, and my mom was a strict Catholic, which only made things worse. I have only ever had sex with two men in my entire life. Kelly insists that I’m basically a virgin since one of those times was a brief, in-the-backseat-of-his-dad’s-car encounter that lasted all of three minutes. Yet, Nicolas made me feel like everything I’ve experienced before was nothing compared to the magic he could bring into my life. And having him here, in my tiny apartment, made all those feelings come back. “I think about that night a lot,” he said quietly, leaning forward as he cupped his coffee cup in both hands. “I meant to apologize to you, but the next day…it just seemed inappropriate to do it as the doctor was inserting the embryos into…” He gestured toward me, a little color making his naturally dark skin look even darker. “And then you disappeared.” “Aurora died.” He nodded, his eyes dropping to his mug. “Yeah. That was a shock to a lot of people.” “But not you?” Something about the way he said it made me wonder about the rumors that floated around in the weeks after her death that Nicolas had something to do with it. A lot of Aurora’s fans suggested that Nicolas had someone slip drugs into her food that night—as it clearly and unequivocally was proven by

the autopsy that Aurora died of a cocaine overdose. But then a slice of pain rushed across his face, and I knew instinctively that he would never do such a thing. “I knew my wife better than almost anyone. And I knew that she was a brilliant actress who showed the world a façade that covered secrets no one could ever imagine.” “Like drug use.” “Like the fact that the night she died was not the first time she overdosed on some sort of drug.” That surprised me. I hadn’t known Aurora long, or very well, but she always seemed like a strong, confident woman. I curled up against the arm of the couch and tried to remember something, anything, in my encounters with her that would suggest she was a woman in the throes of a bad drug habit. But I couldn’t think of a single one. Nicolas stood, setting his coffee—which was empty once more—on a low table and crossed to the windows. He turned away from me and stared outside. I had a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I thought for a moment I might be sick. He must have glanced at me…I don’t know. I was clutching my middle, trying to fight the unpleasant waves rushing through my stomach. And then he was beside me, his hand between my shoulder blades. I looked at him and felt my heart skip a beat. “The last time I touched Aurora was more than a year ago.” I stared at him, not sure what it was he was trying to tell me. “But you were trying to have a baby. She told me. She said you wanted a child, that you thought it would complete your family. But she couldn’t carry one because of a heart defect or something.” “There was no heart defect. She just didn’t want to ruin her perfect figure.” Again, I tried to reconcile what he’d just said—words that were wrapped in so much bitterness that my tongue stung from the taste—with the woman I’d met. But I couldn’t. Aurora was so gentle and kind. I’d wanted to hug her every time I saw her because of the sadness that seemed to linger in her eyes. “What happened? I mean, between the two of you. You were only married for five years when she died.” He sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Aurora was the biggest mistake of my life.” He shook his head, as his eyes landed on my face again, practically begging me to believe him. “She changed

almost as soon as we got home from our honeymoon. She wasn’t the sweet ingénue I met on the set of Paper Men. She was controlling, demanding. She used everything from sex to threats to attempts on her own life to get me to do what she wanted.” “Why didn’t you divorce her?” “I had no idea what she might do if I did. She was unstable.” He shifted, clearly agitated. “And it would have ruined her career. I couldn’t take responsibility for that.” There was something that felt hollow about his last words. A memory of Aurora laughing as we talked about my students filled my thoughts for a moment. How could a woman who could appreciate the unpredictability of children be the same woman he was describing? It just didn’t make sense. He raked his fingers through his hair again, his next words coming out on a deep sigh. “I asked her for a divorce, three years ago, and she tried to commit suicide.” “But…what happened between you two? You were Hollywood’s most romantic couple.” There’d been dozens of magazine articles on them from the time they were dating until a few weeks before her death, and a piece the E! channel did that my mom and I stayed up late one night to watch. They seemed so perfect together, as though they were one of those rare Hollywood couples that actually functioned well together. He laughed bitterly. “She began cheating on me right from the start. I caught her bed with the chauffer once. And then I came home early from a trip to Hawaii to scout locations and found her snorting cocaine off of a glass hors d'oeuvre plate we’d gotten as a gift for our wedding. I tried to get her into rehab. I even called her mother. I watched as she begged Aurora to do something about her addiction, but even she couldn’t get through to her. Aurora wasn’t interested in being clean. She only wanted what she wanted.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But, I don’t get it. How come the media never got wind of this?” He shot me a look filled with indignation. “I’m Nicolas Costa.” “Yeah, sure, that explains everything.” “Sarcasm does not become you, and yeah, it should explain everything. The paparazzi knows

better than to trifle with me.” I raised my eyebrows to show him just what I thought of his arrogance but, inside, I was shaking. Nicolas had a reputation for being a ruthless man. And I wasn’t sure where I stood with this man. Why was he here? What did he want from me? I wrapped my arms around my chest, resting them on the top of my bulging belly. It was almost big enough to serve as a perfect shelf for arms, glasses, almost anything I wanted to sit on it. And the peanut inside…she’d be here in less than five months. What would happen then? “Why are you here, Nicolas,” I asked, my voice not betraying the roiling emotions inside of me this time. He studied my face for a long moment, then his eyes fell again to my belly. “It wasn’t Aurora who wanted the baby,” he said softly. “I don’t know how much you know about me, but I came from a large Greek family. My father was a garbage truck driver, my mother a nurse. They worked themselves to death trying to provide for me and my seven brothers and sisters. I always imagined I would have a large family, too.” He tilted his head, something like clouds moving across his eyes as a soft smile lifted the corners of his full mouth. “All my brothers and sisters have children now. I love being an uncle. Yet, the idea of holding a baby that’s mine, that’s part of my body, my soul, is the ultimate goal. Everything I’ve achieved in my career, in my life, pales in comparison. I almost couldn’t believe it when Aurora finally agreed to the idea. I think it was because all her friends were having kids and she felt left out or something…I don’t know. I never understood what motivated Aurora. But whatever it was…” He looked at me, his hand coming close—but not touching—my belly. “I finally have that one thing that I couldn’t achieve on my own. And I’m not giving it up.” “But this is Aurora’s baby,” I said, grasping at the only straw I could see. “Do you really want a piece of her in your life for the rest of your life?” I thought he might get angry, but he only looked pensive for a moment. “That crossed my mind,” he finally said. “But Aurora was a kind, gentle person before the drugs changed her. I think her child will be just as kind and gentle. Especially with the right guidance.”

“Your guidance?” He nodded. “Believe me, Ana, I’m well-prepared to be a father to this child.” “But what if I can’t give her up?” He simply shook his head. “You have no choice. You signed a contract.”

Chapter 5 I burst into tears and Nicolas took me in his arms. He seemed to understand even though I wasn’t sure I did. I pressed my face against his shoulder and cried as though I hadn’t cried in a lifetime, holding on to him as a damn broke and all the tears and sobs I’d held in since leaving California unleashed themselves on his linen shirt. I cried for my mom, for him and Aurora, for the poor, innocent little baby that was caught in the middle of this ridiculous triangle. And I cried for myself. Nicolas simply held me until the tears slowly subsided. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled as I straightened up, wiping my face with a corner of my t-shirt. “It’s all the hormones and stuff.” “A good cry helps,” he said with a shrug. “Yeah right, like you cry about anything.” A wry smile touched a corner of his lips as he leaned back against the chair. “Sometimes I wish I could.” Our eyes met, and a brief something passed between us. It was not like the fire of that one, long ago encounter, but there was something there, and it was tinged with heat. “Your mom…she was ill?” “Cancer.” He nodded. “My dad, too. It started in his pancreas, but it moved quickly to his liver. He was gone less than two months after they first found it.” “I’m sorry,” I said, still rubbing at my cheeks. He shrugged. “It was almost ten years ago. But it still hurts, sometimes.” “That’s comforting.” His eyes filled with compassion, and my tears were suddenly close to the surface again. I blinked hard to make them go away.

He cupped my face and stared into my eyes, like he was searching for something. “This baby means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” I nodded, unsuccessful in making the tears disappear. A few slipped out of my eyes, wetting his fingers. It was so strange being this close to him. There was that sense of being close to someone I knew well, someone I could trust with every deep dark secret I ever had or would have. I had to remind myself that I barely knew this man and the few times we had met, he was distant and then…not distant enough. And my body, it seemed only too willing to defect, to embrace a physical touch that would only cause unrepairable damage to my emotional sanity. I shut my eyes and tried to will away the desire that was building so deep in my soul that it was quickly becoming an itch I would never be able to scratch, but that only made it worse. My only thought was: What would it be like to feel his hands all over my body? I quickly opened my eyes again. I couldn’t go there. It simply made no logical sense. “She means everything to me,” I said, refocusing on the question at hand. “She?” “The baby. I always call her she. I’m not sure why.” “You want a girl.” “I would be happy either way, as long as she’s healthy.” The truth was, though, that when I dreamt at night—I had the most vivid dreams ever since my pregnancy entered the second trimester—it was always a girl. A boy would be great, too, but I just felt like it was a girl. A little girl I could dress up and whose hair I could curl…I loved her so much already and she didn’t even have functioning lungs yet. “Why did you run? Was it your plan to run off with the baby all along?” I stared at him, shock making my heart pound so hard that my chest actually hurt for a second. I pulled away from him and stood. “I think you should go,” I said. “You have to understand that that would be my first assumption when I learned you were pregnant.”

He sounded so reasonable that I had to stop and remind myself that he’d just accused me of fraud. I stood at the kitchen counter, my hand resting there as I tried to regain my emotional equilibrium. “Ana…” “My mother had just died. And then Aurora died like ten days later. The last thing on my mind was the surrogacy and everything that went along with it.” “But you found out at some point that the procedure had worked.” “Yes.” I glanced at him. He was still on the couch, watching me with both curiosity and concern. “But it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Aurora was gone and you never gave me the impression you were all that interested in this baby.” “Oh, but I am.” He stood up and approached me, his hands held out in front of him as though he was trying to show he meant no harm. “I just couldn’t let Aurora know how much it meant to me. She might have changed her mind, or taken off with you and the baby.” “You really were afraid of her, weren’t you?” A flash of anger crossed his face at that. “Not afraid. Just…aware.” I leaned back against the counter, not sure I could trust my judgment any more. He seemed so sincere in everything he’d said tonight. Yet, he seemed to blaming everything on Aurora—and that confused me. Could I really trust him? Could I believe what he was saying about Aurora even though it went against everything I’d seen and experienced in the time leading up to this child’s conception? And what about those kisses we’d shared when he was married to Aurora? What kind of man did that make him? What kind of woman did that make me? His expression softened as he approached me. I saw things in his eyes that made me want to trust him, things I thought were sincere. But did I know him well enough to know that? “You scare me,” I said softly. His gaze didn’t move, his eyes studying mine so intently I felt like he could see everything going on inside my head. “You scare me, too,” he admitted. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s scared of anything.”

He laughed softly. “You scare me. I’ve never wanted a woman as intensely as I want you.” He moved closer to me, but still he didn’t touch me. “And I want this.” He held his hand just an inch from my belly. “You’re used to having your way.” “I’m a determined fellow.” “Arrogant.” “I like things to be orderly.” “Bossy.” “And I love how you taste.” I had nothing to say to that, so I just stared at him. I felt suddenly parched and ran my tongue over my lips to moisten them. He made a sound, and I froze. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” he said in a raspy voice. He reached out to caress my face, and I saw his hands tremble slightly. For me? He was trembling for me? The thought blew my mind and, apparently, it blew all common sense from my logical side, my heart, and my soul. I stepped toward him, and we were suddenly kissing with an urgency that was as hurried as it was desperate. I ran my hands over his broad shoulders, down his back, and then sank them into his hair, tugging him closer as he buried his tongue deep in my mouth. When I sucked gently on it, he groaned, which only made me more frantic for him. He kissed my face and along the edge of my jaw. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against my ear. “I wanted you the first moment I saw you.” I might have returned the sentiment if I could have, but my lips were too busy exploring his, and my throat was so full of need, of pure desire, that it couldn’t give birth to a single word. I wanted to feel him. I wanted his hands all over me. I wanted things I couldn’t have put into words if I’d been capable because they were things I’d never wanted, I’d never even known I was capable of. He slipped his hands beneath my tee and cupped my breasts. Bolts of electricity shot through me, and I began to moan and pant. When he flicked my nipple with the tip of his thumb, I cried out. He lifted my tee and I pulled it the rest of the way off of my body, giving better access to all those places that ached

for his touch. I felt as though I had hot lava going through my veins. He leaned down and closed his mouth over the tip of my nipple, and I almost went off the edge. Somehow, his hand found its way beneath my skirt, and he traced a path to the edge of my panties. I felt moisture pool there, and I wanted so much more. “Please,” I whispered. “Patience, sweetheart,” he said, lifting his head from my breast. “Please, Nicolas,” I begged unashamedly. He laughed softly and then pushed his thumb against my clit. I cried out as waves of pleasure rushed through me so quickly that my knees buckled. He immediately lifted me, carrying me to the couch where his thumb found its way back to my clit again, two of his fingers sliding deep inside of me. I was quickly spiraling out of control, so close to orgasm that I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. And….Christ! It felt so good. I’d never had an orgasm with a man inside of me before and this…I suddenly understood what the big deal was. “Nico…Nico…Oh God!” “That’s right, baby. It’s Nico,” he said, as he pressed his thumb harder on my clit. I came so hard that I lost track of where I was for a moment. His voice pulled me back, the sound of my name on his lips like honey in a warm cup of tea. “You are so sexy. I’ve never been with anyone as responsive as you,” he said, a note of wonder in his voice. He laid me gently against the sofa and pulled away. I wanted to protest, thinking he was abandoning me before we could complete the act he’d begun so long ago. But then he was back again, so beautiful in his nakedness. He quickly pulled my clothes from my body and lifted me onto his lap. As I straddled him, he guided his erection inside and, as I sank down on his stiff cock, I was back to that place of overwhelming desire, needing that unscratchable itch to be scratched. He lifted me off him until the tip of his erection was at the mouth of my cunt, and then he paused. “Open your eyes, Ana,” he commanded in a deep, rough voice. “What?”

“Open your eyes. I want to see your eyes when I enter you.” I opened my eyes and stared at his. It was like gazing into a dark, fathomless pool. Slowly, still keeping his eyes on mine, he brought me down until he was sheathed to the hilt. I could not take my eyes off him, and something shifted in my heart. It was the most erotic experience of my life. Unable to bear the intensity, I shut my eyes again. With each movement, I saw starbursts. I was incoherent. I couldn’t see or hear, all I could do was feel. And when he slipped a finger against my clit and labia, I fell apart. He wasn’t far behind me. The sounds of his ecstasy made my head spin. He cried out and his hands buried themselves in my flesh. I reached down, pressed my hands to his where they were clutching my thighs, painful and exciting all at the same time. And then the rigidity went out of his muscles and he collapsed back against the couch, his breathing rough as he tried to regain control. I collapsed against him, my chest pressed to his, the movement of our breaths synchronized for a long little while. Later, he carried me to the bedroom, and we lay together. He was gentle, asking if I was okay multiple times before he began to kiss my shoulders, to run his fingertips lovingly over the length of my spine. And then he was inside of me again, moving with a gentleness I hadn’t been sure he was capable of. But he was. He was capable of so much kindness and generosity, taking my body to heights I thought were impossible for me to reach. Just before I drifted off, I caught him watching me, his hand tracing circles around my belly button. It would pop out soon. My innie navel would soon become an outie. And they baby’s movements would be strong enough to feel through the layers of muscle and flesh that covered it. I remember thinking how fun it would be to watch him as he felt those first, tentative kicks of his unborn child. And then I was asleep, floating on a false cloud of contentment.

Chapter 6 I woke up feeling slightly disoriented. I ached in several places and the feeling was not unpleasant. I reached for my cell and checked the time. It was not yet six in the morning. Stifling a yawn, I sighed. Why would I be up so early? That was when I remembered. I remembered Nicolas and the night we’d shared. I felt heat fill my body and settle between my legs. I turned to look at him and found the other side of the bed empty. That was odd. What could have gotten him out of the bed so early in the morning? I climbed out of bed, once again reminding myself that I would have to find an easier way to do that when my belly got big enough to make normal movement more difficult. Naked, I padded into the bathroom to grab my robe, a stupid smile crossing my face as I realized that Nicolas had already seen more of my body than even I had ever seen. The robe was kind of like closing the gate after the cows were already gone, but my modest side couldn’t help it. However, I couldn’t deny I felt good. Worry had plagued many of my nights these past few months. Worry that he would find me, worry that I would lose the baby, worry about money. All that seemed so unimportant right now. It just seemed like everything was going to be alright. Don’t get too confident yet. You know nothing has been settled. That was my inner voice trying to warn me to be pragmatic, but I just couldn’t face it. I was happy and hopeful, and I was not going to allow anything, not even a pesky inner voice, put a damper on the way I felt. With that decision made, I tugged my robe closer to my body and went to find my … well, I had no idea what to call him. Not yet, anyway. I found him in the living room. He had my laptop open before him and seemed lost in whatever it was he was doing. But as soon as I stepped in, he lifted his head and looked at me. I don’t know how he knew I was there because my bare feet made no sound. Yet, he’d known. I saw something hot and fierce flash in his eyes for a brief moment before they turned so cool that I began to wonder if I’d imagined the heat.

“Hi,” I said, sounding nervous even to my ears. “You’re up early.” “I can’t sleep past five.” He shrugged, then gestured to the laptop. “Hope you don’t mind.” I shook my head. “I have nothing to hide.” “You’re an open book, huh?” There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Heck, I’m practically a billboard. What you see is what you get.” He snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe someday you’ll believe it.” “What?” Hot and cold. Kind and cruel. I didn’t understand what was happening. “You are quite easy to read,” he said. “I’ll give you that.” Somehow the way he said it didn’t sound like a compliment. “But…?” “But, there are parts of you that are darkly mysterious.” Oh-kay?? I might be slow on the uptake, but even I could sense that there was something else going on here. This was not the man who had made love to me till I was out of my mind with ecstasy. I crossed my arms over my chest as I stared down at him. “What’s going on? Did I do something to offend you?” He didn’t even look up from the computer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I’m talking about you acting like a total jerk. You weren’t like this last night.” “That,” he said with a bored look, “was just sex.” His words hit me like a sucker punch. I drew in a deep breath and let it out in one go. He couldn’t be serious. Tears filled my eyes and I wanted to run to the bathroom, to wash myself clean and then put on as many layers of clothing as I could. I felt vulnerable, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. It might have been just sex to him, but it had been something totally different to me. I held nothing back, not even my heart. As I stood there, feeling like the greatest fool who ever lived, I felt bile rise to my mouth. I fought it back. I knew I was trembling and my heart was beating too fast, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I wanted to cry, but I was damned if I was going to do it in front of him. So, I clutched my hands at my sides, struggling to hold on to my fragile composure.

“Well, you’ve had your fun. Now get out.” I saw swift fury fill his face and felt a stab of satisfaction. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” I looked at his stony face and the icy glint in his eyes, once again pushing back the tears that were so close to the surface. What had happened to my hot, passionate lover? Who was this man, this stranger standing before me? I felt raw and exposed. I drew my robe tighter around my body. His eyes flicked down to my breast, and—to my horror and shame—I felt the nipples harden. I’d had the robe for several years now, and it was a bit thin, making my body’s reaction to his gaze quite plain to see. He looked at me, then offered a mocking smile as if to say he knew I had no self-control where he was concerned. I felt the slow heat of shame crawl through my body, and with it came the welcome flame of anger. He was tainting what had happened last night with his cruel behavior and veiled accusations. That was unbearable. “This is my home,” I said, gesturing vaguely around me. “If I want you to go, it’s my right to ask.” “Really?” He surged to his feet, his anger quite evident now. “You think I’ll just walk away and leave you—and my baby—like it means nothing? Did you really think that seducing me would give you want you want?” He laughed, a humorless sound that made my head hurt. “You signed a contract, Ana. Nothing about that has changed. I’m not going anywhere without my child.” I stared at him in shock. I could feel my mouth hanging open and quickly shut it. What kind of mind would come up with such a twisted bit of logic? I wanted to speak, but I had no idea what to say. I searched his face intently, trying to find a little of the sweet, sexy man I spent the night with, but there was nothing. “You are a deeply disturbed man,” I said finally. I turned and burst into the narrow galley kitchen. I needed a cup of coffee—even if I was stuck with decaf for the sake of the baby. I was disappointed. Very disappointed. And just a little heart sore. Somehow, I had thought that this morning would be different. Nothing spectacular really, just a cozy breakfast together as we talked about the baby and how we could make things work. Together. I wasn’t sure what I really expected. I just…I couldn’t bear the idea of giving this baby up. Not now. Not after it had been mine alone for nearly

four months. But Nicolas was impossible and…and a little slow, too. Why on earth would a person be so paranoid? He was the one who came after me—all the way to Dallas—after I left California. He made the first move. He kissed me that first time. How did that translate to my seducing him? I was so agitated that some of the coffee spilled as I tried to lift the cup. The sharp sting took me by surprise, and I recoiled, spilling more on my hand. My eyes filled with tears as I quickly dropped the cup on the counter and stifled a curse. I turned to the sink, but Nicolas was there before me. He took my hand with a frown on his face. “You need to put it under cold water.” I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. Barely. “Gee, thanks, mister. Whatever would I have done without your sage wisdom?” He gave me a measured look. “That is not even remotely funny.” “It wasn’t meant to be!” I tugged again and pain from the burn rushed up my arm. “Give me back my hand!” I pulled extra hard, and he lost his balance. Stumbling back, he hit his head against the cupboard with a thud. He let out a string of swear words, and I flinched. “What is wrong with you?” he growled. “I’m sorry,” I said in a small whisper. “Give me that hand.” Without a word, I gave him my hand. He narrowed his eyes and then reached out to turn on the faucet and guided my hand beneath the flowing water. His hands were so gentle that I had to choke back a sob. Not for the first time, I wondered what had turned this man into the cynical person that he was. And that was when it hit me. It wasn’t what but who… he’d already told me. His late wife used sex as a way to manipulate him. That must be why he was reacting to me this way. It was habit now to be weary of the motivations of the women around him.

“You misunderstood,” I said. “When I kissed you, it wasn’t about the baby or trying to manipulate you into forgetting why you were here. I was just…caught up in the moment. He went still. “What?” “Last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time I saw you. And I…I know it was wrong, but I wanted to be with you. I know it complicates things, but…” He turned to look at me then. “I wasn’t thinking straight. And I’m sorry. I just…when you look at me like that, all thought just flies out of my head.” It wasn’t a lie. The way he was staring at me…even though his expression was unreadable, I could still feel the heat that existed between us. And it was doing things to my equilibrium that I couldn’t control. After what seemed like an eon, but was probably no more than a few minutes, he turned off the facet and reached for a kitchen towel, gently patting my hand, his attention fully on the task. I had my hand now, and I cradled it in the other, even though it didn’t hurt so much anymore. However, I needed the comfort that the action gave me. I had no idea what was going through his head, or if he even believed me, and I found—strangely—that I wanted him to believe me. I wanted it so much, and I didn’t dare examine why it was so important to me. He let out a sigh and said, “I was an idiot, wasn’t I?” I could hear the chagrin in his voice. Relief—so strong that it almost knocked me off my feet—flowed through me. My knees couldn’t support me, so I leaned against the sink for support. I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Well, I already mentioned that. So there’s no need to repeat it.” “I’m sorry.” “Wow. A man who can apologize. I’m in heaven.” I smiled as I said it. He was looking at me strangely. “You’re not upset?” “Well, you ruined my plans for this morning,” I said, trying to pout and failing miserably at it. I felt lighter than air, and I couldn’t help the joy burbling inside of me, just waiting to burst out. “Oh, you had plans….Hmm,” he murmured, his eyes turning smoky. I laughed then and moved a few steps away from him. “Not plans of that sort,” I said, swatting him

with the kitchen towel and moving back several more steps. “I was thinking more like breakfast.” “Yeah, me too.” He covered the distance between us in a single stride and took me in his arms. When our mouths came together, it was an act of mutual desire.

Chapter 7 I felt uneasy about Nicolas. I was still unclear on what his intentions were. I felt vulnerable… naked. Well, I was literally naked, actually, standing in the bathroom before the mirror, my belly sticking out several inches in front of me. I ran my hand over it like a mother might her child’s brow. I often found myself imagining what this baby would look like. Nicolas was so tall and dark, his hair the same caramel color as his eyes. And Aurora was blond, her eyes blue, and tall, but so thin. In my mind, I saw a child with Nicolas’ dark hair but Aurora’s blue eyes, a child as beautiful as a rose that’s just opened its petals. The image made me smile. Then I remembered that I wouldn’t be around to see that child grow into her beauty. “You’re such a loser,” I said to my reflection. “Did you really think one night of good sex would make a man like Nicolas Costa fall in love with you?” I sighed as I closed my eyes for a second. I still wasn’t sure what was to happen next. And I was afraid to ask. I went into the bedroom and dug through my dresser for something to wear. As I did, my cell rang. It was Kelly—my dear, sweet friend—calling to check in. “Hey, Kels. What’s up?” “Nothing that can’t be fixed by a night of wild and unrestrained sex,” she said with a grumble that made me laugh. After a long series of disastrous relationships, Kelly had decided to go on a sex fast. She was just entering the fifth month and was absolutely miserable. “Must be hell,” I teased. “You can say that again. I haven’t even used my handy pal, you know.” “No….!” I said struggling to keep the laughter out of my voice. “You can laugh all you want, but I tell you, I can feel it shriveling up down there. Pretty soon, it’s going to get all blocked up.” I chuckled softly. I loved talking to Kelly. We’d been best friends for so long. “Where are you

now?” “We’re in Dubai. We’ll be here for the next couple of days before we fly out again. Can you believe I met this extremely hot dude, and I so wanted to jump him, but I couldn’t.” “Must be tough having to behave,” I sympathized. “Yeah, I’d much rather go after what I want.” “It’s what I admire about you, Kelly.” I wished I could be more like her. Kelly was bold and fearless. She did what she had to do and did not believe in regrets. I wished more than anything that I could go after what I wanted, not that I really knew what that was. “How’s my goddaughter? She kicking yet?” I rubbed the small, firm bump that was my belly. “No, not yet—though I seem to be growing larger every day. You do know that she might be a boy, right?” “Well, I would if you would just go check like normal people do,” she grumbled, which made me smile. “When have I ever been normal?” “Yeah, whatever…. Heard from the mighty Nicolas Costa?” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I had not only heard from him, but he had shown up on my doorstep, made love to me, and confused the hell out of me. “Ana…what’s the matter?” “He’s here, Kels,” I finally said. “What? Where? In your apartment?” “Yeah.” “When did this happen?” “He just kind of showed up yesterday and refused to leave.” Kelly was silent for a moment, and then, “Did you sleep with him?” Was I that obvious? “What? No…!” “Hah, you’ve been in lust with the guy from the get go. Don’t tell me you had him in your clutches

and you didn’t even try…?” “Fine, I won’t tell you.” “Ana….” “Jeez, you make me sound like some desperado.” “Girlfriend, you haven’t had sex in so long…trust me, I know how desperate you are,” she said with a laugh. “He’s here for the baby,” I said, saying aloud what I’d been denying to myself since the moment I saw him on my doorstep. “He wants to take her from me.” “Then, you have to make him fall in love with you.” I almost laughed, then realized Kelly was quite serious. “Make him fall in love with me,” I repeated. As if that was even a remote possibility. I’d have better luck getting Bugs Bunny to fall in love with me. “Not gonna happen.” “You never know. He came quite a ways to find you. He could have just had a lawyer serve you with papers, or send some minion to do his dirty work. But he came in person.” That was true. And it made me wonder—until I turned and found him watching me from the doorway. “Get dressed,” he said. “We leave in less than an hour.”

Chapter 8 “I’ll talk to you later,” I said into the phone. “Sure,” Kelly said, her voice a little uncertain. “Take care, okay?” “You too,” I said as I hung up. Slipping the phone into the pocket of my robe, I turned back to him. “Where are we going?” “L.A.” “You want me to go with you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that made him appear more intimidating than he really was. Or maybe it was a gesture that revealed his true character. At that moment, I wasn’t quite sure. “I intend to be there the moment that baby comes. Since my business is in L.A.,” he said, no apology in his voice, “that means you’ll be going with me.” My stomach tightened with tension. Once again, I couldn’t read that mask he often hid behind. It unnerved me how easily he could hide his thoughts and how he could shift from being an affectionate lover to a cold and dispassionate stranger in the blink of an eye. I didn’t know what to make of it. “What if I don’t want to leave with you?” I asked carefully. “You don’t have a say in the matter.” And that was it, wasn’t it? We had been playing a game since yesterday, but he was done with all that. His cards were on the table and he was making his play. And, as he’d said the night before, he was Nicolas Costa and Nicolas Costa was probably as rich as Warren Buffet or Bill Gates, rich enough to take me to court and squash any argument the legal aid lawyer I’d be forced to turn to could come up with. I had nothing to fight him with and we both knew it. I was like Playdough in his hands, his to play with for as long as I held his interest. And when I didn’t—when this baby was born—he would throw me away like much-used tissue paper.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re not being reasonable,” I said softly, trying to approach the subject with as much objective calm as I could. However, anger flashed in his eyes even as they narrowed. “Let me put it more reasonably then,” he said in a quiet voice that sounded all the more menacing. “You either come with me now, or I’ll place bodyguards on you twenty-four hours a day.” I shivered at the thought of my every movement being watched, but I was not about to let him browbeat me. I shrugged and raised my chin. “So, I’ll be protected. What’s the big deal?” He smiled, and it was like watching a predator just before it struck. I stared at him, fascinated, waiting for him to speak. “You’re the one who misunderstands now. The bodyguards won’t be to protect you, but to protect my child. I can’t have you running off again, or purposely doing something to hurt the child.” He straightened a little, dropping his hands to his sides. “How do I know that you’re eating right, that you’re following doctor’s orders and making it to all the appropriate appointments? How do I know you’re doing everything required to keep that baby healthy?” He shook his head. “And the moment that baby’s born… you won’t have to worry about it or me ever again.” “You can’t…!” Horror laced my voice, giving birth to the fear and grief that the idea of losing this baby offered. “That’s right, darling. I will take my baby, and you will never see him again. Ever.” Tears stung my eyes. I crossed my own arms over my chest, not in a gesture of defiance, but to offer just the littlest bit of consolation to myself. “And if I go with you,” I said softly. “I would see it as compliance. I might consider keeping you in the loop after the baby’s born. Send pictures to you. Let you see him from time to time.” “Just time to time?” “What do you want, Ana? You’re a surrogate. Our contract outlined your involvement in the child’s life.”

“Aurora promised me visitation.” “And I’ll honor that.” “But only if I come with you.” “Yes. You come to L.A. of your own free will and you stay with me at my house—” “Your house?” I looked over at him. “Why your house?” “I don’t trust you. You ran once already. You didn’t even tell me you were pregnant. I had to find out from a private detective.” His eyes—those expressive eyes—narrowed again. “Do you know what that was like?” Of course I didn’t. But I could imagine. He was quiet for a long minute. “What happened last night…?” I shook my head. “You can consider last night a lapse in judgment that won’t happen again.” I stood up and went to my dresser, dragging out a pair of jeans and random t-shirt. “You should go so I can dress.” “I have an errand to run,” he said as he backed up. “Be here when I get back.” The moment he closed the door and disappeared I sank back down on the bed and began to cry. I couldn’t believe this was happening. But it was and there nothing I could do about it. I pulled myself together and quickly dressed, throwing the bulk of my belongings into two duffle bags. I was too depressed to contemplate what it meant to be able to fit most of my belonging into two duffle bags. And then I got my laptop out of the living room and wrote an email to the flight attendant from whom I was subletting this apartment. I felt bad walking out on my six-month lease with her, but Nicolas wasn’t leaving me many options. I promised to make good on the rent if she couldn’t find someone else on such short notice. It was the least I could do. Then I sent Kelly an email, aware that she wouldn’t see it immediately. I didn’t want to talk to her just now. But later…I knew I would need her. I didn’t say a word when Nicolas came back twenty minutes later with two men—presumably the bodyguards he’d threatened me with earlier. They picked up my luggage and led the way downstairs, directing us into a black Cadillac Escalade that was parked at the curb. I could feel eyes on me. Cars like this were not common in this neighborhood. I felt like everyone knew what was happening—and that

caused shame to settle on my shoulders like boulders, like I’d done something wrong that my Catholic mom would come back and haunt me for. Or maybe she already had. Maybe that’s how Nicolas found me. The thing was, my mom didn’t know what I’d agreed to do. I didn’t tell her. I thought I would wait until I was actually pregnant before I told her I was a surrogate. I thought then it might not be such a shock to her. As a Catholic, my mother would be horribly shocked to know that I wasn’t a virgin, let alone that I was pregnant. I thought, maybe, if I told her I was giving life to a child that might otherwise never have had the chance, it would be easier for her to swallow. But I never had the chance. Tears welled in my throat. I missed my mom. I curled up in the car seat and pressed my hands to my belly. I stared out the window and watched the scenery speed by so fast that I couldn’t tell a light pole from a street sign. I felt like I was being sent off to a death sentence. A little dramatic, but it fit. Death with a man I thought I could love. How wrong had I been….

Chapter 9 We flew to L.A. on a private jet. Nicolas sat on the opposite side of the aisle from me, talking into his smartphone most of the flight. Like in the car, I stared out the window most of the time. It was funny… my first time on a plane and I was too depressed to enjoy it. When we landed, Nicolas suddenly remembered I existed. He slipped into the chair beside me and leaned close to me. “There will likely be paparazzi outside the airport gates and outside the gates of my house. They’ve been hounding me almost constantly since Aurora’s…well, since everything exploded. It would be great if you’d keep your head down and not encourage any sort of interaction.” “What are you afraid I’d do? Tell them what a great guy you are?” Nicolas just shook his head. “This is my reputation you’re playing with here, Ana. If you think I’m an asshole now, wait until you do something to hurt my career.” I believed him. I just nodded, chewing on my lip so roughly that I tasted blood. The flight attendant opened the cabin door. Nicolas stood and grabbed me under my upper arm, leading me to the door. I could hear the paparazzi before I saw them, their voices raised in question like a swarm of bumblebees swarming a hive. Another group of bodyguards were waiting beside another black SUV, this one a Ford Explorer. I climbed into the backseat as I heard one particularly loud paparazzi ask who I was. “That your new girlfriend?” the voice asked. “You getting married again, Nicolas?” Talking to him like they were buddies, sitting around a poker table. It was offensive, even to me, and I wasn’t really the target of their questions. “Let’s go,” Nicolas barked to the bodyguard who climbed behind the wheel. The moment we drove through the gates of the private airport, several cars pulled into traffic behind us, causing something of a commotion as they cut off two other cars that were already on the road.

I looked behind us, outside the back windshield, and was shocked at the insane way a few of the paparazzi were hanging out the windows in order to get pictures of the car. They couldn’t even see Nicolas, yet they were willing to put their lives at risk. “Turn around,” Nicolas said. “There’s no point in watching them. It only encourages them if they see you.” I settled back down in my seat. Nicolas was next to me, reading something on his smartphone. “Is it always like this?” “Yeah.” “Is this what it was like for Aurora?” He glanced at me and I caught a glimpse of grief in his eyes. “It was.” “You don’t think—?” “Being constantly in the public life is difficult for everyone. Some handle it better than others. Aurora…I thought she was stronger than she was.” I nodded, thinking again of the excited woman I met nearly six months ago. I remember the way she looked over her shoulder from time to time when we met at her country club and that one public restaurant. I thought at the time she was looking for the waiter. Now, I thought she might have been looking to see who was watching. It couldn’t be all that great to be watched all the time. I crossed my legs and looked out the window. I’d lived in L.A. almost all my life. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was nice to be back. All the familiar sights…even the canyons of Mulholland Drive were familiar thanks to my mom’s job. And, of course, I knew the gate of Nicolas’ house from the times I’d met with Aurora there. It would be odd, walking into that house knowing that Aurora would never come walking into the room, her long, silk skirts flowing out behind her, or that I would never hear the soft, breathless tone of her voice again. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Nicolas. I slid out of the car the moment it came to a stop in the circle drive. Nicolas rushed around to my side, taking my arm and pulling me hard against his side.

“Don’t go wandering off without me, please.” “I’m just walking to the door.” “The paparazzi are everywhere,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward a low section of the wrought iron fence along the side of the property. I could just barely see the flash of a camera’s flash. “I don’t want them getting a clear picture of your face. Then your name will be all over the tabloids first thing in the morning and you’ll never be able to go anywhere on your own again.” I glanced at him, but I didn’t say anything. The thing was, I was pretty sure he was right. And that was a little frightening. He guided me up to the front door, careful to stand between me and the paparazzi in the bushes. Once inside, he let go of me like I was a hot potato or something. “Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing toward the living room at the back of the house. “Constance should have made up a room for you. I told her to put you in the front guest room.” He gestured toward the stairs. “It’s the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. Right next to the master.” “Afraid I’ll sneak out in the middle of the night?” I asked, only half serious. “Yes.” And then he disappeared, walking down the hallway that shot off from the entry way and around the side of the grand staircase. I went into the living room and took a water bottle from the mini-fridge in the bar. As I stood there, sipping from the bottle, I remembered how Nicolas had stood here that night months ago, drinking a huge slug of brandy from a thick crystal glass. And then I looked at the long, white couch and remembered how Aurora sat beside me the day she told me that she wanted me to be her surrogate. This wasn’t even my house, yet I had so many memories here. It was a little surreal. I wandered to the back doors—gorgeous French doors that looked out on a huge, well-tended garden. There were low bushes, beautiful trees, and roses everywhere. I found myself imagining a little girl running around out there, her father lifting her in the air and spinning her around as she laughed down into his face. This was the kind of place where a child would have an idyllic childhood. I touched my

belly lightly. “You are a lucky one,” I said to the baby nestled inside. “Mija?” I turned and cried out at the sight of Constance. I ran to her and threw my arms around her neck, so grateful to see someone I knew, someone I loved and whom I knew loved me back, that I was overwhelmed with emotion. I pressed my face to her neck and sobbed almost like I had on Nicolas’ shoulder the day before. The difference was, I knew Constance wouldn’t judge me and she wouldn’t play on my vulnerabilities to get me to do something I shouldn’t. “How are you, nina?” I shrugged. “I miss mi madre.” “I know, mija, I know. I miss her, too.” She pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “But she’s okay. You know that. She’s looking down on us, and she’s so proud.” I shook my head, more tears falling from my eyes. “She would be ashamed of me. Of what I’ve done.” “No.” Constance touched my belly lightly. “She would be happy to see you bringing life into the world. And this child is even more special because she comes from you.” “You don’t know.” “Don’t tell me no sabe, nina,” Constance said. “You may not believe it, but ya se.” If I’d learned anything growing up with a single mom and a woman like Constance, it was that you didn’t argue with a woman who said she knew what she was talking about. So I just nodded, trying in vain to stall the flow of tears. “Te amo,” she whispered against my ear. “Everything will be okay.” I wanted to believe her, but then I saw Nicolas watching us from the hallway. I couldn’t read his expression because he was standing in shadow, but the fact that he turned away the moment he saw me watching him told me everything I needed to know. It wasn’t going to be okay. I was held prisoner by a man who was willing to do anything to get

what he wanted, including using me to take the child growing in my womb. I wasn’t sure this man was capable of love. He clearly hadn’t loved his wife. How was he going to love a child? How could I allow this child to come into the world aware that it would be stuck with a father who couldn’t care less about her emotional wellbeing? I couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

Chapter 10 “Ms. Martinez.” I nodded, more out of habit that anything else. The doctor smiled as he approached me, his hand outstretched. “Dr. Bishop.” “Nice to meet you.” The doctor glanced at Nicolas and did something of a double take. But he caught himself and his voice was quite neutral when he said, “I’m guessing you’re the father.” “I am.” Nicolas held out his hand. “Nicolas Costa.” The doctor nodded. He’d clearly known that. The introductions out of the way, the doctor settled on a stool in front of a computer monitor that hung on a retractable arm against the wall. “It’ll be a few weeks before we get your chart from your last doctor, so I’ll have to ask a lot of questions,” Dr. Bishop said as he typed away at the keyboard. “You’re fifteen weeks, correct?” “A day short of sixteen weeks,” I said. He nodded. “And you haven’t had any issues in this pregnancy? No bleeding, cramps, swelling, excessive nausea, or vomiting?” “No, nothing like that.” “Good. And are you feeling any movements yet?” “No.” Dr. Bishop looked up, his eyes moving from my face to Nicolas’. “That’s perfectly normal,” he said. “Most first time mothers don’t feel any definitive movement until about eighteen weeks. I’ve even had a few who didn’t feel anything until twenty weeks.” Nicolas let out a breath near my ear. I glanced back at him, surprised by the tension I could see in

his jaw. What did he have to be worried about? I was the one carrying the baby in my belly. “Any morning sickness?” “No. Just a little nausea when I smell things like coffee or cigarette smoke.” “Also normal.” The doctor laughed a little. “A great deterrent for my patients who don’t see a reason to avoid caffeine or cigarettes.” “You have patients who smoke during pregnancy?” Nicolas asked, his tone incredulous. “Oh, yeah. Some women figure if their mothers did it when they were pregnant with them, there’s no reason for them not to do it with their kids. What they don’t understand is that the damage is sometimes undetectable, but there’s damage just the same.” The doctor was quiet for a moment as he looked through his computer chart. Then he frowned, clicking on something several times before he glanced at me. “Is there a family history of diabetes in your family?” I shook my head. “Not that I know of.” “I see here that you only listed medical history for your mother’s side of the family.” My face warmed a little. “I don’t know anything about my father or his family.” “That’s fine,” the doctor said, rolling his little stool over to the examination table and touching my hand lightly. “But it also leaves something of a black hole in your medical history.” “She had a whole workup before she got pregnant,” Nicolas said. “They didn’t find anything on that.” Dr. Bishop nodded. “I see that in her chart. You were with Dr. Beattie?” “Yes. My wife’s infertility doctor. However, we decided to go a different direction for the actual pregnancy and delivery.” Dr. Bishop nodded again, clearly one of those men who hated to disagree with anything anyone had to say. “Not a problem,” he said. “The workup actually helps. But the problem is, your wife’s urine tested positive for sugar this afternoon.” “I’m not—” I started to say, but Nicolas cut in.

“Is that bad?” “Well, sugar usually doesn’t spill into the urine until it is over 180. Normal is under 140. So it is a bit of a concern. I’d like to send her to our lab to have some more testing done. If it’s what’s called gestational diabetes, we can get it under control fairly easily.” He patted my hand again. “Nothing to worry about.” He picked up a device that looked kind of like a short, fat microphone and gestured for me to lie back. “Why don’t we listen to that baby’s heartbeat?” Nicolas scooted over and pressed his hand to my shoulder, helping me lower myself against the cheap, flat pillow at the head of the bed. Then, he watched as the doctor pushed aside the oversized tshirt I was wearing. My belly was exposed, sticking up like a four-square ball, my belly button stretched and flattened like someone was pulling at it from multiple different directions. The doctor squeezed a little lubricant on my belly toward the top and pressed the tip of his probe against it. After a second, the room filled with these screeching, annoying sounds, like feedback from a microphone. But then a quick, steady thump could be heard. Thump-thump-thump. I smiled recognizing the confident heartbeat of the baby. Nicolas gasped, his hand seeking mine and squeezing as our fingers became intertwined. “That’s amazing,” he whispered. “You haven’t heard it before?” Dr. Bishop asked, a little frown crossing his face. He moved the probe some more, and the heartbeat came back, louder than before. And a little faster, too, if my sense of rhythm was anything like it was in high school. Dr. Bishop caught my eye and asked, “Have you had a sonogram, Ms. Martinez?” “Just once, when I was eight weeks. They said everything looked fine.” Dr. Bishop looked as though he wanted to ask another question, but he stopped mid-grunt. He stood and went to the door. A moment later he was back, wiping the lubricant from my belly. “I’m going to have the nurse bring in the sonogram machine so that we can take a closer look at what’s going on in there.”

“Is something wrong?” Nicolas asked, quickly letting go of my hand. “I don’t think so. I just want to have a look.” But doctors don’t just take a look on a whim. He’d heard something within the heartbeat. And now my heart was pounding, jumping almost as fast as the baby’s. What if something was wrong? What if the baby had some sort of defect or something? Had I done something? Did I not eat enough fruits and vegetables? Should I have avoided tea, too? Was it the fast food tacos that I craved so much my first trimester? As these thoughts whirled through my mind over and over, the nurse brought in the sonogram machine. It seemed to take an hour for them to figure out all the cords and get it up and running. And then Dr. Bishop was squeezing more lubricant on my belly and pressing a new probe to my bump. I couldn’t really see what was showing on the computer monitor, but Nicolas was leaning over me like I was as inconsequential as a stack of books, staring at everything the doctor was doing. Then, Dr. Bishop turned the monitor so that we could both see it clearly. “This is the baby’s head,” he said, pointing at a rounded object in the center of the screen. “And here are the arms, the legs.” As he said it, I could suddenly see it, the perfectly shaped human being living in my stomach. The baby moved as he talked, jerking its tiny arms as though it had the hiccups or something. It made tears well in my eyes as the sight of this perfect creature suddenly made everything so incredibly real. “And now,” the doctor said, moving the probe lower on my belly, “here is another head, another set of limbs.” “Did the baby move?” Nicolas asked. Dr. Bishop smiled as the baby did something like a flip just under the probe, turning so that what we were now looking at must have been its back because I could see the spine as clear as day. “There’re two babies,” I said. “What?” Nicolas looked down at me, his eyes wide with wonder. “That’s right, Mr. Costa,” Dr. Bishop said. “You’re having twins. This sort of thing often happens

with infertility treatments.” I never thought I’d ever see Nicolas Costa speechless. But he was. Absolutely, mouth-hangingopen speechless. I laughed.

Chapter 11 Did I say I don’t mind needles? I lied. I lay in a hospital bed, my belly itching like I had poison ivy, an IV in my arm, and a plate of halfeaten meatloaf on a rollaway tray beside me. The nurse peeked her head in through the door and shook her head. “You have to eat the whole thing or you’ll have a low blood sugar and we’ll have to infuse you with glucose again.” She smiled almost apologetic. “You want to get that IV out of your arm, don’t you?” “I do. I just don’t get this insulin thing.” “I know. It’s complicated.” She came to the bed and sat beside me. “My brother’s diabetic. I never thought about it until I went to nursing school. And then I was dumbfounded by how my parents kept his blood sugars under control back then when doctors knew even less about diabetes than they know now.” She stood and picked up the tray. “Why don’t I go see if I can find you an apple or something instead, huh? Might go down easier.” “Thanks,” I said as I watched her walk out of the room. Dr. Bishop sent me to have more blood tests after discovering the second baby hiding in my womb, and the tests came back the next morning showing that my blood sugar was way too high. So he put me into the hospital right away and I’d been here for nearly a week, trying to find an insulin regiment that worked with my body. I was highly reactive to insulin, he had told me, so even a tad too much made my sugars go too low and they had to intervene. He wouldn’t let me out of the hospital until I could go two days with a low. So far, the longest we had gone was four hours. The only good thing about being in the hospital was that I hadn’t seen Nicolas in two days. He didn’t want to visit too often. He was afraid it would attract the paparazzi. However, I suspected that wasn’t the real reason. I saw the discomfort on his face every time he walked into the room. He didn’t like hospitals.

I wondered how he was going to survive forty-eight hours of labor—which is how long it took my mom to give birth to me. She reminded me every time I did something I shouldn’t have in high school. I lay back and closed my eyes, the low volume on the television like white noise from one of those fancy machines Kelly always insisted were the only way she could sleep in almost any time zone. I missed Kelly. She called a few days ago, but I told her to stay away. I really didn’t want her to meet Nicolas. I could just imagine the things she would say to him in an effort to help me. But it wouldn’t help. It would only make things worse. I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I knew, that kind nurse was standing at my side, injecting glucose into my IV line. “Fifty-two,” she said. I groaned. I was never getting out of this hospital. The nurse patted my shoulder sympathetically. “They bumped the numbers down another unit. I think they might have it this time.” And she was right. Two days later, I was pulling on the jeans I’d worn into the hospital only to discover they were too tight around my middle. I pulled my t-shirt down and it, too, was shorter than it had been before. I stuck my head out the bathroom door and caught the kindly nurse just as she was leaving with the debris from the IV she’d just taken from my arm. “You wouldn’t happen to have a rubber band, or something, would you?” She glanced at my belly and managed not to laugh out loud. “I’ll go look at the nurse’s desk.” “You need new clothes,” Nicolas said from his perch against the wall by the door. “Thank you for reminding me.” He studied me for a second. “There’s a maternity shop on Rodeo Drive. We can swing by there on the way home.” “Sure,” I said. “I can afford…wait, I don’t think I can afford to walk through the doors at a shop like that.” “Who said you were paying?” “I don’t want anything from you, Nicolas.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my kid—kids—in there. I can’t have you walking around with your belly hanging out, or wearing cheap clothes that might contain some sort of chemical that could hurt the babies.” I glared at him, ready to say something that wasn’t very lady-like, but the nurse came back then with a rubber band. She even helped me fasten my jeans with it, tugging them closed enough so that I wasn’t exposing myself when Nicolas led the way outside ten minutes later. When we drove down Rodeo Drive, I had flashes of every romantic movie I’d ever seen. And when we walked into the maternity shop and a sales girl looked down her nose at me, I had a very vivid image of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. The only difference was, my Richard Gere was standing next to me. “How can we help you, Mr. Costa?” one of the sales girls asked. “We need a complete wardrobe, including lingerie and formal attire. Do you think you can handle that?” The woman bit back a smile. “Of course.” And suddenly I was a princess, pushed into a soft chair and plied with tea and cookies and everything I could ever want. Models who were much taller, much thinner, and definitely not pregnant, paraded into the room in a variety of clothes, talking about things I would never understand—like cut and seams and the different fabrics—until my head was spinning and I was just saying okay to make them stop. Nicolas stood at a distance, watching. He did that a lot, watching me and the people around me from a distance, like he was directing the action around him instead of participating in it. I would have preferred him to sit by my side and offer his opinion on my choices, but that wasn’t Nicolas. When they brought out the lingerie, I blushed and decided I’d had enough. “I’m tired,” I said, standing and nearly toppling the low table that held the tea cups they kept refilling. “Could we just…” Nicolas was immediately at my side. “Of course.” He guided me to the door, then turned to speak to one of his bodyguards. The man disappeared inside as we got into yet another SUV—this one a white Cadillac—and merged into the late evening traffic.

“Are you hungry?” I nodded. “But I’d have to take a shot, and I’m not sure about doing that in public.” “Then we’ll pick something up and go back to the house.” He glanced out the window—actually looking up from his smartphone—and said, “It’s a nice night. We could eat on the back veranda.” “That actually sounds nice. I feel like I’ve been cooped up inside for too long.” Nicolas looked at me, actually holding my gaze for a full minute before his eyes slid down to my growing belly. “How do you feel?” “Tired.” He reached over to touch my belly, but he stopped himself just before he made contact. “Have you felt them move yet? You’re almost eighteen weeks.” “Not yet.” He nodded, a dark look crossing his face. Did he think I was lying to him? Or was there something else? He was such an enigma that it drove me nuts. I wanted to reach over there, grab his face, and make him tell me everything that was going on in that head of his. But I didn’t. I stared out the window and watched the scenery as we sped across the city, headed back to his house. I was actually looking forward to being there. I guess it was true that almost any place could feel like home if you were lonely enough. And I was definitely lonely enough.

Chapter 12 He ordered from some Chinese place and I had a heck of a time trying to figure out how many carbs I was going to eat out of the noodles, egg rolls, and sweet sauces that he’d ordered. I finally made an educated guess and filled the syringe with insulin, but then my hand shook when it came time to actually inject it. They made me do it a dozen times in the hospital, but there was a difference between injecting a potentially lethal substance into your body in a hospital setting where nurses were waiting to bring you back to life with an injection of sugar, and doing it in the privacy of your own home where only you and the father of your child—both quite uneducated about this condition—were there to provide sugar if a mistake was made. “Do you want me to do it?” Nicolas asked. He seemed sincere, so I handed the syringe to him. “Where do I…?” “A fatty area,” I said. “I was doing them in my hip in the hospital.” He nodded as he came to stand beside me. I tugged at a corner of my jeans and pulled them down just enough to expose the area where I had intended to inject myself. Nicolas picked up the alcohol pad I’d already prepared and pressed it to my flesh, making me hiss a little with the suddenly cold. And then his fingers were moving over my hip, pushing back my clothes, the contrast between the cold alcohol and his hot fingers distracting. Would I always feel this sort of reaction whenever he touched me? He carefully injected the insulin, moving quickly, but proficiently, making me wonder if he had experience with needles. And then thoughts of Aurora filled my mind, of her illegal drug use and the substances he’d supposedly seen her take. Did he help her inject herself with meth or heroin? Did he help her boil down crack cocaine and inject it into a vein? Those thoughts made me shudder. Nicolas must have thought it was a reaction from the shot

because he tugged my jeans back into place and whispered, “All done,” in my ear. I pulled away from him, the scent of his cologne so intoxicating that I wasn’t sure I could control myself if I didn’t. We ate in silence for a few minutes, both of us lost in our own thoughts. And then he poured himself a glass of wine, staring into its depths rather than drinking from it. “I have a new project coming up in a month. It films here, so I’ll be close, but I won’t be at the house for the majority of the day.” “Okay,” I said, as I picked at a spicy egg roll. I thought I was going to eat a lot, but the babies had shifted and my stomach was already screaming that it was full. “Constance will be around if you need anything. And one of my security guys will always be within screaming distance.” “That’s reassuring.” “I just…I didn’t know that you would be having health problems when I agreed to this project.” “I didn’t either.” “I know.” He put the wine glass down and studied me for a second. “This has just made the whole thing a little more real for me.” I looked away. It had always been real for me. So real I’d called a lawyer while I was in the hospital. I wanted to know what my options were after the babies came. But his advice hadn’t been very hopeful. He’d promised to look over the contract, but he didn’t think I’d be able to keep the babies or even share in any part of their lives if Nicolas didn’t agree to it. Not very encouraging. “Aurora was pretty excited about it,” I said suddenly, needing to hurt him in some way for reasons I couldn’t even begin to explain. “She talked about decorating the nursery and buying all these cute little outfits. She even showed me one once, a pretty little sailor suit she couldn’t pass up in a department store.” “It was just a passing infatuation with Aurora,” Nicolas said. “A new thing to keep her busy for a while. She was always flitting from one thing to another.”

“When she talked to the doctor and learned her eggs were dividing, she’d been so excited.” “Yeah. And then she went upstairs and snorted so much coke up her nose that she passed out with her head on the hors d’oeuvre plate.” There was such bitterness in his voice that I wanted to slap him. How could someone be that bitter about the woman he swore to love, honor, and obey for the rest of his life? Was that really how he looked at the marriage vows? “You know, you don’t have to constantly prove what an asshole you are,” I said, dropping my napkin onto my plate and pushing away from the table. I didn’t get far. He came up behind me and grabbed my arm, spinning me around so quickly that I got dizzy and nearly fell. As it was, I had to snatch at the front of his shirt to keep from toppling over. “I hate you,” I said, pushing back in an attempt to get away from him. “I hate everything you’ve done to me and everything you did to Aurora. I hate that you’re going to take these babies from me and raise them to be little self-centered asses just like you.” “You don’t hate me,” he said, his voice dangerously low as he moved closer to me. “And your body definitely doesn’t hate my touch.” I glanced down and realized my nipples were once again betraying me, standing up straight against the thin material of my tee. “My body’s not itself,” I muttered in disgust. “It’s so confused it doesn’t recognize a snake despite all the warnings my brain is sending.” His mouth curved in a brief flash of humor before he took a step, closing what little distance there was between us, his body pressed against mine. “You want me,” he said softly. “Despite everything you’ve said and done, you want me. I know it. And you know it.” “I don’t.” “Oh, you do.” I stared at him, and I knew I had my mouth hanging open. The nerve of the man! Did he really imagine I was going to have sex with him? I would not sleep with him again—even if he were the last

man on Earth. Who the hell did he think he was? I tried to move away, but he held tight to my arm, jerking me even closer to him. If not for my belly, we would have been chest-to-chest, lip-to-lip. And then his arm snaked around my waist, and he pulled me closer until I couldn’t breathe. I felt the length of his erection against my lower belly, and I stilled. I looked up at him, and his pupils were dilated, his breathing ragged. My legs immediately turned to jelly. I curled my hand where it still held onto his shirt, burying itself there. His mouth was on mine, and we were kissing with such deep hunger that it shook me to the core. He slanted his mouth over mine and sucked my lower lip. I moaned deep in my throat and moved impossibly closer, searching for more. When I gasped for breath, his tongue slipped in and began to slowly drive me crazy. I kissed him back with everything I had, sucking on his tongue with such hunger that he groaned and pressed against me. I slipped my hand beneath his shirt and touched him everywhere I could. I writhed against his erection, but it was not enough. I wanted more. Nicolas broke the kiss and focused on the sensitive area behind my neck. He kissed and licked me there and, when he nipped that place, I began to tremble. In such a short time he’d brought me close to that cliff and my desperation was growing. Damn, the man knew me well. Too well. “We need to stop now,” I gasped and then lifted his shirt and placed my mouth on his turgid nipple. I licked it and suckled. He swore softly under his breath. “In a moment…” He sank his hands in my hair, and I felt my scalp tingle. “This is crazy,” I said as I shuddered with need. “You’re killing me.” “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I muttered moving to the other nipple. I was shaking with desire so intense that it washed all common sense from my mind. “I’m on fire.” “You’re burning me up,” he growled when my hand snuck down to rub against his swollen head through his jeans. He lifted me up then and placed me on the edge of the table. He tugged at my clothes, ripping the rubber band from its temporary fix. He groaned as he tugged my tee away from my swollen belly.

“Jesus…I have to taste you now,” he said, as he placed his mouth on my already sensitive nipples, returning the favor, practically kneeling before me. It was a powerful feeling, having this undeniably dominant man on his knees in front of me. And then he stood, needing to taste my lips again as much as I wanted to taste his. He moved between my legs, his manhood pressed against my mound. The effect of his denim clad erection against me was too much. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled, moaning at the combined assault of his mouth and his manhood. Suddenly, the pressure began to build. I felt everything fade away and narrow down to a single trajectory of intense pleasure. I stiffened and shut my eyes as I hovered on the precipice. Waves of pleasure began to waft through me and suddenly, everything exploded. I heard a low wail, and it was not until Nicolas covered my mouth in another very wet, very sexy kiss that I realized the wail was coming from me. I slowly came down from my climax. My limbs felt heavy, and my eyes were heavy. I was gasping for breath and wondering what the hell had happened when I felt his hands around my bottom. He pulled me to the edge of the table, tearing my jeans—my panties—from my body. I felt his tip against me. Just like that, I was hot and hungry again. I wriggled closer and bit my lip to stop the cry that was just begging to come out. He felt so good. I opened my legs wider to let him know I was ready and, without a word, he slid deep inside of me, biting his own lip as a groan slipped out. He wanted to be gentle. I could see it in the intensity of his stare, in the tremor of his hands. “It’s okay,” I said. “They’re protected.” It was as though that was all he needed to hear. He rammed into me with such force that a scream tore from my mouth. He pulled out of me, and I whimpered in protest before he rammed into me again. “Oh…ah…I…this is…!” I was incoherent. I could not form a single sentence to save my life. This was more intense than anything I had ever experienced. I forced my eyes open and looked into his. They were ablaze with passion as he stared intensely at me. I could see that he was at the edge of control. When he slammed into me a third time, I felt my sex begin to clench around him and knew that I was at the cusp of another fantastic orgasm. I tried to hold back, to see how much I could take, but he was having none of it. He slid his hand between us and pressed his thumb against my clit and, just like that, I fell apart. I held onto him

and jerked, screaming, as the orgasm carried me high into the air. Then, I felt myself shatter into a million pieces. I heard him shout my name as his own climax hit, and it triggered mine again. We collapsed against each other, each shuddering at the strength of the passion we’d just experienced. “What the hell was that?” he murmured. I trembled in the aftershock, ridiculously glad that he didn’t deny the power of what had happened. “Crazy…,” I said, still not able to speak coherently. “Just crazy.” “Yeah,” he said and then kissed me. It was different from the hungry kiss we’d shared earlier. It wasn’t even the wet I-can’t-wait-tobe-inside-you kiss we’d shared just before he’d slid into me. This one was gentle and sweet, but no less intense. I sighed and knew I was in trouble. Slowly, he broke the kiss and touched his forehead to mine. “You are incredible, Ana,” he said at last. “I don’t know what to do with you.” “Take me to bed,” I suggested, too tired and aware of the change between us to deny this… whatever it was anymore. He didn’t have to be told twice. He gathered me into his arms and carried me up the stairs like a bride on her wedding night. Only this bride was already five-months pregnant and without benefit of the legal ceremony or even the love of her man. One thing at a time, I supposed.

Chapter 13 I was in the middle of a wonderful dream. The babies were here, sleeping happily in perfect white cribs and Nicolas had his arms around me, telling me what a wonderful life we were all going to have together. The dream made me smile, even in my sleep. And then a loud knocking made the dream fall apart around the edges. “What is it?” I heard Nicolas call. “You need to come downstairs, Mr. Costa.” “What the hell for?” He was angry now. I recognized that tone. “The police are here, Mr. Costa.” My eyes popped open then. The bed shifted as Nicolas climbed around me, padding off to the closet to get a pair of pants. He was still shirtless when he opened the door, and I saw the top of one of the bodyguard’s head before Nicolas stepped into the hallway. I sat up and picked up Nicolas’ discarded shirt from the night before and slipped it over my body. Despite my swollen belly, it managed to cover me to the top of my thighs. I slipped into the bathroom and cleaned myself up a little, wondering all the while what was going on. “You need to go,” Nicolas said, rushing back into the room and grabbing clothes from the closet. “What’s happening?” “I don’t know,” he said, not even looking at me. “The police are here with a search warrant. They want to look through Aurora’s things.” “Why?” “If I knew that, they wouldn’t have caught me by surprise, now would they have?” He glanced at me then, a touch of remorse skidding across his face. “I don’t want you here while they do the search. Adam is waiting to take you to Constance’s apartment.”

I nodded, obediently marching to the door. Nicolas came up behind me and grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry, Ana. I’ll call you as soon as I know what this is all about.” I nodded again and melted a little when he kissed me. I went to my own room and dressed quickly, tossing a couple of things into a bag since I didn’t know how long I’d be at Constance’s. I was headed down the stairs with the bodyguard—Nicolas called him Adam—when I heard a deep voice reciting the Miranda Rights in the entry way. I pulled away from Adam and rushed to the bottom of the stairs just in time to see a cop in a cheap wool suit put Nicolas in handcuffs. “Nicolas Costa, you’re being arrested for the charge of murder in the first degree,” the detective said. “Nico!” I cried. He looked at me, a lost little boy with shame coloring his face. “Take her out of here,” Nicolas said roughly to Adam. I felt Adam take my arm, but all I saw was Nicolas being escorted out to a police cruiser.

Chapter 14 I was dreaming—a beautiful, wonderful dream—and then my world turned into a nightmare. Five months ago, I was just a kindergarten teacher, finishing up the spring semester at a small private school in a suburb of Los Angeles. And then everything imploded. My mother got cancer and that led to a desperate need to get money and that led to me volunteering to be a surrogate for the actress, Aurora Parker, and her ultra-famous, billionaire husband, Nicolas Costa. But, of course, it couldn’t all go smoothly. Right before the first insemination attempt, Nicolas came on to me in the same house he shared with his wife, then my mother died of a heart attack the night before she was supposed to start chemo, and then Aurora died a week later of an apparent drug overdose in New York City. It was all too much and I took off, well aware that the insemination had worked and I was pregnant. I didn’t think Nicolas would want the baby after all of that. But, of course, I was wrong. Nicolas followed me to Texas and insisted I return to L.A. until the baby’s birth. If I didn’t, he wasn’t going to hold up his end of the bargain I’d made with Aurora—that I would be allowed pictures and the occasional visit. And once we were settled in his house—the same house he once shared with Aurora and the house my mother’s best friend, Constance, worked as the housekeeper in—he dragged me off to a new doctor who quickly discovered that I wasn’t just having a baby, I was having twins. Plus, I have gestational diabetes that requires up to five shots a day to keep my blood sugar in tight alignment. My mom used to say Murphy’s law ruled my life. She wasn’t kidding. But last night, things seemed to be getting better. Nicolas and I sat down to dinner together. It was awkward, at first. But then…when he was touching me, it was like all common sense just disappeared.

And he was so gentle, so kind and considerate. It felt like we’d actually made a connection for the first time since we met. He took me to bed and we lay in each other’s arms until the wee hours, touching and whispering to each other. Then I fell asleep and dreamed that the babies were here, sleeping happily in perfect white cribs and Nicolas had his arms around me, telling me what a wonderful life we were all going to have together. The dream made me smile, even in my sleep. But then it turned into a nightmare with a knock on the door. Nicolas’s bodyguard, Adam, was there, telling him the police were there. And then: I was headed down the stairs with Adam when I heard a deep voice reciting the Miranda Rights in the entry way. I pulled away from Adam and rushed to the bottom of the stairs, just in time to see a cop in a cheap wool suit put Nicolas in handcuffs. “Nicolas Costa, you’re being arrested for the charge of murder in the first degree,” the detective said. “Nico!” I cried. He looked at me, a lost little boy with shame coloring his face. “Take her out of here,” Nicolas said roughly to Adam. I felt Adam take my arm, but all I saw was Nicolas being escorted out to a police cruiser. Now I was at Constance’s, curled up on the couch in her cramped living room, trying not to hear— but watching every second of the news reports on Nicolas’ arrest. “Police aren’t commenting at this time,” the pretty blond reporter was currently saying, “but sources close to the case say that police have found evidence that Nicolas Costa was in New York City on the night his wife died despite the fact that he told investigators he was home alone that night. The source states that a witness has come forward, claiming that he saw Nicolas Costa at the restaurant Aurora

Parker had just left when she died in the back of her chauffeured limo. And another witness claims that Nicolas Costa threatened his wife on several occasions, most notably the night before her trip to New York City.” I shook my head, tears threatening, as I sat back and ran my hand slowly over my swelling belly. “Did he really do it?” I glanced at Mercedes, Constance’s thirteen year old niece. She, along with several cousins and Constance’s two teenaged sons, lived in this tiny apartment with Constance. It was like trying to study in a frat house. There were so many people I could hardly think. “Go outside, mija,” Constance said, shooing Mercedes away. Then she picked up the remote and turned off the television. “You’ve done nothing but watch this stuff for two days,” she said to me. “What else is there to do?” “Eat.” Constance set a plate of tamales in front of me. I looked at them and my stomach clutched. I shook my head. If I ate, I’d have to take a shot, and I really didn’t want to do that. “You need to feed those babies,” Constance said. I ran my hand slowly over my belly. “They seem to be growing fine whether I eat of not. I’ve gained five pounds since I got out of the hospital.” “Because they’re taking what they need whether you eat or not. But that won’t last long.” I just shook my head and reached for the remote. The television popped back on and the outer gate of Nicolas’ house flooded the screen. I sat forward, staring as a dark car pulled slowly to the gates and the gate slowly began to slide open as reporters surrounded the car.

“He’s home?” Constance just shrugged, as she watched the screen too. “I have to go.” I jumped to my feet and grabbed my bag, shoving the few things I’d removed—my blood sugar meter, a book, a couple of clean shirts—back inside and slid my feet into sandals. “I’m sure he’ll send for you when he’s ready,” Constance said. I shook my head. “No. He’ll want me to stay as far away as possible.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t go.” “But he needs me.” I headed for the front door, but Constance grabbed my arm. “Ana, think about this. This man has been accused of killing his wife. Do you really think he’s the kind of man you want to be with right now?” She touched my belly. “These babies are the most important thing in your world right now. Maybe it would be best if you stayed here and let people who love you take care of you.” “These babies are Nicolas’. I should be there.” “Ana, you’re just a surrogate.” “I know that.” I dragged my fingers through my dark hair, my thoughts whirling in a million different directions. However, they all kept coming back to Nicolas alone, dealing with the darkest moments of his life in that big house without anyone who cared about him. I needed to be there. I needed to show him that I cared. Constance stood in front of me, her experienced eyes watching me. And I could see in them that

she knew it was already too late. Even I wasn’t quite sure what my feelings for Nicolas were, but I knew I had them. And I knew they were deeper than those of a girl who had a crush on the man whose child she’s carrying. All of this began as a means to an end, a way to get the money my mom would need to survive her cancer. But then I met Aurora and I really wanted to give her the gift of a child. Nicolas made it weird when he kissed me, but I still wanted to help Aurora; I still wanted to make her dreams come true. And then she was dead and I was alone with this baby that Nicolas didn’t even know about. And then he found me and made me feel things I’d never felt before…never have I ever hated someone the way I hated Nicolas for taking control of my life and bullying me into coming back to L.A. Never have I ever hated someone so much for making me dependent on them—I’ve never been so dependent on someone, so dependent on a place to live, transportation, medical care, clothes, food, and everything else. But…never have I wanted to be near someone the way I wanted to be near Nicolas. Never have I wanted a man like I want Nicolas. I was falling for him, and I hated myself for it almost as much as Constance clearly disapproved of it. “You know he’s a good man,” I said softly. “You were the reason I volunteered to be their surrogate in the first place.” “He was a good man. Once.” Clouds danced over Constance’s face. “But you don’t know what happened in that house over these past few years, what I heard between him and his wife. I never told you or your mother some of the worst things.” “It was a bad marriage.” “It was more than that.” I shook my head. “I don’t care. I’m going back there, and I’m going to help him through this because it’s the right thing to do.”

“But what about all of this?” Constance asked, gesturing to the television. “What about this investigation?” “He didn’t do it.” I looked at her, expecting her to agree with me, but she avoided my gaze, as though she didn’t want me to see what she was thinking. And that made a cold shiver run down my spine. “Constance, you know he didn’t do this.” “I know they had a fight that day.” She crossed her arms over her chest, a defiant set to her chin. “I know he told her not to come back if she left. And I know he told her he would kill her if he ever saw her again.” I wanted to deny what she’d said. I wanted to tell her that she had no idea what she was talking about. I wanted to defend Nicolas with every inch of my being. However, there was this little voice at the back of my mind reminding me that Constance has never told a lie in her life. She was one of those who was convinced that God could hear every word falling from our lips and that he would strike her dead where she stood if she uttered a lie. I also knew how bad Nicolas’ marriage was those final years. He’d told me. So it was possible. But… “That doesn’t mean he did what they’re saying.” Constance inclined her head slightly. “She was alone in the back of that limo when the driver discovered she’d overdosed. And it was an overdose. Who can say that she didn’t take the drugs of her own freewill?” “But what if she didn’t? I never saw any evidence that she was using illegal drugs.” “Maybe she hid it well.” “Maybe.” Constance studied my face for a long second. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do this, Ana. And by going back to him, you could be placing yourself in danger.”

I nodded. “I could be. Or I could be abandoning an innocent man.” I brushed past her, and—this time—she didn’t stop me. I wrenched the front door of the apartment open, and Adam immediately stepped into my path. I hadn’t even been aware that he was still around. “Shouldn’t you be at the house with Nicolas?” “He wants me with you,” he said in a low, clipped voice that matched his bulky, Neanderthal-like appearance perfectly. “Well, I’m going to the house.” “No, ma’am,” he said. “He wants you to remain here until this thing blows over.” “That could take months, and there isn’t enough space here for me and these twins,” I said, drawing his attention to my belly as I brushed my hand over it. “So, take me to the house or I’m going back to my empty apartment in Texas and you can explain to him why I left the state.” Adam studied my face for a long minute. Then he nodded, stepping aside and gesturing for me to lead the way. At least one man in my life knew how to listen to a lady.

Chapter 15 He was standing in the living room when we arrived, ironically in the same place he’d been that night four months ago—it seemed like so much longer!—when I came by to see Aurora and he claimed she was out, then kissed me like we were lovers instead of virtual strangers. “They let you out.” He looked over at me, his eyes red-rimmed, his jaw sporting the beginnings of a heavy beard, the result of two days without a razor. “What are you doing here?” He looked over at Adam, gesturing with the hand that held a tumbler that was full to the rim of something dark—bourbon, maybe?—sloshing some of it over his hand. “I told you to keep her away from here.” “We came in through the back,” Adam said. “No one saw us.” “I don’t fucking care,” Nicolas said, his voice cracking a little as it rose in pitch. “I don’t want her here. What part of that did you not understand?” “I insisted,” I said, approaching him cautiously. “I wanted to see you, to make sure you’re okay.” He laughed, even as he raised the glass to his lips. He swallowed the whole glass in one swallow, nearly falling over as he stepped backward to grab the bottle and pour some more. It was pretty obvious he’d been drinking for a while. That scared me more than I was willing to admit to myself. A man doesn’t drink like that unless things looked really bleak. Or he was feeling guilty about something. “Let’s go upstairs,” I said.

He looked at me, his eyes moving over the length of me in a very pointed way. “Not in the mood, sweetheart,” he said. “Thanks for the offer though.” “I wasn’t suggesting…” There was no reason to continue my argument. He wasn’t listening. He’d turned back to the bar and was pouring himself another drink. As I watched, he swallowed two more tumbler-sized gulps as he stood there, or swayed there might have been a better description of what was happening. I moved up behind him and lay my hand on the small of his back. He stiffened immediately as though my touch was the last thing he wanted, but I stayed close to him and whispered softly near his ear, “You’re making a fool of yourself, Nicolas. Do you really want to do that in front of Adam and God knows who else is within earshot of you?” He glanced at me, pure hatred filling those perfect brown eyes of his. That hurt, stabbing through me like a hot knife through butter. However, it got his attention. “Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up.” He poured himself another glass of booze and swallowed it again, tossing his head back to make sure he got every last drop. And then he stepped back and held his arm out to me. “As you wish.” I took his arm, and he walked surprisingly steady until we were halfway up the stairs. And then he leaned heavily against me, his steps growing more and more unstable with each step. I wasn’t sure I was going to get him to the bedroom without him falling over, but I did. I helped him to the bed and sat him on the edge of it before I went back to close the door. “Fucking paparazzi,” he muttered when I came back to him. “Can’t even threaten my own fucking wife without them going to the cops and claiming I killed her for her life insurance or some such

nonsense.” “The paparazzi?” He nodded, the movement causing him to fall back against the bed. I leaned over him and tugged at the buttons on the front of his dress shirt. It was the same shirt he put on in a hurry the morning the police came to search the house. The morning he was arrested. “That’s their witness, you know. A fucking photographer who supposedly overheard me tell Aurora I was going to kill her as she got into the car to leave for the airport that last night.” “The news says that someone came forward and said they saw you at the restaurant she was eating at right before she died.” He looked at me, clearly struggling to focus. “Waiter,” he mumbled. “Thought I gave him a big enough tip to come down with a little amnesia, but I guess not.” I looked sharply at him, as I finished unbuttoning his shirt, spreading it open to reveal his perfectly sculpted chest. Even now, even with everything that was happening, I wanted to run my hands over it, to feel his muscles, his heart, under my hands. Instead, I turned my attention to getting his expensive Prada shoes off his feet. “You were in New York that night?” I asked. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Wanted to convince Aurora to give me a divorce, once and for all. I surprised her at the restaurant. I knew she would dine alone in a private room, knew it was the best chance I had of ever getting her alone. But she laughed when I told her what I wanted, and then she threatened to steal the baby she was so sure you were carrying away from me. But I was the one who wanted the baby in the first place.” I had his shoes off, and I started to work on his pants. He looked up at me, a pleading look in his

eyes. “Believe me?” “Come on,” I said, taking his hand and pulling him to a sitting position. I slid my arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. We managed to get into the bathroom where I helped him out of his underwear. He leaned back against the counter while I started the water in his walk-though shower, taking only a second to admire the lovely marble that lined the walls and the floor. Then, I undressed and returned to him. His eyes were closed, his breathing slowed, as though he’d managed to fall asleep naked, reclining against the counter. I paused for a second, admiring his body. Him. He was a beautiful man. His bronze skin, the fine sprinkling of dark hair across his chest, the strip of hair that led the eyes to his beautiful cock…I never imagined I would ever be with someone even remotely like him. My last date before all this happened? He was a math teacher at the junior high my elementary school fed into, complete with the heavy-framed glasses and pocket protector in his shirt pocket. I moved close to him, my ever expanding belly reaching him before the rest of me. I touched his face and whispered his name, “Nico?” He peeked at me from under impossibly long eyelashes. “Shower time.” He nodded, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. I slid my arm around his waist and walked him to the shower, grateful that it wasn’t part of a bathtub like it always had been in the house where I grew up. Getting him over the lip of a tub would be almost impossible. But the walk-through didn’t even have a lip at the entrance to the shower; it was so perfectly designed that a subtle slope in the floor made a lip unnecessary. He groaned when the water hit him, first along his side from a low set showerhead, and then near his face from the showerhead that was set more traditionally at the center of the back wall. The water was

warm and actually felt quite good on my body. He didn’t seem to moan after that initial splash. He raised his face to the water, his eyes closed and his mouth open. I watched for a minute, spellbound by the sight of him. Even drunk and vulnerable he seemed more virile and powerful than any man I’d ever known. I grabbed a sponge and doused it in liquid soap. After I had a good lather, I began running it slowly over his back. His muscles were tense at first, but slowly began to loosen up. He leaned forward and braced himself on the wall, a sigh escaping his lips. I couldn’t resist running my soapy hand over his ass, my fingers exploring places they’d never really had access to before. He turned and looked down at me, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You brought me here. Remember?” “No, I mean now. I was in jail for two days. I’m under investigation for murder. I can’t leave the state. Probably not even the county. You could have gone back to Texas and there’s nothing I could do about it.” It had never, honestly, crossed my mind to leave. I pressed the sponge to the center of his chest and watched the lather bleed over his skin. “Nothing has really changed. If I left, you would eventually be cleared and come after the babies, and I wouldn’t see them again.” The tension came back into his shoulders, but he didn’t move away or react in any other way. He watched me as I continued to wash his chest, my hand slowly wandering down toward his hips. His cock was responding to my touch despite the excessive amount of alcohol he’d drunk. It made my lower belly tighten in response, my thighs quiver with need. Something about being near him made me more focused on sex than I’d ever been before. I always thought there was something unusual about me in that I wasn’t as fascinated with the subject when I was a teen as my friends. Even when I was around Kelly—who

focused on sex so much she was going crazy with her self-imposed celibacy—it just didn’t seem as important to me as it did her. But when I was around Nicolas…hello, inner slut! He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “They think I killed my wife.” I looked up at him. “I know.” “Aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you worried that if I killed her, that I might not think twice of doing the same to you?” I thought about that for a second. It seemed logical, really. Anyone who killed the woman he once loved, the woman he swore to love for the rest of his life, wouldn’t think twice of killing his surrogate. But the problem with that was that Aurora died of an overdose. “I don’t think you did it.” He made a sound that was kind of a cross between a chuckle and a groan. “You’re the only one.” “How can you force someone to take an overdose of cocaine, anyway?” Nicolas shrugged. “They’re saying that it wasn’t cocaine that killed her. They’re saying she was given an overdose of Xanax.” “How do they know she didn’t take it herself?” “They have a waiter who claims he saw me slip into her drink. Plus…” He hesitated, almost as if he didn’t want to say what came next. He sighed, his hand brushing against my face before he pulled away and turned back to the showerhead, letting the water wash the lather from his skin. “What?” I asked, moving against his back, my belly brushing just above the curve of his ass. He just shook his head. He was clearly done talking about it.

He reached for a razor from the shelf built into one wall of the shower, but missed. It clattered to the floor as he lost his balance and barely caught himself against the wet tile. I retrieved it and filled my hand with a little shave cream. “Let me do it.” “I’m not a child,” he said, but he didn’t seem terribly adverse to the idea. He leaned back against the wall, as I reached up to apply the cream. I’d never shaved a man before. I’ve never even seen a man shave. None of my lovers—all one of him—ever stuck around long enough to shave in front of me. And I didn’t know my father. So it was a little tricky, running the razor over his angled jaw as opposed to my thin, but short, legs. But there was something decidedly sexy about leaning my naked body up against his to reach his handsome face. I touched my fingers to his naked flesh in the spaces the razor cleared, not sure what was better, his naked flesh or the bristles of his heavy five o’clock shadow. The naked skin was what I knew, what I loved about the way his features seemed to radiate virility. But the five o’clock shadow added a little mystery, and the feel of those bristles against my skin offered a new sensation that made my blood boil. Hmmmm….. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked softly, as I made one last pass along his chin. “Why shouldn’t I be?” He kissed me in response, pushing me back against the far wall. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me as my body curved to welcome him. He leaned into me—maybe to keep from losing his balance—and buried himself against me. It felt so good, so familiar, to have him touch me, to feel his need in every inch of me. Was it really possible to want someone this much? I knew he was drunk; I knew that I should take him to bed and let him sleep it off, but logic disappeared the moment I saw his naked body reclining against the counter.

He held himself steady with one hand against the wall. The other hand began to explore my body, moving slowly over one breast before sliding down my side to my hip. He tugged me closer to him, his hand sliding over my ass as he pulled me as close to him as my swollen belly would allow. The angle was off. He lowered himself, moved his hips this way and that, but my belly just refused to get out of his way. With a groan of frustration, he turned me around. I faced the wall with some hesitation, missing immediately the feel of his lips on mine. But then his hand reached around and his fingers found my clit. And that was absolutely mind blowing…every nerve in my body seemed to explode, sending sparks of pleasure from my belly to my toes and fingertips, tingles rushing over every inch of my scalp. And then he slid his cock inside of me and my heart practically stopped for all the beats it missed. I pressed my hips back against him, anxiously awaiting the rhythm my body knew was coming. But he stood still for a long moment, his finger pressed hard against my clit, but also not moving. I could feel his breath, hard and quick, against my shoulder. And then he bit down, a slow groan escaping his lips. It was like he was struggling to get control over himself, as though he was so turned on that just sliding inside of me was enough to set him off. And that thought made my juices run like they’d never done before, my muscles clutch his cock as though they never intended to let him go. When he finally did move, it was a whole new wave of pleasure that rushed through me. I cried out as my lower belly shivered with need. He didn’t have to move for long before an orgasm threatened to push me to the ground. I cried out so long my throat began to ache. And the thing was, that little orgasm was just the beginning. As he continued to pound inside of me, my nerves became raw, every movement setting off a new series of heart pounding, mind numbing waves that washed over my entire body. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All I could do was go along for the ride. If he hadn’t reached his height when he did, I might have gone completely insane. But then he cried out, biting down on my shoulder again, the pain bringing me back enough that I managed to come back to myself just before my knees finally gave up and I began to slide down the slick wall. I caught myself,

pressing my body so tight against the wall that I felt a funny little wiggle in the lower half of my belly. I didn’t think anything of it—it was kind of hard to think of anything but the weight of Nicolas’ body against me—at the time. I just listened to Nicolas’ low moans and the way his breath came in quick gasps. He calmed after a few minutes and slowly pulled away, the absence of him inside of me leaving me a little lost. And then he was gone. He just walked away as though I wasn’t even there. By the time I pulled myself together and got dressed, he was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 16 I went to the room Nicolas had declared mine upon our arrival from Texas. It was my intention to throw myself on the bed and cry for Nicolas and all the darkness that seemed to have entered my life since he came into it. I didn’t understand why he would just up and leave me like that. Why did he run away, just leave me standing there alone? Was he that disgusted by his attraction to me? Or was there something more to it than that? I mean, the guy’s wife had just died a few months ago. Maybe I was making a mistake thinking he might see me as more than just the surrogate carrying his children, as just the woman who happened to share his bed from time to time. Then I walked into the bedroom and discovered that all the clothes Nicolas had insisted on buying me right before he was arrested had arrived and was freshly laundered and laid out on my bed. Just seeing it there reminded me of that afternoon, of staring at the gorgeous—clearly not pregnant—models who displayed them for us. I was so intimidated the whole time we were there, thinking that I would never look like they did in those amazing clothes. Nicolas ended up choosing most of what he bought. And, I had to admit, he had amazing taste. I ran my fingers over silk and linen and all this amazing fabric that I never could have afforded in my previous life as a kindergarten teacher even if the private school I worked for paid better than most. There was even lingerie, the most amazing panties and bras and stockings…he’d bought these things like he expected me to live a glamorous life. The most I planned on doing in the next five months was get fat and watch daytime television. But some of these dresses? I could go to movie premieres and five-star restaurants in them if I wanted. I picked up one dress in particular that I don’t remember seeing before. It was just a simple summer dress, the pattern not unlike the dress I was wearing the first time I met Nicolas. It was cut

different, more of an A-line than one would expect in a maternity dress, and the neckline was a lot lower than anything I might have worn before. My mother was a strict Catholic. She never would have let me out of the house wearing anything as daring as this. However, when I put it on, it made me feel sexy in a way I’d thought my quickly disappearing waistline had forced into the past. I stood in front of the mirror and admired myself, admired the way the dress seemed to highlight my femininity and the baby bump all at the same time and in a flattering way. I loved the way I looked in it. And I couldn’t wait for Nicolas to see me in it. I wandered downstairs in a different frame of mind. I never thought of myself as the kind of girl who was cheered by new clothes, but maybe I was. Or maybe it was just the reminder that, while Nicolas seems cold and distant on the outside—such as flying hundreds of miles to drag me back here, seducing me, and then accusing me of being the aggressor—he is a very generous man who bought me thousands of dollars of clothing simply because he wanted to. Nicolas was nowhere to be found, but it was a big house. I had yet to explore much of it. I went out into the garden to walk, thinking like a little fresh air would be nice after being cooped up in Constance’s house for so long. It was a little risky, going anywhere outside the house, but the back of property was pretty much cut off from the paparazzi thanks to a ten-foot security fence and the security guards. I could see Adam now, walking toward me from the back of the property. “Ms. Martinez,” he said, his eyes moving over me as though he was looking for a gun or a camera. “Everything okay?” He nodded, even as he looked over his shoulder, tension clear in every inch of his bulky body. “Busy. The paparazzi are determined to get a shot of Nicolas today.” “I can imagine.”

“Do you know where he is?” I shook my head. “In the house somewhere, I assume.” Adam paused, throwing a worried glance at the house. “It’s probably good you came back even though he didn’t want you to. It’s easier to have everyone under one roof.” “How long have you worked for Nicolas?” “Ten years.” “That’s a long time.” “Yeah, well, we’ve known each other since long before that. We grew up together.” For some reason, that really surprised me. I looked at Adam through new eyes. “What was he like, before all this?” I asked, gesturing vaguely around me to indicate the estate and the money it implied. A change came over Adam. His harsh, unattractive features softened into something almost handsome. He looked at me, and I noticed for the first time that his eyes were blue, a very dark blue, but blue just the same—and that knowledge, somehow, took some of the rough edges from the bodyguard. “Nicolas used to run the neighborhood,” he said with something like awe in his voice. “All the kids around there, we all knew who Nicolas was. He always had a plan going, something we could all do, something that often led to trouble, but always got us something we wanted. Once, he convinced us all to steal a single piece of gum from the local drug store. But we couldn’t keep it. No. We gave it to him and he wrapped it up and gave it to this kid, Louis, whose Pop had just left his mom. To cheer him up. Nicolas said, ‘We gotta stick together cuz you never know when that might be one of us.’ And he shoulda known cuz his mom was working on her fourth marriage at the time.”

I stared at Adam, trying to reconcile what he was saying with what I knew about Nicolas. Everyone knew about Nicolas Costa. Ever since his first blockbuster came out fifteen years ago, his name and face have been on the face of every tabloid and mainstream magazine or television show in the country. And each of those stories provided readers with a simple background story on Nicolas. But none of it said anything about a long string of stepfathers. I was pretty sure they never even mentioned a father of any kind. “Really? I thought Nicolas’ mom died when he was a kid.” Adam glanced at the house again. “That’s what he started telling people when he came to Hollywood. You know, to make him more sympathetic to the studios or whatever. Truth is, Nicolas’ mom died five years ago in jail.” “Jail? For what?” “Drugs.” I spun around. Nicolas was watching us from behind a row of rose bushes, dressed in jeans and a loose fitting sweater. His hands were buried in the front pockets of his jeans, his head downcast, as though he was feeling less than confident. However, the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head suggested he was more annoyed than anything else. “Sorry, Nic,” Adam said. “She asked and I thought, well, since the two of you—” “It’s alright.” Nicolas made a gesture with his shoulder. “You should probably get back to your perimeter check.” Adam walked away without another word. “I thought your mom died of cancer when you were seven or eight. Isn’t that what all the biographies of you say?”

Nicolas turned his head slightly, looking up from the ground to study my face. “My mom was a drug addict who went from man to man, depending on who had the most drugs or the most money to buy drugs. And she dragged me along because she could use me to steal for her when there wasn’t someone else around to get the drugs for her, or to distract the cops when they came to bust her.” “I’m sorry,” I said, picturing that little boy, caught in a mess that a child should never see—no child, no matter what age or circumstances. I touched my belly, pressing my hands to the place where the babies grew, sending up a silent prayer that they would never have to know a life like that. Nicolas pulled his hands out of his pockets and turned. “Don’t be sorry for me. I survived.” “You shouldn’t have had to survive.” He chuckled, the sound filled with everything but humor. “Surviving was the only thing. Most of my friends…they’re either dead or in jail. Adam is one of a few who made it out with me.” “What about your dad?” He looked at me like he thought I was joking. He just shook his head, making it clear there was no dad. He had his drug addicted mother and his friends, nothing more. I thought I had a rough childhood, but mine was nothing like his. I had a mother who cared, who worked twelve-hour days and still had the energy to come home, make me a good dinner, and help me go over my homework. If not for my mom, I never would have gone to college and would never have had a career. I would be nothing now. It put Nicolas into perspective, explained things about him that I never would have seen otherwise. It made his reasons for wanting these babies that much clearer. “I never knew my father, either.” “I know.” There must have been surprise in my eyes because he said, “I had you investigated before you signed the surrogacy contracts. I didn’t want any surprises.”

“How did that work out for you?” A small smile sneaked across his lips. “Really well,” he said, meeting my eyes for the first time since the conversation began. We just stared at each other for a few minutes. It was one of those awkward moments, like the ones I had all too often with boys I liked in high school. Nothing ever came of those. But I was hoping something would come of this. And, as if my thoughts just begged for it, something profound happened. The babies moved. I cried out in surprise as a little tickle moved across the center of my belly. I touched that place, not sure if I was having a contraction, or what. It didn’t hurt, but I’d never been pregnant before. I didn’t know what it would feel like when the babies started to kick. “Ana?” Nicolas said, immediately closing the distance between us, his hand covering mine where it was still pressed to my belly. “What is it?” “I don’t know.” I looked up at him just as it happened again. That time it was stronger and I felt it against my hand. Only then did I understand. I began to laugh. “What?” There was real fear in Nicolas’ voice, but I couldn’t find the words to express what I was feeling. I simply took his hand and pressed it to the spot where I’d felt the kick and waited, standing as still as I could. A minute passed. Nicolas stared at me, the expression in his eye floating between fear, annoyance, and curiosity. And then, just as I was about to give up and explain, the baby, or babies, moved again.

“Oh, my God!” I laughed again. “You felt that?” “Was it the baby?” I nodded. “One of them, at least.” He stared at me for a minute, and then he cracked a huge smile. “They’re moving.” Just on cue, there was another little jab against the same spot. But, at the same time, there was a little flutter lower on my abdomen. I reached down there and giggled. “This is going to be quite an experience. I can tell already.” “They’re my babies. They’re going to be quite active.” I nodded. Pretty much knew that already.

Chapter 17 Nicolas was locked up in his office with a team of lawyers the next day. I wanted to know what was going on, but I didn’t want to insinuate myself somewhere I didn’t belong. So I spent most of the day in the kitchen helping Constance clean and restock the pantry. It was nice to do something other than sit around worrying all day. However, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind closed doors. “Did you know about his mom?” I asked Constance at one point. “His mom?” “Nicolas. Did you know she was a drug addict who died in jail?” Constance glanced at me with a knowing look I knew well from my childhood. As my mother’s best friend, Constance was as much family as any of my biological aunts, uncles, and cousins I’d never met. A look from her was as good as the ones I used to get from my mom. “So, you knew.” “I’ve worked for Nicolas Costa for fifteen years, mija. I know just about everything there is to know about him.” “He told you?” Constance shot me a look that said don’t-be-stupid. “You overhear things, see things, in this line of work. You know that.” I nodded. “Did you know he and Adam are childhood friends?”

“I also know that he hired Adam straight out of prison because he couldn’t get a job anywhere else.” “You mean Adam was in jail?” Again, that look. “He was in prison for armed robbery.” “Wow.” It really wasn’t hard to imagine Adam in jail. If there was a type, he was probably it. But he seemed like such a nice guy. And he was fiercely loyal to Nicolas. Who else would have stood outside the door of Constance’s small apartment for two days, watching over me, even though I was a nobody as far as he was concerned? I was pretty sure he never took any days off. He always seemed to be here, always walking the perimeter or going with Nicolas wherever he went—which was nowhere at the moment. And he was in Nicolas’ office as we spoke, taking part in the meeting with Nicolas’ team of lawyers. That definitely had to mean something, right? “Nicolas Costa is a good man who had a rotten childhood,” Constance said. “And he’s made up for that childhood by making a success of himself and surrounding himself with people who help him forget that this is not where he came from. When he married Aurora Parker, she was supposed to be the cherry on the sundae. But she wasn’t.” “Did you know she was a drug addict?” Constance turned away from me to dust a shelf. “I never saw her use drugs.” “But you spend as much time in this house as anyone. Surely you saw something.” Constance didn’t answer right away, but I could see by the tension in her shoulders that there was something she knew. She just didn’t want to tell, which either meant that she had seen Aurora using drugs, or that she knew there was more to Nicolas’ accusations than I knew.

“He swears that she used cocaine. That she was doing it almost from the moment they returned from their honeymoon.” “He also says that she cheated on him.” I nodded even though Constance still had her back to me and couldn’t see. “Did she?” Constance sighed. “Aurora was not the person she presented to the press and to visitors here at the house, you included.” “What does that mean?” She looked over at me. “It means you should have those babies and then take yourself back to Texas because this is much more complicated than you will ever understand. I regret telling you about their need for a surrogate. I thought…I guess I thought having a baby would make Aurora different. But I was wrong.” “Do you think Nicolas will be good to these babies?” “I think anyone who wants a family as much as he does will do all he can to make sure he gets it.” I didn’t understand what she was saying. She glanced at me and again that look, the one that said don’t-ask-questions-you-don’t-want-the-answer-to. But I had to. I had to know what she knew about Nicolas, what she knew about the things that went on in this house before Aurora’s death, and anything she thought she knew about the future of these babies. But just as I opened my mouth to speak, Adam stuck his head in the pantry door. “Nicolas needs to see you,” he said to me. As I handed the rag I’d been holding to Constance, she patted my arm. It felt like a pat of

condolence. My head was ringing with all Constance had said, as I followed Adam down the hall. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize we weren’t headed to Nicolas’ home office but to the living room. Like a weird sort of déjà vu that was happening each time we saw each other rather than just the requisite twice, Nicolas was standing by the bar. He wasn’t drinking, though. He was just staring at the expensive bottles of liquor like an alcoholic who was waxing nostalgic. “Everything okay?” He turned, the strain of the day showing in the fine wrinkles along the corners of his eyes and mouth. He gestured for Adam to leave, watching until he did, and then he crossed to me. I wanted to touch him, to tell him everything was going to work out, but I wasn’t sure I had earned that right just yet. After our conversation in the garden last night, he disappeared and I didn’t see him again until I came downstairs for breakfast. And then he was quiet and tense, staring at his iPad and refusing to even acknowledge my presence. So, was it any wonder I was afraid to touch him now? He pressed his hands to my belly, molding them to the firm roundness of it. His hands were warm through the thin material of my linen blouse. I almost expected the babies to respond to his touch, to offer a few strong kicks, but I hadn’t felt them move since I climbed out of bed this morning. “How did your meeting go?” I asked. He shook his head. “Don’t really want to talk about it.” “Okay.” His eyes moved up to mine. “You’re okay with that?” I shrugged, and was about to say something along the lines of, “Why shouldn’t I be?” when he suddenly kissed me. I moved into him and deepened the kiss, loving the feel of his lips on mine. I could

really get used to this, the feel of this man tugging me into his arms, kissing me like it was the last time he would ever kiss a woman. Everything that was going on, everything that was on my mind, it was nice to forget about it all for a few, hot moments. Nicolas buried his fingers in my hair and tugged me close against him. It was a kiss like none other. There was something different about him, about the way he touched me. There was none of that sense of indifference that had set the tone of our interactions before. He might pretend it didn’t matter to him, but I could feel the change in his kiss, in the way he looked at me, in the way he cradled my body against his. Nicolas was a man who’d never had the kind of love I got from my mom and Constance and all of their friends and extended family. He was never a part of something, of family. And just as he was on the verge of getting just a small piece of that particular pie, everything imploded. Was it any wonder he held me the way he did? But if I gave him what he wanted, what would that mean for me?

Chapter 18 “I told you, I’m not going to just sit around and wait for my lawyers to fix things. I need to be busy.” “But are you sure going back to work is a good idea?” I watched Nicolas move around the room, gathering his computer and a script he’d stayed up late last night to annotate in preparation for today. We’d been arguing about it for a week. A month had passed since Nicolas’ arrest and things were…I’m not sure how to explain how things had been. Some days, Nicolas was very attentive, wanting to know everything that was happening with the babies, watching over my diet, giving me my insulin injections, doing just about everything an expectant father might do for his pregnant wife. And on those nights, he’d invite me up to his bedroom, and he would be as gentle and as caring as I could ever want a man to be. And then there were the days when he wasn’t so gentle, when he didn’t want me around, or he was borderline abusive. He drank on those days, clearly lost in his memories of Aurora and his childhood and all the dark things that surrounded his life. On one of those days, he told me I should leave, I should take the babies and run as far from him as possible. He said he would be a terrible father and I was stupid to believe otherwise. Those dark moods frightened me. And it didn’t help that the lawyers had made almost no progress in getting the murder charges against him dropped. Never mind the fact that the coroner called Aurora’s death an accident. Never mind the fact that Nicolas’ people had discovered that the star witness against Nicolas, the waiter from the restaurant where Aurora had her final meal, had a rap sheet a mile long. And never mind the fact that even the press was beginning recognize that the charges against Nicolas were

nothing more than an act of vengeance propelled by Aurora’s mother, who just happened to be the widowed wife of a former governor of the great state of California. It think that last bit was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back for Nicolas. He’d thought Aurora’s mother, Virginia, liked him. He thought that she was one of a few people who understood Aurora’s drug issues. I think he honestly envisioned her testifying on his behalf if this thing ever went to trial. But then she attended a press conference with the district attorney a couple of days after Nicolas’ arrest. It was difficult to watch, even for me. “My daughter was not an angel,” Virginia had said. “She made mistakes in her life. And one of those mistakes was to marry a man she’d only known for a few months, running away to some island resort to elope like a couple of teenagers.” She began to cry at that point, huge teardrops cascading down her face and ruining her carefully applied makeup. “His accusations of drug use are ridiculous. My daughter never would have touched the stuff if not for the people he introduced her to, if not for the world he made her a part of. If anyone was using drugs, it was Nicolas Costa. And I believe with every fiber of my being that he is responsible for my daughter’s death.” I could see Nicolas’ spirit darken as he watched. And then he walked away, stepping into the first dark mood I witnessed. But it wasn’t the first and, I was pretty sure that until this whole ordeal was over, it wouldn’t be the last. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, his laptop bag strapped over his neck and shoulder. “I need to work. Just sitting around here, worrying about the babies and this…” He sighed as he stroked my cheek. “Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” I sat up and slid closer to him, adjusting my hips to make room for my massive belly. Twenty-three weeks and I already felt like it was time. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was going to be when I was thirty-five weeks, let alone forty.

Nicolas ran his hand over my bare belly, smiling softly when one of the babies kicked his fingers. Then, his hand moved up to my breast, cupping it softly, his palm tickling my nipple. “I’ll be back late,” he said, leaning close to kiss me. “Be careful,” I said. He glanced at me as he stood, a little defiance in his eyes. But he just nodded as he headed for the door. I lay back and ran my hands over my belly. The babies kicked, one shoving something—a foot or an elbow—against my ribs, the other dancing on my bladder. I was so excited when they began to move, but now I sometimes wished they would stop. And then I felt guilty for that because it was like wishing they didn’t exist and I would never wish that. I liked lying in Nicolas’ bed. Not that it was any different from the bed in my room. The sheets were the same Egyptian cotton, the pillows an amazing down. However, Nicolas’ bed smelled like him. When I snuggled down under the sheets, it was like being enveloped in Nicolas’ arms. Not that Nicolas would be content to just lay here with me. The only time he seemed to want to cuddle was when the babies were moving and he wanted to feel a part of it, or when he wanted sex. It was kind of sad, really. I lay there for a long time, feeling the babies wiggle and play together. I think they were already fighting over space, but I wasn’t quite sure. But I knew I couldn’t stay there all day. Constance would eventually come find me and insist I eat something. She seemed to understand the whole gestational diabetes thing better than I did. All I knew was that I needed shots at particular times a day. And Constance—when Nicolas wasn’t interested—was always there with a filled syringe when one was due. I didn’t even have to think about the foods I ate because Constance had my every meal thought out days in advance. It was like having my mother back.

I climbed out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. I should have gone to the hall bath that I normally used—and where all my toiletries were—but I really liked Nicolas’ walk-through shower. There were five showerheads and each one was positioned perfectly to hit my body in just the right place. And I liked the liquid soap he used—it smelled just like him—and the shampoo made my hair look like someone else’s, someone who has long, luxurious hair. As I stood under the spray, I wondered what life was going to be like now that Nicolas was working on his new movie. I’d probably be relegated to the guest room again. There were only seventeen weeks until the babies were due, and Dr. Bishop said they would likely come between thirty-five and thirty-seven weeks, so that was only twelve weeks away. Three months. And then… I didn’t like thinking about what would happen then. I still didn’t know how Nicolas felt about me. I wasn’t even sure he considered me when he thought about the babies and their future. I was just the surrogate. But then…the way he touched me sometimes, the way he made love to me, it made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to us than I thought there was. Was there a chance? But not if he went to jail. The lawyers called every few days, assuring Nicolas that nothing would come of it. The district attorney didn’t have enough to go to trial. Yet, this thing was still taking a toll on Nicolas. I could see it. He wasn’t sleeping. He didn’t eat. He threw himself into this new movie over the last week, talking on the phone for hours with his crew, discussing locations and scenes and how he was going to be able to direct scenes set to take place in Canada and Kentucky. He needed the distraction, I could see that. But I worried just the same. I climbed out of the shower and slowly went about my morning routine. I was looking through the drawers under the counter to see if Nicolas had an extra toothbrush hidden somewhere. I didn’t want to have to go to the hall bath to get my own. Instead of a toothbrush, however, I pulled a drawer open too

hard and it came free of the counter. Combs and a hairbrush, tissue packs and shampoo samples, bottles of sleep aids and heartburn meds flew across the floor. I groaned, not really in a position to get down on my hands and knees to gather it all up. My belly was just making me too ungainly for that sort of thing. I thought about calling Constance or one of the maids, and then I was ashamed because that was something one of the snooty women my mother worked for would have done. With a sigh, I slowly lowered myself to my knees. I gathered the stuff closest to me, then turned over the drawer to pile it back inside. But there was something wrong with the drawer. I leaned back against the counter and stared at it. There was a corner of the drawer’s bottom that was sticking up at a weird angle. And underneath it, the edge of a plastic bag was sticking out. I tugged at the bag and pulled it free. My heart sank when I saw what was inside. It was a bag of pills, long, narrow pills that said Xanax on one side and had a large two on the other. I just stared at it for a long time, telling myself that it was Aurora’s, that she hid it here to keep any of the maids from knowing that she was taking them. And that idea seemed likely when I tugged at the corner of the drawer’s false bottom and found more drugs. There were half a dozen baggies like the one with the Xanax, but they held pills of all colors and sizes. And there was a tiny envelope filled with a white powder and another with an amber-colored ball inside. I had a good idea that the powder was cocaine. I wasn’t quite sure about the amber ball, but suspected it could be something like meth or crack cocaine. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My first instinct was to call Nicolas. To confront him and demand to know who these drugs belonged to. They couldn’t be his, right? They had to be Aurora’s. But the stuff on top of it was all Nicolas’. I’d seen him use these combs and the hairbrush. And he joked about the shampoo samples he took from hotel rooms he’d stayed in, a habit he developed early in his career that he couldn’t seem to shake. Would he really put his stuff in a drawer with a false bottom? Did he know about the false bottom? I hadn’t noticed it, but I didn’t open these drawers every day like he did. Shouldn’t he have noticed?

I wasn’t sure. But there was something wrong about this. The Xanax bothered me the most. This was the drug the police said Nicolas killed Aurora with. That he slipped it into her drink. Finding a bag here, in his house, didn’t seem good. Was it proof that Nicolas had done what they said? No. But it didn’t seem to scream innocence, either. I didn’t know what to do. “Oh, Dios mio!” I quickly slipped the bag of Xanax under my hip as Constance came into the room, one of my insulin syringes in her hand. “What is this?” she demanded. “The drawer fell and this stuff was hidden under the bottom.” “Oh, cojeme!” “Constance!” I couldn’t believe that word had come out of her mouth. I had never once, in all the years I’d known Constance—and I’d known her since I was a toddler—heard her swear. And that word…did she have to choose the worst swear word out there? “This is not good,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest as though she was having pain there. “If the police find this—” “The only way they could do that would be if one of us said something.” “What are we supposed to do? We can’t just put it back.” “Why not?”

Constance shot me a dark look. “Because we’d know it’s there.” “By accident.” “But we still know. You can’t put it back.” “Then what do you suggest we do?” Constance shook her head, her eyes moving almost wildly over the pile of drugs resting now in my lap. She stooped down and picked up the drawer and the false bottom I’d popped out. She studied them both like an answer might be written on them. There obviously wasn’t. She set them on the counter and began gathering the other items—the combs and tissues and over-the-counter pills—and tossed them back into the drawer, popping it into its space in the counter without the false bottom. The she grabbed a hand towel and gathered the baggies still resting on my lap. I pulled myself carefully to my feet, sliding the baggy of Xanax into the pocket of Nicolas’ bathrobe that I’d put on when I got out of the shower. “What are you going to do with all of that?” Constance carefully tied a knot into the towel to keep the baggies from slipping out. “I’m going to give it to Adam. He’ll know what to do with it.” She set the towel on the countertop and began opening drawers and searching through them. I stepped back as she moved around me to get to the drawers behind me. “What are you doing?” “Making sure there isn’t any more.” “Why would there be?” Constance shot me that don’t-be-stupid look that was growing more and more familiar to me these days.

“You don’t think these are Nicolas’, do you?” She didn’t answer and that was answer enough. I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched her. She must have felt my gaze because she said, “Give yourself that shot while you’re just standing there, doing nothing.” Like a child who doesn’t know how to stand up to her mother, I grabbed the syringe she’d set on the corner of the sink and bared my hip, injecting the small amount of medication into the fatty area just behind my hip bone. It burned—I don’t know if it was something about the insulin or just my fear of needles, but it burned every time. I pressed the needle against the counter to bend it so no one would accidentally poke themselves and left it there. I wasn’t going to help Constance search through Nicolas’ things. It seemed like a terrible violation of his privacy. I mean, it was only sticks of deodorant and extra toothpaste that Constance probably bought and deposited there herself, but it still felt like an intrusion. Instead, I grabbed the slacks and blouse I’d been wearing last night when Nicolas invited me into his room and slid them back on. I managed to get the bag of Xanax into my pocket just before Constance came into the room, that overburdened towel in her hands. “Did you find anything else?” “No,” she said, the word short and clipped. She clearly didn’t like being questioned. “Have you ever found anything like that here before?” I asked, unable to resist. “A few times.” That got my attention. “When?” I demanded.

Constance just shook her head. “I have to go call Adam. You should probably go wash your hands and put on some clean clothes.” I jumped off the bed—as gracefully as my swollen belly would allow—and grabbed her shoulder before she could leave the room. “When did you find drugs in here? When Aurora was here?” “No, Ana.” She turned toward me, sadness in her eyes. “I know you like him.” Her eyes jumped to the bed behind me, to the sheets that were so disarranged that they told a story that I might have been ashamed of if it hadn’t been so good. “But there are things about him you don’t know. The sooner you have those babies and get out of this house, the better.” “You used to talk about what a great man he was. You said he was the kindest person you’d ever worked for.” “I did. And it was true, back then, before he married that woman. But it doesn’t mean he was a saint.” “What don’t I know?” Constance touched my cheek lightly. “I love you like you were my own, mija. But this is something that you should hear from him.” “Constance…?” “Go wash your hands. You don’t want to get any of this poison in your bloodstream. There’s no telling what it might do to the babies.” She walked away, leaving me alone with words that left a heavy stone tied around my heart.

Chapter 19 I lay in bed almost a week later, the bag of Xanax in my hands. Constance hadn’t said another word about the drugs and Nicolas hadn’t mentioned it. Not that I’d seen much of Nicolas. He was working a full day, from dawn until late into the night, sometimes only coming back to the house for a shower and a shave before he went right back to work. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but then I was afraid I did. What if everything Nicolas had told me was a lie? Was it possible he was a drug addict? Was it possible he lied about Aurora’s addiction, covering for his own actions? It didn’t make sense, to be honest. It never really had. The Aurora I met was so different from the woman Nicolas talked about. There was one meeting, not long after our first, when Aurora seemed a little off. We met at her country club where she was waiting for a tennis partner to show up. I remember she called me in a hurry that morning, asked me if it would be okay if we met during my lunch hour. “I have a meeting tonight and then I’m flying to Paris in the morning for a photoshoot for this movie we start filming in a few months. You don’t mind, do you?” “No,” I said, thinking how glamorous her life seemed. I always wanted to travel, and she mentioned Paris like it was just a nuisance she couldn’t get out from under. “I can’t imagine what you think of me,” she’d said, almost as though she could read my thoughts. “Here I am planning to have a child and I can’t even clear a moment in my schedule to talk to you about the doctor who’s going to do all the medical stuff for this.” “It’s fine,” I remembered saying. “Fine,” Aurora sighed. “That’s a word I don’t hear often. It’s blasphemy in this house. Can you

believe that?” I didn’t know what to say to that. Blasphemy to say ‘fine’? It just didn’t make sense. But Aurora was often saying things that didn’t make sense. There was another time, just a week or so before the implantation appointment when I asked if Nicolas would be at our next meeting—I think it was the day I was to sign the last of the paperwork—and she told me he was with his friend Bill. And then she laughed almost hysterically. “Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?” I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just agreed with her that it was ridiculous and she changed the subject. Aurora was a beautiful woman who was used to getting everything she wanted when she wanted it. She knew how to flirt, how to be charming, how to be everything a man needed her to be. But she never really learned how to act around women. It was that, the latter, that I assumed was the reason for some of her odd behavior. Was I wrong? I leaned over and shoved the bag of Xanax into the nightstand drawer, still not sure what I was doing with it. I needed to get rid of it, but I wasn’t sure how. They were always running those little things on television telling people not to put unused medication down the toilet because it was getting into the water supply. But I didn’t know how else to get rid of it. I could give it to Adam, but I was afraid he would recognize the significance of it as much as I did. Some part of me that still whole heartedly believed that Nicolas was innocent didn’t want to run the risk that Adam, one of Nicolas’ oldest allies, might turn on him given the opportunity. I wasn’t really sure Adam would, but even the smallest doubts sometimes grew into huge, unignorable truths. Nicolas needed all the support he could get right now. But I couldn’t just keep it. What if the police came to search the house again?

The last time, it was such a mess afterward that Constance was still complaining about it. Drawers dug through, plants turned out of their pots, books taken from their shelves and left piled on the floor. Nicolas’ laptop was still in the police evidence locker, waiting to see what might happen with the district attorney. If they came again, Constance might force the whole group of them to commit hari-kari. But they might also find the Xanax and that would definitely not be good. I closed my eyes, my hands restlessly moving over my belly. One of the babies immediately kicked, forcing my hand to bounce a little. “It’s okay, baby,” I said softly. “I won’t let anything happen to your daddy.” Almost as though he’d heard me, Nicolas tapped on the door and stuck his head inside. “You asleep?” “No. Come in.” He looked absolutely exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and a slope to his shoulders like he was carrying an incredibly heavy weight. I slid out of the center of the bed and pulled the sheet back, making room for him. “You just get in?” “We had to shut down production because of some issue with the cameras. I spent about an hour with the actors and then decided I’d earned an early night.” “Of course you have. You’re the boss, you know. You get to decide when everyone goes home.” “Yeah, well, from your lips to the producer’s ears. He wants this movie wrapped in two months.” “Isn’t that pretty quick?” “Yeah. A movie of this scope usually takes three months, sometimes more, to complete. But this

producer wants it ready to release next spring, and there’s still the editing process, the music score, and half a million other things that go into a finished movie.” “What’s the hurry?” Nicolas curled up next to me and lay his head on my belly. “I think he expects I’ll be on trial about then, so he wants the movie to come out while that’s happening so he can capitalize on my name being in the tabloids.” “That’s morbid.” “No. That’s Hollywood.” He lifted my sleep tee, running his hand over the lower section of my belly. The babies responded, one of them doing some sort of roll just below where his head was. Nicolas laughed. “You think he’s trying to run away from me already?” “I think he’s turning over to say hi.” Nicolas sighed. “I like that idea.” I ran my hand over his shoulder, too aware of the tension that was living there. I wanted to do something to make it go away, to make him feel better. But I didn’t know what. He ran his hand over my lower belly again and whispered against my belly button like it was a direct link to the babies, “I can’t wait to meet you, my sweet children.” “You’re going to be such a good dad.” He pulled away as though I’d said he was a rotten father and should never be allowed to see his children. He climbed off the bed and headed for the door.

“I should let you sleep,” he said over his shoulder. “I have a doctor’s appointment the day after tomorrow. Will you be able to make it?” He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “What time?” “Nine, I think.” He turned and looked at me, his eyes moving to my belly where it was still exposed. There was a line of bruises along my hip, places where I’d given myself my insulin shots. His eyes fell on those, and he studied them for a long minute, clouds rushing through his eyes like a storm coming in. Then, he turned and left the room without answering my question. *** “The baby’s look good,” Dr. Bishop said. “All the measurements are right where they’re supposed to be at this age. The internal organs look good. And the movement…well, I guess you know how well they’re moving.” “I do,” I said, smiling more from relief that everything was okay than with amusement at what he’d said. I knew that things were going well, but there was always that little voice at the back of my mind that kept listing all the complications that could come with a multiples pregnancy, especially when gestational diabetes was thrown in. “I’m sorry your husband couldn’t make it,” the nurse said. “He’s working on a new movie. He couldn’t get away from set.” Which wasn’t completely true. He’d left a note on my door that said he thought it might be better if I went to the doctor on my own because of the paparazzi. He didn’t want them getting wind of what was going on. Which was also why I couldn’t leave the house through the front door anymore and why Adam

made me lie down on the backseat of the SUV whenever we drove out the back gate. That was all Nicolas needed right now, the press getting hold of the information that he had a pregnant woman living in his house. A pregnant woman who was carrying his and Aurora’s twins. “Did you want to know the sex?” Dr. Bishop asked. “A lot of my expectant mothers want the sex put into an envelope so they can have one of these gender reveal parties.” “Oh, I hadn’t thought about it.” Actually, it was all I’d thought about these last months. I was convinced, once upon a time, that it was a girl. But now that I knew I was carrying twins, I wasn’t as positive. Maybe two girls? Or a boy and a girl? It could have been any combination since the fertility doctor implanted four embryos, so the chances that they were identical twins was less than zero. I wanted to know. I just wasn’t sure Nicolas wanted to know. Or wanted me to know. And I’d been afraid to ask. “Let’s put it in an envelope,” Dr. Bishop said, patting my arm lightly. “That way, if you decide you want to know once you get home with your husband, you can look together.” “Thank you.” The doctor and nurse left a moment later, leaving me alone to re-dress. It was something of a struggle trying to put back on the dress I’d worn because it had to be zipped up the back. I hadn’t thought of that when I chose it because Constance was there to help me. But she wasn’t here now. I was alone except for Adam waiting outside in the car. I managed to get it on and slipped out of the exam room. The nurse seemed to be waiting for me. She handed me a plain white envelope and smiled. “Congratulations,” she said sweetly, too sweetly.

“Thanks.” I started to move around her, but she stepped into my path. “I’ve been following all this stuff in the news about Nicolas. People can’t seem to decide if they think he killed his wife or not.” I glared at her as I again tried to move past her and she blocked me. “I’m sure the press would love to hear about the surrogate he’s got parading around town as his wife.” “I never said I was his wife.” “But you’ve never tried to persuade us otherwise.” “Does it really matter?” Another nurse walked past us, throwing a curious glance at me. However, she didn’t say anything or ask what was happening. “I think it would matter a lot to the press.” I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” “I wouldn’t call it blackmail.” She stepped closer to me again, leaning in so that only she and I could hear what she was saying. “I would call it college tuition for my two boys.” “Then you’re barking up the wrong tree because I don’t have any money. And Nicolas? He’d never give in to someone like you.” “Yeah, well, Nicolas Costa is about to go on trial for the murder of his wife. I think that will probably motivate him to do what I asked.”

“Then ask him yourself.” I pushed past her and stormed out of the office, not even stopping to get my next appointment set up. Tears were running down my cheeks as I stepped out into the bright, November sunshine. I reached up to wipe them away just as Adam appeared, seemingly from nowhere, at my side. “What happened? Is everything okay?” I shook my head, an anger building in my chest that I didn’t know what to do with. I wanted to scream and yell, to rip my hands into something, anything, just to make the pressure and the pain of that anger go away. Not only that, but I wanted to see Nicolas, to have him hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. However, I knew he would never do that and that realization just made the anger and the hurt and the frustration and everything else that had been building since I met Aurora Parker build to a frenzy that I couldn’t control. So I did something I’d never done before in all my life. I slammed my fist hard enough into the side of the SUV to actually feel bones break. Adam was immediately behind me, his arms sliding around me in something of a bear hug, dragging me back away from the car. Then, he turned me around and pulled me against his chest. I fell apart. Sobs ripped from my throat, tears streaming down my face to soak the front of Adam’s always perfectly ironed dress shirt. His hold was tight, at first, but it loosened as I cried. The tension in his body relaxed, too, as his hand began a gentle, soothing rub between my shoulders. I was barely aware of him for a long bit, but as the sobs began to lessen, I was grateful for his presence. If he hadn’t been there, I might have made a pretty impressive fool of myself. “We should go,” Adam said after a while. I nodded, but I didn’t immediately move. But then I heard voices and the sound of camera shutters

going off. There were flashes, and I knew. The paparazzi had found us.

Chapter 20 “What the fuck were you thinking?” There was practically fire coming from Nicolas’ eyes as he confronted Adam. Even though Adam was a good two inches on Nicolas and at least fifty pounds heavier, he looked like a chastised child as Nicolas blew his fury all over him. “It was my fault,” I said from my position on the couch. Nicolas didn’t even look at me. “I asked you to take her to the doctor. I didn’t tell you to stand out in public and make a fucking spectacle of yourselves. Now her face is on every tabloid and gossip website from here to Timbuktu. Do you realize how fucking screwed up that is? How long do you think it’ll take them to figure out who she really is?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the paparazzi was in the area.” “You should have known. That’s your fucking job.” Nicolas waved Adam from the room and marched to the bar, pouring himself a stiff drink. However, he didn’t lifted it to his mouth. He just stood there and stared at it, like a dying man staring at the mirage that might or might not be his salvation. “It’s not his fault. I was upset and he was just trying to help.” Nicolas didn’t turn. I started to get up, feeling the need to go to him, to make him understand, but when I went to push myself up, I forgot about the heavy brace on my hand and pain shot up my arm,

making me hiss. Nicolas turned then and rushed to me, kneeling in front of me as his eyes searched every inch of my being for the cause of my discomfort. I sat back and cradled my injured hand against my chest, tears again slipping from my eyes. I felt like such an idiot. “What was going through your mind, Ana? Why did you break your hand?” I shook my head. “I was upset.” “About what?” I wanted to tell him. I wanted to see him put that greedy nurse in her place. But those dark circles were back under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders told me that this was a man who shouldn’t have to take anymore. I didn’t want to be the cause of any more pain in his life. “It’s not Adam’s fault. He was just trying to calm me down.” Nicolas ran his hands over my thighs, pushing the material of my dress up until my legs were exposed just above the knee. Then, his hands moved over my belly and one the babies obediently kicked —and that, for some reason, made him stand and walk away. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to cause all of this.” “How did it go with the doctor? Are the babies okay?” “They did a sonogram. Said everything looks good.” “Yeah?” He leaned against the bar and looked at me. “They’re healthy?” “As far as they can tell.” “And you?” A hint of a smile danced in his eyes as he gestured to my hand. “Besides the three

broken bones?” “I’m fine. Blood pressure was good. My blood sugars are good. They said everything is progressing just fine.” He nodded again, turning back to the drink sitting in the middle of the bar. He wrapped his hands around it and studied it, as though he was having some sort of internal battle with himself. I didn’t understand it, but there was a lot about Nicolas I didn’t understand. “They could tell what sex they are. They wrote it down in an envelope in case we wanted to find out together.” That got his attention. He came back to the couch and sat beside me, taking my good hand in his. “Did you peek?” “No.” “Do you want to know?” “I do. But we never talked about it, so I wasn’t sure you would want me to.” “It would make it easier to set up the nursery. I haven’t even gotten started, to be honest. Constance said something about it the other day, but I never answered her.” “Where is the nursery?” “Come on. I’ll show you.” He stood and held out his hand to me, pulling me upstairs. We walked past my bedroom and his to a door on the opposite of the hall. He pushed it open, and I was immediately struck by how dark it seemed. He flipped on a light, and there was literally nothing baby related in the room. It looked like they’d used it for storage for all the years they were in the house. There were boxes stacked on one side

of the room and old furniture all piled together on the other side. Piles of clothes were on the floor and draped over some of the furniture. More boxes and an old wardrobe were against the back wall. It had to have been the most depressing room I’d ever seen. “You can’t put them in here.” “Why not?” I gestured around me as I stepped into the room. “There’s no natural light. It’s so dark—” “We were going to paint. I wanted a mural on that wall of elephants and tigers, and the crib was going to go over there.” He pointed to a spot not far from a set of incredibly heavy curtains. He walked over there and threw them open, exposing the room to the most amazing western light. It flooded the room and pointed out every single flaw. “I’m going to have all this stuff moved up to the attic.” “What colors were you thinking?” He shrugged. “Aurora had her heart set on pink and yellow. But I told her we should make sure it wasn’t going to be a boy before we chose those colors.” I bit my lip, an ache building in my chest. I tried to forget that Aurora was still the mother of these babies, even though she’d been in her grave for five months now. I tried to forget that she once shared this house with Nicolas, that she shared the master bedroom with him. I tried to forget that Aurora was ever a part of this picture, but with a casual comment, Nicolas brought it all back. I was walking in a dead woman’s shadow. And her shadow was wide and long, one that would forever leave me in darkness, no matter what I thought was going on with Nicolas, whatever I hoped might happen in the future. I turned away and pretended to study the walls. It was too easy to imagine Aurora in this room. I wasn’t sure if that was because of what Nicolas had said or because of the clothes and furniture that just

seemed so much like her. It should have been her here planning for these babies. “We’re not working tomorrow,” Nicolas said, moving up behind me. “We have a series of night shoots coming up, so I’ve decided to give the cast and crew tomorrow to sleep in preparation. So maybe we should spend the day shopping for baby furniture.” I wanted to ask, “Are you sure? Are you sure you want me there?” But I was afraid to ask, afraid of what the answer might be. Nicolas lay his hands on my shoulders. “We should make a day of it, go to lunch and hit a dozen stores. It’ll be fun.” I could picture it. The two of us staring at cribs, debating over the color, the size. Trying to decide which cartoon characters to display with their bedding and mobiles. It was every pregnant woman’s dream, the nesting instinct finally taking control. But it wasn’t my fantasy. Not really. “Do you want to know?” I asked, pulling the envelope from a deep pocket in my skirt. “Is this it?” I nodded. He sighed heavily against my shoulder, his breath moving my hair around my face. “Is it silly that I’m a little afraid to look?” “No.” He reached for it, but hesitated before his fingers touched it. Then reached again and snatched it from my fingers. I heard him rip the envelope, heard him slide the paper from inside. And then he laughed, and I knew at least one of the babies was a boy.

Good for him. He turned me around, the biggest smile on his face. He pulled me close and kissed me almost roughly. “One of each,” he said with a little laugh. “A son and a daughter. How perfect is that?” He kissed me again, pushed me back against the wall, and kissed me with a passion I’d only known with him. My body responded immediately, my hands moving around his waist, searching instantly for that much desired space, that place to slip my fingers under his shirt. I wanted to touch his flesh, wanted to feel the warmth of his skin against mine. He was just as determined. My dress hit the floor in a manner of seconds, his mouth moving from mine to my swollen breasts, my nipples sending shivers of pain and pleasure through my body as he nibbled and kissed them. Then, he was moving lower, dropping to his knees in front of me as he tugged my panties from my wet cunt. Nicolas Costa on his knees. It was likely something few women had ever seen. I tried to enjoy the sight, but the things he was doing with his tongue made that next to impossible. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, the day sliding from my shoulders as my body grew light, pleasure taking away all the pain and frustration and hurt, replacing it with a singular focus on his breath, the moisture of his tongue, the incredible waves of pleasure that rushed through my clit and inspired the fluids running from my inner most places. This was so dangerous for me. I knew I would never know anything this perfect ever again. No man would ever have the power to make me feel the way Nicolas Costa did. When this was over, when the babies were here and Nicolas no longer needed me, my life would never be the same. This was the pinnacle of my existence. And that was both exciting beyond words and horribly, tragically sad.

Chapter 21 We didn’t go shopping. When the excitement passed, Nicolas remembered that he was trying to pretend he didn’t know me in front of the press. Never mind that my face and name were all over the tabloids just as he’d predicted. But, amazingly enough, they didn’t put two and two together to come up with the surrogacy deal as he’d been afraid they might. They decided I was Adam’s girlfriend, a fact that didn’t do much to keep peace at home because, apparently, Adam was married. In fact, he’d been married for fifteen years—he got married as he was going off to jail—and had two kids, toddlers that were more than a handful for their mother. Apparently. There was so much about all of these people I didn’t know. Several more weeks passed and the nursery remained a storeroom. I thought about it sometimes and drew a few pictures of what I imagined it should look like. I used to like to design rooms when I was a kid. My mom would take me to her jobs, make me sit quietly in the kitchen doing my homework while she went about her work. Sometimes I would explore the massive houses, mansions that were just as, if not more, impressive as Nicolas’ house. Then I would draw what I saw, moving furniture around, changing the colors or the patterns on the wallpaper. It was a hobby I never fully developed, but it was soothing as I continued to look toward a future that seemed to have no anchor, no direction. Kelly found it amusing I was on the front of the tabloids. “I always knew one of us would be labeled a slut in the national gossip rags. I just never thought it would be you.” “You’re welcome to it.”

But then she grew concerned, her tone much too serious for the Kelly I knew. “Are you okay, kid? He’s not treating you badly, is he?” “Constance is here. She’s taking care of me.” “That’s good. But she can’t be around all the time, can she?” Kelly knew me too well. It took all I had not to cry over the phone, to beg her to come and protect me from my own stupid decisions. I was losing hope with every day that passed. Nicolas was gone so often on this movie that I hardly ever saw him. The lawyers still called once a week, but Nicolas was rarely here to answer. It was like he’d decided that he wasn’t going to deal with his legal troubles anymore. Or he’d resigned himself to his fate. And that wasn’t good enough for me. I had to do something. One afternoon, I went into Nicolas’ office and began to search through his drawers. I wasn’t sure what it was I was looking for, but I had to know more. There was still a bag of Xanax in my nightstand upstairs. The memory of the other drugs still hovered heavy over me. I knew in my heart that Nicolas wasn’t guilty of what they were accusing him of, but I also knew there had to be a simple explanation for it all, for the drugs, the stories, the witness. There had to be something. So I searched his drawers. And found nothing. Well, not nothing. There were pictures of him and Aurora. Pictures from their wedding, of them on a tropical island, which was probably their honeymoon. There were pictures of them smiling at each other, of them kissing. Pictures in which they appeared deliriously happy. Every one of them was like a knife through my heart. They were together, in a box, inside his desk drawer. That meant something. That meant that he still got them out and looked at them from time to time. There was nothing else in the house

that even suggested that Aurora had ever lived there. I’d noticed a little at a time, all the things that were missing. None of her clothes in his closet, none of her toiletries in his bathroom. The collection of figurines she’d so proudly displayed in the living room, the gold trimmed china in the dining room. It was all gone. All, except these pictures. When I came across a picture of Nicolas and Aurora with an older woman who was clearly Aurora’s mother—they had the same patrician noses and platinum blond hair—it reminded me of how Nicolas told me he turned to Aurora’s mother for help when her drug addiction began to spiral out of control. But at the press conference just after Nicolas’ arrest, she suggested that Nicolas had gotten her daughter addicted to the drugs himself. She insisted that Nicolas was responsible for Aurora’s death. It was the words of a grieving mother. As were her attempts to get the district attorney to press charges—something he still hadn’t committed to. According to the district attorney’s office, the case was still under investigation. Aurora’s mother, Virginia, was the driving force in all of this. I wondered if she knew about the babies. I wondered if it would change things, if she knew that Nicolas was trying to do the right thing for Aurora’s children. Would she stop pushing the matter if she knew that she was about to be a grandmother? If I told her, would it change things? There was only one way to find out. *** I found Virginia Davis’ address on an old Christmas card shoved in the back of a drawer in Nicolas’ office. That was the easy part. The hard part was sneaking out of the house in Constance’s old Ford Focus without Adam or any of the other bodyguards any the wiser. I told Adam I was going upstairs to take a nap. Then, I snuck down the backstairs and slipped Constance’s keys out of her purse while she was in the garden yelling at the gardener for tracking mud on

the carpet in the back hallway. I was out the back gate before anyone even noticed I was gone. It was a lucky escape. I was hoping my luck would hold a while longer. Virginia’s house was on the other side of the hills from Nicolas’. I nearly got lost a couple of times trying to find it. Thank goodness for Google Maps! My heart was pounding in my chest as I pulled up to the front of the house. Unlike Nicolas, she didn’t see the need for fences and gates. But, again, there were no paparazzi sitting outside her house, either. I didn’t know what to say as I sat in the car in front of her house. I honestly hadn’t been sure I’d make it this far, but I was here now. I took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, running my hands slowly over my hips to smooth my dress down. The babies kicked almost as if they knew what I was up to and they wanted to put in their two cents worth. I wondered what they might have said if they really knew. Would they want their grandmother in their lives? Of course they would. What kid didn’t want a grandma to spoil them with gifts? I walked to the door and rang the bell, my heart in my throat now. I wasn’t sure how I was going to speak, let alone what I was going to say. All these stupid lines played through my head—I’m your daughter’s surrogate. Want to meet your grandkids? Drop the charges against Nicolas and I’ll make sure you see your grandkids whenever you want. It was stupid, really. “Can I help you?” a tall, slender man asked as he moved up behind me. “I’m here to see Virginia Davis.” “That’s my stepmother,” he said, pushing open the door and gesturing for me to proceed him inside. “Does she know you?” “No. But I knew her daughter. Aurora.” The man gestured for me to lead the way down a narrow hall that cut off the entryway to the right.

“Do I know you?” he asked as we walked. “You look familiar.” The pictures from the tabloids flashed through my mind, but I didn’t say anything. He touched my shoulder to direct me to the left. We walked for a full minute before we came to a door that opened onto a long, brick patio. Virginia Davis was sitting out there, reading a book at a large, comfortable outdoor dining table. There was a glass of wine on the table in front of her and a plate of fruit that looked incredible to my always hungry baby bump. The babies moved again. I touched my belly, silently urging them to settle down. “Daniel,” Virginia said, as she put her book down and watched us walk toward her. “I didn’t realize you were bringing company.” “She came on her own. She was at the front door when I arrived.” “Oh.” Virginia looked me over for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. “You’re that girl from the tabloids. The one who was in a romantic clutch with Nicolas’ bodyguard.” “We’re not involved,” I said quickly. “The paparazzi got it wrong.” “Didn’t look wrong to me,” Daniel said, shooting me a look that I didn’t appreciate. I touched my belly again, trying to remind myself I was there to do a good thing. “Well, whatever it was, you are that girl?” Virginia was watching me with more than curiosity in her eyes. There was judgment there as well. A part of me wanted to run as fast and as far as I could, but I again reminded myself I was there for a reason. And that reason was a good one. “I am.” “Then you’re a friend of Nicolas?”

“That’s why I came to see you. I wanted to talk to you about Nicolas.” Her eyes dropped to my belly. “Well, if it has anything to do with your condition, I don’t want to hear it.” “Oh, come on, Virgi,” the man, Daniel, said. “Give her a chance. She came all this way.” “It’s important,” I said. Virginia studied me for a long second. “Alright. I’ll listen to what you have to say.” Daniel came over and pulled a chair out for me. I smiled at him gratefully. My back was aching from being on my feet a little more than I should have been. The bigger my belly got, the more punishment my back took. Some days, I just wasn’t sure my body would be able to take much more of this. I settled in the chair and smiled gratefully at Daniel. He inclined his head slightly and moved around the table, taking a seat to Virginia’s left. She never bothered to get up, let alone greet me properly. She just stared at me, waiting for me to say whatever it was I had to say. I suddenly had no idea what I was going to say. “How do you know Nicolas?” Daniel asked. “Aurora introduced us.” I touched the top of my belly again. “Actually, their lawyer introduced us.” “He has his lawyer pimping for him now?” Virginia asked. “It’s not like that,” I said, my face reddening at the implication. Daniel made a gesture, and Virginia sat back, her face puckered like she had just swallowed something bitter.

I looked down at my belly, telling myself that this was the best thing for everyone. She would stop this crusade against Nicolas if she knew that he was about to become a father to her daughter’s children, wouldn’t she? She’d have to. “Did he hurt you? Do you need money?” Daniel asked. “No, of course not.” They certainly had a dark idea of who Nicolas was, didn’t they? I took a deep breath and just blurted it out. “I’m a surrogate. Aurora contracted with me to carry her and Nicolas’ baby.” “Surrogate? That’s a new term for it,” Virginia said. Daniel again made a face that caused her to stop talking. “Aurora and Nicolas wanted to have a family, but Aurora had decided she couldn’t carry a child to term. So she started looking for a surrogate. My mom is friends with the maid who works in their house and told me, so I went to the lawyer and filled out some paperwork. A couple of weeks later, Aurora and I met and she decided that I was the one.” “You?” Virginia looked me over with something new in her eye. “Even if Aurora did want a surrogate—which I don’t believe because there was no reason why she couldn’t carry her own children— why would she want you? She could have asked a friend to do it, someone she could trust. Why a stranger?” “She said she didn’t want someone she knew because she was afraid there would be issues after the baby came.” “That’s plausible,” Daniel said.

“Aurora wouldn’t have been able to see far enough past her own nose to think something like that,” Virginia said. “She was too self-centered.” I must have gasped because Virginia stared down her nose at me for an instant. “Don’t be so naive, girl,” she said. “I know who my daughter was.” I stared down at my hands, beginning to wonder if this was really the great idea I’d thought it was. Maybe I should go. Maybe this was not something I should be doing. I mean, if Nicolas had wanted her to know, he would have told her himself, right? Since he hadn’t…maybe that meant something. “Go on, child,” Virginia said. “My daughter hired you to be a surrogate, and…” “The doctor implanted embryos from Aurora’s eggs and Nicolas’ sperm ten days before she died.” The color washed out of Virginia’s face. She stared at me as though she expected my head to explode or something. After a minute, I couldn’t meet her gaze any longer. I dropped my eyes to my belly, tears beginning to well in my throat. “The baby you’re carrying belongs to my Aurora?” “Twins.” “Excuse me?” “I’m carrying twins,” I said, after clearing my throat twice. “Shit,” Daniel said. Virginia shook her head. “I’m supposed to believe you’re pregnant with twins, and they’re biologically my daughter’s babies?” “Yes.”

She shook her head again, the movement almost like the comforting rock some small children engage in when they are deeply upset. Then, she stood and charged toward me. I thought she was going to give me a hug or touch my belly. Instead, she grabbed my arm hard enough that I would find bruises later that night and dragged me out of the chair I was sitting in. “Get out of my house!” She started to pull me toward the door from which I’d come, her grip so much stronger than I would have imagined. I tried to pull away, but I was at an odd angle and would have fallen if I did. Daniel came around the table and moved up behind Virginia, blocking her path. “Get out of the way, Daniel!” “You need to calm down, Virginia. Can’t you see you’re frightening the girl?” “She’s a lying bitch! I’d be surprised if she’s even pregnant.” I didn’t know what to do. I was shaking, and I just wanted to get out of there. This was obviously not what I’d expected to happen when I came over here today. I just wanted her to drop her crusade against Nicolas. I hadn’t imagined she wouldn’t believe me. Daniel set his hands on her shoulders and whispered something I couldn’t hear against her ear. After a minute, Virginia let go of me, glaring at me as she waved her hands and walked away. “You okay?” Daniel asked, lifting the arm that was still in the brace even three weeks later. “She didn’t hurt you?” “I’m fine.” I pulled away from him and walked in the direction Virginia was trying to drag me, anxious to get out of that house before she came back. “You have to understand, Aurora was her only child. She’s devastated by her loss.”

“Yeah, well, I knew that. That’s why I came here.” “To do what?” “To convince her to let Nicolas alone. He’s struggling enough, trying to prepare for these babies and salvage his career.” “He should have thought of that before he flew to New York that night.” I spun on my heel and confronted him. “Just because he was there doesn’t mean he had anything to do with her death. She could have taken those pills herself.” “I know she did.” I stared at him. “You what?” “I know that Aurora died of an overdose. I know she was addicted, and she took too much that night, but she wouldn’t have taken it if Nicolas hadn’t shown up and argued with her.” “If you know he’s innocent—” “I didn’t say he was innocent. I said he didn’t drug her. There’s a difference.” “A huge difference.” Daniel looked at me, his green eyes piercing in the dim light of the hallway. “Aurora had her problems, but none of them were insurmountable until she met Nicolas.” “What did he do to her that drove her to drugs?” Daniel shrugged. “What does any star-crossed lover do to hurt his love? He loved her too much.” “And for that, he deserves to be prosecuted?”

“Virginia needs to work out her grief in her own way. This thing…it will blow over.” “Not soon enough.” His eyes fell to my belly. “Those are really Aurora’s?” “Yes.” He stared at my belly for a long minute. It made me self-conscious, as I slid my hands over it and tried to protect the babies as well as I could. Then he nodded as though he’d made a decision. “I’ll talk to her, but I can’t make any promises.” “I wasn’t looking for any.” I drove back home and slipped the keys in Constance’s purse while she was in the laundry room checking on the weeks towel load. No one seemed to have realized I’d gone. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I was hoping, though, that things would be smooth sailing from here on out though.

Chapter 22 Thanksgiving snuck up on us. One minute it was the end of May. School was ending and I was looking forward to summer. The next, my mom was dead, I was pregnant, and everything I thought I knew was turned upside down. And now it was Thanksgiving and I was twenty-eight weeks pregnant with another woman’s babies. I insisted on helping Constance in the kitchen. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could chop vegetables and wash pots and pans like a pro. She seemed to enjoy my company, laughing as I sang along to the Tejano radio station she always played. “It smells like heaven in here,” Nicolas said as he moved up behind Constance and tried to steal a piece of turkey. She slapped his hand. “Stay out of my kitchen. We’ll call you when it’s ready.” He groaned even as he shot me a wink. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” “He seems happy today,” I said, as I watched Nicolas disappear around the corner. “It’s Thanksgiving. Everyone’s happy on Thanksgiving.” I shrugged. It seemed as good an explanation as any. I carried the china into the dining room and set the table, struggling to make sure everything was exactly as it should be. My mother taught me how to do this when I was barely tall enough to see over the table so that I could help when she served at formal affairs. I knew how it should look, but I wanted this to be perfect.

The babies were due in February. That meant this was my only chance to spend Thanksgiving with Nicolas. I wanted it to be special. I wanted him to remember it next year when he was struggling to have a meal with two nine-month-old babies. I wanted him to think of me fondly as he watched his kids grow up and they shared many, many holidays together. Was that too much to ask? “You shouldn’t be doing that,” Adam said. He was dressed a little less formal today, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He was actually very handsome when he smiled and he wasn’t trying to look so fierce. I was beginning to see this side of him from time to time. He even cracked a joke last week when I was complaining about not being able to go for a walk around the block. He really was a pretty nice guy. “I’m just helping out Constance.” “Why don’t you let me help Constance and you go relax with Nicolas? I’m sure he’d like the company.” “When’s your family going to be here?” He glanced at the screen on his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. “Fifteen minutes.” He suddenly seemed nervous, which I found incredibly adorable. I touched his arm as I walked past him. “It’s going to be great.” He just nodded and headed for the kitchen. Nicolas was in the living room, standing at the back doors. “Do you think a swing set would ruin the layout of the garden?”

I moved up beside him and surveyed the scene that laid out before us. “You might have to tear out a few rose bushes.” “I like the rose buses.” “Yeah, well, thorns are not so great with small children. That’s why you never see rose bushes surrounding elementary schools.” “True.” He slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “I guess a few of them can come out.” “More than a few. Those swing sets get pretty big these days.” “Don’t steal all my joy.” I leaned closer to him and said, “Welcome to parenthood. Your life as you know it will never be the same again.” He pulled me in front of him and pressed me to the glass door. His fingers slid over my face before burying themselves in my hair. His kiss was gentle, kind, the kiss I was beginning to expect from him. It was like heaven, moving into his arms and accepting his touch. I remembered the first time and couldn’t, for the life of me, remember why I’d pulled away. Or bit him, to be exact. I slid my hand under the bottom hem of his shirt—a polo shirt whose rough material was a lovely contrast to his silky skin—my fingers playing a symphony on his ribs. There was a scar on his third rib, a thick, gnarly scar that I was dying to ask him about, but never got up the courage. Or found the right moment. I pulled back to ask now, but then he buried his lips against my throat and all thought just disappeared from my mind. His hand wandered over my ass, his fingers looking for things he wasn’t going to find until he lifted my skirt. He was always searching, and that was what made him a perfect lover. Not such a perfect

companion, but a perfect lover. He began to tug at my skirt, but then the doorbell sounded and brought us both back to reality. “That’s probably Adam’s family. Or Constance’s.” He groaned. “Whose bright idea was it to invite so many people over?” “Yours.” A slow smile formed over his lips, inspiring me to touch my fingertips to his bottom lip. He lifted my hand and kissed my palm, his lips lingering for a minute. “Remember where I was.” “I’ll definitely do that.” Nicolas turned and strode toward the front entryway, confidence oozing out of every pore of his beautiful body. I loved to watch him walk, loved the way his muscles moved. And his ass wasn’t bad, either. If I had my way, I’d have him walk miles around this room just so that I could watch him both coming and going. I poured myself some water at the bar and thought about all the things I had to be grateful for. It was something my mom and I always did, even when there wasn’t enough money for a turkey, or she had to work someone else’s celebration and didn’t have the energy left to share a meal with me. We always told each other what we were most thankful for. “The experience of carrying these babies, and the chance to know Nicolas.” I glanced up toward the ceiling, thinking of my mother in heaven—where else would such a good Catholic be?—“I miss you, mom,” I said softly. “Teamo, mama.” “What the fuck did you do?”

There was so much anger and bitterness in Nicolas’ voice that it frightened me. I turned and the look on his face was even worse. He was staring at me as though he wanted to murder me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He held up a set of papers that I couldn’t read from this distance. I was still clueless even as he shook them at me. “You told her. I know it was you.” “Told who what?” “You told her about the babies so the two of you could find a way to steal them from me, right? You thought a rich, lonely widow would be thrilled to death to find out she’s about to be a grandma. So you told her, hoping she’d help you get out of the contract you have with me, right?” Virginia. “What has she done?” He waved the papers at me. “She’s suing me for custody. The babies aren’t even here yet and she’s fucking suing me for custody.” It was like I’d been struck by lightning. My entire body went numb. I couldn’t have responded to him even if I wanted to. But I didn’t know what to say. What do you say to an accusation like? “I didn’t—” He charged me, dropping the papers to the floor and grabbing my neck. “You have been scheming to take these babies from me from the moment you found out you were pregnant. And when I threatened to cut you out of their lives, you just hatched another scheme, didn’t you?”

“Nico,” I said, my voice garbled by his grip, “I wouldn’t do that to you.” “Wouldn’t you? You ran away. You insisted you wouldn’t let me have the baby. And now this. It adds up pretty quickly, my love.” “Think about it, Nico,” I said, tugging at his grip on my throat. “I could have left when you were arrested. You said yourself there was nothing you could do.” “But you didn’t know that until it was too late.” “That’s not true. You can’t leave the county. I could run away today and you wouldn’t be able to come after me. But I didn’t. I stayed.” “So you could conspire with that rich bitch whose trying to ruin my life.” He stared at me, anger still snapping in his eyes. “I knew I couldn’t trust you.” “I didn’t do this. I only wanted to get her to back off of you. I didn’t think she would sue for custody!” “Then you did talk to her.” And that’s when I knew I’d dug myself a hole. What else was there to say? I shook my head, but nothing I said now would get through to him. As if to confirm it, he pushed me back against the bar and let me go, anger like I’d never seen in his eyes. “I thought you…” He stopped, unable to finish whatever it was he was about to say. He just turned away. “Nico,” I said as pain slashed through my lower back, “please…!” The pain was not like anything I’d ever felt before. I tried to straighten up, but it was so intense

that I screamed. And then I was clutching my belly, the pain slicing around until my belly was as hard as a boulder. I cried out again, more from fright than pain. Nicolas was instantly at my side, his hand on my belly. “What? Did I—” Adam rushed over—he’d apparently come to inform us his family had arrived—and swung me into his arms, carrying me to the couch. Constance was there, too, a worried frown on her familiar face, as pain again traveled from my back to my belly. “She’s in labor,” I heard someone say. “Call an ambulance.”

Chapter 23 I’m a surrogate. I made this choice because my mother was diagnosed with cancer and her insurance wouldn’t pay for her treatments. But right after the first implantation of the embryos, my mother had a heart attack. She died less than twelve hours before I was supposed to take her to the hospital to begin her chemotherapy treatments. Needless to say, I was devastated. I locked myself in the house we shared and fell into a dark depression. I never gave a second thought to the implantation or the possibility that I could be pregnant. All I could think about was how empty my life would be without my mom. And then I found out Aurora Parker, the starlet whose babies I could, potentially, be carrying died of a drug overdose in New York City. That brought me back to reality. I did a home pregnancy test. When it came back positive, I panicked. I thought Nicolas Costa, Aurora’s director husband, wouldn’t want anything to do with these babies now. So I ran. The babies were all I had left. I sublet an apartment in Dallas, not far from my best friend, Kelly. I was making plans for the babies, looking for a job, doing everything I could to start life as a single mom without too much difficulty. But then Nicolas showed up on my front doorstep and informed me that if I didn’t go back to Los Angeles with him, he wouldn’t honor the contract I signed with Aurora that allowed me pictures and the occasional visit. I would get nothing. And, at this point, I was head over heels in love with the babies I was carrying. I just didn’t know there were two at that point. I found out quick enough after Nicolas dragged me to a new doctor when we arrived in Los Angeles. I also learned I had gestational diabetes, requiring up to five shots a day. And me, a little weary of needles. Like all of that wasn’t stressful enough. But then there was Nicolas.

He kissed me in his home, feet from where his wife was resting. And when he came to retrieve me from Dallas—or, more specific, his child—he seduced me. He claimed later that I seduced him to get him to allow me to keep the baby, but that’s not what happened. He seduced me. Then we came to Los Angeles and things progressed. I hate to admit it, but I like sharing Nicolas’ bed. I like when he touches me. But it’s not just about the physical—though Nicolas is incredibly hot and he knows how to make a woman feel like a woman!— there’s more to it than that. Kelly thinks I’m naive. She thinks I’ve been in love with Nicolas Costa since the first time my mom’s best friend, Constance, told me about him. Constance has been Nicolas’ housekeeper since he made his first blockbuster movie. And the stories she told us were pretty amazing. He was a party guy when his star first began to soar in Hollywood, always with a beautiful woman on his arm and a hot party to attend. But then he met Aurora and things began to change. He stayed home more. He tried to be a good husband. But something changed enough that Constance stopped telling stories about him—except, of course, to inform me Aurora wanted a surrogate to carry her children. Aurora supposedly had a heart defect that wouldn’t allow her to have kids. However, Nicolas insisted she wanted a surrogate to protect her starlet’s figure. The fact that he insists she was major drug addict might have something to do with it, too. Never mind that no one else knew Aurora was a drug addict. Never mind that even her mother was denying it now—or, at least, telling the world that Nicolas got her hooked. Aurora died of a combination of an overdose of Xanax and cocaine use. It all seemed pretty obvious to me. But then, just as I was beginning to believe that Nicolas had a heart and there might be a chance for us, the police arrested him for Aurora’s murder. There was some waiter who claimed he saw Nicolas put the drugs into Aurora’s drink. And then I found a whole bunch of drugs in a hidden bottom of a drawer in Nicolas’ bathroom. Including a baggie filled with Xanax. But I couldn’t make myself believe Nicolas would do such a thing to anyone, let alone his wife. He might not have loved her by the time she died, but he loved her once. So I went to Aurora’s mother and asked her to stop pushing the DA to file charges against Nicolas.

According to the press, and Nicolas’ investigators, it was Virginia Davis, Aurora’s mother and the widow of a much beloved governor of California, who was behind the investigation in the first place. The coroner in New York called Aurora’s death an accidental overdose. But now, the New York police had this waiter and they flew all the way out here to arrest Nicolas. He was lucky his lawyer had gotten a sympathetic judge to allow him to remain in Los Angeles. Only, now he couldn’t leave the county. It was all a huge mess. I just wanted Virginia to back off of him. I thought, if she knew I was carrying Aurora’s babies, she might let their father go. Instead… “What the fuck did you do?” There was so much anger and bitterness in Nicolas’ voice that it frightened me. I turned and the look on his face was even worse. He was staring at me as though he wanted to murder me. What happened to the happy man who’d just kissed me next to the back doors, talking about swing sets? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He held up a set of papers I couldn’t read from this distance. I was still clueless even as he shook them at me. “You told her. I know it was you.” “Told who what?” “You told her about the babies so the two of you could find a way to steal them from me, right? You thought a rich, lonely widow would be thrilled to death to find out she’s about to be a grandmother. So you told her, hoping she’d help you get out of the contract you have with me, right?” Virginia Davis. Aurora’s mother. “What has she done?” He waved the papers at me again. “She’s suing me for custody. The babies aren’t even here yet and she’s fucking suing me for custody.” It was like I’d been struck by lightning. My entire body went numb. I couldn’t have responded to him even if I wanted to. But I didn’t know what to say. What do you say to an accusation like? “I didn’t—”

He charged me, dropping the papers to the floor and grabbing my neck. “You have been scheming to take these babies from me from the moment you found out you were pregnant. And when I threatened to cut you out of their lives, you just hatched another scheme, didn’t you?” “Nico,” I said, my voice garbled by his grip, “I wouldn’t do that to you.” “Wouldn’t you? You ran away. You insisted you wouldn’t let me have the baby. And now this. It adds up pretty quickly, my love.” “Think about it, Nico,” I said, tugging at his grip on my throat. “I could have left when you were arrested. You said yourself there was nothing you could do.” “But you didn’t know that until it was too late.” “That’s not true. You can’t leave the county. I could run away today and you wouldn’t be able to come after me. But I didn’t. I stayed.” “So you could conspire with that rich bitch who’s trying to ruin my life.” He stared at me, anger still snapping in his eyes. “I knew I couldn’t trust you.” “I didn’t do this. I only wanted to get her to back off of you. I didn’t think she would sue for custody!” “Then you did talk to her.” And that’s when I knew I’d dug myself a hole. What else was there to say? I shook my head, but nothing I said now would get through to him. As if to confirm it, he pushed me back against the bar and let me go, anger like I’d never seen in his eyes. “I thought you…” He stopped, unable to finish whatever it was he was about to say. He just turned away. “Nico,” I said as pain slashed through my lower back, “please…” The pain was not like anything I’d ever felt before. I tried to straighten up, but it was so intense that I screamed. And then I was clutching my belly, the pain slicing around until my belly was as hard as a boulder. I cried out again, more from fright than pain. Nicolas was instantly at my side, his hand on my belly. “What? Did I—”

Adam rushed over—he’d apparently come to inform us his family had arrived—and swung me into his arms, carrying me to the couch. Constance was there, too, a worried frown on her familiar face as pain again traveled from my back to my belly. “She’s in labor,” I heard someone say. “Call an ambulance.” That was two months ago. On Thanksgiving Day, to be precise. I was in labor. The ambulance rushed me to the hospital, Nicolas at my side. The doctors started an IV and put this stuff into it that burned like crazy and gave me one of the worst headache I’d ever had. And, slowly, the pain that radiated from my back to my belly slowly stopped. But, by the time it did, my water had broken. One of the babies was happy and content in his amniotic sac, but the other was sitting in just a puddle. “If we deliver baby B, baby A will deliver as well. And neither is really ready to leave the womb. It would be better to keep her here in the hospital and give the babies a little more time.” But I couldn’t get out of bed. I had a catheter in my bladder—which was tons of fun, let me tell you—and everyone who came in the room had to put on scrubs and a mask. It was like I was Typhoid Mary or something. I felt like a leper. Nicolas looked pretty good in scrubs though. Not that he talked to me when he came to visit. I think he just came into the room to make sure I was still here. He’d sit in a chair, watch the news for about five minutes, then he’d leave with a promise to return. And he always did. Just…not to talk. Constance came nearly every day. She’d sneak in little treats to me, like tamales or spice cookies. And Adam was here almost constantly. He was Nicolas’ bodyguard. I guess Nicolas figured it was more important to have him guard me and keep the press away, than it was for him to keep the paparazzi off his car. I’m sure Nicolas had nightmares of the press finding out about me, especially now. His lawyers insisted they were close to getting the charges against Nicolas thrown out of court—I’d heard that on the news—so word that he had some pregnant girl locked up in a local hospital probably wouldn’t play well now that the gossip rags were mostly on his side. TMZ seemed to think the charges were bogus and they’d be dropped pretty soon. All the other media feeds seemed to lean that way, too. I hoped they were right. I was almost thirty-four weeks

pregnant. These babies would be here very soon, and they would need their daddy. That is, of course, as long as Aurora’s mother didn’t get custody. Daniel came to see me last week. I was shocked, to say the least. He was Virginia’s stepson and, when I went over there that day, they seemed very close. He snuck into my room when Adam wasn’t here and told me that he hadn’t realized what Virginia would do. “When the lawyer called and said that he’d filed paperwork with the family court, I was shocked. I thought she’d sue him in civil court for wrongful death. I never imagined she’d try to take the babies away from him,” he said. I’ve always considered myself a pretty good judge of character. I mean, I’ve been burned a few times. I thought Nicolas was a great guy until he kissed me in his living room the night Aurora called me excited because the embryos were viable. But now that I know more about him, I think my initial instincts were pretty much right on the money. So, when my instincts told me that Daniel was being truthful, I believed them. I just hoped he could talk Virginia out of taking Nicolas to court. I tried to pull myself up a little, but there was only so far you could go when you were supposed to lie flat all the time. One of the babies kicked. I touched my belly just over the kick and smiled as it came again. “Soon, little one.” I wanted to ask Nicolas if he ever finished the nursery, if he had chosen names. But he was so angry with me over what I’d done by going to Virginia that I was lucky he even remembered my name. I’m sure, as soon as these babies were born, he’d put me on a plane right back to Texas. “Moving around a lot today,” the nurse said, as she came into the room, a syringe in her hand. “They are. Did they knock the monitor over again?” “Either them, or their mommy shifting in bed again.” She winked as she set the syringe on my rollaway tray and adjusted the elastic belts around my growing belly, moving the plastic heart monitors around until a clear beat showed on the machine beside my bed. I smiled as two separate heartbeats appeared, the lines strong and steady.

Once the monitors were adjusted, she injected the medication into my IV line. “Anything I can get you, hon?” she asked. “No. I’m okay.” “You know, as long as you’ve been here, it’s okay to ask for something every once in a while.” “I know. But my friends keep me pretty much covered.” “It doesn’t hurt that daddy’s a rich Hollywood type.” She winked again as she stepped through the door. Everyone seemed to think because Nicolas was the father of these babies, my life was so easy. How little they knew. I flipped through the channels on the television for a few minutes, finally settling on a chic flick. I was so bored! Nothing to do all day but watch television might seem like fun to some people, but it was torture to me. I wanted to go outside so badly that I could hardly breathe when I thought about it. And then the door opened and I burst into tears.

Chapter 24 “Kelly!” She rushed to the bed and threw her arms around me, tears streaming down her cheeks just as they were mine. We hugged for a long time. I hadn’t seen Kelly in almost five months. She was in Dubai when Nicolas came and dragged me back to Los Angeles. It was so nice to see a friendly face. “What are you doing here?” She pulled back and picked up the corner of the sheet to wipe the tears from my face. “I had a layover at LAX, so I thought I’d come over and see you in person.” “I’m glad you did.” Kelly smiled even as she carefully wiped her own tears away. “You sound so miserable in your texts.” “It’s pretty boring just lying around here all the time.” “I bet it is.” Kelly touched the top of my swollen belly. One of the babies responded with a strong kick. Kelly’s eyes widened. “Wow. I can’t believe you have two human beings growing inside of you.” “Me, either, to be honest. It doesn’t even feel like my body anymore.” “I can imagine. How long are they going to keep you in here?” I shrugged. “Until the doctor thinks it’s safe to take the babies.” “That sucks.” Kelly glanced at my belly again. “But it’s a great deterrent to sex.” I laughed. “How did your sex fast go, anyway?” Kelly, after yet another bad breakup, had gone on a sex fast. She had gone five months the last time I talked to her, and it was driving her insane. Kelly was nothing like me. Before Nicolas, it’d been much longer than five months for me. In fact, I’d only had one lover before Nicolas. Kelly, on the other hand, looks like a supermodel. She had guys falling out of the woodwork for her. Always has. So, for her to go

on a sex fast was a pretty big deal. “It’s been incredibly difficult. But…I’m still going.” My mouth must have fallen open because she started to laugh. “I’m not that bad, am I?” “I’ve never known you to go more than a week or two without a guy in your bed.” Kelly groaned. “It was that bad, wasn’t it?” I touched her hand and started to say something a little comforting, but the door to my room opened. Daniel, his face half covered by a surgical mask, stepped into the room. “Sorry,” he said, his eyes moving over Kelly. “I didn’t realize you already had a visitor.” Kelly stood, her curves hidden by the scrubs they made everyone wear. She crossed her arms over her chest as she moved between me and him. “Who are you?” she demanded. “It’s okay, Kel,” I said. “He’s a friend.” “I’m Daniel,” he said, stepping up to Kelly with a hand extended. She didn’t take his hand. Instead, she just studied him, trying to assess him around the scrubs and the surgical mask. I could feel the tension between them. It made me feel a little uncomfortable, like a fly on the wall, watching a situation I shouldn’t be watching. “How do you know Ana?” Kelly demanded. Daniel rolled back on his heels a little, his gaze dropping briefly to my face. I could see that he was trying to decide if he should tell the truth, or come up with a quick lie. But he told the truth. “I’m Virginia Davis’ stepson. We met at her house.” Kelly glanced back at me. “Didn’t you tell me Virginia is suing Nicolas for custody of the twins?” “I don’t agree with her decision on that,” Daniel immediately said. “And I’m trying to convince her to back off.” Kelly’s eyebrows rose as she stared at me. I offered a slight shrug, a movement just big enough for her to see it. She inclined her head before turning back to him. “Well, I guess you can stay if Ana’s okay with it. But you should know, I’m her best friend. I’ll

hurt anyone who even thinks about hurting her.” Daniel bent at the waist, executing an almost perfect bow. “Understood.” I wanted to laugh, the whole scene was that surreal. But it didn’t seem appropriate at that moment, so I just watched as Kelly settled back down on the bed next to me and Daniel crossed to the low chair where Nicolas usually sat when he came to visit. He tugged it closer to the bed and settled down, leaning close to the bed, but not touching me. “How are you doing?” “Good,” I said. “She’s bored out of her mind,” Kelly said. Daniel nodded. “Tried to bring her—you—some books and crossword puzzles, but they wouldn’t let me bring them in. Something about germs?” “They’re pretty serious about all of that.” “Why don’t they just give you antibiotics?” Kelly asked. “I’m allergic to penicillin, and I guess whatever else they might have used they can’t because it’s not good for the babies.” “That sucks.” I touched my belly, my hands skipping over the monitor belts. I glanced at the machine to make sure it was still registering their heartbeats. Sometimes I liked to reach over and turn the sound up so that I could hear them. It was reassuring even though they moved so often that there was no doubt that they were still there. I couldn’t wait until they were born and I could see their precious little faces. But, again, I was frightened that I wouldn’t be able to see them at all, that Nicolas was so angry with me that he wouldn’t hold up his end of our bargain. What if he took the babies home, and I was never able to see them? It was that thought that kept me awake at night. “Not much longer,” Kelly said, taking my hand. I nodded, even as I turned my head away from her. I didn’t want her to see my expression; I didn’t want her to know how frightened I was. I didn’t want her getting on her flight worried about me. I had so

few people left in my life right now. The last thing I wanted was to cause any concern. But Daniel caught my expression, and I could see his brows knit together as he frowned. They left together a few minutes later, both promising to return soon. I hugged Kelly tighter than I probably should have, but it was so nice to have seen her. I didn’t want her to go, but she had a flight to New York to catch. From there, she said she was going to London. Sometimes I thought I’d chosen the wrong profession with teaching.

Chapter 25 I was dreaming. Nicolas pressed me up against the back doors of his living room, the bright, California sunshine making everything seem brighter than it really was. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him. At the same time, his hands slid over my ribs and I realized that I was no longer pregnant. My body had returned to the way it’d been before, curvy, but slender. I tried to ask him where the babies were, but my voice didn’t seem capable of sound, either. It was like we were standing in a vacuum that stole every word before it left our lips. A pain sliced through my back. I thought that maybe the glass door had shattered, that a piece of glass had pierced my skin. But then the pain let up. I touched the side of Nicolas’ face and drew him close to me. Our lips brushed. He stole my breath as he always did whenever he kissed me. And then he stole more than that, the tip of his tongue asking for entrance as he tugged my body closer to his— Then the pain was back. This time it sliced through my lower back and then radiated around my belly. I wanted to touch that spot, to see what it was that was causing the pain, but Nicolas grabbed my hand and tugged it back up to his chest. I wanted to lose myself in Nicolas. I wanted to enjoy his kiss; I wanted to enjoy the feel of his body against mine; I wanted to anticipate what came next. But that pain… I moaned as it came again. The dream began to fade. I whispered his name, “Nico,” as he disappeared and the pain became all I was aware of. “I’m here,” his voice whispered, but it wasn’t the dream Nicolas. I opened my eyes, and he was sitting in the chair Daniel had vacated hours ago. He leaned forward and brushed a piece of hair out of my face, the first touch he’d offered since Thanksgiving Day. And the pain sliced through me again.

“Oh, God,” I hissed, my hand brushing over my enormously swollen belly. “What is it?” Nicolas asked softly. “It hurts.” He immediately jumped up and grabbed the remote wrapped around the safety bar of my hospital bed and pushed the call button. A nurse’s fuzzy voice answered a second later over the intercom system. “How can I help you?” “She’s in pain.” “Okay. Someone will be there in a minute.” The pain wrapped around my back again, like a belt that someone had pulled too tight. My belly hardened under my hand, a boulder threatening to suffocate the babies. I whimpered, tears forming in my eyes despite the fact that I really didn’t want to look so weak in front of Nicolas. I wanted him to go away; I wanted him to go back into my dream. I didn’t want him to see me like this. But he didn’t. He moved close to me, his face inches from mine as he slid his hand into mine. “They’ll be here in a minute.” The pain again. I squeezed his hand harder than I’d thought myself capable of. He didn’t flinch, didn’t try to pull away. He squeezed back, as he brushed more hair out of my face with his other hand. “You’re okay, baby,” he said. “They’ll be here soon.” “It hurts.” “I know.” He glanced over at the door, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he slid a little closer to me, so close that his nose was nearly touching mine. “You’re going to be okay. This is going to be over very soon.” I barely heard his last words. The pain radiated around my belly again, slicing through me like a Thor’s hammer through a boulder. I cried out, pulling my legs up toward my belly as I instinctively tried to move into a fetal position. Ironic, really. But it didn’t help. It made it worse somehow. The door opened and a nurse came over to the bed. “What seems to be wrong?” I just groaned. I couldn’t even speak.

“What do you think? She’s in pain!” The nurse moved around the bed and glanced at the machine monitoring the babies. I thought for a minute that the monitor belts had shifted again. Or that the heartbeats simply weren’t there. That fear dulled the pain for a brief moment. But then another wave started in my back and flashed around to my belly, drawing a small scream from my lips. The nurse mumbled something I didn’t catch. Then she was rushing for the door. “Where’s she going?” I mumbled. Nicolas didn’t respond at first. He was studying the machine as the nurse had done. And then more people were coming into the room. Someone pushed me onto my back and a warm hand slid up between my legs. I instinctively slammed my thighs together. “Ana,” Nicolas said, back at my side, “you need to let them take a look. Okay?” I focused on him as another pain sliced through me. “The babies?” “Fine,” he said, pressing his forehead to mine as he took both my hands in his. “In fact, it looks like we might get to meet them very soon.” I nodded. Fear had kept me from realizing what was happening. But his words brought back those terrible hours on Thanksgiving. These pains, they were the same as those. I was in labor. Dr. Bishop marched through the door a few minutes later, a cheerful smile on his face as he came up to the side of the bed. “Busy night,” he said as he touched my wrist, apparently checking my pulse as he studied my eyes. “Just delivered a baby girl ten minutes ago.” I felt like I should say something, congratulate him or something, but another pain sliced through me and I couldn’t make my vocal chords do much more than moan. He nodded, his smile disappearing as he turned to the nurses. I could hear their voices, but I couldn’t really understand what was going on. I saw a tight look on Nicolas’ face that frightened me. If something happened to the babies after all of this, I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive myself. Just a few minutes later—at least, that’s how it felt—I was being pushed through the hallway. I

finally got to see the outside of my hospital room, but I was in so much pain I couldn’t really appreciate it. And then I was in another room, a stranger standing over me, asking me to count backwards from one hundred. I didn’t understand what was happening. I turned my head when he pressed a mask over my nose and mouth. And then Nicolas was there. “It’s okay, baby,” he said, smoothing the back of his fingers over my cheek. “It’s time for you to go to sleep. And when you wake up, you’ll be able to meet the babies.” “Are they okay?” “They’re fine,” he said, leaning close to me, his lips brushing mine. “Everything’s fine.” I nodded. When the stranger with the mask pressed it to my face again, I didn’t move away.

Chapter 26 I woke with a start. There was no longer pain in my back, but my belly burned like a shallow paper cut that’d gotten salt into it. I touched my belly, and it was flatter than I remembered it. Flatter and softer. The babies! I tried to sit up, but pain sliced through me that was a hundred times worse than before. Constance was there. She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back down against the pillows. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re okay.” “Where are the babies?” “In the NICU.” I looked at her. “The what?” “The intensive care unit. They were a little early.” “But they’re okay?” “Yes.” Constance sat on the edge of the bed and pushed me more firmly down. I settled back against the pillows, realizing for the first time that I was in a different room than I’d been in before. “What happened?” “You went into labor,” Constance said. “You were bleeding pretty heavily, so they decided to do a C-section.” “Bleeding?” “The little girl’s placenta pulled away from the wall of your uterus. It made you bleed pretty heavily…gave everyone a scare from what I was told. But you made it through the surgery pretty well.” “And the babies?” “Fine,” Constance said, but there was something about her expression that frightened me. “Constance, tell me the truth. Is there something wrong with the babies?”

She hesitated, and my heart sank into my chest. But then Nicolas walked into the room. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow forming on his strong jaw. When he saw me, saw that I was awake, something like relief floated through his eyes. “Hey,” he said, coming around the bed to the far side. “Are the babies okay?” I asked. “Yes. They’re fine.” I studied his face a second, my eyes moving to Constance. Her eyes fell to the floor under my stare. I knew Constance. I’d known her since I was a little girl. She was hiding something. “Tell me what’s going on.” Nicolas pulled his cellphone out of his back jeans pocket. After thumbing through it for a second, he handed it to me. “That’s Baby A, Nicolas Cole.” I stared at the picture, my heart swelling as I took in the baby’s perfectly round face, his tiny hands, and the shock of dark hair on his little head. He was tiny, and there was an IV in his foot, but he seemed almost perfect. His color was good, and he was sleeping peacefully. I couldn’t believe this perfect little human being had been in my body just a little while ago. He was so beautiful. “And Baby B?” Nicolas moved close to me and touched the screen of his phone, moving it to the next picture. Another baby, smaller than the first, her skin wrinkled and a little off color, filled the screen. Like her brother, this baby had a beautiful, round face, dark hair, and perfect little features. Her eyes were open, as though she knew her daddy was taking her picture. And her eyes…was it crazy to think they looked a little like mine? “They’re okay?” “Cole is perfect,” Nicolas said. “His Apgar numbers, the test they do when a baby is first born, were all eights, which is perfect, especially for a preemie. He’ll probably have to stay here for a while until he gains a little weight. But, otherwise, he’s perfect.” I nodded, watching his face closely for any sign that he was lying to me. I didn’t see anything.

“And the girl?” Nicolas’ eyes fell to the floor for a brief second. Then, he looked at me, his gaze never wavering from mine. “She was the one without amniotic fluid all this time. That caused her lungs not to develop as well as they doctors would have liked. They want to monitor her closely, make sure they develop now.” “But they think she’ll be okay?” Nicolas touched my hand lightly. “It’s going to be touch and go for a while. But if she does well over the next few days, they say her chances are very good.” “It’s good news,” Constance said, reminding me of her presence. I glanced at her and nodded, taking her hand in mine. “It’s going to be okay,” I agreed. *** They wouldn’t let me go see the babies for a while. I lost a lot of blood, and the doctor wanted me to get plenty of rest and fluids before I started wandering the hallways. Constance stayed with me while Nicolas split his time between my room and the NICU. I was almost jealous of him and his ability to visit the babies. I was so desperate to see them that I wanted to scream every time someone told me I had to wait a little longer. When they finally let me go, the babies were nearly three days old. I felt dirty and underdressed as Nicolas pushed me in a wheelchair through the hallways, a thin bathrobe barely covering my hospital gown. But the moment he pushed me through the NICU doors and I could hear the babies crying, nothing mattered but holding one of those precious bundles in my arms. Cole was in an uncovered isolette, wide awake and waving his fists in the air like he was having an argument with God. A nurse gently lifted him and placed him in my arms. My heart melted as he gazed up at me. I knew from some reading I’d done before he was born that he likely couldn’t see me clearly. But I believed he could. I believed he knew who I was. I bent low and kissed his forehead lightly. “Hello, mijo.” Tears filled my eyes as I watched him. He waved his fists again, once or twice, then he snuggled

against me. I think he sighed. “Mr. Costa,” a man in scrubs said, as he approached and held out his hand to Nicolas where he stood behind my wheelchair. “Dr. Farley,” Nicolas said, respect dripping from his words. “Cole looks very good this morning. I’m a little concerned that he hasn’t gained any weight, but, as I discussed with you yesterday, I hope that will change when we introduce breast milk into his diet.” “Breast milk?” I asked. The doctor glanced at Nicolas before squatting down beside my chair so that we could see each other without me having to look up. “The best food in the world for a newborn baby is breast milk. It’s filled with nutrients and antibodies that are perfectly designed for them. When we have a preemie, like Cole and his sister, we prefer to administer breast milk through the feeding tubes and then encourage moms to nurse the moment the baby is ready to suckle.” “That’ll help him gain weight?” “Yes. And it will help him and his sister get strong enough to leave the hospital.” “I was going to talk to you about it,” Nicolas said, “but I didn’t have the chance.” I looked down at Cole. He was still awake, but he seemed perfectly content to just lay in my arms, staring around at the larger world. I touched his cheek, and he immediately moved his head in that direction as though looking for something. “See?” the doctor asked. “He’s already got all the instincts he needs. We just have to show him how it’s done.” I looked at Nicolas. It had never occurred to me that he would need me to feed the babies. I always assumed the moment they were born, I would be gone. But if I could help them survive the ordeal of the NICU… “I’m up for it if it’s what you want.” Before Nicolas could speak, the doctor stood and addressed him again. “As I explained this morning, there are breast milk banks where we can get what’s needed. But it would be better this way.”

It sank in then that Nicolas must have explained that I was only a surrogate. For some reason, that broke my heart. It felt almost like a betrayal. Nicolas touched his hand to my shoulder. “If it’s okay with her doctors.”

Chapter 27 I was released from the hospital a week after the babies were born. In that time, a breast feeding expert came and spoke to me, showing me how to pump milk from my breasts, explaining how often I should do it and problems to watch out for. And then she sat with me and Cole in a back room of the NICU and showed me how to encourage him to latch on. He wasn’t quite strong enough yet to suck properly, but he was clearly interested in the process. The doctor said it would be a few weeks before he was strong enough to latch on long enough to nurse a full session. When he reached that point, he would be able to go home. The girl wasn’t doing as well. They had her in a covered isolette and wouldn’t let us touch her. She had an infection when she was born that had gone unnoticed until then. They were treating her with some pretty serious medications. Her lungs were also under developed, so she was on oxygen and had to have medications to treat that, too. She was so tiny…I stared at her for a long time the first time I saw her, fear enveloping me. Her color wasn’t good. Her size was unbelievable. And she didn’t seem to move nearly as much as Cole did. I stood over her isolette in street clothes—the first street clothes I’d worn in months—my hand pressed to the warm plastic as though she could feel it. “You should give her a name.” Nicolas was standing behind me, but he wasn’t looking at the baby. He was watching the nurse adjust Cole’s IV. “I thought you’d like to do that.” I glanced at him. “Me?” He nodded, his eyes reluctantly moving up to my face. “You’re the reason she’s here. It only seems right that you should have some input.” I wanted to believe him, but the way his eyes flicked toward her and then quickly moved away

told me that he was convinced she wasn’t going to make it. But I knew deep in my heart that she wouldn’t have come this far if she wasn’t strong. “Vivienne Martina,” I said quietly. “Vivienne?” “It means lively.” I glanced back at him. “Full of life.” He nodded. “And Martina?” My throat began to ache as tears burned there. “My mother’s name.” He touched my shoulder lightly. “It’s beautiful.” *** He drove me to his house and carefully helped me out of the car, holding my arm as I slowly made my way to the front door. Even though my surgery was a week ago, I was still sore. And, after two months in bed, my muscles seemed to have forgotten what to do. It was going to take me a while to get back into shape. The house looked pretty much the same as it had the last time I saw it. I sat on the edge of the couch, the memory of the argument Nicolas and I were having when I first went into labor flashing through my mind. His expression was unreadable when I looked at him, so I was pretty sure he was remembering the same thing. “You can stay in your old room, if you’d like. Or you can move closer to the nursery, if that would make you more comfortable.” I wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but then, I realized that he was referring to the closeness of the guest room I was previously staying in to his master bedroom. The nursery was on the other side of the hall, so the guest room beside it was as far from the master bedroom as possible. Why would he think I wouldn’t want to near him? I shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters.” Nicolas came closer to me, settling on the coffee table that sat in front of the couch. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He studied my face for a long minute. “We haven’t really talked about what happens next.”

Again, I was a little lost. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he was talking about. “The doctor feels the babies should be on breast milk for at least six months.” He paused, again searching my face as though he expected to see something disagreeable there. “I know six months is a long time. If you’d rather I contract with a milk bank—” “No. It’s better for them if it comes from me.” He inclined his head slightly. “But I’ve already forced you to give up five months of your life to me and the babies. I can’t, in all conscious, ask you to give up more. But…” He straightened up and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I will double the fees the contract promised you. And, as we talked about before, you’ll get pictures every two months and you’re more than welcome to come visit them whenever you want.” “Whenever I want?” A deep sadness settled in his eyes as he regarded me. “It seems only fair since you went through so much to get them here.” My heart seemed to dance in my chest. I had thought he would send me away and never let me see them. But this…it was more than I could have hoped for. “What about Virginia?” Nicolas’ face tightened again. “She’s still pushing forward with this custody battle. We have a court date in three months. Until then, the judge has ruled that she should be allowed a visit once a week with the babies at the hospital. She was supposed to show up last night, but she never did.” “I’m really sorry about that. I honestly thought I was trying to help.” Nicolas opened his mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut again. He stood up and went to the back doors, resting his hand against the glass as he stared out at the back garden. “Right now, all I care about is getting Cole and Vivienne home safe. Whatever comes after that, I guess we’ll deal with it then.” He seemed almost vulnerable as he stood there. I wanted to go to him and tell him everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t really know that, did I? This whole mess, it was my fault. I should have kept my nose out of it. I never was much good at that.

I went upstairs a few minutes later and unpacked the bags Adam had brought to my room for me. I opened the drawer in the bedside table and found a bag of Xanax I’d hidden there months ago. I picked it up, remembering the stack of bags like this, some filled with prescription drugs, one or two filled with cocaine. I’d found the drugs in a false bottom of a drawer in Nicolas’ bathroom. Constance took the other bags away, giving them to Adam to dispose of. But I hid this bag because it was Xanax that Nicolas was accused of slipping into Aurora’s drink the night she died. I didn’t want Constance to see it. She was already convinced that Nicolas was guilty for reasons I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to give her more fuel for that particular fire. Nicolas never mentioned the missing drugs. That meant they weren’t his, right? I mean, I never thought they were, but Constance has known him longer than me. If she has suspicions…I can’t help but wonder. But I can’t really make myself believe that Nicolas is guilty of hurting his wife, let alone stupid enough to keep the evidence here in the house. Nicolas was a complicated guy. He had a pretty messed up childhood. His mother was a drug addict who used him in ways that are unspeakable. And that’s made him weary when it comes to trusting other people. But he’s a good man. Despite Constance’s doubts, I believed he was innocent of these charges. I don’t know why I held on to the drugs. And I don’t know why I just tossed them back into the drawer. I curled up in a big, comfortable chair by the window and pulled out the breast pump. My arms felt empty. And my belly was suddenly this big, alien thing. It wasn’t the flat—or semi-flat—part of my anatomy it was before the babies, but it wasn’t the hugely rounded bump it was with them. It was somewhere in between, a foreign thing that felt like someone else’s body. My pre-pregnancy clothes didn’t fit. My maternity clothes didn’t fit. I felt...odd. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. I was thinking about the day Nicolas kissed me in the living room downstairs before I was pregnant, before everything fell apart. I told myself afterward that I was horrified by what he’d done. But, in reality, it was the most intense thing I’d felt up until that moment in my life. His kiss was mind-blowing. I used to read that phrase in romance novels and I’d roll my eyes. No

kiss could be that intense, right? But then I met Nicolas and from that first moment—even with Aurora in the room, talking about how happy having a baby would make the two of them—there was something about the way he looked at me that made my bones turn to liquid. I thought it was because he was handsome and he had this deep voice that was just irresistible. But when he kissed me that day, I knew I was lost. I bit his lip. Even now I wanted to laugh at the memory of the shock on his face. I don’t think anyone had ever denied him in that way before. Not that my resistance lasted long. The moment he came to retrieve me—the babies—I jumped most willingly into bed with him. And again and again after he brought me to Los Angeles. In fact, I was in his arms not more than fifteen minutes before we argued and I went into labor on Thanksgiving Day. It killed me when we argued. And it hurt every time he came to see me, but refused to speak to me. But then, when I went into labor in the middle of the night, he was there. Why was he there? Was he there every night? I remember a nurse mentioning once that he never asked for a blanket. I hadn’t thought to ask then what she was talking about. But now…did he spend most nights there? If so, why did he never wake me? Why didn’t he tell me? And now. He wanted me to stay for six months. For the babies. Was it wrong of me to hope there was a little more to it than that? To hope that he wanted me to stay because he cared about me? Did I want to stay for him? I’d been so focused on the babies, on the idea of never seeing them again. But was there more to my motivation, too? I loved the way it felt when he touched me. I loved lying with him in his bed. I loved…hell, there wasn’t anything about it I didn’t like. But did that mean I was in love with him? Was I in love with Nicolas Costa?

Chapter 28 “Okay, Cole, let’s see if we can do this.” I touched the baby’s cheek, and he immediately turned his head toward my finger. That was a good sign. The nurse said they’d delayed his afternoon feeding because they knew I was coming. He was clearly hungry. The only question was, would that translate into him latching on and nursing as he should? I set him in my lap and opened my blouse, tugging my breast out of my bra. Three weeks we’d been doing this, and for three weeks Cole did little more than gum at my nipple. The nurse said that was normal, that a preemie didn’t always understand the connection between suckling and nourishment, especially when he was used to getting his fill through a tube run down his throat. Cole was doing well otherwise, gaining weight and passing all the standards the doctors set for him. He just had to learn how to nurse so that he could go home. I really wanted to take him home. And I knew Nicolas did, too. I lifted the baby into my arms and rubbed my nipple against his lips. He opened his mouth, but like all the times before, he just kind of gummed at it. A little milk came out, anyway, since my breasts seemed always ready to explode—but it didn’t encourage him to suck. Frustration welled in my chest as I whispered to him. “Come on, Cole, just try.” But he just kept gumming. I felt like a failure. Wasn’t this supposed to be one of those things that just came naturally? Shouldn’t I just know, instinctively, how to do this? Why was he having so much trouble figuring it out? There was a tap on the door. I thought it was the nurse, coming to take Cole back to his isolette. I was only supposed to have him in this little room for a few minutes. They worried he’d get too cold being out of his isolette. I wasn’t ready to give him up, so I pretended I didn’t hear the tap as I bent to kiss the top of Cole’s warm, sweet, little head. “Everything okay?”

It was Nicolas. I’d last seen him holding Vivienne in what they called a kangaroo hold where he unbuttoned his shirt and placed the baby’s bare skin against his. I must have been incredibly insane because I found the scene intensely sexy. How someone could find a man holding his child sexy, I don’t know. But I did. And now I felt weird about it. That, coupled with my frustrations, just broke a dam. I started to cry, big teardrops dripping on the baby’s cheek. “Hey,” Nicolas said, closing the door and coming to sit beside me on the tiny loveseat. “What’s the matter?” “I can’t do this,” I mumbled. “He won’t take to it. And if he doesn’t, he’ll never be allowed to come home. And if I can’t figure out how to do it with him, how will I ever do it with Vivienne? And she needs this so much more than Cole, and I just—” “Slow down,” Nicolas said, as he slid his arm around me. “One thing at a time.” “He won’t nurse. I don’t know why.” “Are you doing everything the lactation consultant told you to do?” “I think so.” “Do you mind if I try?” I glanced at him, a comical image of him trying to get the baby to nurse from his small nipples filling my mind. If I hadn’t felt so desolate, I might have laughed. Instead, I just shrugged. Nicolas ran his hand over the back of the baby’s head, caressing him with such gentleness that it almost broke my heart. He was so good with the babies. At first, it seemed like he favored Cole. I thought maybe it was because he was a boy. But then, after we gave Vivienne a name and the doctors began to offer encouraging news about her progress, he began spending as much time studying her through the walls of her covered isolette, the first to hold her and the first to try the kangaroo hold. He was clearly devoted to both babies, and that eased the few remaining doubts I’d had. Not that the opinion of the surrogate had any weight. Nicolas held the back of the baby’s head to keep him close to my breast. Then, he touched me, lifting my breast a little, squeezing my areola between two fingers to encourage more of it into Cole’s

mouth. The baby’s eyes widened as he took it, suddenly sucking down with a force that took my breath away. “That’s my boy,” Nicolas said with a little bit of chuckle. “He’s doing it.” “He is.” I glanced at him, his smile irresistible. “Thank you.” He shrugged even as he leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Anytime,” he whispered against me. Cole came home two days later. Nicolas made a big deal of taking pictures as I carefully carried the baby up the front steps of the house. I was scared to death of dropping him on the marble steps, but I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. The moment we were through the front door, Nicolas swept Cole from my arms. “Welcome home, my boy,” he said, swinging around so that the sleeping baby could take in everything. I don’t think Cole cared much. He nursed right before we left the hospital, so he was good for a few hours. Eating, sleeping, clean diapers…that was about all Cole cared about at this point. Adam and Constance joined us in the living room, big smiles on their faces. Constance fussed over Cole like he was the first baby she’d ever seen. I couldn’t help the pride I felt as I watched. “This deserves a toast!” Nicolas brought a bottle into the room that was nicely chilled if the bit of frost on it said anything. He poured four glasses and brought two to where I was standing by the back doors, whispering against my ear, “Apple cider.” I smiled, touched that he would make such a concession for me—especially when he raised his glass and announced, “I’m sure it’ll be all over the news later, but I wanted to be the first to tell all of you. My lawyers called this morning.” Constance looked up from where she was staring into Cole’s face, making funny little cooing sounds. There was a sudden tightness to her eyes that annoyed me. I knew Constance well enough to know her expressions. And I knew this expression was one that said whatever Nicolas was about to announce

was wrong. But Adam…he was beaming like all was perfect in the world. “The waiter in New York who swears he saw me put something in Aurora’s glass?” Nicolas looked at me, his eyes actually twinkling. “He recanted his story. Now he insists that Aurora took the pills quite willingly the second I left the room.” “You’re kidding!” I said, turning into him. “I knew he was lying.” “He was lying. He has a record a mile long, and he was trying to make a deal in another case against him. But when the DA failed to keep up his end of the deal in this other case, the guy changed his story.” “So they have to drop charges against you now.” “They have.” Relief washed through me in wave after wave of pure emotion. I laughed as I threw my arms around Nicolas’ neck. “That’s incredible!” Nicolas’ arms came around my waist, and he tugged me so tight against him that the familiar feel of his body woke something deep inside of me that had gone dormant during my time in the hospital. However, it also made me conscious of my soft, flabby stomach. I took a step back, but Nicolas’ arm tightened around my waist. He studied my face for a long second, clouds of emotion floating through his eyes. Spontaneously, I reached up and kissed him lightly on his lips. I don’t know what got into me, or if it was even something I should have done. But when he tugged me closer to him and deepened the kiss, I was grateful that being near him made me forget my fears and act on whims like that. He let me go a moment later, and I caught Constance watching us. Disapproval radiated from her eyes. I withered under her gaze, the wonder and excitement of Nicolas’ kiss dying on my lips. “I should take Cole upstairs,” I said, slipping him from her arms and leaving the room, my heart pounding as if I’d just got caught drinking wine behind the rectory or something.

I didn’t understand Constance’s problem with Nicolas. But I planned to find out.

Chapter 29 Everything was all fun and games in the middle of the afternoon when I was well rested. It wasn’t as much fun at three o’clock in the morning when Cole seemed incapable of getting his fill at my breast. I was sitting with him in the rocking chair in the nursery—Nicolas finished the nursery and it was just as light and beautiful as he had promised it would be—the breast pump attached to my other breast to simulate the action of nursing two babies. Vivienne was still too tiny to nurse, but they used my breast milk to feed her through her feeding tube. And, hopefully, she would be home in another week or two, so I would have to be used to feeding two babies at once. But that didn’t make this all fun and games in the middle of the night. “You should have woke me,” Nicolas said, slipping into the room. “No reason for both of us to be exhausted.” “But there is. It took more than just one person to make this perfect little boy,” he said, running his hand slowly over Cole’s head. “Yeah, it took four,” I said, so exhausted I wasn’t really thinking about what I was saying. Nicolas laughed. It was a little surreal, sitting there with my t-shirt pulled up over my breasts, revealing not only both breasts—one with a baby attached, the other with a machine—but my stretchmark-covered, flabby belly sticking out above my boy shorts. He seemed to only have eyes for the baby at the moment, and I was too exhausted to really care what else he might see. I’d been using the treadmill in his home gym upstairs since coming home from the hospital, failing miserably at reaching the four miles per hour I was once able to jog. But with Cole home, there didn’t seem to be time to do more than eat and sleep on his schedule. So, personal fitness was once again on the back burner. I closed my eyes and must have drifted to sleep because the next thing I knew, Nicolas was carefully disconnecting the breast pump.

“Do you put this in the bags right away?” I nodded, gesturing to the stack of disposable bottle bags that were sitting on top of the minifridge. Nicolas unscrewed the top from the pump’s bottle and poured the milk into a bag before tying it off and putting it inside the fridge with three other bags I’d pumped throughout the day. Either he or Adam would take it to the hospital in the morning for Vivienne. “Dr. Farley said you can probably try to nurse Vivienne next week,” Nicolas said. “Really? Are her lungs strong enough for that?” “He said she will probably continue to need oxygen for a while after she’s released, but he wants her to come home as soon as possible, and that means she has to be nursing at least part of the time.” Cole was finally drifting off to sleep. I stroked his check gently before tugging my nipple from his mouth. He stayed asleep, so I carried him to the crib, unconscious of the fact that my t-shirt was still tugged up above my chest. “Do you think she’s ready?” Nicolas leaned against the mini-fridge and studied me, his eyes slowly drifting down the length of my body. He cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Do I…what?” “Do you think Vivienne’s ready to come home?” “I want her to, and the doctor thinks she’s ready.” “I just don’t want to push things. If she’s not ready, it would just make her situation worse, won’t it?” Nicolas glanced at me again, his eyes again drifting over the length of my body. “You make it kind of hard to concentrate, you know?” I looked down at myself, a blush burning my cheeks as I realized just how exposed I was. I tugged my shirt down, smoothing it over my smaller, but still disgustingly soft, belly. “Sorry.” “Don’t ever apologize. I definitely don’t mind the peek. But it makes it hard to think of anything other than your beautiful body.” “Beautiful? More like monstrous.”

“Why would you say that?” I ran my hand over my belly. “Because it is.” I turned to the baby’s crib and tucked a light blanket over him before retreating across the room, unable to look at Nicolas, even though I could feel his eyes on me. He followed, stepping out into the hall with me. I turned to go to my room, but he grabbed my wrist. “You are an incredibly beautiful woman, Ana,” he said softly, the back of his fingers brushing my face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman quite like you.” “Don’t lie to me.” Nicolas lifted my chin, forced me to look him in the eye. “Do I look like I’m lying?” “You work with Hollywood actresses. You dated models. How could I compare to them?” I pulled back. “Especially now? I’m just a kindergarten teacher with a grotesquely out of shape body.” “You are an amazingly beautiful woman who just gave birth to twins.” He tugged me closer to him. “And you are obstinate and frustrating and clever and funny and everything I’ve ever desired in a woman.” I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. “You’re just…” “I’m just what?” “You feel sorry for me.” Nicolas groaned. “Why would I feel sorry for you?” “Because of everything that’s happened. Because I cry at the drop of a hat. Because my mother died and I don’t have anyone but the babies and Constance…” “And me.” He pushed me against the wall and slid his hand over my face, burying his fingers in my hair, tugging it to force me to look at him. And then he kissed me. There was nothing friendly in his kiss. He invaded me like a drowning man assaulting the first object to come close to his touch. I had no choice but to welcome him, to respond to his touch or drown myself. But I couldn’t have resisted him if I’d wanted to. He tasted so familiar, felt so familiar, that my lips, my mouth and tongue, seemed to respond to him on pure instinct.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, needing him against me, needing to feel the heat and the vitality of his touch. He was bringing me back to life, bringing me back to the person I was before everything went insane. Before my mother died, before Aurora died, before I knew I was pregnant. Before I met Nicolas. He was bringing me back to the person who believed that the world was basically good and happiness was just around the next corner. Nicolas ran his hand over my side, his fingers seeking out the bottom hem of my shirt. His mouth created a hot trail down my chin, along the curve of my jaw until his lips were pressed to my throat. “I want you,” he whispered against my ear. “I want to touch you, for you to touch me.” I moaned, even as his hand found its way under my shirt and he began to run his fingers over my belly. I pushed at his wrist, trying to keep him from seeing just how soft my belly was, but he tugged his wrist free, his hand sliding low over my belly as he stared into my eyes. “Why can’t you believe me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he dropped to his knees and lifted my shirt, pressing his lips to the center of my belly. I slid my hands over the top of his head, but I didn’t try to push him away again. It killed me not to, but I let him explore my belly, let him run his tongue slowly over the bright red stretch marks that were still healing. He slid slowly down my belly, his tongue dipping into my navel before sliding further down. When he found my surgical scar, a blush hotter than any I’d ever known before burned my cheeks, but I didn’t pull away—and he didn’t hesitate. He ran his tongue along the length of it, then peppered it with kisses. Then he stood again and drew me into his arms. “How can I dislike the body that made my children?” And then he kissed me again. I melted into him, more eager than I probably should have been to feel his touch. He swung me into his arms and carried me down the hall, shoving through his door and slamming it with his foot hard enough to make the walls vibrate. And then we fell together onto the bed, the weight of his body knocking the air from my lungs. But I didn’t care. I drew my breath from him, regulated my heart beat from the feel of his. I wanted him in a way I’d never thought possible; I wanted him with more than just my body and my mind. His hands on my hips and my breasts made my head spin. I lost myself in the sensation of him,

tugging at his clothes with a desperation that surpassed his. And when he was inside of me, I arched up against him, tears filling my eyes as he tugged me closer, as he groaned against my ear. I felt like a completely different person when I was with him. Where I was once shy and reserved, I was suddenly spontaneous and courageous. Where I was once alone and isolated, I was suddenly the center of something important, something basic and more fulfilling than anything I’d ever done before. When he was inside of me, I felt whole for the first time in my life. I was in love. That realization burst through me on an instinctual level, revealing itself to me in the overwhelming pain of emotion that welled in my chest. I wanted to say it; I wanted to give voice to what I’d probably known from the very beginning but was afraid to admit to myself. I wrapped myself around him and gave him everything I had to give. There was no more in reserve, no more secrets or shame. No more hiding fears and uncertainty. I didn’t hold back anything and, when he looked at me, I knew he wasn’t either. This was going to be okay. This was perfection and perfection lasted forever. *** I lay with my back to him, no longer as exhausted as I was just a short time ago. He was tracing patterns over my side, touching places that tickled and made me slide back against him. He groaned as my ass ground into his semi-erect cock, forcing his head between my thighs. “You drive me nuts. You know that?” “Do I?” He groaned again. “Don’t be a tease.” “I thought guys like you liked teases.” He kissed my neck lightly. “Only out of bed.” “I’ll try to remember that.” He slid his hand over my throat, touching a spot just above my collar bone. “You had a bruise here.” I reached up and touched the same spot. “When?” “In the hospital. When you first went into labor.”

I rolled onto my back so that I could see his face. “What are you talking about?” “You had a bruise here,” he said, touching the same spot with the pad of his thumb. “The same exact shape as my thumb.” “Oh.” I remembered his hands on my throat, the anger rushing over his face as he accused me of conspiring with Virginia to steal the babies from him. “It was an accident.” “No. It was intentional. I was so angry…” His eyes darkened as he studied my face. “And then you went into labor, and you were in so much pain. I was so ashamed of myself that I couldn’t hardly look at you. And when I did, all I saw was that bruise.” I pressed my palm against his face. He pulled back, that shame still swirling in his eyes. “You didn’t cause me to go into labor, Nico,” I said softly. “It probably would have happened anyway. It was just bad timing.” “How do you know that?” “Because I’d been having the back pain all morning. I just didn’t know what it was.” “I could have hurt you.” “But you didn’t.” “Why are you here?” he asked softly. “I keep expecting to wake up in the morning and find you gone.” “Why would I do that?” “Because people think I killed my wife. Because I turned on you—quite viciously—when I thought you were conspiring to keep my children from me. Because I’m an asshole who forced you to come to LA against your will.” “First, you didn’t kill your wife. Second, you didn’t hurt me. If you think a couple of bruises—” “Come on, Ana. It was more than that.” I rolled toward him and pressed my hand to his chest, the feel of his heartbeat underneath reassuring something inside of me. “You have a temper, but you’re aware of it, and now you can do something about it.” He groaned. “Self-help programs don’t work for me. I thought they did, but they don’t.”

“But things have changed now.” “Yeah. I have more to risk now.” Nicolas pulled away from me and climbed out of the bed. He snatched his pants up off of the floor and headed to the door. “Is that what you’re going to do every time something tough happens? Run away?” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Because, if it is, you’re going to miss a hell of a lot when it comes to those babies.” He stood there for a long minute. My heart was pounding as I wondered what he was going to do or say next. Then, he slowly turned and looked at me. “What do you want me to do, Ana?” “I want you to stay here, to tell me what this is, what we’re doing here. I want to know why you keep shutting me out, pretending that I don’t matter to you when it’s pretty clear that I must matter a little bit. I mean, come on, Nico, why am I still here if I don’t matter to you? You could hire some wet nurse or something.” “They don’t have wet nurses anymore.” There was amusement in his voice. I wasn’t sure how I should feel about that. I was laying my heart out on the table—or mattress—to him, and he was joking around. “You know what I mean.” He inclined his head slightly. “I do. But the thing is, it’s a little more complicated than all that.” “What’s complicated about it? Either you want me here, or you don’t.” His eyes darkened as he thought about that. And that made me feel suddenly vulnerable. Not just literally naked, as I was, but emotionally, too. I didn’t like it. I climbed off the bed and slipped my boy shorts back on, then lifted the tangled sheets and looked for my t-shirt. Nicolas came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was deeper, rougher. And his hands, where they held my wrists, were shaking just a little.

“I don’t want to have this conversation naked.” He turned me around and forced me to look at him. “I want you here,” he said, his gaze never wavering from mine. “I’ve wanted you here since the first time I set eyes on you. But I was afraid. I made a mistake with Aurora. I thought she was the one, my soulmate or some such nonsense. But all she wanted was my money and my name. She didn’t give a damn about me.” He tugged me closer against him, his face only a breath from mine. “Then I met you and she introduced you as our surrogate and I just…I wanted to be near you. I wanted to talk to you; I wanted to know everything about you. I had you investigated, and I poured over the file for hours, memorizing everything about you. I was obsessed and my sponsor—” “Sponsor?” “He told me I was exchanging one addiction for another. Alcohol and women. Those had always been my drugs of choice. And then I kissed you, and you stood up to me, and that just made it so much worse.” “Nico, I don’t understand.” He kissed my neck almost roughly, his teeth scraping against my skin. “And then you ran away, just disappeared. I didn’t understand why you would give me back all that money and just disappear like that. And when I found out you were pregnant, I thought, all you wanted was the baby because then you could go to the press and the tabloids would pay you so much more than the contract we had offered you. I thought you were just like Aurora, out to get whatever you could.” He kissed me again as my mind whirled, trying to figure out what I’d done to make him think those things. I left, yes, but it was never my intention to do anything to hurt him. Why would he think…but, of course, that was what people did to a man like Nicolas. They took what they could from him and rarely gave anything back. “I would never intentionally hurt you.” “I know that now,” he whispered against my throat. “How could you go through what you did and have those kinds of thoughts in the back of your mind? You could have died the night the babies were born. You were bleeding so badly…” His voice shook as he said it. “And then, when you woke, the only

thing you wanted to know was how the babies were. You never asked about yourself, never complained about the pain, never asked for sympathy. All you wanted was to know how the babies were. And that’s when I realized that they were always your priority. That everything you’ve done, everything that’s happened, you did it all for them.” “For you.” He groaned, his mouth sliding over my jaw, searching for my lips. “How could I have ever doubted you? How could I imagine you could be like the rest of them?” He kissed me deeply, tugging me so close that it felt as though he was trying to merge our bodies the way our souls had already mingled with every touch. He lowered me carefully to the bed, his mouth moving from mine to my throat, my breasts, to the very top of my rounded belly. He tugged at my shorts, pulling them from my body again, his mouth exploring every inch of flesh between my navel and my thighs. And then he found my clit, his tongue teasing it just before his teeth emerged, drawing it into his mouth so he could suck at it. I arched my back, the pleasure that rushed through my body pushing me so close to that cliff that I thought for a moment that he would push me over with just that one touch. But then he released my clit and moved lower, his tongue tasting the flavors of our earlier rendezvous. I couldn’t stand it. I reached for him and tugged at his hair, pulling him back up the length of my body. He came quite willingly, his hands exploring my thighs, my ribs, my overflowing breasts. And then he was inside of me and we were rocking together in a rhythm that was ours. I pulled at his ass, drew him closer, deeper, my mind a kaleidoscope of pleasure that seemed never-ending. He moaned like I’d never heard him do before, his voice growing hoarse as we sailed toward ecstasy together. He swelled, his orgasm so intense that I could almost feel every twitch of his amazing cock. And that set off my moment, sending waves of intensity from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. “I love you,” I whispered against his ear as the waves settled and our breathing slowly returned to normal. “I’ve always loved you.”

Chapter 30 I couldn’t imagine life getting any better. Vivienne took to the breast like a champ. Even though she was still so tiny—barely five pounds— and she still had to wear an oxygen cannula most of the time and there was a monitor that alarmed if she stopped breathing while she was sleeping—she was allowed to come home a month after she was born. The nurses said her progress was phenomenal. They credited it to Nicolas and my daily visits. I thought, however, that it had more to do with her own fighting spirit and my mom, watching from heaven. I loved having her home. It was so much work, keeping up with two newborns. But Nicolas was there most of the time. His last project wrapped while I was in the hospital and he had yet to commit to another. And, with his legal troubles behind him—except, of course, Virginia’s suit for custody—he had no reason to be anywhere but here. Constance was helpful, too, answering questions I should have been able to ask of my own mother and providing extra hands when necessary. And then there was Adam. He was surprisingly gentle with the babies despite his outward appearance. Another clear example of the whole you can’t tell a book by its cover. Virginia was granted visitation rights by the court, but she had, thus far, failed to show up. But a week after Vivienne came home, she called Nicolas’ lawyer and insisted she be allowed to see them at home. “She doesn’t like hospitals,” Nicolas said. “Even for her grandchildren?” Nicolas didn’t answer, but his body language made it clear that he felt as outraged as I did. These babies might have come from Aurora’s eggs, but I carried them, I suffered through months in the hospital for them, and I was the one taking care of them, nursing them in the middle of the night, and worrying over every little sound. I was their mother. And I was mortified that a woman who claimed to be so concerned

for their welfare would refuse to see them at their sickest but wanted to see them now that they were well and thriving. But, Virginia was their grandmother. And, since both my mother and Nicolas’ was dead, she as their only grandmother. “We have to let her come.” Nicolas nodded. “But only for an hour. That’s all that’s required by the court.” I nodded. “Only an hour.” Vivienne was awake before the appointed hour. I was sitting out on the back porch with her, rocking her on a loveseat-style rocker in the shade. She’d already eaten and didn’t seem discontent. She just liked to be awake, to stare at the world around her. I had no quarrel with that. I loved to hold her as much as possible. It would never make up for the two weeks after her birth that we couldn’t hold her, but it helped ease the memory. I studied her little face, my finger catching curls in her fine, dark hair. She looked like Nicolas more and more every day, but there were other things about her that seemed so familiar. The slight upturn of her nose. The bow shape of her lips. The tiny dimple in her cheek. Her eyes were dark, as was her hair. But they say the hair falls out after the first few months of life and regrows in the color it would be as she aged. It was possible she might have lighter hair like Aurora. That she might have a wider jaw like Aurora. But right now…was it stupid of me to think she looked like I did at her age? “They’re here,” Adam said, appearing out of nowhere, as he sometimes had the habit of doing, his step purposeful as he headed toward the back doors. “Should I come inside?” “Stay there for now. I’ll come get you when Nicolas is ready.” I watched him go then turned my attention back to Vivienne. She made a funny little sound, and her eyes began to droop. Time for her nap. I pulled at the cannula in her nose, adjusting it a little. The tubing ran under her head to a canister propped up beside the rocker. It was flowing well, I could feel it against my fingers. And she was breathing smoothly, a positive sign. She had a doctor’s appointment next week. Hopefully they would reduce the amount of time she had to be on oxygen then.

“Ana?” I looked up and smiled as Daniel poked his head out the back door closest to us. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming.” “Virginia doesn’t drive much these days, so I drove.” “How’s it going? Is Nicolas being nice?” “Extremely polite. I think if he says please or thank you again, his head might explode.” “It’s an awkward situation.” “Yeah.” Daniel stepped outside and came around so he could see Vivienne. “She’s beautiful,” he said as he reached down to brush her cheek. Vivienne made a soft sound, but then she snuggled back down and fell into a deep sleep. I looked up and caught a small frown crossing Daniel’s face, but then he caught my glance and smiled. “I was wondering,” he said, “you wouldn’t happen to know where Kelly is right now, would you?” “I think she’s on her way to Kenya, but I’m not sure. Why?” He shrugged. “She might not have mentioned it to you, but we had coffee together that day after we left your hospital room. It was…quite nice, actually. I thought we hit it off. But every time I text her, she’s either too busy to talk, or she doesn’t answer.” “The curse of the flight attendant. She doesn’t always have service everywhere she goes.” Daniel nodded, a touch of relief crossing his face. “She’s supposed to be in LA again next week. She promised to stop by and see the twins.” “Yeah?” I smiled, unable to ignore the eagerness in his expression. “Yeah. I’ll let you know what day, if you’d like. Maybe you could come by and talk to her in person?” “That would be fantastic.” “But you should know, Kelly’s had a few bad breakups over the last year or two. She’s a little weary about guys right now.”

Daniel nodded. “She told me about the sex fast.” “Oh, well, you must have really hit it off if she told you about that.” Again, his smile was irresistible. “Ana,” Nicolas said from just inside the living room, “could you come inside?” I glanced at him, instantly recognizing the tight expression on his face. It made my smile disappear as I carefully shifted the baby to my shoulder and gathered her oxygen canister, careful not to twist the lines. Daniel followed, his hand brushing the small of my back until he caught Nicolas’ expression and stepped aside, giving me a wide berth. Virginia was on the couch gazing at Cole in his little infant seat. There was a slight frown on her face as she studied him. “Hello, Mrs. Davis,” I said as I slowly approached. She looked up and did something of a double take when she saw the oxygen canister in my hand. “What is that? I thought both babies received a clean bill of health when they left the hospital?” “Vivienne’s lungs weren’t fully developed when she was born because of the lack of amniotic fluid. She just needs a little extra oxygen is all.” I settled down on the couch beside her and moved Vivienne so that I could easily pass her over. But Virginia raised her hands in refusal. “I don’t want to hold her with all those wires and things.” I glanced at Nicolas. He offered a slight shrug, but I could also see relief in his eyes. “Virgi,” Daniel said, “she’s your granddaughter.” Virginia didn’t acknowledge Daniel. Instead, she flicked the thin receiving blanket away from Vivienne’s face so she could see her clearly. A frown, like the one she’d had on her face when she was staring at Cole, crossed her face. Then she sighed and pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you for allowing this visit. We’ll get out of your way now.” “You’re allowed a full hour,” Nicolas said. “Yes, well, I saw what I wanted to see.” She marched toward the door, making it quite clear that she meant what she said. Daniel shot me

an apologetic glance then turned to Nicolas. “Thank you,” he said politely. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch in a few days.” Nicolas didn’t say anything in return, but he nodded just as politely. As soon as we heard the front door close, Nicolas spun on me. “How do you know Daniel?” “I met him at Virginia’s.” “That—” He gestured toward the back porch—“didn’t look like a casual acquaintanceship.” “He came to see me in the hospital. He wanted to apologize for Virginia. He didn’t think she should be suing for custody and he was trying to talk her out of it.” Nicolas frowned, his eyes searching mine. “And?” “And…he’s a nice guy. And he hit it off with Kelly.” “Kelly? Your best friend, Kelly?” “Yeah. She had a layover at LAX right before the babies were born, and they happened to visit on the same day.” “So he came to see you more than once?” “Twice. I would have told you, but you weren’t exactly talking to me at the time, and then I went into labor, so it kind of slipped my mind.” Nicolas turned away, his eyes moving to the bar in the corner of the room. But then Cole made a noise and he turned back, his gaze moving over Cole and me and Vivienne. It was like someone had punctured his balloon with a tiny pin. The anger just slowly seeped out of him, and he came over to sit on the couch next to me. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. I leaned into him. “Never be sorry for caring.”

Chapter 31 In one of those rare moments when both babies were sleeping, I wandered into the kitchen to talk to Constance. It felt like we hadn’t talked to each other in weeks about anything other than the babies. “You should be sleeping,” she said the moment she saw me. “A mother should sleep when her babies are sleeping.” “Yeah, well, I feel like I’m either sleeping or nursing twenty-four hours a day. I wanted to do something different for once.” “I don’t know about that. You don’t seem to sleep much at night.” She winked at me. “I change the sheets on the beds in this house, remember?” I blushed. I’d spent every night with Nicolas for the last month or so, since that night he found me in the nursery alone with Cole. We hadn’t officially moved my things into his room, but they were migrating there, a stitch of clothing and a toothbrush at a time. I’d thought it was our little secret, but I forgot how much the housekeepers and maids and other household staff tended to see in a typical home. “You don’t approve,” I said. Constance shrugged. “It’s not mine to approve or disapprove, mija.” “Actually, it is. You’re the closest thing I have to family now that mi mami is gone.” Constance just nodded, dropping her eyes to the task at hand. She was washing dishes left over from breakfast while watching over the tamales she was steaming for lunch. The kitchen smelled like my childhood, so filled with Mexican spices that I wanted curl up there and live in the memories it conjured. I missed my mom. “You don’t approve.” “I worry, mija.” “Why?” She glanced at me. “There are things you don’t know about Nicolas Costa.”

A blush burned my cheeks. “I don’t think we have as many secrets as you think.” Constance made a face. “I don’t talk about sex.” “We do other things, Constance. We talk.” “About his past?” “I know about this mother.” “Yes, because Adam told you.” I settled down on one of the low chairs set around the kitchen table, pulling my legs up underneath me. “Nicolas would have told me,” I said, watching her turn back to the dishes, a snort the only response to my comment. “He would have,” I added, a little wiggle of doubt waking up in the back of my mind. “He is not as perfect as he seems, and I blame myself for your assumption that he is. If I hadn’t told all those stories in front of you, maybe you wouldn’t be in this position now.” “My choices have nothing to do with your stories.” “Don’t they? Didn’t you volunteer to be their surrogate because of me?” “I agreed because mami needed expensive medical treatment, and I needed her to be okay.” Constance crossed herself as she turned back to face me again. “Your mother would feel very guilty if she was still here.” “Everything turned out alright. Nicolas is a good man, and we’re going to raise the babies together.” “Are you? What happens if that woman gets custody?” “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.” “Do you think he’ll want you around then? A reminder of what he’s lost?” Fear sliced through me. Did I know what he would do? Was our relationship solid enough to survive that? Was I strong enough? “You said he was a good man, that he was generous with his staff, that he didn’t act like the other rich people you’d worked for. You told us stories about the parties he threw here and the people who came by and the things he did. How could you be so kind to him in your stories, but so afraid of a relationship between us?”

Constance grabbed a hand towel and wiped her hands as she walked to the table and took a seat across from me. “I was entertaining my friend and her young daughter. It never occurred to me that you would grow up and fall in love with him.” I crossed my arms over my chest and studied her as she studied me. “What do you know that you think I don’t?” Constance glanced over her shoulder as though she was afraid Nicolas might walk in on us. Then she focused on me again. “He has a drinking problem, mija. It wasn’t bad when I first came to work here. I would come in sometimes and find him sleeping on the couch, an empty bottle of bourbon next to him. Just, once or twice a month. Then it was once a week. Then several times a week. And then there were the parties, the girls, all of it alcohol fueled. I overheard arguments between him and Adam—that’s how I found out about his mother. Adam compared his drinking to his mother’s addiction and Nicolas threatened to fire him.” Constance reached over and took my hand. “It got worse and worse, until one day I came to work and found an ambulance outside. Adam found him passed out in a puddle of vomit. He breathed it in and was in the hospital for a week, fighting pneumonia because of it.” I felt the color drain from my face as she talked. I remembered coming back here after Nicolas’ arrest, finding him drinking glass after glass of bourbon. He was so drunk he almost couldn’t stand up as I maneuvered him into the shower. But then…he drank a lot, but it didn’t seem to faze him for long. “He doesn’t drink.” Constance nodded. “He went into rehab after the pneumonia. It was all very hush-hush. I wasn’t even sure that was what had happened until he came back and I found the sobriety chips on his dresser one morning.” She squeezed my hand. “Things changed after that. No more parties, no more women. He took on more projects, worked longer hours. And then he came home with Aurora.” “She was the first woman he was with after rehab?” “As far as I know,” Constance said. “And he was so in love with her. She looked at him and there were dollar signs in her eyes. She never really loved him.” “You knew that?”

“Oh, yes.” Constance sat back, pulling her hands from mine. “There is very little a person can hide from their housekeeper. I knew what was going on in that marriage. Aurora was a cheating little puta.” She spit on the floor and then rubbed the spittle away with her foot. “There were men coming and going in this house all the time while Mr. Nicolas was out. But, still, he loved her.” “I don’t understand,” I said, sitting back in my chair. “What you’re saying, he sounds like a good man who chose the wrong woman. Why would you object to me and him together?” “Because he stopped being a good man, mija. He got sober, and he couldn’t hide his emotions in alcohol, so he started indulging them. The fights they had—sometimes I expected to come into work the next day and find her murdered and him on his way to jail.” “He was violent?” “Very violent.” Constance gestured to her wrists. “Some mornings, Miss Aurora would come downstairs to breakfast and she would have these horrible bruises on her wrists. Once or twice, there were bruises on her throat. If she’d lifted her shirt, I’m sure there would have been bruises there, too.” I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.” “I saw it with my own eyes, mija.” I stood up, still shaking my head. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. I knew he was sober; I knew he attended meetings, even up to the time I was meeting with Aurora at the beginning of our surrogacy contract. She mentioned it once or twice; I was just too dumb to realize what she meant. She told me he was out with his friend Bill—Bill W., one of the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous. She told me she thought it was ridiculous. I should have seen…I mean, I knew he had a temper, but I couldn’t make myself believe he was capable of beating his wife. “He didn’t hurt her. And he definitely didn’t kill her.” Constance shrugged. “Believe what you want to believe, mija. I just want you to have all the information before you go running into this thing. I know you love those babies, but you—” She stood and came to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “Your mother was always more than mi amiga. Ella era mi hermana. I can’t just stand here and watch you make a mistake without putting my nose in it.”

I nodded, aware that she was doing this because she thought she was looking out for me, but I still couldn’t make myself believe Nicolas was capable of this kind of thing. “Why did you take those drugs I found in his bathroom away if you thought he was guilty? You could have told the police.” “And risk it coming back to hurt you? I couldn’t do that.” “Then you think he’s capable of murder.” “I think a man who loves that deeply is capable of many things when the woman he loves does not love him back.” She touched my cheek. “Please, think about what I’ve told you. Don’t let yourself become someone your mother would not be proud of.” I kissed her cheek lightly. “You’re wrong. And you will see that someday soon.”

Chapter 32 I went to settle in the living room, the baby monitor in my hand, thinking I’d do a little reading while the babies continued to sleep. But then I realized that the book I’d been reading in the hospital—the book I hadn’t had a chance to even pick up since the babies were born—was upstairs in my bedroom. I climbed the stairs, wondering if that counted as exercise, humming a song I’d heard early that morning on the radio under my breath. It was something about loving the same person until each was old and thinking out loud or something…I couldn’t remember all the words, so I was murdering the lyrics as I pushed through the bedroom door and came up short. Nicolas was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bag of drugs in his hands. “What’s this?” he asked. “Why are you in here?” “It’s my house.” He got up and came toward me, the bag extended between two fingers. “Why is this in here?” His voice was low, steady, but there was anger dancing in his eyes. He looked at me the same way he did on Thanksgiving Day, the same way he looked at me just seconds before he grabbed me around my throat. “I found it. I didn’t know what to do with it.” “Where did you find it?” I backed up a little, Constance’s words, so recently uttered, dancing through my mind. …bruises…on her wrists, her throat…if she’d lifted her shirt… “Did you hit her?” I asked before I even realized the words were on my tongue. That shocked Nicolas into stopping his forward progression. He stared at me, anger turning into confusion. “Did I hit who?”

“Aurora.” “What?” He stared at me, disbelief in every line of his handsome face. “Why would you ask me that?” “Constance saw bruises. She thinks…” I stopped, my eyes falling to the bag of drugs. Xanax. The same drug that killed Aurora. Did she take them willingly? Or did someone force her into it? “Constance thinks I beat Aurora?” There was genuine hurt in his voice. He stared at me and then something clicked. He opened his mouth, a sound like someone might make if they’d been punched in the gut slipping from between his perfect lips. He stared at me for a long time, his gaze unwavering, but the emotion rushing through them ever-changing. He turned away, balling up the bag of drugs and throwing them against the far wall. The bag hit with nothing more than a slight tap, falling to the floor undamaged. “Do you believe her?” “I don’t want to, but there are so many secrets between us still that I don’t know what to believe.” He nodded, his shoulders drooping as though a heavy weight were resting on them. “Then I guess it’s time we fix that.” He gestured for me to join him on the small couch pushed into a corner of the room, him on one end and me on the other. And then he just started talking. He told me about his mother, of the horrible things she made him do when she needed a fix and didn’t have the money to get it. The long days and nights she abandoned him on his own when he wasn’t even tall enough to see over the top of the stove. The things he heard and saw her do to survive. He told me about coming to Los Angeles on his own, only sixteen and with less than a hundred bucks to his name. He told me how he talked his way into a job on one of the studio lots, lying about his name, his age, and his experience. He told me how he convinced the studio to back an unknown director on a loser project that was bound to lose more money than it would cost to make it. And how he became a golden child over night

when the project became a sleeper hit. He told me about the women, the drugs, and the will it took for him to resist falling prey to his mother’s disease. “I didn’t think alcohol was that big of a deal,” he said. “My mother’s drug of choice was heroin. I thought, as long as I stayed away from the hard stuff—heroin, cocaine, meth—I would be okay. It never occurred to me that something as innocuous and common as alcohol could be my downfall. Even when Adam told me I was making a fool of myself, when he warned me that I was walking down the same path we’d barely escaped, I didn’t see it.” I looked at me with honesty so painful I could hardly stand to look at it in his eyes. “I thought I could conquer everything. But alcohol got the better of me. So I went to rehab, got sober, and did everything I was supposed to do. I did it all right. And when I was sober, I was ready to have everything they promised you. I was ready for the beautiful wife, the perfect children, and the American dream. I had the money, the dream job. I wanted the rest. “That’s when I met Aurora.” I reached over and touched his knee. He took my hand between both of his. “I thought I loved her. She was the first woman I dated after rehab. I told her everything: my childhood, my drinking problem, my dreams for the future. And she swore she was right there with me, ready to settle down and have a good life together. I thought, hell, I’d made it through. I was that rare survivor of drug addiction. I was going to have everything my mother pissed away with her addiction.” He laughed as he thought about it, a bitter laugh that chilled me down to my soul. “All I did was marry my mother. I just jumped right back into the deep end of that shit hole.” He lifted my hand and kissed the palm lightly. “At first, it was little things. Comments she made, texts on her phone, weird looks from other men at parties. And the rumors. There were a lot of rumors, but I was so blind. I ignored them. Put it down to jealousy. And then, less than six months after the wedding, I caught her with that hors d’oeuvres plate, her cocaine lined out on it in perfect stripes. When I asked how she could do it to me, how she could do drugs in my house after everything I’d told her about my mother, you know what she said?”

I shook my head, but I could imagine. “She told me I should get off my high horse. I’d be a better person if I did it too. And then she laughed.” “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I called my lawyer right then and there, tried to file for divorce. But she told me if I went through with it, she would OD and I’d have to explain that to the press.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, exhaustion clear in his eyes. “I put up with it for two years, and she seemed to think she’d won some war between us because her behavior grew increasingly worse. She had open affairs. She showed up late to important dinners and parties, usually stoned out of her mind. She picked fights with me on the sets of my movies.” He shook his head. “She took every opportunity she could find to embarrass me until I had enough. I filed for divorce and she kept to her word. She OD’d on cocaine downstairs in my office. Adam found her passed out on top of the paperwork my attorney sent.” “Oh, wow…” Nicolas nodded. “So I couldn’t divorce her. I couldn’t do anything. She was unstable. So I stayed and tried to make it work. She moved into the guest room down the hall, continued to have her boyfriends over, continued to do whatever the hell she wanted to do. I managed to keep most of it under wraps, thanks to my loyal friends and staff. But, I guess, that turned out to be a mistake, too, because the public had no clue how bad things were when she died.” He ran his hand over my palm. “She would attack me. She’d come at me with her claws out, trying to tear out my eyes for some perceived slight. It could be almost anything that set her off. I wasn’t home on time. I gave an interview she didn’t know about. I didn’t tell her that her mother called. It didn’t matter. And she would attack me, and I would grab her wrists to hold her off.” “And leave bruises.” He looked at me, his eyes sliding to my throat. “I tried not to hurt her, but sometimes I had no choice.” I slid closer to him, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. “And the night she died?”

He stiffened a little, but his hands came around me and the tension slowly left his body. “I went to ask her for a divorce.” He kissed the top of my head. “I kissed you that night, and I realized that I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I had to get out. But she was belligerent, as usual. Told me she’d agreed to the surrogacy to keep me happy. That she was giving me a family just like I’d wanted when we got married. The least I could do was continue to play along. She said if I waited until the baby was born, she’d consider giving me a divorce then. But if I left before she was ready, she’d make sure I never saw the kid.” I nodded, almost aware of what he was going to say before the words were out of his mouth. It all made so much sense. Aurora needed Nicolas. She needed his name and his money to be someone in Hollywood. She had a few movies under her belt when she met him, but she never would have become the starlet she was if she hadn’t married him. It was his star that made hers shine brighter. She knew she couldn’t lose that if she had any hope of taking her career any further. So she used everything she could to keep him under control. His sense of decency, his kindness, and his desire for a family. No wonder she’d been so excited about the babies. She knew how he would respond to any threat against his child. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” “For what?” He took my face in his hands and lifted it so he could see me. “What do you have to be sorry for?” “For doubting you, even briefly. I knew this couldn’t be true, that you would never—” He kissed me, cutting off my words. I moved closer to him, grateful he wasn’t angry with me, that he didn’t just get up and walk away from me. Grateful that we might have a chance to survive all of this. Grateful that Aurora’s schemes and deceit had brought us together. “I love you,” he whispered against my lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all of this before.” “The pills—” “No,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me.” “They’re not mine. I thought they were yours.” He pulled back. “What do you mean?”

“They were in your bathroom, in the false bottom of a drawer.” He cursed, using words I don’t think I’d ever heard in English before. I’d heard them all my life in Spanish on the lips of the laborers who lived in our neighborhood, but never in English. “They’re Aurora’s, aren’t they?” He nodded. “She hid drugs all over the house. I hunted for them constantly, throwing them out whenever I found them. But I never thought to look in the bathroom.” “I hid them. I was afraid someone would think they were the ones used to kill her.” He groaned, running his hand over the top of my head. “I’m sorry you were in that position.” “I’d do anything to protect you.” “I know.” He kissed me again. And then he was reaching into his pocket and sliding to the floor. I must have paled because he hesitated, his hand reaching up to caress my cheek. “I wanted to do this at a more romantic time, but there never seems to be time for anything with the babies.” He opened his palm and a small, but perfect diamond solitaire on a gold band sparkled in the lamp light. “I looked at all these huge, ostentatious rings, and then I saw this one. And I knew it was perfect for you.” I pressed a hand to my mouth. “Oh, Nico…” “Marry me. Be my wife. Be a mother to our children. Help me build our unique version of the American dream.” I just laughed through my tears, as I fell into his arms.

Chapter 33 “We’re just going to take a few cells from the inside of their cheeks,” the medical technician explained as she approached Vivienne with a swab in her hand. “It won’t hurt her.” I glanced at Nicolas. He nodded, a muscle in his jaw popping as he watched. Vivienne whimpered as the technician pressed the swab into her mouth, but she didn’t wake up. And then it was Cole’s turn. He wasn’t as cooperative, turning his face and screaming when the technician touched him. But in less than a minute, we were done. “Why?” I asked for the millionth time, as we slid the babies into their car seats under Adam’s protective glare. “I don’t know,” Nicolas said. “She just told the judge that she thought a DNA test proving the babies are Aurora’s was in order.” “But no one has ever denied that they’re Aurora’s.” Nicolas moved up behind me and slid his arms around me. “Let’s just be grateful that this is delaying the custody hearing. The last thing we need the weekend of our wedding is to get bogged down in some ridiculous legal case.” I turned in his arms and kissed him. “We’re really getting married in two days?” “We really are.” I pressed myself up against him and raised my face for a second kiss, but then Adam was pushing us into the SUV as a chorus of shouts surrounded us. The paparazzi had found us. They’d been relentless since the news got out. It was unrealistic to think that the press wouldn’t find out about the babies. But Nicolas’ staff—who consisted of a pretty impressive PR lady—managed to keep it all under wraps with sealed court records and protected medical records until someone in the NICU sold our story to a tabloid for ten thousand dollars. If, whoever it was, had just told Nicolas they

needed money, he probably would have paid five times that to keep the story quiet a little longer. But that person didn’t, so now the press knew about the babies, about me, about the whole story—at least, the parts they’d bothered to learn about. The rest they just kind of made up. For that reason, when Nicolas arranged for us to get a marriage license, he didn’t do anything to keep it from the press. It was leaked within twelve hours, and the paparazzi had been relentless ever since, dying to find out when and where the happy day would take place. And then, of course, there was the whole custody thing with Virginia. Once the press found out about the babies, it didn’t take much for them to find the custody battle that was waging between Virginia and Nicolas. The case was supposed to go in front of the judge today but, instead, the court sent us to the hospital to have the babies DNA tested. It made little sense to me. I adjusted Vivienne’s cannula, smiling when she peeked at me from beneath long, dark lashes. I tried to imagine what Aurora looked like as a baby, but I couldn’t. She was a beautiful blonde with striking blue eyes and a perfectly square face. But both babies had round faces, dark eyes and hair. And their hair wasn’t falling out like I had assumed it would. There was nothing of their mother in their faces. But, there was enough of Nicolas to make that understandable. So why did this little spark of hope insist on sitting deep in my belly? *** Saturday dawned sunny and perfect. It was supposed to be warm for a California spring day. I crawled out of bed and peeked in on the babies, pleased to find them both sleeping peacefully. Then, I crawled into the shower, unable to believe that by this time tomorrow, I was going to be Mrs. Nicolas Costa. Today was our wedding day. The backyard was decked out with streamers, a lovely arch, and dozens of chairs for our dozens of expected guests. Nicolas wanted to keep the affair intimate, so he only invited two hundred of his closest friends and colleagues. I, of course, only invited Constance and Kelly. Constance’s family,

however, would fill out at least fifty of those chairs, and Kelly would be standing up with me, so she didn’t need a chair. But her date—whomever that would be—would. I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a fluffy towel, thinking about Nicolas doing the same thing down the hall. I so wanted to go down there and see him, to crawl into his arms and never leave them again. Just a few more hours, I reminded myself. Very soon I would have the legal right to never sleep in a bed alone, to never leave him alone, and to never be without him again. I couldn’t wait. Kelly was waiting for me in the bedroom when I stepped out. She giggled when she saw me. “I can’t believe you’re getting married! When all this started, I thought I needed to have you committed. But now…” “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” She lifted my dress off of the hook on the back of the closet door and danced around with it. “Getting married. Who’d believe it?” We fell onto the bed in a gale of giggles and reminisced about days gone by, high school and college, all the things we regretted and all the things we wished we could do again. “Guess what?” she finally asked. “What?” “I think I might be getting serious about someone.” I looked at her, surprised by the lack of amusement in her voice. In fact, rather than amusement, there was something like amazement lacing her words. That’s how I knew just how genuine she was. “Who?” She looked at me for a long minute. “Don’t get mad when I tell you.” “I won’t.” She bit her lip for a long second and then spit it out on one, long breath. “Daniel Davis.” I gasped and then laughed, as I threw my arms around her. “That’s great, Kelly.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah. He’s a great guy.” “But he’s Virginia’s stepson.” “Yes. But he’s not her.” Kelly nodded. “He really is a good guy, Ana. And he treats me like I’m a queen. And, you know what else?” “What?” “We haven’t had sex yet.” That was the real shocker. Kelly once had sex with a guy within ten minutes of meeting him. It wasn’t her usual behavior, but it wasn’t that far off, either. For her to not have sex with Daniel was a really big deal. I was quite impressed. “It must be love.” She laughed. “It just might be.” *** I stood in front of a full length mirror in my wedding dress. It was a mermaid style that hugged all my curves with less than subtle ruffles flowing down the back. Kelly stood back and shook her head. “If I didn’t know you’d just had twins three months ago, I would never guess it.” I touched my belly, grateful for the stairs and the pacing with fussy babies that took the place of the treadmill these past few months. And for Nicolas. I could hear his voice in the back of my mind as my eyes found just the subtlest imperfections in my appearance: How can I dislike the body that made my children? This body made two perfect babies. It might not have been my eggs, but it was my uterus and my breasts that nourished them. I couldn’t find fault with that. Someone tapped on the door. I glanced at the clock. “We still have ten minutes.” “I’ll see who it is,” Kelly said. A second later, she was standing at the partially open door explaining that, “The bride isn’t

supposed to see the groom before the ceremony. It’s bad luck.” “Just give her this,” Nicolas’ voice said. Kelly walked over to me a second later, a worried look on her face. She held up a plain envelope. “From Nicolas.” An irrational fear burst through me, turning my vision dark for a second. But then I remembered that this was Nicolas, not some flighty douche bag I might have dated in college. I grabbed the envelope out of her hand and pulled out the thin piece of paper inside. “It’s the DNA test results,” I said. “Already?” Kelly asked, already up-to-date on everything because, well, she was my best friend. Nothing happened in my world that I didn’t text her about. “What does it say?” I shook my head as I read over the sheet of paper. “I don’t know. I think it says that the babies are Aurora’s. But we knew that.” Kelly moved up beside me and read the paper over my shoulder. “No,” she said, gesturing at a column at the top of the page. “It says that Aurora Parker is not the mother.” Sure enough, those words were typed at the top of the page. And next to that it said that a second DNA sample was a perfect match. “I don’t understand. I thought they were only testing Aurora’s DNA against the babies.” “Who else would they test?” Kelly asked. I shrugged. I had no idea. “How could they not be Aurora’s? She told me about the process, how much it hurt when they extracted the eggs from her fallopian tubes.” Kelly shook her head. “This says she’s not related to the babies.” “But it’s not possible.” I went to the door and wrenched it open. Virginia was standing there, an uncharacteristically anxious look on her face. “When you came to my house, I told you I knew who my daughter was. Nothing she did or said ever surprised me.” She studied me for a long minute. “But, the first time I saw those perfect babies, I

knew Aurora had finally stooped to a new low. Low enough that she surprised even me.” She took me in, standing there in my wedding dress. “You were just trying to protect Nicolas, and I was hurting so much that I wanted to punish everyone but myself for the child I raised and lost. But I think it’s time I finally accept who Aurora was and stop hurting people she already crushed.” “Mrs. Davis,” I began, not sure where I was going with my words. However, she stopped me, placing a hand on my arm. “Aurora set you up. She never intended to be a mother to those beautiful babies. She was going to use them to ruin Nicolas, and to hurt you in the process, an innocent young woman who only wanted to help her mother.” Virginia looked away, tears of shame filling her eyes. “She never donated eggs. Those babies…they’re yours, child.” I shook my head. “There were embryos. Aurora and Nicolas were there when they implanted them…” “No, child. My attorneys spoke to the doctor in question. He admitted that he didn’t do anything he told you he was doing. He simply put you on a course of fertility drugs and then introduced Nicolas’ sperm to your system. You got pregnant quite naturally—if a little clinically. And those DNA tests prove it.” I shook my head, but she wasn’t finished. “I arranged for a test on blood leftover from tests you submitted to when you first agreed to this process. The tests are undeniable.” “They’re mine?” “They’re yours.” She smiled softly at the wonder on my face. “Congratulations. They’re perfect.” She turned and began to walk down the hall. “Mrs. Davis?” She paused then turned to look at me. “My mom is gone,” I said softly, “and Nicolas’ mom is gone, too. Those babies could really use a grandmother.” She stared at me like she couldn’t quite believe what I was saying. And then she smiled, the first

smile I’d seen that actually touched her eyes. “I’d be honored.” *** Nicolas and I spoke our vows fifteen minutes later, Vivienne asleep in my arms and Cole nestled restlessly in Kelly’s. They woke and wanted to be a part of the ceremony, and we couldn’t say no. Nicolas brushed a piece of hair out of my face as he bent to kiss me. “I love you,” he whispered, “Mrs. Costa.” Tears filled my eyes as I stared at him. All the choices I’d made these past few months flowing through my mind. If mi mami hadn’t gotten sick, if I hadn’t volunteered to be Aurora’s surrogate, if I hadn’t opened that door on that hot Texas summer night…. Thank God for random choice. ~ End ~

Beauty and the Billionaire

Chapter 1 The world swung and tipped in a way that felt both fun and scary as I swirled the last of the beer in the bottle, the glass clinking heavily against my teeth. A burst of laughter made me turn slowly, ponderously, to see just what was so funny. Was it me? Was it the bottle against my teeth? Even as I could still taste the crisp carbonation of the beverage in my mouth, I wanted another. I felt like I could drink all night. It made it easy to forget about how stupid my parents had been. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with a cold beer—especially when I was enjoying it in the company of good friends. “I’m gonna slap that look off your face if I see it again,” Caro warned me, shaking her finger so vigorously it made me a little dizzy to try and follow it. “What look?” I asked, belligerent. I knew exactly what look she meant. It was the look that knitted my features together when I thought about things that pissed me off. Tonight’s subject was definitely my parents denying me the right to attend the very party I found myself so drunk at. “That one,” she insisted, poking me hard enough on the nose that I felt the cartilage pop. “And if you don’t stop it right this minute, Amanda Beauty Hart, I’ll tell your parents myself what a party pooper you are.” “Stop!” I hissed, glancing quickly around, trying to see if anyone had heard her. “Don’t say that stupid name.” “It’s your name, Amanda,” Caro sighed. “Aren’t you ever going to get over it?” Amanda I could deal with. And Hart wasn’t bad either. But sandwich Beauty right in between those two and it equaled the most ridiculous name in the history of the world. I hated it with a passion and did all that I could to keep my peers from knowing my middle name. I’d gotten up the courage exactly once to ask my parents what they’d been thinking when they inflicted such a name on me, but their answer had done little to satisfy my angst. “I guess that means Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder,” my dad had joked, earning him a sigh

from my mom. “You’re already beautiful on the outside, sweetheart,” my mom had explained. “We just wanted to remind you that it’s important to be beautiful on the inside, too.” They didn’t have to remind me by giving me that name. I didn’t know how to feel beautiful on the inside, and I certainly didn’t feel beautiful on the outside. I felt most comfortable in a t-shirt, my brown hair was almost always in a messy ponytail, and I was hopeless at makeup. “That’s it!” Caro declared, whirling away and yanking me from my angry ruminations. “I’m calling your parents!” “Don’t you dare!” I cried, chasing her across the messy kitchen, bumping into the counter, a chair, and a fellow partygoer. I couldn’t plot my course correctly, and my legs seemed to have minds of their own. “Caro! My parents will murder me if they find out I’m here!” “They will not,” she scoffed, waving her phone at me. “Well, they’ll ground me for the rest of my life,” I said. That was much more feasible. “You’re going to college at the end of the summer, stupid,” Caro said. “They might say you’re grounded, but they can’t actually do anything to you once you go away to school.” She had a point, but it still made me cringe to imagine my parents showing up to the party to drag me home. They’d denied me permission to come here, and I’d promised them I’d stay home. But the siren’s song of a house party full of the friends I’d made in high school—complete with beer and missing all parental supervision—was too strong to resist. I wanted to see everyone in one place one last time before I went away to college. And when my parents decided to go out to dinner and a movie, I stayed home just long enough to see their car roll out of the driveway. “Just don’t call them,” I begged Caro. “I wouldn’t actually call your parents,” she said, rolling her eyes at me as she shoved her phone back in her pocket. “I just want you to have a good time and not be all mopey.” “I’m not mopey,” I protested. “Then prove it on the dance floor,” Caro said, grabbing me by my hand and pulling me into the living room.

All the furniture had been shoved to one end, clearing the wooden floor of obstacles, and the music boomed so loud that it rattled the windows. Dancing felt ethereal, like I was weightless, buoyed up only by the beat and the crush of people around me. It was easy to forget that anything was wrong as long as I was dancing, whipping my hair to the rhythm of the song, taking the first cold bottle of beer I was offered, not caring who it came from or why. There was only the beer. There was only the music. And then, there were the flashing red and blue lights of the police outside. “Shit! The cops!” Caro yelped, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go!” There was a mad scramble at the loud knocking on the door, the music still blaring, the beer still cool in my mouth. I let my friend drag me through the house, fleeing through a back door into the humid Texas night. “Stay where you are!” a voice over a bullhorn commanded, but then the rest of our friends who’d followed us in our escape congealed briefly around us and then scattered. “Run for it!” Caro urged, and it was all I could do to get my legs to obey, in danger at every second of tripping and falling over myself. If the cops decided to give chase, they couldn’t catch us all, but I didn’t want to be the weakest link in the pack. We dashed several unsteady blocks in a blind panic then cut down a side street and started to double back cautiously to assess the situation. By the time we returned to the scene of the party, the house was dark, as if nothing had ever happened there. The cops had left, either satisfied they’d scared all of us kids straight or with a couple of us in the backseat of the patrol car, about to learn a hard lesson about underage drinking. “Dammit,” Caro complained, as we shuffled down to her parked car. “I don’t want this night to end.” I was still high on the adrenaline of the chase, the endorphins of our successful escape, and, of course, all the beer I’d imbibed. “I’m going to miss you so much when we go to college,” I said, waxing suddenly sentimental and looping an arm around Caro’s shoulders. She was my best friend, and we’d somehow managed to enroll

in colleges hundreds of miles away from each other. “We have to do something to salvage this night,” she declared, hugging me back. “I’m not ready to accept defeat!” “Let’s just drive,” I suggested. We’d escaped the cops. We were invincible. “If we just drive, the universe will show us what to do.” The wind whistling in the open windows was cool bliss to the pressing thickness of the night, lifting the tendrils of hair that had escaped the ponytail off of my neck. It was better than Caro’s faulty air conditioning and felt purer than any box fan I’d stood in front of, seeking relief. We turned the radio up, sang as loud as we could to the songs we knew, and faked it to the songs we didn’t, choosing our course at random, careening through the streets until we were outside of the city, on the country roads that we knew some of our classmates liked to race each other down. It was thrilling to witness the rows of crops whip by in dizzying patterns, to be the only set of headlights on the roadway, for the curves in the road to move the contents of my stomach, to stick my hand out the window and cup the air as it whooshed by. Caro muttered something out of rhythm of the song we were listening to, and I glanced over at her. She was a better singer than I was, so I was always eager to point out if she missed lyrics or her voice broke. She didn’t glance back. Her eyes were fixed on the road, her mouth set in a grim line. I felt, more than heard, the tires slip into a skid, my gaze still fixated on Caro’s face, watching her eyes get wider and wider and then nothing.

Chapter 2 Beer didn’t taste so good to me anymore. I couldn’t so much as look at a bottle of the stuff without feeling that heavy clash against my teeth, knowing what came next, knowing what I’d caused. No, to dull my brain these days, I could only stomach the bite of liquor. I preferred it to hurt a little, going down. It was a tradeoff, a tiny form of penance for the numbed bliss I found in being drunk. If I drank enough of it, I didn’t feel anything. “You’re up, Beauty,” the bartender said, jerking his thumb toward the dinky little stage across the floor. “Hope you’re sober enough to make a little money.” “I’m fine.” I downed the rest of my cocktail and wove my way toward the stage. There weren’t many customers tonight. Hell, there were usually not many customers ever—but it paid the bills. My music started before I could hop onto the stage, but I didn’t much care. As long as I kept the customers drunker than I was, my tits and ass would be the only things that mattered to them. I figured I could probably even make money by just standing up here and not dancing at all, but I’d never been brave enough to try it. It wasn’t fun going to bed hungry, and I needed the money to feed myself and to keep gas in my car. I used the pole to haul myself to my feet and started doing a slow spin around it before exploding into a swing, responding to an upbeat burst of notes in the song that was playing. Swinging around and around with all the alcohol I’d had to drink was practically a form of meditation. All the colors and faces around me blurred, and I could pretend I wasn’t here, pretend that nothing had happened, that I still lived in Texas, that my parents… I dropped out of the spin abruptly, ignoring my dizzy head, going on all fours to approach a grizzled man seated at one of the tables closest to the stage. “Is your name really Beauty?” he shouted over the music, as I arched my back and then popped my ass out abruptly, emphasizing the curves my body had softened into, making the little tin coins on the wrap

I was wearing tinkle. “Sure is,” I said, putting a leg on either side of him and gripping him so hard he nearly spilled his drink. “Buy a dance from me and I’ll let you see my driver’s license to prove it.” That was the one thing I could do for my parents, after everything. I could embrace the name they’d seen fit to give me. I could stop disrespecting that little bit of legacy left behind, own it, and let it be the one thing that still tied me to them. I noticed another man approach the stage in the periphery, so I held my thong strap out and let the first man slip a few bills beneath it, snapping it securely against my skin. That was the way this game was played. I danced and they came, mesmerized by the sway of my hips or the way I spun and shimmied, ready to bestow dollars upon me. Later, they could buy me drinks at a jacked up price and I’d get a cut of the profits. If they really liked me, I’d perform a special dance for them right at their table so other customers could get jealous at how attentive I could be and want to buy more dances. Those little intimacies were much more expensive than the tips I got up on the stage, but I had to dangle the bait in front of their faces to get them to bite. One song ended and I rolled right into a dance for the next song, adjusting my moves to go with the beat. It was Caro who’d taught me to dance, adapting the moves she’d learned from her older cousin into routines we could master to impress the naïve boys at our school into thinking we were much more worldly than we really were. I didn’t want to think about school, or Caro, or any of that. I couldn’t. I climbed to the top of the pole and abruptly hung upside down, spinning slowly so everyone could see, not caring that one of my breasts had popped out of my cheap bikini top before I’d planned for it to do so, wondering just how much it would hurt to let go and slam headfirst into the stage fifteen feet below me. Would it kill me or just maim me? Would anyone even notice me fall? As I gripped the pole with my hands, I righted myself, sliding downward, remembering how badly I’d hurt my legs the first time I’d tried this move. Now, the friction was only an afterthought. The trick had earned me a few piles of singles along the stage, and I kicked them toward the center of the platform so the customers couldn’t go changing their minds and taking back what was rightfully

mine. A third song and my bikini top was tossed aside, earning a few whoops from the back of the room. I shed my thin wrap, coins ringing like bells, and it was just me, a pair of battered heels, and my black thong, spinning around the pole, wondering if the money I earned tonight would fill up my gas tank so I could get the hell out of here, wondering where I would even go if I could. There wasn’t anything here for me anymore. Not after that night. The song ended, and I gathered my clothes and money, waiting for the first customer to request a special dance from me—now that they’d seen everything I had to offer. I bellied up to the bar again in the meantime, laying out the handful of bills I’d earned, doing my best to straighten the wrinkles out of them. When I’d first started out in this business, shame had driven me to exchange the bills for higher denominations—and much crisper paper. But now, I didn’t care to buy my groceries with the singles I’d danced for. It was a way of life, and the knowing glances from cashiers didn’t sting me like they used to. Alcohol could dull everything. I counted out enough money for another cocktail and signaled the bartender. “Vodka Red Bull,” I said. I didn’t like the bubble in the drink, as it reminded me too much of the carbonation in beer, but I needed a little boost to my game or I wasn’t going to make it through the shift. “Can I buy that for you?” A customer settled into the chair beside me, and I couldn’t help but stare. He was gorgeous; he clearly took much better care of himself than most people who frequented this establishment. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and his neatly trimmed beard did a poor job of hiding his smirk. I couldn’t guess fashion labels just by looking at an outfit, but I could tell that they were high end because of the way they fit this man’s body—his suit jacket hugging his strong shoulders, the trousers highlighting his trim waist, and his shoes polished to an opulent shine. “That sounds nice,” I said, propping my chin up on my fist, continuing my casual perusal of his physical attributes. He had nicely manicured nails, I saw, as he smoothly withdrew a few bills from a money clip, alerting me to the fact that this was a man who earned his money with his mind instead of his

hands. I unwittingly wondered what those hands would feel like on either side of my hips, guiding me as I gave a dance just for him, right here at the bar. “You’re a pretty good dancer for not being here that long,” he said, returning my gaze, unperturbed. “Excuse me?” I said, blinking rapidly, shocked out of my appraisal. “This is the longest you’ve been in the same place since you left college,” he continued without missing a beat, taking the drink the bartender offered him and pushing mine toward me. “But for this line of work, the way you work that pole after just a month…if I wore a hat, I’d take it off to you.” I expelled my breath in a haughty laugh. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.” “I should introduce myself, Beauty,” he said, raking his hand through his dark hair before holding it out. “You’re going by Beauty Hart these days, aren’t you? Do you prefer Amanda?” “Beauty is fine,” I said, eyeing that proffered hand before fitting my own into it. “And you still haven’t introduced yourself.” “Daniel Shepard,” he said, gripping my hand in his. “But Dan’s fine.” I waited for some kind of explanation, some sort of insight as to why he knew my name before I gave it, how he knew I’d left college in Texas and wound up here in Washington state, but he only held my hand overly long before releasing it to swirl his drink—a dark alcohol over ice. “What are you doing here, Dan?” I finally asked, curiosity overcoming my mistrust. I took great pains not to know anyone—wherever I went. It made it that much easier to pull the car out of park and leave anytime I wanted. “I’m here to see if you want to flash your tits at strangers for cash for the rest of your life,” he said, rattling the ice cubes around in his glass. It was something of a shock to hear such a word come out of the mouth of someone who I’d thought was so refined. “Excuse me?” “This is a career that can’t last forever, you know,” he reasoned. “You peak in your late twenties, get pity tips in your thirties, and are something of a novelty in your forties. I know that seems like a long time away. When I was twenty-one like you, I thought thirty-two was a long way away, and yet here I am.”

Dan held his glass aloft in an ironic cheer, but I ignored it and took a sip from my cocktail. How did he know my age? I fought to keep some kind of poker face in place. It was obvious that this man knew much more about me than I did about him. I didn’t want to give him any more satisfaction than he probably already had. “All I’m saying is that opportunities await you, if you’re willing to seize them,” he finished, draining his drink dry and signaling the bartender for another. “I don’t fuck customers, if that’s what you’re implying,” I said, disappointed when he didn’t flinch at my language. I realized that I was still nearly naked and hustled to retie my bikini top and secure the coin-dotted wrap around my hips. It wasn’t much armor against the man who apparently knew me better than he should, but it would have to do. “I’m implying no such thing,” he said, smoothly. “I’m talking about something else entirely. An opportunity far from this place of employment. Well, not too far, physically. The far I meant was more along the lines of culturally.” “What are you talking about?” I asked, shaking my head in consternation. I was tired of this verbal assault of banter I didn’t fully understand. It was past time for this fancy fellow to make his point. “I mean I’m here to offer you a job on behalf of my family’s company—Shepard Shipments,” Dan said, retrieving a business card from his suit jacket pocket and flicking it toward me. The paper Dan’s business card was printed on was thick and subtly textured, but besides his position—vice president—it told me nothing. “Never heard of it,” I said, flicking the card back at him. “Keep it,” he insisted, pushing it back in front of me. “In case you need to contact me in the future.” I opened my mouth to tell him I didn’t have a phone at my disposal but closed it again, thinking better of it. He didn’t need to know any more about me than he already did. A sudden rush of irritation swept over me. Why was this guy wasting my time in the first place? Why was he being so creepy? “I think I’ve been a pretty good sport, don’t you?” I asked, keeping my voice sweet as my eyes narrowed. “But if you’re here to blow wind up my ass about shit that sounds too good to be true, you can

fuck right off. I’m not gullible. I know when someone’s making fun of me.” “I’m not—” Dan cut himself off and sighed. “I’m sorry. Maybe I am going about this all wrong.” “Obviously.” “Obviously,” he agreed. “All right. I know that you attended the University of Texas.” “That’s right.” “But you didn’t finish,” he continued, casual, as if not finishing a college education wasn’t a big deal. If my parents had still been…if they could still…they would’ve killed me for leaving early, for not completing the degree they wanted for me. “That’s right,” I said, sticking my chin out. “Is there a problem with that? College isn’t for everyone, you know.” “I know,” he said, smiling. “I had to transfer no less than four times before I found the right fit for myself. So. At the University of Texas you took a business course. It was lower level—a general degree requirement—but you did quite well in it. Your professor—I don’t imagine you’d remember his name— took note.” I scoured my brain. It seemed like a million years had passed between college and now, even though, in reality, it had been just over a year. My time on the road, the various scrapes I’d gotten myself into and out of, and all the ways I’d had to figure out how to get money took precedence over any book education. Still, I could vaguely remember taking a business class—and actually enjoying the things I was learning. Well, as much as I could enjoy things anymore. “That professor is close to my brother, the President of Shepard Shipments,” Dan said, after I’d obviously gone too long without saying anything. “And he recommended to my brother that you’d make, at the very least, an excellent intern at the company.” I blinked several times. “Wait a minute,” I said, my nose for bullshit smelling something foul. “I left college more than a year ago. Surely there wouldn’t still be an internship available to me. You’ve had to have found someone else—maybe even multiple others. There’s no way that position would have been kept open for me.”

“You’re correct,” Dan said. “That position is no longer open. However, another is opening up. One of our employees is retiring, and my brother, being my brother…”—a frown creased the space between Dan’s dark eyebrows—“… has still kept you in his mind, even after all this time.” I wasn’t quite sure how to take that information. Why would a president of a big company still consider me for a position after I’d left school and done all I could to vanish from the face of the earth? Hadn’t there been other promising students who could be recommended for internships? “The thing is, this position that I’m offering you today isn’t going to be like the internship you would’ve been offered a year ago,” Dan said. “This position isn’t anything glamorous, but at least it’s a foot in the door. And maybe a step up from, oh, I don’t know, taking your clothes off for money and living in your car.” I pressed my lips together and looked down, embarrassed. I thought I was discreet about my living situation, always parking my car in different lots around town, protecting my privacy with sunshields and blankets. I never showed up to work dirty, finding different places to bathe. Yet, here was Dan Shepard, eagerly exposing my secrets as if they meant nothing at all. I could’ve maybe afforded a room somewhere, but I’d always felt more at home in my car. It was my one remaining physical tie to Texas, and it had gotten me through many things. I didn’t mind living in it. “The position comes with an advance,” Dan was saying, reaching into his suit jacket and withdrawing an envelope. “You’d obviously have to make an initial investment into your appearance, your living situation, your physical location. The company’s located in Seattle proper, and I can’t say the dress code is bikini friendly.” For not the first time, I squirmed, uncomfortable in my own skin in front of this man. This was my work uniform when I was at this bar, and it earned me my cash. Why did I feel self-conscious all of a sudden? “There’s plenty of money in here for a new start,” he said, sliding the envelope in front of me. “Like I said. This current gig of yours isn’t going to last forever. You need to think about what you’re going to do when you’re ready to get over this bohemian blip of your life and get serious again.” The tone of Dan’s voice reeked of condescension, and it more than ruffled my feathers. Who was

he that he could just waltz in here and tell me all about my life? He didn’t have a single clue about anything. “I’ll think about it,” I said, standing up from the bar, eager to get myself away from whatever craziness had found its way to this establishment. “Keep the cash,” he urged. “You’re going to need it to get started at Shepard Shipments. You’ll need to buy business clothes. Shoes. Everything.” “I don't know who you think I am, but I don't take handouts,” I said, pushing the envelope back at Dan. “And I told you I'd think about your offer—not that I was accepting it.” Dan gave a low whistle. “A wise businesswoman already. Looks before she leaps. How’s this? If you won’t take what's in the envelope because I’m telling you to take it, how about I use it to pay for your services? You’re a good dancer, after all, and I have to say very attractive. Besides, I won’t be able to ask you for something like this once you start working for the company.” “If I start working for the company,” I corrected, as my face got hot. What was wrong with me? On a regular night, I would’ve done anything to dance for a customer like Dan. If he dressed nice, took care with his appearance and hygiene and the like, chances were that he would be willing to take care of me, too. He’d have the cash to spend on my inflated drinks or on tips if he decided to purchase a special dance from me. I’d be at his side the entire night, a leech with makeup, looking to see whether I could bleed him dry before he swerved his way home. So why was I so hesitant now? I didn’t know exactly what was in the envelope, but I knew it was cash. However, how much cash remained to be seen. “You’re taking the envelope,” Dan informed me, smirking. “But it’s up to you to decide if it’s a handout or if it’s for something you’ve earned.” I set my jaw and signaled to the bartender. “A dance,” I barked, and he went to go adjust the music. Dan raised an eyebrow. “Just one dance?” he asked. “One dance is all I need,” I shot back, whirling him in his chair until his back was against the bar and I was mere inches away from him, standing between his knees.

The song started up, and I worked my way slowly into movement, grasping each of his knees with my hands, pushing them apart so I could wriggle between his thighs, pressing a knee against his crotch to remind him just who was in control. Both of Dan’s eyebrows were raised now, and some part of me was glad that he was paying attention, that I had command of the floor. All of the other customers sitting around the dinky little bar were watching my every move. I was the one in control. I untied my bikini with one hand and looped it around his neck while his eyes were preoccupied with the sudden sight of my breasts. Then I used it to drag his face down, a hair’s breadth away from my skin, before pushing him away again. The coins on my wrap rattled in time to the quick movements of my hips, and it wasn’t long until I untied that, as well, swinging the jingling fabric above my head to the cheers of other customers. Dan didn’t cheer. He just watched, a slight smile curving his mouth upward. I realized that I wanted to shock him out of that cool demeanor; I wanted to do something to give him a taste of the turmoil he’d introduced in my life tonight. I had no idea that, coming to work at the bar, I’d be offered a real job out of the blue—a real job and an envelope of money. It sounded too good to be true, and it probably was. Dan had said the job wasn’t glamorous, whatever that meant, but he’d ignited some dangerous flame of hope inside of me. Hope that, after all that I had wreaked ruin upon, after all the lives I’d affected, that maybe I’d someday have a happy life again. It was something I didn’t want. Something I hated to think about. I deserved this, shedding my clothes for strangers, letting them gaze upon the relative beauty of my outer appearance while I was the only one who understood just how ugly I was within. As the beat in the song swelled in a crescendo, I leaped into Dan’s lap, rocking his chair back against the bar and looping my arms around his neck for stability. I straddled his lap and squeezed my thighs around his waist, gyrating my hips, aware that I was only in my thong. Dan’s hands had initially grabbed my hips to make sure I didn’t fall off him in my sudden and acrobatic move, but now they traveled to my bare ass, his fingers slipping experimentally beneath the

straps of my thong, seeing just what he could get away with before I slapped him away. For the right price, I’d let a man get away with far more than he thought he was going to. Something about the man between my thighs lit me on fire. Dan didn’t care that I was actually trying to make him uncomfortable. He seemed exceedingly at ease with me in his arms, his fingers trailing over my back, making me shudder and press my breasts into his chest. Of course, one part of him wasn’t at ease at all. A growing bulge in those nice trousers of his let me know that, in spite of his cool demeanor, I really was having a strong effect on him. “Don’t worry about that,” he said into my ear so I could hear it over the music. “It has a mind of its own.” “Don’t feel bad,” I countered. “Happens to customers here all the time.” “I assure you, I’m feeling the opposite of bad right now,” he said, his hands finding my ass again and squeezing it. “I feel like I have to be breaking some rules right now.” “I’m the one who decides the rules,” I said, grinding against him in time to the music. “And you’ll know when you break one.” I got close to him—close enough to tell he’d recently brushed his teeth and to enjoy his taste in fine cologne—to make him lower his eyelids to half-mast, letting my lips graze ever so lightly against his. Then, the song finished. I hopped off, all business, and got dressed again as if nothing had transpired between us. I noticed, with some small amount of satisfaction, that Dan’s erection didn’t diminish in the slightest. “I’d advise you to swing by the trucker’s road stop on your way out of town,” I said, looking pointedly between his legs. “You can take a cold shower and wash off my perfume, if you’re going home to anything special.” “I’m not washing off a single thing,” Dan said, leering a bit. “And the special something I’m going home to tonight is the sweet memory of you. Hope you don’t mind that I’ll be thinking of you later.” He made a suggestive hand gesture and laughed at my blush. How had he turned this entire power dynamic back around to make me feel like the silly one? I

thought that I’d had everything well in hand, but this man seemed not to mind that he was sporting a boner in a dump of a bar after just propositioning me to work for his company. “Well, Beauty,” he said, getting up and discreetly adjusting his pants, “you have my number. Keep the envelope. You’ve more than earned it. I look forward to seeing you in Seattle.” One last searing gaze and smirk and Dan walked out of the bar without so much as a glance over his shoulder. What arrogance. He’d gotten a lap dance from me, a person he wanted to hire, and then assumed that my mind was already made up as to whether I’d even work for him. He didn’t know the first thing about what was going through my head right now. I could take that money and move on, go someplace else, maybe even to Canada. Somewhere I wouldn’t be found. I’d drift away, out of the memory of the president and vice president of Shepard Shipments, and disappear, just as I’d aimed to do when I left Texas. And how long would I be able to live like that before I couldn’t rely on my outward beauty to feed me anymore? How long would it take for my inner ugliness to seep through my skin, mar my face, and show the world exactly who I was? Something inside me knew that it would be much sooner than my forties. I took the envelope, cracked it open, and my eyes bugged out. It was more money than I’d made since I left college. More than a year of crawling along, degrading myself, and in a single dance, I’d made the most money I’d ever seen. Why did Shepard Shipments want me so badly—to track me in my ramblings across the country? Surely I couldn’t have stood out that much in my business class. In a rush of memory, I remembered a lecture I’d attended while I was still at school. It had been hard to concentrate. The desperation inside of me was reaching a fever point, and it had to have been only weeks or months until I decided I couldn’t do it anymore; I couldn’t go to my classes and pretend everything was all right any longer. But one thing stuck out in my mind, as clear as day. The professor for my business class had been

a woman, not a man, as Dan had implied. Had there been some kind of mistake? Could I have misunderstood when Dan was talking about the professor being a friend of his brother? Had there been a connection at all? “You’re up on the stage again, Beauty,” the bartender said, jerking his chin at me. “Everyone’s waiting on you.” There was a gaggle of eager men around the stage, thirsty for a taste of what I’d given Dan. “They’re just going to have to wait,” I said, grabbing the envelope and business card and walking out the door. Dan had been right. My mind was already made up. I was going to Seattle—if only to unravel this mystery.

Chapter 3 Going without wearing normal clothes—namely, pantyhose—for more than a year meant the biggest adjustment for me, when I stood in downtown Seattle, eyeing the façade of the Shepard Shipments building, was trying to figure out the most ladylike way to pull my pantyhose out of my ass. I was early and uncertain of myself. The reflection of the girl in the glass doors was someone I didn’t really recognize anymore. Part of it was that I hadn’t really gotten a gander at myself in a while. It was tough to get a fulllength view of yourself when you lived in a car. I’d taken the money Dan left me and filled up the gas tank to my car, first of all, then used the rest to completely replace my wardrobe. Even in college, I’d rarely worn anything other than sweatpants or jeans and a t-shirt. I retained most of those clothes in my move, but none of my collection was appropriate for a professional workplace. Certainly, as Dan had told me, not my bikini. Shopping was an unexpected pleasure. On the road, I’d never splurged on anything that I couldn’t put into my belly or the car’s gas tank. Now, though, my new clothes were a necessity. I put on my nicest jeans and cleanest t-shirt to go to a mall just outside of Seattle, treating myself to pretty shoes and pencil skirts and blazers, selecting accessories to go with them and a new purse that closely resembled a briefcase. I realized I was having fun before I could stop myself, reminding myself that I wasn’t allowed to have fun anymore. I was going to figure out just what Dan was hiding from me at Shepard Shipments and move the hell on, punishing myself in the penance of my choosing. I didn’t deserve to be happy because the one night I actually had chosen my own happiness over others, people had died.

People who were close to me. People I loved. When Caro had come around the corner of that dark country rode, going way too fast, she’d noticed a pair of cars pulled to the side of the rode and panicked. I didn’t realize at the time what was happening. I was too drunk to process anything beyond my own selfish needs, and I woke up much later in the hospital with a concussion that could’ve been mistaken for a hangover. My first thought—first beyond whether I was seriously injured, where Caro was, and just what had happened—was that my parents were going to murder me for landing myself in the hospital. I didn’t even want to call them. “You’re awake,” the nurse had observed, her tone a little on the cool side of neutral. “How long have I been asleep?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “You slept all night,” she said, giving a perfunctory glance at her watch. “It’s nearly dinner time. Are you hungry?” My appetite dropped out through the pit that suddenly opened in my stomach. “It’s already Sunday evening?” I squeaked, pushing myself to a sitting position. I was sore, and there was a bandage on my forehead, but I felt no worse for wear. “I have to go. My parents are probably going crazy this very minute trying to figure out where I am. They’re going to be so pissed. Where’s Caro? Where’s my friend? Did she already leave?” The nurse who had been pure business before faltered for the first time. “Let me get the doctor for you,” she said, ducking out of my room, and I still didn’t think of anything beyond my own selfish situation. My parents were going to murder me; I was going to murder Caro for leaving me here; and I would probably never see the outside of my bedroom again until I went to college—if my parents even let me go anymore. I felt it more likely that I’d be sent to a convent or some institution for stupid, stubborn girls who refused to follow the rules instead of the University of Texas. The nurse re-entered the room, accompanied by a kindly looking doctor. “How are you feeling right now, Amanda?” he asked, perching on the side of my bed, examining the bandage on my head. “Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, with one being the least and ten

being the—” “I feel fine,” I said quickly. “It’s just that I have to get home. Or is my phone here? Can I have my purse? Is there a phone I could use?” More and more, I was feeling less apprehensive of how angry my parents would be at me and more anxious about scaring them. I wasn’t in the habit of disappearing from my house and not returning. They’d notice me gone. They’d worry. They’d fear the worst. I didn’t care about being imprisoned in a convent any longer. I just wanted to tell my parents I was okay. “Amanda, you’ve had quite a knock on your head, and you’re very lucky to be awake right now,” the doctor said. “Do you remember anything about last night?” I swallowed hard. “I was at a party,” I said. “We left the party…after the police came to break it up. Caro and I went driving….” I narrowed my eyes. Everything was fuzzy, and I didn’t know how much had to do with the alcohol I’d consumed last night or the concussion I’d suffered. “We were singing,” I continued slowly. “I think…I think Caro lost control of the car.” “But you don’t remember exactly how or what happened afterward?” the doctor asked. “No?” I said uncertainly. “Is that bad?” “Not necessarily,” he said, patting my hand. I noticed for the first time that my other hand had a needle in it, attached to a bag of fluid above my head. “Much of the time, after catastrophic events, the brain tries to protect you by limiting your memory of the incident.” I swallowed, my mouth impossibly dry. “Catastrophic?” “There are some people who want to talk to you now…if you feel up to it,” the doctor said, standing up. Another twist of nerves in my gut. “Is it my parents?” “I think you’d better let them explain,” the doctor said, standing aside at the door to admit a pair of police officers. If I wasn’t already lying down, I would’ve swooned and fallen in response to my anxiety level. Yet, I still thought it was about me, still certain that I was getting in trouble for attending a house party and

drinking beer underage and fleeing the cops and speeding down the road with Caro. I was so fucking selfish. So fucking stupid. “Amanda Beauty Hart?” one of them asked, both of them towering awkwardly over my bed. I was faint with dread, certain they were about to start reading me my rights as they dragged me from the bed and handcuffed me. “Yes?” I didn’t so much as flinch at my middle name. “The driver of the car, Carolina Salazar, lost control at high speed and went into a spin as she attempted to recover and overcorrected,” the same officer intoned, as if he were reciting the plot of a movie he didn’t find to be all that exciting. “She hit two cars stopped on the side of the road.” I swallowed hard. “Is she okay?” The other cop, a woman, picked up the narrative in only a slightly warmer tone of voice. “We regret to be the ones to inform you that Carolina Salazar died in the wreck.” My hand flew up to cover my mouth before my shoulders began to shudder with grief. This was my fault. All my fault. I’d been the one to suggest we go driving. I could’ve said anything else, but I’d wanted to go driving. Now, Caro was dead. It was all my fault. All of it. “Are you all right, Amanda?” the doctor asked from the doorway. “Can I please call my parents?” I sobbed. I needed them. I needed something. I needed to wake up and for all of this to be a bad dream brought on by too many beers the night before. “That’s the other thing we need to tell you,” the female police officer continued. “The cars that Carolina hit…one of them belonged to your parents.” Shock and disbelief numbed the worst of it as her words washed over me. A person could only take so much in a day, after all. And later—much later—when I’d pored over the police report, grappling with my new reality, scrambling to understand all that I’d done to ruin my life and so many lives around me, I finally got the complete story. Caro had taken a curve too fast. We would’ve had a breathless laugh about it, possible ending up in one of the fields bordering the road with a little minor damage to her car, if not for the two cars parked on the side, just after that curve. Caro had seen them and panicked, and the out-of-control car had spun into my parents, standing

outside the second car, the owner of which had been blacked out of the police report. Most of the details about that second car had been blacked out, which frustrated me for a time, until I decided that I probably didn’t have a right to know the stranger my decision had killed. They would just be one of a quartet of ghosts I would have to carry around. What I did know was that, for whatever reason, the two cars had stopped on the side of the road. For whatever reason, my parents were standing outside the driver’s side window of the second car. For whatever reason, Caro’s side of our speeding, spinning car had struck them, pinning them between the vehicles, and hitting the other car with such force that the driver of the second car had also died. And, for whatever reason, my selfish, stupid, ungrateful, horrible ass was the sole survivor of one of the most terrible wrecks in the history of my community. Before I’d gone to college—and in the circles of people I avoided on campus that knew the story—I became something of an object of pity. I couldn’t go to the funeral; I couldn’t face the sympathetic tears and bewildered platitudes. I couldn’t look myself in the face in any mirror I happened to pass. All of it was my fault. All of it. Four lives cut short because of me. There were lawyers and more police officers and an extended stay at the hospital for the majority of the summer before everyone around me seemed to agree that the best thing for me to do would be to get my education, as my dead parents intended, and try to get on with my blighted life. The struggle lasted all of two and a half years. I tried to submerge myself in anything to distract myself from my overwhelming guilt, the crippling sorrow. I tried having loads of friends, always chatting or hanging out or partying, then exiled myself when I decided that, since I’d denied four human beings the chance at making and maintaining friendships, I didn’t deserve any. I tried to give myself over to my studies, tried to bury my past in new information, facts, interpretations, and mounds of homework. Yet, it wasn’t enough. I lost interest too quickly, gave up too readily, didn’t care about the consequences of not completing homework or attending class or studying for tests. Who was going to hold me accountable? I’d been responsible for my parents’ deaths. I didn’t

deserve to learn new things, to be a lifelong learner, as one of the professors urged the class, because I’d cut four lives short in one act of stupidity. I didn’t want to learn new things to support some distant professional future because I didn’t want a future. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I didn’t want to be alive, and yet here I was, continuing to trudge to class. I immersed myself in alcohol, attending every party I caught wind of, getting a reputation for being “that girl”—the one who drank like a fish but always ended up puking and weeping for reasons she wouldn’t disclose. I drowned myself in sex, seeking the nothingness after it was over, the relief to be blinded by intensity and then ushered back down, the sweet pain of meshing my body with another person and punishing myself after by pushing them away, refusing to see or talk to them again, giving myself an even worse reputation than before. When there was nothing else I could find to lose myself in, no liquor that remained a mystery, nobody else I was willing to give my body to, I decided to literally lose myself. In one night, I packed up my clothes and what few belongings I cared for, shoved it all into my trunk, and just drove. I rolled along highways I’d never seen, past cities I’d never see again until my car started sputtering. Then, I put more gas in it and kept driving. I repeated this pattern until I was in a state I’d never been in and thoroughly out of money. I’d inherited something from my parents’ deaths, but I’d left it in the care of estate lawyers, sick at the thought of spending money linked to their demise by my idiocy. I found a parking spot in a semi-darkened lot and went to sleep, not waking up until someone knocked on my window and asked if I was all right. That’s how I worked my way across the country; traveling when I had money, staying still and restless when I didn’t. I did anything and everything to earn money. There wasn’t a job I didn’t try in my pursuit to flee from myself. I thought often of just ending it all, ending my suffering with a knife or a rope or an acceleration into a wall in the car that had become my home. I wallowed in misery, unable to escape, unwilling to try to get over the tragedy my life had inspired. In the end, though, I decided that death was too good for me. I didn’t deserve any kind of relief

from my sadness and regret. I’d ended four lives—three of whom were the most important people in my own—and I’d survived with just a bump on my head. Some part of me wished I’d been maimed, disfigured in some way, just so the world around me could appreciate the irony. My name might have been Beauty, but there wasn’t one goddamn beautiful thing about me. I was a monster.

Chapter 4 “Are you going in, dear, or are you lost?” I whirled around from staring at my reflection in the door at Shepard Shipments, flung my mind away from my torturous past, and was faced with a tiny, old woman with the very beginnings of a hump at the top of her back. “Lost?” I repeated helplessly. If only. I wanted to be lost from myself, to be lost from all of this. What was I doing here? I didn’t have any right to be doing this. My punishment wasn’t over with. I should’ve taken all of the money Dan had given me and given it to a homeless person or something. I should never have spent it on myself. “Are you supposed to be at Shepard Shipments?” the woman asked, adjusting her glasses over her milky blue eyes as she peered at my face and then gasped. “Oh! You’re Beauty Hart.” I was stunned again, in my odyssey for anonymous suffering, that yet another person knew more about me than I knew about them. First Dan, and now this wizened old woman. Half of me fully expected to be greeted by name by the walking commuters passing us on the sidewalk. “I am,” I confirmed, distinctly uncomfortable, wondering if I was vacillating between an anxiety attack, or if I just couldn’t get a good breath because of the tight pantyhose. “You’re expected, Beauty,” the woman said, nodding decisively. “May I call you Beauty?” “It’s my name, after all,” I said. “That’s just fine.” “I’m Myra Tuttle,” she said, sticking a small hand out. When I shook it, however, its strength took me by surprise. “You’re here to replace me.” “Oh,” I said, surprised yet again. How many times was I going to be surprised by something in the span of a minute? “I’m sorry…I don’t think anyone’s replaceable.” She studied me for a moment before throwing her head back and guffawing at me. “Too true,” she said. “I suppose we’re all, more or less, irreplaceable. What I meant to say was

that you’re going to be doing the work I used to be doing here at Shepard Shipments. I’m retiring.” “Oh!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know that. Dan…I was told the job wasn’t very glamorous. That’s all I knew.” Myra gave that same big laugh. “Well, that’s for sure,” she said. “Not glamorous at all. But rewarding, in its own way. Now. Let’s get ourselves inside so I can show you myself. Not glamorous. Ha!” I felt more comfortable than I had in ages as I followed this little old lady into the building and across the gleaming lobby. It was a long way away from the dank, dark bar where I’d been previously employed. It was so well lit that I hoped I’d done my makeup correctly in my car’s rearview mirror, and I resolved to scoot into a restroom to check at my earliest convenience. “Shepard Shipments owns the entire building, but the company rents the lower portions to other businesses it does dealings with,” Myra was explaining as we clicked our way across the smooth floors. “The company itself occupies a couple floors higher up in the building. These elevators here are fine. Don’t use the elevator at the back of the lobby.” I followed the direction of her pointed finger to see a single elevator secluded by a darkened alcove, its gold doors dim. It looked foreboding, unlike the shiny bright bank of elevators we were standing in front of. “Is that the elevator the other companies have to use to get to their floors?” I asked. “Oh, no,” Myra said quickly. “That’s the elevator that Mr. Shepard uses to get to the penthouse at the top of the building.” “Mr. Shepard,” I repeated as we stepped into an open elevator. “You mean Dan?” She made a noise of disapproval in the back of her throat. “No. Mr. Daniel doesn’t live in the penthouse. He greatly enjoys his time outside of the company. The Mr. Shepard I’m referring to is, of course. Mr. Roland.” “Is that Dan’s—Mr. Daniel’s—brother?” “That’s right,” Myra confirmed, as we glided upward. “He lives at the top of the building. Quite convenient, if you ask me. But you’re never to use that elevator, do you hear me?”

Never use creepy elevator standing all alone to go to a strange man’s living quarters. I nodded. That was a rule I could definitely live with. The elevator doors rolled open, and I followed Myra out into the reception area of the office. I was grateful to have run into her as I brooded outside. She seemed to be something cross between a fairy godmother and a grandmother figure. My only regret was that I was to, apparently, replace her. I wished she could be here to save me from all the ways I could screw up. “This is the floor where you will be spending the vast majority of your time,” Myra said, bustling along. For a woman so advanced in her years, she was certainly sprightly. I had to almost trot to keep up with her quick little steps, ducking my head self-consciously as people at the desks we passed by looked up, curious at a new face. The office space was nice enough—full of broad, open desks that weren’t separated by cubicle walls. The computers everyone clicked away on were the latest models, and everyone seemed busy, but happy. I’d never been in a professional office setting, but this one was much nicer than the mazes of cubicles I’d imagined for it. “Are you familiar with what Shepard Shipments is?” Myra asked, drawing to a halt so suddenly I almost crashed into her. I had to pay attention. There would probably be time to ogle my surroundings later. “Kind of,” I admitted. I’d visited the library on my shopping day and had taken the opportunity to do a little research. “It’s like a shopping website.” “That’s one part of it,” she allowed, nodding encouragingly. “And that’s how the Shepards got their start. But today, Shepard Shipments is a retail and media force. The company launches its own products, everything from electronics to Internet services. And it just keeps growing.” “And so what role do I play in all of this?” I asked, realizing that Dan had neglected to let me know exactly what the job I was agreeing to do would entail. “What do you do?” Dan had said it wasn’t glamorous, and Myra had laughed and agreed. To me, this entire office was glamorous, with its enormous windows, soft carpet, and workers dressed in all the latest fashions. The least glamorous position I could imagine was working as one of the warehouse stock employees, scurrying around, finding the items

people ordered from the website to prepare them for shipping. Somehow, though, I couldn’t imagine Myra doing the same. “A very important one,” she began, and my stomach knotted in anxiety. I hadn’t finished college. I had limited skills. I certainly didn’t know anything about coding or working on websites. “I’ll be training you this week to replace me as Mr. Shepard’s assistant,” she finished. “Mr. Roland Shepard, the president of this company. For clarity’s sake.” My nerves crept up my spine and made my head swim. Assistant to the president of this enormous and important company? I had no idea what even the first thing expected out of me would be. All I knew was that I was to be the assistant to a vaguely threatening presence who lived at the top of this building and had a private, ominous elevator in the lobby I wasn’t allowed to use. None of this did a damn thing to inspire any confidence in me. “Okay,” I said faintly. “You should probably start telling me everything you know right now. Because I don’t have a clue…” Myra laughed again, but it wasn’t the same free guffaw she’d given outside of the building. It was more restrained, more careful. “That’s what the training is for, silly girl,” she said. “You’ll do just fine. Now. Over here is where we’ll be. There’s plenty of space for the both of us, but you’ll eventually inherit all of it when I leave.” We’d arrived at a large desk, set somewhat apart from the rest of the furniture in the room, near a large, heavy-looking door. Something in me felt uneasy, like something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I chalked it up to anxiety and tried to focus on gleaning every drop of knowledge that Myra was willing to give me. She wouldn’t be here forever, after all, and I’d be expected to assist the leader of this company as best I could. “Beyond that door is Mr. Shepard’s office,” Myra said, nodding to the door on the far wall. From her slightly hushed tone, I didn’t have to ask her to clarify which Shepard brother she was talking about. I already recognized that Myra used reverence to talk about Roland and exasperation to discuss Dan. “He’ll call or email you if he needs anything,” she continued. “And when you know what he needs, you’ll be prompt in getting it to him.”

“What does that usually entail?” I asked, confused. Would I be a glorified errand girl? I didn’t really imagine Myra as that, but I could’ve been wrong. “Digitizing, mostly,” she said. “Even if Shepard Shipments started as an Internet retailer, it kept loads of paper data on hand prior to the advent of cloud computing.” It was cute to see a little old lady up on her knowledge of technology—until I remembered that I only had a cursory understanding of these kinds of things. A lot could happen in a year off the grid, not paying attention to news and advancements and the like. A person could get completely consumed by, say, figuring out how to put food in her mouth and gas in her tank. “When you’re not scanning and filing online, you’re getting Mr. Shepard whatever he needs, doing whatever he says, and being his eyes, ears, hands, and brains out here,” Myra continued. “His brains?” I repeated, confused. “I don’t understand. Isn’t he the president of this company?” “That’s right.” “How am I supposed to think like that?” I asked, feeling faint. I needed to change out of these pantyhose—and maybe just escape this entire situation. I wasn’t cut out for this. There had been some kind of mistake. There was no way on God’s green earth that I was qualified to think like the president of a successful global business. “Mr. Shepard doesn’t come out here,” she said, nodding meaningfully at the closed door. “When that door opens, it’s because you’re going through it, taking him something he’s asked you for, or you’re coming out of it, having delivered whatever he asked. He doesn’t come out here. He doesn’t interact with anyone in person. You’re the physical extension of him when you’re out here. You might find yourself delivering folders or messages to other people. Once, several years ago, I fired somebody for him.” I shook my head, utterly overwhelmed. “It just seems like a lot of responsibility,” I admitted. “Why wouldn’t the head of a company want to be out here with the people helping make everything happen?” Myra leaned close. “You’re going to learn very quickly that Mr. Shepard has reasons for desiring his privacy,” she said, her voice lowered. “He’s a good man, regardless of what anyone says. Always keep that in mind—no matter what.”

I didn’t know how to question that strange aside. I hadn’t heard anyone say anything about the president of this company besides Myra. Was there something there? Something I should know about? “Anyway,” she said, probably looking to head off any follow-up questions I might have popped, “every day, someone brings a box of documents that need to be digitized.” Myra patted the top of a large cardboard container taking up much of the desk. “Your goal, to stay on schedule for what the company has in mind, is to get through a box a day. I’m thinking we’ll be able to do two, since there’s two of us for now.” I lifted the top off the box in question and gave a low whistle. It was packed to the brim with a mess of hanging folders, file folders, and loose sheets of paper. “We probably shouldn’t get too ahead of ourselves,” I remarked. “That’s a lot of digitizing.” “It’s not difficult,” Myra insisted. “It’s just time consuming. I volunteered to be one of the employees helping with this transition. It’s enormously important that we get all parts of the company firmly in the twenty-first century.” She proceeded to teach me the process of scanning, labeling, and filing away each piece of paper in the box. For a single file folder containing related records, it was easier. The scanner would just whip the pages through in one bundle. It was the random, floating sheets of records that required the most painstaking work. At least I had something to do with my hands. I was unreasonably nervous, under the impression that I was under some kind of extreme scrutiny. In my previous incarnation working as a stripper, I hadn’t minded the eyes on me because I could stare right back. That’s how I made my money, making those connections. But this feeling was different. I glanced furtively around as I ran some files through the scanner, working while Myra trotted off to the break room to get a couple of cups of coffee. Nobody across the office was paying a bit of attention to me, all of them engrossed in their computer screen or talking to one another. A few looked up as I passed my glance over them and smiled. Someone was watching me, but I didn’t know who or where they were. My skin crawled with the sensation. The phone at my elbow rang loudly—once, twice, three times. I looked around for Myra, but she

was nowhere in sight, still on a jaunt for our caffeine fix. I checked the display and blanched. “Shepard, Roland,” it read. The president of Shepard Shipments was calling right now, and the person he wanted wasn’t here. What was I going to do? The phone rang three more times while I stared at it as if it were a wild animal threatening my physical safety, willing Myra to swoop in and save the day. Then, I answered. “Hello?” I winced at my own voice. I sounded like a frightened child. “How many goddamn rings does it take for you to answer the fucking phone?” Roland exclaimed, his voice deep, ever so slightly hoarse, and very, very angry. “And is that the best you can manage for a professional greeting? Hello?” My face had to have been scarlet. “I’m so…I’m so sorry,” I stuttered. “I was…this is my first day, and Myra stepped away from the desk, and I wasn’t sure…” “Wasn’t sure about what?” he barked. “I wasn’t sure what to do,” I was forced to squeak. “You weren’t sure what to do when a phone rang?” he demanded. “Um, I wasn’t sure what to do when it was the president of a big company calling,” I whispered. “You answer it!” The bellow made me jump and nearly drop the phone, which I was sure wouldn’t have gone well either. “Okay.” I doubted he could hear me over his angry breathing. “If you think you’re competent enough to do so, bring me a copy of the Times and a cup of coffee,” he snapped and slammed down the phone. I was all too eager to replace my own receiver, standing quickly and looking around. Times. Coffee. A newspaper and a cup of coffee. I could do that. And coffee was where Myra was. She could help me figure this all out, help allay my unreasonable fucking fear of a billionaire on a telephone. I reached the break room easily enough without too much delay, but Myra was nowhere in sight. Had she gone back to our desk? I craned my neck to check, but didn’t see her there. Where had she gone? With shaking hands, I poured a large cup of coffee, slopping it over the sides and onto the counter. Dammit! Couldn’t I do anything right? I mopped up the spill with a paper towel and looked around. Would

they…would they maybe keep the newspaper in here? There were snacks galore, reminding me that I was hungry, and plenty of community drinks in the refrigerator, but not a single sheet of newsprint. Wasn’t this company working toward going completely digital? Couldn’t Roland Shepard turn on a computer to read the day’s news? I carried the coffee out of the break room, the hot liquid sloshing around, jumping out and dotting the carpet from time to time, and hunted for Myra. Where in the hell was she? Did she leave me on purpose? Was this some twisted part of the training? I didn’t see the old woman anywhere, but, then again, she was awfully short. It would be easy to overlook her in my panicked scan around the office. No Myra, no newspaper, and a rapidly decreasing mug of coffee from spilling so much of it. I was not doing very well on my first day. I finally approached the receptionist at the front of the office, a woman sitting at a desk by the elevator I’d come up here on. “Excuse me,” I said, forcing myself to smile and pretend like everything was just fine. “Have you happened to see Myra Tuttle around?” “Oh, she had to go down to one of the other companies in the building to hash some things out for Shepard Shipments,” she said, then leaned close and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “That old beast is going to work her as hard as he can, up until the day she leaves.” That old beast? Did she mean Roland? She had to have meant it. Roland Shepard was probably the only one around here who could tell Myra what to do, and he’d certainly been a beast to me over the telephone. Now that I thought about it, he could’ve just said, in a friendly voice, “No need to be nervous, Beauty, I know it’s your first day.” That simple statement would’ve done wonders to assuage my anxiety, but instead, here I was, out of breath for no good reason, on the end of my rope after not much more than an hour in this place. “Could you tell me where to get that old beast—I mean Roland—I mean Mr. Shepard! Ugh! Could you tell me where to get his paper for him?” How could I be so flustered? Is this what an office setting did to me? “There’s a kiosk if you just go down to the lobby and right across the street,” the receptionist said,

giving me a sympathetic smile. “Shit!” I exploded, spilling even more coffee as I jerked my hand upward to cover my mouth. “Sorry! I mean, thank you!” I took refuge in the elevator, still holding that damned coffee mug, which was now missing more than an inch of the beverage, thanks to my clumsiness. I’d never been so flustered in a work setting before, and I used to strip down to nothing but a thong in front of people I didn’t know. How had getting a man a coffee and newspaper reduced me to such a bumbling mess? I emerged from the elevator at a dead run, my flats clattering across the floor, people ducking out of the way. I was looking for a newspaper kiosk. Pushing the building doors open, my eyes darted all around until I spotted it. Just an hour ago, I was standing out here, staring at the unfamiliar reflection of myself in the glass. Would I have gone inside if I’d known what torture awaited me there? Hell, no. I would’ve marched my ass back to my car and driven clear to Canada. I dashed across the street, unwilling to wait for the correct traffic signals, and earned myself some well-deserved honks and shouted insults. Sorry, folks, but I was trying to get a billionaire his newspaper before he fired me or murdered me or berated me until I curled up and died. I was just trying to save my own hide, here. “I need to get a copy of the Times, please,” I told the cashier, excited that I’d at least found the place. Now I could sprint back up to the office and prove to Roland Shepard that I wasn’t a complete idiot. “Here ya go,” the man said, flipping a fat paper toward me. “That’ll be a buck fifty.” I froze in my tracks, having been ready to wheel back around and run for it. “Excuse me?” I asked, clutching the paper and the coffee mug. “I said, that’ll be a buck fifty,” the cashier repeated, staring at me. “I don’t have any money,” I said, patting the sides of my pocketless skirt just to be sure that some benevolent being hadn’t graciously bestowed a pocket with a dollar fifty to save the day. Nope. “Then you can’t have any news,” the cashier said, reaching for the paper.

“Um, wait a second,” I said, dodging away. “This paper. It’s for the man in charge across the street…there at the Shepard Shipments building. Roland Shepard. The president. Doesn’t he have some kind of credit here? He probably asks for a paper every day.” “Nobody has credit here, lady,” the cashier said. “The paper’s a buck fifty for presidents and pissants both.” “Fuck,” I moaned. How long had I been on this stupid errand? Ten minutes? Twenty? If I was incapable of something so mundane, how could I be expected to be Roland’s eyes and ears and hands and brains in the office, as Myra told me I would be? “A buck fifty,” the cashier repeated, holding out his hand. “Or you give the paper back right now.” “I’ll pay you back later, thanks!” I yelled, spinning around him and galloping away at full tilt. “You’re stealing that paper!” the cashier yelled after me, making me grimace as people stared at me run by, bewildered. “You’re stealing that paper, lady! I don’t give a shit if it’s for the Pope! You’re stealing that paper!” The only thing on my mind was getting this paper and coffee up to Roland as fast as my legs—and the elevator—would take me. I slowed my pace to a trot as soon as I got back up to the office, giving the receptionist a small smile as I fought to regain control of my breathing. Everything was fine, now. I had the paper, and I had the coffee. All I had to do was deliver it to a man I was apparently terrified of and all would be well. I could cower back down at the desk, continuing to scan the box full of papers that needed to be digitized before the end of the day. With Myra still doing Roland’s bidding elsewhere, I set my shoulders and plunged forward. Pulling the door to his office open, wrinkling the paper a little in the process, I abruptly stopped. The light inside the office was so dim that it was hard to see, and I didn’t want to run into anything. I had to stand still as the door closed behind me and wait for my eyes to adjust. One dim lamp illuminated a desk, in the far corner, and the outside light was trying to creep in through the same large windows the rest of the office had, but these were obscured with heavy curtains. “Well?”

I jumped at the voice, which came from the direction of the light on the desk, and peered over there. I should’ve been able to see him by now, my eyes having gotten used to the dimness, but I didn’t see anyone. “I have…your, um…” “Speak up!” That sharp command made me want to do the opposite of speaking; it made me want to disappear forever. And then something else rose inside of me, an indignation about how I was being treated. It overwhelmed everything. Why was this man being so foul to me? Did he think he could treat everyone like this just because he had so much more money than the rest of us? It wasn’t fair that I’d been running around like a chicken with its head cut off just because he’d been so mean to me over the phone. It was my first day, after all. I was bound to make some mistakes simply because I didn’t understand how this place worked yet. “I have your coffee and your paper,” I said, proud that my voice only quavered a little. “Well, bring it here.” Here? Where was that? I tiptoed carefully toward the light, in the direction of a voice whose owner I still couldn’t see, until I could gradually make out that the chair at the desk had been spun around, the man sitting in it hidden from my view. What was wrong with him? Did he think me so beneath him that he wouldn’t even deign to gaze upon me? I let the paper fall to the desk with a loud slap in indignation, but as I was moving to slam the coffee mug down beside it with equal rancor, my elbow caught the edge of the lampshade, sending a large wave of the liquid to splash over the front page of the Times. The lampshade crashed to the floor, and I could see now, better than ever, just how nice the office was. There was a large leather couch and two low-slung chairs to match at the far side. The office floor space alone was probably at least a quarter of the size of the rest of the floor. Beyond that, a spiral staircase spun to a door set near the top of the high ceiling. Where could that possibly go? Everything in this already nice space would be so much better, of course, if someone would just throw those heavy curtains back and illuminate the room with the morning light from outside.

The chair spun around, and I wasn’t quick enough to stifle a gasp. The naked light bulb on the lamp, which had revealed the contents of this office to me, revealed equally the occupant of the room. His face cast in sharp relief, equally in shadow and light, was hideously disfigured by a twisting scar that traveled from his temple, past his cheek, across his mouth—splitting the bottom lip—and on down his chin and neck, vanishing beneath the collar of his shirt. He stared at me, eyes dark in spite of the light, for a few brief moments before redirecting his gaze to the coffee mug and his sopping paper. “And just what the fuck is this?” he asked, sweeping his hand over the front page. “How am I supposed to read this now?” “Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “You could turn a few more lights on.” He made a sound of disbelief in his throat, as he examined the coffee mug, going so far as to stick a finger into the liquid. “And this,” he said, showing me the inside of the mug. “A cold, half-empty cup of coffee? Did you think this was what I wanted?” “Some people would say it was half full,” I countered then jumped again as he slammed his fist down against his desk. “Do you think this is funny?” he demanded, pushing himself up from the chair, towering over me even in my heels. “Do you think working here is a joke?” I had to fight the urge to turn and run away. Standing my ground, even as my knees shook, I stared at that furious scar marring his face, distracting myself from my urge to flee. “I don’t think that,” I said. “I’m new here, though, so if that actually is the office culture, you’ll have to tell me.” I was saved from the next verbal assault by the soft beep of the phone on the desk. How was his ringer so soft but the ringer on the phone on my desk so loud, jangling my nerves with its pompous tone? He held up a finger—he was apparently saving more rage for me after he dealt with this pressing business matter—and answered the phone. “Roland Shepard.” He looked at me as he listened into the receiver, and I finally had to glance

away, studying my feet. That scar was just too difficult to ogle. I took the opportunity to retrieve the lampshade I’d knocked over, replacing it back over the bare light bulb and feeling instantly uneasy at the darkness. The darkness seemed to be where Roland Shepard thrived. I was out of my element. After what felt like five minutes of just standing there, listening to him listen to whoever was on the other end of that line, Roland cleared his throat. “Thank you, Myra.” Myra? What the hell? When did she get back and why was she only just now launching a campaign to save me from the president of this company? I strained my eyes to see in the darkness as Roland replaced the receiver to the phone. “So,” he began, picking up the wet paper and dumping it in the garbage. “Not only do the simplest of requests challenge you, but you also steal newspapers in my name and my company’s name?” Well, when he said it like that, it looked really bad. “The vendor from across the street called from the lobby of this very building, trying to reach me,” Roland continued, his voice gradually getting louder. “Luckily, Myra was there to take the call and talked him down from going to the police. If you must steal, Beauty Hart, do it on your own time and don’t invoke my fucking company to do so!” His tirade had risen to a roar, and I withered in the face of that level of wrath. Yes, it had been stupid, but… “I was just trying to do what you asked!” I sassed angrily, defensive as all get out, unwilling to bow completely to his irrational anger. “You were rude to me and this is my first day and all I’ve wanted to do so far was just go back home to my car and go to sleep and forget all of this. I just wanted to please you!” “Do you think any of this hot fucking mess pleases me?” he shouted, right in my face, that ugly scar virtually throbbing at me. There was nothing I could do to keep myself in that office, taking that abuse. I turned tail and ran, shoving my way out the door, grabbing my purse at the desk, ignoring traitorous Myra and the stares of all my new coworkers, as I sprinted to the elevator and practically dove to save the doors from closing on me.

Fuck this. Fuck this place. Hot tears sprung to my eyes and a sob leeched out of me as I rode the elevator back down to the lobby. I didn’t need to do this. I could stand up to a lot of things, but blatant disregard wasn’t one of them. I’d been happier stripping to feed my belly, and my professional clothes felt like a clown’s costume. I was going to throw the pantyhose into the first dumpster I came across. The elevator door opened, and I ran right into Dan, registering belatedly that he had a phone to his ear, his face scrunched into a scowl, in the middle of a sentence. “…solve all your problems, asshole—Beauty!” Maybe it was because his was the first familiar face I’d seen since arriving in Seattle. Or maybe it was because Roland had been just so goddamn mean to me. Either way, and I wasn’t proud of it, I launched myself at Dan and buried my teary face in his chest and cried. “What’s happened, Beauty?” he asked, soothing hands rubbing my back. “Daniel? Answer me. Dan!” The voice in his ear, the cellphone still connected to the call. I knew that voice—hoarse, low, demanding. He was talking to Roland. I jerked away. “Call you back,” Dan said, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Beauty? Are you all right?” “It’s nothing,” I said, quickly wiping tears and very likely melting mascara from my cheeks. “I’m just…I’m going now.” “Going now?” He checked his watch. “We’re not even halfway through the workday. Where are you going?” “Just going,” I said, backing away from him, circling around until I had a clear shot at the exit. “This place isn’t for me—just like college wasn’t, either.” “Everybody eventually figures out where their place is,” Dan said, turning to face me. “You’re not exempt from that, you know. If your place isn’t here, where is it? It’s not in Houston anymore. You and I both know that.” I flinched at hearing the name of the city where I grew up, the outskirts of which had been my playground, where Caro and my parents were buried. “I have to go,” I said, my legs moving faster and faster until I was running again.

“You can’t run forever!” I thought I heard Dan call, but I couldn’t be sure. I was outside in the air, breathing deeply, away from the suffocating atmosphere of Shepard Shipments. I covered my face in my hands, pressing my fingers against my eyes so hard I saw stars. “Hey, it’s you!” I looked up to see the vendor from the newspaper kiosk across the street, pointing at me, livid. “It’s you, the newspaper stealer!” he yelled. “Hey, newspaper stealer! I see you!” It was past time to get the fuck out of here.

Chapter 5 I drove around the city aimlessly, letting the stoplights dictate my path, until I realized I was wasting valuable gas that I’d probably need on the road. I was leaving here. I didn’t need any of this drama, not with the drama that had plagued my life up until this point. How much rancor was I going to have to put up with until everyone just left me alone? I parked where I could see the water and stared out at the boats drifting in and out of the harbor, ferrying people to God knew where. They probably all had a purpose, every last one of them, and I didn’t. I was living in my car, unable to decide just where I needed to be. What would happen if I ran down that slip and jumped into the cold sea? I could really disappear, then, just swimming and swimming and swimming out, in a perfectly straight line, bobbing on the waves until I couldn’t swim anymore and just drifted with the tides and currents, face lifted toward the sky, engulfed in nothingness. Why was I even here? What had I set out to do? I remembered Dan had piqued my curiosity at the bar. Something hadn’t added up about his story of wanting me to work for his family’s company, and I’d been bound and determined to figure out just what it was. Was that the only thing motivating me? Or was it the troubling fact that he knew much more about me than he should’ve, like the name of my college, when I’d dropped out, and my various movements that made me writhe my way across the country from Texas to Washington state. I’d wanted to know why he gave a shit about me. I was sure there were many people much more qualified than I was to work at Shepard Shipments. So why had Dan followed my progress across the country? Why had he said that Roland had kept me in his mind after all this time? As much as I wanted to drift away, to forget and be forgotten, I knew that I’d never figure out what I wanted to know if I simply left Seattle, left Shepard Shipments without trying to ferret out just what they wanted with me.

And if I hated my job, it was that much better. I deserved to hate it, deserved to suffer. This could be just another stage of my penance for what I’d caused on that dark country rode that night. I heaved a sigh and started the car again, looking longingly toward the horizon, where the sea met the sky. That’s where I really wanted to be, in the place just beyond that, in the nothing place. Maybe, once I investigated Shepard Shipments to my satisfaction, I could go there. Simply sink into that blissful nothing and forget about everything. Just not today. No, today I needed to find my way back to the Shepard Shipments building, get my cowed ass back upstairs, and figure out what I needed to do to avoid a train wreck like today tomorrow. I was going to have to suck it up and walk calmly past all of the people I’d run out in front of and pretend like everything was just fine and dandy. I took a deep breath, cleaned the last of the smeared makeup off my face and went in an entrance that avoided the newspaper vendor. One challenge at a time. “Um, Ms. Hart? Ms. Beauty Hart?” The lobby receptionist was waving me toward the desk. I approached, my feet heavy with dread. Had I been fired and banned from the building for my emotional outburst? It would serve me right, but in all fairness, Roland had been the one to burst first. “I’m Beauty Hart,” I said, wishing—not for the first time—that I wasn’t. “Mr. Shepard sent this down for you,” she said, handing me a manila envelope. “With instructions that you open it immediately.” I sighed and pried up the prongs fastening the envelope shut. There was a single sheet of paper inside and fastened to it with a paper clip was a credit card. I frowned. What was this supposed to be? Severance? “Beauty,” the letter began, the writing cramped and hard to read. Did Roland actually right this himself? It was easier to imagine him dictating to Myra. “It’s fucking unacceptable to me that one of the employees of Shepard Shipments is living out of her car. We maintain a sense of pride around here, and if you’re going to continue to work at my company, we’re going to have to work to elevate your situation. Take this card and use it to buy whatever you need. This includes additional clothes, toiletries, an

apartment, food, a cellphone, a laptop, and everything else you think might make you a more successful part of this team. There is no cap on the card. It can’t be maxed out. Don’t return until you, at the very least, have a roof over your head.” His flourishing signature ended the letter, and I took the credit card in my hand and examined it. The name it was registered under was Roland Shepard. Had he literally given me his own credit card? I wasn’t about to fucking take this. No way. I made a move for the elevators, but the receptionist cleared her throat loudly. “Ms. Hart?” I turned. “Mr. Shepard also said that you weren’t supposed to go back upstairs until you’d completed the tasks he’d given you.” “Yes, of course,” I said, plastering a fake smile over my face. “But there’s a small problem that I need to address first. Just part of the instructions that weren’t clear.” That was a lie. I was going to go up there and toss this credit card in his ugly face and tell him just where he could stick it. I didn’t want his charity. I’d refuse it, a billionaire’s violent temper tantrum be damned. “Ms. Hart, it’s just that…” She trailed off, glancing toward the door. I followed her gaze and noticed two burly security guards approaching. “It’s just that he said if you tried to go back upstairs without completing the tasks he’d given you, he’d have you thrown out of the building.” Her throat bobbed nervously. “Physically, if need be.” I was quite sure the security guards had received those same instructions by the way they were eyeing me. Unwilling to give the Roland Shepard any more satisfaction than my failures had already granted him, I left by my own volition. What was stopping me from withdrawing a ton of money and using it to fund my new life in, say, Canada? That was still a viable option. I could probably live up there for quite a while without working, as long as I had this magical, limitless credit card of Roland’s. And yet what Dan had said stuck with me—that I’d have to belong to someplace eventually. I didn’t want to belong anywhere; I didn’t deserve to. I wanted to live in my car. It sucked, but it was supposed to. I wasn’t supposed to be happy when other people were dead because of my stupid mistake. Yet, it was so difficult to live on the road, never being quite sure what I would eat next, or if I

could get the money to eat, going hungry for days on end—once, for an entire week. I stood there, outside the building, vacillating back and forth on what to do. I wanted to be here; I wanted to figure out why Shepard Shipments wanted me so badly; and yet, I longed for the road, to be anonymous, for people to know my name but nothing else about me. The Shepards knew too much. The niggling fact remained that I didn’t want to have enough money to be comfortable, to have this credit card at my disposal. I’d done a horrible thing, and I didn’t deserve comfort when I’d sent four people to their graves. I didn’t deserve to be helped by anyone if I’d been so irresponsible before. And there was the fact that Roland’s letter that accompanied the credit card had been so fucking pompous. The fact that I lived out of my car affected company pride? That was bullshit. I took the card and topped off the tank—that was my first move—as I decided just what I’d do. The open road called me, the need to be punished at the forefront of my mind. But I still stayed, driving the streets of this beautiful city, the sun trying to peek between the clouds ever so often, the hills, the ferries. Houston had been nothing like this—more of an urban sprawl—but something about Seattle enchanted me. Maybe it was the thought that things could be different in Seattle. That I could let people know me. That I’d reached the end of my penance in my journey across the country… No. There wasn’t a point you could reach in your life when you made peace with causing four people to die. There was probably even a special place in hell for people like me. I’d pulled off to the side of the street, in a spare parking spot, to stare off into space and ponder my situation. Could I really stay in Seattle, at least for as long as it took me to figure out Shepard Shipments? I didn’t dare to try to be happy, but working as the assistant to Roland Shepard would probably ensure that would never happen. It dawned on me…maybe Roland could be my new punishment? He was acerbic, egotistical, and downright mean. I could accept that abuse and continue to suffer for the sins of my past. Would that be enough? I turned my head to gaze at the building I stopped in front of, and my eyes widened. A sign was

just beyond my passenger’s side window that read: “Apartments for rent.” Was this some kind of gentle nod from the universe to tell me that staying in Seattle would be the right thing to do? Did the universe even still take interest in people as terrible as me? I made a decision right then and there. No more hemming and hawing. I was going to stay in Seattle; I was going to continue to bear the brunt of Roland’s anger; and I was going to get to the bottom of my suspicions about Shepard Shipments’ interest in me. It definitely couldn’t be that I was a promising employee. I’d proved myself an idiot today, and yet, here I was, holding a company credit card, considering taking out a lease on an apartment, and surprisingly not fired—even when I back-talked the president of the company. I’d have fired myself for that. Instead, I went to an ATM, took out an exorbitant amount of cash, signed up for a cellphone, called the number on the sign, and agreed to meet the landlord at the building in an hour. An hour. What else could I do in an hour? I bought the laptop, went furniture shopping, rounded out my wardrobe, and purchased some new toiletries. When I returned to the apartment building, my trunk packed with more possessions than it ever had been, the landlord was already there. “Beauty Hart, hello!” he gushed. “So nice to meet you.” He took my hand in his and shook it emphatically. “Thanks for meeting me,” I said. “I’m interested in renting an apartment in this building.” “Done looking around?” he asked, sounding eager. “More like never got started,” I answered, shrugging. “I liked the looks of this building, and I just moved into the city for a new job.” “Perfect!” he exclaimed. “Well, let me show you around your new home!” The apartment was just what I needed—and then some. It had a beautiful view, wood floors, and ample closet space. The kitchen had brand new modern appliances, and I eyed the stove with something cross between trepidation and excitement. I hadn’t cooked in years, and I’d have to buy all new dishes

and pots and pans and utensils. It seemed almost overwhelming to consider…until I remembered Roland’s credit card. “So, what do you think?” the landlord asked after I’d drifted around the space several more times, imagining what couch would go where, whether I’d splurge on a queen bed or stick with what I was more used to—a twin. Would a queen feel too big? I’d been so used to sleeping in my car that I thought a queen might be a waste of space on me. I’d probably just curl up to sleep and not move a muscle all night long. “Do you need some more time to consider your options?” he asked. “I would completely understand if you did. Moving in to a new place is a big step, and one that can be overwhelming. Take a day to think about it, if you want. It’s all the same to me. You should be happy and feel completely at home in a place before you sign a lease.” “No, I’m taking it,” I said, unable to smother a big grin. “I don’t understand why, but it somehow already feels like home.” The most difficult part of the decision was deciding on a term for the lease agreement. Did I only want to be here month to month? Six months? A whole year? Two years? The wanderlust inside of me— or perhaps just the part of me that was used to being on the road, always moving around, never getting attached to one place—balked at the longer lease term. But finally, I was able to close my eyes and sign a one-year lease. I didn’t know how long it would take me to discover the truth of the Shepards. If it took less than a year, well, maybe I wouldn’t mind continuing to live here. The rest of the day was spent setting up my utilities, securing other services like Internet and gas, and buying furniture and décor and having it rush delivered that evening to my new home. If Roland had said that money wasn’t an object, I supposed he could afford it. I sat in a new armchair, fiddling with my laptop as I directed movers where to put my new furniture. On a whim, I opened up my Shepard Shipments email account Myra had given me access to early today and fired off a message at Roland. I’m typing this from a new laptop that you bought, sitting on a new chair, which you also bought, inside a new apartment, which you have footed the bill for as well. You are probably going to have to dock my pay for a solid year before you recoup all these expenses from me. The new place feels

a little too big after my cozy car, but I think it’s going to turn out just fine. Thank you. I hesitated a few moments before sending it. The last thing I wanted to do was to give the impression that I was some entitled gold digger. The fact that Roland had given me his credit card to try and straighten out my life had been a kind gesture. I wanted to make sure he knew I was grateful. My computer gave a tiny ping, and I studied the screen. I’d received a message back from Roland, and my stomach did a funny little flip flop in response. Why was he at work so late? I glanced at the clock. It was already approaching nine o’clock. The movers had done my bidding and left, and I was all alone in my new home. I realized in a flash that the office kind of was Roland’s home. He lived in the same building, after all, so I guessed that he didn’t much mind attending to business matters whenever he pleased, even if they occurred after hours. A quick stab of guilt hit me. Was I making him attend to office matters after hours? I opened the email. Your pay won’t be docked. All employees receive reimbursement for moving expenses. I expect you in the office at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow with hot coffee and a newspaper you haven’t stolen. I expelled my breath—which I hadn’t realized I’d been holding—in an exasperated laugh. What an asshole. He didn’t even acknowledge my gratitude, and I seriously doubted that Shepard Shipments bought everyone their apartment and filled it up with furniture, new clothes, and electronics. Why did he have to be so gruff all the time? The receptionist up on the floor where I worked had called him a beast. He seemed to have a reputation for acting beastly, and it didn’t help that his scar was so terrible to look upon. How had he gotten such a scar? It looked fully healed, as far as I could tell in the darkened office, but still somewhat new. I would’ve thought that someone with as much money as the president of a major corporation had could pay to get that kind of thing at the very least reduced, if not completely removed. And wasn’t there some kind of twisted adage somewhere that advised if you weren’t particularly handsome, you had better at least be kind? Roland was neither of those things, which probably explained why he secluded himself in a darkened office and never set foot near his employees—except for his

assistants. Well, soon to be assistant, only one. Me. The thought was terrifying but empowering. I was somehow entrusted to be the face Roland couldn’t show to the rest of his employees. And maybe, once he got to know me at little better—or once I figured his quirks out myself—he wouldn’t have to be such a jerk. I sighed and closed my laptop before standing up. There were still groceries to purchase, dinner to be made, and an outfit to be picked out before work tomorrow. I’d have to ponder the mystery of Roland Shepard and his company some other time. I apparently had a life to get back to.

Chapter 6 “Oh, no. Not you. I know you. You get away from here.” I was slowly approaching the newspaper vendor I’d stolen from yesterday, my hands palms up, arms outstretched, trying to prove that I wasn’t a threat, that I could be trusted. “Sir, I told you yesterday that I would pay you back today,” I said. “Yesterday was a terrible mistake, and as I work in that building behind me now, I’m going to have to frequent your kiosk every day to buy the Times.” “You’re just going to have to frequent somewhere else,” he said, shaking his head. “No way, no how, newspaper stealer. Your business isn’t wanted here.” “Here,” I said, holding out a crisp twenty-dollar bill, a remnant from my grocery-buying binge from the previous night. “I’d like a copy of the Times, please, and to cover any pain and suffering I caused yesterday by taking the newspaper without paying. It was my first day, and I was really nervous.” He narrowed his eyes at my bribe attempt before taking the bill and shoving a paper at me. “I heard you all have some kind of monster living up there, making your lives hell.” Was he talking about Roland? “I don’t know about that,” I lied. “Like I said, I just started yesterday. I wouldn’t know about that kind of thing.” I was about to walk into the building when I heard the street vendor whistle sharply. “Yesterday, that old woman who’s assistant to the monster came down and gave me a hundred bucks for you stealing!” he said, waving my paltry twenty-dollar bill in the air. “I’m gonna get rich off of you. I know it!” I snorted and walked into the building, waving defiantly at the security guards and receptionist who had almost thrown me out bodily just the morning prior. I wanted to shout at them about all the things I’d bought that I’d never owned before, such as a gallon of milk, but I didn’t want to sound pathetic. When I arrived at my floor, the Times newspaper intact and paid for in my arms, ready to set my

shoulders and get on with any awkwardness with my coworkers after I fled from this place yesterday, I was instead surprised by the receptionist giving me a big hug the moment I stepped out of the elevator. “We call what you did yesterday the actual moment you start working for Shepard Shipments,” she confided, giving me a pat on the back. “Everyone who has to deal with that beast does it, eventually. You might hold the record for how quickly it happened, but you’re going to be his assistant, after all.” I was forced to laugh. “I just wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into yesterday,” I admitted. “It’s kind of my first office job.” “If you’re back today, then you’re doing just fine,” she assured me. “Most people don’t come back after they have an encounter like that. His office door isn’t soundproof, you know. We could hear him yelling at you—not the words, of course, but the volume. What did you do to piss him off?” I was an idiot, I wanted to say. It didn’t make me feel good to badmouth a man who’d just ended my status as homeless and poverty stricken with a simple plastic card and license to spend whatever I needed to. However, I wanted desperately to fit in with my coworkers, to have some bright spot in my day if I knew Roland was going to be yelling at me later. “I was a smartass to him,” I confided. “No!” she gasped, scandalized. “What’d you say? You have to tell me!” “I’d spilled most of his coffee on his newspaper, and he said he didn’t ask for a coffee that was half empty,” I said, unable to stop myself from smirking at the memory. “I told him that some people would say it was half full.” The receptionist shrieked with laughter, and I tried to shrink inside myself as people craned their necks to see just what was so funny. “You are going to get so fired!” she whispered, her shoulders still shaking with laughter. “How you are back here today?” “Believe me, I’m asking myself the same question,” I muttered. The receptionist had confirmed one of my suspicions. Why had my sass been tolerated yesterday—not only tolerated, but rewarded with a veritable limitless shopping spree? Add that item to the official “Shit Here Does Not Make Any Sense Whatsoever” list.

“Well, I’m glad you’re sticking around,” she said. “You’re spunky. I’m Sam, by the way.” “Beauty,” I said, shaking her hand. “Oh, honey,” Sam laughed. “Everyone knows your name after yesterday.” I cringed. That felt more like a bad thing than a good thing. “Well, I better go focus on not spilling Roland’s coffee on his newspaper,” I joked. “Don’t let anyone hear you call him by his first name” she hissed, surprising me. “They’ll think you actually like him.” “Like him?” I frowned and shook my head. “I don’t like him. And he definitely doesn’t like me.” “He doesn’t like anyone,” Sam confirmed. “Well, good luck in there, soldier.” “Thanks,” I said, laughing and feeling uncomfortable at the same time. I felt almost traitorous talking about Roland behind his back. He’d helped me probably more than he’d helped anyone in this building. So why did all of these people work here if they all hated him so much? I stopped by the break room, filled a mug full of freshly brewed coffee, and took small, slow steps to ensure all of the hot liquid stayed firmly in the cup. I was going to do this right today. I wasn’t even going to give him a reason to shout at me. There was something almost comforting, though, in the knowledge that if he did shout at me, it was just another part of my self-enforced punishment. I’d take the licks and keep on going for as long as I was employed here. Having a clear plan—no matter how messed up it might have been—was strangely nice. Myra’s purse was on our desk, but she was off to parts unknown again. Was I going to be that busy once I took over for her? The thought lingered in my mind as I leaned against Roland’s office door, knocked with the hand securing the paper, and entered. “I have your coffee and paper here, Mr. Shepard, just as you asked,” I announced as cheerily as possible for so early in the morning. “No, not as I asked.” He was seated at the desk, like yesterday, but the chair was turned around. He was hunched over the keyboard to his computer, his phone display alight, working hard. The office was just as dark today as it was yesterday, the only source of light coming from his devices and that single lamp on the desk.

“Not as you asked?” I repeated. “I promise that I paid for the paper, and the coffee is hot, and I haven’t spilled any of it…yet.” “Would you care to tell me what time it is?” My eyes darted around the room for a clock, but the light was just too dim. I jammed the paper under my arm and fished around in my purse until I came up with my cellphone, keeping my eyes on the coffee mug, willing the beverage to stay put with all of my strength. I mashed the button to engage the display. “It’s eight o’clock,” I said, confident. “Wrong.” He pointed at his own phone. “It’s 8:03.” “I rounded down,” I admitted. “If it was 8:05, I would’ve gone up to 8:10.” “When I say that your day begins at eight o’clock sharp, that’s what I mean. It’s not three minutes after, not five minutes after, not ten minutes after. Not thirty seconds after. Eight in the morning. Precisely. If you find you need to get here a little earlier to ensure you’re on time, do what you need to do.” His words were harsh, but his tone was mild. I absorbed this information without so much as a noise of protest. “I understand, Mr. Shepard, and I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.” “Don’t waste my time with apologizes,” he said, taking the paper from me first and then the coffee, his fingers brushing mine and making me shudder inexplicably. “Just get it right the next time.” “Yes, of course,” I babbled. I could still feel his fingers on mine but had no idea why they’d made such a strong impression. It had been an accident, our hands touching. Was it because of that terrible scar? Did it repulse me? “Anything else?” Roland asked pointedly. I realized that he was staring at me, staring at him, and I quickly lowered my gaze. “No, sir,” I said, “oh, except this.” I located my wallet and extracted his credit card. “Thank you, again, for everything. This may sound kind of stupid to someone…well, someone like you, but it’s really fun to be able to get a huge tub of ice cream and not have to eat all of it at one time. I’ve never had my own freezer before!”

He gave me an odd look that I couldn’t quite define before taking the card from me. “You also got a cellphone, I see,” he said, not acknowledging my gratitude again, or somewhat thankfully, my awkward admission about the ice cream. “Yes,” I said. “It seems like there’s kind of a steep learning curve, but I’m pretty confident I’ll get the hang of it.” “Email me your number,” he said shortly, looking back down at his keyboard before launching into a storm of typing. “You need to be available at all times as my assistant. I need to be able to count on you if I reach out and need something done.” “Of course,” I said, bowing like an idiot before spinning around to hide my burning blush. Why was I so stupid and awkward around this man? “I’ll email you right now—as soon as I get back to the desk. No problem. Just let me know—or Myra, she’s still here, obviously—if you need anything. When you need anything, I mean. I know you’re really busy and you need lots of things.” “Beauty?” “Yes?” I turned around eagerly. “What can I do for you?” “Shut up and leave.” He’d never stopped typing. I all but ran to the door, more to escape my embarrassment than to escape the man still seated at that desk, running a company in the dark. “There you are!” Myra exclaimed, as I popped back into the main office. This place was so much friendlier than Roland’s cave. Maybe it was just the lighting, but it even felt easier to breath out here. “Sorry I ran off yesterday,” I said, sheepish, but Myra waved my apology away. “Well, you already know the worst of your new job, which is to say that your boss can be a little difficult.” She smiled. “But since that little bit of unpleasantness has passed, we can continue your training.” Myra said it like Roland’s temper was nothing, just something to endure now that I’d seen it myself. “Does it ever get better?” I asked, taking the day’s box of documents to be digitized from her and opening the lid.

“Better?” She blinked at me. “I mean, does he ever stop yelling and stuff?” “You have to understand, Beauty,” she began, “just how much stress that poor man in there is under. He’s running this big company through a computer and a phone and his brother. If his temper’s short, it’s only because he doesn’t have very much time to waste on anything else.” “So he was easier to get along with before the company was really successful?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. “Well, sure, he was really easy to get along with before…” Myra trailed off and frowned. “Before what?” I prompted. Whether she liked it or not, this training was going to include all the company gossip. I felt like I needed to know if I was going to be the man’s assistant. “Did I show you where the company cafeteria was yesterday?” she asked, completely shifting tack. “You ran out so soon. I had a list of things I was going to teach you yesterday, and another one for today. Now we have to get through both of them today—and that blasted box of documents.” I hid a small smile behind my hand. If Myra was going to stonewall me, fine. And if she was going to make me feel guilty for leaving her here all alone yesterday morning, fine again. I had other sources now. I was sure I could get my new friend, Sam, the receptionist, to divulge some secrets. “You didn’t show me the cafeteria,” I told Myra, “but that can always wait until lunch, right? What else should we be doing?” Myra rarely stayed at her desk, receiving an agenda of items to attend to on Roland’s behalf via email at the start of each workday. I shadowed her on her jaunts across the office and to other companies on floors below, observing the surprisingly high energy in a woman about to retire. If I’d put in as many years as she had in the workforce, I would’ve been taking it easy during my final week. And when she did go back to her desk to check the agenda or if there was some free time to work on digitizing between tasks, the phone would often blare, scaring us both. The only person ever on the other end of that line was Roland. “I’m surprised you don’t have many missed calls from him,” I said, as Myra prepared to forward him some information he’d asked for.

“What do you mean?” she asked absently, clicking away at the computer. “I mean, if you’re rarely here, at the desk, always running errands around the building, then don’t you think he’d call? He seems to be really needy.” “There’s no need for him to call when I’m not here,” she answered, sending the email with a small sound of triumph and bringing the agenda back up on the screen. “He can see if I’m here or not for himself.” She pointed toward the ceiling to a small, black lens. “A camera?” I nearly shouted, causing several people to swivel around in their desk chairs to try and see what was wrong with me. “Sorry. But a camera? Really?” Now I understood my creepy feelings, the impression that I was under scrutiny. I’d felt like that when I first got here because it was true. There really were eyes on me, and they belonged to Roland Shepard. My skin crawled in earnest. “I don’t see why you’re so upset about it,” Myra said, shrugging. “How else do you expect the man to keep track of what’s going on in his own office?” “Well, he could come out here, for one,” I said. “Not lock himself away. He doesn’t have to spy on us. Oh, wait. Does that thing have audio?” “Of course it does,” she answered, almost crossly. “So does that one, and that one, and that one, and the one in the break room, too. How have you not noticed them?” Because there were too many other things to notice, like how attractive Dan was, or how afraid I was of not fitting in, or how fast I was running away from my past, or how frightening Roland was, or how mightily I was struggling to prove that I could do this job…somehow. There had been many, many distractions to keep me from noticing the cameras this place was apparently bristling with, but now that I knew they were here, I couldn’t not see them. Roland watching me get his coffee in the morning, or stopping by to chat with Sam. Roland watching me as I sat at this very desk, staring right back into his eyes through the camera. I averted my gaze. “There are cameras everywhere, you know,” Myra said, calm as a cucumber. “You should pretty

much assume you’re being recorded everywhere you go, you know. Even our phones have video.” “It just seems weird,” I said, feeling defeated and cagey. Roland had heard everything I’d said about him while sitting here. I’d been true to how I felt, but that didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty about my words. They probably weren’t things I’d say to his face, given the chance. “You’ll get used to it,” Myra said absentmindedly. “It gets nice, after a while. Like a guardian angel, always looking out for you.” I blinked at her, surprised at her sentimentality. Up until now, Myra had seemed like a no-nonsense woman. She looked up at me, bewildered. “What?” she asked, then frowned. “Oh, Beauty. Silly girl. It’s not as if Mr. Shepard doesn’t have anything better to do than stare at his employees all day. I imagine he simply glances at the camera on our desk to see if there’s a body in the chair so he can ask us to do something.” I did feel silly, but I felt no less scrutinized. There wasn’t an inch of the office that escaped the camera’s singular glare. No matter what I did or where I went, there would always be the chance that Roland would be watching me, probably ready to leap at the chance to criticize me for messing up. The day passed slowly, the cameras a constant, distracting companion. It was difficult to keep up with Myra and keep tabs on the things she was telling me I would have to be doing soon with the feeling that I was being watched and judged very thoroughly. It was a relief to leave the building at the end of the workday, practically skipping to the parking lot in the sheer joy of not being watched by Roland Shepard on a camera. I imagined him hunched over his laptop, studying my every step, and shuddered. It was too creepy to think about. “Looking much better than yesterday, if I may say so.” I turned around in the parking lot to see Dan, twirling a set of keys around on his finger. “Feeling much better than yesterday, and since I’m not sobbing with makeup running down my face, I think it’s fine that you say so,” I sassed, happy to see that friendly face of his. It was also a relief to be able to talk to whomever I wanted to however I wanted to. I always felt like I was treading on thin ice with Roland. How could Dan be so different from his brother? “Well, I’m glad that you’re finding your rhythm,” he said, looking me up and down in a way that

made me blush. “Though I do remember you used to have plenty at a shitty little bar across the state.” “I’d prefer to leave the past where it lies,” I said, twirling my own keys to match his boisterous fidgeting. “That’s the problem with the past, Beauty,” he sighed, his face playing at resignation. “It never lets itself be left behind.” “Maybe for some people,” I allowed. But not for me. I couldn’t have my past be present right now, not when I was so focused on doing well here, on tentatively moving forward. “Yeah, maybe just for some people,” he mused. “Well, would you care for a ride to wherever you’re headed? Dinner, perhaps?” “I have a car,” I reminded him, jingling my keys loudly. “And dinner’s waiting for me at home.” “Oh?” Dan asked, his ears practically perking up in interest. “Someone waiting for you at home? A boyfriend, eager to impress you with his prowess at the stove?” “No,” I snorted, laughing. “A crockpot.” One of the purchases I’d made when I still had Roland’s credit card in my possession was a slow cooker. The packaging promised that I could dump a bunch of ingredients in before I went to work and get home to a delicious dinner. To a person who wasn’t so confident in her cooking skills, that seemed like a damn miracle. Dan laughed, too, and shook his head. “Well, I’ll let you get to that,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to burn your house down with scorched dinner. But could I take you out sometime? When dinner’s not waiting for you?” I put my hands on my hips. “That sounds awfully like a date,” I mock scolded. “And I don’t think you want me reporting to human resources that I’m feeling pressured to date my boss.” “I’m not your boss,” he scoffed. “That’s my brother’s job. And there’s no office policy about dating.” Dating? Really? Did Dan actually want to date me? My cheeks colored of their own accord, and my stomach seemed to try to take flight inside of my body. “That may be,” I said, keeping my voice as light as I could. “But it’s still not really professional,

is it?” “Not really professional is me asking you for another lap dance,” Dan purred, unperturbed. My face was so hot I wondered if I was running a fever. How could he just stand there, straightfaced, propositioning me to take my clothes off? I should’ve known back at the bar that agreeing to dance for him would come back to bite me in the ass. “You’re right about that,” I managed to say. “That wouldn’t be very professional at all.” “Just keep it in mind, is all I ask for,” he said, grinning and turning to go. “The date, that is. Not the lap dance. Though a man can dream.” He sauntered over to the nicest car in the lot by far, and I watched him go, wondering just what was so great about a crockpot dinner that made me pass up that tall drink of man. He was so sexy, and in spite of my misgivings about our professional relationship, I actually wanted to go on a date with him. Hell, if I were being perfectly honest with myself, I would’ve given him another lap dance. That’s how much I liked him. Maybe I’d understand Dan and Roland’s differences better if I’d had a sibling. Alas, though, I’d been a single child—probably for better than worse. I didn’t envy the idea that I’d have to deal with a living sibling, angry at me for causing our parents’ deaths. But the difference between the two men was vast. Dan was handsome, for one, and outgoing, easy to talk to and get along with. He was flashy but compassionate, and flirtatious to boot. And then there was Roland. Reclusive, unpleasant to gaze upon, and endlessly rude. How could they both be products of the same parents? I resolved to ask Sam as soon as possible if Roland wasn’t perhaps adopted into Dan’s family—or the other way around. The rest of the week flew by. I started getting to work at 7:30 in the morning just to try and avoid Roland’s ire at my incompetency, but he still found things to be critical about. “Too casual,” he barked at me when I gave him his paper and coffee while wearing dark wash jeans—which I thought looked fantastic with my blazer. “This isn’t a club,” he said again, when I wore a dress with some sequins in the detailing. However, it wasn’t until his sly “where’s the funeral” comment regarding my sleek, all-black suit

that I struck back. “This is my first office job!” I spat, sick of him commenting on my appearance. “If there is a dress code, forward it to me. There will be some wardrobe hiccups as I try and adjust to this particular culture! My previous job…” I gulped. Dan might have known what my previous job was, but I wasn’t about to divulge it willingly to Roland. “Decidedly more casual, I’d imagine,” he replied coolly, making me flush to the very roots of my hair. Oh my God, he knew. I wished I could die right then and there. “If you’re struggling with fitting in with the office culture here,” Roland added, not looking the least bit embarrassed, “you could always, I don’t know, open your damn eyes and look around the fucking office to see what the other women are wearing. Is that too hard a task? Want to screw that up, too?” “No, I’ll open my damn eyes and look around the fucking office, like you said,” I replied, my shame thankfully replaced with irritation. “And maybe I’ll get some shitty fashion tips from some of these assholes, too.” He gave me an appraising look, like all the tough language had impressed him, and I felt a weird little glow of pride. Yes, this girl had a sailor mouth right alongside the best of them. “Get out,” he said almost amicably, and I left feeling like I’d won that round—or, at the very least, held my own. At the end of the week, though, after a whirlwind of training and digitizing and trying to gain my footing at this confusing place, one major safety net was removed: Myra. On Friday afternoon, we all gathered near the breakroom to celebrate her very last day with Shepard Shipments. Most of me was consumed with panic. I always felt better at Myra’s side, accompanying her on the errands Roland sent her on, always knowing that she had my back when that frightening phone rang. Now, it was going to be just me, training wheels off, trying to do her work. There was a swell of people I normally didn’t see on this floor, and I realized that employees from companies occupying the floors below had arrived to see Myra off. That was how important a contribution she had made to this place. One person, however, was noticeably absent from the celebrations, which included an enormous

cake and plastic flutes of champagne: Roland. The door to his office remained closed, even as the volume of laughter increased as the amount of champagne people drank increased. It made me unreasonably angry to realize that he wasn’t here, sending off Myra, who’d been his right hand woman and then some. Couldn’t he at least come out and give her a hug in front of everyone? I didn’t expect him to imbibe in cake or champagne or anything else that symbolized happiness. He obviously wouldn’t touch happiness with a ten-foot pole. “What’s that face for?” Myra asked me, handing me a slice of cake on a plate. “It’s nothing,” I said, grumpy as I stabbed a fork into the treat, staring daggers at Roland’s office door, which remained closed and impervious to my anger. “You might as well tell me,” she said, sipping on her champagne. “Your face tells the world what’s going on in that head of yours. And I won’t be here after today for you to vent to.” “It’s just that Roland isn’t here for your going away party,” I complained, stuffing a piece of the cake in my mouth. It was moist and heavenly, but I didn’t want to get distracted from my purpose. “You’ve been with him all these years, doing everything for him. You’d think he’d climb down from his throne and at least say goodbye.” “Silly girl,” Myra sighed, shaking her head at me. “You just don’t know the man yet. We’ve already said goodbye. So don’t you worry about that.” That might’ve satisfied Myra, but it did very little to satisfy me. I thought it was disrespectful that he wasn’t here to celebrate the end of her career, cowardly, even. I couldn’t relax, pacing around in consternation. Even Dan was here, topping off Myra’s glass of champagne whenever she wasn’t looking. “I’d like to propose a toast,” I announced suddenly, hoisting my glass up. Something had to be said, and I was going to be the one to say it. “A toast, a toast,” Dan said, clinking a plastic knife against his plastic glass of champagne. Myra looked at me sternly and shook her head. “I really want to say a few words,” I said, plunging forward in spite of her. “I know I haven’t been here very long at all, but Myra has really been something special for me this past week. I can only imagine

what it was like to work with someone so caring and capable all this time.” “Here, here!” Sam called, but I wasn’t anywhere near done. “If I were Roland Shepard,” I continued, smiling dangerously as half the room paled, “I’d be kissing her feet right about now—no, the very ground she walked on. I don’t believe this place would function if not for Myra. I mean, she practically ran the place, wouldn’t you agree? The eyes and ears and hands and brains of the president of Shepard Shipments. Why not the president himself? I’d vote for her!” A few people clapped uncertainly. I was downright shocked that Dan looked uncomfortable. He’d been able to ask me out on a date without so much as batting an eyelash. Why was what I was saying—the truth, by the way—so much worse? “In closing,” I added, noticing that Myra looked noticeably relieved, “I just want to say that I’ll miss you, Myra, very much. I don’t think I will ever fill your shoes, and I’m sure Roland Shepard will never let me forget that fact. So cheers to Myra, everyone. May she enjoy her retirement far away from this place and stop having to feel like she has to be a lifesaver for everyone here. Cheers!” The answering calls for cheers were few and far between. Many people looked like they’d maybe had a bad piece of cake, though I didn’t know how that would be possible. It was great cake. “I’d just like to say,” Myra cut in, “that I greatly enjoyed my time here, and I will miss it very much. I’ll miss most of all trying to save you from yourself, silly girl. Beauty, good luck. You’re going to need it.” Everyone laughed, sounding relieved, and the phone at our desk jangled. I’d been so gung-ho in my speech, but now my heart sank. Roland had probably been watching—and listening—to the whole thing. There would be hell to pay. “I’ll go get that,” Myra said quickly. “No way,” I protested, stopping her. “This is your party. You enjoy it.” “It’s probably the last time I’m going to see that man in my whole life,” she said, and I was taken aback to notice that her eyes were filled with tears. “Myra, if I said something wrong, I’m sorry….” She hugged me tightly. “Roland Shepard is a lot of things, Beauty,” she said. “And he’s not a

perfect man. But you need to remember that he’s a good man, underneath it all. Roland Shepard is a good man who has experienced things no one should. Treat him well. He doesn’t deserve to suffer.” And that was the last thing Myra said to me in the office, as she sped over to the desk to clean up one of my messes for the final time.

Chapter 7 The work wasn’t going to end, I realized, sending a well-worded curse upon Myra out into the universe. She’d told me everything she thought was necessary about this position, but the late hours hadn’t been included. Who knew, really? Maybe she was able to power through all of the assignments she’d been tasked with in normal business hours. Maybe I’d get to that point, too, someday, when I finally learned the ins and outs of this place—or, at the very least, got my shit together. It had been more than three weeks since her retirement party, and I missed her every day. Most of the time, I didn’t know what I was doing. I delivered messages I didn’t understand, relayed answers that were equally inscrutable, and tried my best to survive. Sam was becoming more and more of a friend, which I needed. And Dan was becoming more of a distraction, finding reasons to come up to this floor, even though he’d apparently never frequented the office, according to Sam. His loaded flirtations made me cringe with both pleasure and embarrassment. I rubbed my face with my hands. Sometimes, I felt completing the mindless tasks Roland demanded of me would be easier with a drink. It didn’t help that I’d been able to drink on the job during my last working stint. Now, any time the going got rough, I craved it. I inhaled sharply and glanced quickly at the camera mounted in the corner by the ceiling. Stupid thing. It was always there, like a robotic eyeball watching my every move. I’d begun to seriously doubt that anyone was watching, and certainly not Roland. Didn’t the president of a huge company have better things to do with his time than spectate during the not-so-riveting minutia of office work? I figured it had more to do with liability and deterrence: liability if something went wrong, and deterrence to keep things from going wrong in the first place. Right now, that camera was making me feel like I was being scrutinized, judged for being

incompetent enough to be in the office this late, after everyone had long gone home…except for a certain reclusive billionaire. The camera was also pretty good at compelling me to do my work—and have a little fucking urgency about it. Something about the office this late gave me the chills. Without the tapping of keyboards and constant level of babble from my coworkers talking on the phone and among themselves, it was as quiet as a tomb. I longed for Sam to sidle over for a quick chat, or even for Myra to still be here so I could ask her a question—even if I already knew most of the answers. For a girl who’d spent the better part of a year in utter solitude, rarely talking, I’d gotten quickly addicted to sound and noise and activity—and even having people around me all day. I willed the scanner to hurry up, the shredder to follow suit, and for my hands to stop confusing the two. If only I’d saved this for tomorrow. I’d be in my warm, cozy apartment by now; I could play some music, if I wanted, to break the silence. I supposed that, if I really wanted to, I could play some music now, but it felt wrong. Like nothing was supposed to disrupt the atmosphere. Like the entire building was waiting for something to happen to me. “Beauty?” I gasped and pushed myself away from the desk as my heart leapt into my throat in abject terror. I’d been too engrossed in my thoughts, in the goal of completing the task at hand, to notice the door to Roland’s office swing open. He stood there, the front of him cast in shadow from the gold light at his back. I guess I should’ve been thankful that I didn’t scream. “Um, Mr. Shepard,” I said, quickly standing up. Everything about this was wrong. Myra had told me that particular door never opened unless I was going in or coming out. She’d also told me that, in spite of everything—the disfigured face, the hot temper, the tendency to live life in the shadows—he was a good man. Would that also prove to be false? There was no one else here. I was stupid to stay in the office this late by myself. I should’ve just gone home and made excuses tomorrow when I came in, vowing to work extra hard to catch up.

“Please, call me Roland.” Part of me wished I could see his face—hard to look at, though it was—so I could try and gauge his mood. Did he want me to call him Roland because he was warming up to me, or was it a warning? Myra had told me that the president’s assistant was supposed to get him anything and everything he asked for. What…what if he wanted something I wasn’t prepared to give him? Would he just take it? Did he think himself entitled enough to do so—as a billionaire? My heart pounded so hard that it rattled my ribcage. Did Dan tell him exactly what had transpired between us back at that bar, when I’d performed the personal dance for the vice president of Shepard Shipments? Is that what Roland wanted? A taste for himself? “Could I get you anything…sir?” I couldn’t call him Roland. I wasn’t as terrified of him as I had been the first time I’d seen him, but I wasn’t near being comfortable. Even Myra hadn’t seemed at ease during my training in the building where she’d worked for so many years. I couldn’t tell if it was because she had trepidation over entering the retired life, or if it was something more, some endless tension always present in this place. A feeling of being watched. Watched, analyzed, and judged, constantly. “Say it after me. Ro. Land.” If only I could see whether that scarred face was quirking up into a smile to tell if he was joking. What would a smile even look like on that marred expanse of skin? Could he even manage the expression anymore? Was that why he was so impossibly gruff? “Ro. Land,” I repeated, obedient. “Roland.” “Roland,” I said, the name ringing out awkwardly into the silence of the space around us. Not even Myra had called him by his first name. “There,” he said, his voice warmer. “Was that so difficult?” “It was, actually,” I admitted. “You’re kind of scary.” A breath expelled in a burst—was he laughing? Was that a good sign? “It’s not my prerogative to be scary,” he said. “Could I make it up to you?”

“Don’t feel like you have to do anything to make it up to me,” I scoffed, feeling stupid. “I’ll get over it. Or I won’t. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything.” “I don’t want you to feel like you should keep things from me,” he protested. “I might run this company with an iron fist, but I don’t want my employees to be too scared to speak up when they think something’s wrong!” His voice had risen progressively with each word, and I hunched down in my chair, ready to weather that infamous temper at full blast, right in my face, with no coworkers around for him to show any restraint. “I’m sick of people being afraid of my fucking face!” he exploded. “Do they think it’s any easier for me to look at my reflection in the mirror? I fucking hate it, too!” This outburst surprised me. I’d expected some kind of anger or criticism directed toward me, not back at himself. Up until this point, I was pretty sure that Roland only liked himself and thought that every other human being was a blight to be suffered through as a part of his charmed life. “If you don’t mind me saying, I don’t think it’s your face they’re afraid of,” I said, shocked that I was daring to travel down this road, especially given the fact that we didn’t particularly like each other very much. “It’s the way you act. You could be nicer.” “Nicer?” he repeated, as if it were a foreign word—one he didn’t quite understand the meaning of. “Yeah, nicer,” I said, feeling bold. He hadn’t yelled at me yet. I could push it a little bit, maybe. “Like you don’t have to yell at people, or hide in your office. I think people would like you better if you were maybe more accessible.” “I’m the President of Shepard Shipments,” he said flatly. “It’s a huge company. Most CEOs aren’t as accessible as I am.” “You asked my opinion, and I gave it,” I said, not wanting to get into a shouting match at this time of night. “If you don’t mind, I have to digitize all this shit…I mean, all these papers…before I go home.” “You have to have figured out by now that I don’t mind swearing,” he said. “Yeah, I kind of did figure that out,” I said. “I was just always told that it wasn’t very ladylike.” “Fuck that,” he said succinctly, and I laughed. “It’s language. It’s genderless. Say what you want. If

‘fuck’ says it best, then fucking say ‘fuck.’” “Fuck,” I said obediently. “Would you want to have a fucking bourbon with me, Beauty?” he asked. “I happened to see that you were still here, and I figured you might like a drink in this digital age.” “This digital fucking age,” I agreed, feeling closer to him than I ever had. If this was the kind of relationship Myra had with him, then I finally understood why she defended him so ardently. “I will take that drink if you promise you won’t yell at me tomorrow because I fell behind on these papers.” “Deal,” he said, and I followed him into his office. My eyes were more used to the dark since I had been sitting in the darkened space outside for so many hours, and I was able to appreciate the sumptuous rug covering the hardwood flooring in the office, the rich brown leather of the furniture, the papers piled high on Roland’s enormous desk. “I thought we were supposed to be going digital,” I said accusatorially, rounding on him. I was even practically used to his terrible scar—but not the sheepish smile that spread his face. “Forgive me,” he said, filling a couple of glasses from a snifter. “I still like to read some things on good old paper.” “Please tell me that you don’t box them up and send them downstairs for digitizing,” I moaned. “I shred them right away,” he promised. “Cheers to paper. Screens will never replace it.” “Cheers, though I’m busily replacing paper with screens,” I said, taking a sip of the bourbon. It was excellent, full-bodied and smooth all the way down. I took a larger drink, enchanted. It was the best fucking bourbon I’d ever had. “Beauty.” I looked up from my glass of bourbon, into the surprisingly warm eyes of the horrifically scarred man sitting in front of me. “Yes?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt overly warm from the alcohol, but strangely at ease talking with someone who was behind a majority of my headaches and panics and drama at work. Myra had been right. Roland wasn’t that bad at all. I smiled gently to imagine them together, late at night, talking over big glasses of bourbon.

“I have to tell you something.” The man who was usually so sure of everything under the sun— from the time of day to the ebbs and flows of the economy to my appearance—sounded surprisingly unsure of himself. “You can tell me whatever you need to tell me,” I said, feeling my tongue loosen. “I feel the best I have all day. This bourbon is hitting the spot. Let’s go. Tell me that I need to have my pants hemmed. I’m well aware of the fact, and that I’m wearing club shoes to compensate. Go on. I’m ready.” “You look just fine,” he said, sounding exasperated, and I realized it was the first compliment he’d ever paid me. It was an odd feeling…though not a very good compliment. “It’s…not about how you look.” “That’s a relief,” I said, grinning. “Then out with it. What do you have to tell me?” Roland looked so nervous that I had to resist laughing at him. It was so out of character that it freaked me out a little. “Just tell me,” I implored. “Anything to put you out of your misery. Am I fired? Just give me another swig of that amazing bourbon and I’ll go quietly.” I laughed and downed the rest of my glass with a flourish, feeling great. “Beauty, this is serious,” Roland said. “And I have to tell you now because things…are getting too serious. Feelings. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. Christ.” Things? Feelings? Getting serious? My stomach dropped out from beneath me a little. Had he noticed anything between me and Dan? Not that there was anything between us. Just flirting. Oh, and that little lap dance at the bar. What had Roland noticed? Surely something, if that was what we were talking about. I was stupid, careless. I needed to guard myself better; I needed to stare at myself in the mirror and practice my poker face. Even Myra had said I couldn’t control my face when I was feeling something strong. “I guess I’d better just say it then.” Roland took a deep breath and exhaled. “There isn’t a good way to say this. And I’m sorry that you aren’t drunker.” “Easily remedied,” I counseled, refilling my own glass daringly. Roland bit that scarred lip and held my eyes with his, those strangely murky but warm blue eyes. “Beauty…”—he looked away—“…I’m the reason your parents died. I killed them.”



Chapter 8 A large grandfather clock chimed in the corner of Roland’s office, pushed away into a dark corner where I’d never noticed it before. The light from that sole desk lamp glinted dully off of the glass front of the clock, and if I squinted hard enough, I could faintly discern the pendulum swinging inside. It was so quiet in the office that I could hear that thick tock with each passage, especially now that I knew where to focus my attention. My heart was beating nearly three times as fast as that pendulum. “Beauty?” I studied the amber liquor in the heavy, cut-crystal glass I was clutching, the thought crossing my mind that, if a person had to, she could cause a lot of damage with this glass. If she were cornered. If she were angry. I banished the stray thought from my mind and lifted the glass to my lips. The world was already tilting because of the bourbon, but now it was upside down. Could drinking more of this smoothness help right it? There was only one way to find out; I choked down the liquid burn in two painful gulps. At least that was something else to focus on, something else to take my mind off the disconcerting bomb the man sitting across from me had dropped. “Beauty?” My vision swam a little bit, and I grabbed for the crystal snifter again, refilling that heavy glass. Roland didn’t stop me, even though it was his snifter, his bourbon, his office, his company, his fault my parents were dead. I took another drink and tried blink myself back into reality. With the way my eyes were foggy, it almost seemed like Roland was a whole person, one whose face wasn’t split in two by an ugly scar. I’d wondered before how he got that scar, why he hid himself away in a darkened office—away from the eyes of other people—but kept the dead tissue there for his eyes only.

I’d wondered before, and now I thought I knew. I’d stumbled upon the answer over glasses of bourbon, late at night in my boss’s office. His drink was virtually untouched, his hand gripping the glass that was sitting on his knee. How far did that scar go on his body? Where did it end? Like a serpent, it slithered down his neck and disappeared, hidden by his shirt. If he was really that gung-ho about maintaining that thing, he could go around shirtless. “Beauty?” My thoughts weren’t making sense anymore. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I didn’t want to make sense out of any of this. What was I doing here? I’d stayed late to finish up some work, and here I was, more or less drunk, in front of my acerbic beast of a boss. “Beauty?” “What?” I spat, nearly spilling my drink with my sudden ferocity. “What do you want?” “I want to know if you heard what I said,” Roland said, his face as calm as he could probably make it with that scar twisting parts of it into expressions he probably couldn’t control. “You said you killed my parents,” I repeated dutifully. “Even though that doesn’t even make sense. They died in…it was a car wreck. I know how they died.” Why was he doing this? Why in the hell was Roland Shepard, the president of a very successful retail and media company, bringing this up? None of it made sense, especially since I’d been there— apparently. I didn’t remember anything. I’d woken up in a hospital, thoroughly concussed and hungover, a passenger in my drunken best friend’s car. I knew exactly how my parents died, and I was quite certain that a billionaire wasn’t behind it all. It had been my fault, my decision to go on the joy ride. “Will you let me explain?” Roland was speaking so calmly, so compassionately that the tone of his voice shocked me more than what he was talking about. The hoarseness of his voice when he shouted at me or insulted me for being an idiot or for messing up softened to more of a rumbling purr when he was talking normally. Talking to me like I was a person deserving of his attention. Talking to me like he had something

really, really important to say. None of it added up, and I didn’t want it to. He took my silence to mean I was ready and willing to hear something I still couldn’t grasp. “I was visiting Houston…visiting…I used to be engaged.” “Houston” said aloud gave me the same shudder it always did. It was the place I was born and where I’d lived, at least on the outskirts. It was the sprawling star of a city I used to navigate around, and now the star I always kept to my back, to get away from. So violent was my instant reaction to Houston that I nearly missed the last part of Roland’s sentence: engaged. It was as hard to imagine him engaged—that another person would love someone who was angry and mean all the time—as it was to imagine his face whole again. Then again, it was obvious the two states of being were related. I was sure that he was a different person before that scar. “Her people were from Houston,” Roland continued, studying the liquor in his glass before taking a small sip. “We met when Shepard Shipments was just getting started, back when we were just an online retailer, and not one of the better ones. It just made sense, right away. I don’t know. When you know, you really do know. We’d only been dating for three months before I asked her to marry me. We were in Houston so I could meet her family.” I wondered where this woman could be now. Had his scarred face been too much for her to handle? I was a living example of just how much a person could change after a tragedy. Maybe, whatever Roland thought he’d done, maybe it had changed him into the miserable human being he was today, the one who crouched in darkness and shouted at people for the littlest things. “We’d spent the evening at her parents’ house, and I’d been nervous,” he said. “I wanted to impress them, but didn’t feel impressive. I’d drank a bit too much, trying to reach some kind of comfort zone before we told her parents what we were preparing to do with our lives. It worked out, but by the end of the night, I was too drunk to drive. Mina…she was driving. She hadn’t drunk a drop. Getting it right with her parents…that was too important to her. She was upset at me.” I was squinting my eyes minutely, making that twisting scar go away on Roland’s face with my blurred vision, imagining a younger man flush with the possibility of a happy marriage. Knowing him,

having suffered as a victim of his rages…that Roland had been happy at some point of his life was the most unbelievable part of this narrative. “We were arguing. She hadn’t been to Houston in years and years, and we found ourselves out in God’s country, without a clue of how to get back,” he said, sighing heavily before putting his glass on the side table with a thud that made me jump. “My phone wasn’t working, and I was giving her directions just based on my gut. I had no idea where we were. We found ourselves good and lost, and Mina pulled to the side of the road to get out her phone and get us back to civilization when we hit a rock or something and popped a tire.” I didn’t want to know the end of this story. That’s when I suddenly understood. I was starting to leap ahead, to guess the twists and turns of the narrative, and I realized I didn’t like where it was headed. I didn’t want to listen anymore, but there wasn’t a good way to extricate myself. It was obvious that Roland felt he had to tell me this truth, and I couldn’t escape it. “The fight, at that point, got ugly,” he said, examining the palms of his hands as if they held the answers. “Lots of accusations, lots of blame tossed back and forth. We could be like that sometimes. Meteoric. But that was the thing, really. No matter how angry we got with each other, we knew that it would get better. That we loved each other. That there would never be a fight that would end it all for us because the love there was too strong. The love would eventually overtake the anger and we’d laugh about it. “But there we were, on the side of that shitty little road, a popped tire, both of us lost and at each other’s throats. A car happened along and stopped—a godsend. Neither of us knew our way around changing a tire. And when a man and a woman got out to help us, even better. If it had been a couple of guys meaning to rob us, I don’t know how well I would’ve done at defending us. Instead, it was your parents.” I shook my head quickly. I didn’t want to hear anything else. I didn’t want to listen anymore, but Roland had closed his eyes and was plunging forward in his tale of woe, and I couldn’t stop him. “I learned all this later, of course,” he was saying. “When the drunk driver hit, I lost a lot of blood. This scar…” He mimicked its path with his finger, taking care not to actually touch it. “I got it from

the impact, glass and sharp metal. Mina, your parents, they died instantly. I didn’t wake up until later, my brother looking at me like I was some kind of monster. And I guess I was…I am. If I hadn’t gotten drunk at her parents’ house just because I was nervous about our marriage, we would’ve never gotten lost, never gotten the flat, never been out there for your parents to discover in the first place, and you…you would still have your parents. And I would still have Mina…and not just this fucking scar.” My pulse hadn’t slowed since Roland started in on this subject. I was struggling to keep up, struggling to understand. “I…I saw the police report,” I said, my voice sounding like it came from some faraway place. “It just said…I didn’t know about…” “My brother thought it would be best to take our name out of it, and Mina, by extension,” Roland said. “He threw a bunch of money at the cop writing up the report to take out the information. It was bad press for the company, unwanted scrutiny on us at a time we didn’t need it.” How was this happening? If he’d been there, he should know the exact circumstances. Didn’t he know? “The driver…the drunk driver,” I tried to say, but I couldn’t find the right words for him. I’d never talked about this with anyone. “It was just some kid, and she died, too,” Roland said. “I killed her. I killed Mina. I killed your parents, too, Beauty. And somehow, I’m still here. I’m the only one alive out of that entire mess, and I deserve to be alive the least. I would give up everything to have them all alive again. I would give away my money, this company, this building, this life, my life. I would give it all up to see them walking this earth again. Yet, all I can give them is my face.” He mashed his finger into the scar tissue in his cheek so hard that the surrounding skin turned white, and I realized that the scar was the same kind of penance for him that my own exile had been for me. And then, in one awful, sickening rush, it hit me. Roland wasn’t responsible for my parents’ death. He hadn’t killed them. I’d killed them. My parents. Caro. Mina. Roland’s future.

I’d killed all of that. “Will you ever forgive me?” Roland asked, a single crystalline tear dropping from his eye, getting lost in that twisting scar. The same scar I’d given him. I felt physically sick and knew it wasn’t just because of all the bourbon I’d tried to drown myself in. I was the cause of this man’s singular torment, the reason why he refused to get his face fixed, the purpose behind his self-exile, and his hermitage in this dark office. The reason why he hated the world. A sudden, clear thought cut through my fog of horror. I could tell him. I could tell him everything. That I’d been in Caro’s car, that I’d been there, that I’d caused all of his heartache, that I’d been the only other person to walk away from the wreck virtually unscathed, all because of some stupid kind of luck. Because my special hell was walking around, blemish-free, forced to go on after losing people I’d loved. I opened my mouth and closed it again. If I told him the truth, would it relieve some of his burden of guilt? Would he redirect the anger he felt at himself for putting Mina in that situation through the decisions he’d made? It had been my decision, after all, for Caro and I to be out on the roads at that time of night and in that state of being. He could loathe me from now on instead of himself, and I would deserve that. Yet another piece of penance I had to endure. I had to be punished for what I did. But then I closed my mouth, suddenly protective of myself. It wasn’t fear. That wasn’t it. I was well aware of Roland’s temper, of just how badly he was capable of making me feel. I just didn’t want him to hate me, for some reason, and I knew that if he understood that I was the one who ruined his life, who took away the woman he loved, he would hate me with every breath in his body. I couldn’t handle it if Roland hated me. I didn’t dwell on the thought, I couldn’t; I was in too much shock and horror. The wretchedly scarred but somehow beautiful man in front of me…I was the root cause of all of his suffering, and yet I couldn’t tell him that. I wouldn’t. “I’ll understand if you won’t forgive me,” he said, not bothering to chase that tear down. His scar

was going to see to that. “But I also hope you understand that I need to do this for you. I need you to let me do this.” “Do…what?” My voice was strangled. He had no idea. Somehow, he had no idea that I’d walked away from that tragedy. He had no idea the integral part I’d played in robbing him of his happiness. “I had Daniel track you down after I’d…recovered, somewhat,” he said. “I wanted to offer you an internship with Shepard Shipments, give you a foot in the door somewhere because I knew it would be hard to get a career started without the support of your parents, and I’d taken your parents away from you. “But you vanished. You left school. I told my brother to do whatever it took to track you down, hire whoever he needed to hire to find you and make sure you were seen after. He said you wouldn’t take a handout, that in order for us to help you, we’d have to hire you. And then Myra announced her retirement, and I decided that I wanted to keep you close. To try and do the right thing.” Bile rose in my throat. He thought he was doing the right thing by hiring me, by giving me an opportunity I would’ve never had otherwise because I was too depressed, to horrified at myself to seek it out. I didn’t deserve this position. That was a truth I more than understood now. There were no skills that qualified me to work at Shepard Shipments. There hadn’t been a friendship with a business professor at my university. This was a pity hire, a way that Roland could throw money at me to ease his conscious. And he had no idea just who he was giving money to. I’d bought all those things with his credit card to furnish my new life here in Seattle, and he had no idea he’d been buying things for the individual responsible for his torture. It was too much. I couldn’t do this. I had to leave immediately; I had to get in my car and leave everything behind. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know that it was my fault. He would hate me. He would hate me so much, and I just couldn’t do it. “I have to go,” I mumbled, standing up suddenly, eager to flee. That’s when all that bourbon reared its ugly face and showed its true colors after going down so easily. I swooned and almost passed out on principle before my stomach upended itself and I started gagging. There was a strong hand on my waist, another on my neck, and I was staring at the contents of a garbage can…and soon, the contents of my stomach. I heaved and retched every last drop of that bourbon

into the trash can, belatedly upset at the waste of such obviously good liquor, at the waste of my life. If I could go back and change everything, I’d keep myself from ever being born. I’d been a grenade that exploded, harming so many people beyond those I’d killed upon impact. If I couldn’t change the fact that I’d been born, then I wanted to die. “You’re not going to die,” Roland said, a smile in his voice, and I realized I’d voiced my despair aloud. “You’ve just had a little too much to drink. You’re going to vomit yourself empty, then you’re going to have some crackers and water, and then you might vomit again, but you’ll go to sleep.” The thought of crackers made me gag again, but I managed to wet my mouth and rid myself of the acidic taste of my own stupidity. “I’m going home now,” I said, Roland helping me to stand. “You’re going to sleep it off,” he corrected. “You think I’d let you anywhere near a car after what I just told you?” “Taxi,” I offered. “Absolutely not. In your state?” I was out of options. I just didn’t want to be conscious anymore. I couldn’t look at Roland; I couldn’t take his misplaced kindness and charity. I squeezed my eyes shut. It would be too much mercy if I never had to open them again.

Chapter 9 I woke up comfortable, safe, and with no idea why I deserved either of those things, or where I was. Whatever I was on was soft, and it smelled rich, good—like a new car. I opened my eyes, blinking slowly, fully expecting the morning’s light to blind me like a spotlight illuminating my life’s mistakes, but the room was dim, a golden light from across the space reducing everything to a comfortable glow. That’s when I figured out I was lying on the leather sofa in Roland Shepard’s office, sleeping off a nasty drunken night. I had to get out of here. My mouth tasted like something had died inside of it, and I located a glass of water I’d barely touched the previous night, chugging it in one breath. A quick dash across the office and a peek out of one of the heavily curtained windows told me that it was early morning. The sun was barely up, and people were only just now getting up and moving. That meant I had even less time than I thought. I found my shoes placed neatly beside the couch—had Roland taken them off for me last night? I didn’t know how I felt about that, and I didn’t have the time to think about it as I hopped into them, prayed that no one was outside in the main office this early, and left. Luck was with me as I grabbed my purse and my phone. It was still early, only just now after seven. I would have plenty of time to make my escape. A fuzzy-headed dash across the office, well aware of what this looked like, still wearing the rumpled clothes I worked in, charging out of the president’s office. But luck—and a very confused lobby receptionist—were in my favor as I fled, the morning traffic only just starting to pick up. I careened toward my apartment, wincing as the hangover started to squeeze my head tighter and tighter in its vice. Such was my distraction—parking, running into my home, wriggling out of yesterday’s clothes,

and swallowing two aspirin before ducking my head beneath the kitchen sink to gulp some water to help usher the pills on their way to numbing my pain. It wasn’t until I was in the shower, hurriedly washing the smell of bourbon and vomit out of my hair that it all hit me. Roland had been there when my parents and Caro died. He’d lost someone he’d loved, too—a fiancée. Mina. And that’s where he’d gotten that terrible scar—and the terrible temper to go along with it. The enormity of the situation made me sit down suddenly in the middle of the tub, the hot water raining down on my head. What was I doing here? I needed to leave town. I had to get out of here before Roland figured out the entire truth. How could he not know? The fact boggled me, but one thing remained: I couldn’t let him know that I was the one to blame for everything. I only had time to blow dry my hair to dampness if I was going to be on time to start the new workday, so I pulled it back into a tight bun to hide the fact that I hadn’t had enough time to prepare. A sweep of some mascara made me look more awake, and I smeared on some concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Jumping into some wide-leg trousers and a nice blouse, I pondered eating something and shuddered. At least I’d save some time in my abbreviated morning routine by avoiding food. It was better to be like this—rushing around, my brain occupied only on the next task at hand— rather than rolling the situation over and over again in my head. I just had to always keep my next move in mind in order to avoid dwelling on what I’d caused, on the fact that I’d mortally wounded yet another person. The cycle wouldn’t stop. Just when I thought I might be ready to move forward, some other facet of that terrible night arrived to rear its ugly head and make sure I knew that there was no going forward from what I did. People like me didn’t deserve closure. And I could never forgive myself. No. I parked my car in the company lot, shook my head quickly, and pulled myself out of that destructive loop of thought. What did I have to do? What was the next task? Get out of the car. Lock the car. Walk to the vendor. Pay for a Times. Walk into the building. Smile at the lobby receptionist, who is just as confused seeing me now as she was seeing me an hour ago. Ride

the elevator up to my floor. Walk across the office. Smile at everyone who makes eye contact. Put my purse at my desk. Go to the break room. Make sure the coffee’s fresh before pouring it in a clean mug. Walk the coffee and the paper back across to Roland’s office. Stand in front of the door and dread going in. No. I had to go in. This was the next task, the way I started every day, officially, here at the office. Roland needed the coffee and paper, and that’s what I had to do. I lifted my hand to open the door and hesitated. I could appreciate that this was difficult and awkward, but this was the next task on the list. I had to give Roland his coffee and paper. Then I’d go collect the box of files for digitizing, check the agenda for the day, get some coffee for myself, and start checking off more and more tasks. I had to open the door. Aware that I probably looked like an idiot just standing there, motionless, in front of a closed door, I finally physically forced myself to enter. I couldn’t quite stretch my mouth into a friendly smile; I didn’t know if that was even what Roland expected out of me; and I just urged myself forward. I set the newspaper down on the desk and was putting the coffee down next to it before I realized the desk was empty. I straightened, able to breathe a little easier, and looked around. Unless he was hiding, Roland wasn’t in here. Where could he be? In the time that I’d worked here, he had never neglected to be in his office when I came in to deliver his paper and coffee. Sure, he was usually here to offer a sharp criticism or tell me to do something else, but not having him in here today upset the balance of everything. Or maybe it was last night’s conversation that had upset the balance of everything. I tiptoed across the thick carpet to inspect the scene. I’d only been in here hours earlier, panicking and scrambling to escape, but there were no signs of my transgressions. Sniff as I might, there was no telltale whiffs of stale vomit. The crystal snifter of bourbon had been refilled and replaced on its tray on a side table, and the pair of heavy cut glasses had been emptied and cleaned, gleaming in the dull light. And there was the leather couch I’d passed out cold on, its pillows carefully arranged as if in an effort to erase what had happened.

Had Roland cleaned all of this up as soon as I’d run away? I shook my head and frowned. That was improbable, at best. Stupid, even. He was a billionaire. There was probably a housekeeping army contained in this building, waiting at the ready to mop up mistakes, slipping in and out of the shadows, remaining unseen. I didn’t know whether I was more relieved or more disappointed that I hadn’t had to face Roland yet today. Being disappointed didn’t make sense to me at all. I didn’t want to see him. I wouldn’t know what to say. He thought he was the wrong one in that horrible situation, the one who ruined everything, but he had no idea that I was actually that person. For an ugly moment, I considered believing his truth. What if he hadn’t been there that night with his fiancée, stuck on the side of the road? My parents wouldn’t have had a reason to pull off, wouldn’t have had any business being there when Caro and I came spinning around that curve in the road. Could I live with myself by accepting Roland’s version of events? No. Absolutely not. I couldn’t. It didn’t matter that he and his fiancée had blown a tire. It didn’t matter that my parents, being the caring people they were, had stopped to help out a pair of strangers. What mattered was that I’d drunkenly urged my drunk best friend to take me on a drunken joyride through the countryside, thinking that I was beyond consequences, thinking selfishly that I never wanted the night to end. That last part was true, at least. For me, that night never had ended. It haunted me from place to place, kept me awake in my bed, kept me from living normally because that kind of comfort wasn’t something monsters like me deserved. I couldn’t let Roland’s truth be my own truth. And I didn’t know how long I could keep the whole truth from him. He deserved to know, but I was too afraid to tell him. My chest tightened as I walked out of his office. Had he decided not to be there because he thought I would hate him? It wrenched my heart. I didn’t hate him. I hated myself. I wished I wasn’t such a coward. I should’ve been able to tell him last night that none of this was his fault, but I hadn’t been able to scrape up the courage. I began my mindless digitization, checking my email for Roland’s agenda. My heart twisted

further. There wasn’t an agenda. I was rudderless on a day when I required direction, required distraction, and required motivation to run away from my frightening thoughts. This wasn’t his fault. It was my fault. I wanted to tell him, and yet, I couldn’t. I wanted to hide from him for the rest of my life; I wanted to never enter that office again; I hoped the phone would stay silent forever. But that phone was going to ring, and I was going to have to answer it. I didn’t know if things were going to be the same between Roland and me. I didn’t know if they should be the same. It was obvious that he trusted me, that he felt that he needed to tell me what he knew as the truth of our apparently shared past. But I hadn’t told him everything that I knew about that crash. I had no idea if he knew I was involved, but I suspected he didn’t. It was a lot to wrap my mind around. But that phone was going to ring. And I was going to have to face him. “Doing anything for lunch?” I nearly jumped out of my skin as Sam leaned over my desk, smiling. “You scared the crap out of me,” I said, covering my heart with my hand. “You weren’t even doing anything,” she laughed. “You were just staring off into space. Concentrating hard?” “I guess I was,” I said. What I’d really been thinking about wasn’t the kind of fodder I’d use for conversations when you were just getting to know a coworker. “Well, you’re probably famished,” she said, then grinned deviously. “Don’t you know that you need to put something greasy down on top of that hangover?” I winced. “That obvious?” I thought I’d done all I could at home, but there really hadn’t been that much time to scrape off yesterday’s makeup and put on today’s before sprinting back to the office. “Allow me to introduce you to the cafeteria’s cheeseburgers and fries,” she said, hooking arms with me as I stood up. My stomach gurgled dangerously, that precarious place between nausea and true hunger. Hot junk food would either save me or end me, and at this point, I was willing to take the risk. The cafeteria was on the lobby level, and acted as, more or less, the watering hole of the entire

building. We didn’t have to eat lunch there, but it was convenient, reasonably priced, and good. With my first bite of burger, I decided that I’d been hungrier than I was sick, and with my second bite, I even started to feel human. Sam chattered on and on about office gossip. I figured she was a lot more connected than I was to the rest of the employees there. I was usually too busy trying not to screw up to keep track of who was sleeping with whom and other little juicy tidbits she loved to fill my head with. There was a lull in the mostly one-sided conversation as I pondered getting a second burger. Would that undo all the good work the first had done? “So, everyone’s been talking about how much more pleasant the beast has been to work around,” Sam said, sipping on her smoothie with a wicked twinkle in her eyes. I frowned. If anyone knew just why he acted the way he did—and looked the way he did—they wouldn’t call him “the beast”. They never even gave him a chance, never willed themselves to look past that scar. “What’d you do?” she teased. “Myra was never able to get him to come around. Did you kiss the toad and turn him into a prince?” “Oh my God!” I said, covering my flushing face with my hands. “Seriously, Sam?” “No harm in asking, is there?” she remarked, her round eyes shining with false innocence. “Unless there’s something to hide, that is.” “There’s nothing to hide!” I squawked. What a lie that was. There was plenty to hide—just not the kind of secrets Sam thought she was after. “The lady doth protest too much,” Sam said, arching her eyebrows. “There’s literally nothing to protest,” I said. “You would understand, if you had to work for him like I do, why I can’t even fathom joking about this.” “All right, all right,” she laughed, holding her hands up in surrender. “There’s no need to be so touchy about it. I didn’t know you were still so stressed out working for him.” “My hangover can’t deal with this right now,” I said, which was at least partly true. “You poor thing,” Sam commiserated, patting my hand. “I hope you had fun last night to make the

pain today worth it.” Did I have fun last night? Absolutely not. I’d probably never be able to drink bourbon again after that performance, forever tainted with my new knowledge about Roland. Our break rolled to a close, but I couldn’t keep my mind tuned in to Sam’s prattle. It wasn’t the way to go about making friends in this place, but I just couldn’t focus—not when I was thinking about Roland, about what he’d told me, about what I knew. It didn’t help when I got back and found no phone calls from Roland and still no daily agenda waiting in my email inbox. It was strange. He never failed to send me an agenda, usually endlessly appending it with more meetings and tasks. In lieu of an agenda, I finished an entire box of documents waiting to be preserved in the cloud. It was the first time I’d completed the requisite box a day since I started working here. When that was done, there was too much time to think, too little distraction to keep me from the truth: That I was a horrible person who ruined Roland’s future, his happiness, his life. The air was getting too thick in here. I wanted to leave; I wanted to get out of here. My thoughts jumbled in my own brain, jarring with each other in an infinite loop. I couldn’t control them. I killed Caro. I killed my parents. I killed Roland’s fiancée. And if Roland ever found out…oh, God. I wished I could tell him. I wished I could tell him it wasn’t what he thought it was, that it wasn’t his fault. He was innocent in all of this, and the person who was guilty for everything was living under a roof he purchased and working at the company he’d fought through tragedy to build and expand. That person was me. It was me. I did everything. I deserved to be hated, to be cast out, to never belong anywhere ever again. I couldn’t stay here; I couldn’t continue to accept Roland’s kindness. It was misplaced. It was based on a lie. And if the truth ever came out, if he ever realized whom he’d taken under his wing, that I was the cause of all of his nightmares…

I didn’t think I could handle the consequences, as much as I deserved them. I wasn’t brave enough to face that. Eyeing the clock, I chanced a glance at the camera mounted high on the wall, toward the ceiling. Was Roland watching me now, trying to figure out how I was coping with the truth he thought he’d told me? Surely not. Surely there were much more important things the president of a busy company needed to attend to. It wasn’t yet four thirty, but I couldn’t do this any longer. The digitizing would get done, but just not this afternoon. I simply grabbed my wallet and left my purse, almost as if I were just stepping out for a quick errand, slipping my car keys into my jacket pocket. If I held my arm against my side, I could muffle their jangle. I tried not to walk too fast; I tried not to give anyone more fodder for gossip. I only gave Sam a cursory smile as I waited for the elevator, not the extended goodbye I’d usually exchange. If I got in trouble, I could just say I felt ill. I didn’t think Roland would call me out on my early exit. He would probably assume it was because of what he’d told me about my parents. I cringed, as the elevator opened and I stepped in. Then he’d feel guilty for causing me this ongoing extended suffering. I should’ve just stuck it out for the rest of the hour. I was weak. However, the magnitude of this new information was too much for me. I needed…something, and right now the only something I could come up with was to slink on home early and remove myself from this place. As the elevator door shut and the box began its lurch down to the lobby, I exhaled heavily and removed my car keys from my pocket. Wallet, phone, keys. That’s all I really needed. My purse would be fine at the office overnight. I was the most dangerous person there, after all. The elevator door rolled open again, and I almost jumped out until I realized that I was still several floors above the lobby. Then, I jumped backward. “Well, well, well,” Dan said, grinning as he stepped into the suddenly too small elevator. “Look who’s playing hooky.” “I’m not playing hooky,” I protested as the door rolled shut once again, making the space even

more claustrophobic. Couldn’t I just make a clean escape? “Oh, no?” he asked, his handsome face the very picture of innocence. “Where are you going? Errand for my brother?” “Yes, that’s it,” I said, a little too eagerly. “An errand for Roland.” “On a first name basis with him already?” Dan asked, stroking his beard. “It took years for Myra to get on that level.” I swallowed hard. We’d only gotten to that first name basis because tragedy had linked our pasts together. There wasn’t any other magic to it. We were only on a first name basis because of something terrible I’d done. The elevator saw fit to have mercy on me and admit another person into the car who peppered Dan with small talk all the way to the lobby. I edged past them and attempted to walk across the lobby like a normal person when all I wanted to do was sprint to my car. I just wanted to bury myself in my bed, sleep to forget all of my horrible thoughts, plop my ass down in front of some mindless television, even drink on top of this lingering hangover. It didn’t matter. I needed something to keep me from thinking about what I’d done, or I would go crazy. “Beauty.” I had to stifle a loud groan, as I turned around on the sidewalk just beyond the entrance to the building. Dan had followed me outside. What did he want? Couldn’t he see that I was about to lose my shit? “I happen to know that my brother canceled all of his conference calls today and told me, personally, that he was sick and wouldn’t be coming in to work,” Dan said, looking like a gleeful child. “What do you want me to say?” I asked, fighting against the rising tide of my anger. “What are you looking for here? An apology? You want me to beg for your pardon?” “Relax,” he said, laughing. The sound of that laughter was so rich that it almost instantly disarmed me. “I just wanted to know if you were playing hooky or not so I wouldn’t feel bad doing it myself. Some days, I don’t care what my paycheck is, I just don’t want to be there.” “Fine,” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “You caught me. Guilty as charged. I’ve got a shit

hangover, and I just want to go home and take a nap. Call it whatever you want. That’s what I’m doing. I did everything that I was supposed to do. There’s not really anything left if I’m not running around the office, doing things for Roland.” “You had me at hangover,” Dan said, shaking his head. “You’re not playing hooky. You’re taking half a day because you’re feeling ill. A hangover is a serious sickness, Beauty. It requires the proper care —usually more drinks to soften the edge.” I chuckled in spite of myself. “Do you take a lot of sick days complaining of headache, nausea, and general malaise?” “I’d say it’s my most common affliction,” he confessed. “So, how about it? Can I take you out to get a hair of the dog or three? I’d consider it a humanitarian mission.” I snorted. “Hair of the dog isn’t usually my style,” I said. “I usually take more of a junk food and naps approach.” “We all approach it differently,” Dan allowed. “What about later? Once you’ve overcome your consequences, can I take you to dinner? Or do you have a crockpot meal waiting for you, threatening to burn your apartment down?” “No, no slow cooker waiting for me,” I guffawed. “I wish. But drunk me wasn’t that interested in hungover me last night.” “Then it’s a date,” he said, clapping his hands. “Not a date,” I corrected, shaking my head. “Dinner. The last part of the cure. A meal. Whatever. But not a date.” “You can call it whatever you want,” he said, those bright blue eyes sparkling even more than usual. “In fact, you know what I’m going to call it?” “What?” “I’m going to call it the dinner you better not try to flake out on later or else I’ll tell my brother you were skipping work.” “I think most people would call that blackmail,” I said in mock shock, putting my hands on my hips and raising my eyebrows. “Are you attempting to blackmail me? All I’m doing is taking half of a sick day

to nurse this rotten…illness.” “I’m doing what I think is essential in getting you to go out for a night on the town with me,” Dan said, that wide grin even brighter nestled in his neatly trimmed beard. “I hate the word ‘no,’ Beauty. Please don’t tell me no. I really like you. Seattle’s new to you, and I want to show you the best parts of it before my brother ruins this city for you by being a dick to you all the time.” “He’s not that bad,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I mean, after that first day, I don’t think anything would worry me anymore.” “Even so. Promise me you’ll call once you wake up from that nap of yours,” he said. “Don’t flake out, Beauty. I’m a good time. I can promise you that.” I pretended to ponder it for a long count to sixty, just to fuck with him, but my mind had been made up. Talking to Dan these past few minutes had been a godsend. He distracted me so effectively from all things Roland and my terrible past that part of me wished I could just forgo that nap and spend the rest of the day with Dan. I didn’t want to come off as overeager, though, so I needed to play it cool. “Fine,” I said, flipping my hair a little. “I guess I’ll talk to you later about our little blackmail date.” “You’re making me the happiest man in the world,” Dan said, waving, as I walked toward the parking lot. That made me the most nervous girl in the world.

Chapter 10 Back at the apartment, I tried to lie down for my nap, but my anxiety had blossomed fully inside of me, filling me with uncertainty. Dan was so handsome he could get anyone he wanted. Instead, he’d picked me. Ever since that evening in the parking lot when he’d asked me for dinner, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he’d want anything to do with me. Could it really all stem from that night at the bar when Dan had found me? Could that initial attraction have lasted that long? It seemed to me that a man like Dan would be less single-minded than that. He could have anyone. I was a nobody. And it didn’t help that if Roland had asked his brother to find me so he could give me a job out of pity, then Dan knew about the wreck. About my parents. It was pressure I didn’t want or need. I should’ve just gone out with Dan right there and then, after he’d chased me from the building, to try and save myself some of this crushing anxiety. If I’d done that, there wouldn’t have been time to lie around in my apartment and think about all the reasons why him asking me out were so improbable. I wouldn’t have had to think at all. I took a couple more aspirin, washing them down with some orange juice I seriously considered putting vodka in, and tried for a nap on the couch. Maybe a change of scenery from the bedroom would help. I jammed my head under a pillow, wrapping myself fully in a blanket, like a cocoon, against the muted light from outside. For such a rainy place as Seattle, it was surprising just how bright an overcast sky could be. My breathing slowed, my mind started to clear, and I slipped into a dream, jumbled with faces and words, people I’d never seen before, people I’d never see again. Roland on the side of the road, handsome and whole, with a beautiful woman, angry but in love,

knowing that this fight would pass, that they only fought because they cared so much about each other. Dan with his hands on my hips, guiding me against him, his erection pressing against the meat of my thigh, hurting in just the right way. Caro’s face lit up in a sudden moonlight that wasn’t moonlight at all, but a pair of cars stopped on the side of a country road, spinning into a terrible weightlessness, and then an even more horrible nothing. My eyes popped open. The light outside was a little less bright, and the hair stuck against my damp forehead. I’d gotten too hot in my cocoon of avoidance…that was all. My past had been on my brain, and that’s why it had haunted my dreams. The thought wasn’t lost on me that it had been a long time since I’d dreamed of the wreck. Sometimes I was in the car with Caro, and other times I was watching from above, like a camera filming a scene in an action movie. Once, I’d been standing alongside my parents, watching that car come spinning in. I wondered whether I would ever—with my new knowledge of the situation—go to sleep and find myself inside the car with Roland and Mina. Had either of them known what was about to hit them? Did they see it coming, like Caro, or had they just blacked out, like me? I took another shower to wash the unpleasant aftereffects of my dream off, then had another drink of juice…this time, with vodka. My hangover had all but vanished, and I was working on eliminating my nerves for my impending date with Dan. The more steps I took—another screwdriver, drying my hair, perusing my closet, putting on makeup—the more I looked forward to calling him. I was eager to get back to that place of distraction where I wasn’t thinking about what Roland had told me or what I’d done to cause him such heartache. I wanted Dan’s audacious flirtations and more booze and something else to join that cheeseburger from lunch in my stomach. I laid out a couple of dresses that Roland had deemed too provocative for the office, figuring that at least one of them would probably be provocative enough for a date, and picked up my phone. Dan answered on the first ring like an eager little boy. “You don’t know how happy I am to be taking this call,” he said, making me smile.

“I hope you haven’t been just sitting there, waiting for me to wake up,” I responded, holding a pair of heels over one dress, then the other, before making my decision. “I did that for a while,” he confessed. “Then I started drafting emails to my brother to find the best way to tell him about you skipping off from work.” I gave a short laugh. “You did not.” “Well, doesn’t matter, now,” he said. “You called. We’re going out, right?” “That’s right,” I confirmed, smiling as I put in graceful hoop earrings. I changed my mind and went with sparkly studs. “I’m starving.” “I trust you’re done with your hangover,” Dan said. “Chasing away the last of it right now,” I said, swilling my screwdriver. “A woman after my own heart,” he crooned. “And I have just the place in mind for you. Best seafood in the city. Please tell me you eat seafood.” “Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “I eat everything.” “That’s something I will definitely keep in mind.” I flushed once I understood his meaning. I tried to sputter a retort or an excuse but ended up lapsing into embarrassed silence. “What time can I pick you up?” Dan asked calmly, as if he hadn’t just commented on receiving oral sex from me. “Thirty minutes?” I squeaked. I really only needed ten, but the other twenty minutes were needed to get my flush under control. “I’ll be there.” Another screwdriver helped me relax, and I was well back on my way to somewhere between nonchalant and eager by the time Dan buzzed my door. “Come on up,” I said into the speaker and let him in. “I just need to finish my drink.” He whistled when I let him in the front door to my place, admiring the view and my new furniture. “This is a leap above living out of the old car, wouldn’t you say?” he mused, running his fingertips over the countertop. I didn’t think he meant anything by it, but the statement made me flush in shame. It had been stupid

to ask him to come up. I should’ve left my stupid drink in the fridge—or dumped it down the sink—and met him downstairs. The apartment was only nice to me because I’d never had anything like it before. It was a leap up from living out of my car, and it was embarrassing that I’d done that in the first place. Dan probably lived in a museum or a palace or something. This was probably downright quaint to him. “Can I make you a drink?” I asked, forcing myself to smile as I slipped on my heels. “You’re kind, but no,” he said. “I have some beverages in mind for dinner, and I wouldn’t want to imbibe before driving.” Another unintentional barb, but one that hit me right where it hurt the most. Why was I being so stupid? It was only a cocktail, but of course he wouldn’t want to drink before driving. That was how he’d lost his future sister-in-law, and how his brother had gone from being a whole man with a life ahead of him to a marred monster. And I was the cause of all of that. Maybe I’d learned nothing. Maybe I’d just drifted around until I got comfortable again, then settled into my awful ways. I just wasn’t a good person. “The restaurant has an enviable wine cellar,” Dan said, still examining every detail of my apartment. He might as well have been rifling through my underwear drawer for the attention he was giving things, squeezing the arm of the chair, glancing over the covers of the magazines I’d spread over the coffee table. I’d picked up a little while I was getting ready, having an apartment of my own was still too much of a novelty to me to let it get good and dirty. I enjoyed keeping it clean and tidy. It was a lot easier to do than it had been in my car. “Seems like this place has everything,” I said, drinking the last of my cocktail before rinsing the glass out in the sink and putting it in the dishwasher. “You’re very neat,” he observed, as I set the dishwasher’s cycle to on. “I didn’t have one of these bad boys in the car,” I said, patting the machine’s door as it hissed to life inside. “I wouldn’t imagine you would,” he said drily. “Fun playing house, isn’t it?” And there was another little spike of venom. Did he come to flirt with me, castigate me, or take me

out on a date? I couldn’t really tell—and it was making me feel more insecure than usual. “Should we get on the road?” I suggested a little forcefully, grabbing my purse. “The traffic might be bad, and if we’re trying to make an eight o’clock reservation, it might take time to get there. Of course, I don’t even know where we’re going, yet, so I could be full of it.” “Perhaps,” Dan allowed absently, adjusting my window blinds, and I felt a spike of anger. “Or I can tell you to fuck on off out of here and I can order a goddamn pizza,” I said. “What’ll it be, Dan, my man? I could make a pizza last for four whole meals in my car. That shit never goes bad.” He blinked at me, taken aback, before bursting into loud, helpless belly laughs. He held his middle and practically tripped and fell onto my couch, hooting and hollering. “What’s funny?” I demanded, but then a smile was creeping up on my own face. Had I really just told him to “fuck on off out of here”? Damn. “I can see that my brother’s foul mouth has rubbed off on you,” he observed when he could speak again, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Poor thing. He is offensive on his best days.” “Excuse me, but I had this sailor mouth all to myself before I so much as stepped foot in Seattle,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “You sound pretty proud of it,” he said, grinning at me. “It comes in handy for breaking the ice,” I said, feeling better—excited, once again, for the opportunity to spend time with the strange man who’d invaded my apartment and my life. “Now, take me to dinner. I’m starving, and that seafood isn’t going to eat itself.” Dan drove fast and flashy to match his sports car, and I alternately gripped my purse—as if it would somehow magically make Dan drive slower—and mashed an imaginary brake with my heels. The pedestrians and buildings whipping by kept me from enjoying the sumptuous interior of Dan’s car—the moon roof that practically encompassed the entire ceiling panel, the buttery soft leather that coated nearly every surface, the new-car smell. To live in one of these would be a real luxury, I decided, even if it would be a bitch to keep the leather clean and cool. Of course, these days, I didn’t live in cars. I lived in apartments, like a real person. On the way to the restaurant, Dan peppered me with questions: What did I like to do for fun? What

was my favorite food? Favorite drink? Color? Sport? Where had I been in the city already? What did I want to see? My answers mostly depressed me and made me feel stupid. “Watch TV and clean house.” “Everything.” “Vodka.” “Black.” “None.” “Nowhere.” “I don’t know.” “Beauty!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “What am I going to do with you? Are our dates going to be sweeping the floor of your apartment with the TV on? Take pity on me and tell me what you like doing so I can take you to things you actually want to be doing. Do you like movies? The theater? Art? Sailing? Hiking? Swimming? Clubbing? Karaoke? I already know you like dancing, of course.” I blew my breath out at him. “I don’t like that kind of dancing,” I corrected. “That was just for money.” “We do lots of things for money,” he said, sighing in agreement. I laughed at him outright. “Who’s the ‘we’ you speak of? Just what is it that you do for money? Did you take your clothes off for this fancy car?” We rolled into the valet parking for the restaurant, and Dan revved the engine suggestively, leering at me. “You’re such an ass,” I said, unable to stop myself from laughing at him. “And just what makes you think that I’m going to let you take me out on any more dates after tonight? You haven’t impressed me much, yet.” “That’s what dinner’s for,” he said, winking as he got out of the car. The valet helped me out of my seat, and I tried my very best to get out of the car in a ladylike manner. “It better be an amazing dinner, then,” I said, rolling my eyes as Dan offered me his arm. “What a

gentleman.” “All I’m trying to do is get to know you better,” Dan said, walking me inside the establishment. The smell hit me instantly—hot, delicious food. I was definitely ready to eat. It was as fine a restaurant as I’d ever been in, all quiet, polite conversation and violin music. I’d done right by wearing a dress, but I still felt out of place, afraid that, despite my makeup, everyone would realize that I had no business being here, let alone on the arm of this man. “Reservation, please?” A concierge in a tuxedo was scribbling in a book on a podium at the front of the restaurant. “That won’t be necessary,” Dan said. “Won’t be necessary?” the concierge repeated drily. “This is one of the most exclusive restaurants in the entire city. Reservations are a requirement. We’re booked for weeks.” “I said it won’t be necessary,” Dan reiterated, putting his hand down on top of the book the concierge was writing in. It was unbearably rude, and I flushed with embarrassment, cutting my eyes to the side to see if anyone was witnessing this. In the service industry, this was a foul move to pull, to assume that you were more important than anyone else. I wanted to be anywhere but here. “Dan Shepard, party of two,” he said coolly, and withdrew his hand. He’d left a hundred-dollar bill on the book. “Mr. Shepard,” the concierge said, looking up, his bushy eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “I’m so sorry. Of course. Everything is fine. We…we’ve been so busy tonight. Table for two. Right away.” The concierge seated us himself and snapped his fingers. Instantly, a waiter was at his side, offering us menus. Dan immediately started rattling off French—I thought—and dates I didn’t quite follow until I realized he was ordering bottles—whole bottles—of wine. “Right away, sir, Mr. Shepard,” the waiter said. I could tell the waiter was nervous, rattled by the relative importance of the man sitting next to me. He wasn’t that important. He just had money. I pitied the

poor people who worked here, intimidated by what Dan represented. “Now, what looks good to you?” Dan asked, looking at the menu. “We’ll ask what the chef’s special is, of course, and I can make several recommendations for you.” I was silent until he looked up from perusing the menu. “What?” he asked, and I realized he was completely clueless about his missteps. “You can’t just come in here without a reservation; it’s rude,” I informed him. “This is a busy, popular place, from the looks of it, and you’ve ruined somebody’s night by taking their table. You have to play by the same rules as everyone else.” “It all worked out,” Dan said innocently. “We got a table, the concierge got a little richer, and I’ll tip the waiter handsomely. I always do.” “You can’t always just throw money at something to excuse your behavior,” I protested. “But what else am I going to use it for?” he asked, and I had to laugh at his ignorance. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” Dan said, capturing my hand and kissing it. “We grew up with money, my brother and I, and I guess I never really learned my manners. I was the baby of the family—and spoiled.” “I’ll teach you manners for free,” I offered, smiling, “if you can teach me how to behave in your world.” “What do you mean, ‘in my world’?” he asked, cocking his head. “I don’t know a thing about wine, for one,” I said. “I only like vodka because it gets me drunk so I don’t have to think about…things. I haven’t had leisure time in a long time, so I don’t know what to fill my weekends with. Teach me…how to be normal, how to act normal and do things that normal people do… and I’ll teach you your manners.” “Looks like we both have difficult tasks ahead,” Dan said. “Everyone tells me I’m selfish and oblivious—well, that was just my last girlfriend. And you don’t know what you like to do. I enjoy a challenge, but why do you want to be normal? You’re extraordinarily beautiful. Don’t you realize that? If the right doors opened for you, Beauty, you’d be unstoppable.” “You mean the doors with money behind them?” I asked, raising my eyebrows to distract from the

way Dan had just made me blush. “I hear money makes people rude.” “At least I know what we’re going to do on our next dozen dates or so,” he said. “What?” “Everything.” The waiter returned with a bottle of wine, and he and Dan engaged in what seemed to be some kind of complicated ritual of sniffing and swirling and sipping and nodding. My wine glass was soon filled modestly, and the waiter settled the bottle into a tableside bucket of ice. “Are you ready to order?” he asked, having regained some of his composure around Dan. “Ladies first,” Dan said, holding his hand out to me and smiling. Oh, no. Put on the spot. I hadn’t so much as cracked the menu, and when I did, my eyes bugged out at the offerings. Most of the items were in a language I didn’t understand, and the prices were hard to fathom. I picked the first thing I recognized—crab de something or other—and cringed at the price. “And for you, sir?” “The surf and turf,” Dan said, folding his menu shut. “The filet needs to be rare—very rare. Bleeding. Practically still alive.” “Very good, sir,” the waiter said. “I thought we were going to get seafood,” I said, eyeing Dan with amusement. “You marketed this restaurant to me as the best seafood in Seattle.” “And it is,” he said, handing the waiter our menus. “But its hidden secret is that it has the best steak in Seattle, too. I’m getting the best of both worlds. It’s your own fault you didn’t get the surf and turf.” I didn’t order the surf and turf because it was one of those scary options that didn’t have a price beside it. What prices I could see overwhelmed me to begin with. I was a modern woman, but I sincerely hoped Dan’s dinner invitation meant that he was paying, too. I could see our tab traveling upward toward the cost of my monthly rent, especially with the litany of bottles he’d asked for. I’d never heard of anyone buying an entire bottle of wine at a restaurant…let alone three. I was more than sure I’d be able to polish them off, but I would’ve never dreamed I could afford them, not without Roland’s credit card at my

disposal. I somehow doubted that he would approve of me snapping up expensive bottles of wines with his funds though. “Well, you’ll just have to give me a taste of your filet when it comes,” I suggested, taking a small sip of the wine he’d ordered for me. It was good—crisp and airy with just a hint of carbonation. That part I didn’t like, but I could ignore it. “What makes you think I would want to share it?” Dan asked, looking at me from beneath his eyelashes, as he took a sip from his own glass, playful and buoyant. He was in a good mood. Had the fact I had agreed to go on this date with him really pleased him so much? “You billed this evening as showing me everything good about Seattle before your brother ruined it for me,” I reminded him. “You’re going to hurt my feelings if you don’t share your steak with me. You don’t want to do that, do you?” “Absolutely not,” he said, faking his sincerity. “I want to be your guide to how amazing this city is. And now that I get to be your guide on how amazing life can be, I’m even more thrilled. We’re going to do things you’ve never dreamed about.” It was a little patronizing, the way he was talking about it, as if I were some sort of pet project, but I was the one who’d asked him to help make me normal—for better or for worse. However, I was the one who’d been living in a car up until this point. I was definitely more than a little deprived of the finer things in life. So, I needed to hold up my end of the bargain, too. “Excuse me,” I said, raising one finger. “Our manners lessons begin with the fact that just because I don’t really know what to do with my free time doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to dream. That’s a bad assumption—a condescension.” “Really?” Dan wrinkled his nose, then washed the look away with some wine. “Yes, really,” I said. “I’m the manners expert. You have to trust what I say.” “Fine, fine,” he said, almost impatiently. “Sorry for condescending. I didn’t mean to, but you don’t understand all the amazing things we can do…that I can show you.” “I probably don’t understand,” I acknowledged. “And I’m excited to discover new things with you.”

“So there are more dates in our future?” he asked, his face boyish in spite of the beard, his eyes twinkling. I heaved a sigh. “Yes. More dates in our future.” “You’re making me a happy man, Beauty,” Dan announced, raising his glass to me. “Cheers to a wonderful future.” “Cheers,” I said, a little uncertainly. I’d never counted on a wonderful future, not after what had happened to the people I’d loved. But it was something of a relief to not think about them—or about what I’d done—for this entire evening…up until this point. Dan was working his magic of distraction. I couldn’t ask for much more than that. “Get ready to enjoy your first normal girl experience,” he said, grinning at me so infectiously that I couldn’t help but smile back. “Here comes our food.” “Already?” I was puzzled. An order like ours should’ve taken longer. I understood, more or less, the mechanics of what went into those dishes from my time working in restaurants. But there was our waiter, looking pleased with himself, bustling over with an enormous platter of food. “I had them rush the order especially for you and your lady friend, Mr. Shepard,” the waiter confided. I glanced around. We were getting ugly looks from people who had been seated for much longer than we were. I raised my eyebrows in what I hoped was an expression that would convey to Dan that this was unacceptable behavior. He frowned at me before clearing his throat. “That was really not necessary,” he said, “but no use letting this great food go to waste. Beauty?” I figured he had a point. It wasn’t like we could donate our specially-made dishes to the irritable people around us. The crab I’d ordered was steamed to perfection, artfully arranged amid seasonal vegetables and rice pilaf. I was about to happily get to cracking with the various mallets and tools the waiter revealed within a folded napkin, but he began doing that for me instead.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Dan made a sound at me from across the table. “Our normal girl lesson begins with letting other people do the dirty work for you,” he said, striving for a serious face before letting a smile spoil it. “But the dirty work is fun, sometimes,” I said, watching the waiter bash the legs with the mallet and extract the succulent meat from within. It’d been a while since I’d had crab, but I remembered the strangely satisfying sensation of working for the sweet flesh inside the shell. “But not something you have to do for yourself,” Dan said. “Now, here…try this steak. This steak will make everything fall into place. It will give you good dreams for the rest of your life. This is the steak that you will compare to all other steaks from now on. This steak is pure poetry pulled from a living thing for your pleasure. Taste it. You have to.” “I can’t not, after that speech,” I said, dazzled about how someone could be so passionate about a hunk of meat. It looked good—I didn’t want to sell it short—but it was hard to believe that anyone could wax poetic about it. That all changed once the bite practically melted in my mouth. It was so tender that I virtually didn’t have to chew it, so juicy that I felt my mouth was filled with more liquid than meat. It had only been lightly seasoned so that the high quality of the filet could take center stage, shining through the dusting of salt and pepper. It was a lesson in perfection, and part of me regretted ordering the crab, even as the waiter bowed to me, presenting me with the meat he’d foraged out of the shells. “Best steak you ever had?” Dan asked, grinning at me, knowing damn well the answer to that question. “Of course it was,” I said after I’d swallowed my bite, somewhat regretfully. I thought my meal would pale in comparison, but the crab made me soon forget about the steak I’d savored. The sweet meat was perfection dipped in garlicky butter, especially paired with the veggies and rice. I enjoyed each bite, washing it down with wine from the new bottle the waiter brought out, Dan again engaging in the sniffing and slurping ritual. “What is that?” I asked, looking at him nod at the waiter to fill our glasses. “What is what?”

“You sniffed the cork for both of our bottles,” I said. “Then the waiter only poured you a splash, and you sniffed it and sloshed it around before taking a tiny sip. Then, and only then, did we get our glasses filled.” “I’m checking the quality of the wine,” he explained. “If it’s no good, I send it back.” “But it’s already opened,” I said, aghast. “What do they do then?” “That’s their problem,” he said, shrugging. “I’m paying enough money that the wine had better be amazing.” “And how can you tell if it’s not?” I asked. I’d downed screw-cap wine I’d bought from a gas station. This wine tasted better, but they were both a means to achieve the same end to me. “That’s something we can do on one of our dates,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “We’ll go to a vineyard. Do a wine tasting. Go to a class. It’s really quite interesting, and you should know how to order wine, and how to know what you like.” “Is that something people here do?” I asked. “Just go around, taking classes on how to drink wine? It’s not that hard.” He laughed. “It’s more nuanced than that. You’ll see.” I ate until I was stuffed and even refused a taste of the lobster that came with Dan’s immaculate filet mignon. However, he insisted on dessert. “Our last bottle of wine is a dessert wine, so we need to pair it with something sweet,” he explained. “Can’t the wine just be our dessert?” I complained, wishing I’d had the foresight to wear controltop pantyhose or something to hold in my protruding stomach. There was so much crab and wine in there. It was almost too rich. “Absolutely not,” Dan said, shaking his head firmly. “We’ll be wanting the chocolate cheesecake. Chocolate is excellent with red wine. There’s wine lesson number two for you.” “You’ve been acting like a perfect gentleman for quite a while,” I said, feeling a little buzzed as the waiter brought out a smaller bottle of wine than the previous two—thankfully. “I’m starting to fear that our lessons exchange is going to be a little one sided.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dan said. “I’m sure I’ll mess it up before too much longer.” I laughed, but then my eyes widened at the chocolate cheesecake. It looked positively decadent, sinful, forbidden, amazing. I was sure I could shove some things around in my stomach to make room for it. There had to be a little space left. “We probably could’ve shared one piece between the two of us,” I said, worried. “Just taste it,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be happy we’re not sharing. It’s too good to share. Now. Take a bite of the cheesecake, and then a sip of the wine. Enjoy how the flavors interact with one another.” Christ. I was never eating another prepackaged brownie for as long as I lived, nor was I going to assume that gas station wine was as good as any other. My world had changed just through good food. It was astounding. I surprised myself by polishing off my piece of cheesecake without any help whatsoever from Dan, and we savored the sweet wine until it was gone. “I don’t know how anything can top this,” I said, resting my elbows on the table and staring at Dan, even though I knew it was gauche. I was beyond sated. I was very nearly exhausted by the intense flavors I’d experienced tonight. “You’re the one who’s going to have his work cut out for him. What can ever be as good as this?” “You’d be surprised,” he said, grinning. “Now. What’s next, Beauty? Tell me. I’ll take you anywhere. We can do anything—whatever you want.” My head was swimming a little bit from all the strong wine. I couldn’t even fathom putting anything else in my stomach. Even the thought of walking back to the car was daunting. “I think…I think I want to go home,” I admitted. Dan’s face darkened a little. “Are you not having a good time with me?” “That’s not it,” I said quickly. “I’m having a really good time with you. It’s just…this dinner was so much. I think this dinner could cover my rent for the month. I think…I’m honestly a little overwhelmed.” “Overwhelmed?” He was confused now, that strange darkness having passed.

Maybe it was the wine that loosened my tongue, but maybe it just needed to be said. “I don’t really understand why you’re doing this for me,” I said, all the words coming out in a rush, “why you’re spending this kind of money on me, why you want to continue to spend money on me, why you want to show me everything to do in Seattle. I’m…I’m nothing. I’m a nobody. You could have… and probably have had…anyone you want. I’m clearly not on your level. Is it…I don’t know. Do I amuse you?” “Of course you amuse me,” Dan said, confused. “Okay, rude,” I said, covering my face in embarrassment. “How is that…okay, sorry,” he said. “I’m trying to say you make me laugh, Beauty. Not that I think you’re pathetic. You’re something new to me. Something I’m puzzled by. You’re fresh. You’re real. Yes, I’ve been with some pretty exquisite specimens…” “Rude,” I pointed out, peeking out at him from between my fingers. “Women are people. Not specimens.” “Sorry,” he said, the syllables clipped. “Have you looked in the mirror, Beauty? Does your name mean nothing to you? You’re incredible. You’re gorgeous. You are a catch; I don’t care who he is. You are a catch.” “But that’s only on the outside,” I said, letting my hands fall to the table. “You have no idea what I am on the inside.” “That’s what I’m angling to find out,” he said. “I want to know who you are on the inside. You flummox me and excite me because of it. Is that wrong? Is it wrong for me to be attracted to you because you’re so different from anyone else I’ve ever been with?” I flushed and gaped. Dan was obviously attracted to me; he’d just dropped hundreds of dollars on a single meal to be with me. Yet, to hear him admit it and to hear him say it out loud was something else entirely. “Is it rude to want to kiss you right now?” he asked, his blue eyes burning. All I could do was shake my head no, and I was on my feet, Dan standing in front of me, tracing his fingers along my jaw line and nearly searing my lips off with a hot kiss that tasted of wine and

chocolate and faintly, oh so faintly, of blood from that magnificent steak. “Do you still want me to take you home?” he asked me, his voice low, practically rumbling in his chest. “Yes,” I whispered. He exhaled heavily and stepped away. I felt physically weak, like I was going to crumple to the floor of this fancy restaurant at any moment. “I’m still…soaking all of this in,” I tried to explain, as Dan reached into his wallet, taking out enough hundred-dollar bills to make my eyes bulge out of my head. “If you don’t remember, I used to live in a car. I just had the best meal of my life, and it’s only our first date.” Dan turned to me and smiled, gently taking me by the chin and kissing me much lighter this time, much sweeter. “I get it, Beauty,” he said. “You’re not ready. We’ll take it slow. I just don’t like not getting to do what I want. I don’t like being told no.” He nodded at the waiter and concierge as we walked toward the door, and his nice car was just pulling up without Dan having to so much as show the valet the ticket. It was as if everyone had been holding their breaths and watching Dan since the moment he paid our way in here. Money wielded much more influence than I realized. Money made people pay close attention. We were driving back toward my apartment in vaguely uncomfortable silence when I cleared my throat. “Sometimes, you have to accept someone telling you no,” I said, looking down at my hands. “Count this as one of my lessons in manners. People say no to you sometimes, and you just have to deal with it.” “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Dan said, glancing at me. He was stunningly sober for the amount we’d had to drink, still driving just as fast as he had been on the way to the restaurant. “Well, no, you don’t have to like it,” I allowed. “But you also shouldn’t let the person telling you ‘no’ see that you don’t like it. Everyone has a right to do—or not do — whatever they want.” “You’re right,” he sighed. “You’re always right, Beauty. I just really want…I really want to spend

time with you. I’m spoiled. I’m used to getting what I want, when I want it.” “We’re going to spend time together,” I assured him. “I just…I’m broken inside, Dan.” I swallowed hard. I’d never talked with someone as honestly as I was talking to him in this moment. I didn’t talk to anyone about my feelings, about the extent of damage that still festered within me. “Broken how?” “I lived in a car for more than a year of my life,” I said. “I was basically a transient. I forgot what it was to be civilized. I had to forget it so I could survive. I worked anywhere, did anything…you saw me.” “I did see you,” he said, staring at the road in front of us. I wasn’t sure what he was actually seeing was the road or not, though. He was probably seeing me, grinding up against him at that club again. It made my mouth dry to imagine it, that he said he was going to fantasize about me when he relieved himself of his attraction that night. I wondered if he’d do the same thing tonight. “You’re going to have to be patient with me,” I said. “I’ve been through…a lot. I want to spend time with you, Dan, but I just really need us to take it slow. I’m pretty much a lost little girl when it comes to things like this.” “You didn’t look like a lost little girl that night in the bar,” he said, his voice dark. “Well, you did, in a way. But the kind of lost that I really like.” Another shiver trilled up my spine. “I’m not that girl in the bar anymore,” I said. “I’m trying something different now. And that’s why I need your help. If you’re the teacher, I’m the student who needs your lessons the most.” “Your proposal for role play isn’t really helping me right now, Beauty.” I looked over at him and then all but gasped at the tent in his pants. I hadn’t so much as touched him, and he appeared to be painfully erect. The thought that I could have such a strong effect on a person just from talking to him…that was powerful. I hadn’t even taken an article of clothing off. Dan pulled up to my apartment building and put the car in neutral, the engine idling, waiting for me to tell him what I wanted to do.

God, I was conflicted. I wanted him, but I didn’t want him. I was still uncomfortably full from our meal—as well as uncomfortable over the money Dan was willing to spend on me. I was afraid of his eagerness, afraid that if I bared myself to much, if I gave too much of myself to him, if I showed him my most vulnerable parts, he would see the ugliness that was within me and recoil. I needed Dan, but I needed him at arm’s length, for now. “I had a really, really amazing date with you,” I said softly. “I hope you can understand why I’m not ready for anything else right now.” “Do you think there’s a chance that you might want…something else in the future?” he asked, looking at me, his blue eyes downright inky in the dark. “I think there’s a really good fucking chance, yes,” I said, and he laughed. “I will take that,” he said. “I will take that really good fucking chance.” “I’m sorry you picked someone who doesn’t function right,” I said. “I’m sorry that I can’t be that girl for you, the girl who takes you up to her room tonight.” “Beauty, if you were that girl, I have to confess that maybe I’d be a little disappointed.” Dan rubbed his thumb over my cheek and everything was somehow immediately better. He didn’t hate me for demurring. Everything was all right. I kissed him, and he deepened it, his tongue a memory of sweet wine and chocolate. “I’ll be thinking about you tonight,” he said, capturing my hand and guiding it to his lap. Away from prying eyes—relatively, anyway, with the sidewalks bare of pedestrians in front of my building—I felt his thick attraction toward me through his pants. He was well endowed—set up for success physically and monetarily. Dan was a lucky man, and I was a lucky girl for crossing paths with him. “I’d kind of hoped you would be,” I confessed, my voice shaking with desire. It would be so easy to cave in, to just invite him up, and to let myself go. All I wanted to do was to forget, to feel good and forget. And yet I couldn’t. Dan gave a long groan, and I jerked my hand away. “You’d better get going,” he warned. “I want you too bad.” I was practically panting; he had to recognize that the feeling was mutual.

“Do you need to use my bathroom before you go?” I asked, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Or some water? Do you want some water? A mint? Just in case?” “If I go up to your apartment right now, Beauty, I will fuck you,” he said, his voice raw. “That is a promise and a warning. If that’s what you want to do, then by all means. Let’s go up. But if you want to take it slow, it’s best that you go up alone.” Fuck me. I opened my mouth to tell him my decision but snapped it shut again. No. I could do this. I had to be strong. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if we had sex right now. It would be too much, too soon, and it would be too hard to face myself tomorrow morning. There had been just too many feelings to handle in the past twenty-four hours. Having sex with Dan would be a wonderful distraction, but it would also open a can of worms I didn’t think I would know how to close again. “Text me when you get home, so I know you made it safe,” I said, not daring to give him even one more kiss, afraid I’d give way to my weakening resolve. “I’m fine,” he said, giving me a tight smile. “Though it’ll be a miracle to make it without blowing a load in my pants.” I grimaced. “Impolite.” “But the truth,” he said. “Beauty. It was a distinct pleasure. I’m sorry that I’m a caveman. I wish I was better at controlling myself. I see something I want and I just go after it until I have it. Women—they want to be with me. They throw themselves at me, when they realize what I can give them. What I can do for them. You’re going to have to be a patient teacher with me, too. I don’t think I can change overnight.” “I understand that,” I said, opening the door and stepping out. “We’ll both be patient teachers— and diligent students.” “Again with the role play,” Dan said, shaking his head, rubbing a hand through his beard, distressed. “You really know how to fuck with a guy’s brain, Beauty.” “I’m not trying to fuck with your head,” I said, flustered. “Sorry! Goddammit!” I slammed the car door shut and spun around, intent on hiding away in my apartment, when I heard the window roll down. “Beauty!”

I turned, bent down to make eye contact. “I really did have a good time tonight,” he said. “So did I.” “Let’s do it again as soon as possible.” I smiled. “You have my number.” “Good night.” “Good night.” It was all I could do to get up to my apartment before I threw myself on my bed, facedown, smiling against my pillow. Dan had been completely… unexpected. He was volatile, perhaps, but passionate, endearing, and definitely entertaining. The fact that he was so attracted to me was an added bonus. It did a lot for my self-confidence. It showed me that, after everything, maybe there was going to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe I didn’t deserve it. But it was there all the same. I thought about Dan’s hot mouth on my own, thought about the way his cock had felt beneath his expensive pants, the way he’d groaned, how he’d certainly be thinking about me tonight, when he got home. I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time, an urge for something that was beyond filling a void. It was honest to God attraction toward Dan. I desired him, and I wanted to…do something about it. I’d cloistered myself from the finer pleasures in life during my time on the road. That wasn’t to say that I didn’t…feel things. I could see a hot guy walking down the street and appreciate the way he looked. But I didn’t go back to the car and touch myself to him later that night. Now, though, secure in my apartment, still buzzing from an unbelievable evening with Dan, an irresistible urged traveled up my spine and down my arm, my hand moving almost of its own volition to draw my dress up over my thighs, stopping when it brushed my waist. The air in the apartment was cool, and I shivered, my skin puckering with goosebumps. I hooked my fingers on either side of my panties and lifted my hips, taking them down to my knees. I was bare to the night, and I pressed my legs together briefly for that shudder of sensation before

spreading them again, walking my fingers back up my legs, ghosting light touches at their juncture, teasing my velvet lips, the downy hair there already dewy with my desire. I hadn’t told Dan to come up here. I hadn’t given in to my baser instincts. That was good. I could reward myself, couldn’t I? It didn’t hurt either of us if I imagined that he was here, with me, that the finger running up and down the cleft of my lips, parting them to skate in the wetness there, was his instead of mine. He said he’d been with other women; I wondered just how experienced he was. He was older than me, so I imagined he already knew his way around the female form quite well—not like the guys I’d been with at college, barely able to last longer than a few minutes with a girl who’d been so eager to give herself away in order to get away from herself. No, Dan would take his time. He’d know that he already had me, that there was no point in rushing it, that he could take as long as he want, torturing me to completion. He’d plunge one finger into my hot depths, just as I was doing right now, and he’d take a leisurely tour of what I had to offer. I’d let him, of course, because he knew exactly what I liked, exactly how to touch me to get me to arch my back, to urge him onward. He’d laugh at me, tell me I just needed to slow down and enjoy myself, but I’d beg him for it. I might be ashamed, but I’d beg him to give it to me, not looking to lose myself in that black orgasm but to find myself, instead. I was so close it scared me. I hadn’t given myself this kind of pleasure in so long that it was like my body was flooding at the first sign of rain in spite of the drought it had endured. I lightly flicked my fingers over my clit, again and again, feeling a pleasant burn in my forearm, well out of practice for this sort of thing. I imagined my fingers were Dan’s tongue; I imagined that he was looking up at me from between my legs, ready to push me over the edge… …but then it was Roland’s face that replaced it, that scar so insignificant compared to the waves of climax crashing down over me. Was it wrong that it was Roland instead of Dan? I squeezed my eyes shut and then nothing mattered, gaping into the darkness, my hand never slowing for a second, gasping out my confused pleasure, and sinking into a sweet slumber that didn’t care who made me feel good.

Chapter 11 The thing about human beings was that people could get used to whatever they had to get used to. Adaptation happened whether we were aware of it or not, and we always tried to protect ourselves regardless. I couldn’t say that I’d ever actually fully adapted to the reality I’d created with my horrible decision, the one that had killed Caro, my parents, and Roland’s fiancée, Mina. But I had adapted beyond the point of curling up in a ball and weeping for hours on end. I’d even adapted past the stage where I’d sit still for whole days, staring blankly in front of me, not eating or drinking until something inside me felt like it would break. The lizard part of my brain, the portion responsible for keeping me alive even after the rest of its real estate had already decided that I didn’t deserve to live, had asserted itself during my time at college —when I was trying and failing to find something to end my suffering. My lizard brain realized that I wasn’t adapting to my new situation as long as I was there, so I had to move. Because those were the decisions the lizard brain had to make: adapt, move, or die, and it wasn’t about to choose death. The lizard brain made me eat, made me sleep, made me wake up, made me breathe when I didn’t want to, hold my breath when I wanted to open my lungs underwater and let it all come pouring in. It was the lizard brain that propelled me across the country, pushing me from place to place when it felt like I wasn’t adapting, certain it could find a better situation for me down the road. And now that I had settled into Seattle, my lizard brain had gotten lazy. It didn’t mind the fact that there wasn’t much sun in the city to sit its scaly body in. It basked instead in having a place to sleep at night that wasn’t the car, at having all the food it wanted and then some, at sticking to a schedule that was shifting away from late nights and toward early mornings. When the part of me panicked at the thought of Roland discovering the truth about my past, about

how I was responsible for our mutual heartache, the lizard brain yawned and turned its face away from me. We’d been doing so well here in Seattle up until this point, and the lizard brain had dug itself a burrow, content on adapting in the most comfortable place we’d been in since…well, since my parents were still alive and I didn’t have anything to run away from. The lizard brain tongued the air of my panic and told me to get used to it, to figure out some way to exist with it, because we weren’t moving around anymore. We were going to stay in Seattle. If we couldn’t thrive, then we’d, at the very least, survive. And so I adapted to the terror that Roland would someday discover the truth. It became easier to ignore with the distractions I found for myself. Dan had fit that role nicely, pushing me so far out of my comfort zone that it was easy to forget about everything else that worried me. And that was how I found myself able to move around the office without sweating through my blouses and blazers in anxiety. I was able to smile without it freezing on my face in a frightened grin. I was able to have small talk with Sam, eat lunch at the cafeteria, and do some real damage to the papers that needed to be digitized. When the phone at my desk rang, I was able to answer that, too. It had taken some time to get used to being around Roland in a professional setting after I realized just what I’d done to him, what I’d taken away from him with the single stupidest mistake in my life. If anything, Roland had loosened up, perhaps relieved at the fact that I wasn’t angry at him for his admission. How could I have been? Nothing was his fault. All of the biting commentary on my appearance and performance had vanished, and he actually sounded happy to see me sometimes. It was a shocking transformation from the beast he’d been when I first got hired. Once he became nicer, a funny thing happened. It became easier to forget about Roland’s wretched scar. I could hold an entire conversation with him, looking into those blue eyes, without feeling the macabre need to follow the twisting path of that scar across his face. When he wasn’t acting mean, he was downright pleasant to be around. Part of me suspected it was the guilt I felt at ruining his life. I could at least be nice to him, be his

one friend in this office, the one person who wasn’t so horrified at his appearance that I refused to even give him a chance. “What can I do for you?” I asked, cradling the phone against my neck between my ear and my shoulder so I could continue typing with both hands. “I almost have the meeting summary typed up.” “No rush on that,” Roland said, his gravelly voice warm. “I’m sure it’ll be riveting stuff.” “Riveting?” I snorted. “I don’t know about that. There was a five-minute discussion about office supplies…” “Office supplies? Five minutes?” “Ballpoint pens versus rollerball pens,” I said, smothering a laugh and looking around. I didn’t want anyone to hear me making fun of it. There had been some surprisingly hard feelings on the subject. “A five minute discussion about pens?” Roland asked. I could picture his dumbfounded face, and that made me want to laugh even more. “How can someone spend five minutes talking about fucking pens?” “You will just have to wait to read the report,” I said, arching my eyebrows and continuing to type. “I took very good notes during this very entertaining portion of the afternoon.” “I’ll look forward to it,” he said, as if I were proposing some kind of serious artistic exhibition. “I have a huge favor to ask of you.” “Ask away—it’s not a favor if you’re paying me to be here,” I said. “I’m your assistant, remember. You don’t ask favors. You tell me what to do.” “This falls outside of regular business hours, and is why I’m asking rather than telling,” Roland clarified. “But you’d be compensated with overtime pay.” “Oh, overtime,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Just call me Miss Moneybags come Friday. What am I going to be doing?” “I need you to take notes during a pretty big phone conference meeting,” he said. “There are going to be a lot of important issues brought up, and I’m going to have to review them carefully. I’ll need you at your best.” Out of everything that had gone on during my time of employment at Shepard Shipments, I was

really beginning to come into my own on observing and summarizing meetings—both important and practically inconsequential, such as the great pen debate of this afternoon. I was becoming used to the culture and vocabulary of the business, and I could keep up with even the fastest exchanges, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I’d even taken to offering a short paragraph at the end of each summary offering my own interpretation of the events that had transpired and advice on the next steps forward, if it was my decision to make. The first time I’d gone above and beyond on that last paragraph, Roland had emailed me back immediately, making my heart stop. I’d been sure that the message would lambast me about overstepping my authority and ridicule me for sharing my opinion when no one had asked for it. I was bracing myself for pages upon pages of vitriol when I opened the message. Instead, it was short and simple: Continue to include the last paragraph with all future summaries, Roland had written. Next time, more detail. I’d glowed with pride at that email. A billionaire thought my ideas were worth a damn. It was a huge ego boost…tempered quickly by the idea that he was only entertaining me because he felt guilty for something that wasn’t his fault. There was always that. “I’d be more than happy to bring my best to your after-hours meeting,” I said, my curiosity piqued, eager at being offered something different—a challenge. “Big secret closed-door stuff, right?” “That’s about right,” Roland agreed, his voice amused. “Top secret. It’s tonight, by the way.” “Tonight?” I groaned. “Dammit.” I’d agreed to go out with Dan, and he’d probably whine and complain if I canceled on him. For someone with as much money as he had, he could be such a baby if he didn’t get his way. “You have plans,” Roland said, and I could’ve sworn he sounded disappointed. “That’s fine. I can take my own notes.” “No,” I said quickly. “No. I don’t have plans. Well, I do have plans, but I’ll change them. I’m honestly more interested in the meeting tonight. It sounds like it’s going to be juicy. I can go out with…I can go out anytime I want. I can’t sit in on top secret executive meetings for an exorbitant amount of

money whenever I want.” I stuck my tongue out at my awkwardness and beat the heel of my hand against my forehead. Had I really been about to admit that the person I was going out with was Roland’s brother? Dan had assured me until he was blue in the face that there wasn’t a company policy for office dating, but I still couldn’t help feeling weird about it. It strangely felt like a betrayal to Roland, whatever that meant, that I was seeing Dan outside of the office. Then again, it wasn’t as if Roland would ever step foot outside of this building. I’d seen to that, all those years ago. “Well, only if it’s convenient to you—plans you don’t mind breaking,” he said. “Meeting begins at eight sharp.” That was late—weirdly late for a bunch of guys with too much money on their hands. Were they really that busy that they couldn’t meet until the evening? “Sounds fine,” I said. “I’ll be on time.” “Excellent,” Roland said. “It’s a date, then. Well, a working date. Not a date at all. A meeting. It’s a meeting.” “It’s a meeting,” I agreed, my shoulders shaking with laughter. What was wrong with him? Had he never invited his assistant to take notes at an important late meeting before? “Stop laughing at me!” he demanded, his voice sounding like he was dangerously close to laughing himself. “I’m not laughing—wait! Are you watching me right now?” I swiveled around in my chair to stare daggers at the camera perched close to the ceiling. “Maybe,” he confessed, sounding guilty. “Wait, your face is super angry. No, then. No. I’m definitely not watching you.” “Your cover is blown,” I said, smirking. “Do you just sit there and watch your camera feed all day? Don’t you have anything better to do?” “I just like to look at who I’m talking to, that’s all,” Roland said.

“I like that, too,” I said, feeling sassy. “Where’s my camera feed of you? Why don’t I get to look at who I’m talking to?” “I’m sparing you that, believe me,” he said, that hoarse voice waxing bitter. “I wouldn’t inflict this face on anyone.” “Your face isn’t that bad,” I protested, but he cut me off. “Eight o’clock. Sharp.” Then the only sound in my ear was a dial tone. I frowned. Roland didn’t understand that his scar was something that people could get used to… something he should get used to if he wasn’t planning on doing anything about it surgically. Didn’t he understand that his personality shone so much that a person, as I so often did, could completely overlook his physical imperfection? If not for that scar, if not for that weakness, then Roland could probably take over the world. If not for me. My shoulders sagged with that responsibility, the responsibility of having ruined a person’s life. My decision had never been easy to bear, but at least it had always been only my reality to bear. The fact that I’d given such brutal heartache to a person who’d done nothing wrong was almost unbearable. But what could I do? What could I honestly think I could do? Telling Roland my truth would ruin everything. I was feeling so good about my job here at Shepard Shipments. Couldn’t I just go on like this? My cellphone buzzed and I jumped, wondering if Roland was still watching the feed from the camera trained on me. I could practically feel his eyes on me. I quickly resumed my typing before glancing at the display on my phone. There was a text from Dan. Slip out a few minutes early, it read. Traffic’s going to be terrible. I hesitated for a few long moments, typing as fast as I could, before swiveling my chair so its tall back blocked me from the camera’s view. I’d rather not Roland witness me backing out of a date with his brother via text message. I couldn’t bear the scrutiny. Rain check, I typed back. I have to work late tonight. The icon signaled Dan was typing right back. Bullshit, he replied pleasantly. You have to have an amazing dinner and night with me. I’ll call my brother and tell him to bugger off. You’re mine tonight.

My eyes widened and my fingers flew across my phone, frantic. Please don’t, I sent immediately, then framed the rest of my reply. It’s an executive meeting. It sounds really important, and he asked me for my help. I actually want to go. It sounds exciting. I sat there for a full minute, waiting for a reply, but the icon didn’t even pop up. Was Dan hurt that I was choosing to spend an evening with Roland over him? It wasn’t like that. Roland and I didn’t have anything between us, not like what Dan and I were growing. Surely Dan wasn’t that much of an idiot to be jealous of his brother. There wasn’t anything to be jealous about. I was wiggling my fingers millimeters from the display, itching to start typing and sending my defenses, when the icon finally popped up. Work is work, he sent back, sounding resigned. I think it’s admirable that you’re taking such an interest in the company. You’ll have to bounce what you think about the whole thing off me later…when I cash in that rain check. XO How could someone make the phrase “cash in that rain check” sound so promising yet foreboding…and sexy? I’ll let you know, I sent back, feeling, as usual, woefully inadequate. Dan had already seen under my hood, so to speak. What had interested him so much that he was showing so much interest now? Did he still want to slum it with an employee? It was equally confounding and tantalizing. Eight o’clock arrived without me having to work to distract myself. There were summaries to type —now that I was completing my analysis paragraphs for each one, they took much longer. Trust me to figure out how to make my job even more difficult, but my analysis paragraphs were some of the best parts of my day. I looked forward to compiling them, and sometimes even started writing them when I should’ve been paying attention to what was actually going on in the meeting. It was those paragraphs that made me feel like I was actually doing something in my life, being a valuable asset to a company instead of just being an assistant who grabbed fresh coffee and a copy of the newspaper every day for her boss. Those paragraphs made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could have a brighter future, one that made me use my brain for money instead of my body.

There was the digitizing to do, of course—a task I always felt behind in. When the alarm I’d set on my phone for ten till eight buzzed, I was surprised. I’d gotten most, but not all of the box of the day completed. Was I going to have to work twelve-hour days just to keep up with Shepard Shipment’s dive into the twenty-first century? I grabbed my laptop, a notebook, a pen, and my phone, and walked over to Roland’s office, pausing just a fraction of a second before knocking on the door. I listened for a call to enter, but receiving none, went ahead and walked inside. “I don’t know why you insist on knocking,” Roland said, seated in the same leather chair he’d occupied when he told me he killed my parents. I wouldn’t have any other choice but to sit in the same seat I’d had when I drank all of his bourbon, barfed, and passed out. I heaved a sigh and closed the door behind me. “I just want to give you some kind of warning before I pop in,” I explained, taking my seat reluctantly and setting up my army of dictating materials. I was fastest on the laptop, of course, but if there was a lull in important conversation, I liked to take notes longhand on what I thought the topic was about, as well as where I thought the meeting was heading. That was usually where I drew my analysis paragraphs from—those little asides. The phone, of course, was to catch any stray texts from Dan instead of letting his messages vibrate my desk outside uselessly. “A warning?” Roland scoffed. “What, exactly, do you think I get up to in here?” “I guess a warning to minimize your porn windows—or the video feed of my desk,” I said saucily. Roland’s eyes bulged, and I was sure that I’d overstepped. It was hard to ignore the burning in my own cheeks, but we were saved from a big blowup by the phone ringing, resting on a table that separated us. Roland swallowed hard, composing himself, held up a finger of warning to me, and pressed the button for speakerphone. “Roland Shepard,” he said, that rough voice pure business now. I had a sudden thought—had he always spoken like that? Was that husky voice yet another vestige of the havoc I’d wreaked? There wasn’t time to dwell on the errant guilt. My hands poised over the keyboard, I began to type.

“Roland, it’s Farris Kim here, and I’ve got Cynthia Nguyen beside me,” a man’s voice said. “Hello, Roland,” a woman added. “We’ve also got Mason Nchia on the line. Mason?” “Yes, I’m here,” a deep male voice said. “Roland, hello.” I was thankful, at least, that no one in this conference call had similar voices. I scribbled down some quick abbreviations in my notebook to help facilitate my typing, then paused, looking at Roland, waiting for him to proceed. “Let’s get straight to the point, as I’m keeping my assistant from socializing this evening,” Roland said, eyeing me as I slumped down in my seat, so embarrassed I could die right there on the spot. The voices joined together in laughter at my expense did nothing to alleviate my shame. Roland’s eyes twinkled suspiciously, and I realized that this was payment for my little comment right before the call began. “Shepard Shipments is on track to outpace its North American-based competitors,” he said, folding his hands and returning his attention to the phone. “We continue to grow each quarter, and we’re trading at—” “I thought you said you were getting straight to the point,” Mason interrupted, cheeky but friendly. “If you keep on jerking yourself off over all your achievements, your poor assistant is never going to see her friends again.” I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my shocked giggle. Did you have to be above a certain pay grade in order to call Roland out on his bullshit in front of his peers? He glowered at me for a brief moment before continued, raising his voice to be heard above the cackles of the other executives. “What I mean is, we’re the best,” he said. “What you mean is, you’re going to be the best,” Farris said. “At some point in the future.” “Sooner, rather than later, if you like what I have to say,” Roland said. “Shepard Shipments has, up until this point, been fairly limited in scope. Entering the streaming and digital age changed all that. We’re growing in leaps and bounds, and I feel like now is a good point in time to diversify. I know it’s lost on nobody…except for my poor assistant…the diversity of the companies each of you represents. Would you sound off for her, for the record? She’s taking notes, for your information.”

“You have the poor girl taking you notes?” Cynthia laughed. “What’s wrong with a simple recorder, Roland? Are you sure you’re ready to take your company to the next level? Seems like you still have a secretary.” I flushed furiously, but continued to type. I thought this was supposed to be some important executive’s meeting. How was I the topic of conversation? “I find that it’s been quite useful to have a fresh face in the office with opinions unbiased by her prior knowledge of the business,” Roland responded coolly. “She’s more of a sounding board than a secretary, Cynthia. Shame on you. She’s sitting right here.” If I blushed any more fiercely, I was certain my face would melt off of my skull. Roland was defending me to his peers and admitting to people just as rich and powerful as himself that I was a valuable person to have in the office. My hands trembled over the keyboard. This meeting was much more illuminating than I could’ve ever thought it would be. “Apologies, of course,” Cynthia said. “I’m Cynthia Nguyen, of Nguyen Telecommunications in Japan.” “And I’m Farris Kim, chief executive officer of Live At You, the video website. Happened to be in Japan on vacation when you gave us your summons, Roland.” “Serendipitous, indeed,” Mason boomed. “I’m Mason Nchia, and I head up a handful of little companies here in Nigeria —” “Don’t be coy, Mason,” Cynthia scolded. “Mason Nchia is Nigeria’s media magnate, owner of Cable News and about a dozen other businesses.” “Two dozen, at least,” Farris put in. “Now that the introductions are over,” Roland interrupted, “let’s get back to it. As you all well know, Shepard Shipments doesn’t have a presence abroad. I want to change that—and change it in a big way—by entering the African and Asian markets. My closest contacts are there, obviously, and once we dominate there, we can assess Europe, South America, Oceania…” “Doesn’t your brother have contacts in Europe?” Farris asked. “He has a contact in Europe,” Roland said, rolling his eyes and giving me an exasperated look.

“And I wouldn’t really call her a business contact. Much more social than that.” Mason gave a knowing laugh, and my eyes darted reflexively to my phone. Now would be the worst time possible for a message from Dan to pop up on my phone. I should’ve had the foresight to save his number in my contacts under a different name, or not set my phone so close to Roland. And I really didn’t like the realization that everyone on that conference call seemed to understand and intimately know about Dan’s apparent promiscuity and lack of business acumen. For the first time, I was a little bit embarrassed that he was showing me so much interest—and more than relieved that the only person present who knew about Dan and I was me. It was a secret I was more than happy to keep to myself. “Daniel might think that taking us to Europe next is the right decision, but I beg to differ,” Roland was saying. I had to really fly to keep up, the laptop keys clacking loudly. “Africa is an exciting place to be right now, and let’s face it, being big in Asia would be…enormous.” “And that’s where we come in, I’m guessing,” Mason said. It was hard to keep track of the waves of conversation, the pros and the cons, the vocabulary I only had a passing knowledge of, and keeping everyone straight as they fought to talk over one another— most of the time, excitedly. For what I couldn’t follow analytically, I could definitely understand that everyone involved in this conference call was excited. I rarely had a spare moment to annotate a comment in my notebook. My fingers were glued to the keyboard, resolving to fix any typos later. If I tried to delete and correct anything, I would fall hopelessly behind. Instead, I soldiered onward, my mind racing alongside my fingers, thrilled at the opportunity to be in on this conversation. It was really an honor to have been asked to listen in on this tonight. This was a big, high-level deal they were talking about, and it was tantalizingly interesting. The things these impossibly smart executives were talking about would launch Shepard Shipments into truly rarified air. The fact that Roland trusted me with all of this—not to mention that he actually wanted my opinion—was incredibly gratifying. And incredibly misguided.

Focusing on the task at hand drove all of my feelings of inadequacy and guilt right out of my mind. There were schematics to figure out, a plan of attack to launch, new properties to purchase and develop, and it felt like the sky was the limit on what these powerful people could do together. Was it always this exhilarating to be on this level of making decisions? There were details to iron out, sure, but that’s what the rest of their companies would do. These people were like gods wielding the power of life. Okay, maybe that was too much. I was impressed, at best, and star struck, at worst, by how intelligent the executives all were. I could see why they’d risen to the top in their various companies. Most interesting of all was Roland. He conducted all of his business over the phone or via email, explaining those two methods were the most convenient to reach colleagues all around the globe. I was starting to suspect, however, that the real reason he did business that way was to distract from his scar. If he was writing an email or talking over the phone, the person on the receiving end wasn’t distracted by the way that dead tissue came to life when he talked about ideas and dreams and futures that could be realized. The more I got to know him, the less attention I paid to the scar, but if he only saw some of these contacts infrequently, they’d never get used to it. Doing business at arm’s length ensured that the focus remained on Roland’s words—and they were good, powerful, thoughtful words. The man sitting across from me, his murky blue eyes alight with passion, was nothing less of a genius. I couldn’t help myself. Every time I glanced up at Roland, my fingers a constant tattoo of noise on my laptop, I blurred my eyes so I could imagine him without that scar, imagine him whole again. He would’ve been even more handsome than his svelte younger brother. What really made him attractive was the power of his conviction. To watch him talk about something he wanted more than anything was to watch him light up completely, peel back all his layers, and show his true self. His true self was amazing. Roland wanted to expand his company for his own benefit, sure. He was a businessman; I was not naïve. Yet, he wanted to do it in a way to also benefit other people in markets usually ignored by large North American companies. Africa remained a virtually untapped market for many businesses here, and what Roland was proposing was both daring and admirable. He talked passionately, gesticulating with his

hands even though I was the only one who could see him. Roland was the better of the two brothers. The thought sprung to my mind unbidden, and I could only half examine it, my fingers aching from all the typing. I saw Dan get passionate about a cut of steak at dinner once, but beyond that, he just seemed so shallow. He liked beautiful things, expensive items, and basically every angle of a hedonistic lifestyle. Roland was deeper, more driven, more desirable, in a strange way… No. I had to focus. I zeroed in on the conversation, making sure to limit my typos, keeping track of who was talking and when, and making mental annotations of separate points I could bring up if Roland asked me to. I didn’t have any right comparing the Shepard brothers. They were as different as night and day— incomparable, really. I was in this office tonight to work and learn, not to daydream about stupid shit. I needed to pay attention. “My God,” Cynthia said. “Has it been three hours? I completely lost track of the time.” I blinked up from the keyboard, dazed, realizing with a start that it was after eleven o’clock. My stomach gurgled loudly, and I realized I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime. Roland eyed me with a small frown, and I blushed. “Well, apologies to your assistant to spoiling her evening plans, Roland, but I think we made some excellent progress,” Mason was saying. I hurried to type in his comments, not wanting to miss a single word, even as the conference call was wrapping up. “Let’s speak again, this time next week, and move forward on this,” Farris urged. “This is going to be bigger than any of us—bigger than what this world has ever seen.” “I don’t know about that,” Roland said wryly, a smile playing around his lips. “But I am excited. Good night, everyone.” I grabbed my notebook as the executives bid one another good night, jotting down my thoughts, not knowing whether I’d be expected to write my usual analytical paragraph to accompany the notes I’d taken or not. I didn’t know if I could limit myself to a single paragraph. Roland got up from the chair and carried the phone back over to his desk as I scribbled away.

I heard him speaking softly into the receiver over the roar of my excitement, but didn’t register the words. I was too busy trying to capture my thoughts, too busy to even acknowledge the fact that I was starving from missing dinner. When I looked up, Roland was smiling at me—a real smile that caught us both off guard. “Sorry,” we said in unison, then laughed. “I’ve ordered us some takeout,” he said. “I hope you like Chinese.” “Who doesn’t like Chinese?” I demanded. “But you don’t have to feel obligated to feed me. I’m nearly done. And you’re paying me overtime, so you should probably try to get me out of here as quickly as possible.” “If you don’t mind, I want to hear your thoughts on the conference call,” he said. “Hear them?” I gulped. I felt like I was better on paper with more time to formulate and polish my commentary. “Don’t you just want me to email them to you tomorrow—or even later tonight?” “It’s better when your reactions are still fresh,” he said. “Plus I just ordered a fuck ton of food. I’ll need help eating it.” “It’s your money, Roland,” I laughed. “I don’t know. I feel…like high, I guess. Not that I do drugs. You can drug test me. I really don’t. But I feel really happy after that call. Is that normal? Are you happy?” He grinned briefly, and it was beautiful to see. I was taken aback by just how good looking he was —even with the scar. Maybe I’d never really seen it before because he was too busy scowling or frowning. But with that grin…well, I thought back to some time prior, the night of my first date with Dan, and trying to visualize Dan to make myself come and instead picturing Roland there, pushing me over the edge. Was there something there? “You’re right to be excited,” he said, nodding and pacing around, a bundle of energy. “This could be huge for us—huge for the world. There are more doubts right now than certainties, but all of us are on the same page.” My stomach quirked a little bit. “All of us except for Dan, apparently.” Roland gave me a sharp look, and I regretted taking that smile away from him. “Explain.”

“You all said that he wanted to expand to Europe first, before anywhere else,” I said, scrolling back up through my notes on the laptop. “Will Dan be upset that the company won’t be doing that?” “You paid closer attention than I thought,” Roland mused. “For the record, I suppose Dan won’t be that happy. But when he understands that, in the long run, this is the best thing for the company, he’ll come around. I don’t even really understand why he’s so interested in Europe, but that’s neither here nor there. What else. Tell me.” It was strangely terrifying and exciting at the same time to have Roland’s full, undivided attention whether I was babbling about how cool Mason’s accent was to the dynamics I’d picked up on during the call. “Do you think you might be overloading on Asia a bit?” I asked. “If you want to hit both Asia and Africa at the same time, won’t you need another contact in Africa?” “This is all good, don’t stop,” Roland said, scribbling on a pad of paper himself. We talked until a chime in the back of the office stopped me mid-sentence, and an elevator door rolled open that I’d never even seen before. “Your takeout, Mr. Shepard.” “Perfect, Jones, bring it right over here.” A security guard, from the looks of it, came bearing two huge plastic bags of food that I could smell from across the room. “You weren’t joking,” I said, whistling lowly. “That is a fuck ton of food.” The guard gave me a disapproving glance before retreating back to the elevator. “Better to have too much than too little,” Roland said, breaking out the containers before handing me a pair of chopsticks. “I never noticed the elevator here before,” I said, staring across the room. Now that I knew it was there, though, I could recognize the dull gleam, even in the low light. “It’s your private one, isn’t it? The one I’m never to use.” “That’s right,” he said. “Myra’s words?” “Myra’s words,” I confirmed. “Forbidden.”

Roland laughed. It was still so unexpected to hear him laugh that I had to join him. “That makes it sound like there’s something terrifying up here,” he complained. “No wonder everyone’s afraid of me.” “And that spiral staircase, over there,” I said, pointing. “That goes into the penthouse, right?” “Right again.” I stuffed my face with beef and broccoli until my stomach stopped growling. “What’s it like to live here?” I asked. “Aren’t you ever tired of work? Seems like you wouldn’t get much free time if you live in the same building as the company you own.” “My work is my life,” he said, shrugging over his fried rice. “I don’t like having much free time. If I’m not working, I’m usually thinking. I don’t like to think about Mina.” I flinched as if he’d hit me. Of course he didn’t like to think about the fiancée I’d killed. I plummeted from my high, and the steaming food didn’t entice me so much anymore. “We never really…talked…after our last late night meeting,” Roland said, his voice tentative. I had spent the past few hours listening to him being concise, decisive, utterly sure of himself. This trepidation reminded me exactly of that last meeting. “We really don’t have to talk about it,” I said quickly. We’d had a surprisingly good night together. I didn’t want to ruin it now. I stuffed an eggroll into my mouth and chewed forcefully. “Do you mind if I do?” Yes, I did mind. I didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that I’d stolen away his happiness. I didn’t want to feel guilty right now, not after feeling so good. I didn’t want him to get any closer to knowing the truth about me, not when things were so good with my life—at long last. Please, I didn’t want any of that, but I couldn’t deny him. If he wanted to talk about it, then I was going to let him. I owed him that much. “I just wanted to say that I understood, you know, if you were angry.” He toyed with the sweet and sour chicken, revealing that he’d lost his appetite on the subject, as well. “I’m not angry though,” I said, washing down the eggroll with the soda that had come with the order. “Why the fuck not?” His rage was quiet but sudden and intense. I nearly choked on my soda. “I

ruined your life.” “It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It was.” “It wasn’t.” Everything was my fault, but I couldn’t tell him that. Not now. Not ever. “How can you be so amazing?” he demanded. “Out of all that tragedy, how can you rise and be such an incredible person?” “I was living out of a car, unless you’ve forgotten,” I said sarcastically. “I’m not amazing, Roland. I’m stupid. I’ve made mistakes.” “Only because I took your parents away from you,” he said. “No.” I was adamant on this point. Maybe I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, but I could get really close. “It was the fault of the driver who hit all of you and whatever decisions she made that night. You’re not at fault. You never were. You were just unlucky, Roland. So were my parents.” “I’m telling you this to push you away, and you refuse to go away,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Push me away?” That hurt more than anything he’d said. “Do you want me to leave your company? Are you firing me?” “No, of course not,” he snapped. “You’re an enormous asset—more than I could’ve imagined. To push you away from me.” “Why?” “I…fuck! For whatever twisted reason, even if I’m practically twice your age…” “You’re not twice my age,” I said patiently. “I’m about to turn twenty-two, and you’re thirty-five.” “I have feelings for you, Beauty.” He sounded as if he were in agony, and then I realized what he’d said. “Feelings…for me?” “I’ve taken away everything from you, and somehow you don’t hate me,” he said. “You’ve weathered my moods and been someone I can trust. I don’t know fucking how you do it, but you don’t even cringe when you look at my face. I haven’t felt anything for anyone since—since Mina, but now I have these feelings for you, and…why aren’t you telling me to fuck off, goddammit?”

“I don’t want to tell you to fuck off,” I said slowly. “I’m…well, if we’re being perfectly honest here, I’m really flattered. Really, really flattered.” I chose my words carefully. “You’re so intelligent and passionate and I could really see how much you cared about this company and what it can do for the world during the conference call. I saw something in you tonight that I haven’t seen before, and it was amazing. You’re amazing.” “Just say the ‘but,’” Roland groused. “But you can’t be with someone who looks like me, not when you look the way you do.” “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” I said vehemently. “And your scar really isn’t that bad. It’s easy for a person to get used to looking at, though I can’t imagine that it’s easy for you. It reminds you of…of that night. The truth is…I’m kind of seeing your brother.” “Daniel?” Roland sounded perplexed. “What do you mean, kind of seeing him?” “We’ve gone on a few dates,” I said. “He said he’d like to show me around the city, and I agreed. It’s been…fun.” That was a white lie. It’d been incredible, but I was pretty sure Roland didn’t want to hear all about the intense sexual tension that had been building between Dan and me. We were still taking it slow, but it was a fire all the same. Soon, I didn’t think either of us could control it. “I wasn’t aware that you and Daniel were dating.” “I hope I haven’t gotten us in trouble,” I said quickly. “He’s assured me that there aren’t any office rules about dating.” “There aren’t, really, as long as both parties are consenting adults,” Roland said, looking troubled. “I’m sorry,” I said, not sure why I felt the need to apologize. “I kind of thought…well, you two are brothers. I thought he’d maybe tell you.” “We’re not that close,” he said. “Daniel’s sexual exploits don’t interest me in the slightest.” Wow. That was a clear slap to the face, and both of us winced. “You know, I think I’d better get going,” I said, standing up. “It’s pretty late, and I have to be up early in the morning. You want your coffee and newspaper on time, don’t you?” “Beauty, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say…I’m really glad you agreed to sit in on the conference call. I really do value your opinion on everything. You’re sharp as a tack, and you’re not

afraid to tell me the truth.” There was one truth I was afraid to tell him. “I hope I didn’t ruin our working relationship with what I told you right now,” he said. “I hope you don’t feel uncomfortable that I have feelings for you.” “I don’t,” I said simply. And then, because I felt like I owed him something, “I feel for you, too.” “You don’t have to say that,” he said. “You really don’t have to pretend.” “I’m not pretending,” I said. “I admire you a lot. If it weren’t for Daniel, maybe I’d let you take me around Seattle. I’d like to…even though I’m just your assistant…maybe we could be friends?” Roland didn’t speak for so long that I wondered if I should just walk out. “You know,” he said, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend. I think I would really like that, if it’s all right with you.” “All right with me? It’s better than all right. You know that friends aren’t mean to each other, right?” Roland gave a short laugh. “I’m still your boss, Beauty. I’ll tell you when you fuck up.” “I hope so,” I said. “Good night, Roland. Thank you for everything.” “Thank you. You’re giving me more than you know.” What could be said for the fact that I drifted home feeling like my feet were barely touching the ground? What name could I give to the feeling that a man as great as Roland could think more of me than he let on? And what could I do but despair at the fact that if he ever suspected my involvement in the wreck, it would kill both of us?

Chapter 12 I’d gone to sleep late, but the next day, I awoke chipper and excited to get into the office. Even if Roland and I had ended things on a somewhat awkward note, I still felt pretty positive about everything. I felt more confident that even if I did start off being a pity hire, at least I was beginning to prove that I was more than just a pocket to stuff money into. I could be a valuable asset. I was dashing around, too excited to eat breakfast—and maybe still a little full from the Chinese food—when my door buzzed. “Who is it?” I asked, puzzled. It was so early. “It’s Dan. Buzz me in.” This was early for Dan. He’d admitted to me that he rarely showed up at the office before ten. I buzzed him in and finished getting dressed. I didn’t want to ignite the smoldering flames between us into a fire neither of us could manage this morning. There was a knock on my door and I opened it, kissing him briefly in greeting. This was the first time he’d been back to my apartment since our initial date, both of us agreeing that we shouldn’t tempt each other. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” I asked, putting my hand on my hip as I shut the door behind him. “I thought you might like some breakfast, since we didn’t get to have dinner last night,” he said, hefting a brown paper sack and a cardboard caddy of paper mugs. “Bagels and hot chocolate.” “Perfect,” I gushed. “It’s so dreary outside. Let me take your coat so it’ll dry out.” I hung it on a hook on the door before taking the hot chocolate from him. “Cream cheese on your bagel?” he asked, opening drawers until he found my stash of silverware. “Sure.” I felt a squeeze of my heart and smiled, blowing on the hot chocolate so it wouldn’t scorch my tongue. I burned it anyway at the first sip, too eager for the sweetness. The way we were right now,

together, existing comfortably, was like a couple who’d been married for a while. There wasn’t white hot sexual attraction right now, just a mutual pursuit of simple comforts, like shared breakfast on a chilly, rainy morning. It was almost overwhelmingly cute. “Here you go,” he said, smiling at me as he handed me my bagel on a paper plate he’d drawn out of the bag. “Breakfast. Most important part of the day, though maybe not the sexiest.” “It was so thoughtful of you to bring all this over,” I said. The bagel tasted so good with the hot chocolate—sweet and salty together. “I was hoping I’d catch you in a state of nudity,” he retorted, leering and looking glum all at once. “Isn’t it early for you to go to work?” “I guess it’s still early,” I admitted, munching. “I don’t know. I got an early start and I have to ride the wave on that.” “What time did you end up getting home last night?” he asked, pulling a bagel apart for himself and pinching off a piece rather than biting in. “Ugh, I meant to text you—sorry.” I washed a stubborn mouthful of bagel down with the hot chocolate. “It was pretty late. Almost one o’clock.” “Long goddamn meeting,” Dan observed. “It couldn’t have been pleasant sitting there with my troll of a brother.” “It was actually really exciting,” I gushed. “I don’t know. Your brother’s really good at what he does, you know. He’s not a troll to everyone.” “He’s a troll to enough people.” “Manners,” I said briskly. “Anyway, it was really neat to be a part of that. Super high-level stuff. I even got to give my opinion after everything was all said and done.” “All said and done?” Dan mused, staring off into nothing, pushing his bagel around on its plate. He hadn’t even put any cream cheese on it. “Sounds like it went pretty well.” “It did,” I confirmed, taking another sip of my hot chocolate. “Roland has everything well in hand. Everyone really looks up to him.” “I don’t know why,” Dan said sourly. “He has a pretty limited vision for what our company is

capable of.” I opened my mouth to disagree; Roland had so much vision I couldn’t believe what Dan was saying. But then I closed it again. Something in Dan’s demeanor made me hesitate to reveal anything else about the meeting I’d attended last night. Had I already said too much? Was it too high level for the vice president of the company to be included? If it really was about the executives, I wondered why Roland hadn’t invited Dan to be a part of it. But if Dan really wanted such a different future for the company, I imagined it wouldn’t look good to people on the outside of Shepard Shipments to hear the brothers disagree. I wondered what else they disagreed on. “We should keep work talk at work,” I said, taking another bite of my bagel, forcing myself to talk around the mouthful. “Our time away from work should only be for fun.” “You’re right,” Dan said, his expression softening. He popped a bit of bagel in his mouth and chewed it slowly. “No work talk outside of work hours. New rule.” “That’s a good rule to have,” I agreed. “Let me take you out tonight,” Dan said, taking my hand and kissing it. “We’ll go clubbing. You like dancing, remember?” I snorted. “Not that kind of dancing, if you’ll recall.” “I’m just teasing you,” he said, exasperated. “We’ll drink and dance the night away. How does that sound? Just a night of pleasure. And I want you to see my place.” “You want to embarrass me, is what you want to do,” I said. “I’m sure your place is amazing compared to my apartment.” “My place might be a little bigger,” he mused, rubbing his beard as he looked around. “Might be?” I slugged his shoulder, and he laughed. “Okay, it’s a lot bigger,” he said. “But I’d love to show it to you.” “After we drink and dance?” “Correct.” “Is that a good idea?” I peered up at him, then brushed a few crumbs of bagel from his beard.

“Of course it’s a good idea,” he said. “You trust me to come up with the plans for our dates, don’t you?” “Yes, I do,” I said. “Then what’s wrong with this one?” “We’ll have been drinking and rubbing up against each other all night,” I explained. “Then, we’ll go back to your place, which is undoubtedly a sex palace, drunk, our inhibitions lowered, and maybe we’ll do something that we’re not quite ready for.” Dan took me in his arms. “Who’s not quite ready for it?” When I put my arms around his neck to return his embrace, his erection pressed into me almost painfully. “Jesus, Dan.” “Can I help how attracted I am to you?” he asked. “Let’s just see where tonight takes us. If you feel like riding the wave, if it feels natural, we’ll just fall into it. If it’s no good, we just won’t do it. Okay? There’s no pressure, understand?” “Okay,” I said, and kissed him. “But I have to leave for work, or I am going to be late.” “My brother had you all night,” Dan said. “He can wait a few more minutes.” He kissed me, and I tried not to think of what Roland having me all night would entail. I knew that it wasn’t a good idea to tell Dan about Roland’s feelings for me. I knew it instinctively. Roland had taken the knowledge that Dan and I were dating in stride, but I didn’t think Dan would be so forgiving to learn of Roland’s feelings for me. Was that something I should pay more attention to—the fact that I was hiding more things from Dan than I was from Roland? “Thank you for breakfast,” I said, breaking the kiss. “You are a thoughtful individual.” “You’re kicking me out, aren’t you?” “Yes,” I said sweetly. “I still have a couple of things to do before I leave, and I will see you tonight.” “Dress sexy,” he said, sighing as he gave me a last kiss on my forehead and collected his jacket at the door. “It’s a nice club.”

“I’m sure it’s a nice club,” I said, “and I’m sure I have nothing appropriate to wear.” “What about that hot little bikini and thong number you wore at the bar?” Dan suggested, grinning. “Alas, molding in some landfill by now,” I said, pouting. “Goodbye, old Beauty. My look tonight will be much classier than that.” “I have to admit some disappointment,” Dan said. “Go!” I urged, laughing. “You won’t be disappointed, but I’ll get off to a shit start of my day if I’m late. Don’t get me in a bad mood if you want a good dancer tonight.” The day passed quickly, interactions with Roland were professional and friendly, and I practically ran out of the office at closing so I could go shopping. I might have clothes suitable for the museum and the Space Needle and the nice dinners Dan had been taking me to, but I definitely didn’t have clothes to wear for clubbing. I ended up picking out a gorgeous black shirt, cut up each side almost to my breasts, the lack of coverage all the way up hidden with a thick fringe. The only way anyone would be able to see flashes of my skin was if I was in movement. I was pretty sure Dan would adore it. Paired with a pair of heels and some skinny jeans, I knew I would be the belle of the ball. When Dan called for me to come downstairs when he arrived to pick me up, he watched me sashay appreciatively across the sidewalk to the car. “You are so hot,” he said, reaching for me as I went to buckle up. “Damn! Does this go all the way up?” “It goes up far enough,” I said. “You’ll see, out on the dance floor.” Dan took the opportunity to explore himself, slipping a hand in to caress my bare stomach, cup a breast gently through my bra. “This is even better than the bikini and thong,” he whispered almost worshipfully. “I’m glad you think so,” I said, my eyes heavy lidded. “Now. You’d better drive if we’re going to go dancing. I really, really want you to see me dance in this thing. You’ll be amazed.” It was more valet parking and more VIP treatment when we arrived at the club. I could’ve sworn that I felt the thump of the bass when we were still two blocks away, it was that loud. I recognized that

this was a date that wasn’t going to require many words from either of us. It would be impossible to hear, for one. Secondly, Dan seemed very interested in conducting all our conversations by touch. We danced feverishly, constantly, with drinks in our hands. I soon discovered I wasn’t drinking my cocktails to get drunk; I was drinking them because I was thirsty from exertion. I tried to get us a couple waters, but Dan laughed them away. “Don’t be weak sauce, Beauty,” he said. “Drink with me. Dance with me.” Our energy was even more electric in the middle of a crowd, other pairs and singles and groups of people pressing up against us—a stray hand here, a bumped body there. And there were Dan’s hands, impossible to miss, their touch like a brand over my body, on my stomach, lower, squeezing, making me pant for breath. We danced the night away until my feet ached and I could dance no more. The heels had been a mistake. “Unless you want me to dance barefooted, I suggest we wrap this party up,” I said, hobbling over to our VIP couch. “Time to go back to my place?” Dan asked, brightening. He had more to drink than me, and I wasn’t sure he should drive. “Of course,” I said. “But we’re taking a cab.” “I’m not leaving my car here.” “Then I can’t go to your place,” I said sweetly. *** Dan’s place was at the top of one of the tallest buildings in downtown Seattle. I was still hesitant about coming here, but at least I’d won the battle over taking the taxi. I forgot about all of my worries when we arrived and Dan turned on all the lights. “Holy shit,” I said, then gawked freely. There was a waterfall all along one wall, and everything was smooth, reflective. There were seating options everywhere, large floor pillows and lush couches and chairs. The kitchen was big enough

to serve a buffet, and I could only imagine what the bedroom entailed. Dan appeared to be a man who enjoyed his very expensive comforts. “I knew it,” I said accusatorially, whirling around after I’d been gaping at my surroundings for a full five minutes. “I knew this was a sex palace.” “Home, sweet home,” Dan said, grinning as he held his arms out. “Do you like it? I really want you to like it.” “Like it? I love it!” It was maybe a little garish for my simpler tastes, to be sure, but it was a really, really nice house. There were floor to ceiling windows that perfectly framed the sparkling lights of the buildings around us, and I was sure we would be able to see the sea in the daylight. Maybe even Mount Rainier, the shadowy, hulking beast Dan had pointed out to me when we were at the top of the Space Needle. “Drinks,” he said, snapping his fingers and jogging over to a full-service bar. “I could call a guy, and he could be over here in five minutes, if you want a bartender.” “I think we can tend our own bar,” I laughed. “I don’t think we even need any more drinks. Dan, this is a beautiful place. I’m so glad you showed it to me.” I was tired. The dancing had taken a lot out of me, and I hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before. Everything was catching up to me, including all the drinks I’d had at the club. “I’ve got something else to show you.” I turned around to see Dan right before he tangled his hand in my hair and kissed me, hard. I fought to keep up with his insistent, aggressive tongue, but our teeth clashed almost painfully several times. “Gently,” I said, smiling at him. “I want you so bad,” he said, kissing me again, his hand painful in my hair, his other hand pawing at the sides of my shirt again, searching for what was underneath. We did a slow waltz to the bed, me at war with myself and with Dan, not sure that I wanted this— even if I was turned on. I was trying to extricate myself from what was swiftly becoming a bad situation. “Dan, wait,” I said, at the moment we fell into the soft mattress. “I don’t think…I’m still not ready.”

“Are you ever going to be ready, Beauty?” he asked. “Maybe you should just take the plunge.” “I can’t,” I said simply. “Not until I’m sure. There are a lot of things going on with me, Dan. You knew that going in.” “I think maybe you should just get over it,” he suggested. I blinked a couple of times. “Get over it? Do you think it’s that easy?” “Here’s what I think is easy.” His hand, which had never disentangled itself from my hair, yanked my head back painfully. “Ow, Dan, what the fuck?” I complained, reaching back for his fingers. He yanked again, and I inhaled sharply. What was he doing? “I think you give me what I want, right now,” he said. “Stop joking around,” I said. “It’s not funny anymore, Dan.” “It’s not funny that I’ve been walking around with blue fucking balls for the past fucking month,” he sniped. “And it’s also not funny that you know more about my company than I do.” I was slow—oh, so slow—to understand that this wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a game. Dan might’ve been drunk, but he knew exactly what he was doing. He was hurting me. He was using me. And I had walked right into it. “So give me what I want, Beauty,” he said, his face menacingly close to mine. “Or I’ll take it.”

Chapter 13 The situation I’d found myself in was so ludicrous, so bizarre that I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that it was actually happening. Dan Shepard, the vice president of Shepard Shipments, a man who had more money than he knew what to do with, who was gorgeous and charismatic, who had shown more than a passing interest of me, was now stinking drunk and in my face, demanding something of me that I wasn’t about to give him. How had this deteriorated so far? We’d been on a date—and having a very good time, I thought— before coming back to his place. Everything had been fine up until this point. Maybe Dan had a little too much to drink, but I could admit to being a little tipsy myself. Until now, of course. I’d been shocked and disgusted and scared completely sober by Dan’s sudden switch. “What’ll it be, Beauty?” he asked me, his liquor-tinged breath filling my nostrils, making me want to gag. It was hard to breathe; he had his full weight on top of me and a hand tangled in my hair, pulling painfully and making it even harder to figure out how to extricate myself from this, or if that option was even available to me. Was there a way out of this? I fought down a rising tide of panic and pain and hurt. There would be time for all of that later. Right now, I had to deal with the crisis at hand. I had to try and understand what was happening before I could push toward a solution. Dan had said I’d been giving him blue balls. It was an ugly concept. I hadn’t been trying to cause him duress, but there it was. I’d asked for us to take it slow, and he’d always been pushing us along. This very morning, when he’d shown up, unannounced, to my apartment bearing breakfast and asked me out for tonight’s date, I’d expressed misgivings. There were things I just wasn’t ready to do again yet. In my grief and guilt at being the person responsible for four deaths that had included my parents and best friend, I’d

tried to fill the hole inside of me with sex. Now that I was emerging on the other side of that dark period of my life, I wanted to be sure that sex was something I wanted with a person I cared for. Dan, however, was pushing for me to make that decision sooner rather than later. The other thing he’d said before he forced himself on me was that he was sick of me knowing more about Shepard Shipments than he did. That struck me as strange. How could I possibly know more about the company Dan was a vice president of than he did? I was just a lowly assistant to his brother, Roland, who was the president. In an instant, I understood. Myra, my predecessor, had alerted me to the fact that being Roland’s assistant meant a lot more than what it sounded like. Since Roland tended to lock himself away in his office, unseen, his assistant acted as his brain, eyes, ears, and mouth throughout the rest of the company. I attended meetings in his stead and reported back to him both what had transpired and what I thought about it. It was that last little bit of analytical work that had apparently begun to endear me to Roland. He’d started relying on my opinion more and more—and the fresh eyes my relative inexperience brought to the table. That was why he’d invited me to take notes at his conference call with the heads of other companies across the globe. He’d wanted my input on the direction he was thinking of taking Shepard Shipments. And Dan wanted the knowledge I’d gleaned from that night. He’d asked this morning, and I’d deflected. It hadn’t seemed right to divulge what had happened in Roland’s office—not the positive feedback he’d gotten from his colleagues about expanding the company into Africa and Asia ahead of Europe, and certainly not the fact that Roland had admitted to having feelings for me that went a little beyond that of boss and employee. And definitely not the fact that I’d told him the feeling was mutual. Dan’s foul breath brought me back to my present predicament. I was going to have to do some quick stepping to get myself out of this one. I could acquiesce to what he was asking for and then make my escape, maybe by saying I wanted to freshen up in the bathroom. Or I could just tell him to fuck off and fight for all I was worth. I thought Dan was a good person, but I’d obviously been horribly mistaken.

I’d also thought that Roland was a beast, just like the rest of the office, but I’d been mistaken in that judgment, too. It was Dan who was the beast. Never mind that whatever path I chose probably meant the end of my career. Whatever was about to happen, I couldn’t go back to the office in the morning and pretend like everything was all right. Nothing was all right. Dan was in the midst of forcing himself upon me, and there would be no good way to keep my job. It would never stand in court. I could hear it now…lowly assistant threw herself at rich executive, then accused him of raping her. It didn’t look good, and it didn’t matter what the truth was. The real truth was that, no matter what happened, I wasn’t going to come out of this unscathed. A soft snore, then a louder one, startled me out of my planning. I carefully craned my neck sideways and peered downward to see that Dan had passed out drunk right on top of me, drooling a little onto the expensive comforter we were sprawled on top of. If I hadn’t been just about to fight for my life, I would’ve laughed at how stupid this all was. All of that bluster and Dan was too drunk to make good on his threat. Cautious, I wriggled a bit just to see if he’d wake up, but Dan only snorted and smacked his lips before resuming his deep sleep. That was just fine with me. I heaved and scrambled in earnest out from underneath his heavy frame until I fell off the bed itself with a heavy thump. Dazed, I just rested there a few long seconds, breathing hard, sure the disturbance was enough to wake him. But when I peeked above the bed again, I was greeted with Dan’s sleeping face, his dark beard glistening with his own saliva. It was pathetic, really. What had I ever seen in him? Had his looks and position of power blinded me to the animal that resided within him? Perhaps the fact that he had shown me the slightest bit of attention? Had I made myself easy to take advantage of? I’d removed myself from society after the car wreck. Had I completely lost my ability to assess other people’s intentions in the interim? I didn’t want to stay here while I pondered the intricacies of what had just happened. I had to get out of here.

The veneer of Dan’s amazing home had worn off as I padded through it, trying to keep my footfalls quiet. Even the wall-sized indoor waterfall had taken on a menacing feeling instead of being meditative, relaxing. I realized my hands were shaking in the elevator, but I put on a brave face down in the lobby. It was late; I was without transportation; and I needed help. “Would you please call me a taxi?” I asked, fighting to keep a polite smile on my face as I approached the doorman. “You’re in luck,” he said, pointing outside. “Someone just got dropped off. Here—I’ll hold it for you.” The shaking intensified once I was in the backseat of the taxi, riding across the city, rain lashing the window and making everything blurry. It rained a lot here, something I still hadn’t gotten used to. It wasn’t as if it had never rained in Houston. On the contrary, sometimes the Texas skies simply opened up and dumped tons and tons of water on the city below, flooding yards and even streets. But here, in Seattle, the city seemed more used to the rain. It wasn’t tumultuous when the clouds overfilled with moisture. It was simply the next most natural thing to happen, and the people who lived here just became attached to their galoshes and umbrellas. I hadn’t adapted yet. I wasn’t used to anything here. It wasn’t until I was back in my apartment, showering in an effort to wash this night off of me, that everything sort of hit me. Dan wasn’t who I thought he was. He’d invited me over to his place with ulterior motives and bad intentions. I had almost succumbed to what he was going to force me to do. It was only through the grace of my shock and indecision—and the gallons of alcohol that Dan had downed —that had saved me from whatever he’d had in mind. If he hadn’t have passed out right on top of me, then I would still be in that palatial hell, forced to have sex with him against my will…. I shuddered and leaned against the tiled wall of my shower, my knees feeling suddenly too weak to support me. Was that what would’ve happened? I couldn’t help but wonder who would’ve been more at fault. I trusted Dan. I believed he really cared for me and had feelings for me. Had I misunderstood

everything that had happened between us up until this point? Had I put myself in danger—however unwittingly? Our relationship had been becoming more and more physical. Could I be held accountable for what almost happened? I tried to shake myself free of that notion. No. Dan had betrayed my trust. He had lured me to his place under false pretensions. He’d planned this out since this morning. He was a bad person. He was a bad person, and I wasn’t ever going to see him again. Finally, I gained the strength to be sure that I was not going to collapse getting out of the shower and turned the water off. I was able to get into a robe and wrap my dripping hair into a towel before throwing myself into bed. This felt like a bad dream, a nightmare that I had yet to wake up from. I was afraid of staying awake and dwelling on all of this confusion and shock, but my mind and body seemed to take pity on me in this situation and I fell quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep. Waking up, some rare sun cut across my bed and warmed the covers; I was beneath them, still wrapped in damp terrycloth. I forgot, momentarily, where I was. The disorientation clung to me as I struggled to open my gummy eyes and assess the situation. Could I be in my childhood bed, my parents having yet to call me for breakfast? Maybe I’d stayed the night at Caro’s house, and she was still snoozing beside me. I knew I wasn’t in the hospital; there wasn’t a telltale beep of a heart monitor. And I was too comfortable to be waking up in my car. I blinked slowly, my eyes gradually adjusting, until my bedroom in Seattle came into focus. I needed to pick up. I’d slung clothes around while I was getting ready for my date with Dan…. And with a rush, there it all was again. No matter how hard I willed it to be, Dan acting like a monster hadn’t been a dream. It had really happened. I flopped over onto my stomach with a groan and pressed my face into the pillow. Why was this happening? What had he been thinking? What was I thinking? My phone buzzed, and I groaned. Surely I had just a few more long moments to languish in bed before I had to get up and get ready for work. I gagged suddenly at the thought of being in the same building as Dan, let alone seeing him. It was crystal clear to me that I was nowhere near ready to go to work today.

I needn’t have bothered with that sentiment. A quick glance at my phone informed me that I’d overslept by two whole hours, missing calls and texts from Roland, Dan, and even Sam, who must’ve caught a whiff of controversy from her position at the receptionist’s desk on my floor. Hers was the most recent text message. Are you okay? it read. Everyone’s wondering where you are. I hesitated. Was I okay? Absolutely not. But was I about to tell anyone else that? No. I needed a poker face. I didn’t want anyone questioning me. I was sick all night and must’ve overslept my alarm, I texted back. The oversleeping part was true, at least. I’m not coming in today. Roland’s message was next. You’re not at work, and I have a feeling I know why. I’m not angry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I hope you’re all right. I rubbed my face, feeling guilty. He probably thought I didn’t want to come to work to face him after he’d admitted having feelings for me. Hadn’t we agreed that we’d be professionals about it? That was, of course, before his brother had threatened me and tried to attack me. And now that I failed to show up to work or give Roland a call, he probably thought I couldn’t handle it. I forwarded the same message I’d sent to Sam to him, explaining my absence, then hesitated before typing something else out. And it’s not because of what we talked about, either, I wrote. That’s not why I’m at home. I promise. I sent the message before I could overthink it. My fingers failed me for a few long moments, lingering over the display for Roland’s messages, before seeing what Dan had sent me. I didn’t know why I tortured myself, why I simply had to see what he wanted to say. Hadn’t he said enough last night? Wouldn’t he have the sense to stay away? We need to talk, Dan had typed, and that was it. I stared at the message, puzzled. We needed to talk? At the very least, he should’ve started with an apology if he thought we actually needed to talk. What else could there possibly be to talk about? I threw my phone aside and burrowed back into the bed. I had the day to myself, now that I’d officially informed everyone I needed to that I wasn’t going in to work, but somehow that was worse.

Maybe I would’ve been better off at work, near Roland…safe. I didn’t really understand why, but the idea of being just a closed door away from Roland all day, his camera pointed at my desk, was a lot more appealing than being alone, at home. At least there would be someone to keep an eye on me, at the office. Someone who made me feel safe. I could’ve watched daytime television, or fixed myself something to eat, or even ordered takeout. The day was mine. I could do whatever I wanted. Instead, I languished in bed, trying to make sense of what had happened last night. There wasn’t anything I could think of that would make what had happened make sense. At least part of me wished that Dan’s cryptic text—we need to talk—meant that he needed to explain himself. That maybe he’d lost himself in the alcohol and his attraction toward me and the smoldering build of our relationship. Maybe he’d realized what a terrible mistake he’d made. But was I ready—or even willing—to forgive him for what he’d done? I’d been terrified that I was going to get raped. I didn’t think I could come out on the other side of that. There were already so many tragedies in my life that I didn’t think I could handle one more. The fact that Dan had passed out cold from all the booze he’d had was both lucky and telling. Maybe, if he hadn’t been that drunk, he never would’ve gone that far. I could maybe understand his sexual frustrations. We’d come close several times, but he’d always respected the boundaries I’d set, the restrictions I needed to feel sane. What I couldn’t understand was that he would force me to do anything against my will. That wasn’t the man I thought I knew. It was why last night had come out of left field for me. I was more bewildered than angry. It still felt like a dream, even if I was awake now. I finally gave in and treated myself to a pizza. If comfort food wouldn’t make me feel at least a little bit better, then I wasn’t sure I’d ever get my day off on track. Out of the blue, the intercom for my door buzzed. I frowned. There was no way that could be my order. I had literally just clicked the button to submit my request for pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Were the pizza gods smiling on me? It seemed unlikely. No restaurant was that lightning fast, and no pizza deliveryman had wings. Both miracles would’ve been required for the person wishing to gain access to the building to have my brunch on hand.

Puzzled, I wandered out of bed and pushed the button to communicate on the intercom. “Yes?” I asked. “Who is it?” If it was the pizza, I would give the biggest tip in the history of pizza tips. “Beauty, we’re going to talk…whether you like it or not. Let me in.” It wasn’t the pizza at all. It was Dan.

Chapter 14 I didn’t understand what got into my knees to make them so weak and make me lean against the wall like I was about to faint. I didn’t understand, and I didn’t like it. “Beauty. Buzz me in. Now.” Why did something as simple as a voice cause such a reaction in me? He was whole floors away, and I was the one who held the power. Dan had sought me out, and he needed my help to get into my building. It was help I wasn’t going to give him. It was help I didn’t have to give him. I reached a trembling hand to the intercom. “Fuck off,” I suggested, sounding a lot braver than I felt. That was good. He didn’t need to know how I felt. As long as I kept up a strong front, there was no way that Dan would ever figure out just how terrified I actually was. “Language,” Dan laughed. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to be getting lessons on manners. You made your nice old neighbor lady blush. Oh, thank you for holding the door. I really appreciate it.” I blanched, as I realized what had happened. One of my unwitting neighbors had entered the building and allowed Dan to do so, as well. Lurching to my front door on increasingly unsteady legs, I checked the locks and engaged the deadbolt. I was safe in here. It was hard to convince myself of that fact, but it was true. Dan might have been able to get into the building, but he couldn’t get in here to me. The knock on the door made me sink slowly to the floor. I felt like I was going to vomit everywhere. I hugged my trembling knees to my chest and just stared at the door. It seemed impossibly thin, the locks shoddy and untrustworthy. “Beauty?” I shook my head violently. No. No, this wasn’t happening. I didn’t want this to be happening. Why had he come here? Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? “I don’t want to see you,” I said, having to force the syllables out from between chattering teeth.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “We have things we need to talk about.” “You mean things you have to apologize for,” I shot back, sassy despite my precarious situation. It struck me that maybe I should get my phone in case things went even further south than they already were, but standing up and walking to the bedroom was out of the question. I was rooted to the spot, and my legs had failed me. I didn’t understand why my reaction to Dan’s presence had been so visceral, so physical. I was quite literally petrified, as in I was too frightened to move from where I’d fallen to the ground, and it confounded me. I’d never reacted like this to anything in my life. My adrenaline—the fight or flight sensibility that was supposed to keep me safe, or at least alive and kicking in these situations—had failed me. If Dan were a hungry wolf, drooling and growling in my face, I’d basically just offered myself up as supper. “These things we have to talk about…they would be better said in person, face to face,” he said. I wasn’t fooled—or swayed. “If you have something to say, I can hear you just fine with a door between us.” I jumped and scrambled backward as the doorknob rattled and shook. I couldn’t believe that he would try to enter my home after I told him no. It made me extra thankful that I had checked the locks while he was on his way up here. “Don’t you think if I wanted to, I could be in there with you?” he asked, his voice silky and threatening at the same time. “If I wanted to, Beauty, I’d kick this door down to say to you what needs to be said. I probably wouldn’t be as polite though.” “And I would probably stab you,” I said, craning my neck and wondering if I could muster the strength—at least temporarily—to rise and fish a steak knife out of its drawer. “You wouldn’t stab me.” “If that’s what you think, you’re more than welcome to try and break down the door.” I pulled myself up using the countertop to steady myself. My bravado was helping me pretend to be something I wasn’t, helping me ignore my fear. It was even better when I slid a drawer open to see the metallic gleam of the butcher’s knife I’d purchased with Roland’s credit card.

“Beauty, you and I need to come to an understanding,” Dan said. “We both have things the other wants.” Putting the heavy wooden hilt of the knife in the palm of my hand and gripping it gave me enough courage to laugh haughtily at that statement. “I can assure you that you have nothing I want,” I told him. I was still shaking, but at least I was making my stand. “I have numerous things that you want,” he said, his words measured. “Numerous things that any woman would want. A prestigious name, for one. A fortune that gives me more disposable income than I know how to spend. Good looks. An incredible car, an incredible house, an incredible future. Any woman would want that. That’s why she would lie to the police when she didn’t get her way, when I rebuffed her affections. That’s why she would lie and say that I attacked her—because she is nothing and she wants a piece of something.” “I don’t care about any of that,” I said, scowling. I knew he was threatening me with what he’d do if I tried to go to the police to file any kind of complaint against him. We both knew that Dan’s sparkling reputation would be all the assurances an investigating officer would need to see to dismiss anything I tried to say or show or do. “Don’t be naïve,” Dan was saying. “Everyone cares about that. I’ve never met a single person who didn’t want to be comfortable in life, who didn’t desire the finer things.” “Then go be with one of those people,” I said. “I don’t want anything you’re offering.” “That’s the thing. I don’t want anyone else but you.” “Leave me alone!” What was so special about me that Dan had to pursue this? I wasn’t special. He’d said it himself. If I went to the police, he’d tell them I was a nobody who wanted to be with a somebody, who’d escalated a friendly relationship into something it wasn’t. So why did he insist on pushing me? What was it that I had that he wanted? Why was he outside my door? Why did I feel so threatened that I was clutching the biggest knife I owned? I had a moment of clarity: Fuck this guy. It didn’t matter to me if he wanted to lie about the cops if I called them. At this point, if calling the cops and telling them I had a stalker would get Dan out of here, I

was more than willing to do it. “If you don’t leave me alone right now, I will call the cops,” I said, looking over to my bedroom. I could see my cellphone gleaming with promise on my bed from my vantage point in the kitchen. If I had my phone in my hand, I’d already be dialing those three magical numbers to bring the police right to my door. “Remember what I told you about the cops, Beauty,” Dan said. “They will never believe you over me. I can promise you that.” “They’d have one or two questions for you, if you hung around outside my door long enough,” I told him. “Like why you were here, for instance. Or why you won’t go away when I tell you I don’t want you to be here.” “And I’ll tell them it’s because you threatened to kill yourself if I wouldn’t ask you to marry me,” he responded, his voice cool, clinical. “I’ll tell them I came here because I felt like you were going to do something you were going to regret. That maybe you were a threat to yourself and others around you. That you were unstable. And so maybe they’d take you away and lock you up in one of those places…like the one you were in for a while after you caused all those people to die in that car wreck.” The world, which had been careening around on its axis ever since Dan showed up at my door, began to slow. “You don’t have anything to say to that?” Dan asked, his voice falsely innocent. “No way out of this one, Beauty? No insult?” I didn’t have any of those things. I thought that I was the only one who knew the truth about that night, that I’d carry it around on my back for the rest of my life, my cross to bear for what I’d done. Then, I’d found out about Roland, about the fact that he was there, receiving help from my parents at the same time that my best friend Caro, drunk behind the wheel with me drunk in the passenger seat, collided with the two stopped cars on the side of the dark road. Caro, my parents, and Roland’s fiancée had all been killed. Roland had been maimed for life, an ugly scar across his face serving as a souvenir of the night his love was taken from him. I’d walked away from it all, eventually. I didn’t have any physical scars, but the mental ones were

ever present. I had spent quite a bit of time in a facility to deal with my crushing grief and guilt after the wreck. Though it’d been what I’d needed to do at the time, it hadn’t been pleasant nor something I wanted to return to, and it definitely wasn’t something I wanted a person like Dan to know about. I’d been at my most vulnerable back in those days, and eager to leave, hadn’t recovered as well as I should. I lacked the coping skills necessary to get me through this tragedy of my own making, and it had sabotaged my attempt to go to college. It had sabotaged my attempt to get on with my life. I didn’t need Dan, someone who was quickly emerging as my greatest personal threat, knowing my greatest weakness. It made it way too easy for him. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking, Beauty,” he was saying. “I’d love to be swirling around inside that brain of yours right about now.” I didn’t even want to be inside my own brain right now. “Let’s see, what could you be thinking?” he continued. Would he ever stop talking? “I bet you’re wondering how I could know such a thing, that you caused four people to die on a lonely road in nowhere, Texas.” That was pretty accurate. I was morbidly curious about how Dan happened to know these things. The other things I was thinking, though, included how I could possibly make my escape from this thing. Would I be able to just flee again, like I’d done in so many other places when life started to go wrong? Or would this follow me wherever I tried to go? “After my brother’s stint in the hospital—he refused to have his face fixed, by the way, did you know that?” Dan laughed. “The doctors tried to refer him to a plastic surgeon, tried to convince him to do basic reconstruction, but he told them all to go to hell. He wears that scar on his face like a badge of shame—shame at causing the wreck, at killing all those people, killing Mina.” “He didn’t cause it,” I protested, forgetting myself in my defense of Roland’s innocence. “That’s right,” Dan agreed. “You caused it. But Roland didn’t know that. He’s always been such a martyr, so eager to find something to take a fall for. Maybe he was waiting his entire life for something like that night to happen. As soon as he thought he knew what happened, he stopped asking questions. It

didn’t matter to him that some drunken kid—I’m sorry, she was your friend, and I know that. But to Roland, it was just some drunken kid who would’ve spun out into some cornfield or whatever and been fine. It had been his fault for fighting with Mina and distracting her and getting them lost, his fault for her popping the tire, his fault for your parents pulling over to help, and his fault for providing a point of impact for a drunken driver.” Roland himself had told me as much. None of this was really fresh news to me—besides the story behind the scar. He wore it to remember what he did, but locked himself away because he couldn’t bear for other people to see it. I realized that only Dan and I—and my predecessor, Roland’s assistant, Myra— ever gazed upon that wretched scar. He could’ve gotten it fixed. He had enough money now, I wagered, that he could hire a surgeon so good it would almost be as if nothing had ever happened to that face. Instead, Roland kept that scar as a punishment for a crime he hadn’t committed, as a memorial for the love of his life. That scar ensured that a talented businessman would only ever conduct his business through email or over a phone. I realized that the scar crippled Roland professionally as well as personally. It was a testament to how much potential he had that he could make the kind of deals he made without anyone ever seeing his face. But that would only take him so far. To broker the agreements he was looking to expand the company with, Roland would have to rely on someone else to be the face of the company when he didn’t deem himself worthy enough to do so—not with that scar. On a day-to-day basis, just at the office, that was me. Roland relied on me to report back to him what happened in meetings and even just daily observations and progress on projects and initiatives that he couldn’t verify himself via email or a stern phone conversation. On a larger scale, however, on the company-growing scale that Roland was beginning to take aim at, I knew that this person would be Dan. And Dan wasn’t to be trusted. “What do you want?” I asked, dreading the answer, certain that I already knew. “I want you to go back to work,” he said. “If you mope for too long, my brother’s going to get suspicious, and I don’t want him to be suspicious. That works against me. He knows we’ve been dating;

you’ve seen to that little admission. I was the first person he called when you didn’t show up at the office this morning.” I shuddered. I’d been missing at the office and the first person my boss called—even before he called me—was his brother? Was I not the first woman Dan had been problematic around? Was Roland already suspicious? “I also want you to keep me informed of just what happens in my brother’s little late night executive sessions,” Dan continued. “I have a feeling they’re going to become more and more frequent. In fact, just keep me apprised of everything my brother’s been asking for. Everything he asks about. Whatever he might be doing.” “I can’t spy on Roland for you,” I said. “He’s going to figure it out.” “Then you’re going to have to figure out how to be smarter than letting him know you’re spying on him,” Dan said. “What do you think he’d do if he knew that you were the one who was really at fault for the wreck, that you’d convinced your friend to take you on that little joyride? I don’t think it’d break him. Losing Mina already broke him, and he never got around to letting anyone fix him after that. But I do think he’d be pretty eager to jettison you as a dead, traitorous weight from this company and evict you from the apartment he paid a security deposit on. And you might pack it all back up and move on, living in your car like you used to do, but maybe I make that call to the police to tell them to be on the lookout for a suicidal girl who just lost her job and the man she was delusional enough to think she loved. You’ll get a one-way ticket back to the funny farm, Beauty. That’s what it’s going to come down to.” Dan seemed to have it all planned out. I wondered how long it had taken him to hone all of his points so they were razor sharp, inescapable. I was backed into a corner—that much was true. Anything I tried to do to wriggle free from Dan’s plans would end in me running for it and hiding for the rest of my life from police who were looking to get a crazy girl off the streets. There was nothing I could do to escape that. But Dan had miscalculated in a small but significant way. I knew something he didn’t know: Telling Roland that I’d caused the wreck that he had taken the blame for all these years, and letting him realize that I had been lying to him through omission of the truth,

allowing our relationship to get closer and closer, would break him. It would break Roland to know the truth about me, because Roland had feelings for me. I would do anything in my power to keep Dan from figuring this out. If I couldn’t protect myself anymore, at least I could try and protect Roland.

Chapter 15 There was no amount of showering that would make me feel clean again, no water hot enough, no soap potent enough, nothing to make me feel like I was normal. After Dan finally left my building—I’d watched him saunter down the sidewalk until he reached his fancy sports car—I hopped back in the shower, my hair still damp from the one I’d taken the night before to try and wash off the nasty feeling I got from him. That one hadn’t worked either. And the pizza that eventually showed up to my door did little in the way of comforting me. I ate a single slice before throwing the entire thing away, my appetite hopelessly shot. The truth of the matter was that my job—which I’d only recently started to get the hang of and enjoy—was going to become a lot more difficult. I would still be analyzing everything that went on and reporting to Roland, but I’d be doing double the work in reporting to Dan, as well. It made me realize that, even though they were family, Roland was smart enough to keep Dan at arm’s length where Shepard Shipments was concerned. I would be doing all of this, of course, without letting Roland know that there was anything out of the ordinary, or else everything would come crashing down. I couldn’t let him realize the truth about the wreck. Before, when I’d told myself that he’d never know, it had been for purely selfish reasons. I didn’t want to weather his anger or risk the idea that I could lose my job, which had become important to me. Now, though, I knew it would wound him deeply, perhaps irreparably, if he knew that I’d kept the truth from him about my own involvement. He wouldn’t be able to handle the idea that he’d lost the woman he loved to the girl he would eventually develop feelings for. It was insane. I had trouble understanding it myself, but there it was. The next morning, I woke up early and tried to complete my daily routine without thinking too much about it. Another shower (still felt dirty), doing my hair and makeup, picking out something to wear

(would I remember this outfit as the one I started spying on Roland in?), forcing some food down my throat and into my stomach, and leaving my home, which no longer felt like my sanctuary away from the world. I was now painfully aware that problems could infiltrate those walls, that trouble had come looking for me here and found me. There was no place I could really be safe anymore. “Safe” was just an illusion people let themselves believe. Nobody was safe. I bought the paper from the vendor who had grown to trust me once again, walked across that expansive lobby, wondering idly what I might have for lunch when the time came, got into the elevator and thought about visiting a floor of the building I’d never been on…anything to keep me from thinking about what I was about to go in there and do. I didn’t want to betray Roland’s trust, but that was what I was going to have to start doing to protect him from Dan—and myself. “There you are!” Sam exclaimed, as the elevator door rolled open. “Here I am,” I confirmed, plastering a smile on my face before forcing it to relax into something more natural. I had to pull this off. I couldn’t let anyone know there was something wrong. It was the only way this would work, the only way I could protect Roland. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Sam said, lowering her voice as she tended to do when she was about to pass along office gossip, “but we were all certain that the beast had finally done something to drive you away for good.” My mouth took off running before I could try to stop it. “You know, I wish everyone would just stop calling him that,” I snapped. “Appearances can be deceiving, and he is a deeply misunderstood man. Nobody understands just why he is the way he is except for him.” “And you, apparently,” Sam observed, her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. I sighed. “Sorry. I think I’m still a little bit under the weather. My patience is thin with myself; I hate being sick. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” “You don’t have to apologize to me,” she said, playfully swatting my arm. “But you better get on and get that man his coffee. You know as well as I do just how much he likes things to run behind

schedule.” I walked away, shaking my head at myself. Sam was a nice distraction, but she was a hopeless gossip. I could hear the next piece she’d impart…all about Beauty and how she’d been charmed by the office beast, eager to defend him against his detractors. The last thing I needed on top of everything else I was contending with now was to be the brunt of office gossip. Sam—or some other early bird—had started the coffee, thankfully, and I snagged the very first cup, pleased with myself. There. That was what I was going to have to start doing. I’d have to find small things to be happy about in order to distract myself from the enormously wrong thing I was being forced to do. I took a deep breath in front of Roland’s door before knocking and entering, announcing my presence. “Good morning,” I said, smiling, relieved to find it came much more naturally than it had with Sam. I was surprised to find that it was actually good to see Roland sitting there behind his desk, typing away at his computer. He stopped as I set his newspaper and coffee on the desk. “I honestly didn’t expect you in today,” he said, his brow furrowing a little with concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You can go home if you’re not a hundred percent.” “I’m fine, really,” I assured him, touched that he cared. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t call you to let you know that I wasn’t coming in. I really did oversleep.” “You don’t have to feel like you have to explain yourself to me,” he said. “I kind of do,” I said with a small laugh. “You’re my boss, after all.” Roland sighed. “I just don’t want you to feel weird around me after what I told you…about how I felt.” “You don’t have to explain yourself either,” I said. “I don’t feel weird. I told you how I felt.” “But my brother…?” “I’m not with your brother,” I said quickly. I resisted the urge to slap myself in the forehead. Why had that been so important to tell Roland? At the same time, I knew it was important for me to say it out loud. Maybe I’d thought there’d been a chance with Dan before he’d revealed what he really was to me,

but now I was fully rejecting that. “No?” Roland raised his eyebrows. “But you had plans with him just the other night.” “During which we agreed that our backgrounds are too different,” I said, smiling and shrugging helplessly even though I felt sick to my stomach. “It was amicable, but we both decided it wasn’t in our best interests to continue to try and pursue anything. I’m glad. I don’t think either of us wants to waste our time.” “You and I…we’re pretty different, too,” he said. “Yes, we are.” But our backgrounds were linked in a way neither of us could ever get away from. “But we’re okay, aren’t we?” For a man who headed an exciting and growing young company, who lived in a penthouse at the top of a skyscraper, and who had billions of dollars to his name, Roland seemed awfully unsure of himself in that moment. Something in my heart squeezed at this realization, that Roland could possibly feel insecure around me, uncertain of our mutual feelings. And at the same time, I knew it had to be some kind of instinctual misgiving. I was here to betray him—and yet somehow convince him that I was to be trusted. I wanted to grab my hair and scream in consternation. How had things gotten so stupid? Would they ever have a chance at getting back to normal? I hesitated for several moments too long. What if I just confessed everything right now? What if I told Roland that his brother wasn’t to be trusted—and I wasn’t, either? The situation would unravel and become much less complicated, but life as I knew it would unravel, too. Dan had confirmed one reasonable thing during his shocking visit to my apartment. Roland would fire me if I tried to tell him anything. There wouldn’t be a reason to keep me around, and there wouldn’t be a reason to continue to have feelings for me. I’d take his heart out of his chest and stomp on it right in front of him if I told him the truth, and I needed one good thing in my life right now. As twisted as it was, couldn’t I have this one man believe in me, believe in his feelings for me? If I didn’t have Roland’s confidence, I had nothing. Not one thing. I didn’t think I could survive without it, and that’s why I smiled at him. “Of course we’re okay,” I said, tamping down the rise of nausea I felt at my own lie. We weren’t

okay in spite of my deepest hopes and desires. My only wish was that Roland never found out just how not okay it was. “Can I tell you something?” he asked. “You can tell me anything.” My stomach roiled. Sure, Roland could tell me anything, as long as he didn’t realize it was going to get back around to Dan. “I’m glad you’re not dating my brother anymore.” I cocked my head at that, forgetting, for a brief moment, to be guarded or conflicted or guilty. I was genuinely curious. “I don’t know what kind of impression he gave you, but my brother…doesn’t really have good sense around women,” Roland continued, frowning. “I don’t know what it is about him. Ever since he was in high school, he always got into trouble about girls. I wish there was some way to muzzle and leash him around the female sex—hell, even neuter him.” I burst into a nervous giggle then clapped my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I really, really didn’t mean to laugh.” “He wasn’t…he didn’t act…untoward…to you, did he?” Roland chose his words delicately, tentative yet again when it came to me, when it came to Dan. And so what was I supposed to say? Yes, Roland, your brother was a little shit, a monster you couldn’t even imagine, a horrible person whom you should never talk to again, a man who had threatened me and was now blackmailing me to betray you. I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t. I was going to have to hold it together. I was the only person who could get myself through this unscathed. “Dan just wasn’t for me,” I said simply, working hard to keep the smile on my face. “I’m happy for that,” Roland said. “I don’t know who Dan would actually be good for. I think she’d scare me, whoever she was.” That sent me into another burst of nervous laughter, but Roland made it better by joining in. “I don’t mean to be so personal,” he said. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t talk about Dan.” “I’m not uncomfortable,” I lied. “You can talk about anything you want to talk about. You’re the

boss.” He snorted at me. “Fucking right,” he said, and I realized that he was joking—actually making a joke. It was a welcome departure from how taciturn he’d been when I first started working here—and a sad testament to just how comfortable he’d grown with me, how little he knew me, how good I was at putting on a poker face and fooling someone into trusting me. It was a strange day. Roland was jocular all day, every time he called me on the phone he was laughing, or I could tell from his voice that he was smiling. He was in an exceptionally good mood every time I delivered something to him, talking to me more than usual. Wake up! I wanted to scream at him. Look at me! Look at what I’m preparing to do to you! Instead, I grinned and bore it, tallying it up to yet another form of punishment I was going to have to endure because of the sins I’d committed. At the end of the day, I bade Roland farewell, gathered up my belongings like a normal person, and walked out of the office. I didn’t feel like a treasonous bitch if I didn’t dwell on it too much, so that’s what I tried to do—distract myself from the fact I was committing a grievous wrong against someone I was really starting to like, someone who’d believed in me, someone who was finally peeking out from the elaborately unfriendly façade he’d constructed for himself. No. I couldn’t think about it. If I thought about it, I’d come apart. I had to stay focused. I had to do this. I focused on counting my steps on the sidewalk outside, on listening to my breaths, counting the inhalations and exhalations, breathing deeper in an effort to drown out any thoughts that indicated that I really might get away with this, really might convince Roland that everything was all right and keep Dan at bay and maybe I had to sacrifice what little was left of my soul, but there it was, maybe this was doable. Then, I looked up to find my car in the parking lot and Dan casually leaning against it, as if he owned it, and I stopped in my tracks. There wasn’t an opportunity to turn back. He’d already seen me. I had a foolish desire to turn tail and run for it. Would he pursue me? Could I outrun him? Would he risk looking like an ass by chasing me? And what would happen if he managed to catch me?

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Beauty, but you’d better just come over here.” Dan held his hands out, his face amused, but those blue eyes were as unflinching as glaciers. Cowed, I approached slowly, stopping several yards away. “What do you want?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest protectively. “What do you think I want, Beauty?” He laughed. “I wasn’t joking, you know. I want to know, in detail, what my brother is planning. How he spent his day. What he’s going to be doing tomorrow.” “Has it ever occurred to you to ask to be more involved at the executive level?” I demanded. “Maybe it’s a waste of time to ask me to be your spy. You’re the vice president of Shepard Shipments. You should know what your brother’s doing with the company.” “Are you going to put in a good word for me, then?” Dan scoffed. “Roland doesn’t trust anyone. Hasn’t since Mina died.” I flinched. I was the reason his fiancée was gone and the reason Roland didn’t trust anyone. Dan reminded me of that fact none too gently. “Roland does what he wants with the company when he wants it,” he was saying. “He doesn’t think he has to answer to anyone, least of all me.” If I didn’t already know what a monster Dan was, it would’ve been easy to feel sorry for him. For whatever reasons I wasn’t privy to, Roland didn’t trust his own brother. He probably knew Dan better than anyone though; he knew he wasn’t worth a damn. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant, you know,” Dan said suddenly, making me pay attention. I gave him a blank, pointed stare. “We could just, you know, chat over cocktails,” he continued. “Over dinner, even, just about your day. It doesn’t have to be weird. It doesn’t have to be unpleasant.” That was the cherry on top of this shit sundae that I just didn’t need. “You think that me stabbing your brother in the back doesn’t have to be unpleasant?” I asked, incredulous. “Are you hearing yourself? Are you delusional? In what universe would you like to fuck Roland over while sipping on a drink? It’s fucking unpleasant because it’s wrong, you asshole.” Dan grabbed me by the wrist and pushed me up against the car, getting centimeters from my face,

our noses practically brushing. “You don’t understand just how unpleasant I could make this, if I wanted to,” Dan said, his hot, close breath making me feel like I was going to suffocate. “I want things, Beauty. And if you push back, if you think you can manipulate me to your own devices, then I will take them.” And then, his lips were on mine, teeth clashing, taking and taking until I shoved against his shoulders, twisting my fist to get out of his grasp, gasping and gagging simultaneously. Just days earlier, I would’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss this man, but now I couldn’t stand to even be close to him. I blinked back angry, panicked, frightened tears. Of all things, I wasn’t going to let this motherfucker see me cry. “If that’s what you’re threatening, if you think I’m going to let you fuck me as a part of your twisted little deal, then you can just go ahead and tell Roland everything,” I sobbed out through gritted teeth. “A person can be pushed too far. You think I wouldn’t go back to the funny farm to avoid you? Just fucking try, Dan.” He held up his hands again, backed away, and gave me space. The air came back into my lungs, and I didn’t feel like vomiting anymore. I was still angry, though, with a weird twist of triumph. I’d stood up to Dan, proving to myself that I wouldn’t just keep rolling over and letting him take advantage of me. “Stick with our deal, then,” he said, his voice calm, as if he dealt with this kind of anger all the time. I shuddered to remember Roland’s remarks earlier, that Dan had always had trouble with women. How many poor girls before me had been too afraid to tell him no? It chilled me to the bone to consider it. I was shaking so hard that I could barely stand. “Roland’s been talking to people in Africa and Asia,” I said, hating myself as the words left my mouth. If only I could be a little stronger. If only I could’ve stood up for Roland like I’d stood up for not being forced to have sex with Dan. I had a feeling, though, that Dan was much more interested in getting the piece of Shepard Shipments he thought he deserved than having sex with me, if he was forced to choose. “Africa and Asia?” Dan scowled. “I knew it. I knew he’d do this to me.” “What do you mean, do this to you?” I asked, still trembling but confused. “He says it’s the best way to expand the company.”

“You took off your clothes for money, Beauty, what do you know about business?” Dan threw the insult out almost distractedly, frowning. “Who do I know in Africa and Asia? I’ll have to make some calls, maybe a trip…” Dan across the globe, away from me? Nothing felt better than that possibility, even if I had given up a piece of intelligence from Roland. “This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship,” Dan said, grinning at me and turning serious again in almost the same breath. “If you try to wriggle out of this, I will fuck you up, do you hear me? You will have sincere regrets.” I believed him. “Okay.” His moods were so sudden and mercurial that I had fears about his own stability. “You don’t think this can be pleasant, Beauty, but I’m telling you right now that it doesn’t have to be hard,” he added. “I will meet you here at your car every day after you leave work. You will tell me what you’ve learned, and answer any questions I have to the best of your ability. And that’s the way it’s going to be.” “Okay.” I was desperate to leave, to get away from him. I’d hit a limit on how long I could face this man, and I was afraid things were going to start devolving if I didn’t get out of there. Dan walked quickly away, a pep in his step that I had given him, and I sagged against my car, barely able to get the door open before I fell inside, all strength gone from my body, my shoulders heaving, hot tears welling in my eyes. I had no idea how I was going to be able to get through this. Right now, it seemed like it was going to be impossible.

Chapter 16 My time at work took on a strange balance. The balance was always precarious, always in danger of falling down and taking me with it, but I struggled to maintain it. It was my responsibility to somehow get myself through this situation while protecting Roland from the knowledge that I was colluding with his brother to undermine his control of the company. That’s what Dan wanted, after all. Control over something he didn’t quite have a grasp on. Or at least that’s what I got from our daily debriefings by my car. That was the worst part of the day, by far. I could never gauge what kind of mood he would be in. Sometimes, he was practically friendly. Other times, he paced around, obviously agitated about something I could only guess at. The moment Dan left me after our little meetings were the best part of the day because I knew I wouldn’t have to have contact with him for a whole twenty-four hours. He rarely called or texted me, never showed up at my apartment, but always expected me to meet him at the parking lot at the designated time. Of course, that presented a problem one late afternoon when Roland called me into his office. “I’m having a call with Mason Nchia later this evening,” he said, looking a little perturbed at his computer screen. I was just as perturbed; it was almost time for me to leave the office for today, and I was sure Dan was waiting for me already at my car. I didn’t want to provoke him by keeping him waiting, allowing the thought to slip into his mind that I might try to be reneging on our deal. I had no idea what he’d do to pay me back for any imagined slight. “Your contact in Nigeria,” I said unhelpfully. “Are you getting closer on sealing the deal?” This was something that I’d need to report to Dan, but I was discovering there were other things I could keep from him. As long as I fed him one reliable piece of information a day, enough to whet his appetite on whatever he tended to use my intel for, he usually didn’t ask for more. It was really his loss; I could’ve been a fount of information if he just leaned on me a little more heavily and asked a few more

questions. “I don’t like the tone of his email,” Roland said. “Would you be available to take notes during the phone call tonight?” I cringed, thinking about missing the meeting with Dan, and Roland took immediate notice. “You have something you need to do,” he said. “No, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to take up your time when you could be outside of the office, actually having some fun.” “No, it’s not that,” I said quickly. “I just had a quick errand that I had to run before…before the pharmacy closed for the evening. That was the only thing I was thinking of. Is it okay if I go and do that and then come right back to the office?” Roland’s face softened. “Of course it’s okay,” he said. “You always say I’m the boss, but you can always tell me no. I understand that you have a life.” True, I had a whole double life that I was extremely keen on him not ever knowing about. But my real life—the best moments of it, at least—were times like these, when I could forget about all the bad things I was doing and focus on the good. Roland was interested in my opinion about business matters. I was stretching my brain, trying to analyze meetings and messages as best I could, and he was constantly praising me, saying how impressed he was with my interpretations of what was going on. It felt good to be around Roland. When I could forget for a little while about everything else, I loved to watch him as he talked about anything in the world. He could be talking about an analysis I’d written up or a story he found interesting in the paper or about the coming expansion of Shepard Shipments across the world. When he was passionate about something, the way his face lit up was completely inspiring. It made me think that anything was possible if I just cared enough about it, and that even I could make a difference if I put my mind fully to it. I could make a difference in anything except the course of my own life. It wasn’t fair that I felt so at ease when I was with Roland. And it definitely wasn’t fair whenever I thought back on that night when he’d admitted to having feelings for me. We hadn’t discussed it further beyond him asking if I was okay with his admission after I’d missed work, but I found myself wondering if those feelings for me were still present…or even if they’d grown with time.

I would’ve been lying to myself if I’d said that I didn’t have the same feelings for him still. I admired the fact that Roland hadn’t immediately tried to court me after I told him Dan and I were no longer an item. It was respectful of him, I thought, and it only made my affection for him grow. I enjoyed being around him, enjoyed listening to him and learning from him, and felt utterly conflicted about it because I was betraying his trust so completely. There was always that, as much as I tried to turn away from it. I couldn’t deny the feelings I had for Roland; I couldn’t deny that every day I grew to even love his scar more and more; and that my selfloathing grew exponentially. I omitted everything I could in my reports to Dan as tiny acts of love, actions I could actually take in order to try to protect Roland. And it would never be enough. The truth was too fucked up and too painful for me to ever believe that Roland and I could be happy together. There just wasn’t any point of wishing for it or dreaming about it, and still my traitorous heart did. I always felt like a bundle of twisted, shitty little nerves. Another point of penance for myself. I loved Roland, but I was betraying him. I hated Dan, but I was working for him. And I didn’t deserve anything else but to be in this purgatory for what I’d caused on that night on that Texas road. “Beauty?” Roland was staring at me, amused. “Sorry!” I yelped, having no idea just how long I’d been standing there, thinking about how much I liked Roland and how much I loathed the rest of my life. “You were deep in thought,” he observed. “I think my blood sugar’s just low,” I laughed, uneasy and backing away. I hated to think about how long Dan had probably been waiting by my car. “I’d better get a juice or something before I come back.” “Take your time and do whatever you need to do,” Roland said. “Dinner’s on me tonight. Are you in the mood for anything?” I shook my head, continuing to edge toward the door. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. I trust you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, looking oddly pleased as I practically ran out of the door. That was the worst thing of all; I really did trust him. I trusted Roland in his capacity as a businessman, I trusted his character as an actual man, and I even trusted his taste in food. I trusted him in all aspects of life, and he should’ve known better than to trust me with anything. I was out of breath when I got to my car, and Dan was visibly seething. “I’m sorry!” I said, trying to head off the glowering before it got out of hand. “I got held up. I came as quickly as I could.” “Me standing around isn’t part of the deal, Beauty,” he warned. “I know it isn’t,” I said as earnestly as I could manage, “and I’m sorry. Roland called me into his office right as I was about to leave. That’s what I’m here to tell you about. Roland’s going to be talking to his contact in Africa this evening.” Throw Roland under the bus to try and save my own skin. How could I even live with myself? For whatever reason, this piece of information I’d fed him made Dan preen. “Excellent,” he said. “That’s excellent news. I’m sure he wasn’t happy about it.” That was odd. Roland hadn’t been very happy about it. “He didn’t like the tone of the email,” I elaborated reluctantly. I tried not to give more detailed answers, attempting to keep it simple so Dan wouldn’t get so greedy. “I’ll bet he didn’t,” Dan said. “Well, Beauty, thanks for the pick me up. If you’re going to be late next time, just text and I won’t be so pissed. I don’t like feeling like I’ve been left hanging. It makes me think you might be having second thoughts about things.” Second thoughts? I was already on hundredth thoughts. I was just too selfish, too stupidly obsessed with self-preservation to do the right thing. I was a coward. “I’ll do that,” I said, even though I hadn’t been in a position where I could text him earlier. “Can I treat you to a drink?” he asked. “Really, the fact that my brother’s talking to Mason Nchia tonight is great news. I’m very pleased, and a celebration is in order.” “No,” I said quickly, shaking my head, then, “thank you,” as an afterthought. I didn’t want to incite Dan’s rage any more than I already had today.

“Don’t you think you owe me a little extra time since you were late?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. This was a dangerous path to tread. “I’ll remind you that socializing isn’t a part of our deal,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “And I’ll remind you that this doesn’t have to be unpleasant,” Dan said. “Can’t I reward my little spy for bringing me good information?” I wanted to vomit. It was obvious to me that Dan had pulled something off to piss Mason Nchia off, and Roland was going to bear the brunt of it. Was there a way to try and head this off tonight during the phone call? I was going to try and erase some of the damage I’d done. “Our agreement is purely professional,” I said. “Don’t mix work and play, Dan. Nothing good ever comes of it.” “I think you and I are pretty good together,” he said, looping an arm around my waist. Every muscle in my body went stiff, and the panic I was becoming all too familiar with rose in my throat. It was distasteful to see Dan every day, but it was unbearable to feel his touch, searing me even through my clothes. It struck me that I wouldn’t be able to wear this outfit again without feeling his touch through the fabric. I’d probably have to burn it. “Remember what I told you,” I hissed, trying to move out of his grasp. “Our agreement will be null if you insist on pursuing it this way.” It was the nicest way I could think of telling him not to fucking touch me. “And remember what I told you,” he said, keeping a hold of me roughly, not allowing me to break free of him. “If I think your devotion is waning, there will be consequences you won’t enjoy.” We scuffled for several moments more, my heart pounding, before he let go of me. I gave him a nasty stare before getting in my car and driving off, trying to control my breathing, eager to get out of range of him, and finally allowing myself to smile as I got around the block. I’d gotten through the intelligence session without giving up the fact that I would be attending Roland’s call tonight with Mason Nchia. It was a small victory, but a significant one. I hadn’t caved in to Dan’s physical threats, and I’d protected a portion of Roland’s privacy.

I circled around the block and saw, with great relief, that Dan had vacated the premises of the parking lot. I pulled in, parked my car, and made my way back to the building reasonably pleased with myself. I wouldn’t have to contend with Dan for another twenty-four hours, and now I got to spend extra time with Roland. It was the closest I’d been to happy for a long time. By the time I made it up to the office, all of my coworkers had cleared out and there was some delicious aroma wafting through the air. I followed my nose all the way to Roland’s office. “That didn’t take long,” he remarked, pouring a glass of ice water beside two covered plates on one of the low tables next to the leather chairs and couch. “No, no it didn’t,” I said absently. “Neither did dinner, apparently. I could smell it almost immediately after getting out of the elevator. Where’d you order it from?” “Actually, I thought I’d keep it in house this time,” he said lightly, filling the other glass with water. “In house?” I repeated. “You mean you have a chef on staff?” “I mean that I cooked it,” he said, lighting a pair of candles with a match before blowing it out. “I didn’t know that you cooked,” I exclaimed, walking over to examine the spread. “I don’t think it ever came up in casual conversation.” We rarely had casual conversation, so no surprise there. “Well, what’s on the menu?” I asked, sitting where he indicated I should do so. “See for yourself.” With a flourish, Roland took the cover off of my plate and the delicious smell of well-prepared food hit me full force. It was a steak swimming in its own juices, paired with fragrant, long green beans and a fluffy pile of couscous dotted with pieces of grape tomatoes. My mouth watered and I wanted nothing more than to dig right in. “This is amazing,” I said, gaping, as Roland took his own seat and removed the cover to his matching dinner. “Where did you learn how to do this?” “I’ve picked up a couple of surprising hobbies over the years,” he said, smiling at me. “I wish we could have a glass of wine with this; I know one that would work particularly well with steak, but I’d prefer we had our wits about us when I speak with Mason.”

I seemed to recall another time when I’d imbibed in very expensive bourbon with Roland, so it was something of a relief to only have access to water with our meal. “Well, don’t just sit there,” he admonished, placing his napkin into his lap. “It’s going to get cold, and then you aren’t going to think I did a good job.” I laughed at him. “I already think you did a good job.” The first bite of steak was just as succulent as I knew it was going to be, the meat only lightly seasoned, the quality of the cut speaking for itself. It was how steak was supposed to be done, pink and tender inside, all the flavors melding in my mouth. The green beans were crisp, retaining their rich taste and color, and the perfectly prepared couscous was the best possible way to complement everything else on that plate. It was a side of Roland I’d never seen before—and probably one that hardly anyone knew about. No one beyond that office door would call him a beast if they knew how well he understood the nuances of a steak. “Is it good?” he asked worriedly, and I looked over to see that he’d barely touched his own plate. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” I declared. “It’s so good that I don’t have words for it. Thank you so much for this.” Roland gave a tiny smile of satisfaction that made my heart shiver in my chest. Was there no one here to lavish praise on him? He’d been telling me that I’d been doing a good job all this time, but who was on hand to tell him he was doing a good job, too? “I’d never really had an opportunity to cook before living in Seattle,” I said, smiling. “I’m having a torrid love affair with a slow cooker right now. Have you ever tried one of those? It’s kitchen witchcraft. I can dump a bunch of things in a pot and plug it in, and by the time I get home from work, there’s dinner.” Roland laughed. “No, I haven’t ever tried a slow cooker. But I’m intrigued. Next time, you can be in charge of dinner.” It was my turn to giggle. “Can you imagine me plugging a crockpot in at my desk? Nobody would be able to focus on their work as it cooked. That’s the hardest part of a slow cooker, waiting around if

you’re not that busy.” “Are you implying that people aren’t that busy in the office?” he asked, aping a look of consternation. “I’ll have to think of some new project to make sure I’m getting my money’s worth out of everyone. I’ll name it Project Beauty, of course, after the employee who blew the whistle on her worthless coworkers.” I gave a mock look of horror. “You sure know how to make me the least popular woman in the office.” We lapsed into a friendly and comfortable silence, both of us noshing on our delicious dinners. I’d been missing this kind of witty banter in my life. And I was happy to share it with Roland, if it made him happy. I could do that, at least. Try to make him happy for as long as I could. After we polished off every last bite of our meal, I made a move to gather everything up. “Don’t,” he said, gently snagging my wrist. “Leave it.” “Don’t you know that the person who doesn’t cook gets to clean up?” I asked, arranging my silverware on the plate before dropping my napkin on top and concealing it all with the plate cover. “I’ll take it up later,” he said. “Really. It’ll be my pleasure to wash them later and reflect on a nice meal. Don’t worry about it. We have to focus on the task at hand.” Ah, yes. The task at hand. A phone call to Roland’s contact for expansion in Africa that he was clearly worried about, and that Dan was increasingly smug about. A problem that I had, quite likely, orchestrated. I wasn’t looking forward to that. I would’ve much rather focused on the delicious dinner we’d just shared. “I’ll get my laptop and notebook,” I said, reluctantly reentering reality and dashing over to my desk. Roland waited until we were both seated and comfortable in the chairs—I noticed he’d moved the table with the remains of our dinner away—before dialing a number on the phone and putting it on speaker. “Roland, hello,” Mason Nchia said. I remembered his deep, musical voice well from the conference call, but even I could hear that his tone tonight was decidedly chillier.

“Hello, Mason,” Roland answered. “To what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with you tonight? I have my assistant on hand, too, to keep a record of our correspondence.” “Not the same assistant whose plans we ruined that night, I hope.” “The very same.” Roland smiled. “But she’s getting overtime and she’s well fed, so I don’t think she’ll complain.” I grinned at him and shook my head, my fingers poised over my keyboard. I definitely wasn’t going to record this portion of the conversation for the record. “The reason I asked you to get in contact with me is because I’m having some misgivings about our plans for the expansion of your business,” Mason said. Roland frowned. “What kinds of misgivings?” “The kinds of misgivings that make me question everything,” Mason said. Roland began drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, his frown deepening, faced with an unexpected and unwanted complication. “This is distressing to hear,” he said. “I thought our discussions were going very well, and that we were making excellent progress.” “I don’t know, Roland,” Mason said slowly. “The situation is that we don’t feel very confident in your discretion, at this point.” “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Roland said, laughing humorlessly. “Well, the truth is that there’s an upstart of a company here in Nigeria that has been trying to compete with the properties I own,” Mason said. “Don’t be afraid of a little competition,” Roland said, looking grim. “What does this have to do with our deal?” “There’s no deal, first of all,” Mason said. “We’re only in the most preliminary of discussions. And the reason this has to do with us is the upstart president of this upstart company let it be known to me that he was also in talks with Shepard Shipments about expanding into Africa with its help.” Roland’s agitated drumming on the arm of his chair stopped suddenly. “Mason, I can assure you that this is false.”

“Can you?” he countered. “My rival seemed very sure of himself that he, too, was under consideration for a very lucrative deal via Shepard Shipments.” “You are my sole contact in Nigeria,” Roland said. “In an effort to be fully transparent, I’ll tell you right now that I’ve made contact with another company in South Africa on the advice of my assistant. This isn’t in direct competition with you, Mason. This will complement the work I’ve asked you to do and benefit all parties involved.” “So you can tell me—right here and right now—that you haven’t spoken with anyone else in Nigeria?” Mason asked. “That’s right.” “And can this assistant also tell me that there hasn’t been contact made with anyone in Nigeria?” My fingers froze over the keyboard, and Roland looked at me. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, not taking his eyes off of me. “My assistant wouldn’t have access to those kinds of contacts.” “Would your assistant have access to someone who did?” I was being accused—and rightly so—of sabotage. Mason had hit the nail right on the head. “It’s impossible, Mason,” Roland said firmly, still watching me as my fingers flew across the keyboard. “Please put it from your mind—and don’t mention it again.” The warning was right there in his voice, and what should’ve felt like a warm vote of confidence from a man I admired only made the rich food in my stomach make an unfortunate squirm. I wasn’t to be trusted. Couldn’t he sense that? Mason was right in this situation, and somehow, Roland was blind to it. “I don’t mean to accuse anyone of anything unjustly,” Mason said. “All I know is that a rival has reliable information about a proposal I believed was only for my company.” “I will get to the bottom of this, I promise you,” Roland said. He didn’t know what he was promising. Getting to the bottom of just what had upset his Nigerian colleague meant that Roland would have to ferret out the deceit sitting right across from him. “I trust you, Roland, I do,” Mason said. “This came as a shock, honestly. I really don’t know what else to say.”

“I don’t know how this happened, or how this rival thinks that we’re mulling doing business with him,” Roland said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But that just isn’t the case, and I’ll make every inquiry I have to in order to sort it out. I still want nothing more than to be able to do business with you, Mason.” “And I you,” Mason answered. “I hope that we can get this sorted out.” “I assure you that we will.” They made their goodbyes, and Roland ended the call, clasping his hands together before resting them over his mouth, his eyes narrowed. He was quiet for a long time, and I devoted myself to typing up an analysis, checking my handwritten notes for emphasis. Of course, I didn’t need to think very hard about why Mason Nchia was suspicious. This was clearly the work of Dan, the reason he’d been so pleased with himself when I told him this conversation was happening. Dan had made a contact in Nigeria and engaged him using Shepard Shipments as a cover. It made Roland look bad, and it made Mason leery of getting into business with someone he couldn’t trust. But it had been Mason who’d gotten it right. I was the bad apple in the barrel. I was the one who’d told Dan about the conference call I’d sat in on, giving him the blueprint on how to wreak havoc on a deal that still had yet to come to fruition. I was the weak link in this situation, and Roland had to realize it. And I had to be strong enough to stick my neck out and wait for the ax to fall. “Beauty?” Here it was. I paused in my overly busy typing and looked up, meeting a quiet but intense gaze. “Yes?” My mouth was dry, and I tried to lick my lips to relieve it. Roland waited for several long seconds before speaking again. “Do you think it might be possible that you mentioned the conference call you sat in on a while back to anyone in the office?” “I don’t really talk to anyone in the office,” I said. “Besides Sam, the receptionist, really. But it’s not a close friendship. We have lunch sometimes. She’s usually more interested in who’s sleeping with whom than with what Shepard Shipments actually does.” I flushed, realizing I’d just mentioned sex to Roland.

“So you didn’t mention to her anything about the call,” he said, his face unreadable. “No,” I confirmed, quickly. Then, something dawned on me. I could tell the truth. Not the whole truth, of course, but some of it. I’d still been innocent when it had happened and could come out of it blameless at best—and naïve at worst. And maybe, just maybe, I could throw someone else under the bus, for a change. “I just remembered something,” I said, sounding as uncertain as I felt but knowing that it would help my story. “What did you remember?” I found myself wishing that Roland would show some kind of emotion, but he had everything except those burning eyes in check. “It might be nothing,” I said quickly, “and I don’t want to imply something that’s not there. Maybe you should forget it.” “Beauty, I need to figure out what went wrong with Nigeria,” he said, his voice patient and even. “Please tell me whatever you can to help me puzzle it out.” “The day after the conference call, Dan came to my apartment,” I said. “I was supposed to go out to dinner with him that night, but I postponed it.” “I remember,” Roland said, his voice noticeably tighter. “Dan asked why you’d kept me so late,” I continued, gripping the edge of my laptop, unable to look directly at Roland anymore, “and I said it was a really important, really exciting conference call with important people.” Roland didn’t move a muscle or breathe a word. “He asked me more about it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “but I felt weird telling him anything else, especially since he’s the vice president and he didn’t know. I told him I didn’t want to talk business outside of the office, and that was the last of it.” Except that now, I talked business with Dan every single day outside of the office, telling him the secrets that Roland was trying to keep in order to steer the company in the direction he thought was best. “I don’t want to cause any drama between you and your brother,” I said, babbling in Roland’s epic

silence. “That’s why I didn’t think I should tell you. It’s an awkward situation on many levels. But Dan’s the only one I mentioned anything to about it. I didn’t mean to mess things up. He asked, though, and he is an executive in this company, and I thought he’d know something about it. I was surprised when he didn’t, and I didn’t say anything else.” “I’m going to tell you an uncomfortable truth or two about Dan,” Roland said, clapping his hands suddenly and looking as if he’d come to a decision about something. “If you think that’s appropriate,” I said, more than a little hoping he would reconsider. Roland plunged forward. “My brother is my brother, and nothing will ever change that,” he began. “But I can’t really vouch for the decisions he makes professionally…or personally, for that matter.” I swallowed hard. “But he’s the vice president of your company.” “And here’s the second uncomfortable truth,” Roland said. “If he knows what to say, who to say it to, and when to say it, and if he sticks to the script, my brother makes for a decent executive. At the very least, a more effective face of the company than I could ever manage.” “Roland, let people see you,” I urged. “The more time they spend with you, the less they’ll notice your…scar.” He scowled immediately and shook his head. “The scar is a distraction,” he said. “It would be all they would see.” “Then do something about it,” I insisted. “Be the leader you were meant to be. If you’re not willing to let people ogle it, get surgery. There have been wonderful advancements and Dan…well, your brother mentioned in passing that you’d refused consultation with a plastic surgeon after…after the wreck.” Roland made a harsh sound in his throat, and I wondered, as always, if I’d overstepped my bounds again. If we were to a point where Roland and I could share uncomfortable truths with each other, though, this was one he needed to hear. “If you really think that your brother might be a liability, then you need to reassert control over leading the company,” I continued, a little more tentatively. “That means meeting people in person, letting people see whatever face you choose to present to them, and doing something about your scar if the face

you have now isn’t the face you want the world to see.” “I haven’t been outside of this building since I got out of the hospital after the wreck,” Roland said, finally looking away from me, his blue eyes unfocused, far away. “I have everything brought to me here—food, clothes, everything I need—and I conduct my business without anyone ever seeing me except for a couple of security staffers, one cleaning lady, my brother, and you. In a physical sense, my life has shrunk since that wreck. And that’s fine with me.” “You didn’t kill them,” I said. “Not my parents, not your fiancée, not the driver who hit you. None of them. It wasn’t your fault.” Roland looked at me again, and I was again on the brink of telling him the truth. He didn’t kill them because I did. That was the truth—the most uncomfortable truth. I could tell him and end all of this. “Why don’t you hate me?” he demanded. “Your parents would’ve never been there if we hadn’t been stopped on the side of the road. You would still have them; you would’ve finished college; and you would’ve been somewhere else—anywhere else.” “What if…”—tears prickled the back of my throat, and I didn’t know what was true anymore —“What if…this was where I was supposed to get to?” What if I was supposed to go through my penance for causing the wreck in order to reach Seattle and help piece together the only other person who’d come out alive from the incident? What if I was supposed to help save him from his brother and himself? Roland was standing in front of me and all of a sudden I was standing, too, and there was nothing except for the depths of those blue eyes, staring into mine. There were flecks of gray in them, I noticed, that I’d never seen before simply because I’d never been this close. Yet, they were visible even in the dim light of the office. And how could lips that still displayed so many traumas be so soft? Our mouths grazed each other soft, tentative, until Roland captured my lips and kissed me deeply. My body melded into his, eager for comfort, and he held me tightly, his hands strong on my back. “You were supposed to hate me,” he whispered hoarsely, urgently, upon breaking the kiss. “You were supposed to hate me, after I told you what I’d done, so I wouldn’t fall in love with you. I’m not

supposed to have love anymore. Nobody can love this face.” I covered his mouth with my hand, emotion swelling inside of me. “It isn’t a face I’m falling in love with,” I murmured. “It’s a mind. A heart. A person.” And there it was. The swift realization of the fact made me realize it was true. I was in love with the man I was hurting the worst with my cowardice, and I was helpless to do anything about it.

Chapter 17 I wanted nothing more than to continue to kiss Roland, the tangle of wrongs inside of me be damned, but it was too sweet for me to deserve it. I had to pull away or risk losing everything. I couldn’t do this to him. I couldn’t betray the love that was rearing its head inside of me. “I should go,” I said, laying my hand on his cheek, my heart dying a little when he almost flinched away from my palm on his scar but forced himself to stay still. Why did he trust me so much? Couldn’t he see what was happening? This was going too far. The feelings I had for him were real, but so was the betrayal. Now that we knew we loved each other, nothing could be the same. Each time I reported back to Dan would be even worse than before. “I wish that you would stay,” Roland said uncertainly. “But I know why you think you need to go.” How many more pieces could fracture off of my heart before I didn’t have one anymore, just a bunch of broken shards stabbing me from the inside out? “If this is real,” I said slowly, “then we’ll know it.” “It’s real,” he whispered. “Then let’s take our time about it,” I said, forcing my trembling lips into a smile. “We’re not going anywhere. There isn’t any hurry, is there?” “I guess there’s not,” Roland said softly, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear, caressing my earlobe. “I just…I supposed I’m afraid you’re going to go to sleep tonight and wake up and have second thoughts. Which is fine…it’s fine, if that happens. I just…I just hope it doesn’t.” “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I told him, stepping back a little. “Not for me anyway.” “You think I’m going to wake up and feel any differently?” he asked, scoffing. “Okay, maybe I’ll wake up and find I love you a little bit more. That would be the only change I could foresee.” No, he might wake up and realize that I was the reason he almost lost business in Nigeria. That was what I was afraid of; both afraid of and wishing it would happen at the same time. If Roland realized

the truth, he could end all of this before it went too far. It was already too far. However, if he arrived at the truth himself, and soon, it would be better for both of us. I just wasn’t strong enough to give it to him. “Good night,” I said, smiling at him. “Thank you again for the wonderful dinner.” “You’re cooking next time,” he reminded me. “Wrong. The crockpot is cooking next time.” Roland laughed, and I realized it was my favorite sound in the world. It was my favorite sound, and I was in a sweet, living hell of my own making. The next few days were a true struggle, and worse than ever before. They were wonderful where Roland was concerned—wonderful edged with terrible. His morning coffee and newspaper now came with a lingering kiss that made me tingle for a whole hour afterward. I felt as light as air working just outside his door, struggling to focus on the tasks at hand while knowing full well that he was probably watching me through the camera positioned above my desk. I liked the idea of his murky blue eyes on me. It was during one of these distracted afternoons when I was trying to catch up on my digitizing— the task I let go first if I was falling behind in other areas—and made a stunning discovery that allowed a few of the puzzle pieces still rotating in my head to fall into place. It was a string of memos I was scanning into the system, which wasn’t atypical, of course, except for the names on the memos: Sam and Dan. Some digging in the box I was working through turned up several more, and after a quick perusal, I realized she’d been Dan’s assistant at one point in time. That was interesting. With as much as she liked to talk, I was surprised that Sam hadn’t brought it up before. I set aside the memos and walked across the office, stopping to lean on her desk at the front of the room. “Doing anything for lunch?” I asked. “I’m in the mood for something greasy from downstairs if you are.” “Poor thing, hungover again?” she asked, smiling salaciously. “You’d been good for a while,

always bringing your lunch and working at your desk.” The truth was, I’d been spending most of my lunches with Roland, inside his office, talking about both business and social topics, but I was glad the office gossip didn’t know that. “I’ve really got to back off of the drinking,” I laughed, shrugging. “Hangovers now aren’t those painless things I had back in college. These are real.” “They only get worse,” she confided. “I swear, I had one after two glasses of wine the other night.” “No,” I hissed. “Let’s go right now and put you out of your misery,” she said. “Anything to wrap up before we head down?” I glanced across the office, back toward my desk. Roland would expect me for lunch, as had become our habit, but I was sure he’d understand. “No, please, let’s get a cheeseburger immediately,” I moaned, and we were off to the cafeteria. Once we were down there, away from Roland’s cameras and the ears of our quieter coworkers, I got straight to the point. “So I was scanning in some interesting memos today, you know, as part of the whole digitization process,” I started, but Sam snorted and waved her hand in my face. “Boring,” she complained. “I want to hear about what you did last night to get hungover today.” “That’s just the thing; the memos weren’t boring,” I continued, refusing to be derailed. “They had your name on them.” “So?” She laughed. “Do you know how many damn memos my name is on?” “Yes, but these memos were from your time as assistant to one Daniel Shepard, our handsome young vice president,” I said triumphantly. Sam paled and, for once, had nothing to say. I blinked, surprised at the reaction. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, setting my cheeseburger back down on its plate. “Have I said something wrong?” “No,” she said faintly. “You’re new here, and really, not many people know about it. I’d like to

keep it that way, if it’s all right with you.” “Of course,” I said quickly. “Whatever you want.” “I was Dan’s assistant, but he wasn’t very nice to me,” she said. “He wanted to be president of the company, and he was always trying to get me to do things, like eavesdrop on people. That’s originally why I started working as the receptionist there on the beast’s floor—I mean Roland’s—Mr. Shepard. But then I told HR that I’d prefer to stay there as receptionist, not Dan’s assistant anymore, because he’s kind of crazy. It made me uncomfortable, and they smoothed it all out, and that’s that.” “I’m sorry for bringing it up,” I said. “Really, Sam. I thought it was strange that you’d never told me, especially since I’m Roland’s assistant. But I guess I know, now. I won’t tell anyone else.” “Thanks,” she said. “Now. Enough about that little bit of silliness. Tell me all about your wild night.” One fake story of bars and debauchery later, and I was marching into Roland’s office. “Dan’s tried to get control of the company from you before,” I said upon closing the door, carrying my laptop under one arm. We were about to have a conference call with contacts in Australia and New Zealand—the expansion into Oceania that Dan had wanted. We were both excited, but I had to figure this out. “And a good afternoon to you, too,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Where is this coming from?” “I had lunch with Sam,” I said. “I didn’t know that she was Dan’s assistant, but then I saw it on some old memos I was digitizing, and she confirmed it. She said that he was always telling her that he wanted to be the president instead of you. Do you think he might ever try to do it again?” “Beauty, please remember that you’re getting your intel from the woman with the biggest mouth in this entire building,” Roland said, making a show of rolling his eyes. Yet, one of his hands gripped the arm of his chair, the tips of his fingers turning white with the pressure. “You’re paying me to use my brain, aren’t you?” I asked. “I’m asking whether Dan might attempt a coup again. You know he was behind the debacle in Nigeria.” “With Mason?” Roland frowned. “I got all of that sorted out.” “I know you did,” I said. “But it was Dan, right?”

“He’s just trying to assert some control,” Roland said dismissively. “He wouldn’t try to…if he had tried that in the past, he would have better sense than to try it again.” Or he’d wait until he’d found the perfect weapon before trying it again—me, a person who had intimate access to all of the knowledge he needed. The burger didn’t feel good inside my stomach at all. The phone rang and Roland held out his hand to the empty chair across from him. I assumed the position and opened my laptop, trying to fight off the roar of panic in my head as Roland made the customary introductions and explanations with the executives across the world, trying to distract myself from the idea that Dan was trying to remove Roland from power. I focused on each and every word that was spoken, concentrating on getting it right as I typed. I didn’t want to think about what it made me to have the role that I did in this power play. I had been the most powerful piece to Dan’s arsenal. We’d been in the conference call for perhaps fifteen minutes before disaster struck. The door popped open and Dan walked in unceremoniously, not bothering to shut it behind him, the bright light from the office beyond cutting into Roland’s dimly lit space like a knife. “We need to talk,” Dan announced needlessly. He’d already made such an entrance that the desire to share discourse with his brother could’ve been left unsaid. Roland didn’t even say anything to the people on the other ends of the conference call. He simply pushed the button to end his connection and looked at me pointedly. “You should go,” he said. “I can tell this isn’t going to be one of our friendlier family discussions.” “I can’t say that I remember having a friendly family discussion with you, big brother,” Dan said, grinning, his tone mocking. “And I think Beauty here should stay. Maybe she’ll offer you some of that famous advice.” I froze halfway out of my seat, clutching my laptop. I really, really didn’t want to be here for this, for whatever was going to be said. But Roland heaved a huge sigh. “Fine,” he said. “But close the door.” “Beauty?” Dan held his hand out. I got up to get the door, but Roland lashed out.

“You don’t tell her what to do,” he snapped. “You’re the one who came in here on a mission. You close the fucking door, you little shit.” “It’s really not a problem,” I said, my voice shaking. The fact was, Dan did tell me what to do. He told me what to do all the time. I took orders from him, but Roland didn’t know that. “I can get the door. And I’ll just leave you two to discuss whatever you need to talk about.” “Stay!” they both commanded at the same time. I sank back down into my seat, bewildered. Dan snorted at Roland before going to close the door to his office, and Roland raked a hand through his hair before shaking his head apologetically at me. I really, really didn’t want to be here. I had no idea what Dan wanted to say to his brother with me as a witness. Nothing good could come of it. “Say what you’re here to say,” Roland said, as Dan walked back across the room. “You interrupted a very important phone call.” “What, to your contact in Africa?” Dan scoffed. “We’re never going to be successful in Africa, Roland. It’s a fool’s dream. It just isn’t the right market. If you’re doing it to invest in a continent, you’d be smarter investing in the Red Cross or Doctors Without Borders or something. Shepard Shipments isn’t going to do a single thing for Africa.” Roland frowned. “I don’t know who your contact is, Dan, but you’re wrong. Africa is poised on the brink of an economic explosion, and if Shepard Shipments got in now, it would be beneficial to both that economy and our company. But I don’t have to explain it to you. It’s none of your business, at this point.” “You’re wrong there. It is my business because I’m the vice president of this company.” “And I’m the president,” Roland said, placid. “Which is the way it’ll always be. You don’t have the contacts, experience, or attitude to make the kinds of decisions this company needs its president to make.” “And you don’t have the face,” Dan retorted, angry. I flinched at the personal attack, but Roland seemed to brush it away as easily as if it were a pesky fly. “The company is ready to expand, and it’s going to expand into Africa,” he said. “You didn’t need

to know that, but now you know. It’s a done deal.” Roland seemed so adept at shutting down his younger brother that I wondered just how often he had to do it. Dan’s eyes, darted around, searching, until he launched into his next diatribe. “If that’s your defense for Africa, then what do you have to say for yourself on Asia?” he demanded, surprising Roland yet again. “That’s right. I have eyes and ears, Roland. I know what’s happening around here.” “What’s happening is that you probably have your claws in some poor girl in Japan or Nigeria or South Korea and you’re pumping her for information,” Roland answered calmly. “It’s disgusting, Dan, really.” Or he could have his claws in me. Was Roland really blind to the fact that Dan and I had dated, that he could have manipulated me easily during that time and had? I was sitting right here in this room, witness to all of this lunacy, and all I could was watch and hope their attention remained on each other. “You need me to run this company,” Dan was saying. “You lock yourself away in this office, or up in the penthouse when you’re feeling extra sorry for yourself, and you rely on me to present a good face— or at least a whole one—to the public. Without me, there wouldn’t be Shepard Shipments. There’d be an ugly old man locked away in a tower.” “The only thing you are, Dan, is a face,” Roland said tiredly, and I realized this wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument. I didn’t understand why, but that revelation made me really sad. Roland had talked to me about this—one of his uncomfortable truths about his brother—but I still didn’t like the obvious fact that they’d actually fought each other about it. “You have no substance beyond what is on the outside. You’re not a savvy businessperson, and you’re not a great person, on the whole.” I didn’t want to be in this office any longer, watching two brothers tear each other down. I couldn’t do it. I was casting around, searching my brain for some kind of an excuse to leave, when Dan’s response froze me where I sat. “At least I’m smart enough to know who I can trust.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Roland demanded, as my eyes slowly crawled upward to meet Dan’s. His stare was boring its way into my head, and I knew this was where he was going to make his

final stand. That day had come at last, the day when Dan was going to lay all of his cards on the table in an effort to wrest control of this company from Roland just for some twisted idea that he could do it better. He had no idea what he was doing. All he saw was something shiny that he wanted, not a goal he could actually achieve. He would burn this entire place to the ground if he thought it would benefit him in some way, and I was going to be a party to that. It finally dawned on me—and maybe I’d always sort of known—that Roland was going to find out the truth of everything that had been going on, right underneath his nose. The only thing that was different was that it would be better—so much better—if he heard it from me. The blow would still fall heavily, and it really might break him, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to protect myself anymore, but at least it wasn’t a blow landed by his brother. “Roland, I’m Dan’s contact.” Now both brothers were staring at me, their eyebrows raised to an identical height. Had it not been for Dan’s beard and Roland’s scar, it probably would’ve frightened me just how much alike they looked. Roland gaped at me wordlessly, and I could smell the bullshit brewing in Dan’s brain, so I plunged forward. “He’s been blackmailing me for a while now, since that day I didn’t show up to work,” I explained, “the day I said I was sick.” Roland’s eyes narrowed, now, and his mouth snapped shut, but I wasn’t about to be interrupted, not when I was on a roll. If I stopped, the truth would never get out in the way it needed to. “I’ve been feeding him information about the conferences calls,” I continued. “Not everything, not about the new contacts in Oceania, but enough to keep him satisfied, to keep him thinking he was completely informed.” It was Dan’s turn to narrow his eyes. When he pursed his lips, I pushed myself to go on. The only way to defeat him was to turn myself in. I knew that now. “He was blackmailing me because there was something I wasn’t telling you,” I said, holding

Roland’s gaze, unwilling to look anywhere else. I had to do this. There wasn’t any other way around it. “There’s something you don’t realize about the wreck, the one that killed my parents and your fiancée and Caro, my friend, the girl who was driving the car that hit you all.” I took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I’m the one who’s really responsible, not you,” I said. “You were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I’m the one at fault.” “That’s impossible,” Roland began, but I held my hand toward him, willing him to hear me out. I had to finish this. “I was in the passenger seat of the car Caro was driving,” I said. “I was at the wreck. I was in it. I lost consciousness, just like you, at the moment of impact, but, unlike you, I was just fine when I woke up. Just a concussion. I was the luckiest one to walk away from that, and I’m the one who caused it.” I paused to take another break, and Roland didn’t try to interrupt me. I held his gaze helplessly, his blue eyes wide. I did the only thing I knew to do, and that was to continue to explain, to tell the story completely. “My parents were going out on their date night that day, and they wanted me to stay at home so they didn’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I wanted to go to a party instead, and lied to them. Caro and I went to the party and got drunk. After the police busted it up, we decided we didn’t want the night to end, so I told her we should go driving. I’m the one who put her behind the wheel of that car, both of us drunk. I’m the one who sent us careening down those dark roads. I’m the one who’s responsible for Caro dying, for my parents dying, for your fiancée dying, and for your scar. I’m the person who’s responsible, not you, and now you know the whole truth of it. Dan can’t blackmail me anymore.” “He was going to tell me what I didn’t know about the wreck,” Roland said faintly. “To gain control.” “Yes,” I said. “And he was going to call the cops on me and say I wasn’t stable, that I needed to be locked away for my own safety in one of those places like…like the one I had to spend some time in after the wreck.” That was difficult to admit to, but there it all was, out there for both of them to see. Roland looked

like he was going to be sick all over his lap, and Dan looked faintly disappointed that I’d stolen his thunder. “Well, I might as well call them now,” Dan remarked, retrieving his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Looks like your assistant’s having a psychotic break, Roland. You should probably get security in here to escort her out. I wouldn’t trust her to leave by herself.” “It’s over, Dan,” Roland said quietly, not looking at either of us. “What?” Dan looked up, his fingers pointed over his phone. “I said that it’s over.” “What’s over?” Dan was just as puzzled as I was over Roland’s cryptic remarks. “I’ve known you my entire life, and I know when you’re scheming away at something,” Roland said. “I know that Beauty is telling the truth, and I know that you’ve been the puppeteer at the strings with her. It’s over. You’re fired. I’ll always be your brother; there’s nothing, to my great chagrin, that can change that, but you’re done with being vice president of Shepard Shipments. It’s over.” “You can’t just fire me,” Dan protested, but Roland cut him off with a sharp slash of his hand through the air. “If you want to discuss it further, you can wait for me upstairs,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the staircase that went into the penthouse at the top of the building. Dan gave me a long, withering stare as he stalked across the office and up the stairs. I didn’t care to think about what that meant, but in spite of everything, I was happy that his carefully laid plans had blown up right in his fucking face. He deserved every bit of the vitriol I was sure Roland was saving up for him later, when they’d hash it out alone. I was thankful that I wasn’t going to be a part of that conversation. But then, as the door slammed shut at the top of the stairs, Roland and I were alone. and I realized that all was not well. There was still the fact of my having been a participant in Dan’s plan to sabotage his brother—a participant against my will, but a participant all the same. Dan wouldn’t have been able to get as far as he had without my help, and Roland had to know that. For a few long moments, I had a perverse hope that maybe Roland would protect me now. It was

completely unwarranted. I didn’t deserve any help or protection at all, not after everything I’d done. It was wrong to hope for something like that, but I hoped all the same in that vast, silent room, alone with the man I’d just confessed everything to. Roland had banished Dan to the upper level, the penthouse where he lived, vanquished, for now, and soon to be put out of his misery. Maybe, for my honesty, Roland could keep Dan from exacting revenge on me, enacting the remainder of his plan for the blackmail, which would have me running from the cops for the rest of my life or back in a health facility on suicide watch, thanks to Dan tipping them off to some lies he’d concocted that were too close to the truth of my past. Roland looked at me, and I opened my mouth in a bid for the right thing to fall out of it, to make all of this better again, to mend things as best I could, but he shook his head minutely, and I stayed silent. It was probably for the best. I didn’t think I knew what to say anymore. Instead, I waited for him to speak, for him to tell me what he thought of all of this, willing him to say something, anything to relieve me of my dread. Still, that stupid hope resided in my heart, wishing he’d forgive all, pretending that everything was going to be just fine. Roland opened his mouth and closed it again, working it in a way that made me realize that he didn’t know a bit more than I did what to say or do to make any of this better. It was a horrible situation. I’d lied to him. I’d gained his trust. I’d kept the truth from him. I’d betrayed him to his own brother. And I’d freely—though under duress—admitted to all of it in front of the both of them. I held Roland’s gaze because I couldn’t do anything more or less than that, just looking into the eyes of the man whose life I had trampled on, unknowingly the first time, and then willingly a second time. I held that murky blue gaze until those eyes fell, and then the rest of his face with them, his head hanging down into his chest. Then, I knew all was lost. I had broken Roland Shepard, and I had lost him.

Chapter 18 Where do you go when you’ve finally ruined everything? Even my lizard brain hibernated, aghast at everything I had done, offering no insight on how to keep surviving. I was thoroughly on my own. Telling Roland the truth, particularly in my most recent incarnation as spy and betrayer, had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. So why did it hurt so much now? I walked out of his office, closing the door gently behind me, and sat down at my desk for only as long as it took to compose myself. If I ran weeping through this office again, everyone would assume that I was the beast’s latest victim. I was the one who was the beast. Things had come around full circle. When I’d first started working here, I’d believed what everyone said, that Roland Shepard was an animal and a monster and a beast. He was hideous to look at and his rages were legendary throughout the entire company. But the more I got to know him, the more I realized that everyone was wrong about him. He hid himself away and kept himself marred by the past because it was the penance he thought he deserved. The rage he directed outward was only because the rage he directed at himself overflowed its boundaries. The only person he was angry at was himself. Then I’d thought that Dan had been the true beast, back when Roland continued to show me more and more humanity and Dan had shown me his own claws and fangs. Dan was willing to do anything— exploit me, betray his brother, ride the company into a hole—in order to get in on some piece of the action he was afraid he might be missing. And sure, maybe Dan was still pretty much a beast. But I was the real beast. I’d been complicit in Dan’s conniving agenda against Roland, afraid of Roland learning the truth even though the truth had come from my very mouth today. If only I’d told Roland what I knew back on that first night when I’d gotten drunk on fine bourbon before vomiting it right back up

after he told me he’d been a part of the wreck. Roland had been honest, then. He didn’t have to be, but he was. He decided that telling the truth was the right thing to do and did it, regardless of the consequences, aware that I might hate him afterward. I should’ve told him then; I should’ve assuaged all the fear and guilt he felt and told him that I was the only one who deserved to carry that burden of blame. Instead, I’d kept it inside, and Dan had exploited my fear to weaponize that truth against his brother. I was the beast because I could’ve stopped all of this so long ago just by being brave enough to be honest. I stood up, my face blank, and got my purse. Part of me wondered if Roland was watching me on that ever-present camera, wondering at my lack of tears. I wished I could tell him that it was the last favor I could do for him, to walk out of this life dry-eyed so that no one would think badly of him anymore, but there wasn’t any way I could think of to convey this. And anyway, he probably wasn’t watching. If he was, I liked to imagine him shaking his fist at the screen in rage. I deserved all of his anger. I always had. Then, I turned my back and walked out, not speaking to or looking at anyone, keeping my steps measured and controlled. I wanted nothing more than to sprint out of there, but if I lost control now, I didn’t think I could get it back. I needed to keep breathing—in and out—and put one foot in front of the other. “You’re not leaving early, are you?” Sam asked, making me turn around while waiting for the elevator. How did I tell someone that I was leaving forever without arousing suspicion? There wasn’t a way, so I lied. “I’m off on an errand,” I explained, my voice sounding weirdly wrong inside of my own head. Sam cocked her head. “Everything all right?” “It will be,” I said. Another lie. The only thing I could do to make things right was to get the hell out of Roland Shepard’s life and hope he tried to live it again now that he knew he wasn’t at fault for all of the horrible things that had happened, all of the people who’d died. That was the only thing I wished

for out of all of this mess—that Roland could find some way to be happy and whole again. Maybe he thought he’d had feelings for me. Maybe he’d even thought he loved me. But now, he could shake himself free from all of that. All it would take was time. “I have to tell you,” Sam said, snagging my elbow as I waited for the elevator to lumber up to this floor. “I mentioned in passing to Dan that you’d asked about my time as his assistant, and he wasn’t happy at all.” So that was what had set him off. Sam—not knowing what she was doing, or the seriousness of it —had tipped Dan off to the fact that I was snooping around and gathering information. That was what had caused him to charge into Roland’s office, ready to do battle. And that was what had caused me to lose everything imaginable. “I don’t think it really matters anymore,” I said, stepping into the elevator. And it didn’t. Dan wasn’t involved with the company anymore. His anger affected no one. “See you later.” Time was fickle. The elevator went slow, but the walk to my car went fast. I blinked to find myself in front of it, holding the key out, having no memory of getting there. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I shouldn’t get behind the wheel. It had been years since the wreck that had ruined my life, and though I hadn’t wanted things to get better, they had—incrementally. Things had been bad for a long time—through college and during my more than a year on the road, living in my car—but they’d gotten better. Seattle had been good for me, as had holding a steady, respectable job that required more of me than just shaking my ass for money. I’d learned to use critical thinking skills in the workplace, and I’d been interested in what I was doing— passionate about it even. Not many people could say that about the lines of work they’d trained for and studied. I’d been told that my thoughts and opinions mattered, and I’d begun to believe that maybe I mattered, too. Hell, Roland Shepard had been good for me, too. Maybe we hadn’t started off on the right foot, and maybe he’d been too hard on me at times, but I’d grown and bloomed under his tutelage. Right until I’d proven myself to be nothing but poisonous. There wasn’t going to be another Roland Shepard out on the road. I was going to drive across the

country aimlessly until my money ran out, and then I was going to do something else, somewhere else. But there wouldn’t be anyone willing to take a chance on me, or take me in like Roland had, valuing me for anything other than my body and how much they could sell it for. But in the end, that was what I deserved, wasn’t it? That was exactly what I deserved. All those years ago, that night when I’d convinced Caro to get behind the wheel of that car, I’d valued the risks so little, placed so little importance on our own lives and the lives that we could affect that I deserved to be nothing now. If Roland could impose a punishment on himself that was as extreme as refusing the proper treatment for a horrific wound and secluding himself away from the world, allowing everyone to believe that he was nothing more than a beast, then I could come up with something similar. I was so much worse than he was. I could drive my car out into the woods and live there among the trees, eating moss until I slowly withered away. It would probably be a much more peaceful ending than I deserved. I deserved to be unhappy and lost, to drive through these tears splashing down my face, mirroring the rain that pelted my windshield. I deserved the way my heart ached. I deserved to think about what Roland looked like when his face fell at the realization that I was a horrible person. The rain intensified as I parked in front of my building, but I didn’t care. I got out in the heaviest downpour, letting it soak my clothes through almost immediately, like standing under a showerhead wearing a full outfit. I squelched up the stairs and to my apartment, shivering in the cool air, wondering if this was how you got pneumonia, hoping that pneumonia was a more gruesome ending than starving to death. Without bothering to even take off my wet clothes, I fell face forward into my bed and laid there, breathing hard, willing something to happen, for me to just start crying or start breathing or go to sleep so I didn’t have to feel the way I was feeling right now. The old itch was back, the part of me that wanted to get back in my car and go, and yet I didn’t answer it. Seattle had become my home, and I was just going to have to find a way to be miserable in it. The rain was a help, the rain and my wet clothing. I didn’t want to go anywhere else because this city felt like something I used to have, and I wanted to have it again. I wanted it both helplessly and hopelessly.

I’d ruined my chance at finding a home again. I would never learn how not to hurt people and myself in the process. Roland had felt like home to me, the way my body fit with his even though I didn’t deserve it, even though I was strangling whatever life we could’ve had together with my utter cowardice. I hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth, but the truth had needed to be said this whole time. There was no other way forward than the truth, but I hadn’t been able to understand that. Maybe I could’ve salvaged this situation a long time ago, when Roland had first told me about his role in the wreck, but that ship had long since sailed. If I’d told him, right off, how I’d been the one who was responsible, he probably never would’ve stopped to think that he might have feelings for me. He probably would’ve even fired me on the spot, especially since he only hired me as a gesture of pity for what he thought he’d done. Given the chance to do it all over again, I didn’t know what I’d do. I would’ve liked to think that I could’ve done something better, but right now, I was just so emotionally exhausted, and so cold, and so tired of feeling sad and conflicted that I wanted to close my eyes and sleep for as long as possible. There was one thing to be said about how it all went down. At least I wasn’t hiding anything from anybody anymore. Things had gotten shittier, sure, but at least they weren’t as complicated. I suspected I slept; it was hard to tell with my turmoil playing on loop, but I sat up suddenly. My bed sheets were damp and my clothing was slightly less sopping and I listened for something I thought I’d heard. There it was. My intercom buzzed again, and I heaved myself out of bed, wandering over to the device, wishing I could so much as feign an interest in who could be asking for me. However, I felt dead inside, utterly adrift. Everything had come crashing down. “Who is it?” I asked, but there was no one there. Just as well. There wasn’t a single person in the world I was expecting, not a single person I cared to see. I was alone, yet again, and as always, because of my own stupidity. I shuffled off to lie back down in bed when there was a knock at my door. Again, utter apathy. I shuffled back over to the door, flicking a lamp on, since the light outside had deepened into evening and the rain continued to fall.

I didn’t so much as check through the peephole. It didn’t matter who was out there because everything was over. I twisted all of the locks and threw open the door. Standing there in my hallway was a dripping wet Roland Shepard. “I have to know one thing,” he said, his chest heaving so hard I wondered if he ran all the way here from the Shepard Shipments building. “Okay.” I felt slow, thick, like this wasn’t really happening. What was a dream and what was real? Was I still asleep in my wet clothes, over in the bed, wishing that Roland had come through the rain to talk to me at my apartment? It had to be a dream. He hadn’t left the penthouse in nearly five years. What reason would he have for leaving the fortress of solitude now that everyone he’d trusted had betrayed him? “Your feelings for me,” he said, casting his eyes on the ground. I realized that this was the first time I was really seeing Roland since I’d been here. The lighting in my apartment building’s hallway wasn’t great, but it was much better than how dimly lit he kept his office, and up until this point, that had been the only place I’d known him. The scar was thrown into greater contrast, now, but it was better, somehow, to see it like this, fully illuminated, instead of hiding in the shadows, becoming something worse than it actually was. “Were the feelings real?” he demanded, looking at me piercingly. “You said you were falling in love with me. Was that part of the scheme my brother cooked up? Or was that real?” “It was real,” I said, my face screwing up, the tears I’d wanted earlier falling now, fast and of their own volition. “I’m so sorry, Roland, for everything else. But that was real.” “Okay,” he said, and nothing else. Then, he put his arms around me and kissed me—true and deep and hot in spite of the cold rainwater dripping off of him, pooling around our feet. “You’re shivering,” he said, almost angry about it. “Beauty, these are the clothes you were wearing at the office, and they’re still wet. You didn’t change out of them?” “I guess not,” I said, numb, still convinced that this wasn’t happening, that it was just a dream. “And you’re wet, too.” “This is how people get hypothermia,” he fussed, closing the door behind him, walking me

backward toward the bedroom, keeping me in his arms. “It’s freezing in here. Didn’t you realize it?” “Not really.” I was still crying, my tears dropping onto my ruined shirt. “Stop that crying,” he admonished gently. “Let’s get you warm. Come on.” I couldn’t stop weeping even if I tried to, letting his deft fingers unbutton my shirt, wriggling obediently out of my trousers, and squirming as he picked off my still-soaked bra and panties. I cried so hard that I didn’t even care I was standing naked in front of Roland Shepard. I only barely registered that he was naked, too, when he pressed our bodies together, their shared warmth making my teeth stop chattering. I noticed that his scar stopped just over his heart. How close had he been to death that night? It had to have been an awful injury. “What can I do to get you to stop crying?” he asked, bending slightly before lifting me up, cradling me against his chest, his hot mouth kissing my forehead, then my cheeks, then my lips, then my neck. “Will this work?” he murmured, laying me on the bed, his mouth continuing its downward travels. “Will this get you to stop crying?” “Why do you want me to stop crying?” I asked, gasping as he planted a kiss between my breasts. “Because I love you, is why.” A kiss on each of my nipples made me arch my back. “I don’t like seeing you cry. I don’t want you to be sad.” “But I betrayed you, and I lied to you,” I said, panting as his lips tickled my bellybutton, his tongue flicking out for just a moment against my skin. “That’s not what I want to talk about,” he said, kissing my hipbone, then inside, on the delicate, sensitive skin there. “What do you want to talk about?” I asked, then gave a long moan as he dragged his tongue between my labia and tenderly sucked my clit. “That,” Roland said, smiling up at me from between my legs. He stroked me there with one hand, sliding effortlessly, telling me something I already knew—just how turned on I was. “That’s what I want to talk about. Let me know all about that.” I keened, as he pressed his thumb against the side of that magic nub, against and around, over and over again until I was breathless and thrusting my hips upward in rhythm to his attentions.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his touch gentle but electric, everywhere at once on my body. His palms grazed my hardened nipples, his full cock brushed my thigh. “I want you,” I said, running my hands over his hard torso, down his abs. “But…but you should know. It’s been a long time—a really long time. I wasn’t with your…I never did with Dan….” “Hush.” Roland’s fingers were inside of me, now, in and out, over and over again, making me spread my legs as wide as I could, wanton, uncaring. “What did I say I wanted to talk about?” I moaned into his mouth as he dipped down and kissed me, clinging to his biceps as he continued to finger me until I was sure I was going to come. He kissed my neck and reached, guiding something harder—and bigger—into me than those fingers had been. I cried out at the slow invasion, at being stretched, at that inexplicable beauty and hunger of being filled to the brim by another person, joining two bodies into a single vessel. I shuddered against him; all memory of being cold vanished. I only felt the heat of his cock, buried deep inside me. “Okay?” he asked, the shiver in his voice, barely restrained, doing strange things to my heart. “Yes,” I moaned, putting my legs around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could. “Please.” “All you have to do is ask.” He started to thrust, one hand still between us, relentless against my clit, circling and circling. The other cupped my breast, rolled my nipple between his fingers. He captured my flailing hand and kissed my nipple. I came loud and long, sure that all of Seattle could hear me even over the rain that continued to drive down outside the window, grabbing onto Roland anywhere I could catch hold, screaming as he saw me through to the very end of it, pushing against my clit in tandem with his thrusts. Then, and only then, did he come, burying his face in the crook of my neck, groaning as he pumped inside of me, filling me with such a sweet, sticky warmth that I was certain I’d never be cold again. I held on to him until he stopped groaning, stopped thrusting, and just breathed hard against me…until he was able to hold himself on his elbow and gently extricate himself from me. Even in the fade of afterglow, after that beautiful fucking, guilt overwhelmed me, and I began to weep once more.

“Stop,” he chided me, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. “Why are you crying?” “Because of everything I’ve done to you.” “You were only trying to protect yourself,” he said. “My brother’s a motherfucker, Beauty, and I’m sorry for him.” “What’d he tell you?” I asked, hiccupping from all the sobbing. “Nothing.” Roland shrugged. “He was gone when I got upstairs. Probably off getting drunk somewhere and sulking. I really don’t care right now.” “But the spying and the wreck and the lying.” I covered my face with both of my hands. “Roland, how can you not hate me?” “How could I be here if I hated you?” he asked, gently pulling my hands away. “Beauty, I love you. I never want to be away from you. But you need to stop crying, now, or I’m going to have to do something else to try and make you stop.” His hand trailed between my legs, sampling the foreign slickness there, still managing to make me gasp as he flicked the pad of a finger against my clit. “I’ll stop crying,” I panted. “Promise.” He laughed and withdrew his hand. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and get some water,” he said, kissing my temple. “Try not to worry so much and relax. Do you want anything?” “I guess I’ll have some water, too,” I said. “Thank you.” Roland walked away, but I couldn’t shake my sense of unease. I fell onto my back and threw my arm over my eyes. I was probably just tired, exhausted from the events of the day, the rollercoaster of emotions I’d been on for months and months. I needed a good night’s sleep—which would be even better with Roland’s arms around me—and I’d be back to normal, or whatever my new normal would be. What it was to be with someone you loved, and who loved you in return, would be brand new territory for me. It was a journey I was looking forward to. “Don’t go to sleep yet. The fun’s just about to start.” I pushed myself up to a sitting position to see Dan leering at me from the end of the bed, holding a

huge knife.

Chapter 19 It was stupid, but I drew the sheets up to my chin, as if they would protect me from Dan’s slightly crazed stare, or the intimidating knife he was wielding. Both of those weapons seemed like they could cut through the sheet as if it wasn’t even there, but I still cowered behind it. What the hell was he doing here? I wanted to scream out for Roland, who was still in the bathroom, but I was so shocked and frightened that I couldn’t make a sound. “Nothing there that I haven’t already seen,” Dan sneered at me, making me feel even smaller and more vulnerable. I swallowed hard and somehow found my voice. “You need to leave right now,” I said. “You’re not wanted here, and you’re not invited.” “Brave words from a naked girl trying to hide beneath a blanket,” Dan said. “You know, I never really got to take in an eyeful of you before. You going to show me what I missed out on, or am I going to have to make you?” There was movement behind Dan. Roland, thank God, had to have heard our voices from my bathroom, but I wanted to make sure the man with the knife was good and distracted to give his brother a fighting chance. So I dropped the blanket and let Dan have an eyeful as Roland crept closer. “Now, see?” Dan crowed, his eyes raking up and down my body appreciatively, making me feel like I’d never be clean again. “If you’d just been a little more cooperative before, maybe we would’ve gotten along better. And you certainly wouldn’t have had to make yourself into sloppy seconds for my brother.” “Fuck you, Dan!” Roland roared, landing one good punch but spoiling the success of any sort of sneak attack. Dan whirled wildly, slashing at the air with the knife, and I scrambled off the bed as Roland yelped and went down, covering his face. Time slowed down. Dan was winding up, bringing the knife over his head, prepared to sink it into

whatever body part of Roland’s that the blade might find desirable, and I did the only thing I could do. I leapt up and grabbed the glinting blade before it could descend and hurt Roland any more than it already had done. It was all I could think about. I had to protect Roland. He’d been through enough. This was what I could do to prove to him that I really loved him and save him from the monstrosity his brother had turned me into. This is what I could do to prove to myself that I was worth a damn. My hand closed on the blade, and I gripped as hard as I could, taking Dan by complete surprise even as pain like I’d never known before exploded in my body. I yanked the knife so hard that it came loose from Dan’s grasp, so I pulled even harder. My pain and the wetness dripping down my wrist were rewarded by the sound of metal clattering over my floor. “Beauty, no!” There was blood on Roland’s face as he reached toward me, then Dan elbowed me in the jaw and I crumpled to the floor. Two heavy bodies scuffled around me, grunting and cursing, and I cradled my injured hand to me, unwilling to look at it, to see just how dire the cut was. I knew it wasn’t good; I knew that it had been stupid; I knew that maybe I’d die if the wrong brother won the fight. And for the first time in a long time, I found that death wasn’t what I wanted. It was a strange revelation for me, especially since I’d wanted nothing more than to slip into a black abyss after the wreck. For what felt like the first time in many years, I had something to live for. It was love of Roland, yes, but it was also faith that I was capable of doing the right thing. I’d saved him from getting hurt further by Dan, and whatever happened, I knew that I could be proud of myself. Someone fell heavily near me, but I couldn’t tell which Shepard it was. I wasn’t feeling well, and it was hard enough to wriggle away from the fight with the slippery, wet floor beneath me and my mangled hand. There was a loud grunt, a long string of curses, and then finally, I was in somebody’s arms, warmer than I had been. “Beauty? Stay with me.” The pain in my hand was really bad, and I was very tired, and there was red everywhere that I

hoped someone else would clean up. Then, I didn’t think of anything at all. After what seemed like a very long time, I opened my eyes and blinked several times, waiting for them to adjust. At first, I thought I was having a nightmare. I was waking up in the hospital again after causing my parents’ and Caro’s deaths, having escaped death even though I was the one most responsible for others’ demises. But this was different, because that had happened a long time ago. There was a dull ache in my hand, and a man sitting in a chair beside my bed who only looked vaguely familiar. He was watching me, waiting for me to become fully awake. “I’ve seen you before,” I murmured, my mouth dry, my voice cracking. “I don’t know where, though, but you’re familiar.” “I’m Jones,” he said. “Mr. Shepard’s head of security.” “You brought us Chinese takeout late one night,” I said, nodding to myself. “That’s what it was.” “You have a very good memory for faces,” he said kindly. Then, everything came rushing back. Dan had attacked Roland and me. My hand—it was heavily bandaged, but as far as I could tell, still attached to my wrist. “Seventeen stitches,” Jones commented. “You’re a pretty tough girl.” “I’ve been through worse,” I said. “Roland. He was hurt. Is he all right? And what about Dan? He attacked us. What happened?” “Mr. Shepard is just fine,” Jones said. “He’s been in and out of surgery. He had a cut on his face, is all, don’t panic—and he’s already back at the penthouse. You’ve been asleep for a while, and the doctors all agreed it was for the best. When you got here, you’d lost quite a bit of blood, and you were in shock. As for Dan, Roland knocked him out and the police took it from there. Going to be quite the scandal in the papers, but there’s not much to be done for it.” “Is it possible to see Roland?” I asked. It was hard to believe all that had happened in the time I’d been out. Just how long had I been asleep? “That’s what I’m here for,” Jones said, standing up. “When you’re cleared to go and ready to do

so, Mr. Shepard’s asked me to see to it that you’re taken to the penthouse—if you want to see him.” “Of course I want to see him,” I said, looking around quickly. “Where’s a nurse when you need one?” Roland, I assumed, or maybe Jones under the direction of Roland, had provided me with a change of clothes from my apartment—a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt along with some sneakers. Then, getting a quick checkup and some instructions from the doctor, I was out the door and riding alongside Jones across town. The sun had come out, the persistent rainstorm that had troubled the city for the past few days having finally cleared out. Jones chatted for the entire trip to the Shepard Shipments building, about everything from the weather to the sports teams I didn’t follow. “It’ll be glorious weather over the weekend,” he was saying as he pulled up and stopped the car for the valet to park. “That’s the thing about Seattle, Ms. Hart. It might rain an awful lot, but when the sun finally does come out, there’s nothing better.” “I think all the rain makes me appreciate the sun that much more,” I said, as we walked across the lobby together. We bypassed the bank of elevators I’d been used to taking up to the office, strolling all the way to the hidden, private elevator that shot straight up to the penthouse. Myra had warned me against using it in what felt like a million years ago. I wondered what she would’ve said after everything that had happened now. I fully expected for us to surface in Roland’s office, but when the elevator doors rolled open, we were in a place I’d never seen before. I didn’t have a chance to marvel at the wood floors or matching crown molding or the tasteful furniture that matched the leather I was so familiar with in Roland’s office. I only had eyes for Roland, who stood in the entryway, half of his face completely covered in bandages. I ran at him and flung myself into his arms, wincing as my hand banged against his back, but not caring. I’d never loosen my grip. I’d never let go. “Are you okay?” we asked each other in unison. “The doctors said to let you sleep,” Roland explained. “I wanted to wake you up, to tell you

everything was going to be all right, but they said you needed it. That you were exhausted and in shock. That the sleep would heal you best.” “Jones said you were fine,” I said, my tone accusatory. “You don’t look fine. How bad was the cut? Your whole face is practically covered in bandages. I can hardly remember anything. I guess my brain was trying to protect me.” “Thank you, Jones, for seeing that Beauty arrived safe,” Roland said, scooting me over to the side so he could address the man still standing behind me. “You’re free to go.” “Thank you, Mr. Shepard.” “Thank you, Jones,” I said, “even if you lied to me about how bad the cut was.” Jones looked cowed and Roland laughed. “The cut really wasn’t that bad. I promise.” “But look at all the bandages,” I said, as Roland led me down the hall to a comfortable, warmly lit sitting room. “You need to rest,” he said, pushing me a little so I sat heavily on a couch. “I need to rest?” I repeated. “You need to rest. You’re the one who’s had surgery. I’ve just been asleep for God knows how long.” “Nearly three days,” Roland said, allowing me to pull him down to sit on the couch next to me. “Your hand was pretty bad, and the doctors said you’d just been through too much. Beauty—I’m sorry.” “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I said, frowning at him. “We had no way of knowing what Dan was going to do.” “I should’ve been more cautious when he vanished from the penthouse,” Roland said. “I should’ve been on my guard, or at least been aware that he might try to do something stupid—or permanent.” “Well, maybe I should’ve remembered to lock the door after I let you in to my apartment,” I said, shrugging. “If you’re looking to blame someone, start spreading the wealth.” “There’s no one to blame but Dan,” Roland said, shaking his head. “I wish we could just forget about it. I can’t believe you grabbed that knife, Beauty. Why were you acting like such a dumbass?” I laughed at him. “Don’t call me a dumbass. It would’ve been your dumbass skewered on the end of the knife if I hadn’t. I wanted to protect you. Don’t you understand? He’d already sliced your face clean

off.” Roland sighed and kissed my good hand. “He didn’t slice my face off, Beauty.” “Then why so many bandages?” I asked, peering at him. “If it wasn’t that serious, why do you look like a mummy?” “I was going under the knife anyway to deal with Dan’s idiocy, so I went ahead and asked for some reconstructive surgery,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “What does that mean?” I asked, going cold. “It means that the scar’s going to be less noticeable now.” “Why did you do that?” I demanded. “I didn’t mind the scar. You know that. If you did this because you were afraid for me to look at it, Roland, so help me God…” “Enough,” he said, laughing at me before seizing my face and kissing me. “I just felt like it was time. I did it for me—but only because you showed me that life was still worth living. I didn’t want to lock myself away anymore, not when you showed me life was possible again.” My breath caught in my throat, and Roland took my chin in his hand gently. “If you start crying, I promise you that I will fuck you right here on this couch, injuries or not,” he warned. I burst into laughter, a tear trailing down my face in spite of the threat. “You said something a while back—I’m not sure if you remember,” he said, stroking my hair. “You said that maybe you were supposed to end up here.” “I remember.” “That’s the thing. Maybe you were. Who can tell? I’m glad you’re here with me. And I’m ready to move on to the next part of my life. Aren’t you?” I grinned. “Hell, yes.” “Hell, yes,” he answered and kissed me again, the promise of more always in the next breath. ~ End ~

THORN

Prologue It’s amazing how much can change in a year. A year ago from today, I was interviewing for a job I was incredibly underqualified for. I mean, really, I shouldn’t have even been there. It was my first interview out of college, and I thought I could do anything, even apply to be the vice president of accounting for a construction firm that did things about which I knew absolutely nothing. I mean, really, does the average person really care about all the things that go into building green office or apartment buildings? Do I really care about renewable materials and plant-based insulating foam? I mean, I’d never even thought about those sorts of thing, let alone knew what they were and how they were used as building materials. Now, of course, I do. But not because it was something I wanted to know about. It’s just because it was the only thing my husband ever talked about. Yeah. Husband. So I go for an interview. I don’t get the job, but end up married to the CEO of the company. Sounds romantic, right? It wasn’t. I needed the job. I needed the money. My aunts—I love them to death, but they don’t always make the smartest decisions—needed my help. When I couldn’t get a scholarship for college, they mortgaged their house—a house that had never had a mortgage because they inherited it from their father—and quickly began missing the payments. The bank was threatening to foreclose, all because they had wanted me to have an education. They took me in when I was five, just after my parents were killed in a car accident that spared my life for some unknown reason. They were already older, two women completely content to live a spinster’s life. But then I came along, turned their lives upside down, and caused them to go into debt that they wouldn’t have had if not for their kind hearts and sense of obligation. I had to save their house. And this job…but, of course, even a top-notch education cannot fake knowledge I simply didn’t have. So, when Miles made his proposition…how could I turn down that much money? It was more than enough to save the house and allow my aunts to live the rest of their lives

without financial worries. The plan seemed so simple. But it didn’t stay simple. It turned into a mess that I’m still reeling from. And now, here I am, about to cross the gangplank of a cruise ship. My aunts were standing behind me, giggling and waving. They thought this was the perfect birthday gift, a two-week stint on a singles cruise. Like I said, they didn’t always make the best decisions. I’d rather be at home, lying on my bed and watching some bad reality television. But how could I look at my kind, gentle aunts and say no? It was nearly impossible. If I hadn’t gone on that damn interview in the first place…

Chapter 1 “Miss Giles? You can go in now.” I stood slowly, a strange smile pasted to my face. I was so nervous my palms were sweating. I wiped them on the front of my skirt and then worried that I had left marks on the dark material. I walked down the narrow hallway, staring down at my skirt, pulling at it like it was giving me a wedgy or something, probably looking like a complete fool to the strangely bitter receptionist. Well, at least I was offering her a little comic relief, right? As I turned the corner into the marked office—checking the nameplate on the door three times to make sure I was in the right place—a tall woman with such a severe ponytail that my scalp crawled at the sight, stood and held out her hand to me. “I’m Joan Tarek, Mr. Thorn’s personal assistant.” “It’s nice to meet you,” I muttered, all while wondering if my palm was still too moist. She didn’t seem to react to it, so it must have been okay. She gestured for me to take a seat in one of the chairs carefully placed in front of a heavy oak desk. She took the other, pulling a file folder into her lap and thumbing through it briefly. “I see that you recently graduated from Baylor,” she said. I nodded. “I did. With a double major in communications and business.” Ms. Tarek nodded back, her eyes thoughtful as she looked at me. “Do you know a lot about environmental construction?” I didn’t know anything about construction except what I saw on the DIY network. That odd smile came out again, as I tried to figure out what to say. “I know that the company does some really great things for the city. I drive by the new Franklin Insurance building almost every day. It’s quite impressive.” “It is,” Ms. Tarek agreed. “Have you ever been on a construction site?”

I shook my head. “No. But I’m a quick learner, and I am willing to do just about anything to advance the company.” Ms. Tarek’s eyes continued to stare through me, a slow nod doing nothing to dislodge her concentration. “I’m sure you are,” she said softly, almost under her breath. “Your work experience is pretty vague. It says here that you worked for the Starbuck’s Corporation?” I was a barista for five years. In fact, I was still a barista. I had a shift in twenty minutes. However, I hadn’t written that in my resume, hoping she would assume I worked at the corporate offices in some sort of executive-type role. I hadn’t expected her to ask about it. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t push for details. But, of course, I couldn’t be that lucky. “And your role there was?” “Drive-thru.” She looked up again, her eyes slightly wider. “Excuse me?” “I work the drive-thru at the Starbuck’s on Fifth Street.” She just nodded. “Have you ever supervised a team of any sort?” “Not officially, no.” “And your other work experience? There doesn’t seem to be anything else here other than some volunteer work.” “Starbuck’s is my only work experience. My aunts—they didn’t want me to work while I was in high school because they were worried my grades would suffer.” Ms. Tarek smiled. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, however. She didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would find doting aunts amusing. “Do you know anything about aerated concrete slabs? Or bamboo flooring? Do you know how to take an inventory or how to order supplies on a large scale? Do you know how to interact with subordinates and how to diffuse difficult situations?” “I took a class on conflict resolution,” I said, aware how lame that sounded even to my ears. Ms. Tarek stood. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Giles. Someone will call you next week and let you know what was decided.”

I stood slowly, well aware of what that meant. I didn’t need to be experienced at job interviews to know a brush off when I saw it. “Thank you for your time,” I said softly, as I took her hand. We shook, and then she gestured for me to lead the way to the door. I wasn’t really looking where I was going, too lost in my own thoughts to see the tall, solid man—who was standing just outside the door. I walked right into him, pressing more of body to his side than I had any other man in longer than I cared to remember. He turned, grabbing my upper arm to keep me from bouncing off his solidity and falling to the ground, further humiliating myself. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled without looking up. “No problem,” he said, his voice so deep that it seemed to reverberate through me. And it was filled with so much humor that I had to look up just to make sure he wasn’t laughing at me. Damn, he was tall. There were very few guys who made me really look up. At five eight, I’m pretty much on eye level with most guys my own age. Now. In high school, I towered over most of the guys in my class, including the one boy I loved from the moment I set eyes on him. I always felt like a freak standing next to him, which is probably why nothing ever happened between us—even when he asked me to the prom my junior year. But this guy…I had to step back a little to look him in the eye without having to tilt my head back. And handsome. He had dark hair that was a little on the long side, big, wavy curls just touching the back of his collar. He had gray eyes that brought to mind the word steel, but they were so filled with kindness that I couldn’t quite assign that designation to them. He had a solid jaw that could be called square, but it soften as it moved into his chin. There was a dimple in one cheek. I’d always loved dimples on guys. It made them so approachable. And solid. He was wearing a pair of old jeans that were splattered with mud and a t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days. It was tight, hugging his chest and arms in a way that defined his muscles with an I-have-to-touch-that sort of emphasis. “Sorry about that,” he said, squeezing my arm before letting go. “It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” “Well, no harm done.” He smiled, that dimple growing deeper, wider.

“Let me show you to the elevator,” Ms. Tarek said, coming up alongside this handsome stranger. She didn’t seem too inclined to introduce me, and I couldn’t really blame her. I think she was so disgusted by my qualifications that she just wanted to get rid of me. I nodded politely to Mr. Handsome and followed her down the hall. She stabbed the button for the elevator. When it opened, she looked at me but didn’t seem interested in a long goodbye. I just nodded and climbed into the elevator. The last thing I remembered— and I should have seen it as a warning of what was to come—was her stern expression and Mr. Handsome smiling thoughtfully as the elevator doors closed. *** “What was I thinking? I knew it was a waste of time.” “But it got you off the horse,” my friend, Lisa, said later that night over drinks at the bar where she works. “I felt like an idiot. She asked me what I did at Starbuck’s, and I could see her interest in me just slip away with the first syllable out of my mouth.” “Her loss if she couldn’t see what a great asset you would have been to the company. It’s brand new, isn’t it? I can’t imagine they can be all that picky about whom they hire the first year or two of business.” “Yeah, well, they seem to be doing quite well for a business that’s only existed for seven months. I mean, they already have two projects finished, and I read on their website that they have five more near completion. That’s pretty impressive for a construction company.” “I suppose. But they would have been much better off with you among their rank.” I shook my head. While I was grateful for Lisa’s encouragement, I knew I’d made a mistake by applying there. I let my desperation to save my aunts’ house color my logic. It was just hard to accept the fact that my poor, elderly aunts were going to have to leave the home they’d lived in their entire lives. “At least you met a guy.” I snorted. “A guy whose name I didn’t even get. And he was so…” An image of him filled my mind again, nearly taking my breath, as it had when I was standing in front of him. “He’s way too far out

of my league.” “No one is out of your league unless you want him to be. At least, that’s my philosophy.” Yes, well, this was coming from the girl who dated everyone from the president of the chess club to the star quarterback of our high school football team. She was not incredibly picky about the men she dated. Last week, she went out with a forty-year-old divorcé who cried about his children all through dinner. And she slept with him. Told me it was because she felt sorry for him. And, predictably, she never heard from him again. Probably went back to his wife. But that didn’t seem to faze Lisa. She had a date in less than an hour with one of her customers here at the bar. I lifted my drink and swallowed more than I’d intended to. Life really sucked sometimes. I wasn’t looking forward to going home and telling my aunts I’d failed them. Lisa touched my shoulder. “Don’t look so down in the dumps, kiddo. Something will happen for you. I have a good feeling.” I pressed my hand to hers. “I wish I had your optimism.” “You don’t need it. I’m optimistic enough for the both of us.” I kissed her cheek as I stood to leave. “Call me tomorrow. Let me know how your date went.” “Are you sure you don’t want to come along? I’m sure he could find a friend…” “No, thanks.” I walked out of the bar into the cool evening air, a surprisingly mild start to a North Texas summer. I walked slowly down the street, taking small enjoyment from the exercise. I’d been on my feet most of the afternoon, thanks to my job, but it was nice to stretch my legs, and to do it at my own pace without someone yelling at me for taking too long to present them with a latté or a cappuccino. I wished I knew an easy way to get my hands on two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Or just the thirty thousand my aunts were behind. Maybe I could call the bank again, convince them to give my aunts another extension. They were nice. That Mr. Simons really didn’t want to foreclose on two old ladies. But I’d gotten the impression the last time we talked that his hands were quickly becoming tied on the issue. Where would my aunts go when the house was gone? I’d thought about approaching the subject of an assisted living center. They could have their own apartment but have people nearby to help them. I

mean, they were still pretty capable. But they needed my help more and more lately—paying the bills, reminding them to turn off the burners in the kitchen, helping them find their glasses, reminding them to take their medications—I didn’t like the idea of them living completely alone. But putting them into some sort of assisted living seemed like labeling them incapable, and I didn’t like that, either. I didn’t know what to do. But I knew I had to make a decision soon, or someone else would make it for me.

Chapter 2 “Watch out. Hot one just walked through the door.” I rolled my eyes at Beth, as I grabbed the latté from her hand and turned back to the drive-thru window. “Here you are,” I said with a smile to the harried woman in the minivan. “Have a great day.” She smiled gratefully just as a kid in the back seat screamed, “Mom, he hit me!” I wanted to sympathize with her, but I was actually a little envious. I never had siblings, no cousins or anyone else who was my age whom I might have fought with or giggled with or whatever. Lisa had four brothers, but we always locked ourselves in her bedroom, or she came to my house, so I didn’t have much of that at her house, either. So, yeah, I was a little envious of the harried mother. I turned away to answer the drive-thru intercom, just as Beth came up beside me again. “You know him?” “Know who?” I asked, as I pressed the buttons on the computer that corresponded with the new order. “The guy at the front counter. He asked if you were working.” I leaned back even as I asked the customer to drive forward, peeking around the corner to see who Beth was talking about. And there he was, Mr. Handsome, the guy I literally ran into at my ill-fated job interview. It’d been a week, and I had yet to hear from Ms. Tarek, but I wasn’t really holding my breath. I knew I didn’t get the job. A phone call telling me I didn’t get it would just be insult added to injury. But what was he doing here? How did he know he could find me here? “Do you know him?” Beth asked again. “I met him last week. But I don’t know what he’s doing here.” “Go ask him and find out.” She slid the headset off of my head and pushed me in the appropriate direction even as I began to protest. And then he saw me and smiled, watching me as I approached the counter.

“Hi,” he said before I could get a word out. “I hope you don’t mind my coming here. I had something I wanted to talk to you about.” “Is this about the job?” “No,” he said, his eyes falling a little. “Unfortunately, we already filled that position.” “Oh.” He must have seen something in my face because he looked uncomfortable for a second. He glanced at something behind me then cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could take you to dinner, actually.” “Yeah?” He focused on me again. “Yeah. Would you be available tonight? Kind of early, if you don’t mind, because I have to be on site at six tomorrow morning.” “Yes. I can do that.” “Great. How about I pick you up here after your shift?” “I actually get off in about an hour.” “Then I’ll hang around,” he said. I nodded, not sure what else to say. He’d just asked me out! My heart was pounding, and my mouth didn’t seem to know how to work. So I stammered a second as I walked backward, nearly walking straight into one of the coffee machines. Beth saved me at the last second, grabbing my arm and pulling me back over to the drive-thru cubby. “Did he just ask you out?” I looked at her and began to laugh, pressing my hand to my mouth to keep him from hearing. “I wish I was you. Never thought I’d say that,” Beth said as she wandered over to the window to hand a customer her drink. “Gee, thanks.” Thank God we were busy. I was rushing around so much that I only got to steal one or two glances at him. And those glances—he was so beautiful! I wanted to just stand there and stare at him for hours and hours. He sat next to the window and stared at his cellphone most of the time. The light behind him, the

way his eyelashes made little shadows on his cheeks…I don’t think I’d ever seen a man quite like him before. And he wanted to go out with me. Every time that thought crossed my mind, my heart pounded, my hands shook, and I nearly splashed hot coffee on myself more than once. “Get out of here,” Beth told me the moment the clock read five. “Are you sure? You don’t want me to wait for Kyle?” “No. Go. I’ll cover the drive-thru till he comes in.” I slipped away before she could change her mind. I went into the bathroom and washed my face in the sink, running my fingers through my hair and then twisting it back into the knot I’d worn it in most of the day. It looked a little messy, a little too unwashed, but it would have to do. I pulled mascara and lip gloss from my bag, trying to improve my pale countenance a little. I wasn’t really one of those girls who wore makeup all the time—my aunts insisted it wasn’t necessary because I had the Giles family perfection when it came to skin—but a little makeup on special occasions couldn’t hurt. Right? I really wished Lisa was here with her bag of magic tricks that included an entire drug store full of makeup selections. I stared at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t imagine what he might see in me that inspired him to come all the way here to take me to dinner. My skin was always too pale, my freckles so dark against that pale skin that they looked like little marks made by the tip of a dark pen. My nose was too long, too thin. My eyes too wide and green. I liked my hair, most days. It was a deep mahogany that was naturally long and thick, much to Lisa’s chagrin. It was the one thing she had always openly envied while I envied her perfectly tanned skin, her blond hair, and her boyish curves. She looked like a supermodel, the kind of girl every guy I’d ever met wanted. But me, I had too many curves and there was nothing boyish about them. Lisa and I could share clothes, but I was always stretching out her sweaters, and her skirts tended to be a little short on me. I was not the kind of girl a guy like Mr. Handsome could possibly want. Yet, he was outside waiting for me. I shoved my apron in my bag and tucked my blouse into my jeans. That was about as good as it was going to get.

He was still staring at his phone when I walked up to his table. I waited for him to notice me, a little reluctant to interrupt what looked like something important if his slight frown was any indication. But then it took him so long to look up that I was beginning to feel like a fool. Other customers were staring, a couple of college girls whispering and pointing. I cleared my throat. “Hey,” he said, that frown instantly disappearing as his eyes moved over me. “You ready to go?” “Whenever you are.” He immediately stood and slid that phone into his back pocket. “I’m parked out back,” he said, gesturing for me to lead the way. There was a pickup truck and a BMW at the back of the parking lot. I assumed the pickup truck was his. I mean, it seemed like a reasonable assumption. He was a construction worker dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. So, I was more than mildly surprised when he walked to the Beemer. He opened the passenger side door and gestured widely with his hand. “You first, my lady.” “Why thank you, sir.” I climbed in, afraid to touch anything. The last time I’d ridden in a Beemer, I accidentally reset all the preprogrammed radio buttons. Granted, I was five, but it was still one of my least proud moments. So I sat on my hands until he opened the door. Then I pulled them out and clutched them in my lap, afraid he’d think I was odd if he saw me sitting on my hands like a five year old. We drove in awkward silence for a few minutes. I didn’t know what to say. And he didn’t seem too inclined to lessen the awkwardness by saying something to break the silence. Before I knew it, we were pulling into the parking lot of a popular restaurant. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Do you like pasta?” “Sure.” He got out of the car and came around to help me. He took my hand, and his skin was so soft, so warm, that thoughts I probably shouldn’t be having this early—like the thought of how nice that hand would feel on my belly, between my thighs—were surging through me until I had to bite my lip, hoping that little bit of pain would bring my thoughts back to the practical.

After we were seated, he ordered a nice bottle of red wine, and we both settled on the shrimp scampi. Suddenly, we were left staring at each other. I picked up my wine glass and sipped a little of the cool liquid, quite impressed with the dry, but not bitter taste. “I guess you’re wondering why I invited you to dinner.” “I was curious.” He pressed his hands to the table and stared at them for a minute, as though he was nervous. Then he looked up at me, his eyes searching my face for a second. “Do you remember when you filled out the paperwork for the application to work at Thorn Construction?” I nodded. “There was a nondisclosure clause in all of that.” I remembered. I thought it was kind of odd that it would be included, but I signed it because I really wanted the job. The fact that he was bringing it up now made me wonder if this was more than just a simple date. “The clause is still in effect even though you weren’t offered a job.” “Okay.” “So what I’m about to say to you, you can’t tell anyone without penalty.” Apparently, I was wrong; this clearly this wasn’t a date. “Are you offering me a job?” It was the least I could hope for. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in me. I had known that part was too good to be true. He tilted his head slightly. “You can think of it that way.” But then he picked up his glass and took a deep swallow, emptying the glass with that one gulp. He seemed nervous, and I didn’t understand why. If he was offering me a job… “I don’t even your name,” I said suddenly. He looked up, his eyes widened. “I thought you knew who I was.” And then he laughed. “Now that makes all this even more awkward.” He reached across the table, his hand outstretched. “I’m Miles Thorn.” My heart skipped a beat, as much from the name he offered as the hand that touched mine with

strength and virility. Miles Thorn. Miles Thorn was CEO of Thorn Construction. I’d thought he was just a construction worker. At least that explained the BMW. He poured us both another glass of wine—I hadn’t even realized I’d finished mine—and sat back again, his eyes studying me as though he expected some sort of odd reaction. I didn’t know what to say. I mean…damn, I didn’t know what to say when I thought he was a nobody. Now that I knew he was somebody, what was there to say? “I hadn’t realized that Joan didn’t explain who I was the other day. I just assumed…” He laughed again as he picked up his wine glass. “My mother always did say that only fools make assumptions.” “She wasn’t terribly impressed with me. I think she was in a hurry to get me on the elevator.” Miles tilted his head slightly. “That does sound like Joan.” “Has she worked for you long?” “Joan has worked for my family in one way or another since I was a toddler. She was my father’s personal assistant. And then she moved out here—too retire—and I talked her into helping me with this new business. It was only supposed to be for a few weeks, but I can’t seem to convince her I’m capable of running things on my own.” “She must care an awful lot about you.” He smiled as he lifted his glass to his lips. “I hope so. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” There was something genuine in his voice that made me warm to him a little. He’d lied to me—at least, he’d lied by omitting his real name—and he dragged me out here on the pretense of a date only to turn the subject to something else, a job, maybe. So far, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy a girl could trust. Yet, that little bit of genuine feeling in his voice made the walls I was beginning to build against him fall a little. The waiter arrived a minute later with a large bowl of fresh salad, complete with a lovely Italian dressing. I’d had it before, but it always seemed like a new sensation when you took that first bite. I helped myself to a huge plateful, starving after a long day of serving coffee to Waco’s stressed and fatigued.

“Have you lived in Waco all your life?” I looked up. “Since I was five.” “Do you like it?” “Yes. But I don’t really have much else to compare it to.” “Have you ever been to New York?” I shook my head. Lisa and I dreamed of travelling someday. She wanted to go to NYU and live a bohemian lifestyle, but her parents wouldn’t pay unless she went to Baylor, like me. However, she still wanted to go, and I was still planning to follow, as I always did when it came to anything Lisa did. “I don’t travel a lot.” He served himself some salad and tucked into it, taking a large bite and then making something of a face when the bitter vinegar of the dressing touched his tongue. “I grew up in upstate New York. It’s beautiful there.” “I’ve heard that.” “The Catskills in the summer…that’s great, too.” I didn’t know what to say, so I began eating my salad, too. It was so good. I sighed with the first bite, closing my eyes without really realizing it. When I opened them, he was watching me with something like a smile, but not really. “You should travel,” he said. “I bet you’d love Italy.” That was a dream of mine, to visit Europe someday. Lisa thought it sounded like too much trouble, all that getting a passport stuff. However, it was something I’d always wanted to do. Italy and Paris and Spain. In fact, I had my passport. I applied for it over a year ago in the hopes that I would be able to find a job that would afford me the benefit of international travel. But that was before I found out what my aunts had done to pay for my education. He pushed his salad plate away and sat back, sipping his wine again. “We did something of a background check on you when you applied for that job.” “You did?” He nodded. “Mostly public records. Credit history, education, birth records.”

“Why?” “It’s standard practice with most businesses these days. Want to make sure we’re getting an employee who won’t disappear on us after the first payday.” He played with the stem of his glass, acting nervous again. I found it kind of sexy, the lack of confidence, but it was also a little unbalancing. It made me wonder just what it was he wanted to ask of me. Was it illegal? Why else would he seem so nervous? “The thing is, you weren’t qualified for that job. Not by a mile.” “Gee, thanks.” “Surely you knew that going in.” I did. Of course I did. But I wasn’t about to admit that to him. “But you are qualified for something else I need.” Again, his eyes dropped to the glass and his big fingers sliding up and down the delicate stem. “You’ve never been arrested, never had a ticket, and you vote Republican. I couldn’t have found a more perfect candidate if I’d sent out a list of qualifications to every bridal magazine published in the world.” I didn’t understand what he was saying. On the one hand, it sounded like a compliment to my boring way of life. On the other…what did bridal magazines have to do with anything? “I have a proposition for you.” “Okay.” But before he could say another word, the waiter arrived once again, this time with our dinners. It smelled heavenly, all that butter. My mouth was watering as the waiter set it in front of me, but Miles didn’t even look at his. He was watching me from across the table, his expression thoughtful as I politely thanked the waiter. When the waiter was gone, I focused on Miles for a minute. “Aren’t you hungry?” “I was,” he said, “but I’ve sort of lost my appetite.” “You don’t like the food? I’m sure he could bring you something else.” “It’s not the food.” He cleared his throat, his eyes moving over me again. I felt like he was

searching for something in my face, some secret that would make it easier for him to do whatever it was he was trying to do. But he clearly wasn’t finding that secret. He picked up his fork, stabbed a shrimp, and bit the tail. He seemed to like it because he slid the rest into his mouth a minute later. But then he put down his fork and watched me eat. And that was nerve wracking, so I put my fork down and met his eyes. “I find it’s easier to just get it done with, like tearing a Band-Aid from your skin with one quick rip,” I said. “You’re probably right. I don’t think I was this nervous when I was called to the principal’s office.” “I’m sure that happened a lot.” “More often than my mother would have liked.” He smiled, the memory clouding his eyes for a second. Then he focused on me again. “So, I guess I should just say it. I want you to marry me.” Now that was the last thing I expected to hear. I stared at him for a long second, thinking I must have misunderstood him. But then he said it again. “I know it sounds really crazy. But I need a wife, and you fit the bill perfectly—at least on paper. And now that we’ve had a few minutes to talk, I don’t see anything that might change that.” “You want to marry me?” “Yes.” “Why?” He shrugged. “I have my reasons.” “That’s not good enough.” Now I was staring at him, the one trying to see something that was clearly not there. I thought that maybe it was a joke, and he would laugh at any second. Or that he was mentally unbalanced, and there would be some sort of telltale sign there, somewhere. But I didn’t see any of that. I saw a very handsome man staring back at me, nothing but honesty in his expression. “Do you have to have a reason to do it?” “It helps.”

He hesitated, but then he reached across the table and took my hand. “I’m not insane, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just have something I need to do. And, in order to do it, I need to have a wife who is nothing like the women I normally date. I need someone who is steady, intelligent, and patient. Someone who will show the world that I’m ready to settle down and live the sort of respectable life my father has always wanted for me. I need someone who…well, someone just like you.” “But you know nothing about me.” “I know enough. I know your parents died in a car accident when you were five. You were in the car, too, but you only had minor injuries. You came to Waco to live with your father’s aunts on his father’s side of the family. You grew up in the same home they did, attended a decent public school down the street from your home, and you were valedictorian of your graduating class. I know you lived at home throughout your years at college, that you were on the honor roll all four years, and you graduated summa cum laude. I also know that your current position at Starbuck’s is the only job you ever held.” “And all that tells you who I am?” He shrugged. “It tells me that you have the stable background that will impress the people I need to impress.” “What people?” He shrugged. I wanted to reach across the table and grab him by the throat, make him tell me what the hell was going on. Instead, I got up and turned to leave. Miles followed, grabbing my arm and pulling me hard against his chest, one hand on my arm, the other on snaking around my waist. “I will pay you a million dollars,” he whispered against my ear. “And I’ll pay off what your aunts owe the bank on their house.” I stiffened even as my heart jumped for joy. A million dollars. That would set my aunts up for life. I could hire a personal assistant, have someone with them twenty-four seven. And I could do all the things I’d always wanted to do: go to New York with Lisa, travel to Europe, and see my parents’ graves in Houston.

But at what price? Miles turned me around and pressed his finger under my chin to force me to look at him. “There will be a prenup. I will put in writing that you will get a million dollars after the marriage ends. Just a few months. Six at the most. And then we’ll go our separate ways, and you’ll have the money and my family name to open doors for you. You will be able to do anything you want to do.” “And what do you get out of it?” He studied my face for a long minute. “I get a wife to present a certain statement to my clients, my family, and anyone else who matters. I get my mother off my back. I get…” He studied my face for a minute. “I get what I need.” I blushed. He made a sort of groaning sound when he saw it. “That’s not what I meant. There won’t be any sexual contact between us. At the very least, you’ll have to suffer my kiss at the wedding. But that’s all.” “Where will we live?” “I have a house outside of town. It’s an old colonial I fixed up. You’ll love it.” I started to shake my head, but his hand was still under my chin. “I am an honorable man despite what the press says. I will not force myself on a woman.” “Just for a few months.” “Yes.” “And if I want out early?” “You’ll lose some of the money. But you’ll still have your aunts’ house and my name. But if you stay the whole time, I’m make sure you get a good job. Your dream job. I’ll arrange for it personally.” “Just like that?” “I’m Miles Thorn, son of Jackson Thorn. I can make anything happen.” He pulled me back to the table and pushed me down onto the chair. I stared at my hands, unable to think. It was…insane. Who asks a complete stranger to marry him? And what was worse, who actually considered taking him up on the offer? But, the thing was, I was considering it. If all he did was pay off my aunts’ house, that would be

incredible. I certainly wasn’t going to do it working at Starbuck’s for ten bucks an hour. It was like a dream come true. “I have the paperwork at my office. I can have it sent to you in the morning.” I nodded, not really thinking of what I was agreeing to. It wouldn’t hurt just to take a look, would it? I think I was in shock. I don’t really remember anything that happened over the next hour or so. I vaguely remember eating my shrimp. I remember getting into the car so that he could drive me home. But that was about it. The rest was just a blur. Don’t they say that the night you get engaged will be the most memorable one of your life? Not mine.

Chapter 3 I slipped inside the house after Miles dropped me off, trying to be as quiet as possible so that my aunts wouldn’t hear me. But, despite their advanced age, they seem to have super hearing. “Riley? Is that you, darling?” Aunt Edna called. “It’s me,” I said, pausing at the base of the stairs. “Did you have a good day?” She came to the door, a ball of yarn wrapped over her hands. Aunt Colleen was right behind her, the rest of the yarn trailing between them. “Did you eat?” Aunt Edna asked. “Yes. I went to dinner with a friend.” She looked at me through narrowed eyes, as though she was not sure if she should believe me or not. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. I’m going to go up and take a shower.” “Get some rest then, darling,” Aunt Colleen said. I nodded as I glanced at them, taking in their well-coifed hair and perfectly laundered clothes. They were classy ladies who were always concerned about their appearance. They were from a time when a woman could face just about anything as long as her face was put on just right. It almost hurt how familiar they were to me. They hadn’t changed much in the years since I came to live with them. A few more wrinkles, maybe their hair had gotten slightly whiter over the years. A little more stoop to their shoulders. It made my heart hurt when I thought about the bleakness of their future. I went upstairs and jumped into the shower as I said I would. I almost felt human again when I stepped out. Dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, I curled up in the center of my bed and opened my laptop. If I was going to consider marrying a stranger, I wanted to know as much about him as I could. I’d done some cursory research on Thorn Construction when I applied for the job, but it never occurred to me

to research its founder and CEO. That was a mistake I was going to try to rectify now. All I had to do was put his name into Google and it came up with dozens of articles complete with pictures. The first few were in association with Thorn Construction, basic profiles that were designed to promote the company. They didn’t really tell me anything about Miles Thorn himself. I clicked on another article below those and found one that was focused on his father, Jackson Thorn. The senior Thorn not only had his own massively successful finance company, but he was also the grandson of a former senator who was well-known and well-loved in the eastern part of the country. When I saw his grandfather’s name, even I recognized it, and I’ve never really cared all that much about politics. Not only that, but the grandfather’s mother came from a family who could trace their roots back to some of the country’s founding fathers. There was a great deal of history and prestige in Miles’ family. Now I understood what he meant when he said that I could benefit from his name after this marriage of convenience ended. His name would definitely open a lot of doors for a nobody like me. How was it I had never heard of him before? I continued to click through the articles and links that had come up in the Google search. There was a lot that showcased his parents, his sister, Lila, and his brother, Robert. His sister was beautiful, the kind of woman who had the right amount of curves and the right balance of dark hair and pale skin. She was the kind of woman I’d admired and wanted to be when I was a teenager. And Robert…he and Miles could be twins. The only difference I could see was that Robert was slightly shorter than Miles and there was something different, darker, in his eyes. I found myself wondering if Miles was close to his siblings. One of the articles said that both Lila and Robert had recently married, and both still lived in Massachusetts near their parents’ home. It made me wonder why Miles had chosen to move thousands of miles across the country to begin his new business—in a state that was as different from his home as the desert is from the Bahamas. As I made my way through the links, I found many, many pictures of Miles with a variety of women. He seemed to have a type—tall, rail thin, blond women. Like Lisa. As opposite from me as possible. And each one seemed to have a name that meant something, if the way they were written in each article meant something. A few of them I recognized. There were a couple of actresses and the daughter of

a well-known business man. And then I stumbled across an engagement announcement: Miles Thorn, son of Jackson and Elena Thorn, has just announced his engagement to Claire Watson, daughter of Stanley and Amelia Watson. I knew who Claire Watson was. She was a supermodel who’d appeared in everything from Vogue to Sports Illustrated to a multitude of album covers and internet ads. Lisa always pointed out her pictures, claiming that Claire was the perfect woman and we should aspire to be like her. I never really saw it, personally, but I always agreed with Lisa to appease her quiet obsession. If she knew that Claire Watson’s fiancé had just asked me to marry him… But why would he want to marry me when he had someone like Claire? None of it made sense to me. He was a man who could have anyone he wanted. Why would he need to get himself trapped in a marriage of convenience? What could be happening in his life that would require a wife of a certain type? He’d said that I was perfect for his needs—I was intelligent, quiet, unassuming. Essentially, I was boring. And he thought that was something he needed right now? It just didn’t make sense. But who was I to argue when a man wanted to hand me a million dollars and the right to use his influential name for the rest of my life? I mean, hell, it was a win-win situation for me. I marry a hot man for six months and I’m set for life. Well, at least for a few years. I couldn’t see a good reason not to do this. If he could save my aunts’ house and give me the money I would need to make sure they were never alone, that was worth six months of my time. But there was this side of me that still felt the sting of the realization that he hadn’t asked me out on a date and that he wasn’t really interested in me as a romantic partner. He wanted me to play a role, and then he was going to toss me aside like it didn’t matter. Even though I didn’t know him, even though I knew he was out of my league, that idea still hurt. Could I do this and remain emotionally whole? Could I spend six months pretending to be something I wasn’t and not lose who I am? I wasn’t confident I could. Yet, I kept coming back to the idea that this would fix everything for my aunts and I couldn’t walk away from it. I couldn’t turn my back on the one solution to all my problems.

I set the computer aside and curled up against my pillows. It was insane. But how could I make my aunts go to an assisted living facility when I had the opportunity to keep them in their own home for the rest of their lives? After everything they’d done for me—giving up so much to care for a child—the least I could do was give up six months of my life for them. I would do it. But he had to live up to his end of the bargain first.

Chapter 4 “What does this mean?” Miles leaned close to me to look at the documents I had spread out in front of me on the conference table. He smelled like wood and spice, his expensive cologne washing over me every time he moved. And he was so close to me that I could feel his breath against the back of my neck when he spoke. “It just means that you agree to live in my house during the course of the marriage.” “Then why doesn’t it just say that?” “Lawyers can’t just say things out straight. They have to wrap it up in complicated language so that we have to go to them to explain it to us.” “Then how do you know what it means?” “I went to law school.” I looked up at him as he moved away, crossing the room to his desk. It was late. Most of his office staff were gone before I arrived, which is why I suspect he asked me to come after my shift at Starbuck’s. He was dressed, as always, in jeans and an old t-shirt, mud splattered on his pant legs despite the fact it hadn’t rained in weeks. He picked up a bottle of soda off his desk and took a long drink, sighing when he set it down again. “You’re a lawyer?” “No. I went to law school. There’s a difference.” “Why didn’t you finish?” He glanced at me, his expression tightened. “I never said I didn’t finish.” “But if you’d finished—” “I just didn’t take the bar exam.” “Why not?” He shrugged. “Because it was what my father wanted. And I try very hard not to do what my father

wants me to do.” I turned back to the legal papers laid out in front of me, trying not to ask why that might be. It was obvious he didn’t like talking about it, but it seemed to answer a few questions, like why he’d moved so far from home. I ran my finger over the words on the page, searching for the section I had been reading. He came back over—I could smell him again—and settled in a chair beside me. “It’s all very straightforward,” he said, a touch of boredom to his voice. “It basically just says that you agree to marry me and act as my legal wife for as long as I need you to. Then, I agree to pay you a million dollars, as long as you don’t contest the divorce or the prenup.” “I have the option of fighting the divorce?” He shrugged. “Everyone has options. But I wouldn’t recommend fighting it. My father’s lawyers would keep you in court for so long that you wouldn’t get anything.” I brushed a piece of hair from my face and turned back to the contract. To be honest, none of it really made much sense to me. Yet, I felt compelled to read it from beginning to end, just to be sure I knew what I was getting myself into. After a few minutes of silence, Miles sighed quite heavily. “Look,” he said, gathering the papers and shuffling them together, “there’s no reason to read the whole thing. If you agree to be my wife, I’ll pay you. That’s all there is to it.” “Why?” His hands paused for a minute. “Why is that so important to you?” “Because I want to know what I’m getting myself in the middle of. Clearly you have a reason for doing this. If I know what the reason is, maybe I can avoid making a mistake that will make everything worse.” “Don’t worry about that. Nothing can make this any worse.” He stood up again, crossing the room in two, quick strides. He grabbed a pen from his desk and came back, setting a single piece of paper in front of me. “Sign this.”

I took the pen he held out to me, but I didn’t open it. I just stared at the paper for a long minute, then sat back. “What?” “I need to know more about you.” He practically growled, clearly annoyed with me. He practically threw himself into a chair and stared at me with what I’m sure he thought was an intimidating looked. However, I didn’t turn away; I didn’t even drop my gaze for an instant. My aunts always said I was the most stubborn person they knew. When I wanted something, there was nothing in the world that could drag the thought from my mind. That was something Miles was going to have to learn about me. “Why do you need to know about me?” he asked. “Because people are going to ask about us. How we met. What our first date was like. How you proposed. And they’re going to expect me to know about you.” “So lie. Women are supposed to be really good liars. At least, they always have been in my experience.” There was a bitterness to his words that made me wonder what the women in his life had done to him. Was this about Claire Watson? Had she broken his heart? That was something I should know if I was going to be able to convince people our marriage was real. “I’m not a great liar. And if someone asks me what your favorite color is, I’d really like to be able to answer honestly.” He stared at me for a long minute, a war going on behind his eyes. Slowly, a little resignation came into them, and he sat up. “Fine. What do you want to know?” “Why did you come to Texas?” He groaned. “You have to go for the jugular, first question out?” He dragged his fingers through his hair, as he leaned back, his eyes shifting to the ceiling for a long second. “If you must know,” he said very slowly in a tone that suggested he really didn’t want to tell me, “my brother had just married my fiancée. So, I felt like it was a good time to get out of Dodge. And Joan was here, so this is where I decided to

come.” “You and Joan are close?” “I told you, Joan used to work for my father. I’ve known her since I was quite young.” “Why did your brother marry your fiancée?” His eyes narrowed as he regarded me. “When you get the answer to that question, feel free to fill me in.” I looked away, feeling a little guilty for pushing that issue, but at least I knew now why he didn’t just ask Claire to go through with her promise to marry him and why he would run away from home. I might have done the same thing in his position. “Your turn,” he said. “If you have to know about me, then I should know about you, too.” “Okay,” I said, dragging out the syllables as I wondered what it was he might ask. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” I blushed. “What do you mean?” “Why isn’t there some big, dumb guy knocking me out for asking you to do this?” I caught the edge of my bottom lip between my teeth as I focused on the pen in my hands, twirling it between my fingers. That was actually a pretty good question. I just wished I knew how to answer it. “Surely you’ve had men in your life. Are you between lovers right now, or what?” “You make me sound like a promiscuous woman.” “No. Just a typical, modern woman.” I chuckled softly. I’d never been accused of being typical before. And he couldn’t have been further from the truth. My first kiss was from Lisa’s brother because we happened to both step under a piece of mistletoe at the same time and their mother goaded him into it. My second kiss didn’t happen until the night of my high school graduation and that was my high school crush saying goodbye. I was too tall in high school to get much action. Most of the boys were intimidated by me. And college was a whirlwind of all-nighters that were more about studying than sex. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’m picky about who I go out with.”

“Yeah? What’s your type?” I looked at him. “Why? Does it matter now? Are you going to set me up with someone when you toss me aside at the end of this deal?” “Maybe.” He grinned, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “What kind of music do you listen to?” I figured a change in subject was warranted. I didn’t expect to see a light come into his eyes. He sat up again, that twisted grin turning into a pleased smile. “Would it surprise you if I said I was into an eclectic combination of music? Jazz, pop, rap, big band, classical…I really like a lot of things.” I couldn’t help but be lured in by the enthusiasm in his voice. “Do you listen to Sinatra?” “Old Blue Eyes? Who doesn’t?” “I grew up listening to him. My aunts—they have this thing for him. Every Sunday they would play his records, one after the other, while we cleaned the house. I grew up knowing the words to all his greats.” “Don’t tell Joan that. She’d be your best friend for life. She thinks no one appreciates the greats anymore. But she’s the one who introduced me to Sinatra and Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald.” “She had a lot of influence on you.” “I spent more time with her as a kid than I did my parents. She was my father’s assistant, so she was always at the house, working in his home office while he was off playing golf. If not for her, my father’s company wouldn’t be what it is today. And she’d let me hang out in the office with her, sit and watch her negotiate over the phone and do all the things she did so well. She always had music playing, always had some bit of knowledge to bestow on me. I was like a lost puppy dog, following her around. I thought she was the most amazing woman in the world.” “You had a crush on her.” “It was more than a crush. She was the love of my life until I was fourteen and discovered she was already taken.”

“That must have been tough.” He nodded—even as a wry smile twisted his lips. “But she let me down easy.” I remembered my first crush and couldn’t help but sympathize. Mine was my fifth grade teacher. He was young, single, and the most handsome man I’d ever known until that moment. All the girls in my class had a crush on him, even Lisa, but I thought that the special attention he showed me meant that I was at the top of his list. It never occurred to me that it had more to do with the fact that I was struggling in my work because that was the year my aunts discovered I needed glasses. He didn’t let me down easy. I just happened to be hanging around the classroom after school one day and saw his girlfriend arrive to pick him up. I cried for a week. “Can I ask you something?” He shrugged. “I thought that was the purpose of this.” “My aunts…they would never accept the money if they knew why we were doing this. If they found out—” “No one needs to know the truth.” “But they would expect there to be a proper wedding. They’d want to help plan it.” “I thought we’d just go to the justice of the peace.” I half nodded. “But my aunts and my friend Lisa, they won’t believe this is real if we don’t at least have a party, or something. They know me. They know I’ve dreamed of a big wedding since I was a little girl. To run off and elope…they know that’s not me.” “Then what do you propose?” “A small wedding in my aunts’ backyard?” “It would take time to pull together a wedding. I need this to happen in the next two weeks.” “Why the rush?” That tightness came to his face again. I knew he wouldn’t answer, so I wasn’t surprised when he leaned forward and groaned. “If you can pull it together by the end of next week…” “I can.” “And we have to have a priest. My mother will not accept this whole sham if we don’t have a

priest officiate.” There was resignation to his voice that was beginning to sound a little familiar. “No problem. My aunts attend St. Michael’s over on Third Street. I’m sure Father Brian would be more than happy to do it.” Miles waved his hand at the paper still sitting in front of me. “So, sign the contract and we’ll get this thing going. Just tell me what I have to do.” I signed with a flourish, growing excited despite myself. Maybe this wouldn’t be the disaster I had feared.

Chapter 5 My hands shook as I reached up to pin the lacy veil to my hair. “Let me do it.” Aunt Edna smiled at me in the mirror as she walked up behind me. She took the bobby pins and pressed her hand to the top of my head, positioning the veil just right. “I’m so glad you decided to go with mother’s veil. It looks so nice with this dress.” “Do you think so?” She caught my eye in the mirror again. “You are a beautiful bride.” Tears filled my eyes, but not for the reason Aunt Edna obviously assumed. She patted my shoulder softly as Aunt Colleen walked up beside her and grabbed a box of tissues from the top of my dressing table. “Don’t ruin your face, my dear,” Aunt Colleen said, as she handed me a tissue. I pressed it to my eye, catching a tear as it spilled. This should have been the best day of my life. This was supposed to be the day I pledged to love, honor, and obey my soulmate. Instead, I was making a mockery of the whole thing by marrying a man I barely knew for money. What did that make me? I’d picked up the phone a dozen times last night to call this whole thing off. However, I knew Miles wouldn’t go for it. Besides, he’d already paid the mortgage on my aunts’ house. I was planning to give them the deed before we left for our honeymoon. Honeymoon. It was actually a quick trip to Florida so that he could check out a building there that had been built using some advanced, environmentally friendly techniques that he was thinking of having his company adopt. He said it was a perfect cover, what with us trying to convince the whole world that our marriage was real. It’d hit the tabloids on the internet two days ago. He swore it wasn’t him. However, he’d told his

parents and his siblings about his upcoming wedding, so maybe one of them had done it. I suspected it was him and that he was lying for the same reason he continued to refuse to tell me why this was necessary in the first place. I’d had to quit my job a day earlier than planned because reporters kept calling the manager and tying up the phone lines. He hadn’t appreciated it much. It was out of my realm of reality, all this attention I was suddenly getting. I’d told Lisa and my aunts. That was it. But now…the whole world knew and everyone wanted to know who I was. No one had ever cared who I was before. Lisa was beyond excited. She was in the bathroom right now, fixing her face for the third time. When she heard that Miles had his best friend, Colin Parsons, coming to act as his best man, her mind immediately jumped to romance. “Wouldn’t it be so cool if the best man at your wedding ended up with me?” she’d asked. It didn’t hurt that Colin Parsons also happened to be the hottest new face in Hollywood at the moment. At least the excitement of meeting him had distracted Lisa from the fact that I’d only known Miles a few weeks. I introduced Miles to both Lisa and my aunts over dinner at a local restaurant. Miles was polite, even charming. And Lisa was blown away by him. My aunts had no clue that his family was one of the oldest and most respected in the country, let alone who he might have been engaged to a few months ago. But Lisa knew. She giggled whenever he looked at her, and she tried to ask a bunch of questions about Claire Watson, but he carefully redirected the conversation each time he saw her moving in that direction. But when it was all said and done… How long have you known him? Where did you meet him? Why are you rushing into marriage? Are you pregnant? It was overwhelming. I should have gone along with the eloping thing. At least then I wouldn’t have had to answer those questions until after everything was said and done. And I wouldn’t feel as though I were perpetuating a fraud on everyone I cared about. Aunt Edna finished fastening the veil to the top of my head. I stood and moved to the full-length mirror that hung on the back of my closet door. I almost didn’t recognize myself. My mahogany hair was pulled back into a French knot, a few curls just touching my forehead and covering the tops of my ears.

Lisa had done my makeup. It was a little heavier than I usually liked, but it was tasteful, pulling out the color of my eyes and making them look wider than they normally appeared. And my dress…I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. When I went shopping with Lisa last week, I hadn’t expected to get anything near to what I wanted. But this was perfect. It was white satin with a sweetheart bodice and a high waist, the skirt flowing into an almost bell shape that flattered my hips rather than making them seem wider than they really were. It wasn’t the belle of the ball type of dress I’d always dreamed of, but it was close enough so that I felt like an angel wearing it. And the veil was the icing on the cake, old lace that my great-grandmother made herself for my grandmother’s wedding. It would all be so perfect if only… “It’s about that time,” Aunt Colleen said, moving up behind me, tears in her eyes. “You are so beautiful,” Aunt Edna said at my other elbow, also wiping away tears. It was almost too much. But then I thought of them packing boxes, moving out of the house they’d always lived in and going to some facility where they wouldn’t be cared for as well as they could be here, and I knew I had no choice. I took a deep breath and nodded as I turned to face the door. “Let’s go.” Lisa stepped out of the bathroom at that moment, nerves like what I should have been feeling crisscrossing her normally relaxed face. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said. *** The backyard had been transformed into some sort of wedding day dream. There was a white arch at the end of a path created with a fine, red cloth and rose petals. There were red ribbons on everything with rose stems weaved through them, decorating the guest chairs, the arch, even the lapels of the three gentlemen who stood beside the makeshift altar: Father Brian, Colin Parsons, and Miles. Lisa gasped when she saw the guys in their tuxes. I had to admit that Colin was attractive. He was blond with blue eyes, a bigger, more muscular version of Brad Pitt. But not really my type. Lisa, on the other hand, was Miles’ type. I found myself watching his eyes as she walked slowly down the aisle in her short, red dress. However, he wasn’t looking at her. His attention was drawn to someone seated to his

right. There was a decent crowd at our little, impromptu wedding. I recognized Joan Tarek sitting just to Miles’ left. And a few of the other people I’d seen in the office—architects, secretaries, and others whose roles with his company I didn’t yet know. My aunts had invited their bridge buddies and the ladies from their book club. There was the guy who brought their groceries twice a week and their doctor—a kindly man who was so patient with them that he probably deserved some sort of medal. And Lisa’s brothers sitting with their significant others—those who had them—and their parents. There were a few others I didn’t recognize, including the dark-haired woman Miles was staring at. I could only see the back of her head and the curve of her jaw. I couldn’t imagine who she was or why she was here. But Miles seemed unsettled by her presence. The music changed as Lisa arrived at the altar, and Colin took her arm to lead her into position. It was my turn. I had considered having my aunts walk me down the aisle. But I didn’t want to waste that sentiment on this. So I decided to walk alone. And, in this moment, I was regretting it. My knees were shaking, and my feet didn’t seem to know how to take a step. I bit my bottom lip, and then remembered the lipstick Lisa told me to be aware of, not to eat it off. Heads were turning in my direction, and I just felt that much more rooted to the spot. I was panicking, even as I willed myself to move. Little titters rose in the air around me as Lisa’s brothers began to laugh behind their hands. My heart was pounding, and I simply couldn’t move. And then Miles was there, his hands gentle as he touched my upper arms. “You okay?” I couldn’t even shake my head. I was so lost in my panic that I it was like I was paralyzed. He ran his hands slowly up and down my arms, the heat of his touch bringing back some sense of feeling. His eyes never left mine as he said quietly, “One step at a time, okay? Just follow me.” He began to walk backward and, by some miracle, my body remembered what to do. I followed him as he walked backward, his hand slowly slipping down to mine, his fingers intertwining with mine. He stepped back and turned, walking beside me as we approached the altar. My heart began to pound again, beating so quickly that I couldn’t hear anything for the roar it created in my ears. But then Miles

leaned close and whispered, “It’s almost over.” I held on to that thought as the priest began the ceremony. *** “Can you believe you’re really married?” No. That’s what I wanted to say. I couldn’t believe it. The whole thing was so bizarre. I couldn’t even remember the ceremony. All my mind could focus on was the feel of Miles’ hand in mine, the feel of his sweat that proved he was just as nervous as I was. But I couldn’t remember the words, couldn’t remember repeating them to Father Brian. Couldn’t remember anything about it until we were walking down the aisle again, his hand on the small of my back. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I remembered the kiss. I remembered how soft his lips were. I remember thinking they shouldn’t be that soft. And then I remembered all thought disappearing, as he drew me closer to him and the tip of his tongue brushed against my lips. I remembered the way my body responded to him, the way my belly fluttered and my heart skipped a beat. I remembered that I wanted it to go on forever, and when he pulled away it was like he’d taken away a gift he never should have offered in the first place. And I remembered the little spark of surprise in his eyes, as he looked at me in the seconds after that kiss. I touched my lips now, the memory almost overwhelming for a second. “You okay?” Lisa asked. “Yeah. I’m good.” “Did you pack a bikini? I mean, I don’t suppose you’ll need many clothes on this little honeymoon, but it never hurts to pack a few essentials.” “I have a bathing suit.” “Tell me you didn’t pack that old, black one-piece that you wear every summer?” Lisa groaned without waiting for an answer because she knew me too well to expect a denial. “You really don’t get it, do you?” “Get what?” “This whole seduction game. Just because you got the guy, doesn’t mean you don’t have to keep

working at it. You have to make the man happy he chose you.” “I think Miles understands better than I do why he chose me.” Lisa didn’t seem to hear me. She was too busy rooting around in her backpack. A second later she mumbled something I couldn’t hear and came back over, a small bag in her hands. “Here,” she said, shoving it at me. “What is this?” “A wedding gift. Don’t open it until you get to the hotel, okay?” “Lisa…” “Go on, now,” she said, pushing me toward the door. “Your husband is waiting downstairs.” I grabbed my overnight bag, nearly tripping over my own feet as she gave me another shove. I’d changed into a white pant suit that my aunts insisted was the proper attire for a honeymoon trip. The ceremony had only ended an hour ago, but Miles was in a hurry to get to Florida. Lisa followed me down the stairs, her back growing a little stiffer, her posture a little straighter, when she saw Miles talking to Colin at the bottom of the stairs. The dark-haired woman was there, too, her face still turned away from me. She hadn’t come to congratulate Miles and me after the ceremony like everyone else, choosing to remain in her seat as everyone else milled around, enjoying the refreshments my aunts had worked all night putting together. But she was here now, and Miles seemed to be deep in conversation with her. Colin spotted us and touched Miles’ shoulder. He turned, his eyes unreadable as he watched me come toward him. He seemed as frozen as I had been earlier. Colin moved around him and slid the bag from my shoulder, smiling politely as he said, “Let me take that.” “Thank you.” Lisa moved up beside him. “Such a gentleman,” I heard her say as the two of them moved off, stepping deeper into the entry hall. But my eyes were glued to Miles. There was something about the way he was watching me that felt different. Like something had changed between us that he didn’t bother to explain to me. Maybe it was just the stress of the day. Or maybe I was seeing things where they didn’t exist. But he seemed more aware

of me than he had been before. He continued to stare at me even after I stepped onto the laminated floor of the entry hall. I smiled softly, not sure what else to do. And then the dark-haired woman moved around him and I suddenly realized who she was. “We haven’t had a chance to meet,” she said with a smile of her own. “I’m Lila Gardner, Miles’—” “Sister.” At the slight frown that word produced, I said, “I recognize you from pictures.” Her eyebrows went up. “Didn’t realize you were that sentimental, brother,” she said, pushing her shoulder into his side. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, darling,” Miles said, as he slid his arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t realize you were going to be here,” I said. Lila looked up at Miles. “If it was up to my brother, I wouldn’t be. He didn’t bother to tell anyone about his nuptials. I actually found out from the internet. A well-timed call to Joan, and I was able to get here in time.” “I’m glad you did. I told Miles we shouldn’t do this without his family.” Miles’ eyes narrowed slightly. “And I told you we could do a bigger ceremony for them later. I just wanted to get married.” I pressed my hand to his chest and moved closer to him. “Well, so did I.” He hesitated just slightly, but then he slid his free arm around me, tugging me closer to him. And then he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, the movement almost natural, like we’d actually shared little gestures of affection before. Lila watched us, a touch of weariness in her gaze, but then she pulled back and smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, I understand you have a plane to catch, so don’t let me get in your way.” “I’m glad you came,” Miles said, moving around me to give her a hug. Lila pressed her face to his shoulder for a long second. “I just wanted to make sure you were

really okay. I know—” “We’ll talk about all that later.” Tension burned between them for reasons I couldn’t even begin to understand. And then she nodded, rising up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the end of his nose. “Call me when you get back to town.” “Of course.” She turned to me and took my hand, drawing me close to her. “Take care of him. He doesn’t always do it himself.” I nodded. “I will.” She glanced at Miles again, worry clear in every fine line of her face. But she didn’t say anything else and didn’t touch him again. She walked away, joining Lisa, Colin, and the others on the front steps of my aunts’ house. It was time to go. Miles didn’t even look at me as he took my hand and led the way to the car.

Chapter 6 I didn’t know what to expect on my wedding night. I knew that it wouldn’t be traditional, but I didn’t expect to spend it with a surly man who wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence. The moment we were alone, he shut down. It was as if I’d played the role he’d asked me to play, but now he was done. He was silent on the flight, silent on the car ride to the hotel, and silent as we rode up the elevator to our suite with the bellboy. The moment we were alone, he went to the bar and pored himself a hefty glass of whiskey. I stood there and watched him for a minute, not sure what I was supposed to do. “You want a drink?” he asked. I shook my head, but his back was to me so he couldn’t see it. He turned, his eyes almost cruel, as they found me standing there, still dressed in white, clutching the handle of my clutch. “You should probably go.” His voice was low, very controlled. “I plan on getting very drunk, and you probably don’t want to be around for that.” “Where would you like me to go?” He shook his head as he turned back to the bar, pouring more whiskey into his glass. “Fuck if I care.” And that’s how my wedding night went. I ended up locking myself in the bedroom and crying myself to sleep. When I woke the next morning, he was gone. He showed up for dinner, and then he was gone again. He never bothered to tell me where he was going or when he would be back. The first day I spent waiting for him to return. After that, I figured I was in Florida and I wasn’t going to sit in a hotel room the whole time. I’d never traveled further than Dallas my entire life—except, of course, the first five years of my life that were spent in Houston—so I was determined to enjoy this experience. I went for a walk on the beach, visiting some of the tourist shops in town. I even took a snorkeling class at the pool. Miles didn’t even ask me how I’d spent my time. We flew back to Waco after five days. And that’s when I got to see his house for the first time.

I wanted to hate his house. I wanted to find it ostentatious and pompous, just like him. I wanted it to be something I would find it easy to walk away from in a few months when he decided he was done with me. But I couldn’t. It was beautiful. It was a Georgian-style house with gorgeous, gray bricks and whitewashed pillars. It wasn’t huge, not a mansion by any stretch of the imagination. Cozy seemed like a more fitting description despite the fact that it had five bedrooms on the second floor and a rambling floor plan on the first. As we turned the corner of the long drive and the house came into view, I found myself imagining how I would decorate a house like that, how I would change the landscape, and what I could do with the many rooms that looked out on the driveway through huge picture windows. I fell in love with it at first sight despite my determination not to. “I’ll be late tonight,” Miles said, as he dragged our luggage out of the trunk. “I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on when I get to the office.” “Okay.” “There’s a car in the garage you can use if you have somewhere to be. Otherwise, you should probably stick close to the house. I’ll get you a cellphone in a few days so I can get ahold of you when I need you. Until then, there’s the house phone.” “I have a cellphone.” “Yes, well, I’d rather get you a better one. A more reliable one.” My cellphone was a little old, but it felt like an insult when he said it like that. He walked to the front door without looking to see if I was following. I did follow, curious to see the inside of this building I had already fallen in love with. I wasn’t disappointed. The marble and woodwork in the entryway alone was breathtaking. The French doors in the sitting room, the high ceilings, and the little details in the woodwork on the door frames were all incredible. I wanted to walk through each room and do it again, just absorb every little detail about the place. “Your room is at the top of the stairs, the second door on the right.” I nodded, not really listening to him. I ran my fingers over the glass doorknob that opened one set

of French doors as I stared out at the terraced garden behind them. It was pretty obvious that the garden was a work in progress, but it already sported rose bushes that were overflowing with late spring blooms. My aunts would have a wonderful time here, planning what and where to put new plants. I was actually thinking of inviting them over when I realized what a mistake that would be. I couldn’t let them close. I couldn’t let them see the cracks in the façade Miles wanted us to put out there into the world. My aunts would see through it eventually. And I didn’t want them to know the truth. It was like a cold slap that brought me back to reality. “I’m leaving,” Miles said. I just nodded without bothering to turn around. And that’s how things went between us for the next few months. I stayed at the house, alone, and waited for Miles to need me. When I had a job, I thought it would be fantastic to stay home all day and watch television, but now, I would have given anything to have a job, or an excuse to get out of the house. We went to dinner with a few of Miles’ clients, attended a some parties, and even drove to Dallas for a big gala at one of the museums there. And it as fun, I guess. Most of the people stared at me and asked stupid questions without actually appearing to address me. Miles was always kind and gentle in front of other people, but the moment we were alone he mostly ignored me. If I’d known it would be like that…I don’t know. Maybe I would have done it anyway. Or maybe not. I was curled up on the couch one afternoon when Miles came slamming into the house. I mean, literally, slamming. The front door closed with such a clatter that I could feel the house reverberating under me. I sat up and watched him toss his suit jacket over the back of a chair and head for the bar. “Bad day?” I asked, even though it was only three o’clock. Miles rarely came home earlier than seven on a normal business day. He didn’t answer. Big surprise. I was so used to him ignoring my questions that I settled back on the couch. I was two more paragraphs in to my novel when he said, “Go pack. We’re leaving in an hour.” “Pack? For what?” He didn’t answer at first. He swallowed whatever it was he was drinking. I guessed that it was whiskey—that seemed to be his favorite drink—but I wasn’t sure. Then he turned and focused on me for

the first time in weeks. “I’ve been summoned to my father’s house, so I need you to go pack. Make sure you have a couple of cocktail dresses. Mother and father like to dress for dinner.” That wasn’t a problem. Joan took me shopping a couple of days after we returned from Florida. She said a proper lady needed a proper wardrobe and she couldn’t imagine that covered my particular wardrobe. It was hard not to be offended by the words that often fell from Joan’s lips, but it was also hard to take offense because I didn’t even realize I was being insulted half the time until I’d had a few minutes to think about it. I dropped my book on the couch and headed out of the room. “Riley?” Miles called after me. I turned around and looked at him. “It’s very important that everyone we meet at my parents’ house believe that this marriage is real. I realize I haven’t been very forthcoming with you these last weeks, but, please…” “I’ll be on my best behavior.” There was tension in everything about him, from the way his shoulders were set, to the way his jaw hardened as he watched me. “If we can pull this off, it will be the last thing I ask of you.” “Okay.” It was a different experience packing for this trip than it had been for our honeymoon. I had monogrammed luggage now and beautiful clothes that required careful arrangement. I packed more than one pair of shoes and makeup—I actually wore makeup now. Joan took me to a spa where they taught me how to accentuate my better qualities and hide my lesser ones. I still didn’t wear makeup often, just when Miles took me out, but it was nice to know I could do it without looking like a clown now. I changed from the shorts I’d been wearing into a soft linen dress that made my curves look desirable. At least, I thought they did. Miles never seemed to notice. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and fixed my face, tossing everything into the travel bag Joan also insisted I have. Packed, I opened the door to find Miles pacing in the hallway.

This visit clearly had him tied up in knots for reasons I couldn’t even begin to guess. In fact, I’d stopped trying to figure out my husband. He was an enigma that it wasn’t mine to figure out. We drove to the airport in silence. I turned on the radio when I couldn’t stand it anymore. There was a local station that played some Sinatra, so I switched it to that and was instantly rewarded with “That’s Life”. I hummed under my breath, thinking of aunts with a wisp of nostalgia. Miles switched it off. I’d assumed we were flying commercial, but Miles pulled into a small, private airstrip just outside of town where a small jet was waiting just off the runway. He came around and took my hand to help me out of the car, his fingers intertwining with mine as though they owned that space. And, perhaps, they did. He often held my hand when we were out together. I kind of assumed it was to keep me at his side. And it worked. I was always so nervous that it gave me a certain amount of courage to feel his strong hand wrapped around my own. Maybe it worked that way for him, too, though I couldn’t imagine he would need courage, especially not from the likes of me. We walked to the plane, and a young man greeted Miles by name. “Jonathon,” Miles said in return, shaking the man’s hand with his free one. “How are you?” “I’m good, sir. Glad to see you again.” “Yes, well, if only it was under better circumstances.” The man looked down at the ground for a second, and then he was looking at me, naked curiosity in his eyes as they moved over my face. “May I introduce my wife,” Miles said. “Riley, this is Jonathon Calla, my father’s private steward. Jonathon, this is my wife, Riley Thorn.” I rarely heard my name attached to Miles’, so it was always kind of jarring. I managed to control my reaction this time, however, forcing a smile that felt too heavy on my facial muscles as I accepted Jonathan’s light handshake. “Welcome to the family, Mrs. Thorn,” Jonathon said, as he gestured toward the plane. “Everything is set up for you. Please, make yourselves at home.” Miles led the way to the steps, letting go of my hand and pressing his against the small of my back.

Even after all these months, I was still unused to him touching me. Not that he did it often. But it was still odd—and a little thrilling—to feel the heat of his hand against my back, even with the thin linen of my dress between us. The plane was like so many I’d seen on television and in the movies. It sported a half-dozen, leather-clad chairs, thick carpet, and expensive accents. I caught myself running my fingers over the finegrain wood that was the arm rests of each chair. Miles stayed close to me, directing me to a chair toward the center of the cabin. I sat next to the window, and he sat beside me, quickly fastening his seatbelt and gesturing for me to do the same. I’ve flown twice in my entire life—to Florida and back to Texas. This was definitely a new experience for me. Jonathon brought Miles a whiskey without being asked, and a glass of red wine for me. When I tasted it, I realized it was a similar vintage to the one Miles and I had shared over dinner the night he proposed his crazy scheme for us to marry. I glanced at him, but he was staring at his cellphone, occupied with a text message displayed on the screen. I stared out the window, as the crew prepared the plane for takeoff. The longer we sat there, the more nervous I became until I grabbed Miles’ hand as the engines rumbled beneath us and the plane began to move. “You’re perfectly safe,” he said, leaning close to me so that only I could hear his words. “It’s much more dangerous to drive across town than it is to fly in an airplane.” “Yes, well, I’d rather be behind the wheel at the moment, thank you.” “You can’t always be in control.” “I don’t want to always be in control. Just right now.” He chuckled softly near my ear. “You are stubborn.” I would have argued, but the plane chose that moment to leave the ground. I don’t know what it was about being in such a small plane that made this moment so much worse than the overcrowded commercial jet we’d flown in earlier, but it did. I turned to him and buried my face in the side of his shoulder, a small groan slipping from my lips. He turned into me, my head sliding closer to his throat as he pressed his free hand against the side of my head.

It would have been a nice moment if I hadn’t been so frightened—and if he hadn’t been laughing.

Chapter 7 Miles’ parents lived in Wellesley, Massachusetts, less than forty minutes from downtown Boston. Their house…my God…it took my breath away when I first saw it. This was the kind of colonial house I imagined when I thought of mansions. Only it was probably three times larger than I had imagined, with a sprawling lawn that could have been an entire park in the neighborhood where I grew up. “It’s okay,” Miles said as the SUV we were riding in pulled up to the house, “you can stare. Most people do.” “It’s impressive.” “It’s the definition of opulence.” I glanced at him, a little amused he would use that word to define his own childhood home. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was sitting so far back in his seat that he looked like a child about to have a temper tantrum. I wanted to reach over and reassure him somehow, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t understand his reluctance to see his parents, but I suppose I don’t often understand those sorts of things. I had no personal experience to draw from. “They won’t be there when we arrive,” he said. “They’ll be out for the evening. We probably won’t see them until morning.” “Your parents?” “Yes.” “They know we’re coming, right?” “Of course.” “Then why wouldn’t they be there?” “They have a busy social life, Riley. And they wouldn’t let something as common as my arrival change up their schedule.” There was no anger in his voice, no resentment. Just a kind of acceptance that broke my heart. The

fact that he was correct in his assumptions only made it worse. We walked into the house, and the only person there to greet us was an elderly butler. He politely—but curtly—told us which room would be ours for the duration of our stay and bowed his way out of the room. Now I knew where Miles got some of his manners. “Come on,” Miles said, leading the way up the grand staircase that bisected the impressive, large entry hall. It was big enough to fit my entire bedroom inside of it and then some. And it was all marble— the walls, the floor, the ceilings—an impressive display that belonged in a museum. I was still staring at it as we walked up the stairs, turning at the landing to look back. It was even more impressive from such a height. Miles grabbed my hand and pulled me down a long, wide corridor that led to another corridor that led to another. I knew I would get lost if I tried to navigate all of this on my own, but Miles seemed to know exactly where he was going. With another turn, we stood in front of a set of double doors that opened onto a room that was…green. Green everywhere. The draperies, the carpet, the small loveseat and recliner set into a corner, the comforter on the bed. Even the linens in the bathroom—which I could see through another set of double doors—were green. And not just one shade of green, but dozens. Kelly green. Emerald green. Pale green. The green of shamrocks and ivy. It was overwhelming. “Does your mother like green?” “All the rooms have a color scheme like this. She usually puts me in the blue room, but I guess Lila and her husband are expected this weekend, too.” I walked over to the bed and picked up a pillow, pulling it against my chest as I sat down. Miles stood in the doorway, watching me, until the butler showed up with our suitcases. He immediately turned and moved out of the way, watching the man with a pained expression. I wondered for a second why he didn’t help the poor man who seemed overburdened with the weight, but then I could see that he wanted to. I knew that sometimes it was better to preserve a person’s pride than it was to offer them help. I was slowly learning that with my aunts. They kept firing the nurses I hired to stay with them during the day, insisting they didn’t need help. It took me a while, but I finally called Lisa’s mom and asked her to peek in on them a couple of times a day instead. Maybe they needed their freedom more than I’d always thought

they did. Things were a little awkward after the butler left. Miles opened his bags and began to unpack, so I followed suit. But we’d never really shared space before, so we kept tripping over each other. And when I was ready to change into my pajamas…I wasn’t even sure where I was going to sleep. “You take the bed,” Miles said almost as if he could read my mind. “What about you?” “I’ll sleep on the couch.” Awkward. I lay awake for a long time, listening to him in the darkness. At first, he was quiet, only making noise when he rolled over or adjusted his long legs over the short edge of the loveseat. But then he fell asleep, and I could hear his heavy breathing. It was reassuring in a strange sort of way. And ironic. Here I was, a married woman for what, three, four months? Yet, this was the first time I’d slept in the same room with a man. The virginal bride. Somehow I’d taken that idea to a whole new level. *** Miles was gone when I woke the next morning. I went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The walls were still wet from Miles’ shower. I couldn’t imagine how I’d slept through the noise of the water hitting the stone walls, but I had. The thought of it, of him standing here, naked…it filled my mind with images that brought back the heat of that kiss he’d given me on our wedding day. We hadn’t kissed since—not unless you counted the numerous kisses Miles had pressed to my forehead or the top of my head when we were out together—yet, the taste of his lips was still so strong on the tip of my tongue. I told myself it was just my imagination; that my mind had blown that one kiss into something it wasn’t. However, I couldn’t quite convince that other part of me, the part that quivered deep in my belly each time it crossed my mind. I dressed in a pair of black slacks and a soft white blouse, then headed downstairs. The sound of voices led me through a maze of rooms to a stone veranda along the side of the house. Miles was sitting with a tall woman with white hair, a man with a well-trimmed beard, and Lila. Lila spotted me first and stood, a welcoming smile relieving some of the tension in my shoulders.

“Good morning, Riley,” she said, offering a quick hug. “Glad you found us. I’ve told my mother many times that we should provide guests with a map of the place, but she refuses.” “It’s not necessary with the number of staff we have lurking these hallways,” the white-haired woman said with a good natured smile. Miles watched as Lila pulled me to the table, gesturing for me to take a seat beside her. “This is my husband, Keegan, and my mother, Elena.” Keegan rose partially out of his chair and offered me something of a bow. And Elena inclined her head slightly, her eyes—like Jonathon’s the day before—full of curiosity. “It’s nice to meet you, Riley. I’d like to say that my son here has told us a lot about you, but he really hasn’t.” “He’s a private man,” I said, trying to ignore the way he was staring me down at that moment.” “That he is,” Elena agreed. “Always kept his thoughts to himself. With the exception of Lila here, of course. The two of you were always thick as thieves.” “I thought we still were,” Lila said. “But then I had to hear from the tabloid press about his upcoming nuptials, so maybe we’re not as close as we were.” “I wouldn’t say that,” Miles said. “It was just…” “…a whirlwind romance,” I said. “Neither of us really had a chance to share the news with anyone.” “If only we could all be so spontaneous,” Elena said. “Your aunts seemed pretty supportive,” Lila said. “Yes. They’ve always only wanted me to be happy.” “What about your parents?” Elena asked. “How do they feel about all this?” “Mother,” Miles began, but I cut him off. “My parents died when I was five.” “Oh,” Elena said, a cloud moving over her pretty features. I could see where Miles and Lila, even Robert, got their good looks. Their mother was very beautiful. And those green eyes were the same shade as Miles’; they even had the same emotions dancing in them so clearly that anyone could see what she was

thinking. Even I could see that she was hurt and saddened. By Miles decision to marry without her, I would assume. And she seemed to understand that I could see that because her expression softened a little when she caught me looking at her. A heaviness settled over the table for a minute that was only broken when a maid brought a tray of pastries to the table. “Help yourself,” Elena said, addressing the table in general but looking at me. “Our cook is an amazing baker.” I picked up a cinnamon roll and tried to catch myself before a loud sigh slipped from my lips with the first bite. It was heavenly. When I looked up, Miles was watching me, a rare smile softening his expression. Conversation took a turn I couldn’t quite follow. They were talking about business, it seemed. I caught that Keegan was some sort of executive with their family finance company, but that’s all I really pieced together. After a while, Elena caught my eye and said, “Have you had enough of this yet?” I didn’t know what to say. She stood and came around the table, taking my arm as she tugged me out of my seat. “Let’s go walk those delicious pastries off.” “Mother, are you sure you should—” She waved a hand at Miles. “I want to get to know your young wife, Miles. Let us be, will you?” I glanced back at him, as she led the way into the garden. He looked deeply concerned, but so did Lila and Keegan as they watched us. What was it they were so worried about? Surely they didn’t think I would say something to upset her, did they? I may have been a wife of convenience, but I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew how to be polite. The garden was terraced, not unlike the much smaller version in the backyard of the house I currently shared with Miles. We made our way down the first level, stepping into the second and its wild abandon of native plants. Cranberries and azaleas, honeysuckle and Mountain Laurels filled this space, the vibrant colors awe inspiring, even this late in the summer. I reached out to touch the petals of a marigold, causing Elena to chuckle softly under her breath. “Ironic that my son should marry the only person to appreciate this garden almost as much as

myself.” “Why is that ironic?” “Because I could never get him out here when he was a child. He said it was boring to pick weeds and plant new seedlings.” I thought about the half-completed garden back in Texas, and I could see that. As much as he wanted to emulate what his mother had done here, he’d lost interest somewhere along the way. And that suggested a complicated relationship with his mother. And it made me want to get to know her all that much better. “He cares a great deal for you.” I glanced at her. “You think so?” “The way his face lights up when he talks of you tells me so much more than anything he might have said over the phone would have.” I tried to imagine Miles’ face lighting up, but couldn’t quite get there. “He’s complicated.” “He is. He hasn’t exactly had it easy. His father was always much too hard on him.” “I suppose that’s something father’s do.” “It is. But Jackson was always harder on Miles than either Robert or Lila. And that took a toll.” She squeezed my arm a little as she slowed the pace. “Lila is the eldest, but Miles was the first son. Jackson thought he was preparing the boy to take over his business as his father had failed to do with him. But what he was really doing was pushing him away.” I remembered Miles’ comment about how he went to law school but never took the bar because it was what his father wanted. The more I heard about Mr. Thorn, the more I was interested in meeting this man who could bring out that rebellious streak in Miles. “It breaks my heart when I think about it.” Elena’s voice seemed to be growing weaker with every step we took, and our pace had slowed quite significantly since we stepped onto the lower terrace. I had thought she’d slowed to enjoy the flowers, but now she was dragging on my arm so hard that it was obvious the movement was just too much for her. I saw a stone bench a few feet away, so I carefully directed her there.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she settled down, sliding over a little to make room for me. “What is it?” “Ovarian cancer.” I’d expected her to say something like an infection or anemia or something innocuous that wasn’t life threatening. But she said cancer like it was innocuous, like it didn’t really matter. I was at a completely loss for words. All I could say was, “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be,” she said, touching my knee lightly. “It’s been a long battle that I’m glad Miles wasn’t here to watch. But I’m content with my situation now.” I wondered if this was why we were here, why I was here. Had Miles known his mother was ill when he asked me to marry him? Was this part of the reason why he needed a wife so quickly? Was it something to do with appeasing his mother, of showing her that he was settling down and had found contentment in his life? Or was there more to it, something a little more nefarious than that? Was he after some sort of inheritance, or something? I hated to have such dark thoughts about Miles. But, really, what did I know about him? “All three of my children are settled down now,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “My husband is mellower. Perhaps he’ll make it easier for Miles to accept his apology and come home. This whole construction thing is just a rebellion, his way of showing his father he can do well on his own. Now that he has done that, perhaps they can put things to rest and return to the way things should have been.” “What is that?” Elena shrugged. “Miles was always supposed to learn the business at his father’s side and then become the CEO one day. He went to law school to help him become a better business man, and to open the door to politics if he ever wanted to go in that direction. But then this whole mess began when Claire walked into his life, and then the whole fiasco with Robert…” Elena shook her head. “I can’t blame Miles for leaving. Who would want to see your future unfolding for someone else? At least he found something better than what that girl brought to the table.” What would she think if she knew the truth? But the picture she was painting was a sad one; it made me see Miles in a new light. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy, after all.

Elena squeeze my knee. “I think I’d like to go up and lie down now. Would you help me back to the house?” “Of course.”

Chapter 8 There was a party that night. I didn’t realize it until Lila mentioned something about it halfway through lunch. Not only was there to be a party, but apparently, Miles and I were the guests of honor. I dressed slowly, more conscious of my humble upbringing in those moments than I ever had been before. I couldn’t get Elena out of my thoughts, how gracious and beautiful she was even as she fought a fatal illness. And Lila. She was funny and sensitive and kind, her eyes often moving over Miles’ face as we lounged together over lunch. She was clearly worried about him, and I felt as though she was looking to me for some sort of sign that he was okay, but I didn’t know how to give her that. I barely knew this man I called my husband, and what I did know, I’d learned just that morning from his mother. How was I supposed to reassure her when I didn’t even know what it was she was worried about in the first place? I heard the bedroom door open, and I stood, glancing in the mirror one last time before I stepped out of the bathroom. Miles was sitting on the edge of the loveseat, sliding his tennis shoes off as I came into the room. I must have made a sound because he looked up and that expressionless mask he wore most of the time slipped slightly, showing something like interest, as his took in the mermaid-style gown I was wearing. “Lila said it was black tie, and this is all I brought that’s really formal.” He cleared his throat, as his attention turned back to his shoes. “You look fine.” “Are there going to be a lot of people at this party?” “My parents don’t have a party without inviting the entire who’s who list from Boston. It will be quite a crowd.” That idea made my heart jump into my throat. I turned away and nearly tripped over the hem of my dress, as I made my way back to the bathroom. I barely caught myself on the door jamb. And then Miles was there, his hands snaking around my waist. “Sorry,” he said against my ear, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I just…that’s a lot of strangers to meet in one night.” “You’ll be fine. Just stay by my side.” I nodded, leaning into him for a second. Why did it feel so good to be in his arms? Why did feel so perfect? It was like his body was made for mine. Or maybe it was mine that’d been made for his. Either way, we seemed to fit together like two puzzle pieces that had been separated for far too long. I felt it every time we touched, like my body was crying out for that connection, that completion. It was stupid, really. He wasn’t mine. He never would be. I pulled away and slipped into the bathroom, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. We walked into the sitting room, hand-in-hand, forty minutes later. The room was already filled from wall to wall, even though the official start to the party was only fifteen minutes before our arrival. Miles squeezed my hand as though saying, Here we go. We moved into the room, and we were quickly surrounded, names being thrown around like popcorn at a viewing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I tried to keep up and tried to remember each name, but it was nearly impossible. Whenever I was forced to speak to someone directly and couldn’t remember their name, Miles was kind enough to whisper it in my ear. That was the only way I could get through it. Champagne was flowing from a small fountain on the veranda, and waiters and waitresses were filling glasses and passing them out by the hundreds. I had a few, I’m not ashamed to admit. I needed something to keep my nerves under control. The only time I felt completely at ease was the brief moment as we stepped onto the veranda and the band began playing Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight”. Miles pulled me into his arm and moved into an impromptu spin, making me laugh as he dropped me into a quick dip. He laughed, too, and the beauty of that made something inside of me melt away. But then he lifted me up, and I saw Claire Watson—Thorn, now, I supposed—walk into the sitting room on the arm of a man who could be Miles’ twin. Miles saw my expression change, and he glanced over his shoulder, tension rushing through his body so quickly that he might have broken my fingers if he hadn’t dropped my hand in that same instant. He turned and rushed toward the approaching couple, a darkness like nothing I’d ever seen before washing over his face.

“Miles,” I said, grabbing at his tuxedo jacket. He didn’t pause; he didn’t even seem to hear me. I searched the room for Lila, a little relieved to see that she was headed in our direction, too, honest fear written in her movements. I reached for Miles again, managing to grab the back of his jacket as he came face to face with his brother. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here.” “This is my home, too, if you’ll recall.” Miles glared at his brother. “This party is for me, for my wife. You shouldn’t be here.” “Maybe I just came to wish you congrats, big brother,” he said, a snide tone to his voice as his eyes shifted and landed on me. “And this must be the blushing bride.” Without looking at me, Miles slid his arm across my waist and pulled me back behind him. “Don’t look at her,” he said. “Don’t even look at her.” Robert’s eyebrows rose. He began to speak, but Claire moved up beside him, efficiently sliding between the two men. “Let’s go say hello to you mother, darling,” she said in a high-pitched voice that was nothing like the confident tones Lisa and I had imagined she had. “That sounds like a good idea,” Lila said, sliding up beside Miles. “She’s out on the veranda.” Robert looked from his sister to his brother, a defiant light burning in his eyes. “I guess we can finish this later, brother.” “It is finished.” Robert slid his arm around Claire’s waist and moved away. Claire looked back, as I moved around Miles, sliding my hand into his. There was something in her expression that was almost sad. It almost made me feel somewhat sorry for her, but then they disappeared out the back doors. “Don’t let him get you all worked up,” Lila said to Miles while shooting me a look that said, Keep him out of trouble. “Why is he here?” “Mother invited him. She was hoping everyone could make amends now that things have changed.”

“Nothing has changed,” Miles said. Lila’s eyebrows rose slightly as she looked pointedly at me. Miles looked at me, too, a little guiltily. After a second’s hesitation, he tugged me closer to him and said, “Come on.” We went back out onto the veranda, and he led the way to the small space that had been cleared to act as a dance floor. He pulled me into his arms and held me gently in his arms, moving slowly to a song I didn’t recognize, but whose melody I would likely never forget. It was the music to which my husband truly held me for the first time. We moved slowly, not really moving at all, but swaying as we held each other the way newlyweds often do. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, could feel his pulse under my thumb as I pressed my hand to his throat. His scent washed over me, filling my every pore, becoming a part of who I was in that moment. It was the first time I truly felt like a bride, like I belonged to someone, that I was a part of something bigger than myself. It was a natural extension of the moment for him to lift my chin with a finger on my jaw, for his lips to seek mine. It was familiar, the taste of him, as he pressed his lips to mine. I sighed—I couldn’t help myself—and moved closer to him, wanting to be closer. How he could go from anger to this so quickly. I wasn’t sure, but it was a dream, less bizarre than the moment of our vows, but surreal just the same. I was floating, dancing on a cloud, no longer aware of the sea of humanity surrounding us. None of it really mattered anymore. It felt like a new beginning. My heart began to open, and I felt myself falling. I thought it was safe…I should have known better. Two months later, he would hand me divorce papers and inform me that my obligation to him had been fulfilled. He would bring me out to a new car he bought for me—out of guilt?—and send me on my way with a list of potential employers I should call. It was like being unceremoniously fired from a beloved job. In reality, it felt like he’d cut me off at my knees, made love to me the night before and tossed me away the next morning, like a regretted one-night stand. It was not one of my best moments. Yet, that moment on the dance floor was one to hold on to. I still hold on to it.

Chapter 9 Is it insane that I still cling to that moment all these months later? Here I am, walking onto a cruise ship, my aunts waving at me from the dock, trying to put the past behind me and begin anew, only to have the memory of that kiss still so ingrained in every part of me. I had to get past it. Miles Thorn, our marriage, and the divorce that followed were my past now. Six months. You’d think I’d be able to get over it in that amount of time. I stepped off of the gangplank and was immediately greeted by a young steward. “Your ticket, please.” I shifted my bag from hand to shoulder and handed him the papers I’d been holding for what seemed like hours. A clear change came over him as he read the ticket. “I apologize, Mrs. Thorn. We’ve been waiting for you.” He turned and began walking away before it even registered what he’d called me, let alone allow me to develop an argument for his choice of address. I’d reverted to my maiden name after I signed the divorce papers. No one called me Mrs. Thorn anymore, except for Lisa when she’s feeling especially facetious. But he was gone and if I was going to follow, I needed to hurry. The steward led the way down a flight of stairs and across the front of the ship, finally stopping at a set of double doors. It seemed like double doors had become something of a symbol in my life, leading to more pleasure and pain than I’d ever wanted to experience. Let’s hope that these doors weren’t more of the same. He opened them with a flourish and gestured for me to enter. “Dinner is at eight. You’ll be dining with the captain this evening.” “Excuse me?” I said, turning just in time to see him disappear. Guy was like Speedy Gonzales. But it didn’t really matter. The room was beautiful, a massive sitting room with an amazing view

of the harbor outside a sliding glass door. And the bedroom—that bed was a work of art! I ran my hand over the coverlet, unable to resist the silky feel of the material under my fingers. It’d been a long day. It crossed my mind to curl up on that bed and to sleep for the next few days, but I remembered what he said about dining with the captain. I should take a shower. A twelve-hour car ride with two old women was not really the best way to stay fresh. I tried to talk them out of coming, but they insisted that they wanted to see me off. If Lisa hadn’t agreed to take a week off of work and join them in the morning… I really needed to learn not to worry about my aunts so much. I slowly undressed, my thoughts returning to Miles. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him, but the more I told myself not to, the more I did. The night of the party…I should have known better. I should have known he was only putting on a show for his brother and his ex-fiancée. But I fell for it. So it was my own fault that I got my heart broken. I shook my head as I peeled my panties off and crossed the room to the bathroom. Was it crazy that I could still smell him? That the scent of wood and spices still brought the taste of his lips to my tongue? I swear I could smell him now, even here, fourteen thousand miles from home. I must be losing my mind. I pushed open the door of the bathroom and…What the hell? “Miles?” He chuckled softly, as he turned from where he’d been shaving in the mirror, nothing but a thin towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes move slowly over me, over my nakedness, merriment dancing in his eyes. “I was hoping you’d be happy to see me. But this is more than even I could hope for.”

Chapter 10 My heart crushed after the end of a marriage that never should have been, I boarded a cruise ship for a singles cruise that was the last thing I wanted to do, but I did for my dear, sweet aunts who’d bought the ticket as a birthday present. Not only did I not want to be here, I didn’t want my aunts wandering the streets of Miami while I was gone—even though my best friend, Lisa, would be there to watch over them —and I really didn’t want to meet anyone new. I’d already been on a series of awful dates. I had decided it was time to just sit back and spend a little time on my own, reassess my life, and maybe decide what I wanted to do with the rest of it. Was that so much to ask? But my aunts were worried, and I hated to cause them any more trouble than I already had when I became an orphan who was thrust on them as an injured five year old. The car accident that killed my parents had left me in casts and bandages for months afterward, adding to the burden I must have been to my happily single, middle-aged aunts. They had made the choice not have children. Taking me in was really a sacrifice I can’t even imagine—so I do everything I can to make life easier for them. Including this. Damn it! The steward called me Mrs. Thorn. That bothered me. No one had called me that in the months since the divorce. I didn’t even use the name anymore, even though I’d earned the right. I returned to my maiden name of Giles. Yet, he called me Mrs. Thorn when I boarded the ship. And then he said I was to have dinner with the captain. And this suite…I couldn’t imagine my aunts could really afford it. But, then again, I’d given them a significant portion of the money Miles paid me when he sent me packing at the end of our arrangement. I’d come to think of it as a marriage, as ironic as that seemed. But he thought of it as an arrangement. At least, he did on that last day. One minute we’re making love, the next, he’s pushing me out the door, telling me he doesn’t need me anymore…. Why did it still hurt so much? I mean, really, what did I expect from a marriage of convenience? He never even told me why he needed a wife so urgently, or why my boring, straight-laced life was so

perfect for his needs. All he said was that he would save my aunts’ house—which was in headed to foreclosure after they, unbeknownst to me, mortgaged it for the first time in sixty years to pay my college tuition—and I jumped at the opportunity. Biggest mistake of my life. Or maybe the biggest mistake had been allowing myself to fall under his spell and actually believe he loved me. I wandered around the suite, admiring the luxury of it. It reminded me a little of the green room at his mother’s house—green everywhere. The draperies, the carpet, the small loveseat and recliner set into a corner, the comforter on the bed. Even the linens in the bathroom—which I could see through another set of double doors—were green. And not just one shade of green, but dozens. Kelly green. Emerald green. Pale green. The green of shamrocks and ivy—a room we shared. The room where we… A shower was definitely in order. Twelve hours in a car with my two aunts was not exactly inducing a fresh feeling. And maybe the hot water would relieve a little of the tension that had suddenly settled in my shoulders. I slowly undressed, my thoughts returning to Miles. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him, but the more I told myself not to, the more I did. The night of the party his parents threw for us…I should have known better. I should have known he was only putting on a show for his brother and his ex-fiancée. But I fell for it. So it was my own fault that I got my heart broken. I shook my head as I peeled my panties off and crossed the room to the bathroom. Was it crazy that I could still smell him? That the scent of wood and spices still brought the taste of his lips to my tongue? I swear I could smell him now, even here, fourteen thousand miles from home. I must be losing my mind. I pushed open the door of the bathroom and…What the hell? “Miles?” Miles Thorn. Son of Jackson Thorn, who, in turn, was the grandson of one of the most beloved senator’s in American history and a well-known financier in his own right. CEO of Thorn Construction, the fastest growing business in Texas at the moment. Miles Thorn. My ex-husband. He chuckled softly as he turned from where he’d been shaving in the mirror, nothing but a thin towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes moved slowly over me, over my nakedness, merriment dancing

in his eyes. “I was hoping you’d be happy to see me. But this is more than even I could hope for.” Shock usually paralyzes me. I can’t begin to express how happy I was that this moment was not one of those. I quickly grabbed a complimentary bathrobe hanging from the door beside me and pulled it on, stabbing my hands through the arms and wrapping it as tight against me as I could, trying not to look at Miles and give him the satisfaction of the hot blush on my cheeks. But even as I looked away, I couldn’t help but see the way that towel around his waist showed off his heavy hips and that beautiful… Damn, why did he always do this to me? “What are you doing here?” “Taking a cruise. Isn’t that what you’re doing here?” “No, I mean, here, in my room.” “Our room, darling.” I shook my head. “No, my aunts bought my ticket for me. It was a gift—” “That I arranged.” I didn’t have to worry about the heat of that blush anymore. The blood drained from my cheeks, taking with it the blush, the heat, everything. Even my ability to put together words. My mouth worked like a fish out of water for a second. And then the anger came. I slapped my hand against the door as I turned around, storming back into the bedroom. I snatched my panties and jeans off the floor, quickly pulling them on under the cover of the robe. “What are you doing?” “Leaving.” I turned my back to him and struggled to put on my bra without completely removing the robe. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds. I shook my shoulders and bent forward a little, muttering under my breath as I tried to arrange everything just right. There are times when being well-endowed is more of a curse than a blessing. This was one of them. “You can’t leave. The ship is pulling away from the dock.” I spun around, forgetting for a second that I wasn’t quite done fastening my bra. Once again, his

eyes lit up when they fell on my bare flesh. I jerked the robe in front of me as I brushed past him and rushed to the balcony doors off the sitting room. Sure enough, the ship was slowly reversing away from the dock, the crowd of well-wishers, of whom my aunts were two, waving to the people standing on deck. My mind furiously tried to remember where the next port would be. And then I remembered. Spain. In three days. I slapped my hands hard against the glass of the balcony door, a deep groan slipping from my lips. “Why?” “It’s kind of the purpose of the cruise. We can’t visit places like Barcelona and Rome if we just sit here.” “No!” I spun around, once again forgetting to hold my robe in place. But, again, I’m not sure I really cared at that point. “Why did you do this? Why are you here?” “Because I wanted to see you and you wouldn’t answer my phone calls.” “We’re divorced.” A sheepish look came over his face, as he cast a long glance down toward the floor. I knew… something inside of me knew…what that expression meant. But I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to know. “I’m getting off in Spain. I’ll fly home.” “And break your aunts’ hearts. They were so excited at the idea of playing matchmakers.” “You put them up to this?” “I did. And when they heard that you wouldn’t answer my phone calls and why I wanted to talk to you, they were more than willing to do whatever they could to help us get back together.” “Back together?” Despite myself, my heart leapt with hope. But the memory of the way he pushed me out of his life was too strong to overcome. I backed away even though he never attempted to come near me, pressing my back against the cool of the glass balcony doors, wrapping my arms around my chest in a gesture of selfdefense. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, but I’m not interested. I already played my

role in your little drama. I’m done.” “Not really.” I glared at him. “What do you mean, not really?” “I mean, technically, we’re still married.” And that was exactly what I’d been afraid he would say.

Chapter 11 Eight Months Earlier… Miles pulled me into him and held me gently in his arms, moving slowly to a song I didn’t recognize, but whose melody I would never forget. It was the music to which my husband truly held me for the first time. We were married for four months before this, but we were like roommates, communicating whenever we needed something from each other. I attended parties and business dinners and fancy galas with Miles, and he paid to get my aunts’ house out of foreclosure, put a roof over my head, and provided me with the material possessions his assistant convinced me I had to have. We were strangers. But then he was summoned home and he needed—for reasons I still didn’t understand—to make his family believe our marriage was real, not this modern day marriage of convenience. Last night we slept in the same room for the first time in our marriage, though he slept on the loveseat and I slept in the bed. And today I met his mother, a beautiful, kind woman who suffered from cancer. She offered some insight into this stranger I married. I’d met his sister before, but I got to meet her husband. And then his brother, Robert. He offered his own kind of insight in the form of the jealousy and anger I saw in Miles’ face when Robert arrived late to the party Miles’ parents threw to celebrate our wedding, his wife at his side, the same woman who was once Miles’ fiancée. It was a complicated family, and I had yet to meet the father. But here we were, on the dance floor. We moved slowly, not really moving at all, but swaying as we held each other the way newlyweds often do. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest; I could feel his pulse under my thumb as I pressed my hand to his throat. His scent washed over me, filling my every pore, becoming a part of who I was in that moment. It was the first time I truly felt like a bride, like I belonged to someone, that I was a part of something bigger than myself.

It was a natural extension of the moment for him to lift my chin with a finger on my jaw, for his lips to seek mine. It was familiar, the taste of him, as he pressed his lips to mine. I sighed—I couldn’t help myself—and moved closer to him, wanting to be closer. How he could go from anger to this so quickly, I wasn’t sure, but it was a dream, less bizarre than the moment of our vows, but surreal just the same. I was floating, dancing on a cloud, no longer aware of the sea of humanity surrounding us. None of it really mattered anymore. I was so lost in the kiss that the world evaporated and I felt like we were the only people in the world. But there was more. So much more. Maybe it was my inexperience. Maybe it was the fact that the moment I saw Miles, I wanted to touch him and to feel him touch me. I don’t know why, but that moment felt like a moment I’d been waiting for all my life. He pulled back, a heaviness to his eyelids that I’d never seen before. I wanted to smile, to reassure him in some way, but my muscles weren’t responding. It was like everything inside of me had just melted and I was a pool of nothing. He moved closer, pressed his forehead to mine, and his breath washed over me. “Riley,” he began. My heart skipped at beat because of the huskiness of his voice. But I would never know what he was going to say. A gasp went up in the air around us, and then someone yelled, “Call 911!” Miles grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the gathering crowd at the other end of the veranda. He was big and determined, pushing people aside as he dragged me along behind him. And when we reached the center of the circle of worried partygoers, we found his mother unconscious at the foot of the chair where she’d been resting all evening. “Mom!” Miles dropped to his knees, letting go of my hand at the same time, his hands pressing the hair from her face. Elena was pale, all the color washed from her face. Even her lips were ashen, taking on a terrible gray patina. Lila, Miles’ sister, dropped to her knees beside him, her hands just as frantic, but full of purpose as she searched for a pulse. She looked up and caught my eye. There was real fear in hers. I immediately turned, shoving people back.

“Back up. Give them space.” I repeated myself over and over again, but I managed to get the worst of the crowd out of the way just as the paramedics arrived. I heard Lila quietly explain to them that her mother was a cancer patient, that her cancer was terminal. That word hit me like a blow to the stomach. When Elena told me earlier in the day that she had ovarian cancer, a lot of things crossed my mind, but I never really imagined that she was terminal. But Miles knew. I could see it in the set of his shoulders as he watched the paramedics start an IV on his mother. I moved up beside him, unsure if he knew I was there or even wanted me there. But then he reached for my hand and held it so tightly I quickly lost feeling in the tips of my fingers. He knew I was there. “My car is in the street,” Robert announced, coming up behind Lila, Miles, and I, as we followed the stretcher to the front door a few minutes later. “We should all ride together.” I felt Miles stiffen, but he didn’t protest. Keegan, Lila’s husband, met us at the door, her jacket and purse in hand. “Did anyone call Daddy?” Lila suddenly asked, as we climbed into Robert’s Cadillac Escalade. “I did,” Claire—Robert’s wife—said. Miles didn’t respond to the sound of her voice. He slid onto the back bench seat and reached for me, helping me up beside him. His arm slid around my waist, and he pulled me as close to his side as he could. Lila slid in beside me and Keegan took the last space, slamming the door and gesturing for Robert to move as the ambulance flipped on its lights and headed out. There was a heavy silence in the car as Robert fought late night traffic to keep up with the ambulance. I felt out of place, as though I was watching a private, family heartbreak unfold that I had no right to witness. And yet, Miles’ arm around my waist was so tight that I wasn’t sure he would have let me go if I had asked. It was a long, miserable ride to the hospital. Miles kept me close to him as we followed Robert, Claire, Lila, and Keegan into the hospital. Their father, Jackson, was waiting in the emergency room waiting area when we walked in.

“Dr. Philips is in with her,” he said, as Lila rushed up to him. “He said he’d let us know as soon as he could.” “I’m sure she’s just dehydrated,” Lila said. “This happened before.” “It’s the party,” Jackson said in a low growl. “I told her it was too much for her. I told her it was a mistake. But she…” He looked up, his eyes floating over the faces of his children and their spouses until they rested on Miles. And then his handsome face—so much like Miles’—changed. What was a soft— almost kind—face became hard, like granite. His eyes darkened, and his mouth puckered almost like he’d tasted something unpleasant. “Now you come home,” he said. “Now you decide to show your face. She’s been fighting this for months, and now, now that she’s given up, you decide to come back and see what you can get out of this… out of her. You shouldn’t be here.” Miles stood a little taller, but he didn’t respond to his father’s words. “Daddy,” Lila said softly, “you know why he didn’t come home before.” “I know he acted like a child when he couldn’t have what he wanted. I know he ran away from his responsibilities, turned his back on his family, and pretended that his feelings were more important than our family legacy.” “Daddy,” Lila said again, but Jackson wasn’t finished. He pushed past Lila, shouldered his way between Robert and Claire, and came to stand nose to nose with his eldest son. “I know that the moment you decided to run away, you should have never looked back. You aren’t welcome here.” Miles was taller than his father, taller by several inches, and wider too. The physical labor that came with his construction company put the advantage in his court. He could have pushed Jackson out of his way with the smallest bit of effort. Yet, he made no effort to defend himself. He simply watched his father, something like apathy in his eyes. “I called Joan when she got sick. I know you knew it back then. I know you knew how much she needed you to come home, but you chose to hide from your problems and break her heart rather than come back and face everything you ran away from.” “Maybe this isn’t the right place for this,” Keegan said, taking his father-in-law’s arm.

Jackson simply pulled away. “Do you think I didn’t find myself in messes when I first started this company? Do you think I didn’t get myself embroiled in problems?” Jackson shoved a finger into Miles’ chest. “The difference between you and I is that I’m a man and I stood up to my problems. You just ran away and left the rest of us to deal with it.” A muscle jerked in Miles’ jaw, a flicker of something—anger, maybe?—flashed in his eyes. But he continued to stand there and continued to listen to his father without responding. Robert, of all people, stepped close and said, “Dad, you should probably stop before someone calls security.” Jackson sneered at his other son. “You think I’m going to listen to you? You think I give a shit what you think? You stabbed your brother in the back, the only person who was always on your side, you stab him in the back. I don’t really care what you have to say.” Robert’s face reddened. Claire grabbed his hand and pulled him away, saying in one of those whispers that’s meant to be heard by everyone, “Don’t worry, baby. It doesn’t matter.” “Look at this,” Jackson said, something like a mirthless chuckle slipping from his lips. “My wife is dying. She might die tonight. And my children—my legacy—consists of a son who thought nothing of stealing his brother’s fiancée, and a son who ran when things got too hot. Some legacy I’ll leave behind when it’s my turn to go.” “That’s not true,” Miles said. Jackson looked up at him—his dark eyes so much like Miles’ in their size and shape, missing just the emerald green he clearly got from his mom—and laughter again spilled from his lips that was so full of bitterness that it sent a chill down my spine. “What’s not true about it? What Robert did to you? Or the yellow stripe running down your back?” “I didn’t run.” “You didn’t exactly stick around to face those people, either. Who do you think took your place? Who do you think stepped up—?” “Jackson.”

My head was spinning, trying to keep up with everything, trying to keep my heart from breaking for the pain I could hear in Miles’ voice. I didn’t understand what was happening. And then a doctor was there, holding Jackson’s hands and speaking low. Something about electrolyte imbalances and fevers. I didn’t catch it all, but it didn’t sound good. We moved as a unit upstairs to another waiting room, Jackson disappearing for a while with Lila at his side. Miles tried to sit down, but he was on his feet again after a few minutes, pacing the length of the room. I watched him, unsure what I should do. Claire watched him, too, a tiny frown creasing her model’s brow, even as Robert clung to her hand and stared absently out into space. Keegan took a seat beside me and offered a weak smile. “Some introduction to the family, isn’t it?” I shrugged, my attention moving back to Miles. I so wanted to do something to make things better for him, but I didn’t know what. “My family lives near the Thorns, so I’ve known them all my life. It wasn’t such a shock when I married into the family. But I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you. Maybe it’s better Miles hid you away before introducing you to this chaos.” “Is it always like this? I mean, their dad…?” “Jackson is pretty intense. But he grew up in a world where perfection was expected of him. Elena used to soften his rough edges, but since she’s been sick, it’s only gotten worse.” A part of me couldn’t blame him. It couldn’t be easy to watch the woman he’d loved most of his adult life get sick and suffer. I looked at Miles and found myself wondering if…and then I reminded myself not to let my heart go there. Jackson and Lila came back down the hall. Lila was using a worn tissue to wipe at tears, trying not to smear her makeup as she wiped them away. Keegan went to her, and she collapsed into his arms, allowing him to lead her back up the hallway. “She’s settled for the night,” Jackson said. “You should go, get some rest. You can visit her in the morning.” “I’d rather stay,” Miles said.

“Me, too,” Robert chimed in. Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “She’s dying. The last thing she needs—the last thing I need—is the two of you around to remind her of her failures.” “She’s their mother,” I said before I even knew I had something to say. “They should be here.” “Who the hell do you think you are?” Jackson said, turning his attention to me for the first time, the full vehemence of his anger burning in his eyes. “Who do you think you are to speak to me that way?” “They have as much right—” “It’s okay, Riley,” Miles said, grabbing my arm as I stood and began to approach his father. “I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.” Miles focused on his father. “Lila has my cellphone number. Have her call me if anything happens.” I expected Jackson to balk at such a request, but he didn’t. He simply inclined his head. Miles did the same, like it was some sort of ritual or something, then led me away. I wanted to argue. I wanted to defend his right to be where he wanted to be, but there was so much to this family dynamic that I didn’t understand. So I let him take me away without speaking. The house was empty when the taxi dropped us off. There was evidence of the party—empty glasses on low tables, half-eaten quiche on small plates, used napkins dropped here and there—but the people and the staff were nowhere to be seen. Miles poured himself a drink, but he didn’t lift it to his lips. Instead, he turned and looked at me, his eyes moving slowly over the dress I still wore. “Go put on some jeans,” he said, his voice almost friendly for once. “I want to show you something.” I only hesitated a second. If I could help him in some way, and this was it, I wanted to do it. I didn’t know it, but I was already gone.

Chapter 12 The house had a five car garage in the back. Miles took me there and grabbed a set of keys off a pegboard near the door, walking me past a vintage Rolls Royce, a couple of big, black SUVs, and a BMW not unlike the one he owned back in Texas to a classic 1965 Mustang. I almost giggled as I took a seat on its white, faux-leather seats, thinking of one of my favorite movies and the identical red Mustang the main character drove. I’d always wanted to have one of these. “My mom helped me buy it when I was fifteen, and I restored it myself, mostly. I had some help from the mechanic my father keeps on retainer, but only with the really complicated stuff.” “It’s beautiful.” “Yeah.” He started the car, and it purred like a dream. And then we were driving through the night air, the convertible roof tucked away and the wind blowing all around us. I sat back and stared at the scenery, fascinated with everything. Miles reached over and touched my thigh, squeezing lightly before pulling away. I moved closer to him and lay my hand on his knee, happy when he didn’t brush it away. We drove for a while, snaking along back roads surrounded by incredible oaks. I thought we were just going to drive, just keep going until his phone rang or the sun made an appearance over the trees. But then he pulled to the side of the road and jumped out, coming around and helping me out as well. He held my hand as we walked into the woods. It was dark, and there was a lot of animal activity that didn’t grow as silent as one might imagine at the sound of our footsteps. But there was a smell that was like heaven—trees and flowers and compost—and a sort of peace that felt reassuring, somehow. And then the trees opened up, and there was a beautiful body of water that was so calm the moon and the stars were reflected perfectly in its inky pool. I let go of Miles’ hand and walked close to the edge, squatting to slip my fingers into the cool water. Little ripples moved away from me, disturbing the calm of the water briefly, but then becoming a part of the beauty of it all.

“I discovered this place not long after I got my driver’s license. I used to come out here all the time, just stand here and stare out at the water. It was incredibly calming.” “I can imagine.” “I’m sorry about what happened at the hospital. I’m sorry you had to see all that.” I stood and wiped my hands on my jeans, my eyes seeking his in the darkness. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s not. You didn’t sign up for this.” I wanted to ask him about the things his father had said and about the accusations he made, but I knew this wasn’t the time or the place. So I turned back to the water. “What did you do out here?” “What do you mean?” “Did you study? Listen to music?” I glanced back at him. “Did you ever swim?” “A little bit of all that.” “Did you bring girls here?” “No. You’re the first.” I was honored, even though I had to warn myself again to be careful. It was a difficult night. The fact that he’d brought me here didn’t necessarily mean anything. “I can’t imagine you as a teenager. I suppose you were wildly popular.” He laughed. “Hardly. I was too tall, too clumsy, and more interested in comic books than sports.” “I don’t believe that. I bet you had girls chasing you all over campus.” “Sure. But mostly because of my name, not my looks.” I shook my head. “Naw. I bet you were that guy that all the girls followed around while whispering about how perfect you were.” Miles laughed. “If they were, I didn’t notice. I always had a comic book open when I walked down the hall. I walked into open locker doors more often than whispering girls.” That I could almost imagine. It was actually a pretty endearing image. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“There’s always that boy in every high school, the one all the girls fight over, the one they all want to be ‘the one.’ Jimmy Martinez was that one at my school.” “Did you have a thing for Jimmy Martinez?” I blushed, glad he couldn’t see it in the dark. “No. I was more interested in Kyle Anderson. He was in all my classes, and he had the most amazing blond hair. I would waste whole class hours wondering what it would be like to wrap those curls around my fingers.” “A rebel, then.” “I suppose. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that he was the only boy in my class I didn’t completely tower over.” “It sucks being tall.” I nodded. “Especially for a girl.” “Hey, guys don’t have it much better. You can’t even begin to guess how many times I’ve hit my head on low ceilings or low door jambs.” “Probably not as many times as I was called ‘Amazon’ in junior high when I was a full foot taller than most of the boys.” “They must make them really short in your hometown.” “No. I’m just an Amazon.” “But I’ve got you beat by a full five or six inches.” “Then you must be a giant.” He grunted, but then it turned into laughter, as he gave me a little shove, catching me with his other hand just before I fell into the water. I pulled away and scooped up a couple of handfuls of water and threw them at him. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, moving around me and diving away from another scoop of water. He grabbed his own handful, spraying water over the top of my head and down my back. I hissed under my breath from the sudden chill of it, but it didn’t stop me from grabbing more water and tossing it at him again. He charged me, grabbing my hands before I could get more water, soaking his shoes in the

process. Then he pulled me up against his chest, both of us laughing so hard that neither could catch our breath. And then he was looking at me with that same hooded look he’d offered me after the kiss we shared earlier in the evening. It forced me to catch my breath, knocking the laughter away as I stepped into him. He cupped my jaw even as his other hand snaked around my back, pulling me as close as we could get without defying physics. His lips were warm and a little salty as he pressed them to mine. I opened to him quicker than I probably should have, welcoming him inside of me, loving the way he knew just where to touch me, just how much pressure to apply, how to make those waves of pleasure dance through me. I touched his face and let my fingers slide over his cheek before moving them into his hair, playing with the curls that lived there, as I had wanted to do the moment I first met him. There was just something so erotic about running my fingers through a man’s hair, using it to tug him closer to me, losing myself in the contrasting textures of his masculine body. I could feel his body responding to me, could feel his breaths quicken, his heart pound. I moved a little closer, and I could feel his arousal, as his hand slid down my back, cupping the roundness of my ass as he tugged me so much closer to him. His other hand dropped from my jaw, dragging his fingers over my side, over the curve of my breast. And then his fingers were digging their way under my shirt, his palm pressing against my back for a long moment before sliding further up, sliding under the band of my bra. My belly quivered, something deep inside tightening so much that it was almost painful. I ached in a way I’d never felt before, the need so strong that I might have begged if he didn’t have my tongue completely occupied. And then he was pushing me back, leading me to higher ground, to the soft grass that grew not far from the tree line. I was falling through the air, but it felt more like floating on a cloud. His weight was draped against my side, his hand moving over my ribs, exploring the bottom edge of my bra, his mouth moving from my lips to my chin to my throat. A low, keening moan filled the air, and I didn’t realize at first that it came from me. I’d never made such a sound before, but I’d never known a passion like this before either. He pushed my t-shirt up and kissed the tops of my breasts, his tongue stealing a little taste here and there. Then he was nibbling at my hardened nipples, tugging them into his mouth and doing things that

made me arch my back and moan again. But he didn’t stay there long. He moved on, his hot kisses weaving and bobbing over my belly, his tongue stealing a taste of my navel, his hands tugging at my jeans as his fingers sought the depths of me, that place that so desperately wanted his touch. I wanted him. I know that seems obvious. I know that everyone says they need the man who turns them on at the moment. But it was more than that. There was this connection that his touch seemed to bring to life, something about the way his touch spoke to my soul that made me almost desperate to feel him, to be close to him. I wanted him in a way I’d never understood the definition of the word. He tugged my jeans over my hips, and his hand cupped me, the pressure like a soothing balm on a burn. It felt so good, at first. But then I needed more, needed so much more. He seemed to know that. But, at the same time, he seemed eager to make me wait. He kissed my inner thigh, taking a deep breath of the musky smells that lived there. Then he kissed my other thigh, his teeth nipping like a puppy who hasn’t quite learned yet that biting is undesirable. Rather than pain, his nips sent more and more waves of need through my body, waves that came to concentrate themselves in my clit. I needed his touch like I needed my next breath. When he began to tug my panties away, I thought my heart might shatter with the anticipation. At the same time, the uncertainty that came with inexperience wagged its ugly head. I pressed my thighs together almost unconsciously, blocking him from what it was I wanted just as much as his confused glance told me he did. I sat up and kissed him, trying to remind myself that this was my husband, this was the man I wanted. But that instinct… “I want you,” he whispered against my lips. Again, the melt, the puddle that was once my muscles, my nerves, my sanity. And his hand touched me in a place no one else had ever gone. Pleasure burst through me, threatening to take even the tiny bit of reality that was left. But my thighs betrayed me again by pressing together, holding him hard against me, but refusing him further entry. “Riley,” he said, confusion in his voice as he pulled back to look at me. There must have been something in my eyes, something in my expression, whatever it was brought understanding to his eyes.

He nodded just slightly and slowly pulled his hand away. “It can wait.” “No, Miles. I want to. I’m just—” “It shouldn’t be like this, Riley. You don’t want your first time to be with some asshole who’s only using you because he’s hurting.” “I don’t care.” “But I do.” He kissed me, that need igniting inside of me again. But then he pulled away, tugging my jeans back into placing and pulling me against his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. He held me, his breathing slowly returning to normal. We just lay there for a long time, my cheek against his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head. I don’t know who started it, but we began to talk, and we talked for a long time, laughing from time to time, sharing secrets and stories that didn’t matter but meant everything. We got to know each other in a way we might never had if not for that night, for those circumstances. That’s where we were when the call came.

Chapter 13 The funeral was a private affair. The priest had very kind words to share about Elena, stories that might have made me smile if I’d heard them under different circumstances. She sounded like the kind of woman I would have liked to have known. I felt a little cheated to have only known her for the few short hours I did. Miles was stoic, refusing to show the burden I knew he was carrying. He cried when Lila called. Silently. Painfully. I had to take the phone out of his hand and reassure Lila that he was not alone, that he would be okay. But I didn’t really know that. The tears disappeared almost as quickly as they came, and he threw himself into the planning, into what came next. His mother had time to arrange her own funeral, but there was a reception to be planned and dealt with. Joan flew in and took over most of the details. But there was plenty of work to go around and Miles was determined to take on more than his share. He was back to not talking to me. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye in the rare moments we found ourselves alone. However, he kept me close, clinging to my hand like it was the only thing that kept him anchored. That’s where I was now, clutching his hand, leaning into him so that he knew I was there, so that he knew I was willing to shoulder as much of the burden as he would allow. The priest finished speaking. Silence fell over the cemetery with the exception of Lila’s sobs. Keegan held her close, whispering soft words against her ear as she tried to control her grief. Jackson stared at the coffin for a long moment, then turned away, walking toward the cars as though he was done with the entire scene. Robert and Claire stood back from the rest of us, Claire the only splash of color in this gray day in a red cashmere dress. I’d caught her stealing glances at Miles all through the ceremony, pain all too obvious in the lines of her perfect face. I wondered briefly if Miles knew she was still in love with him. If Robert knew. But then I decided, in the bigger picture of this day, it didn’t really matter. As though by some cue I didn’t hear or see, Lila and Miles moved up to the coffin, placing the roses they’d been holding since leaving the house on top of the smooth, walnut surface. Miles pulled his

sister close to him and whispered something in her ear. She smiled despite the tears still rolling uncontrolled down her cheeks. Robert joined them and, for once, Miles didn’t turn away. In fact, he stood between his siblings and held them both for a long second. Then he turned away, his face a mask of strength he felt he had to show. He walked past me, grabbing my hand almost as an afterthought. The ride back to the house was quieter and more somber than anything I’d ever experienced, even compared to the ride to the hospital after Miles got the call. Once again, I felt like an unwelcome observer to a private family drama, an intruder into the life of a man who didn’t appreciate such invasions. He never pushed me away and never asked me not to be around, but he didn’t invite me in either. I wanted to make things better for him. I just didn’t know how. There were cars already spilling out of the long driveway of the Thorn mansion. The limo carrying us had to maneuver between parked cars to let us out at the front door. There were people everywhere inside the house, almost like the party thrown in Miles and my honor five days ago. Joan was just inside the entryway, welcoming people and directing them to the right rooms. She was quiet, respectful, but her eyes filled with pain when they fell on each of Elena’s children. Especially Miles. I remembered what he’d said about her, about how he’d had a crush on her when he was a small child. I could see that the depth of affection, while not romantic in nature, was clearly mutual. “Your father’s out on the veranda,” she said. “He asked that you join him when you arrived.” I wanted to help. I could see the wait staff hired through a catering company was overwhelmed by the number of mourners and that the regular staff was not keeping up with trash and dishes and coats tossed over furniture. I felt like I would be more useful if I went to the kitchen and helped organize the appetizers that were coming out on trays or checking on the supply of liquor being consumed by the tumblerful. But when I stood to pick up a plate discarded by a woman who’d come to express her condolences to the family, Miles grabbed my hand and pulled me back down into the narrow loveseat we shared. So I stayed. I heard more stories than I could have imagined a person could tell about another. Stories of Elena’s kindness, of her generosity. Stories of her as a young woman, of her as a young wife, of her and her children. It was overwhelming the things I heard. I can only imagine how hard it was for her husband.

For her children. Miles barely spoke all afternoon. He nodded when someone spoke to him, whispered thanks more than a dozen times. But he never offered anything that wasn’t requested first. He was polite, but silent, lost in his own thoughts. And he held my hand so tight through it all that my fingers were numb even hours after he let it go. It felt like the reception lasted forever. But, really, most of the mourners were gone within a few hours. Joan stepped out onto the veranda when the last of the people had gone, the confidence I’d always associated with her disappearing as she stepped in front of Jackson Thorn. “I’ll take care of the cleanup,” she said. “You should go up and rest.” “I’ll help you,” Miles said. Based on the animosity so obvious between them since the night of the party, I expected Jackson to refuse. He didn’t even acknowledge Miles’ words, but he didn’t move away when Miles slipped his hand under his father’s arm and led the way inside. I watched them go, then stood and began gathering the dirty dishes scattered on the glass table tops and in the seats of the chairs. “You don’t have to do that,” Joan said. “I want to help.” I continued to gather the trash even as Joan assessed me with that thoroughness I’d squirmed under during our first meeting, that ill-fated job interview that introduced me to Miles and opened the door that brought me here. I’m not sure if she found me as wanting as she had on that occasion, but she shook out a trash bag and opened it for me. We worked methodically across the veranda and into the sitting room while Lila, Robert, and their spouses continued to sit quietly and live in their grief. I glanced at them from time to time, once again wanting to do something to make them feel better, but unable to think of anything that wouldn’t just make things worse. I wondered, as I had off and on these five days, if this was what it was like after the car accident that took my parents’ lives. I was too young to remember. I have vague flashes of memory—the flashing lights, the hospital, the sense of missing something—but nothing concrete. At the moment, I was

kind of glad I couldn’t remember. “He’s going to need you.” I looked up. Joan was standing across the room from me, gathering glasses on a tray, her back to me. I thought for a moment she wasn’t talking to me. But then she glanced at me over her shoulder. “He thinks he’s strong enough to handle this on his own, but he’s not. No one is.” I set down the pile of plates I’d gathered. “He won’t talk to me.” “He does that. He holds it all in until he just explodes, usually in anger. He’ll need you to be there to pick up the pieces when he does.” “I don’t know if I know how to do that.” “You’ll figure it out. This is what love is about, Riley. This is what marriage is about.” I looked around me, at the mountain of trash we had yet to get to, at the family portraits that were a reminder of what this family lost, of the part of the family that still waited on the veranda for the return of the beloved matriarch who would never return, and I knew she was right. But this wasn’t what I’d signed on for. This wasn’t part of the deal Miles and I made. Yet, I still felt an overwhelming need to be there for him. I just wasn’t sure he wanted me there. “Get out!” The scream seemed to reverberate throughout the house, even though it came from the top of the stairs. Joan and I both rushed to the foot of the stairs, Lila, Robert, and Keegan not far behind. Miles was at the top of the stairs, staring back at something we couldn’t see. But we could hear. “Get out of my house! The only reason I allowed you to remain for so long was because it was what she wanted. But she’s gone now. I don’t want you here.” Miles spoke, but his words were so low we couldn’t hear them. Joan looked at me, urging me to go up to him with a slight flick of her eyebrows. I hesitated, again feeling like a witness to something I was never meant to see. But then I looked at him, at the sloop of his shoulders that suggested the huge burden he was carrying, and my feet seemed to have a mind of their own. I was behind him before I realized I was moving, my hand resting lightly on the small of his back. Jackson’s face was reddened, his hands balled into fists. He stood a few feet back, just outside the

open doors of the master bedroom. A photo of Elena and a young, but unmistakable, Miles lay inside its broken frame just inside the doorway. “You walked away from us,” Jackson said, his words dripping with anger and resentment, but something else, too. A little hurt, maybe. “We don’t need you now.” “She wanted me to take care of you.” “I don’t need you.” “Mr. Thorn,” I said, stepping forward a few feet, “will you let me clean up that glass? I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.” He glanced back as though he wasn’t aware of the broken picture frame. Then he focused on me, tears forming in his eyes. It was then that I could finally see the broken man that had been hiding inside of his proud, aristocratic façade these last few days. I could see how torn by grief he was. At this moment, he was a seventy-something man who’d just lost the love of his life and who felt betrayed by his children. He was a man who was suffering. I gently took his arm and led him back into the bedroom, carefully guiding him around the broken glass. “You should lie down,” I said softly, speaking to him as I would one of my aunts when they were upset. “It’s been a long day.” “I miss her,” he said. “She wasn’t supposed to go first.” “I know.” I helped him into the already turned down bed, helping him lay back against the pillows. He was exhausted, his eyes closing the moment he was settled. His breathing changed quickly, whatever argument he’d had with Miles already forgotten. I held his hand for a moment, patting it gently as he settled into a deep sleep. When I finally disengaged myself and turned, Joan and Lila were kneeling just inside the doorway, cleaning up the mess. I grabbed a small trashcan near the bed and took it to them, watching as they dropped the pieces of glass inside. “Thank you,” Lila said as she stood. I just nodded as I looked around her to find Miles, but he was no longer standing in the hallway.

“Go to him,” Joan said. I didn’t hesitate. I rushed down the hallway, turning that way and this, just as I’d done the first night we arrived, following Miles through a maze I thought I’d never be able to navigate on my own. But I did, and I found him in the green room, tossing clothing into his suitcase with no concern to organization. I watched for a moment, then went to the closet and began packing my own bags. He glanced at me without speaking, or even slowing his movements, but there was gratitude in that simple look.

Chapter 14 The flight home was uneventful. Like before, we flew on a private jet. Miles held my hand silently through the takeoff and landing but spent the rest of the flight buried in emails and paperwork on his laptop. I curled up beside him and tried to concentrate on a novel I’d been reading for what felt like months, but unable to really get into the plot. I mostly just stared out the window at the heavy clouds that followed us from Massachusetts to Texas. The house felt different when we walked through the door. Smaller, but cozier than I remembered. More like home than it had felt the entire four months I’d spent alone there. I called my aunts while Miles took our luggage upstairs, happier than words could express to hear their familiar voices. And I texted Lisa. I guess I just needed to check in with the people I loved, to reconnect in the wake of these long, dark days. I’m not much of a cook, but I can open a can like no one else. I warmed up some soup and made toast, taking a tray up to the master bedroom for Miles. The door was open, and he was sitting on the end of his bed staring at a photograph when I tapped on the doorjamb. “You need to eat.” “So do you.” He dropped the photo face down on the bed and came toward me, slipping the tray out of my hands. “Let’s go downstairs and eat at a table like normal people.” I led the way, and we settled in the kitchen in a small nook by the bay windows that overlooked the front drive. The soup was salty, but it was better than anything else I could have thrown together. We ate in silence for a few minutes. Then he cleared his throat—even as he continued to stare out the windows. “Thank you for what you did for my father.” “I was just trying to help.” “And you did. You got him settled in a way I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry for what he said to you. He was just grieving.” “I know. But he wasn’t completely wrong.” Miles picked up a piece of toast, but he just shredded it between his fingers. I watched, trying to be patient. I didn’t want to force him into telling me something he didn’t want to share. Yet, I so desperately wanted to know what he meant that I was afraid to frighten him out of saying it, too. “I did run away. I abandoned my family at a time when I really shouldn’t have. And when I found out my mom was sick, I should have gone back. But I screwed up and I was afraid of facing the consequences of that.” “Whatever you did, it couldn’t have been that bad.” “It’s not so much what I did. It’s what I refused to do.” I studied him, trying to read between the lines, trying to figure out what he was talking about. But I couldn’t begin to guess. “Thank you,” he said. “You already thanked me.” “No. Thank you for going there with me. For staying when everything fell apart. For being at the funeral today. It couldn’t have been easy for you.” “Where else would I go?” He looked at me, his jaw loosening, as though he wanted to say something. But he seemed to change his mind. Instead, he reached across the table and squeezed my hand lightly. Then he stood and walked out of the room. I washed the dishes, feeling disconcerted. Part of me wanted to run upstairs and demand he talk to me some more. That he tell me what was really going on with him. But another part of me felt like I should just pack my bags and go back to my aunts’, that my time with him was over, like I was overstaying my welcome. I didn’t know what my role was supposed to be in all this. I needed him to tell me, to explain what was going on here, what he wanted from me, and how much I was supposed to ask of him. Because, at the end of the day, this was a marriage of convenience. When we were alone—despite that almost magical night five days ago—we were still basically strangers perpetuating a fraud on everyone

around us. But then, why did I want to hold him in my arms and make his pain disappear? Why did I want to make promises to him that I had no place making? I went up to bed a little while later. He’d laid my bags on my bed so I wouldn’t have to lift the heavy things myself. Very considerate. I unpacked, tossing my dirty things in the wash and rehanging what wasn’t wrinkled beyond repair. Then I showered and curled up in bed, wondering if he was asleep or if he was watching television as I’d discovered he was apt to do when sleep wouldn’t come. Sharing a room had introduced me to a lot of little quirks about Miles’ personality that I realized I actually kind of liked. The way he almost obsessively folded his clothes when he took them off, the way he brushed his teeth up and down inside of side to side, the little noises he made when he was sleeping, and the scent of his soap and his cologne overwhelming the room after his shower. It was stupid, really. But I’d gotten used to all those little things these past few days. The room suddenly seemed very empty without him in it. Even as that thought crossed my mind, a soft tap came on the door. I crawled out of bed and opened the door a crack, standing behind it to hide the skimpy t-shirt I was sleeping in. Miles worked his jaw, acting again as though he had something he needed to say. And then he abandoned speech, taking my face into his hands and drawing me into him, his lips on mine before I could so much as utter a sound. I went to him most willingly, my body opening to him as though I’d been waiting days for him to ask. Maybe I had been waiting. He pushed me backward until we landed on the bed, immediately tangled in each other’s limbs. I pulled at his shirt, and he tugged at mine. Our hands seemed to be everywhere at once, my fingers burying themselves in the flexing muscles of his back, his fingers seeking out the softer flesh of my hip, my ass. There was an ache he awakened days ago that was back as though no time had passed, a need that took my breath away and destroyed any logic that might have been floating around in the back of my fevered mind. His mouth was at my throat, his teeth nipping, as he moved slowly down over my collarbone and down along the top of my breast. And then my nipple was in his mouth, his tongue playing around the

bottom half of it before he drew it deep inside, pulling a groan from deep in my belly. He gave equal attention to my other nipple, another moan slipping out. I ran my fingers through his long hair, tugging at it until he hit a spot that made pleasure rush to my swollen clit. He moved lower on my body, peppering my belly with hot kisses as his fingers slowly peeled away my panties. And then his mouth…I can’t even put into words what it felt like when he touched me there, when his tongue danced a little dance around my clit, when his breath washed over those sensitive areas, when his fingers…it was unbelievable. I arched up against him, my body becoming one big ball of nerves, and every nerve quivering with the overwhelming number of pleasure impulses bouncing over them. If I had known how good this could be, maybe I wouldn’t have waited so long to experience it. He pushed me until I was tasting blood because I bit down so hard on my lip, pushed until I couldn’t lay still, until my fingers were buried so deep in his hair that it must have hurt, though he never tried to separate the two. He pushed me until I couldn’t catch a breath without a moan coming out with the exhalation. Only then did he slide back up the length of my body. Only then did he capture my lips again, the taste of my arousal sweet and meaty on his tongue. I could feel his hand between our bodies and a shiver of anticipation danced down my spine. Whatever it was that made me hesitate before was nowhere to be found today. There was just Miles and this incredible need that seemed too much to control. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against my lips. “I didn’t want it to be like this, but I need you.” I pressed my hips up against him and welcomed him into me, as he let go a sound of such emotion —filled with relief and gratitude and pleasure and pain and a million other things I couldn’t even begin to identify. His hands moved around my hips to pull me even closer to him. I lay still for a moment once he was filling me with everything he had to offer, his breathing rough as he kissed me again, a kiss that was more a mingling of breaths than passion. I expected—I don’t know what I expected that first time. The physical was less and so much more than I had thought it would be. But there was so much emotion going on, so much connection, such a combination of needs and desires and wants and…and. He began to move slowly, carefully, conscious of my comfort. And that just added to the incredible sensitivity of it all. I touched him, ran my hands over his back, wanting to give him as much as he was giving me. I didn’t know, but when I listened to his hands, to the way he encouraged me, I learned.

And it was an amazing lesson. In moments, we were moving in a rhythm that was perfection. That burning need deep in my belly grew and grew, aching until I thought I would go mad with it. But then it seemed to hit a limit and burst, spreading through me until all I could do was wrap my legs around Miles’ waist and go along for the ride. He pulled me closer to him, cradling my body as tight to his as he could. A low wail left his lips. He buried his mouth against my shoulder, the sound muffled but not gone. We clung to each other, the waves crashing, but slowly residing. We didn’t speak as we lay there. But we didn’t separate. Our hands began to explore again, bringing one another back to that peak. And then we rode the waves again, eventually falling asleep curled in each other’s arms. I was alone when I woke the next morning. But there was a rose on my bedside table.

Chapter 15 Every year, around the Thanksgiving holidays, the Waco Chamber of Commerce has a huge gala to raise money for multiple local charities. Not only is it all for a good cause, but it’s one of those social events in which only the elite of the elite are invited. Everyone on the outside watches with eagle eyes, admiring and criticizing—all at the same time—the amazing ball gowns, the tailored tuxedos, and the couples wearing them. I can remember hearing my aunts talk about it when I was still too young to care much about that sort of thing. And I remember pouring over the newspaper articles about the gala with Lisa. Lisa always dreamed of going. She even knew what she was going to wear, down to the purse she would carry. I was a supportive friend, always reassuring her that she would, indeed, go one day. But I was never all that interested. That is until Joan called me one afternoon and asked if I wanted her to help me chose a dress for this year’s affair. Miles had kept his distance since that night. He told me he was swamped with work and, from the number of hours he was working, it seemed like there was some honesty laced through his lies. However, I knew he was avoiding me for other reasons. And maybe that was a good thing. If he’d continued to spend time with me, I might have begun to think he shared the feelings I was struggling with. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And it wasn’t just because sex with him had been incredible. And not just because I still wanted to help him deal with his grief. There was more…so much more. I knew I was falling in love with him, but this was bigger than that. This felt almost like obsession. And I was embarrassed by it. I was becoming a walking, talking, romance-novel heroine—and I hated it. I tried to keep myself busy. I read a lot. Checked in with my aunts’ new caretaker more often than was necessary. Shopped more than I ever had before. I even took a few free college courses over the internet just to have something to do. But, no matter what I did, my thoughts kept moving back to Miles.

I found myself waiting up for him at night just to catch a glance of him as he came, exhausted, up the stairs. And then I set my alarm so that I could see him before he snuck out early in the mornings. I’d even dropped by his office once or twice, hoping to catch him there. Unfortunately, he spent so much time on site at his construction projects that I’d missed him. Yet, I’d tried—and that was humiliating enough. I felt like a pre-teen with an unwanted crush on the quarterback. Lisa was beyond thrilled when I called and asked her to shop for a dress with me. I wanted something that would make it impossible for Miles to take his eyes off of me, and I knew Lisa would be the one who could help me do that. We spent three days walking through the most exclusive stores in Waco, Dallas, and Fort Worth. Lisa tried to talk me into skimpy little pieces of fluff, dresses that barely covered my ass, let alone anything else. I had to keep reminding her this was a respectable event, so the perfect dress would need to be both sexy and classy. I was beginning to worry that she couldn’t grasp what it was I wanted until we wandered into this little hole in the wall shop in Denton. It was the last thing Lisa held up as we searched the racks, a tiny slip of a black dress that I started to dismiss without really looking at it. But then she held it against her body and I began to see the subtlety that made it perfect. It was floor length, a lovely asymmetrical dress with multiple layers in the skirt that made it look like the petals of a flower just beginning to bloom. The top was a sweetheart with a low back, showing so much skin that I briefly worried about comfort. But it was so beautiful, and it made my curvy figure look like it was made for just this kind of dress. I couldn’t believe how perfectly it fit. I couldn’t have found a better dress if I’d had one custom made. And Lisa found this lovely shawl that went perfectly with it. The only thing missing was a piece of jewelry that would be a showcase around my neck. But I knew my aunts had some old, family jewelry at the house that might include the perfect piece. Lisa was so excited that I was going to the gala that she insisted on paying for a spa day for the two of us the day of the event. That was the first time I really began to feel that I might find a place in this lifestyle my marriage had shoved me into. It was perfectly luxurious to have some stranger offer a massage while another stranger slathered mud all over my face. My skin was so soft afterward that I nearly bought every skin product they offered.

“He’s going to fall over when he sees you,” Lisa said later that night as she helped me do my makeup. “You might not get out of the house.” “I will, actually. Joan called just a bit ago and said he’s running late and asked that I met him there.” “That sucks,” Lisa groaned. “You’ll have to walk in alone, and that’s when most people get to show off the most, walking up that fake red carpet.” I shrugged. I wasn’t really interested in getting my picture in the newspaper. “Maybe next year we’ll all go together,” Lisa said a moment later, her voice a little wispy. “I’ve been talking to Colin Parsons off and on.” “Have you?” “He’s been busy with work and everything, but he said he would like to take me out if he can ever get back to Texas.” “The two of you must have really hit it off at the wedding.” “I didn’t think so at first.” Lisa stood back a little, assessing my eye shadow. Then she moved forward, pressing her brush to my eye again. “But then he started texting me like a month ago.” “Just be careful, Lisa. He’s an actor. And if he’s anything like Miles…” “Things are going well between you and Miles, aren’t they?” It depends on your definition of well. “They’re fine,” I said, even as I found myself wondering if I was lying, or just deluding myself. “He adores you,” Lisa said softly. “I almost cried at your wedding when you froze up and he went over there to bring you down the aisle. That was probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” “You think so?” “Definitely. I hope the guy I marry would be inclined to act that way. But I’ll probably end up marrying the kind of man who’d just get pissed and storm off.” “I doubt it. If he loves you enough to ask you to marry him, he’ll already know he has to be extremely patient with you.” “Gee, thanks,” Lisa grunted, but she was smiling when I opened my eyes. “But, seriously, I can’t

tell you how happy I am for you, Riley. I kind of knew you’d be the first to get married between the two of us. But I’m thrilled you find a good guy like Miles.” “I never believed myself I’d get a guy like him,” I admitted. But, again, I still wasn’t sure he was really mine. My phone buzzed, the new smartphone Miles got for me when we were first married. A text informed me that the limo Joan had arranged was here. “Time to go.” I stood and brushed my hands over my skirt, straightening it around my hips. Lisa took my arms and led me over to the full length mirror. “His eyes are going to pop out of his head when he sees you.” I stared at my reflection, shocked at how amazing I really did look. I’m not a self-centered person —far from it—but even I couldn’t find a flaw with what I saw. The dress flowed perfectly over my body, showing off the good things and hiding the bad. Lisa pinned my hair up in a fancy French knot that framed my face just right, making my normally nondescript eyes pop. And the makeup was so well done that it might have been done by a professional. “Lisa, you are a miracle worker.” “It’s easy when I have such a palette to work with.” Tears burst into my eyes and I turned to hug her. “I wish you were coming.” “Next year.” She pushed me back and pressed a tissue to the bottom of my eye to keep the tears from spilling. “Don’t mess up all my hard work now.” She touched my chin lightly. “Remember every detail so you can tell me about it tomorrow.” “I will.” “And have a good time.” I nodded, but as I rode in the back of the limo all by myself, I knew that a lot of what happened tonight would depend on Miles. We hadn’t been out in public together since his mother died. There hadn’t been any dinner parties, no meetings with clients that required socializing. I wasn’t sure if that was

because he was still catching up from the time we’d been away, or if he’d just chosen not to include me. So this would be our first appearance in a month. I was as nervous as though it was our first. We reached the hotel where the party was being held in just a few minutes, but the line of cars waiting to unload their passengers was impossibly long. I think we sat there for half an hour. I wanted to text Miles, to find out if he was already waiting inside for me, or if I’d have to mingle alone for a period of time. I’d never done that before and the prospect made me glad I chose not to eat before getting dressed this evening. When the car finally pulled up to the red carpet, I could see the crowd of reporters gathered along the edges. It was almost like a Hollywood premiere, just on a much smaller scale. This was Waco’s claim to fame, outside of our pretty awesome college football team. News outlets from all over Texas were here to cover the event. However, they looked bored at the moment. I was pretty confident they would remain that way as I climbed out of the car. I was wrong. “Over here, Mrs. Thorn.” “Could you turn this way, Mrs. Thorn?” “Why didn’t you and Miles come together, Mrs. Thorn?” “Is there trouble in paradise?” “How is Miles holding up after the death of his mother?” The questions came at me from every direction. I didn’t know which way to focus, so I just kept my eyes on the entrance to the hotel and tried not to trip over my own toes. I kept a smile plastered to my face because that’s what Joan had told me to do before the first event the three of us attended together, but it was much harder than it looked. And when they asked about Miles, it was even harder. Just as I reached the main doors and a bellboy gestured for me to follow him, a reporter snuck up behind me. “Could you tell me about your husband’s connection to the Donaldson family?” I made the mistake of making eye contact. I glanced back at the woman—a gorgeous brunette with

perfect skin—my smile faltering. “Who?” “The Donaldson family of New York. Do you know what his connection is to them? Or why his father made a million dollar payment to them late last year? Or why members of the Donaldson family have been seen lurking around your husband’s construction sites?” I had no idea what she was talking about. Donaldsons? Seemed like a perfectly innocuous name. And what did it matter what Jackson Thorn did? How was that connected to Miles? And so what if he hired some members of that family to work at his construction sites? His company hired all kinds of people, and Miles didn’t always have anything to do with it. Why was all of this news worthy? I turned away without acknowledging any of her questions and followed the bellboy into the hotel lobby. Dozens of people were milling around, greeting one another before going into the actual ballroom. There were too many people for me to take in, let alone spot Miles’ familiar face among the dozens of unfamiliar ones. “Can I take this?” a man asked, touching the corner of my shawl. I nodded, releasing my chokehold on it as he carefully slipped it away. I brushed my hands over the front of my dress, tugging a little to make sure it fell just the way it was supposed to. When I looked up, I felt eyes on me. And there were, more than I would have anticipated. Men watching with something like admiration, women watching with a mixture of envy and jealousy. I’ve always been the girl who fades away into the background, the quintessential wallflower. Yet, tonight, I was as far from that mousy girl than I’d ever imagined possible. A blush burned my cheeks as I froze, suddenly unsure why I was there, let alone what I should do next. Panic rose in my chest, that kind of panic that comes when you know you’re about to make a fool of yourself, but you don’t know what to do to stop it. But, just like the last time I felt such panic, Miles suddenly stepped out of the crowd and held his hand out to me. “You look…” His voice was deep, rough, almost. His eyes moved over the length of me, pausing here and there before coming back up to my eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

I started to bite my lip, but caught myself. I moved closer to him and whispered, “I don’t know what to do.” “You let me escort you inside and allow everyone to admire just how beautiful you really are.” I blushed, more because of the honesty in his eyes than the words his spoke. Then he kissed my temple and my panic just washed away. I had this sudden sense that as long as Miles was at my side, I could face anything. And that was more dangerous than falling in love with the man.

Chapter 16 The party was everything Lisa and I had always imagined it would be. Names I’d seen in print all my life were suddenly human beings eating quiches and drinking champagne right next to me. Entrepreneurs, state senators, the governor, federal senators…people whose names were almost myth-like to an ordinary, Starbuck’s barista like me. We mingled until Miles felt we’d done it long enough, and then he led the way out to the dance floor, and we moved seamlessly into each other’s arms. He hadn’t touched me since that night. But it felt like no time had passed. His hand was warm on my bare back, my hip. He pulled me closer to him, tugging my body closer to his than was required to move in time with the music. I looked up at him and caught him watching me, his eyes hooded in that way I was beginning to relate to his level of desire. The idea that I was the thing he desired was enough to send my heart pounding like a hammer on steel. I bit my lip, my habit stronger than my promise to Lisa that I wouldn’t chew my lipstick off. Miles touched my chin, tugging at my lip until he pulled it free. And then he bit it, nibbling it gently. “Mine,” he whispered. And I was. I was completely gone. I was his in any and every way he wanted me to be. We danced for only a few minutes, but long enough to make it impossible for me to concentrate the rest of the evening. It changed everything. The meaning behind his touches, the accidental brush of his breath on my neck, the words he spoke when he introduced me to acquaintances. I was in a cloud, my only thoughts focused on things that were entirely inappropriate given the circumstances. I don’t know how I kept a smile on my face without giving away the fact that I had no idea who I was talking to, let alone why it was so important that I do so. I might have made a complete fool of myself for all I was aware. The evening slowly wound down. Miles helped me into my shawl again, and we left side by side, dodging the reporters as we climbed into the limo. I curled up on the long seat, exhaustion suddenly washing over me. My cellphone buzzed, and I pulled it out to find a text from Lisa. Well, many texts from

Lisa, actually. She wanted to know how it was going, who I met, and when I was going to tell her everything. I smiled as I sent her a quick response, promising to call her in the morning. “Problems?” I looked up. Miles was watching me. Again. “Just Lisa.” “She must be burning up with jealousy.” “Sort of.” He slid closer to me across the seat. “The two of you are such opposites.” “You know what I thought when I first figured out who you were?” His eyebrows rose. “What?” “That she was more your type than I would ever be.” “She was, but I think my type has shifted a little.” “To what?” He touched my jaw lightly. “To beautiful women who put up with my crap and still show up to these stupid events outshining every woman in the room.” He kissed me, his lips impossibly soft as they brushed mine. A tease. Then they became hard, rough, as he devoured me with a hunger that felt like it had been building for a very long time. I responded quite unchastely, pulling him to me with a fire I couldn’t have hidden if I had wanted to. I was more like Lisa in that moment, losing every inhibition I might have harbored, responding to him with a driving need that was new, even to me. No one else had ever made me feel so wanton, or made me throw caution to the wind and forget about all the things my aunts had taught me about relations between men and women. Miles’ touch woke something in me that no other man had ever done. We kissed, our hands slipping into places that must have given the chauffeur quite a show. And when we reached the house, Miles swept me up into his arms and carried me into his bedroom for the first time, setting me in the center of the bed where he slept every night. And his hands, his lips, his tongue, did things to me that did more than awaken a long buried desire. It confirmed what I’d wanted to believe, but wouldn’t allow myself. It made me believe that he returned the feelings I’d been harboring for him. No

man could be that gentle, that caring, and not have feelings. It wasn’t just that night. It was many nights over the next few weeks. He began coming home early from work, barely sitting through a meal before dragging me up the stairs to teach me more about my body, about his, about the things that made us both lose our minds. It became an addiction, this need we had for each other. But it wasn’t just physical. When we weren’t together, he would send me texts, he would talk to me about everything from business to politics to the weather. Any excuse to reach out. It got to the point where we were texting each other dozens of times a day. And then there was that last night. He came home later than usual, a tension in his shoulders I recognized but didn’t know the cause. I watched him pour himself a drink—another familiar sight—and I went to him, ran my hand over the small of his back. “Talk to me,” I said. Instead, he grabbed me and pressed me against the wall, his expression unreadable as he stared at me. Just as suddenly as he grabbed me, he kissed me, his hands tearing at my clothing as though he had to be inside of me before any more time passed. There was a desperation to his touch that was almost violent. It was not like anything we’d done before, but it had its own sort of excitement about it. He didn’t slow until my first orgasm slashed through my body, until I buried my nails in his shoulders and left raw marks in his flesh. Only then did he carry me to the couch and allow the tenderness back in. We made love there for hours, every touch, every breath a shared experience. He seemed insatiable, and I wanted to keep up with him, but he pushed me to my limits. I finally fell asleep as he peppered my shoulders with soft, endearing kisses. When I woke the next morning, he was dressed in his customary work clothes—muddy jeans, heavy work boots, and a vintage t-shirt that had seen better days—sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. He pressed a sealed envelope into my hands. “There’s the title to the car in there with a couple of companies I had Joan set up interviews for you at. And a passbook to the bank account I set up in your name.” “What?” I sat up, refusing to take the envelope, watching instead as it fell to the floor. “What are

you talking about?” “I bought you a car. I thought it was the least I could do.” “The least…” I was so confused, my head was spinning. I reached for his hand, but he stood— standing so quickly he nearly knocked the table over. “The divorce papers will be delivered to you in a few days.” “Divorce? You’re divorcing me?” “That was our deal, wasn’t it? You marry me until I don’t need you anymore.” He glanced at me, a mask that I thought was something of the past now covering his handsome features. “I don’t need you anymore.” “Just like that?” He stared at me for a long second. “I thought you’d be relieved. Now you take my money, my family name, and make a life for yourself.” “I thought I was making a life here.” “It was always a temporary situation, Riley. You knew that from the beginning.” “But these past few weeks—” “I let things get a little out of control. I apologize for that, but it doesn’t change anything.” “Out of control.” I repeated his words because I was so stunned that he would say it that I had to repeat them. I sat up, tugging the thin blanket he must have laid over me around my shoulders, looking almost frantically around for my clothes. But they were all across the room, scattered in front of the bar. “Riley,” he said, his voice softening slightly. Yet, when our eyes met, he turned away. “Were you just using me the whole time?” I asked. “Was all this…was last night just you using me?” He made a sound, something like a groan. But then he strode toward the door, pausing only long enough to say, “You knew what you were getting into from the beginning. You shouldn’t be surprised to see it end this way.” And then he was gone. And I was completely destroyed.



Chapter 17 Present Day… “What do you mean, ‘We’re still married’?” Miles shrugged. “I mean, we’re still married. How many ways are there to interpret that statement?” “I signed the papers.” “I did, too. But they don’t do much of anything sitting in a drawer in my desk.” “You didn’t send them to the lawyers?” “No.” “Why the hell not?” An amused smile slipped over his full lips. “My little wife has developed quite the foul mouth, hasn’t she?” “I’m not your wife. I don’t care what anyone says.” I brushed past him as I stormed back to the bedroom. “And I’m not staying here. There must be another room on this damn ship where I can wait out the next three days.” “Nope. We’re completely booked up.” “How would you know?” “I own the cruise line.” I spun around, my anger threatening to choke me. “You what?” That smile again. “You heard me.” “You own this ship?” “And everything associated with it. Why do you think we have the best cabin on the ship?” I resisted the instinct to look around. Instead, I returned to my original path, which was to redress and take myself somewhere else. I tugged at my bra again, a little more successful in getting it back on.

Then shrugged out of the robe and pulled my t-shirt on over my head. “That’s not really suitable attire to wear to dine with the captain.” “I’m not dining with the captain. I’m going to find a place that is as far from you as possible.” “And make everyone think there’s trouble in paradise? I don’t think so.” “We’ve been separated for six months. I’m sure everyone is well aware of the trouble in our marriage.” “Not really. I don’t know if you noticed, but word of our…separation…never hit the papers.” I picked up my suitcase and lugged it across the room, pausing only because he was blocking the doorway. “Move.” “We have a prenup, Riley. I don’t know if you remember the details, but it states that as long as we are married, you have to perform whatever wifely duties I ask of you.” “But you already paid me. You don’t have anything to hold over my head anymore.” “Sure I do. Do you remember when I paid off your aunts’ house?” A cold hand suddenly wrapped itself around my heart. “Yes.” “It was actually a little more complicated than I led you to believe. You see, the bank had already done the foreclosure paperwork, they were just giving your aunts a little more time to get out. So, in order to pay it off, I had to actually purchase the house. I was going to have it transferred into your name and give you the deed when the divorce was final, but since we’re not yet divorced, the deed is still in my name.” I glared at him through narrowed eyes. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying if you don’t cooperate, I’ll kick your aunts out of their home and turn it into a parking lot.” “You wouldn’t.” “Try me.” There was a hardness to his voice that actually dared me to argue with him. And I wanted to. I so wanted to. But I didn’t.

I dropped my suitcase close enough to his bare feet that he had to jump back to keep it from landing on his toes. “Tell me what I have to do.” “Don’t sound so defeated, my love,” he said, brushing his hand against my jaw. I moved back, leaving his hand hoovering in midair. He dropped it to his side, his eyes drifting over me for a long second. “This,” he finally said, “is the maiden voyage of the revamped cruise line. It had been plagued with problems, but my team has worked to fix the source of most of those problems. I’m here to prove to the public that those things won’t happen under the leadership of LMR, Inc.” “LMR, Inc.? Isn’t that part of Thorn Financial? You’re working with your father?” Miles inclined his head slightly, the first touch of humility I’d seen igniting a slight blush across his cheeks. “Why? What about Thorn Construction?” “My construction company is still flourishing.” “But you’re working for Jackson.” “I’m fulfilling an obligation.” “But you’re not going to tell me why.” I turned away, crossing the room in just a few strides as frustration again built inside of me. “Why am I surprised? You never really told me anything. You refused to explain why you needed to get married, never told me why you needed someone like me, and never explained why you ended things so abruptly.” “I will. Someday. But right now I need your help.” “Again.” “Again. I know you’re angry with me…” “Angry?” I turned to look at him, standing there with shaving cream drying on his cheeks and nothing but a towel around his waist. He should have looked vulnerable in such a state of undress, but there had never been anything vulnerable about Miles. He almost looked more masculine than he had in the tuxedo he wore the night of the Waco Chamber of Commerce gala. I shook my head, unable to stop the flow of words that slipped from my lips.

“I was in love with you. I thought all that bull about a marriage of convenience was in our past, that we’d connected on a new level the night your mother died. I thought you returned my feelings. All those nights…but clearly I was wrong.” I waited for him to say something. Waited for him to admit how wrong he’d been. Or maybe tell me I’d been wrong. But he didn’t say anything. I went to the bed and unzipped my suit bag, pulling out a silky red dress Lisa encouraged me to buy in the weeks after our split, during the spat of blind dates she forced me to go on. “I hope you were done in the bathroom,” I said over my shoulder as I went inside and locked the door behind me. The strength poured out of me as I leaned against the door, but I managed to keep it in until I was standing under the heavy spray of water. And then I collapsed against the wall, sobs tearing me apart as all the grief I’d thought I’d finally put behind me returned with a vengeance. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be near him and not want it all back, all the tenderness and the intimacy, the emotions I’d thought we shared and the future I’d taken for granted. I couldn’t pretend to be his contented young wife and not cross over that line that I’d so willingly jumped over all those months ago. But I had no choice, did I?

Chapter 18 When I came out of the bathroom a little less than an hour later, Miles was sitting on the couch in the sitting room, scrolling through the channels on the television. I hadn’t even realized there was a television, let alone that you could get television reception out in the middle of the ocean. Technology wasn’t my thing. Miles looked up, his eyes moving over me just like they had that night at the gala. If I was the same person I had been then, I would have blushed with pleasure. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I brushed past him as I finished stowing the bare necessities in my clutch—lipstick, small bills, my ID—and pulled the door open like I intended to go with or without him. But he was behind me before I expected him to be, his hand on the small of my back, his presence a heat that was unavoidable. I walked quickly, hoping to put a little space between us, but he kept up without even breathing hard. It took until we were at the stairs that led up to the main deck before I realized how futile this stupid game was. “I think you’ll enjoy yourself tonight,” Miles said close to my ear. The last time I heard that, Lisa had set me up with a friend of a friend of one of her brothers. It was the last date I let her set me up on. After six disasters, I was done. The first was an accountant Lisa thought I would like because accounting is business, right? No. He was so in love with numbers that was all he talked about. He spent so much time on imaginary numbers that I actually learned some stuff I hadn’t in my college calculus class. But there was nothing romantic about that date. The second was a relief bartender she met at the bar where she works. He was gorgeous—hmm, the abs on this guy were Hollywood inspired!—but the only thing he seemed interested in talking about was his high score on some game called Age of Mythology. The third was one of Lisa’s brothers, Ryan. That wasn’t really her set up, it was more me going to her house to cry on her shoulder and discovering that the only one home was her oldest brother who was

visiting while the school where he teaches in San Antonio was on spring break. And that was a really nice date. Only going out with Lisa’s brother was like going out with my own brother, so it was vaguely incestuous. The fourth…well, that one was actually kind of nice, too. It was a guy named Dominic whom Lisa and I met while we were having lunch during a shopping spree. He was handsome and smart and charming. He took me to an expensive restaurant and then a play in Dallas. We even laughed, something I felt I hadn’t done much of up to that point. I really thought we hit it off, but I didn’t hear from him again after that night, so I guess we didn’t. Five was a doctor who turned out to have a wife and kids at home. The sixth was…well, that date lasted all of fifteen minutes, so he’s not even worth mentioning. Thanks a lot, Ryan. I kind of think he might have suggested this guy to Lisa to get revenge on me for refusing to go out with him again. So, when someone said, I know you’ll have a good time, I tended to be skeptical. But then we turned into the dining room and familiar faces seemed to be all around me. Joan was standing just inside the room. She held out her hands to me and smiled. “Hello, Riley,” she said. “It’s lovely to see you.” “You too, Joan,” I said most sincerely. And then I heard a squeal and Lisa was suddenly in front of me. She threw her arms around me and rocked me back and forth. “Happy birthday, kiddo,” she said in my ear. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that the two of you are getting back together. You were so miserable.” I stepped back and stared at her. “What are you doing here?” “That would be my doing,” Miles said, touching the back of my neck as he slid up behind me again. “And mine.” Colin moved up behind Lisa, sliding a possessive arm around her waist. My eyebrows rose as I stared at Lisa.

“It’s a long story,” she said. “It’s part of the reason I set you up on so many dates. I felt so bad being this happy while you were so miserable.” “Dates?” Miles asked. “I don’t think we talked about that.” “You didn’t need to know,” Lisa said with a teasing smile. Colin shrugged. “I do what she tells me to do.” “Very obedient,” Miles said, laughter in his voice. I glanced at him, caught a little off-guard by that easy tone. I hadn’t heard it in so long, except in my dreams. Yet, it still had this power over me that made my bones melt and filled me with a rage that made my fingers curl into claws. Colin turned Lisa and led the way to the main table where each night the captain would invite a selection of guests to join him. Tonight Miles, Joan, Colin, Lisa, and I were the chosen ones. The captain stood as we approached and shook Miles’ hand. Miles introduced the rest of us, and the captain did the same with his staff. Then we settled down to a decadent meal of salmon, asparagus, and a lovely chocolate mousse. Lisa sat beside me, stealing my hand with an excited squeeze. “Can you believe we’re here? When Miles suggested it, I was so excited I almost texted you until I remembered I wasn’t supposed to tell you.” “How long have you been talking to Miles?” She shrugged, the movement lacking the tension that came into her expression when she caught the look on my face. “It’s only been a few weeks. Three at the most.” “And my aunts?” “He met with them at my mom’s house two weeks ago.” All this time everyone in my life was lying to me. I knew they thought they were doing a good thing, but the sense of betrayal was very real. “My mom flew in to be with your aunts. They are well taken care. In fact, I got a text just a little while ago. They were walking on the beach, having the time of their lives.” I just nodded. A plate of food was laid in front of me, but I had no appetite for it. I picked up my fork and

dragged it through the salmon, separating the various layers but not lifting any to my lips. I didn’t think Miles noticed—I didn’t think anyone really noticed—because everyone seemed to be deep in conversation about one thing or another. The most popular topic of conversation was how great the renovations LMR, Inc. did to the ship were. Apparently, everyone else had been on the ship most of the day. I had no comment because I hadn’t seen anything more than the suite I was being forced to share with Miles. But then Miles leaned close and whispered, “You should eat.” “Not hungry.” “It’s going to be a long night.” “It already has been.” Miles studied my face for a second, but he didn’t say anything else. I almost wished he had. A part of me wanted him to say something offensive, something that would give me cause to turn on him, to say some of the hurtful things that were still burning inside of me. Yet, a part of me was glad he hadn’t said anything more. I had to live with this man for the next three days. We had to be nice if we were going to survive this. However, the moment we docked in Spain, all gloves were off. I needed some air. The moment dinner was over and everyone began to leave their seats, I slipped out a side door. I didn’t know where I was going, but I needed to get outside. Luckily, I turned the right way in the corridor and found myself on the main deck. I went to the rail and leaned over, gaining a little relief as the breeze of the ship’s movement forced itself against my burning cheeks. I closed my eyes and sighed. “A little stuffy in there, wasn’t it?” I turned around and tripped over my toes, nearly falling into the arms of a stranger. But then I stepped back and realized he wasn’t a complete stranger. “Dominic?” “Hello, Riley.” “What are you doing here?” “Taking a cruise, just like you. Though I wasn’t lucky enough to be invited to the captain’s table.”

“Were you in there?” “I was. I saw you the moment I walked through the door, but—despite the desperation of my stare —you never looked in my direction.” “Sorry. I was a little wrapped up in my own thoughts.” “Not bad thoughts, I hope.” I started to shrug, but then a thought slipped through my mind. “You never called me.” “I know. And I’ve regretted it ever since.” He moved up against the rail, staring out at the emptiness of the calm sea. “I got really busy with work, and then it seemed too late to call.” “You shouldn’t have worried about that. I’m not one of those girls who demands a certain adherence to rules.” “That’s good to know.” He glanced at me, then straightened as he spotted something behind me. “But you seem to have moved on.” I turned just in time to see Miles storm by me and grab Dominic by the collar. “What the hell are you doing here?” “Same thing as everyone else,” Dominic said, holding up his hands to show he meant Miles no harm. “Just taking a cruise, friend.” “Then why are you out here with her?” “We know each other. Don’t we, Riley?” Miles glanced back at me even as his hold on Dominic tightened. I could hear the distinctive sound of Dominic’s shirt ripping. “Let him go, Miles,” I said, grabbing his arm. “We were only talking.” “About what?” Dominic glanced between the two of us and began to laugh. “Haven’t you told your husband about our lovely little date?” Hurt flashed across Miles’ face, even as he turned back to Dominic, shoving him so hard against the rail that his arms flailed for a second as he bent backward at the waist. “Stay away from her. Do you hear me? I catch you near her again, nothing will stop me from

tossing you over this rail.” “And what happened to all that insisting that you were nothing like your brother?” The color disappeared from Miles’ face as he let Dominic go. However, Dominic wasn’t done yet. “If I were you,” he said, gesturing toward me, “I’d stay as far away from the Thorn brothers as possible.” Then he focused on Miles again as he straightened his shirt. “My father may have made peace with you, but I haven’t. And I plan to make sure you pay for everything you and your brother did to my sister.” Then he walked away, but not before slamming his shoulder into Miles’ side. I watched him go, my hands shaking as I tried to comprehend what’d just happened. And then Miles grabbed me, shoving me hard enough against the rail that my teeth rattled. “Stay away from him, do you hear me? I don’t care what he says or what he does, don’t go anywhere near him without me or Colin with you. Do you understand?” “Why?” “Never mind why. Just do what I tell you.” And that was when the damn broke. “No,” I said between gritted teeth. “I won’t just do what you tell me. I’m tired of you deciding everything for me. I’m tired of the secrets and the lies and the crap that you hide behind. I won’t just take your word for it anymore. I want to know why.” “If I won’t tell you?” “Then I’ll go ask him.” Miles’ expression hardened like a stone, only the smallest muscle in his jaw showing any sign of emotion. He stared at me for a long minute, and then he stepped back. I thought he was letting me go so I could go talk to Dominic, but then he grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him, speaking almost directly into my ear. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But right now we have to go back inside. There are reporters here who expect me to make an appearance at the evening dance.” “What if I don’t want to go?”

A weariness washed over Miles’ face. “I’m doing the best I can, Riley. I need you to work with me a little.” “Why?” He touched my face with the back of his fingers. “I missed your stubbornness. Can you believe that? But now…” I was a little stunned by the idea that he’d missed anything about me. I wanted to believe—I mean, he’d seemed really angry at the idea that Dominic and I had gone out—but after the unceremonious way he’d kicked me out of his house, how could I trust anything he did or said? I stepped back, forcing my mind back to the tangibles in this situation. He held the deed to my aunts’ house. If I wanted to get it from him, I had to play along. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go back inside.”

Chapter 19 Most of the diners had moved to the main hall of the ship where a live band was just beginning their first set of the evening. Liquor flowed freely and people were enjoying the wooden dance floor, laughter almost as loud as the deep bass beat. Lisa and Colin were already there, holding each other a little close for the tempo of the current song. Lisa spotted me and smiled as she waved, so much happiness radiating from her face that she probably could have powered the entire ship if someone could figure out how to harness emotion. Miles led me to the dance floor, but we continuously were stopped by people wanting to introduce themselves. Some were just regular passengers who recognized him from the press he received from his family connections, others were reporters who wanted to arrange a time for an interview. Joan came to our rescue, doing her best to lead people away and take charge of his social calendar. I’d forgotten what it was like to go out in public with Miles. It was never a simple dinner out or a quiet party among friends. It was always a public relations affair, a game in which we had to be the perfect players or regret it in the morning. It was stressful. But, again, the feel of his hand on the small of my back was actually kind of delicious. And that familiar scent of wood and spices made me want to take a deep breath as he swung me into his arms. “How long do we have to stay?” “Anxious to be alone with me?” he asked, a bit of a twinkle in his eye. “No. Just tired of the bullshit.” He touched a finger to my lips. “What a mouth you’ve developed.” “Yes, well, you have that effect on people.” “I’m sure I’ve affected you in other ways, as well.” “Don’t we have a bit of a big head?” “Be honest,” he said softly as he stared into my eyes, “you missed me.”

“I missed the man I thought you were. But I was clearly wrong, now wasn’t I?” “Don’t be so sure.” He drew me closer to him, so close that there wasn’t even room for a stray hair to wander between us. And then he kissed me, his lips barely brushing my lips before he drew my bottom lip between his teeth. It reminded me of that night at the gala, the night he told me my lip belong to him. It was the first time I really believed there might be a chance for us, that he might actually see me as more than the convenient girl who filled some crazy need in his life. For a month, I really thought he was the man I’d waited most of my life to come and rescue me from my sad, orphaned life and take me on some wild adventure, like all those princes in all those Disney fairy tales. But he made it pretty clear that wasn’t the case. I turned my head, trying to ignore the tears that were welling in my eyes. And, wouldn’t you know it, I just happened to turn in the right direction to watch Claire walk into the room in a crazy, tight, sexy, blue cashmere dress. What the hell was she doing here? Miles seemed oblivious to our audience as his hand slowly moved over the length of my back. But Claire wasn’t oblivious. She was watching with naked jealousy written all over her perfect features. “Why is she here?” “Who?” I straightened, my eyes meeting Miles’ again. “Claire.” He glanced in the direction I indicated with a little toss of my head and his jaw instantly tightened, that muscle flexing again. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice hard and low. “Is Robert here, too?” “I don’t know,” he repeated. “He’s not supposed to be.” “Is she here for you?” There was honest surprise in his eyes when he looked at me. “What do you mean?” I shrugged. “It’s pretty obvious she’s still in love with you.”

Miles grunted. “She was never in love with me.” I looked over at Claire again and watched as she snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and tossed it down with a single gulp. “I think you’re deluding yourself there just a touch.” “She married my brother, Riley.” “Did you ever ask yourself why?” He laughed quite bitterly. “Because they were having a fucking affair the whole time she and I were together?” “Who has the dirty mouth now?” He pulled me closer to him at the same time he buried his fingers in my hair, tugging my head back. “I don’t give a shit what Claire thinks or feels or wants. All I can think about right now is how much I’d like to get you back to our room and test out the mattress on that impossibly large bed.” His lips were on mine before I could think of a retort, or even catch a breath. I sighed almost unwillingly against his lips, opening to him the moment his tongue asked for entrance. My body remembered his touch even if my heart was desperate to forget it. What a show we must have put on for all the reporters and other wagging tongues watching us. But, in that moment, I didn’t really care. My body was snatching control away from my logical mind, and there wasn’t much I could do to stop it. His hand slid slowly up over my back, and then down again, enjoying the curves that were so well hidden under the silky folds of my dress. The music changed, a heavy beat bursting around us, but we were practically standing still, lost in each other in a way I had thought would never happen again. How could he still have this power over me? How could he turn me into a puddle with a single touch? It was so unfair, this thing he did to me. My only consolation is that I knew I had a similar power. I could feel it in the rigidness of his body, in the quick pulse of his breaths, and in the desperation of his kiss. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered against my ear. I nodded, aware of what a fool I was being. He knew now that he could use and abuse me at his whim. He knew that all he had to do was kiss me and I was putty in his hands. I swore to myself the day I packed my things and moved out of his house that I would never let another man use me and toss me away

the same way he had done. Yet, here I was, rushing off to let him do it all over again. I knew I was in for an even deeper cut than the last time. However, this part of me kept whispering, At least I’ll have this part of him. I’ll have this memory to keep me warm on the multitude of cold, lonely nights that lay in my future. You got to take what you can get. That’s what my aunts always told me. Was this me taking what I could get? Or was this me being a stupid, weak girl? He took my hand and led the way toward the doors, headed right into Claire’s path. I don’t know if he planned it that way, or if it was just the way things happened, but she grabbed his lapel as we began to pass. “I need your help,” she said. Miles barely glanced at her. “Talk to Joan like everyone else.” “This is private. It’s about Robert.” That made Miles hesitate in his step. He tightened his grip on my hand even as he turned to her. “What about Robert?” “He’s here, in our state room. He’s injured.” “Injured? How?” Claire glanced at me and then behind her, as though she was looking for someone. Or maybe something. “Did you know Dominic is onboard?” Miles gave her a cursory nod. “I didn’t know you and Robert would be here.” “We boarded at the last minute. Robert thought you would appreciate his help with the press and everything.” “I told him to stay away. If not for him…” Miles glanced around then, too, clearly not willing to have one of the many noisy reporters in the room to hear what it was he hadn’t quite said. I was quite lost. Why was Dominic so important? And how did Claire know him? I was beginning to think there was something big brewing on this ship, something I was going to wish I had never been a part of. And it clearly had something to do with Dominic, Robert, and Miles. Even Claire seemed quite

aware of this secret that seemed to be getting ready to bite us all in places Miles would rather didn’t see the sun. “What’s your room number?” Miles asked between gritted teeth. “We’re in the Sky Suite.” She grabbed his arm. “I’ll take you up.” Miles glanced behind us again, but he didn’t pull away. Maybe it was because of the people behind us he didn’t pull away. The three of us walked in tandem out the door, both Claire and Miles concentrating on the corridor in front of us. I started to pull away, an excuse on my lips. However, Miles clung to my hand the same way he had at his mother’s funeral, and I felt a certain need in that touch. He didn’t have to look at me, didn’t even pause in his step. And I, like that same lovelorn pre-teen I’d acted like throughout our marriage, followed. The Sky Suite wasn’t far from the suite Miles and I were sharing. Claire shoved a keycard into the lock and stepped aside, gesturing for Miles to go in first. He pulled me along as he glanced around the sitting room. There was nothing out of place. We both shot Claire an annoyed glance. She ignored me, but gestured toward the bedroom door in answer to Miles’ glance. “In the bedroom. I made him as comfortable as possible, but I think he’s going to need more than my limited knowledge can provide.” “Did you call the doctor?” “The doctor would ask questions I’m not sure we want asked right now.” That was when Miles let go of my hand. He strode across the room and pushed the bedroom door open with only a hint of hesitation. Claire was right behind him. I’m not sure if she was concerned enough about her husband to want to rush to his side, or if she just wanted to be close to Miles. Her behavior was odd to me. If her husband was so badly injured, why did she dress before coming to the ballroom? Why did she stop for a glass of champagne? Why did she watch us dance for so long? Then I heard Miles swear quite loudly, using words I’d never heard come from his lips, and I knew whatever it was that plagued Robert, it couldn’t be good. I went to the door and all I saw was blood. Blood on the bedsheets. Blood on towels. Blood on

bandages. It was everywhere. And it was still oozing out of a round hole on Robert’s shoulder. “What happened?” Miles demanded. “We were running late for dinner. We were just rounded the main deck, and we ran into Dominic. Dominic said something about his sister, Robert said something back, and Dominic pulled a gun.” I turned and ran from the room, even as Miles pressed his hands to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “If she tells anyone,” I heard Claire begin to say, but then I was rushing down the corridor, desperately trying to remember where to turn and where to keep going straight. I somehow managed to find the ballroom with only two wrong turns. Lisa was still there, thank goodness, laughing as Colin lowered her into a deep bow. “I need you,” I said as I rushed breathlessly to her side. Lisa took one look at my face and whispered something to Colin before following me back out the door. By the time we got back to Robert and Claire’s suite, Robert was unconscious and Claire was drinking all the vodka she could find in the mini bar. “Great,” she said. “Mention that we can’t let anyone else know, and she goes and brings an audience.” But Lisa was already pushing Miles out of the way, assessing the situation and yelling instructions to anyone who was listening. Did I mention that Lisa’s in medical school when she’s not tending bar? Miles, his face pale and tense, mouthed the words thank you. I just nodded, as I moved past him on my way to the bathroom to try to find some of the things Lisa needed. There was a story here. The moment Robert’s situation was under control, I was going to hear it if I had to lock Miles in our suite and tie him to the bed to get him to tell it. It was the least he owed me after this.

Chapter 20 Miles stood at the sink in our stateroom, washing blood from his hands. How could a simple arranged marriage turn into such a horrifying, out-of-control mess? I was supposed to marry a man, a complete stranger who just happened to be part of one of the most famous, most beloved families in the country for a few months. I only had to pretend to be the perfect wife at a few dinner parties and business get-togethers and I’d walk away with the deed to my aunts’ house, the use of his name to get a good job, and a million dollars to boot. What could possibly go wrong? How about the fact that I fell in love with him? Or the fact that I thought he was in love with me, too? And then there was the whole he-forgot-to-deliver-the-divorce-papers-to-the-court-so-we’restill-legally-married thing after he tossed me out on my rear when he decided he didn’t need me anymore. And the fact that he conveniently forgot to turn over the deed to my aunts’ house to me. Or the fact that he convinced my aunts to give me a ticket to this cruise, supposedly to bring me out of the funk I’d been in since the divorce, just so he could trap me into pretending to be his wife for a group of reporters covering the launch of the new cruise line he was—for reasons I couldn’t quite figure out—running for his father. The last I heard, his father blamed him for everything—from his mother’s cancer to global warming. Why would they work together? But they were. And I had to sit through a boring dinner, pretending to be happily reunited with my husband while my best friend sat across from me with the man of her dreams. It was suffocating. I had to get out of there. Who did I run into when I left the dining room? The one guy who represented the only pleasant date—the only pleasant evening—I had after Miles kicked me out, Dominic. Only, of course, Miles knew Dominic and threatened to kill him if he came anywhere near me. Apparently, Dominic and Miles have history that involves Miles’ brother, Robert, because later in the evening we happened to run into Miles’

former fiancée, Claire, who is now married to Robert, and she announced that Dominic shot Robert in the gut. The wound turned out not to be as bad as everyone initially thought. Lisa, my best friend, who happened to be a medical student, was able to sew it up under crude conditions. However, it was a long night. Miles was clearly concerned, watching closely—even helping where he could—as Lisa worked. I stayed close, too. But Claire? Well, she was nowhere to be found during the whole ordeal. And now? I was so confused. And watching the blood run in circles around the marble sink was making me nauseous. “Are you going to tell the captain?” Miles looked up from the sink, his eyes a little weary, as though he’d forgotten I was standing there. “Why?” “So he can have the police waiting when we get to Spain.” Miles’ eyebrows rose, and he regarded me as though he thought I’d lost my mind. “We can’t get the police involved in this.” “Your brother was shot!” “Yes, but he’s going to live, thanks to you and Lisa.” “That’s not the point, Miles.” He turned back to the sink, lathering up more soap to clean his hands. There was a lot of blood on his hands. It was coming off slowly, in layers, but there was still so much. “Here,” I said, snatching my toiletry bag and digging out a body wash that had pumice ground up in it. “This will cut through the layers better.” “Thanks.” I leaned against the counter, tugging the loose edges of my dress around my legs. “Why would Dominic shoot Robert?” Miles glanced at me. “Because Dominic is part of a very dangerous family that has a beef with Robert.”

“Why?” Miles turned off the water, stepping back from the sink with his hands held up like a surgeon on a medical drama. I tossed him a towel, and he quickly rubbed them dry, careful not to touch the white towel to the bloody cuffs of his suit jacket. “It’s very complicated, Riley.” “You always say that whenever you don’t want to tell me something. But I think I’ve earned the right to know.” He brushed past me and went into the bedroom, dropping the towel on the floor and pulling his jacket off. When he began unbuttoning his shirt, I cleared my throat, trying to remind him I was still there, still waiting for a few answers. He ignored me. Instead, he tugged his shirt from his arms and tossed it to the floor with the towel and began to undo his pants. “Miles.” He glanced at me. “As I recall, you’ve seen me undressed before.” “Yes, well, things have changed since then.” “Have they?” Again, the arch of his perfect brow. “You seemed pretty willing to come back to the room with me and check out the bed earlier.” I blushed, the knowledge of just how right he was burning where the world could see it. “That was before we ran into Claire.” He sat heavily on the end of the bed. “I know you have a lot of questions,” he said, suddenly weary, as he looked up at me with dark shadows under his eyes, “but I’m exhausted. Aren’t you?” The truth was, my exhaustion rested heavily on my shoulders. I wanted nothing more than to snuggle under that incredibly soft comforter and forget reality for a few hours. However, reality had become this soap opera of characters—who all seemed to circle around the two of us—and I desperately needed to know how they all fit together. “I promised I would explain everything,” Miles said, lifting his hand toward me. “And I will. But can we get some sleep first?”

I reluctantly took his hand and allowed him to pull me onto his lap. He ran his hand slowly up my back, his other hand slipping under the hem of my skirt. “I missed you,” he whispered. “Did you? You seemed pretty happy to see me go.” He groaned, as he pressed his mouth to my shoulder, biting down just hard enough to send a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “Whether you believe it or not, I was trying to protect you. To keep you out of the exact mess I seemed to have just dragged you into.” He kissed my neck, the heat of his breath taking mine away. I knew I should move away and set some ground rules to keep myself from falling into the same trap I fell into after his mother died. I knew he only needed me now because he was worried about Robert, just like the first time he came to my bed was because he was grieving for his mother. It was a deep, dark trap that I was only beginning to climb out of. If I fell again… But how could I resist the feel of his hand on my hip, the taste of his lips on mine? How could I refuse him the comfort he so desired when my heart was screaming out for him, when every nerve in my body was aching for his touch? I was lost the moment I walked into the bathroom and found him standing there in nothing but a towel, that goofy smile on his lips. I touched the side of his face, drew him closer to me, and buried my fingers in his hair. How could I have thought I could get over this? That I could stop wanting this man? How could I have thought that going on a single’s cruise could ever make me forget his touch, his smile, his sense of humor? I was never going to forget. And I was never going to get over losing him when he sent me packing again. But he was mine—right now. And he wanted me—right now. Right now was all that mattered. That’s why I didn’t argue when he slipped my dress from my shoulders. And it’s why I didn’t protest when he lifted me and carried me to the bed, setting me down in the center of its overstuffed mattress and silky soft sheets. And it’s why I welcomed him when he lay with me, when he slid inside of me, when he took me to a paradise that I could only visit in his arms. And that’s why I curled up in his

arms afterward and slept more peacefully than I had in the past six months.

Chapter 21 Miles was gone when I woke the next morning. A part of me wasn’t surprised. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I climbed into the shower and stood under the spray for a long time, trying to let the heat take the knots from my muscles. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood circling the sink before it went down the drain. I couldn’t believe how much blood there had been, how much blood came from a wound Lisa insisted wasn’t that bad. It looked bad. And Robert was unconscious all night. I tried to imagine Dominic—the sweet, romantic guy who took me to a play in Dallas and this restaurant where they had violinists walking through the dining room, playing whatever romantic serenade a couple might request—shooting my brother-in-law. As much as I disliked Robert for everything I knew he’d done to Miles—such as marrying his fiancée—I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to shoot him. Let alone someone like Dominic. None of it made sense to me. When I was dressed, I left the room, searching for the dining room. The brochure my aunts gave me said they had a breakfast buffet until noon, and I was starving. However, just as I turned the corner, heading to the lovely smells emanating from the spread, two very large men stepped out in front of me. One grabbed my arm and the other pressed some sort of cloth to my mouth. In seconds, my knees buckled, as the world went dark. *** I woke with a horrible taste in my mouth. I immediately sat up, coughing, my throat scratchy and sore. “It’s the chloroform,” a voice in the darkness said. “There’s water on the table beside you.” “And how do I know there isn’t something in it?” “If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

I knew the voice. It was Dominic. “You shot Robert.” “He killed my sister.” Those words hung in the air for a minute, heavy, like the proverbial elephant. I reached for the water, drinking it down quickly. Gratefully. It didn’t completely wash away the horrible taste, but it made my throat less scratchy. Dominic switched on a light. We were in a small stateroom, probably one of the ones in the belly of the ship, as there were no windows or portholes. But it was nice. The bed was a king size, the sheets a little less luxurious than those in the suite I shared with Miles, but still a good quality. There was a thick carpet, a comfortable-looking, straight-backed chair, and a heavy chest of drawers. And the open door to the bathroom showed a smaller version of what was in my suite. “Why am I here? What have you done?” “I had my guys bring you here so that I could talk to you.” “Wouldn’t it have been easier to talk to me in the dining room?” He leaned forward in his chair, running his fingers through his hair as he studied my face. “Actually, I didn’t want to risk getting interrupted.” “So you had your goons chloroform me?” I pushed the blankets off of my legs and got up, charging across the room to the door. I should have known—by the simple fact that Dominic didn’t make any effort to follow me—but the moment I grabbed the doorknob, I found it locked. I tugged at it multiple times, but it would not budge. I slammed my hand against the thin wood and yelled, but that didn’t do me any good either. “We’re on the bottom level of the ship. The only person who might hear you would be one of the crew, and they’ve been paid well to ignore anything they see or hear coming from this room.” I didn’t care. I slammed my hands against the door again, screaming as much in frustration as fear or anger. Well, maybe there was quite a bit of anger in there. Dominic must have gotten tired of watching my tantrum. He came to me, grabbed my arms, and tugged me away from the door.

“Relax. No one’s going to hurt you,” he said against my ear. I twisted away, not wanting him that close to me. I crossed back toward the bed, but then the implication of it—unmade and so welcoming—caused a shiver of revulsion to burst through me. I crossed my arms over my chest and moved to the far side of the room, pressing my back to it so that I could watch Dominic as he paced across the room. “I don’t understand why you’re resisting me like this.” There was a little pout in Dominic’s voice. “We had such a good time together that night in Dallas. And you know that I would never hurt you.” “Do I? We went on one date. And then you shot my brother-in-law.” “Yeah, well, I should have aimed better.” “Why? Why do you want him dead?” Dominic leaned against the door—much the way I was leaning against the wall—and stared at me. He seemed hesitant to answer my questions, and I wasn’t completely sure why. But there was something about the way he was looking at me that caused another shiver to rush down the length of my spine. I straightened up, but stayed against the wall, wanting as much space between us as possible. “What has Miles told you about me and my family?” “Nothing.” “Not even after last night?” I shrugged. “We didn’t have a lot of time to talk while we were trying to stop Robert’s belly from bleeding.” Dominic looked thoughtful for a minute. “I’m surprised he’d even care about saving his brother’s life. After everything that Robert’s done to him…” “You mean, marrying his fiancée?” “Among other things.” Dominic regarded me again. “What do you think of Claire?” I tried to pretend nonchalance, jerking my shoulder just slightly. But there must have been something on my face because Dominic broke into a grin. “Don’t like her much, do you?” “I don’t really have an opinion either way.”

“Are you sure?” Dominic came toward me as he reached inside his jacket. I backed up a little, pressing myself so hard against the wall that if it were physically possible I would have slid through the wall and into the water on the other side. He pressed an envelope into my hands. “These might help you form an opinion.” I started to give them back, but he pushed them against my chest. “Really,” he said. “Check them out.” Reluctantly, a sense of dread building in my chest, I opened the envelope. A handful of pictures fell out, and I caught Claire’s beautiful face in a few of them as they fanned out in my palm. Claire and Miles. Claire and Robert and Miles. Claire staring across the room at Miles with Robert at her side. I dropped the envelope and neatened the pile between my hands and looked closer. I began to recognize details I really didn’t want to see. Claire was in Florida. On my honeymoon. Claire in Waco at Miles’ office. Claire and Robert at the same restaurant Miles and I frequented in Waco for the many business meetings he dragged me to. Claire and Miles in his parents’ garden in Massachusetts. Claire and Miles over and over again. “Those were taken by a private detective my father hired.” “To do what?” “To find Miles. To prove that he was lying about leaving Massachusetts for you.” “For me?” I looked up, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “What are you talking about?” “Miles ran from an obligation he had to my father. He claimed it was because he was seeing a woman in Texas and he’d gone there, not only to start a construction business he’d been dreaming of for years, but to marry the woman of his dreams. Which he did, three weeks after my father confronted him.” I looked down at my hands, my eyes falling to those pictures again. There was nothing overtly romantic about the pictures. They weren’t touching in most of them and definitely not kissing. But the fact

that I could recognize the settings, the fact that Claire followed us to Florida and then to Texas, bothered me on a level I was unfamiliar with. It filled me with a sense of uncertainty, of fear, of betrayal. It left me wondering if I really knew anything at all about Miles and his intentions toward me. “What does Miles have to do with your father?” I asked almost absently, desperately needing something else on which to concentrate. “He told my father that he was responsible for my sister’s death.” My head came up so quickly that a pain flashed through my neck. “What are you talking about?” “My sister. Rebecca.” Dominic stepped back, falling back onto the bed. He stared at his hand, the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then he looked up, and there was as much anger in his eyes as there was grief. “Robert killed my sister and let Miles take the blame for it.” I didn’t know what to say, and something about the way he was staring at me suggested he didn’t want me to say anything. He wanted to tell his story without interruption; he wanted me to know exactly what kind of people he thought Miles and Robert were. He wanted someone to hurt as much as he did, and he clearly thought his story would destroy me. “Robert was dating my sister a few years back,” he began. “She thought he was the sun and the moon; she talked about him like he was a Prince Charming come to life. But I knew she was just a fling for him. He’s a womanizer. A fucking loser who treats women like objects to be used and tossed aside. I wasn’t about to sit back and watch him do that to Rebecca. “I pulled him aside and told him to stay away from her. He agreed that he would. He knew that he would have the full wrath of my family on him if he didn’t listen. No one wants to cross a de Luca. Not if they know what’s best for them.” De Luca. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. “He assured me the relationship was over. But I found out later that they continued to see each other for months. Rebecca would sneak out of the house and slip off with him when no one was really paying that much attention. The last time I saw my sister, she lied to me. Told me she was going up to bed. But she was really going off with him to some club outside of Boston.”

He shook his head slowly, sadly, a darkness filling his eyes that sent cold shivers down my spine. “What happened?” He looked at me, anger suddenly burning in his dark features. “We got a call from the local police department. She’d been found in a car that had crashed into a copse of trees not a mile from our house.” “I’m sorry,” I said almost on instinct. “The car belonged to Robert, but he, of course, was nowhere to be found.” “He just left her?” Dominic shook his head again, the frustration that stiffened his shoulders so obvious that I could almost feel the tension rolling off of him. “After she died, after the funeral, my father tracked Robert down and confronted him. It was more than a month later, but there was a fresh scar on his forehead. It was so obvious he was behind the wheel that night. I mean…come on, why would Miles be driving his brother’s car? Why would he be with the girl who claimed to be Robert’s girlfriend? And why would Miles, of all people, leave her there, injured as she was.” His hands were balled into fists on his thighs, anger snapping so clearly in his eyes that it might have been fireworks in a Fourth of July sky. Then he continued, “But Miles insisted that Robert had nothing to do with it. He insisted that he was driving the car that night. And my father…”—outraged dripped from his next words—“…believed him, for whatever reason. But I know. I know that Robert killed my sister.” Dominic stood and began to pace. There was a tension in his shoulders that was so tight I could see the muscles vibrating under his shirt. A part of me felt grief for him. I knew what it was like to lose your family in a single moment. I have few memories of the crash that killed my parents and even fewer of my parents themselves. However, I have this constant sense that something was missing in my life. That was something I would never wish on anyone else, even someone who meant harm to the man I loved. “When was all of this?” “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. My sister is dead, and that man is responsible for it.” Dominic stopped moving, his eyes falling to the pictures I still held in my hands. “Miles begged my father not to push the police to arrest Robert and made a deal with him to keep

my father from telling Jackson Thorn. Told him he would make it right. How he could make something as catastrophic as killing my sister right, I had no idea. I wanted the truth. I wanted Robert to pay for my sister’s death. An eye for an eye…” A flash of memory, of Robert lying in that bed last night, his side oozing blood as Lisa and Miles did their best to remove the bullet and stitch it up, rushed through my mind. I shivered again. “My father wouldn’t let me near Miles or Robert. Said he had it under control. Instead, he sent me to fucking South America to deal with family business down there.” And that’s when I realized where I’d heard the name de Luca before. Martin de Luca was a notorious crime boss on the East Coast, a ruthless man who was rumored to have politicians and highlevel businessmen alike in his back pocket. He was said to run New York—not just the city, but the whole state—and that he had the ear of senators and congressmen. There were even rumors that he and the president were golf buddies. Martin de Luca. If that’s who Dominic’s father was, then we were all in more trouble than I ever imagined. Dominic must have seen the fear flash across my face. He smiled, a soft smile that said more than I wanted to know, to see, to understand. He was getting off on my fear. “I couldn’t image what deal my father had made with Miles. But I had some ideas. I knew he wanted to expand the business to the West Coast; I knew he had already sent some guys that direction to check things out for him. When I heard that Miles had run off to Texas, I figured that what’s my father was doing. He was forcing America’s sweetheart to make connections for him, to help him set up his business in Texas.” “Miles wouldn’t do that.” “You think?” Dominic laughed. “Then you don’t know your boyfriend all that well.” But I did. At least, I thought I did. But then I glanced down at the pictures that were still in my hands. Did I know him? Or did I know what Miles wanted me to know?

I dropped the pictures and watched as they scattered across the floor, Claire’s face laughing up at me from a dozen different perspectives. “Miles didn’t want his daddy to know what he was doing. And he definitely didn’t want poor little Robert to go to jail. He probably would have agreed to just about anything if it meant protecting everyone in his family.” “I don’t think so.” But I did. It made sense that Miles would come to his brother’s defense. He was loyal that way— except with me, of course. But, technically, I wasn’t his family. We had an agreement. “To be honest, I have no idea what the deal was between my father and Miles. All I know is that I came back from South America and my father mentioned that Miles had gone to Texas and tried to welsh on their deal. So I flew out there to nose around. That’s when I found you at that little restaurant with your girlfriend, moaning and groaning about your broken heart. I took you out to figure out what was going on. But then my father found out I was there and told me to back off. That he was dealing with the Thorn family himself.” Dominic shook his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “He told me it was all taken care of. But Robert was still walking around free and Miles…” His eyes moved up and down the length of me, lingering on my hips, my breasts. I crossed my arms again, pressing them hard against my breasts. “I won’t just sit back and watch the two of them walk around like nothing ever happened. That was my sister.” “You must have been close.” He didn’t answer me. He moved to the door, pacing a little in front of it. “They have to pay. Robert for killing Rebecca, and Miles for interfering with our revenge.” “Miles won’t let you get away with this,” I said softly. “He’ll do anything for the people he loves.” “Yes. But what about you? How much will he give up for you?” I blushed, not sure how to answer that question. To be honest, I didn’t really know. “Because,” Dominic said, coming close to me, so close that his breath ruffled my hair, “I think he’d do just about anything for you. And I think that he would go insane if he knew you and I…” He

flicked his fingernail against my bottom lip. “Did you see how ruffled he got last night? And all we were doing then was talking. Imagine what he’d do if he saw this.” He kissed me, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth before I could even respond. I cried out and slammed my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me. He laughed as he stumbled back. I pressed a finger to my lip and shuddered when it came away with a drop of blood on it. “You are a feisty one,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.” “You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I said. “Miles doesn’t care about me. Our marriage was all a sham.” “Bullshit.” “Why do you think we were only married six months? Why do you think he threw me out of his house after only six months? Why was none of his family at our wedding?” I gestured to the pictures on the floor. “Why do you think Claire was in Florida during our honeymoon? Do you really think a man in love with his new bride would take his ex-fiancée on his honeymoon with him?” “I don’t believe you.” I shrugged. “Pictures don’t lie.” I pressed my hands against the wall and realized I had another argument. “If he’d do anything for me, why are we still moving? Why haven’t they stopped the ship to search for me?” “Why weren’t they pounding on the door of my suite this morning to take me into custody?” Dominic waved his hand at me, as though underscoring the question. “Miles doesn’t want the press to figure out what’s going on here.” That made sense. But I wasn’t going to give that to him. “Miles is in charge here. He would stop the ship if he thought the woman he loves was in danger,” I said. “Don’t worry, Riley,” Dominic said in a soft, syrupy voice. “Miles will hurt. But you and I? We’ll have a wonderful time.” He touched the side of my face again, running his finger so slowly down the length of my jaw. “Such a wonderful time.” I felt sick. I might have vomited right there, but there was no food in my stomach. There hadn’t

been for more than twelve hours. But the nausea was real. I don’t know how he could miss it, but he continued to smile as though everything was going perfectly to plan. He dropped a kiss to the middle of my forehead and then walked away, using something—I couldn’t quite see it—to unlock the door and slip out. I ran over there and tried the knob, but it was locked again before I could get it open. Shit. What was I supposed to do now?

Chapter 22 I paced the length of the room for a long time. I didn’t know what to do. I wished I’d thought to bring my cell phone with me this morning, but I left it in the stateroom, thinking I’d run into Miles in the dining room and could borrow his phone. I left the nice phone he gave me during our marriage at his place —I didn’t want to owe him anything after we divorced, including payments on a cell phone I hadn’t wanted in the first place. But the phone I had was cheap. I couldn’t call my aunts back in Florida if I wanted to with it—which was what I would have wanted my phone for this morning—so I figured I’d bum his off of him…but now would be a good time to have even that lousy phone. At least I could text Lisa, or call Miles, and get the hell out of here. Was it true? Was anything Dominic said true? Did Robert kill his sister in some sort of car accident? Did Miles really try to cover for his brother with a family of mobsters? Did that have something to do with why Miles had to marry me in the way that he did? Is that why he never told me why he wanted to marry me in such a hurry? If so…why? What the hell did he promise to do? Did he really agree to bring mobster business to Waco? Why would anyone do that? And, if that was the case, why didn’t he just tell me what was going on? Maybe I could have…I don’t know. I’d like to think I could have helped him get out of it, or something. But could I have? Really? None of it made sense. And I wasn’t sure who I could trust, who I could believe, and who was out to hurt me. Was Miles protecting me? Or did he just use me to protect himself? I mean, why would he protect Robert if he knew that Robert was sleeping with his fiancée? Why would he put himself in that sort of danger if he knew it would lead to his father turning his back on him and his brother acting so completely ungrateful? How much did Miles know when he stood up to protect his brother? I mean, I could see Miles doing something like what Dominic had said. I could see him taking the blame for something Robert did. I could even see him standing up to his father for Robert’s sake. But why

would he continue to work with Martin de Luca after what Robert did to him? And why did Robert do it? Why would Robert marry Claire when he knew that she was the woman Miles loved and wanted to marry? And why would Claire marry Robert when she was still, so clearly, in love with Miles? My eyes moved to those pictures. There was no doubt in my mind that that was exactly what was going on in those pictures. Claire was still loyal to Miles. And then it occurred to me that maybe Claire knew what Miles was doing. Was she helping him? Was she part of the whole thing, too? Were they still lovers? Was Claire’s marriage to Robert a cover of some sort? Were they all lying to me? None of it made sense. But none of it had ever made sense. After a while, I crawled onto the bed and curled into a ball, a pillow in my arms, as I tried to figure out what my next move should be. Miles had to be looking for me. And he had to know I was still on the ship. After all, we were miles and miles from land. And Lisa. She had to suspect something was wrong. Was she looking for me? Did she think that Miles and I were…what? Spending time making up? That made my belly tighten a little. Maybe nobody was looking for me. There had to be a way for me to signal someone, to let them know where I was. I could see light coming in from underneath the door. I could slide a note or something underneath. Maybe someone would find it and get it to…someone. Maybe. I got up and searched the room for a piece of paper and something to write with. Like a hotel, there was a desk in the stateroom Miles and I shared. On the desk was a pad of paper and a pen with the cruise line logo on it. There had to be something like it in here, I just had to find it. But all the drawers in the chest were empty, as were the ones in the nightstand. I searched the drawers in the bathroom, but they were empty, too. My pockets were as empty as they’d been the day I bought my clothes, and there was nothing under the bed. There were the pictures, but there was nothing I could use to write on them.

Besides, the backs were too slick. Ink wouldn’t stick to it properly. If I could find a pencil… I searched everywhere I could think of, finally turning circles and staring at the bed, the largest object in the room. There was a tag sticking out from under the fitted sheet. I grabbed it and pulled it free. There was print on the front, but the back was blank. If I had something to write with…damn! I wished I had my toiletry bag with me. My mascara or my eyeliner would have been a perfect writing implement. But I didn’t have either one, and I hadn’t bothered with makeup when I dressed this morning. Or was it yesterday morning now? I wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore. I ran my thumbs over the tag, trying to think. That’s when I noticed that when my nails dragged against the material, it left a mark. Would it last? Would anyone be able to read it? It was worth a try. Very carefully, using my pinky nail because it was the longest and the thinnest, I wrote: In bowels of ship. Dominic. Please come. Riley Thorn There wasn’t room to write much more. I hoped whoever found it got the idea. I carefully slid it under the door, hoping that it moved far enough out into the hallway that someone passing by might see it. But then I began to worry that one of the employees that Dominic paid off would find it first. Or Dominic might have men posted outside the door. Or Dominic himself might find it. Shit! What had I done? It was my only chance. I had to hope that someone else found it. *** I was curled up in bed again when Dominic came back. I wasn’t asleep, but I pretended that I was, hoping he’d just leave. I didn’t want to talk to him. No such luck.

“If you want to eat, you better sit up. Or I’ll leave and you’ll have to wait until we dock in Spain to eat.” My stomach growled and gave me away. I rolled over. Dominic was sitting in that chair again, a tray laden with a huge steak and a heaping pile of mashed potatoes in his hands. I think I started to drool. I hadn’t eaten anything since the burger at the roadside burger stand my aunts and I hit just before getting to Miami the day before, and the few nibbles I took of my dinner the night before. So, yeah, he had me at steak. I sat up and accepted the tray of food. Dominic smiled and that creeped me out a little. There was something about the way he looked at me that sat wrong in my chest. Why hadn’t I noticed how creepy he was when he took me on that date? I’d wanted him to call again. I’d wanted to go out with him again. He’d been kind and gentle and so different from Miles. And I’d wanted that. What was I thinking? “I’ve brought you some clothes and toiletries. I’d like for you to use them in the morning.” “Why?” “We’ll be docking in Spain late tomorrow afternoon. You and I will be leaving the ship.” Ice settled in my stomach, taking away some of the pleasure of the food I was shoveling in my mouth. It was like I was afraid he would take it away at any moment—which I really was. But with that, I put my fork down. “What are you going to do with me?” Dominic smiled that sickening sweet smile. “We’re going to get to know each other very well, Riley.” “Why? Why me?” “Because it’ll kill Miles.” Dominic moved to the edge of the bed, coming to sit right in front of me. It was then that I noticed the new bruise just below his right eye. He reached up and touched it, as my eyes widened. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t really hurt.” “Miles?”

“He was pretty pissed when I let him know I was the one behind your sudden disappearance. Said a few words that aren’t really repeatable in a lady’s presence.” He touched the side of my face lightly. I pulled away and caused a spark of anger to flash in his eyes. However, then he sat back a little, that smile coming back. “I heard that you’ve always wanted to see Europe. We’ll do a little sightseeing, maybe, when you’ve settled down.” “You can’t force me to stay with you, Dominic.” “Don’t worry. After a while, you’ll enjoy my company. Most women do.” I started to shake my head, but he grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him. “You’ll discover that this whole thing will be a lot easier when you stop fighting me.” “You’re insane.” He stood abruptly and strode across the room. “My men will come get you tomorrow afternoon. Make sure you’re ready.” “I won’t stay with you. As soon as I’m outside of this room, I’m going to run.” He chuckled. “I’d like to see you try. Watching my men shoot you in front of Miles might be more entertaining than imagining his anguish when I’m making love to you.” I felt the color drain from my face. He only laughed again. “Oh, and I wouldn’t try any more of this nonsense.” He held up the thin tag I’d ripped from the mattress. “No one down here is going to help you.” My heart sank, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. I bit my lip as my eyes fell to the tray on my lap, to the steak that was congealing in its own fat. A heavy sense of helplessness washed through me. It was over. No one was going to rescue me. And Dominic…there was no way of knowing exactly what he planned to do with me. I got the impression that he was the kind of guy who was always fascinated with new toys, but often grew bored with them after a time. He’d use me. I had no doubt of that. He’d use me in ways I couldn’t even begin to imagine. But then he would tire of me. And then what? It was that unknown that frightened me the most.

“Eat your dinner,” he barked before he left, once again securing the door. I didn’t even have to check it to know that it was locked as securely as before. I was no longer hungry. I pushed the tray aside and began to stand, intending to pace or something…I’m not really sure what I was going to do. But then I was hit with such an intense sense of vertigo that there was no doubt in my mind that there’d been something in the food. First chloroform, now drugs. What else did I have to look forward to? I carried the food into the bathroom and scraped it into the toilet, watching as it disappeared when I flushed everything down. The large chunks of steak swirling and gurgling as they slipped down the drain. Then I stuck my finger in my throat, not willing to take any chances. I needed to be in full control of my senses tomorrow. If there was any chance I could slip away from Dominic’s men, I needed to be fully aware to take the opportunity if it presented itself. I wouldn’t allow myself to think about the possibility of a gun.

Chapter 23 I showered the next morning, as instructed, surprised to find many of the items in the toiletry bag Dominic had brought me were the things I usually buy for myself. I didn’t even allow myself to wonder how he knew what to buy. The clothes, on the other hand, were nothing like what I might normally wear. They were more appropriate to older women, like my aunts. Linen slacks with an elastic waistband. A long, flowered, button-up blouse. A heavy blue cardigan. And thick soled nursing-style shoes. I paced the room after I dressed, aware that the ship was no longer moving because the vibrations in the walls had changed. That meant they would come for me soon. I worked through several scenarios in my mind, trying to figure out how I could get away before we even left the room. I’d taken a self-defense class in college with Lisa when there was a rash of rapes near the dorms. Maybe I could place a few well-executed punches to the guy’s throat. But if there were two of them…or maybe I could distract one or both with a flash of cleavage…unless they were gay…or I could simply ask them to let me go. It all seemed so helpless. I hated feeling helpless. And all I could think about were my aunts. What would they do without me to take care of them? They were always getting themselves into trouble. Taking out a mortgage on the house they inherited— mortgage-free—from their father was just the most recent of the trouble they were known to get themselves into. What if I never saw them again? What if they were left to their own devices? How long would it be before they owed some loan shark money or one of them got sick or injured or—God forbid! —they got themselves arrested over some misunderstanding? I would never forgive myself if anything happened to my aunts. They gave up everything to take me in almost twenty years ago. I owed them everything. I couldn’t just… The doorknob rattled. I turned, my heart pounding, my stomach churning. This was it. Two men, both equally tall, both equally muscular—like, Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson muscular

—and both equally indifferent walked in. “Put this on,” the first one said, tossing a hooded sweatshirt at me. I grabbed it out of the air and slid it over my floral blouse, my nose wrinkling at the foul odor that permeated every bit of the fleece. “Who does this belong to?” The man didn’t answer. But he slid a gun out from somewhere behind his back and held it casually at his side. That was answer enough. I pulled the sweatshirt close around me and zipped it up. The man gestured with the gun, showing me that I should pull the hood over my head, too, which I did. “These, too,” the other guy said, holding out a pair of sunglasses. I moved closer to them to take the glasses, looking for an opening. Could I punch one of them? Could I get some sort of advantage? But that gun was just too much of an obstacle. I had to get out of this alive. What good would I be to anyone if I let them shoot me? The first man grabbed my arm just above the elbow and led the way to the door. I walked slowly, remembering that I was supposed to be drugged. I’m not sure what they put in my food, how long it might have lasted, or what its effects might have been if I hadn’t thrown the majority of it up. But I figured shuffling my feet gave me a little extra time to study the layout of the hallway, so that had to be good enough. But there was nothing. I don’t know where they were holding me, but there was nothing in the hallway that resembled the safety equipment, paintings, and decorations that were in the hallway outside of Miles and my suite. The walls were a dull beige, the carpet a cheap indoor/outdoor type. There were no decorations and no paintings. There was nothing until we reached the elevator. A man in uniform stepped off the elevator when the doors opened. He seemed startled to see us, his eyes flicking to my face momentarily, then he suddenly found the carpet at his feet incredibly fascinating. “Please,” I whispered. And for that I got a smack on the side of my face that forced me against the elevator wall.

“Try that again,” the guy with the gun said, shoving it against my ribs, “then you will get a hell of a lot more than you bargained for.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, reaching up to touch my jaw. I guess I looked suitably whipped because the guy turned away and gestured for his friend to punch the proper button. As the doors closed, I saw the uniformed man turn and glance at me, his eyes moving from me to the gun and back to the cheap carpet again. The elevator doors opened a floor below the main deck. The man with the gun grabbed me and pulled me against his side, the gun cleverly hidden under my sweatshirt in such a way that we looked like lovers who couldn’t quite get enough of one another. My hands were shaking, and I wasn’t sure my knees were going to stay under me as we took the stairs up to the main deck. I wondered what would happen if I started to scream. There were a lot of people up here, other passengers excited to get off the ship and see the coast of Spain. If I screamed…but the cold steel of that gun was too much to ignore. It wasn’t until we got to the top of the stairs that I realized the other guy had disappeared. The man with the gun whispered in my ear, “Just walk straight. Don’t try anything funny.” He shoved the gun harder against my back as a reminder of what would happen if I ignored him. I kept my back stiff and walked at a steady clip, afraid to slow down or speed up, afraid his finger might get a little twitchy on that trigger. We rounded the corner of the main deck and joined the line of people waiting to disembark. There were several tour buses and taxis parked at the long end of the dock. Large groups of people were swarming the buses, but only a few were headed toward the taxis. And then a large SUV, one similar to the type that celebrities often take to and from the airport, pulled up behind them. I instinctively knew that was where I was headed. And I only had a few thousand feet to figure out how to get out of this. I thought about pulling away and trying to get lost in the crowd, but I was afraid his hand would get tangled in my clothes, or he’d shoot some innocent bystander. I couldn’t live with that. And then we were at the railing and he was pushing me down the gangplank. I thought it was over, there was nothing I could do. But then someone behind us screamed. I turned automatically. As I did, I spotted Miles and Lisa at the rail. My heart skipped a beat as I realized this was my one chance. They

were watching the people leaving the ship, clearly trying to spot me. If I could signal them, then maybe… What could I do that they would understand but the man with the gun on my back wouldn’t? I racked my mind, trying to figure out what to do. We were halfway down the gangplank by the time it occurred to me. And it would be perfect. When Lisa and I were younger, we had this hand signal we would do whenever we passed each other in the hallway at school or spotted each other across the cafeteria. It was a simple three movement gesture: two raised fingers, then a little shake, ending with a fist. I closed my eyes and purposely tripped over my own feet, causing the guy with his hand under my sweatshirt to grab my arm. I twisted toward him, doing the hand gesture over his shoulder. Twice. But I couldn’t see Lisa, so I wasn’t sure she actually saw me. Then the guy forced me back around and shoved me forward, the gun back against the small of my back. It was done. Either she saw it or she didn’t. Either she knew I was on my way off the boat or she didn’t. All I could do was send up a silent prayer and hope something happened. We were at the SUV moments later, and the gunman’s hand was gone as he shoved me inside. Dominic was sitting on the bench seat, waiting for me. He pulled my wrist, tugging me up beside him. I pulled away as quickly as I could. Then we were moving, the ship disappearing behind us. I turned around and tried to catch sight of Miles and Lisa, but we were at the wrong angle and much too far away. “There will be some better clothes waiting for you on the plane,” Dominic said. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to get out of those.” I sank down in the seat and closed my eyes again. Please, please, please.

Chapter 24 The plane was a private jet that was sleek and perfect on the private runway. It reminded me a little of the plane that Miles and I took to Massachusetts months and months ago. But that was a very different time. Miles…even though we weren’t really together then, being with him made me feel safe. The thing is, I really hate flying. I haven’t done it much. Twice, actually. Once to Massachusetts and once back to Texas. And Miles had been there, holding my hand. His presence had been so reassuring that it really wasn’t a big deal. But this was different. Dominic frightened me more than the movement of the plane. I couldn’t breathe as I hid in the bathroom. I was supposed to be changing, but I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. All I could think was how desperately I wished Miles was here. Despite everything, I wanted him with me. I wanted to feel his hand in mine. I wanted the safety of knowing I could trust him to be there for me. Even now, even when I was no longer sure I could trust him, I wanted to trust him. I wanted him to rescue me like some knight on a white horse. I turned on the water in the sink and washed my face, trying to shock myself into stronger thoughts. The clothes Dominic had provided for me were folded and waiting on a shelf. I shook them out, somewhat pleased to find that it was simple pair of jeans and a soft pink blouse. I pulled them on, glad to be rid of the smelly sweatshirt. I wanted to curl up on the floor and hang out in the bathroom for a while. But I knew Dominic would send his goons to come get me if I waited too long. With a deep breath, I slipped out of the bathroom and carefully made my way down the aisle to the captain’s chairs where Dominic was waiting. “You look so much more comfortable,” he said. “Where are we going?” He shrugged. “We’re going. That’s all that matters.”

I sat back in my chair and turned to stare out the window. I felt Dominic move closer to me; I felt his nearness before he touched my shoulder with just the tip of his fingers. “You are beautiful,” he said softly. “I’m married.” “Yes, well, you said yourself it was an arranged marriage. So what does that matter now?” I shrugged my shoulder away from his touch, but he just moved closer. But now he wasn’t just satisfied with a fingertip on my shoulder. Instead, he pressed his lips to the bare skin there. I bit my lip, trying not to let him feel the shudder that rushed through my body. I closed my eyes, trying to think of something—anything—else. In my mind’s eye, I saw Miles standing in the bathroom of our suite, a towel wrapped around his waist, that alluring smile framed by shaving cream. I imagined that moment going differently than it really did. I imagined him folding me into his arms and tasted the kiss we should have shared. I imagined a warm, happy reunion—instead of the one that was so clouded by hurt and anger and more hurt. I would do almost anything to be back there now, to be in Miles’ arms. Tears burned my eyes as Dominic’s lips moved up the curve of my throat. I couldn’t hide my shudder this time. But Dominic didn’t seem to care. He slid his hand over my jaw and tugged my face closer to his. When his lips touched mine, I jerked back without really meaning to. “You can fight me,” Dominic said softly. “I don’t mind. It actually makes it a bit more interesting. But it would be easier for you if you didn’t.” Tears spilled over, running slowly down my cheeks. “I didn’t do anything to you,” I said. “Why do you have to do this?” “You married into the Thorn family. You had to have known that would come with consequences.” He grabbed the back of my head. My muscles strained as I tried to pull away, but he was much stronger than I would ever be. He dragged me close to him and pressed his open mouth to mine, the unpleasant feel of moisture rushing over me as he buried his tongue in my mouth. I bit down. It was instinct. Something unpleasant touches you, you react. But it wasn’t the reaction Dominic wanted. “Bitch!” he cried out as he jerked back. And his fist flew, slamming into the corner of my jaw with

enough strength to force my head to snap back against the wall of the plane. My vision went dark around the edges, bells instantly ringing in my ears. He leaned close to me, burying his hand in my hair, wrenching my head around so that we were eye to eye. “Is that the way you want it? You want it rough? Because I can do that. In fact, it might be fun to see how far I can push you before you break.” He moved closer to me, running the tip of his tongue— which was now bleeding—over the center of my cheek. “We’ll still have plenty of fun. You just won’t be going out in public much. Can’t raise eyebrows with the bruises you’re going to sport.” He started to kiss me again even as I pressed my hands to his chest and tried to force some distance between us, but then his goon came over and whispered something over his shoulder. Dominic sat back and glared at the guy. “Now?” The guy nodded. Dominic groaned. Then he looked at me and said, “Well, I guess you get a short reprieve.” He stood and looked pointedly at his goon. “Make sure she stays put.” Dominic disappeared through a narrow doorway at the front of the plane. The goon took a seat across from me, his attention focused on a cell phone, but I was pretty sure he would notice immediately if I tried to stand up. I turned back to the window, using it as a mirror to rub away the blood trail he’d left on my cheek. I was calmer than I might have imagined I could be under such circumstances. Maybe it was shock. Or maybe it was something like acceptance. Either way, I was calm even as my thoughts were a jumble of chaos. Well, not chaos. I was mostly thinking one thing: No, no, no, no… *** The plane landed a little over an hour later. Dominic was back at my side, pulling me up from my seat with a hand under my upper arm. I shivered at his touch, trying not to let my mind go to what came next. I could imagine it: another black SUV, another long drive to some secluded house somewhere, probably a nice house on a cliff—money could buy things like that—and a well-appointed bedroom and then…I wouldn’t let my thoughts go beyond that. I tried to focus on the details, like the leather of the seats

in the SUV, so that my mind was too busy with the inconsequential to focus on the nightmare. We stepped out of the plane into a hot summer afternoon. The plane had stopped not far from a set of hangars with signs written in two languages. One was English. I was pretty sure the other was Italian. And, just as I had imagined, there was a large, black SUV waiting for us on the tarmac. The chauffeur opened the back door as our feet touched the asphalt. And then chaos erupted around us. Cars with flashing lights suddenly sped up to the plane, people jumping out of them with guns pointed before they’d even stopped. I just stopped. I didn’t know what else to do. They were yelling in a foreign language—again, I think it was Italian—and gesturing with their guns. Then a man spoke in English. “Get down!” Dominic threw his hands up into the air. “We are American citizens,” he called. “We know who you are, Dominic de Luca. You are under arrested for suspicion of trafficking an illegal substance.” “You have the wrong man,” Dominic said with all the charm of a criminal. “You may search my plane. You won’t find anything.” The man who spoke English gestured to some of the others. They immediately holstered their guns and boarded the plane. “We were given an anonymous tip saying that you have over a hundred pounds of cocaine hidden on this plane.” Dominic laughed. And it was a gleeful laugh, almost as if he found this situation amusing. “Why would I do that? Why would I fly a plane with that much cocaine in it to a foreign country? That would be suicide.” The man shrugged, lowering his gun, but keeping it clearly at the ready. Then he gestured to another set of men who also holstered their guns and then approached us. “We need to handcuff you while we search,” the man said. “For our safety.” Dominic held out his wrists, his eyes closely observing the cop who approached me.

“Be gentle with her,” he said. I found myself wondering if I should be flattered that he would care so much. The cop snapped the cuffs on my right wrist, then twisted it behind my back, jerking my other arm back. Pain burst through my shoulders, but I felt oddly relieved. If I was going to spend the night in jail, Dominic couldn’t hurt me tonight. It was like a short reprieve from the inevitable. “Fuck! Do you have to be so rough?” Dominic groused as another cop cuffed him. His goon also complained with a quiet expression of curses under his breath as they cuffed him, too. We stood and waited for the search to be completed. Dominic smiled when the cops came off the plane with nothing in their hands and a defeated look in their eyes. But then another car arrived with a couple dogs. A large, burly cop followed the dogs onto the plane. I saw a flash of fear in Dominic’s eyes as the dogs immediately began to bark. I wasn’t surprised when the burly cop came back out with a huge brick of cocaine in his hands. “Looks like you chose suicide, Mr. de Luca,” the cop in charge said, as he grabbed his arm and led him to one of the cars. Dominic looked back at me. “If I find out your husband’s behind this—” Icy fingers danced up and down the length of my spine. If there was one thing I’d learned about Dominic by now, it was that he didn’t make idle threats. They put me into a different car. I didn’t see Dominic, his goon, or anyone else associated with him again. The car I was in pulled into an underground garage, and I was led into a nondescript room that held only a narrow table and a couple of folding chairs. I was told they would come talk to me in a few minutes, but it felt like hours passed. I don’t really know how long I was there. Probably less than an hour. Time seemed to have changed for me, at least, the way I perceived it. I sat there in one of those chairs and picked at the thin glaze of polish on my thumbnails, my mind blank. Again, I think it was shock. So many things had happened over the last few days. I was supposed to go on a nice, relaxing cruise to get over my broken heart. But this adventure had been less than relaxing. It kind of put things into perspective though. My struggle to find a decent job was suddenly trivial. Starbuck’s wasn’t such a bad job. My boss suggested a few weeks ago that I might be management

material. It wasn’t the executive job I’d dreamed of in college, but it paid the bills. Money wasn’t even an issue, really. I still had that bank account with a little over a million dollars in it, thanks to interest. I hadn’t touched it in the months after Miles kicked me out—just like I’d left the car he bought me, the cell phone he gave me, and the list of job prospects he’d arranged for me. But now…I’d held up my end of the bargain. I should get over myself and use what he gave me to make a better life for myself and my aunts. And then there was Miles. My heart hurt when I thought about him. I loved him. I’d known it before he kicked me out, and I knew it now. The memory of the pictures Dominic showed me made the pain a little more intense. And the realization that he could still end things at the drop of a hat, that he could push me away once I was no longer helpful to him, left me a little weary of trusting him. But I loved him. All the logic in the world couldn’t make that basic reality go away. I loved him, and I wanted whatever he was willing to give me. Even if it was temporary. If I ever saw him again. It suddenly occurred to me that I could be going to jail. After being handcuffed and transported to this place, after sitting there for however long, it finally occurred to me that I might be facing years in an Italian jail for simply traveling on that plane. How many years do accomplices serve? Would I ever see my aunts again? I shivered as I imagined what jail would be like. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be like Orange is the New Black. But how much darker would it be? Would I survive? Panic was beginning to build in my chest, as a knock sounded on the door. “Mrs. Thorn?” a soft, female voice asked. I looked up. Joan Tarek, Miles’ office manager and family friend, was standing just inside the doorway. And behind her was Miles himself. I don’t even remember moving. All I remember is the feel of his arms around me, the sense of safety that infused me as I buried my face against his shoulder and burst into tears, letting go of all the fear and pain and confusion I’d barely kept under control since the moment those goons confronted me outside the dining room.

“It’s over now,” he whispered, as he ran his hand over the back of my head. “It’s all over.”

Chapter 25 There were questions. Questions the police wanted to ask about Dominic. Questions I wanted to ask Miles. Questions Miles wanted to ask me. But Joan stepped in, along with a team of lawyers she’d procured from somewhere, and arranged for it all to take place later. And then she looked at me, a sad smile on her face, and said the words I’d been waiting to hear all evening: “You’re free to go.” Miles took me to a hotel nearby where someone had already arranged a room for the two of us. The shock, or whatever, that had settled over my mind when Dominic forced me onto that plane, was still in full force, making it impossible for me to pay attention to anything around me. I had no idea where the hotel was, what city we were in, or even what country. I was still pretty sure everyone around me was speaking Italian, but I’m not that great with languages, so it could have been some other Latin-based language for all I knew. If not for Miles, I might have gone wandering through the streets without benefit of money, a sense of direction, or even knowledge of my own name. He carefully directed me into the bathroom as soon as we were in the room and ran water in the tub. My hands shook as I tried to undress myself. Without saying a word, Miles helped me with buttons and snaps, careful not to touch me where it was not necessary. Tears welled in my eyes as I watched him, all these thoughts spinning through my mind. Did he think I’d gone with Dominic willingly? Did he think that Dominic did something horrible to me? Should I tell him what had happened? Should I tell him about the goons and the guns and the threats? Did he know what Dominic had planned? Did he know what Dominic told me? What would he think when he found out everything that had happened between Dominic and I? Would he still want me? It all spun so quickly that I could hardly catch a single thought and hold onto it long enough to examine it as it required. Tears fell and fear—a different sort of fear from what I’d felt when Dominic touched me—burned in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, as Miles slid the shirt I was wearing from my body. His eyes widened slightly, the dark cloud that had been in them from the moment I first set eyes on him at the police station spreading and growing darker. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, his tone deep and full of emotion. “I should have protected you better. I should have…” He shook his head, his hands stilled just inches from my bare ribs. “This is not your fault.” I just nodded, not sure what else there was to say. When I was naked, he helped me into the bath, once again being careful not to touch me in any way that might seem even remotely sexual. It hurt to see the control he was exercising. It made me wonder if we would ever move past this. And then I wondered if there was an ‘us’ to move anywhere. “Why did you bring me on that ship?” I asked, as Miles poured body wash on a washcloth and rubbed it into a fine lather. He studied the washcloth for a long minute, apparently fascinated with the bubbles he was creating. And then he looked up, his face so full of emotion that it hurt to meet his gaze. “I thought Dominic was under control. It never occurred to me that he would show up on the ship.” “What do you mean, ‘under control’?” He just shrugged. Then he lifted my arm and began to wash me as though I were an invalid, or a helpless child. He grunted when he saw bruises on my upper arm that I hadn’t realized were there, perfect fingerprints from where Dominic and his goons continuously grabbed me over the last few days. They didn’t hurt. Not like the bruises on my face from the blows both Dominic and his goon had delivered. I’d caught sight of myself in the elevator door. The bruises were angry, dark marks that made my already pale skin seem ever paler. Maybe that was why Miles couldn’t quite look me in the eye. Or maybe it was something else. Something deeper. “He told me about Rebecca.” Miles nodded, as he reached for my other arm, sliding the washcloth over my flesh there. “I kind of thought he would.” “He told me you took the blame for the accident.” “It’s a complicated story.”

“But it’s true? Robert was dating Rebecca, and she died as a result of an accident in his car?” “Yes.” I nodded, tears burning my eyes again. “And you stood up for Robert and he paid you back by marrying your fiancée?” “There’s more to it than that.” But he was clearly uninterested in telling me the rest. He seemed more interested in running the washcloth over my legs, though he was very careful not to move too high up on my thighs or to touch anything that might be hidden by a modest pair of panties and a low cut bra. I sat up and took the washcloth out of his hand, finishing the job myself. I couldn’t stand to watch him try so hard to be respectable, no matter what his reasons might be. I scrubbed my body until my pale skin turned a bright red, then lathered my hair with shampoo— twice. I felt like I couldn’t quite get the smell of that dirty sweatshirt off of me, or the heavy spice of Dominic’s cologne. Miles sat on the toilet and watched, staring at his hands as they twisted over and over. When I stood, he jumped up and grabbed a towel, wrapping its heavy warmth around me like a hug. But, still, he backed away, clearly unwilling, or uncertain, about crossing some line I hadn’t drawn. He watched as I brushed my teeth—three times—combed my hair and used nearly an entire travelsize bottle of mouthwash. I couldn’t quite get the taste of Dominic off my tongue, either. I knew it was mostly in my head, but…I just wanted this thing to be over. Miles pressed his hand to the small of my back and led the way into the bedroom. It was a lovely room, dominated by a king-sized bed, my familiar suitcase open on the valet. I walked to it and rummaged through it for a soft t-shirt I could wear to bed. I heard the door open and turned, a part of me expecting to see Dominic standing there. But it was only Miles trying to sneak away. “Don’t go.” He hesitated, his back to me. “I thought you’d want some space.” I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me, tears again rolling in large drops down my cheeks.

“Please…I…” He turned and the anger and whatever else had been written all over his face was suddenly gone. He rushed toward me, but, as before, he didn’t touch me. He stood inches in front of me, his eyes moving over me like a caress. I stepped into him, releasing my hold on the towel and allowing it to fall as I slid my arms around his neck. His hands slid around my waist and then all hesitation disappeared. He dragged me tight against him, his lips finding mine with an intensity that had been missing—that I had missed in him—until this moment. I moaned, a pain slicing through my jaw as I opened to him. Yet, it was outmatched by the pleasure of his familiarity, of his taste, of his touch. His hands on my ass, he lifted me to the bed, falling with me as his mouth moved from mine and began to explore my throat. I pressed my head into the pillows, sighing as his palm found one of my nipples, rubbing it in a lovely circle that sent waves of pleasure through the length of my body. And then his teeth were nibbling at my other nipple like it was the most delicious morsel he’d ever tasted, the nibble turning into the lovely pressure of his suckling mouth. For the first time in days, my mind completely shut down. All those thoughts that were speeding through my head so quickly were suddenly slowed and then gone. My hands in his hair and tugging at his shirt were my only thoughts, my only needs. I needed his flesh against my hands. I needed the feel of his weight against my body. I needed the security of his familiarity, the reassurances of his touch. I needed the life-affirming pleasure of this, of sex, of love-making, of whatever this was. I needed him. He must have felt my eagerness. Or he was just as full of need as I was. Whatever the cause, he tugged at his pants, pushing them out of the way as quickly as he could, sliding inside of me with almost no warning, with no preparation. But I didn’t care. It felt so good to feel the length of him, to feel that connection that I’d never experienced with anyone else. I wrapped my body around him, moving with his every thrust, my nails digging into his flesh to pull him closer, always closer. We had a rhythm, but this was different. Wilder. More passionate. This was instinctual. I cried out again and again, refusing to let go of him, even when an orgasm had ripped through my body and tore screams from his lips. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him inside of me until reality had

become something I could understand again. He rolled onto his side, pulling me with him, our limbs intertwined as he peppered my face with kisses. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered against my temple. “This never should have happened.” I pressed my mouth to his throat, the vibration of his words numbing my lips. “Just hold me.” And he did. For hours he held me, our bodies rushing to pleasure once more before exhaustion finally forced my eyes closed, his nearness keeping the nightmares I was afraid would come at bay.

Chapter 26 I didn’t want to open my eyes when I first woke the next morning. I could feel the heat of sunlight on my face and the warmth of the blankets resting over me. For a minute, I could make myself believe that I was at home in my own bed, that everything was safe and normal and perfect. But then my hand snaked across the mattress and found nothing but empty space. Miles was gone. I opened my eyes to confirm what my hand told me. There was still a satisfying dent in his pillow, but he was gone. I didn’t get up right away. I lay there a little while longer, avoiding reality for just that little stretch of time. But then…my body stiff, my limbs sore, my face aching where the bruise marked my fair skin, I climbed out of bed and slipped into my favorite old bathrobe, a thin terrycloth thing my aunts gave me when I started high school. Miles was sitting on the balcony that overlooked the city, a mug of coffee between both his hands. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair tousled in a way he would never allow anyone outside of his most intimate friends and family see. I stood there for a long minute, just enjoying the view. It reminded me of the few casual mornings we shared in the last month of our marriage, mornings when we woke together, made breakfast side by side, and shared it in the breakfast nook before curling up on the couch with the Sunday paper or a couple of good novels, so busy playing footsie or allowing our hands to wander that we never read a word. The mornings I thought would last forever. Mornings that ended much too soon. He looked up when I stepped out onto the balcony, immediately sliding over on the loveseat to make room for me. I sat beside him, tucking my feet up under my bottom as my gaze wandered out over the city. “Where are we?”

“Rome.” I nodded, remembering how much I’d wanted to come here since I was a small child and saw a documentary on the city in school. It seemed almost ordinary, this busy city with cars rushing here and there, pedestrians walking too quickly, just like any other city. It wasn’t how I’d imagined it would be. “You sleep well?” Miles asked. “Better than I thought I would.” “You must be hungry. We can order something up, if you want.” “In a little bit.” I dragged my fingers through my hair, lifting the weight of it off my shoulders. I twisted into a knot, and then undid it. My hands were no longer shaking, but I could feel this deep vibration, almost as though my soul was trembling. “I suppose you want to know everything that happened,” I said after a minute of heavy silence. Miles’ shoulders moved ever so slightly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” “I don’t, really.” He touched my hand lightly. “Then maybe I’m the one who should be telling a story.” I glanced at him and nodded. “I promised you the truth. I guess late is better than never.” I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say. What if his story was different from Dominic’s? What if he lied to me? Or he told the truth? What if he admitted that this had all been a scam, that he was still using me, even after all this time. Even after everything we shared in that last month of our marriage? What if…but I really couldn’t do that anymore, could I? I couldn’t keep pretending that not knowing was better than the truth. He moved his hand away, holding his coffee with both hands again like he was trying to warm them. But it was warm out here, almost hot. A little breeze offered some relief, but only a little. Sweat dotted my forehead, but only some of it was caused by the temperature. “Robert is something of a Lothario,” Miles began. “He’s always bounced from woman to woman, sometimes before the last knew that he’d moved on. And I was always bailing him out of trouble, ever since high school. He was a freshman the year I was a senior. I had to save him from a couple of

cheerleaders who were determined to castrate him for cheating on them. And it just continued from there, year after year. I don’t think a month passed by when I wasn’t running interference between him and some woman.” Miles set down his coffee and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “It was all fun and games to him. It never crossed his mind that there would ever be consequences to his actions. And then he met Rebecca de Luca.” I glanced at him as he said her name, catching something I hadn’t expected to hear in his voice. Sadness. Grief, almost. I couldn’t see his eyes, but the set of his jaw and the way his hands clenched when he sat up showed an emotion I didn’t understand. He stood and walked to the railing, leaning over a little to look down at the street fifteen floors below us. “She was twenty-two, newly arrived back in Massachusetts after spending most of her teens and young adulthood in Europe at some of the best prep schools and universities in the world. She was ready to stretch her legs, to live an adventure. And when she set eyes on Robert at a cocktail party my mother threw, you’d think Cinderella had just seen her prince for the first time.” I tried to imagine that moment. Robert was a good-looking man, but he had a cockiness about him that I disliked. But I could see how a young, sheltered girl would find him very attractive. Adventurous, even. Reckless was the word that came to my mind when I thought of Robert, but maybe my vision of him was a little jaded by all I knew. “They began seeing each other soon after. I didn’t find out about it until more than a month later. By then, all the warnings and admonitions I laid on him fell on deaf ears. He was beyond smitten. It was the first time I ever believed my brother when he said he was in love. And it had to be with her. “I knew her family would be trouble, so I wasn’t surprised when Robert came to my place one night and told me that Dominic de Luca had warned him to stay away from Rebecca. He wanted me to talk to him, to try to smooth the way for him. He wanted me to make the de Lucas see that he loved her. But they weren’t having any of it.” “You actually spoke to them?”

Miles turned to face me, leaning back against the railing with his ankles crossed. He studied my face for a minute, then his eyes fell to the ground. “Martin de Luca and I had done some business together. We knew each other fairly well.” “You did business with Martin de Luca?” “Nothing illegal,” he said quickly. “Martin had a legitimate construction business just outside of Boston. I was working for my father at the time, with his business clients. Martin’s company was one of the clients I worked with. I learned a hell of a lot from Martin.” “So you talked to him about Rebecca and Robert.” “I wanted to. But he came to me first. Told me that Dominic had caught them together and he was worried he might do something to Robert. Told me to keep them apart.” “That went well, I suppose.” Miles looked up. “We Thorns don’t listen very well when someone is trying to keep us from the women we love.” My eyes dropped from his, tears filling mine. There was a lot of implication in those words. And I was pretty sure he wasn’t thinking of me when he said it. “One night, Robert shows up at my place. He’s bleeding from a gash on his forehead, blood smeared all over the front of his tuxedo shirt. There’d been an accident, he’d said. They were arguing, she was drunk, she grabbed the steering wheel, and his Porsche slammed into a tree less than a mile from her father’s house. She didn’t have a seatbelt on.” I shook my head. “He just left her?” “He thought she was dead. He thought her brother would kill him if he found him there. And he was right. Dominic was insanely possessive of his sister. I truly believe Robert would be dead if he had stayed there that night.” “But to just leave her…” “It wasn’t right.” Miles dragged his fingers through his hair as he leaned back, a sigh slipping from his lips. “I woke Claire and asked her to take Robert to the family home in the Berkshires. I figured it would take a day or two to smooth things over with Martin. I never imagined that things would explode

the way they did. I honestly thought she might be injured, but she more likely passed out from alcohol than anything else. I never imagined she’d die. I thought Robert was exaggerating the extent of her injuries. “I got a call from Martin not even an hour later. He wanted to know where Robert was. Wanted to know why he was with his daughter that night. He was slightly incoherent, jumping from subject to subject without making a lot of sense. The next morning, news of the accident was all over the local news. Rebecca was reported to be in a coma with severe head injuries. Robert called me in a panic; he wanted to come back; he wanted to go see her. I had to drive out there and calm him down in person.” Emotion danced over his face as the memories played themselves out in his mind. He focused on me for a long second, then looked away again, almost as though he couldn’t stand to look at me as he relived some of the darkest moments of his recent past. “Rebecca died a week later. Martin was inconsolable. My father and I went to the funeral, out of respect for Martin as a client. He took one look at me and…I have never seen such naked hatred before or since. He confronted me afterward, in his house, told me he was going to tell the police everything he knew; he told me he wanted to see Robert pay for what he’d done. But the police were already investigating the accident. I spoke to them. They’d had a reconstruction completed, taken fingerprints, and spoke to people at the local bar. As far as they were concerned, Rebecca was driving the car. And her blood alcohol levels upon entering the hospital were three times the legal limit. They were ready to close the book on the whole thing. But Martin…he wasn’t going to let that happen. “I had to do something. I couldn’t let my brother go to jail. But I also couldn’t let my father know the role Robert played in the accident. My father was already put out with Robert. He’d warned him over and over again that he would cut him off if he screwed up again. I mean, this wasn’t the first time Robert did something stupid, or had some girl’s father chasing after him. This was just the most serious thing he’d ever done.” I remembered the things Jackson had said at the hospital the night his wife collapsed. I remembered how his wrath was not just focused on Miles, but Robert, too. My wife is dying. She might die tonight. And my children—my legacy—consists of a son who thought nothing of stealing his brother’s fiancée, and a son who ran when things got to hot. Some

legacy I’ll leave behind when it’s my turn to go. Jackson was clearly disappointed in his sons. And this definitely explained some of that. “What did you do?” Miles shrugged. “The same thing I’d always done. I protected my brother.” Again he ran his fingers through his hair, making the tangled curls even more unruly. I wanted to go to him, to run my own fingers through his hair, to smooth away the worry lines between his eyes, to feel the roughness of his five o’clock shadow under my palm. But I didn’t. I stayed where I was, waiting for him to finish his story. “I told Martin that I was driving the car that night. That I’d taken Robert’s car to his house so that Rebecca would come out with me, so that I could tell her that they had to stop seeing each other for their own safety. I told him that Rebecca had been drinking already and that she became so distraught with what I had to say that she grabbed the wheel and caused the accident.” “Did he believe you?” “Not at first. He had some of his people searching for Robert. They found him some weeks later, and Martin confronted him. But, of course, by then I’d told Robert what I’d done. He backed up my story. I don’t think Martin really believed him, but he went along with it. He needed to believe something. He needed something to hang it all on, someone to blame. And I gave him that.” “But he would have wanted revenge.” “He did. He wanted…”—Miles stopped, his eyes coming up to mine again—“…he wanted to destroy my family. He wanted to use my father’s company to promote his illegal dealings, to turn our family legacy into something dark and twisted and…” He shook his head. “Robert dropped a bomb on us, and I was the only thing standing between detonation and destruction. I couldn’t go to my father because it would have devastated him. I couldn’t go to Robert because he was so lost those months after Rebecca died. I really do believe he loved her. And I believe it had everything to do with what happened next.” “With Claire?” “Yeah.” He came back over and sat beside me. “Everyone thinks that I left Massachusetts because of

Claire and Robert. But that’s not true. I saw what was happening between them when I went up there to calm him down when the news hit the fan. Even then it was obvious that something was going on. As the weeks passed and they spent more and more time up in the Berkshires alone, it just became more obvious. And, to be honest, I was heartsick over it. And angry. And resentful. But I wasn’t surprised. I would have been okay with it, eventually. Maybe. But I wouldn’t have run out on everyone just because of that.” “Then why did you leave?” “To buy time. I had to find a way to stop Martin. I couldn’t let him destroy my father’s company or a reputation my family had built over many generations. We’ve been a lot of things, we Thorns, but none of it was ever illegal. And I wasn’t about to be the first to take us down that road.” He shook his head. “I simply didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I resigned from the company, if I disappeared for a while, Martin would finish grieving and start to see reason. Unfortunately, I was only partially correct. “So, I took all the money I could scrap together, and I went to Joan. I told her everything, about Robert and Rebecca, about Robert and Claire, about Martin. Everything. She was the one who suggested we start a business. She said we needed to be able to show everyone that I hadn’t run away, that I was simply going out on my own. And construction was something I’d always been interested in, particularly green construction. So it made sense. And it worked, for a while. My father was none too pleased and my mother…she was heartbroken, but she insisted she understood. Robert assumed it was because of Claire. He tried to reach out a few times, to apologize. He never knew what Martin had threatened, not until I told him two days ago.” “Why didn’t you tell him?” Miles shrugged. “Didn’t see the point.” “And me? What role did I play in this charade?” Miles lifted his hand, like he was going to touch me, maybe hold my hand. But then he let it fall again, resting on his own thigh. “It didn’t take long for Martin to find me. He was pissed that I resigned from the family business, removing access to the things he needed: client files, bank account numbers, inside information. But then he saw how well my construction business was going and figured it would be a good cover for his

westward expansion. He’d wanted to expand his business for years, sending guys out to Colorado and California to test the waters there. He’d never considered Texas. But when he found me there, he decided there couldn’t be a better setup than a Thorn running an easily corruptible business—at least traditionally. It was part of the reason he’d gotten into construction in the first place. It just stopped being profitable as a front, so he took it legit. But my business could be highly lucrative, especially in a state that shared a border with Mexico. The only thing that would have been better would have been if I’d begun my business in El Paso, but he figured beggars couldn’t be choosers.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I needed an excuse in a hurry. So I told him that I was in the process of getting married and would need a few months to settle in with my new bride. He gave me six months. But I wasn’t even dating anyone at the time. And then you, quite literally, ran into me, and it just seemed to fall into place. I marry this naive girl who would never be the wiser, keep Martin on the ropes until I figured something out, then get out from under it all and go back to my life like none of it ever happened. But then my mom got sick, and I got distracted, and it all fell apart.” “And Martin came after you again.” “Yeah.” There was real sorrow when he looked at me then. “He came to my office one afternoon with pictures. Picture of you at your aunts’ house, of you shopping with Lisa, of you visiting your friends at Starbuck’s. He said you were beautiful, and so vulnerable. How easy it would be for one of his men to simply pluck you off the street, make you disappear like you never existed. And that’s when I realized I’d not only not found a way to get out from under the pile of shit I’d pulled down on myself, but I’d dragged you into it alongside me. And you had no clue.” I slid my hand into his. “You should have told me. I would have—” “What? There wasn’t anything to do. He was very clear about his threat. And I couldn’t let anything happen to you.” “Is that why you sent me away?” He squeezed my hand, then stood again, pacing for a minute. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let him hurt you. And it seemed to me you were safer far away from me.” “What about you?”

“I wasn’t in danger. As long as Martin thought he could use me, I was safe.” “Then how did you get him off your back?” “I went to the FBI.”

Chapter 27 His story sounded like the plot for a bad television crime show. He went back to Massachusetts and met with an FBI agent. A friend of a friend of Joan’s had arranged the meeting. They put a wire on him and had him arrange a group of meetings with Martin. And Martin apparently never suspected a thing. They met on three different occasions in Waco, each time in public, each time with Martin’s goons hanging around, guns obvious under their jackets, each time with unspoken threats hanging in the air. Martin described in clear detail at each of the meetings what, exactly, he wanted Miles to do with his business, how he was to transact these illegal acts, and who he was to do it with. It couldn’t have gone better if it had been scripted. The FBI practically jumped for joy after each meeting. But Martin de Luca wasn’t arrested right away. The FBI had been watching him for a very long time, and they knew that the bulk of his drug trade was now under the control of his son, Dominic. So, they confronted Martin and made a deal with him. Martin, the loving father that he was, jumped at the chance to hang his son. “They told me it was all taken care of, that Dominic would fall into their trap without complications. He was supposed to be in South America until September. Then they would catch him with cocaine in a shipment of antiques he was supposedly bringing into the United States to donate to a local museum. They swore it was over, that I could go on with my life,” Miles said, his eyes full of regret as he stood against the railing once more and studied the bruises on my face. “He wasn’t supposed to be on the ship.” “And Robert? Lisa and Colin? Why were they there?” “Robert and Claire weren’t supposed to be there either. Lisa and Colin I invited because I knew you would appreciate having your best friend around. And you…I went to your aunts and told them I’d made a mistake divorcing you. I told them I still loved you and wanted a chance to reconcile.”

“That’s why they gave me the ticket.” “They thought it was incredibly romantic.” He smiled when he said it, a little wistfulness filling his voice. I could imagine. My aunts were nothing if not incurable romantics. “And the cruise line? Is it really owned by your father’s company?” “Yes. And it is the maiden voyage of that particular ship after a remodel. But it’s not that big of a deal. We remodel the ships every few years.” “Then the reporters…?” “If there were any on board, they were there as passengers.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then, what was the point? Were you trying to draw Dominic out?” “No. It was nothing like that.” “Then why?” “I didn’t know he was on board. I thought he was still in South America. I never would have brought you there had I known. And I definitely would have been more careful if I’d known that you dated him.” “It was one date. Just one among many.” “Many? I didn’t realize you’d moved on that quickly.” Was there hurt in his voice? Was it bad that the thought made my heart do a little jump of joy? “You kicked me out quite unceremoniously. And then you sent over divorce papers before I was even out of the house a week. What was I supposed to think?” “I did that for Martin’s sake. I wanted him to see that you didn’t matter to me, so he wouldn’t hurt you.” “It worked.” “I never wanted to hurt you, Riley. I was trying to protect you from this mess I’d gotten myself into.” “You mean the mess Robert got you into.”

Miles shook his head. “It was as much my mess by then as it was Robert’s. More mine. If I hadn’t decided to handle it all on my own, if I had gone to my father to begin with…but I was too headstrong to ask him for help.” “But you’ve told him since,” I guessed. “I told him everything. I told him about Rebecca, about Robert’s role in her death, about Claire and how destroyed I was by what she did. I told him about fleeing to Joan, about my deal with you. Everything. I told him everything.” “And Dominic? I’m guessing the little show at the airport yesterday was orchestrated by the FBI?” “It was. The FBI and Martin. Dominic will be going to Italian jail for quite a while. And then he’ll be extradited to the United States to face charges there, hopefully to face a lifetime in federal prison alongside his father. He won’t ever bother you again.” “Then it’s over. You can go back to your life.” “I can.” “Good.” I climbed to my feet, trying to pretend that tears weren’t clogging my throat and threatening to stream down my face once again. “I guess it all worked out for the best then.” “There’s still a few details to hammer out.” “Yeah? Like what?” “Like the fact that I’m in love with you. Like the fact that I was planning on winning you over on this cruise and throwing the perfect destination wedding in Tuscany.” I stood with my back to him, those tears no longer straining against the dam of my emotions, but rolling down my cheeks like a summer storm that could no longer be denied. I rubbed them away, but they were just replaced by so many more. “I love you, Riley,” he said simply. “I didn’t even realize it until Martin was showing me those pictures. Not until I knew that I could lose you. And when that reality sank in, I knew that it was nothing like the love I thought I felt for Claire.” “You loved Claire. You were going to marry her.” “I did,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I thought the sun rose and set in Claire. When I

married you, when we left on our honeymoon, all I could think about was how I was supposed to do these things with Claire. All I could focus on was that you weren’t the woman I wanted. I stayed away because looking at you was just a reminder of everything my brother stole from me when he took her away.” I groaned because that pile of photos Dominic had shown me was still too fresh in my mind. Several of those photos were from our honeymoon. He and Claire, in the restaurant downstairs from the suite where I spent those few days alone. All these thoughts were bouncing through my mind again, my mind going places I didn’t want it to go. Images of Claire in his arms, of the two of them sneaking off together, both married to other people, but unable to deny feelings that never really died. It killed me, imagining him pining after her. But he had. I saw it. “I didn’t know you then,” Miles said, his voice closer than it had been just a minute ago. “I didn’t know how amazing you were. How kind and gentle. I didn’t know how generous your spirit was. I mean, Christ, Riley, the way you were there for me through my mom’s final hours, the way you so completely gave yourself to me and my family even after the way I’d treated you…. I was hurting so deeply, and you opened yourself up. You let me come to you….” His voice shook as he said that last phrase. “You are so much more than I will ever be. I don’t deserve you.” I rubbed at my face again, wiping away more tears, as even more spilled over the corners of my eyes. I’d cried so much in the last few days, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to make it stop. My chest ached. I just wanted to go back, to be angry and hurt, but still in control of my life. As badly as I’d wanted Miles to make this confession to me, I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it. Not now. Not like this. Almost as if he’d heard my thoughts, Miles lay his hands on my shoulders and said, “I’ve laid a lot on you this morning. I want you take your time, to think about what I’ve said. I don’t want you to feel pressured into making any decisions now. But I want you to know I love you. And I want to be your husband for as long as you want to be my wife. But if that’s not what you want, I still have those divorce papers ready to go to the court. So, either way, it’s your choice.” I bit my lip, pain slicing through my chest at the mention of the divorce papers. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted. It hurt when he said that. But it all hurt. I pulled away and went back to the bedroom, curling up alone in the bed we’d shared just last

night. It seemed like—regardless of the choice I made—it would still end the same way. If I insisted on finalizing the divorce, I would end up alone. If I stayed with him, I would always wonder about his feelings for Claire. What kind of marriage would that be, spending every holiday with the woman who might or might not be the love of my husband’s life? He said he didn’t love her like he loved me. But how did I know that wasn’t just the trauma of everything that’d happened these last few months? His mother died and he came to my bed for the first time. A man threatened my life and suddenly he loves me? Then I’m kidnapped by the son of his enemy, and now he wants to share the rest of his life with me? Was it just me, or was there a pattern to his affections? How could I trust that his declarations of love were real? A better question might be, could I live the rest of my life knowing that I was his second choice? Could I love him enough to overcome any weakness there might be in his devotion to me? Would my love for him be enough to keep us together and happy for the rest of our lives? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that the thought of leaving him made it impossible for me to catch my breath. And that put me in a very dark, uncomfortable position.

Chapter 28 We re-boarded the ship the next day off the coast of Italy. Lisa was waiting at the top of the gang plank and, like some cheesy romance movie, she nearly knocked me off my feet when she rushed to hug me. “I was so scared when you disappeared,” she moaned against my ear. “I thought I’d never see you again.” “You should know me better than that. I’d never let anyone keep us apart.” She laughed even as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Thank God.” Colin moved up beside Lisa and slid an arm around her waist, the look in his eyes when he glanced at her telling me more than words ever could. If there had been even the shadow of a doubt that his intentions toward her were not honest, they disappeared in that moment. I hugged her again and whispered against her ear, “I had to come back. I wouldn’t miss being maid of honor at your wedding for anything in the world.” The smile she flashed me as I stepped away said it all. There would be a wedding very soon. *** Miles was reluctant to leave me to my own devices, but I managed to sneak away from him the following afternoon. I went to the pool and stretched out in a lounger, determined to get a little sun out of this ill-fated cruise. My aunts would make the worst jokes if they made up the reasons why I didn’t get any sun on this little vacation. And there was nothing worse than fending off dirty jokes from a couple of old spinster women. I was two chapters in on a new novel when a shadow fell over me and wouldn’t go away. I set it down on my chest and looked up, expecting to find an overzealous waiter or a curious child standing over me. Instead, I found Claire—resplendent in a string bikini—standing in my sunlight. “I thought you’d never leave your suite.”

“Didn’t realize you were paying that much attention.” “I’ve been hoping to get a few minutes alone to talk to you.” She took a seat in the lounger next to me, settling a towel and a book—a romance, I was amused to see—beside her before she turned her focus on me once again. “I think I owe you a few explanations.” “I’m not sure you do.” “You know that Miles and I were engaged before I married Robert,” she said, as though I hadn’t spoken. “Everyone knows.” “I suppose they do.” “It wasn’t something I planned. I’d never cheated on Miles before that.” I shrugged, lifting my book again. “I think that’s between you and him.” She took the book from my hands, leaning close, her eyes squinting against the sunlight. “Miles is a good man. I loved him more than I ever realized when we were together. I regret cheating on him. I regret letting Robert charm me the way he did, and I definitely regret marrying him.” That was not what I’d expected to hear her say. When she began, I thought it was going to be some lame conversation about how I shouldn’t hurt Miles, or about his behavior while I was missing. But she simply went for the jugular. “Then why did you? Why would you cheat on him with his own brother?” “Because he sent me up to that house with Robert, and we were stuck without any form of entertainment.” “You were bored?” “Maybe.” She bit her lip, her eyes swimming with tears for an instant. But then she blinked and it was like I had imagined it. “I can’t explain it. Maybe Miles worked too hard and left me to my own devices too much. And Robert paid attention to me. He said all the right things at all the right times. And he was such a gentle lover—is a gentle lover.” I sat up and grabbed my own towel, intent on leaving. But Claire grabbed my arm. “I made a mistake. And I knew it from almost the start. But Robert needed me. Miles never needed me. He thought he loved me. And maybe he did. But not like he loves you.”

I focused on her, my eyebrows raised. “What makes you think you know anything about my marriage?” “Because I know Miles. I lived with the man for nearly two years. You get to know a lot about a person when you do that. And I knew the moment I saw the two of you together for the first time. The way he was touching you, the way he looked at you. He was never like that with me. Not once.” I shook my head. “You don’t know anything about it.” “Like the fact that your marriage was an arrangement? That he only married you to get Martin de Luca off his back?” Claire chuckled at what must have been a pretty obvious look of surprise on my face. “I know more than you think I do. I think you’re the one who’s a little oblivious to what’s going on around here.” “Dominic showed me pictures. You and Miles in Waco and in Florida. The two of you talking in restaurants, at his office, in front of some hotel.” She nodded. “I went to see him. Many times. Once or twice to ask for money. But mostly to test the waters, to see if there was hope for us. But Miles is an honorable man. Once you said your vows, no matter how many contracts the two of you signed before hand, he was not going to break those vows to you—no matter what I promised him. Hell, even before the wedding, I knew there was no chance. But I had to keep trying.” “Why?” She shrugged. “I love him. And I wanted him back. But I hurt him too deeply for there ever to be a chance for us again.” “No,” I said, studying her face for a long moment. “Why are you telling me all this? Why now? Miles and I have been separated for six months. The only reason I’m on this cruise is because he manipulated my aunts into tricking me to come. Our marriage is a joke. If there was ever a time when Miles might be susceptible to your charms, it’s now. So why tell me? Why aren’t you with him?” Claire studied my face for a long minute. Then she sighed. “Because I know it’s too late. I know that whatever he felt for me, it began to die the first time Robert kissed me. And I know that Miles was a mess without you. The thought that Dominic might touch

you drove him insane with rage. And it takes a hell of a lot to get Miles to show that sort of emotion. He loves you. And I love him enough to want to see him happy.” I believed her. There was something about the way she said it, the light that danced in her eyes each time she said his name, that told me more than the words themselves. But there was something else about it that bothered me. “What about you? Will you always come up behind me and try to distract him? Will you always try to win him back?” Claire thought about that for a minute, her eyes darkening with emotion. “Probably.” She handed me my book. “Robert is not the man his brother is. But he is kind and he’s devoted to me. So, maybe someday I’ll learn to be happy with what I have. Or maybe I won’t. But I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting Miles. But at least we know where we stand with each other. Right?” “I guess so.” I took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Thank you for being honest.” I stood and walked back toward the main deck, my feet shuffling into a little jog and then a run as I took the stairs two at a time and rushed toward our suite. Miles was coming out the door as I arrived, breathless. “Yes,” I said, a smile that turned into a childish giggle bursting from my lips. “Yes, what?” he asked, taking hold of my upper arms to steady me. “Yes to everything. To a real marriage. To love and family and a future. To us.” His eyes narrowed with confusion for a moment, then widened. “Are you sure?” “More sure than I’ve ever been of anything else.” He turned me, pushing me back into the room, his lips on mine before the door was closed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him lift me, my head spinning as we fell back onto the bed. He groaned, his body instantly conforming to mine, his hands tugging my hips up against his, my hands burying themselves in his hair, his shirt, wanting him as close as I could possibly get him. This was where I’d always wanted to be. There was no doubt in my mind that I belonged in Miles’ arms and that he belonged in mine. I just had to know that he had no doubts. It was a little ironic, but Claire’s confession that she would never stop trying to win him back had destroyed all doubt that

those pictures had infected me with. Dominic had wanted me to question Miles’ devotion to me. And for a while, it’d worked. But then, with Claire’s confession, the pictures took on a whole new meaning. He’d had opportunity after opportunity to win Claire back. He could have stolen her from his brother long before he met me. And he could have taken her back on our honeymoon, or on the many occasions she’d come to Waco for that express purpose. But he’d never taken her up on it. Not once. And the proof was in those pictures. He was everything she’d said he was and more. And I’d known it from the moment we met. It just took time for me to see it.

Epilogue I stood at the end of the red carpet, my dress biting into my expanding waist, the flowers I was carrying dripping cold water all over the floor. You’d think with what the florist cost, she would have found a way to keep the plastic vials from leaking. There were so many people. Lisa’s parents, all four of her brothers, people we went to school with, her medical school friends. Most of the people I worked with at Starbuck’s. My aunts were at the front of the church, smiling so big I was almost afraid their faces would shatter with the effort. And Colin, standing at the front of the church, Miles beside him. I focused on Miles, but my legs suddenly weren’t working. I couldn’t move no matter how hard I willed myself to put one foot in front of the other. It was ridiculous, really. How many times was I going to do this before I could do it without total and complete panic? A knowing smile spread over Miles’ face. He came down the aisle, his hands outstretched. “You’re fine,” he said softly against my ear. “Just one step in front of the other.” “As long as you’re next to me.” “I am,” he said. “For the rest of our lives.” And that gave me the strength I needed to walk to that altar. He kissed me softly as he deposited me at my place on the left side of the aisle. Then he moved back beside Colin as the entire congregation stood for Lisa’s entrance. Her wedding dress was a designer masterpiece, all lace and satin, flowing from her curves like it was made just for her. And it was. Colin had Vera Wang do it personally. She was a dream, just as she had always envisioned when we were kids. The only thing that she had never envisioned was the fact that I was married first. She’d always imagined we would have a double wedding, and I was six months pregnant in my slightly too tight maid of honor’s dress. But she was okay with that. In fact, she was so over the moon to be marrying Colin Parsons that I think I could have shown up in a burlap sack and she

would have been thrilled. She giggled as she caught my eye, then she focused on Colin, and it was like everyone else just faded away. I knew that feeling. It happened every time I looked at Miles. Dreams have a way of changing as life happens. But we were both living our happy endings. Miles and I renewed our vows in a small ceremony at his father’s house in Massachusetts. Then we flew to Tuscany, enjoying a week at a small villa he bought years ago but never had the time to visit. We go there whenever we have a chance now. Miles is pretty busy. He still runs his construction business here in Waco, but he also telecommutes as a part of his father’s company, keeping the peace as Robert tries to take a larger role with the company. Things are pretty crazy now, but we make time for each other. We finally have our priorities straight. Dreams do come true. I have a real family now. I’m looking forward to those quiet, if active, senior years. Yet, I’m also looking forward to every minute between. ~ End ~

Blindsided Prologue Harrison I stared out the window of the car, watching familiar neighborhoods flash by outside. I love New York! The first time I was here was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college. I came with a group of friends for a summer of recklessness. And what a summer that was! I still have a few of the tattoos I got that summer, the first of dozens I now have to keep covered when conducting business. Who would have imagined my life would go the way it did? Well, I suppose it was always my father’s plan. He just thought he’d be here to watch it happen. We pulled up to the hotel and a valet arrived at my door, yanking it open and welcoming me with that rote speech all service people learn on the first day at the job. I climbed out and stretched my back a little, relieved to be out of the confines of one vehicle after another. I had some free time—thank goodness —before my meeting in the morning, so I thought I’d take a walk after I checked in. Visit a few favorite places. The moment I stepped into my room—a nice suite with a balcony that overlooked Manhattan—I pulled out my smartphone and took note of all the emails and phone calls I’d ignored on the long flight from Oregon. I started to answer a few, but then decided it could wait. My life was a succession of meetings and emails and phone calls. Surely it could all wait for a few hours, for once. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, feeling halfway human for the first time all day, and slipped out of the hotel through a side door. A taxi deposited me in Brooklyn, not far from the rat infested motel where my friends and I stayed that long-gone summer. My stomach growling, I ducked into a little hole in the

wall restaurant that served the best shrimp scampi I’d ever had. The maître d’ recognized me, his face breaking into a huge smile as he charged through a group of people waiting impatiently for a table to greet me. “Mr. Philips! How lovely to see you again.” I smiled. “Thank you, Jack.” “Let me show you to a table.” Those words set off a few grumbles in the people around us, but I didn’t really pay much attention to it. I was used to this sort of attention. It used to bother me, but maybe I’ve gotten a little too comfortable in the world of privilege I’d shunned as a young man. There were few perks to the job that was thrust on me eleven years ago. Shame on me for enjoying the few that did exist. I took a seat and ordered a nice bottle of wine, enjoying a glass as I waited for my salad to be delivered. My table was in the center of the room, so I sat back and watched the other diners. I like to watch people, imagining what their story might be. Like the young couple sitting to my right. They were clearly arguing, even though they were trying hard to keep their voices down and their gestures to a minimum, it was hard to ignore the intensity in their expressions. I imagined they were fighting over another woman—or perhaps a man—who was coming between them. Or maybe it was something to do with the in-laws. There was another couple behind them who were displaying such sickly sweet affection for one another that it almost made me sick to my stomach. I watched as the man’s hand moved slowly over his woman’s wrist and tried to remember the last time I’d touched a woman like that. It was kind of pathetic that I couldn’t remember with any certainty. My salad arrived and I tucked into it, enjoying the acidic burn the dressing offered. I sat back to pour myself another glass of wine when I caught sight of a familiar face. I had to look twice, not sure I was seeing what I thought I was, or if my eyes were playing tricks on me. I’d just been thinking about her, this woman I met during that trip to the city so long ago, so maybe…but, no. It was really her.

Her hair was shorter, a slightly different shade of blonde than it had been sixteen years ago. The shape of her face was a little rounder, her jaw softer. But her eyes were still that incredible pale blue I dreamt of for years after that long ago summer. My first love. She wasn’t my first affair, but she was the first girl who broke my heart. I crossed the room without thinking about it, leaning against the arch that separated the lobby from the dining room with a casualness I was definitely not feeling. “Julia?” She looked up at the sound of her name, a smile exploding in her eyes when she saw me. “Harry!” She laughed as she threw herself into my arms. I slid my arms around her waist, my mind noting the few differences in her body even as my heart noted the familiarity. “I can’t believe it’s you! It’s been so long!” She stepped back and stared up at me, her fingers brushing my jaw. “I never thought I’d see you again.” “It’s been a long time.” “Too long.” “Are you meeting someone? I mean…” I stepped back and gestured toward my table, “I’d be happy for you to join me.” “I was actually just going to make an order to go. But I have nowhere to be. I’d be happy to join you.” I immediately slid my hand over the small of her back and led her to my table, acting the gentleman by pulling out her chair and helping her settle in. Then I gestured to the waiter, arranging for another wine glass and putting in her food order.

When we were settled across from each other, I found myself staring at her, my eyes moving slowly over her familiar face. We’d only spent two months together, but it felt like a lifetime, as those young affairs often do. I remember waiting for weeks after I went back to college, jumping each time someone called, hoping it would be her. But it never was. “You look great,” she said, her eyes doing the same as mine, taking in every subtle change in my face. “You, too.” She shrugged, but the blush on her cheeks told me how much she appreciated the compliment. “I take care of myself.” “It shows.” She reached over and touched my arm, her fingers cool as she flipped my wrist and touched the tattoo—an infinity symbol—that she’d seen emblazoned there. “You still have it.” “The other one, too,” I said, flipping my other wrist to show her the cross that adorned the other wrist. She laughed even as she reached over to touch it with her other hand. Her left hand. That’s when I saw her wedding ring and the impressive diamond engagement ring that went with it. I lifted her hand, my thumb rubbing against the jewel. “You got married.” “Yes. Ten years ago.” “Is he good to you?” She nodded. “He works on Wall Street. We live pretty well.”

“Good. You deserve the best.” “What about you? Did you ever get married?” I shook my head even as I continued to stare at her ring. Why did it bother me so much that a girl I hung around with sixteen years ago was married? But, somehow, it did. “Did you become a teacher?” I looked up, a little ache awakening in my chest. “No.” “Why not?” I let go of her hand and picked up my wine glass, taking a long swig as I formulated my answer. “I was close. I was just a few months short of earning my master’s degree. But then my father got sick and things just fell apart in a matter of weeks.” “I’m sorry.” I shrugged, pretending that it no longer mattered. But it did. There was still that little bit of resentment that hung on all these years, hating my father, my brother, my sense of responsibility, and the circumstances that took my dreams from me. As much as I wanted to get past it, it still lingered just like the memories of the summer I spent with Julia lingered. “It was cancer. He died less than four months after they found it. And my brother…he was not prepared to take control of the business. But someone had to. My mom and sister needed someone to take care of them.” “So, you stepped up.” There was admiration in her tone. I looked at her, the desire to kiss her almost overwhelming. I took another long swallow of wine, feeling the heat of the alcohol finally having an effect. The waiter arrived with Julia’s salad, promising our entrees would be out in a few minutes. I

watched her eat for a minute, remembering how we met. My friends and I had only been in town for a few days when we wandered into this late night deli. We were drunk and acting a little more obnoxious than necessary. And she was the put-upon waitress who had to deal with us. She ended up joining us, sitting on my lap while I fed her little pieces of my bagel. The taste of cream cheese still makes me think of the taste of her kiss. “Are you happy?” she suddenly asked. I shrugged. “I’ve taken my father’s little furniture business and built it into a pretty impressive corporation that sells everything from end tables to furniture polish to woodworking tools.” “Really?” “Ashland-Philips Corp.? I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” Her eyes widened. “That’s you? My husband was just talking about that company the other day. That’s you?” “That’s me. And my sister. She helps run it these days.” “Cool that you get to work with family.” I nodded. It was the only bright spot about it. Silence fell between us as we once again began to study each other. I could see the fine wrinkles at the corner of her eyes now, the slight sag to the skin under her chin. But I would forever remember her as that beautiful girl with the tight, sexy skin I caressed and admired day in and day out over that all too short summer. “Do you have kids?” I asked to distract myself from my thoughts. “Two with my husband.” “Two? Boys or girls?”

“Two girls. The other was a boy, by the way. I wasn’t sure you would want to know, after what the lawyer said, but he was a beautiful little boy.” There was a sadness in her eyes as she spoke. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the way she said it made a chill run down my spine. “Who was a boy?” “The baby,” she said, looking up at me with tears in those perfect blue eyes. She kind of laughed as she reached up and brushed a tear away. “Sorry. Every time I think I’m over it…I think it’s just seeing you again.” I shook my head even as another chill joined the first and settled in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I said slowly, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” A twist of confusion filled her expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but the waiter chose that moment to arrive with our entrees—shrimp scampi for me and chicken parmesan for her. It smelled amazing, but my stomach was suddenly so twisted into knots that I wasn’t sure I could take a single bite. “I tried calling you. Over and over, I called. But they always said you weren’t available.” “Who said?” Julia frowned as she stared down at her plate, her fork tearing at the breading on her chicken. “I don’t know. Whoever answered the phone at the number you gave me.” I tried to remember what number I gave her. The one at the dorms, probably. Or the house? I couldn’t quite remember. “Why would someone say that?” She shrugged. “I called Tommy. He said he’d get a message to you, but I never heard back.” Tommy. He was a childhood friend, one of the guys who came to New York with me that summer.

“He never said anything.” “And then the lawyer went to your house. He said he spoke to you. That you told him yourself that you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” “I never spoke to a lawyer. When did he go to the house?” Julia thought about it for a second, her fork still tearing at that innocent chicken. “It would have been about February or March.” “I was still at Stanford then.” Tears filled her eyes again. “You never knew, then?” “Knew?” “I was pregnant, Harry. When you left, I found out a couple of weeks later.” It was like she’d doused me with freezing water. Every nerve in my body just went numb. I stared at her, unable to truly comprehend what she was saying. “Pregnant?” “We were so careful. I couldn’t figure out…something broke or maybe that night in the shower…I don’t know. My parents hit the roof. My dad wanted me to have an abortion, but my mom grew up Catholic. She wouldn’t let that happen. I wanted to keep him, but they refused to help me if I did that. I would have been on my own, and I couldn’t make enough money with my job at the deli to take care of kid.” “What did you do?” “I gave him up for adoption.” I felt seriously ill then. My head was spinning and my stomach felt as though someone had deposited a hot rock there. I leaned forward a little, trying to relieve the pressure that I knew, logically,

was all in my head. Then I poured another glass of wine and swallowed a healthy slug, but that sat even heavier on my stomach and made the pressure worse. “You signed the papers. At least, the papers the lawyer came back with had your signature on it. And I picked this great couple. They had a little girl they said was so excited to have a little brother. It seemed perfect. I’d been an only child and I didn’t want my son to grow up that way…” She was babbling now, her words high pitched and so quick that I could barely keep up with her. I reached across the table and took her hand. “Who were they? Where do they live?” She shrugged. “I don’t know much about them. I was only given their first names—Dale and Robin. They lived in upstate New York then, but it was fifteen years ago.” “Fifteen years?” I shook my head, trying to imagine that I was a father. And that my child was fifteen years old. It was overwhelming. I stood up and tossed a handful of bills on the table before walking out. I made it to the corner before I lost what little I’d eaten on the sidewalk. I was a father. I had a child out there somewhere and someone chose to hide that information from me. I knew who it was. My father. He’d never wanted me to teach. He’d never wanted me to have a normal life. He groomed me from the time I was a toddler to take over the business, to become the CEO I was now. He had all these grand plans for his children. My brother, Randy, let him down from the very beginning. So he put all his hopes and dreams on me. And his death—if I didn’t know it was impossible, I might suspect he got sick on purpose. My father did this. He hid my child from me.

If he hadn’t, how different would my life be now? “You have to go find him,” my sister, Libby, told me a few days later when I poured the whole story out to her. “He’s your kid. You owe it to yourself to know he’s okay.” And that was exactly what I planned to do.

Chapter 1 Penelope I rushed into the house, yelling at the top of my lungs. “JT, get up! We’re late!” There was no response. But I hadn’t really expected there to be. JT was my fifteen year old brother. And, since I go to bed at eight o’clock every night because I have to get up at three to make donuts at our family owned bakery, he’s pretty much left to his own devices most night. And he takes advantage of that. He usually stays up until one or two o’clock, watching horror movies and eating everything in the house. The evidence of his late night escapades were scattered around the living room in the form of empty potato chip bags and several dishes with everything from congealed butter and melted cheese stuck to their surfaces. I gathered dishes as I made my way through the house, dumping them in the sink with aloud clatter. “JT, seriously,” I muttered as I shoved open the door to his bedroom a minute later. “Penny, get out!” I stared at him a second, surprised to see him up and nearly dressed for once. “Sorry,” I mumbled as I backed out of the room. JT and I had been on our own for three years now, ever since our parents died in a late night car crash on their way home from their weekly date night trip into the city. I had to give up my fledgling career and come home to take care of JT and take over the bakery. It was my mother’s dream, you see, the reason why they moved from New York to this small town in the middle of farm country in Texas. A bakery that served everything from donuts to fancy cakes to simple gingerbread cookies. I worked in the

bakery all through high school, but I was determined to have a life in the city, working in anything having to do with art. I was an artist. Not good enough to have some show in a fancy gallery dedicated to my work, but good enough to work in a Fifth Avenue advertising firm. And then the accident and everything changed. “Hurry up, JT. We have to leave in like five minutes. I have this huge cake I’m supposed to deliver in two hours and we just started on the fondant.” “I’m right here. You don’t have to yell.” He brushed past me and burst into the kitchen, searching the pantry for something…Pop Tarts, I suppose. But we didn’t have any. That was another thing I needed to add to my to-do list. Grocery shopping. “Are you coming to the bakery after school today?” “I have football practice.” “After that.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sean said something about hanging out at his house tonight.” “Did you do your homework?” He shrugged again. That seemed to be the only way to communicate with him: reading the subtle messages in his gestures. I sighed, wondering what kind of trouble he and his best friend, Sean, were getting themselves into every afternoon. I’d heard rumors I didn’t want to believe. It was a very small town, there wasn’t much he could do that I didn’t eventually hear about. But I hoped that some of the rumors—like tagging the neighboring town’s scoreboard the day before the big rivalry football game—weren’t true. I didn’t know what to do with JT half the time. He was a good kid. But I barely had time to spend with him between running the bakery and attempting to get a decent amount of sleep every day. But if the

bakery failed, we would be financially ruined. But if I didn’t stop spending so much time at the bakery, JT might end up in juvenile detention. It was one of those damned if you do, damned if you don’t situations. We jumped into the bakery delivery van—the one with my mom’s smiling face on the side under the words, The Happy Bakery—and sped off for the high school across town. We had only gone a mile or two when my cellphone began shouting at me. I slid it out of my pocket and recognized the prefix for the high school. “What have you done now?” I asked, shooting a glance at JT. He simply shrugged once more. “Hello?” “Mrs. Monroe?” “Penelope.” There was a slight hesitation. Then a clearing of the throat. “This is Mr. James, JT’s English teacher?” “Yes, Mr. James,” I said, pronouncing the name with emphases so that JT couldn’t miss it. “What can I do for you?” “I was wondering: could you come up to the school and discuss JT’s performance in my class?” “Today?” I asked, already running my schedule through my mind. I wasn’t sure I could fit it in even though I knew it had to be important or else the teacher wouldn’t be calling. “Yes, ma’am. My conference period is from eleven to noon. Or I could see you after school.” “It’ll have to be after school.” “Great. I’ll see you at four.”

He hung up before I could say anything else. I glanced at JT again. “What’s going on in English?” JT shrugged. “Don’t know.” “There must be something going on or he wouldn’t have called.” JT just stared out the window. “I really don’t want to go in there without some sort of idea what’s going on. Are you failing? Did you do that essay he assigned last week?” “Yes.” “Are you sure? Maybe you forgot to turn it in.” “I didn’t forget.” “JT…” But we had pulled up to the school by then. He grabbed his backpack and jumped out of the van before I even had a chance to pull to the curb. I groaned as I watched him rush off toward the main doors, high fiving several of his friends as they came over to greet him. JT had always been something of an enigma to me. I remembered the adoption process. I was nine when my parents first met with his birth mother. That day sticks out in my memory because my mother was crying when they came home and my mom never cried in front of me. She showed me a sonogram picture the woman had given her, talking about the little brother I would soon have. And, sure enough, two months later, my parents disappeared in the middle of the night and arrived home with a screaming little baby wrapped in a heavy blue blanket. I wasn’t the kind of little girl who played with baby dolls, so I wasn’t terribly impressed with JT—Jonathon Tyler. As time went on, and JT took up more and more of my parents’ attention, I liked him even less. And then we moved and I was forced to leave my school, my ballet classes, my friends, my house…I had to leave everything. I was heartbroken. And I blamed it on JT.

Sometimes I thought that resentment toward JT is what brought me to this place. I mean, I learned to tolerate him as I matured. By high school, I was pretty much okay with having a little brother. I was relieved to go to college and be on my own, but I was okay with JT. But then, just as I started my own life, I had to come home and take custody of him. If not for him, if not for the bakery my mom loved so much, if not for all the regret and guilt that settled on my shoulders along with the grief, the loss, the pain of their deaths, I might have stayed in New York. But I owed it to my mom and dad to make sure their dreams stayed alive in both the bakery and JT. They wanted JT to have the experience of growing up in a small town like they had. Both my parents were from small towns—my dad from a small town in Florida and my mom from here, this little town in the panhandle of Texas—and both had wanted that for JT. So my dad quit his job as a literature professor at the State University of New York at Albany and we moved here. And I spent the next eight years trying to get back. And I did. And it lasted eight months. I eased the van back into traffic and turned back toward the town square where the bakery waited for my return. I parked the van out front—free advertising—and stepped out, waving to Mrs. Olsen as she walked out of the bakery with a box of donuts balanced on her arm. Everyone knew everyone around here. I could tell you who owned and worked in each of the businesses along the square. The bank building across from us housed the doctor, a small pharmacy, an insurance office, and, of course, the bank on the bottom floor. Next to it was the library. Beside that was the county museum. Then there was the bakery, the bookstore next to it, and the city offices down on the corner. That was about it, all of downtown. It was a very small town. I pasted a smile on my face and pushed through the front doors of the bakery, nodding to all the familiar faces standing in line to get their morning sugar fix. Angela, one of only two employees I was able to afford, flashed a genuine smile as I slid behind the counter. I don’t know how she could always be so happy. It was like nothing bad had ever been bad enough to steal Angela’s joy. I wish I could be that optimistic. Nick was in the back, carefully laying fondant across the cake we were working on when I left. It

was a seven layer cake for an afternoon wedding that was taking place in less than five hours. We were due to deliver it in two. We weren’t going to make it. “How many is that?” “Four.” I shook my head as I washed my hands and quickly dried them. “Why don’t you get started on the flowers and I’ll finish the fondant.” He just nodded, silently finishing what he’d begun. I’d known Nick since high school. He was a few years older than me, but with the town being so small, we had a couple of classes together. Then he started working for my parents his senior year and never really left. He attended college locally, graduating the same year I did. Yet, he stayed. I didn’t understand it. But, of course, there were generations and generations of people who elected to stay in this little town for reasons I would never fully understand. I grabbed another layer and set it on the table, taking a ball of fondant and running it through the rollers to flatten it to the proper thickness. We worked in silence, covering the remaining layers in half the time it would have taken otherwise. Then I began to stack them on the hidden supports while Nick created delicate flowers out of buttercream frosting. “JT’s English teacher called me. Said he wanted to talk to me, but JT claims he has no idea why.” “Maybe he’s doing well and the teacher wants to enter him into some kind of competition. Remember that essay contest you and I did my senior year?” I glanced at him. “I believe you placed higher than I did.” Nick smiled. “I often did.” I groaned. “Yes, and me the daughter of the literature scholar. I think that’s why my dad always liked you so much. You were the daughter he always wanted.”

Nick tossed a ball of frosting at me and I laughed. But the laughter died quickly as I thought about JT. “What if he’s failing?” “Then you let me have a talk with him. I’ll straighten him out.” “We tried that last month when he was failing geometry.” I pressed the last layer of cake down on the supports and stepped back to look at it. “I don’t know what to do with JT. I’m not a parent, never really wanted to be one. Especially not to a teenager.” “JT is basically a good kid. He’s just going through that thing all teenagers go through: adolescence.” “I wished I believed that’s all it is. But I’m afraid there’s more to it than that. I don’t know what he’s doing half the time. He barely talks to me. What do I do if he gets arrested or, God forbid, something worse?” “Take it one step at a time, Penny,” Nick said, coming to stand beside me. “It’s only a teacher calling for a conference. Do you know how many times my mom had to go to the school to talk about me?” “I’m sure it wasn’t all bad.” “Then you’d be surprised.” He kissed my cheek gently before returning to his flowers. “Don’t worry until you have a reason to worry.” Much easier said than done. ~~~ I walked into the school still brushing flour from the front of my pink t-shirt. I hadn’t had time to go home and change. After delivering the wedding cake, we had three orders of cupcakes that had to be

prepared, decorated, and delivered. And then the sponge cake for two cake orders had to be baked before tomorrow. I still had to go back and finish the last set of cakes. So, I brushed flour from my shirt, hoping the white splotches didn’t show too much. I paused outside the classroom and tugged at my hair, making sure my ponytail was still fairly straight and ran my hands over my jeans, wiping away imaginary frosting, food coloring, and anything else that might have been stuck there if I hadn’t washed my hands twice before leaving the bakery. Then, with a deep breath and a feeling that I’d somehow stepped back into time and become an awkward teen again, I stepped into the classroom. “Mr. James?” He was sitting behind the generic yellow desk that adorned the front of most high school classrooms, his head bent as he looked over a student essay. He was wearing jeans and a white dress shirt, a tie loosened at the collar. His hair was dark, a mass of curls that reminded me of the unruly disaster that was JT’s hair when he let it grow out. Thank goodness it was cut short right now, a requirement set by the football coach. And then he looked up and my heart skipped a beat. He was…his eyes were dark, a deep brown that was like caramel that was just on the verge of burning. He had a heavy jaw and full lips, a long patrician nose that somehow worked with his face, and a subtle dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. He stood, so tall I had to lift my chin a little to meet his eyes. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his chest straining against the front of that well pressed, linen shirt. His sleeves were rolled up and I could see tattoos on his inner wrists and one halfway up one forearm. I’d never met a teacher with tattoos before, but I supposed it was a reality of the modern world. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied me for a moment. “Can I help you?”

That caught me off guard. I’d thought he was expecting me. “I’m Penelope Monroe,” I said slowly. “JT’s sister.” I thought I saw surprise dance in those dark eyes for a second. He stepped forward, holding out one hand with impossibly long fingers. “It’s nice to meet you.” Nice recovery, I thought as I shook his hand, trying to ignore the little tingle that rushed up the length of my arm at his touch. When he released my hand, I crossed my own arms over my chest and studied him as he studied me. If my high school teachers had looked like this… “Have a seat, Miss Monroe,” he said gesturing toward one of the student desks. “This shouldn’t take but a few minutes.” “Has JT been acting out in class?” I asked as I slid into the narrow seat. “No. In fact, it would be preferable if he did. But he’s actually sleeping through most of my class.” I bit my lip, thinking about an argument JT and I’d had just a few days ago. You have to go to bed earlier. You’re never going to be able to concentrate in class if you’re not getting enough sleep. I get plenty of sleep. No, you don’t, JT. Going to bed at one o’clock and then getting up at seven— You’re not mom. Stop acting like it. That always stopped me cold in my tracks. And JT knew it. “I’m sorry,” I said to Mr. James. “He tends to stay up too late at night. It’s an issue we’ve been working on.”

“Teenagers need at least ten hours of sleep every night, Miss Monroe.” “I’m aware.” He nodded even as the pinched look of irritation crossed his face. He leaned back against his desk, his arms crossed once again, and stared at me with that look that teachers often get when they think a student is purposely ignoring his instructions. “JT is a brilliant student. I’ve discussed him with his other teachers, and they all feel that if he tried a little harder, he would likely be on the honor roll. But, for some reason, JT feels the need to goof off in class. He’s often either sleeping, or playing the class clown. He rarely turns in homework. But when he does, it’s often far above expectations. Just this week he turned in an essay that easily could have been written by a college student. I had to run it through plagiarism software twice to make sure he wrote it.” “Our father was a literature professor. JT’s been reading since he was three.” Mr. James’ eyebrows rose. “May I ask what’s going on at home that might be causing JT’s behavioral issues?” I sat back a little, once again feeling like a teenager being dressed down by a superior. I reached up and tugged at my ponytail. “My parents died in a car accident three years ago. I have custody of JT. We’re doing the best we can, but things are a little chaotic between his school schedule, his football responsibilities, and the bakery.” “Bakery?” “The family business. It’s our only source of income, so it’s pretty important that I keep it running.” “It’s also important that JT be supervised properly.” The implication in that statement made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I

straightened again, my eyes narrowed as I regarded this outsider, this teacher who had no idea what it was to grow up and live in a small town. “I do the best I can, Mr. James. I realize his behavior leaves a little to be desired, but he’s essentially a good kid who’s gone through a lot of crap these last few years. We’re both struggling to make things work, but we are making things work. I will talk to him about sleeping in your class.” I stood up and brushed past him on my way to the door was all set to slam the door on my way out. But then he spoke, final words that I’d been afraid of hearing for three years, but never really thought I would. “If things don’t improve, Miss Monroe, I’ll be forced to contact child protective services to make sure JT’s home life is not endangering his wellbeing.”

Chapter 2 Harrison I watched her walk out the door without responding to my parting words. I wanted to grab her and force her to respond. I wanted to…she was not what I’d expected. I’d known the adoptive parents had died. My investigator was able to uncover impressive details on Dale and Robin Monroe with what little information Julia managed to get from the adoption agency, earning much more than the outrageous fee he charged. Within weeks of learning I had a son, I had pictures and addresses and credit scores and death certificates. Everything I needed to locate him. I’d been ready to march in and claim him as my own. I never signed adoption papers. I never gave up my parental rights. A good lawyer, and I could have been awarded custody in a matter of weeks. But Libby wouldn’t allow it. He’s fifteen, Harrison. He’s grown up with this identity, as Jonathon Monroe. You march in there and take him away, and you’ll destroy the one thing that we all hold dearest: his identity. You have to do this slowly, let him adjust to the idea of having you in his life before you steal him away from the only family, the only life, he’s ever known. That was the problem with Libby. Her arguments were always so logical that there was no arguing with her. So, I decided to come to this little town to meet him. But I needed a reason to be here, an excuse to make myself a part of his life. It was a happy coincidence that the school had just lost their freshman English teacher and I happen to have a master’s degree in literature. It was a simple thing to arrange to become a Texas certified teacher and simpler yet to get hired on at a school where few of the teachers had better than a bachelor’s degree. The first time JT walked into my classroom…seeing photographs of him were nothing like seeing

him in the flesh. I recognized myself more in him than I thought I would. He had Julia’s blue eyes, but the dark hair, the heavy jaw, that was all me. It surreal, really. I was a little afraid that he would take one look at me and know who I was. But he barely looked at me, more interested in the blond cheerleader who sat in front of him than anything else. He got that from me, too. It’d been more than a month now. A month of frustration as I tried to get him to pay attention, to stay awake, without seeming to single him out. I didn’t want any of the other students—or teachers—to think I was treating JT with any sort of preference. But it was driving me crazy, watching him destroy every opportunity that appeared before him without thought to his future. If he slept through all his classes like he did mine, he’d never make the grades required to get into a good college. And then where would he be. And then it bugged the crap out of me that I was beginning to think like my own father. It was frustrating having no control. So I thought, calling in his sister, suggesting a few ways to help out, perhaps it would make a difference. But then she walked in here, all covered in flour, looking incredibly sexy…I wasn’t expecting the perfect curves hugged by low rider jeans and that simple cotton tee. Or the exhaustion in her eyes that made them seem bigger and greener than they looked in pictures. And the way her wavy mahoganycolored hair sat askew in its ponytail only made her look more vulnerable, more innocent, in a most alluring way. I couldn’t hardly put two thoughts together from the moment she walked through the door. And then she got mad—as if she had a reason to get pissed off—and that just set me off. I hadn’t meant to make threats. But watching her storm out of here like that loosened my tongue. I cursed under my breath after she’d gone, aware that I’d just opened a door that should have remained closed a little while longer. I gathered my things, shoving student essays into a leather case that was meant to carry million dollar business deals rather than badly written essays on Lee’s To Kill a

Mockingbird, and stormed off to the tiny house I was renting six blocks from the house where JT lived. Everything in my life right now seemed to be measured by how it related to JT. How far my house was from his, how long until he was scheduled to sit in my classroom, how many days until I could sit in the stands and watch him dominate on the football field. At least when he played football I could take pictures to send back to Libby without someone thinking I was some sort of pervert, or something. I walked into the house, dropped my case on the floor, and wandered into the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of rather expensive bourbon. A swallow or two and the uneasiness that had settled in my chest began to dissipate. My first instinct was to call my lawyer. That woman was clearly in over her head. All it would take was a petition by my lawyer in the local courts, and I could get custody of JT. The paperwork was already in order. My lawyer put it all together weeks ago when my investigator presented him with a DNA test done with a blood sample stolen from JT’s doctor’s office—JT had to have a physical at the beginning of the school year to play football; it was a cinch to steal a blood sample and have it tested in an independent lab with a stellar reputation. I knew he was my son before I came here. No doubts. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. He was mine and I wanted him in my control. This teaching thing—yeah, it was kind of nice teaching after all those years of dreaming about it and all the time I’d spent doing the one job I’d never wanted—it was fun. But I was needed back in Oregon. And watching JT sleep through class and bully his way through the hallways was growing old quite quickly. And the lies. I was not a man who liked to lie. Keeping this secret was killing me. Even my mother had no idea that I’d found JT. I was almost afraid to discuss it with her. A part of me really didn’t want to know if she was involved in whatever happened that caused some lawyer to think I’d given up my rights to my own child when I had no clue he even existed. If I’d known… I think about it a lot. How would my life be different if I had known? Would I have dropped out of school? Would I have offered to marry Julia? Would she have accepted? Would we have tried to live a nice, quiet middle class existence, both of us college dropouts, both of working dead end jobs that would

get us nowhere? Or would I have still caved when my father died, gone home and taken over the company anyway? There was no way to know, really. Our lives might have gone differently. They might not have. But Julia seemed happy in her life with her Wall Street husband and two perfect little girls. So maybe her life took the path it was meant to take. But mine? I thought I wanted to teach. I thought I wanted a quiet life. I thought being CEO of Ashland Furniture was the worst thing I could possibly do with my life. But in the last twelve years, I’d built it into something so much more than my father had ever dreamed of, let alone managed to achieve in his lifetime. Ashland-Philips Corporation was a billion dollar company where Ashland Furniture was barely staying out of the red year after year. I liked that I’d done that. I liked the reputation I’d built, the money I’d made, the success I’d achieved. What started out as a desperate attempt to keep my mother and sister housed and cared for had become a challenge that I welcomed every day without really realizing it. Without it these last few weeks, my days felt almost empty. Except for JT. I wanted my son. I wanted to take him back to Oregon with me, wanted to show him who I was and what I could provide for him in terms of his future. I wanted him to be more a part of my life than just what he was now: my student. “I can’t keep doing this,” I said to my sister a little while later. “I can’t keep watching him throw his future away one exhausted day after another.” “He’s a teenager, Harrison,” Libby said. “All teenagers behave that way.” “But you should have seen the defiance in that woman’s eyes. She’s not going to do anything about his behavior. She’s more concerned about that bakery than she is JT.” “She’s just trying to survive in the wake of tragedy. Sounds kind of familiar, doesn’t it?” I stopped pacing my makeshift office in the spare bedroom of my rental, the ball of anger I’d been

holding on to since Penelope walked out of my classroom suddenly dissipating in place of a sudden rush of incredulity. “Are you seriously comparing her to me?” “There are similarities. You had to give up your dreams when Daddy died to take care of me and mom. This Penelope did the same thing when her parents died.” “Yeah, but—“ “Give her a break, Harry. It’s only been a little while. Maybe she needs more time to figure things out.” “And maybe more time will just lead to JT going to jail. Or worse.” “I know you’re frustrated. But marching in there and taking custody of that boy—her only surviving family—isn’t going to make things any easier on JT. And the last thing you want to do is traumatize your son before you even have a chance to tell him who you are.” Why did she always have to be right? “Fine,” I muttered. “But I’m telling you, if something happens to him, I won’t hesitate to call my lawyer and set things into motion.” “It sounds to me like he’s just acting out. He’s like his father that way.” There was laughter in her voice that I didn’t appreciate. But, then, I couldn’t deny the truth in her words. I wasn’t exactly the best behaved teenager, either. I was, after all, the guy who went to New York on a college summer trip and came home with two tattoos and a kid I didn’t know about. My father must have hit the roof when he realized what had happened. Worse than the time I came home drunk off my ass and threw up in the bushes in front of the house when I was sixteen. But my behavior wasn’t the issue here.

We hung up a while later, after discussing business back at Ashland-Philips. Libby was a great CFO, but the big decisions still had to cross my desk. So, on top of grading high school essays, I spent most of my evenings making phone calls and reading over contracts. It made for a very long day, and morning often came much sooner than I would like. Exhaustion made my temper a little sharper than it needed to be. I was beginning to regret my words to Penelope Monroe when the principal of the school called and made me feel even worse. “I understand that you’ve never worked in a small town like this. But things move a little slower around here. And we don’t usually make threats against the guardians of our students unless they give us no other choice.” “I realize my words might have been a bit hasty.” “More than a bit, Mr. James. You can’t threaten to call child protective services just because a child doesn’t turn in his homework as often as he should.” I closed my eyes, picturing JT—hair unwashed, clothes wrinkled, creases in his cheeks from sleeping on his crossed arms in my class—and bit my lip to keep from saying that I believed there was more at stake here than just unfinished homework. I was learning my lesson, slowly, but I was learning it. “I’ll apologize to Miss Monroe.” And that’s exactly what I was attempting to do the next morning when I pulled up in front of the ranch style house where JT had lived since he was three years old. It looked quite innocent from the sidewalk, a neat brick exterior that looked just like the other houses on the block. But as I made my way to the front door, I could hear screaming coming from inside. “I go to bed plenty early enough,” JT’s voice said. “You go to bed at one o’clock in the morning and then don’t understand why you can’t stay awake in class. How many teachers are going to call me into the school to talk about you sleeping at your desk?” “It’s bullshit!” JT yelled. “Mom and Dad never cared how late I stayed up as long as I kept my

grades up. My grades are fine.” “When you bother to turn in homework, yeah, they’re great. But you’re not even turning in homework anymore! What are you trying to do, JT? Do you really want to flunk out of high school before you’ve even started?” “Why don’t you go to work and leave me alone?” The door suddenly opened and JT rushed out without looking up, likely completely unaware that I was standing there on his front porch. “JT…” But he didn’t hear me, either.

Chapter 3 Penelope “Why don’t you go to work and leave me alone?” Those words stabbed me in the chest almost like JT had wielded an actual knife. Was I really spending too much time at the bakery? Was that why he was becoming so insolent? So disrespectful? Or was there something else going on? Drugs had crossed my mind a few times, as I’m sure it crosses the mind of most parents of a teenager. But a cursory search of his room didn’t turn up anything. And he had that physical at the beginning of the school year. That would have picked up something, wouldn’t it have? Nick kept insisting it was just teen angst. But that seemed too easy. I grabbed his backpack and went to the door, his name on my lips. But Mr. James was standing there, looking quite professional in his jeans and sports coat, a quizzical lilt to his eyebrows that made it pretty clear that he had witnessed at least the explosive last minute of our family dynamics. Great. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my tone a little sharper than I’d intended. “I came by to apologize for what I said yesterday. It was…uncalled for.” That took a little of the wind out of my sails. I wondered if Susan had said something to him. I hadn’t meant to complain to her, but she was the principal of the high school and she had come into the bakery to order some cookies for a staff meeting later in the week…and it felt so good to take a little control of the situation. “Thank you,” I said curtly. “I appreciate that.”

“You must understand that I’m simply concerned about JT. He is very intelligent and he’s not working up to his potential.” “Tell me about it.” I backed up a little, glancing at the soiled plates and trash that filled the living room behind me. It made me tired just to look at it. I was never going to get ahead of all the housework, not with all the time the bakery required of me. JT was no help. And now all of this school stuff… Mr. James must have taken my movement as an invitation to come into the house because he suddenly towered over me, his expression tight as he scanned the living room. “It’s not always like this,” I mumbled, dropping JT’s backpack in favor of gathering dishes. “We’ve been busy this week.” “I’m sure you have been.” “The bakery…we had five major orders this week. Things aren’t usually as chaotic, but with school starting and kids going off to college and there’s been more weddings this fall than last…we just seem to be busier than usual.” “The bakery takes a lot of your time.” “It does. I only have two employees right now because money has been tight. But I’m hoping that’ll change soon and I can hire someone else. Maybe then…” I stopped, realizing I was making excuses to the same man who had threatened to call child protective services on me. Why was I defending myself to him? “You have JT first period, right?” Mr. James studied the living room a moment longer before finally focusing on me. “I do,” he said, his eyes narrowed slightly as they dropped to the dishes in my hands.

“Would you mind taking his bag to him? He forgot it on his way out.” “Sure.” But he hesitated, his eyes moving over me once again. “Listen,” he said, his tone a little softer than it’d been. “Would you take my card? Maybe I could help you out with JT, hang out with him in the evenings or something? It seems like you need a little help.” My spine stiffened at the thought. What was he doing? Trying to get more evidence of how I was neglecting my brother? But I took the card, hoping he’d just leave if I did. He stared at me a minute longer, his eyes softening slightly as they lingered on mine. Then he grabbed the bag and left. I’d never been so happy to see someone’s back in all my life. I looked around the room, seeing it through a stranger’s eyes, and groaned. If he was really serious about turning me into child protective services, I’d just handed him all the motivation he could possibly need. ~~~ “No one’s going to try to take JT from you.” I shook my head as I carefully manipulated a cake out of its pan. “You didn’t hear him.” “But you talked to Susan. And he apologized.” “Yeah, but you didn’t see the look on his face when he saw the mess at the house. And he probably heard JT and me arguing. I can just imagine what he took from that.” Nick moved up behind me, trapping me between the work table and the length of his body. He was taller than me, a little on the heavy side, the heat of his body both comforting and suffocating. “Let me help you,” he said softly. “How?”

“I could take over the early shift. I could come in at four and start the donuts so that you can be at home with JT.” “Nick…” “I know we’ve talked about this before and you feel like it’s your responsibility to handle that part of things. But I used to come in at four with your dad. I know what I’m doing.” I turned, nearly falling into his arms. Nick has been a part of my life for a long time. He started working at the bakery in high school and was a fixture here. I knew he was capable of taking over the morning shift. It just…it seemed wrong to ask someone else to open the bakery in the middle of the night – to take charge of the most important part of the business while I lay at home asleep. I studied his dark features, his rounded face and hazel eyes, the five o’clock shadow that was already darkening his jaw at nine o’clock in the morning. I lay my hand in the center of his chest, wishing he’d back off just a little. I knew Nick had ideas about our relationship. He’d asked me out a few times over the last three years, assuming that my negative response had more to do with my circumstances than the fact that he simply wasn’t someone I saw myself dating. That sounded a bit pretentious of me, but it was the truth. If he’d known me when I was in New York, if he’d seen the life I had there, maybe he would understand. But, of course, he hadn’t. And that reality was gone, never to be my reality again. “Do you really think if I didn’t have to come in so early things would be better with JT?” “I think it wouldn’t hurt.” I thought about it for a second, the memory of that teacher’s expression as he stared at our house filling my mind. I had to do something. I had to get my priorities straight. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll try it for a week and see how it goes.” Nick gripped my upper arms and pulled me closer to him. “I won’t let you down.” I was afraid for a second he might try to kiss me. And then I’d have to tell him to back off and he’d

quit and everything would just fall apart and… But he didn’t. He just smiled like a child who’d gotten the best present ever for Christmas, then went back to his worktable and hummed under his breath as he decorated a cake for a retirement party. And I turned back to my own tasks, wondering if I’d just made another in a long list of horrible, devastating mistakes. ~~~ The crowd was already thick when I arrived at the football stadium—or, at least, our small town version of it—friends and neighbors laughing and catching up on the week’s gossip. I found a seat in the center of the stands, waving to customers who stopped their conversations long enough to notice me trying to sneak past them. I was exhausted. Fridays were always an exceptionally long day. I’d been up since three to open the bakery, worked until an hour ago trying to get orders out and getting a jump start on tomorrow’s orders. I’d wanted to grab a nap before the game, but that didn’t happen. I’d barely had time for a quick shower before it was time to head over. But I never missed one of JT’s games. I might not be the best guardian in the world, but this was important to him, so it was important to me. I saw him before he saw me. The teacher. He was walking along the bottom of the stands, searching for an open seat. A couple of students called out to him and he stopped to speak to a couple of girls who seemed quite taken with him. Again I wondered how different my high school experience might have been if just one of my teachers had looked like him. But most of my teachers were older women, a couple of middle aged me, most of them still working at the school. It certainly would have been a more interesting experience. Then he looked up and our eyes met. I almost felt like I was sitting under a spot light, the way he

stared at me. I tugged my light sweater tighter around me, unconsciously drawing my bottom lip between my teeth as I dropped my eyes to my toes, my hair falling around my face like a veil. There was something about him that made everything inside of me turn to jelly. The way he was staring at me just made it worse. I felt like one of those teenagers with a crush on teacher. “Is this seat open?” I looked up, the color draining from my face as he towered over me. “Uh, yeah, I guess.” He sat down, a little closer to me than the long, empty bench required. Before I could say something, our football team stepped out onto the field. Everyone stood, cheers rising from all around us. I stood, too, shaking the cowbell with JT’s number on it—35—pride bringing a smile to my face as he ran through the inflatable jackrabbit with the rest of his teammates. We stayed on our feet as both teams gathered in the center of the field for the playing of the National Anthem. And then we settled in for the beginning of the game. “People take football pretty serious here, don’t they?” “Don’t they where you’re from?” He shrugged. “I suppose. But not quite like this.” I glanced at him. “Where are you from?” “Oregon.” My eyebrows rose. “You’re a long way from home. What brought you out here?” Mr. James looked out on the field for a long minute. “The job market’s a little tight up there. I saw an opportunity to start fresh here and I took it.”

“I guess I understand that.” “I hear you used to work in New York City.” “Yeah. A lifetime ago.” “Did you like it there?” I thought about my loft apartment, my close knit group of friends, the man I left behind there and a familiar tightness settled in my chest for a long minute. “Yeah,” I said. “But that was a different life. I was a different person there.” “I can imagine.” I studied the field for a minute, watching as our team made a little progress down field. JT made a dive for a pass, but missed, causing the crowd to groan in one, overwhelming voice. But then he redeemed himself with the next play, catching a wild throw and getting the first down. “He’s pretty good.” I glanced at Mr. James. “He works hard at it.” “Too bad he doesn’t put that much effort into his school work.” “Do you know many teenage boys who put that much effort into school work?” He actually cracked a smile. And that smile was breathtaking. I had to force myself to look away before I did or said something that would embarrass us both. “Despite the impression I might have given you, I was not an angel when I was JT’s age. I was something of a nightmare to my parents.” “Oh?” “I’m sure my mother could tell you stories that would make you incredibly grateful that sleeping in

class is the worst thing JT has ever done.” “I can’t imagine you were that bad.” He laughed, the sound like a fine ganache running down the surface of a cake. I liked the sound, wanted to hear more of it. But then the crowd groaned again—another missed pass—and drowned the sound out. I caught sight of the infinity symbol on the inside of his wrist and touched it before I could stop myself. “Is this one of your rebellious acts?” “It is,” he admitted. “My father was a very religious man. He raised my brother, my sister, and myself to believe that altering the body in any way was an insult to God. So, when I was nineteen, I went to New York City with a group of college friends and one of the first things I did was get this tattoo. And this one.” He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and showed me a simple cross on the inside of his other wrist. “Do they have special meaning to you? Or were they just random choices?” “This one,” he said, gesturing with the arm that sported the cross, “was a roundabout insult to my father. Though I didn’t think of it that way at the time. I thought it was more to prove to him that you could believe in God and still do whatever you wanted with your own body. And this one,” he stared down at the infinity symbol, a sort of dreamy look coming to his perfect caramel eyes, “was a request of a young woman I met that summer.” “Hmm, so it was an attempt to get her into your bed. Were you successful?” “I was,” he admitted, his eyes moving to the football field just as our defense took over. It wasn’t hard to imagine him romancing some young woman when he was a young man himself. Hell, it wasn’t hard to imagine him doing it now. He seemed like a very charming man who often got what

he wanted. And, as stupid as it might sound, I was a little jealous of that young woman who got him to permanently disfigure his body for her. She must have meant a lot to him. I don’t think I’ve ever mattered that much to a man before. There were men in my life. Boys, really. I dated in high school, but never anything serious, and most of those guys were married with small children now. And college. There’d been one guy in college I would have done almost anything for. But he was so focused on his studies that I’m not sure he ever realized just how deep my feelings for him went. And the man in New York. But I hadn’t heard from him in more than a year. He’d clearly moved on. And I…I suppose I was just a memory to him now. At least, I hope I was. “Do you have others?” Mr. James looked at me as though he’d forgotten I was there. “Others?” “Tattoos.” “A few.” He touched his forearm. “There’s one here.” Then he touched his chest. “One here.” I started to ask what they were, but the way he spoke, especially when he touched his chest, left the impression that they were kind of personal and he really didn’t want to talk about them. “We don’t get many teachers out here with tattoos.” “I got that impression on the first day of school when I took off my jacket and half the class gasped and the other half stood up to get a better look.” I smiled. I could imagine. “This town is pretty tight. People are friendly, but they don’t let you in easily.” “We don’t get a lot of outsiders around her.”

“Do you like living in such a small town?” I shrugged. “It has its pros and cons, just like any other place.” “You’ve lived here all your life?” “No. We moved here when I was thirteen. Just in time to start junior high.” “Must have been tough.” “I hated it,” I admitted. “It took forever to make friends and I struggled with the curriculum for a while.” “But you settled in.” “Eventually.” “Would you have come back, if not for what happened?” “No. I was happy in my life.” I looked out at the field, watched as JT high fived a couple of his teammates following a turn over. “I mean, I would have come back to visit. But I don’t think I would have lived here again.” He nodded. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. I wondered if I’d said something I shouldn’t have. After all, this was the teacher who’d threaten to have my brother taken from our home. But he seemed— The crowd erupted into loud cheers and stomping that vibrated the metal stands under my ass. I stood up, realizing a little too late that we’d just made a touchdown and it was JT holding the ball in the in zone. I shook the cowbell and screamed his name, forcing more enthusiasm into my voice than I felt. Someone behind me patted my shoulder as though it was as much my achievement as it was JT. The extra point kick was good. The crowd cheered again, the band playing a triumphant melody, and then everyone settled back for the next set of downs.

A couple of teenagers wandered toward us, one of the girls waving with a deep blush on her cheeks at Mr. James. “They seemed to really like you.” He shrugged. “They’ll all be talking about how you sat with me at the game. By Monday, they’ll have us engaged.” He cocked an eyebrow as he glanced at me. “You think so?” “Oh, sure. You have to be really careful who you spend time with at these public events.” He started to say something, but then his cellphone rang. He tugged it out of his jeans pocket and I caught sight of a woman’s name—Libby—before he muttered, “I have to take this,” and wandered off. He had a girlfriend. Why wasn’t I surprised?

Chapter 4 Harrison I left the stands and wandered toward a quiet spot at the back of the stadium as I answered the phone. “Hey, Lib. What’s up?” “Where are you? I can barely hear you.” “Football game.” “Oh? How’s JT doing?” “Just scored a touchdown.” “Awesome.” I stood with my back to the fence, watching the game progress through a crowd of bored teenagers and parents with small children who refused to sit still. My thoughts, though, were on Penelope, that enigmatic beauty who seemed so vulnerable and so resilient all at the same time. She was clearly suspicious of me, the way she looked at me spoke of a fear that was very basic, very instinctual. But there was something else there…and the way she engaged in casual conversation spoke of a basic kindness and charm that was beginning to make me think that maybe I didn’t want to just snatch JT from her custody as coldly as I had planned. And that made me wonder what other options I might have. “We have a little problem here,” Libby said, breaking into my thoughts. “That contract that was supposed to go so smoothly with the lumber people didn’t go quite as well as we had hoped.” “What’s wrong?”

“They insist that we make changes. They don’t like some of the changes you made to the original contract.” I groaned. “We had a deal.” “I know. And I reminded them of that. But their representative says he needs to talk to you directly. He’s going to be here for the rest of the weekend…” A cheer drowned out all sound around me. I stepped forward a little and just caught sight of JT running down the field, yards ahead of the opponent, scoring another touchdown. The band began to play as cowbells, foghorns, and all kinds of noise filled the air around me. Pride swelled in my chest as I watched JT celebrate with his teammates. That was my kid. “Send the jet. I can fly out in the morning,” I said to Libby, wondering what JT would think if he could see the company’s private jet, if he could see my impressive house built into the side of a cliff overlooking Ashland, if he could see the corporation I’d built, see the press that had forced me to use a false name here so that no one would realize who I really was before I had a chance to tell JT the truth about me, about our relationship. I needed to tell him soon. The truth was becoming a burden I wasn’t sure I could carry much longer. But then I thought about Penelope, and a part of me wanted to hide the truth for a while longer if it meant protecting her from a reality she wasn’t prepared to face. I don’t know why I should care about some small town girl who’d made her own bed. She could have taken JT to New York, could have kept her job, her tiny apartment with a plush address. She would still have those things that had clearly meant so much to her. It wasn’t my fault she’d made the choices she had. Yet, I still felt bad when I thought about the moment when I would leave this small town with JT. I hung up and made my way back into the stands just as the refs called halftime. Penelope was

talking to some older man, smiling through the exhaustion that clouded her face. Another teacher from the high school waved me over, asking about a staff meeting that took place that afternoon. It took me a minute to get her caught up, earning myself a grateful smile and another tally mark on the cooperative coworker column. Penelope was once again alone when I slid back into my seat beside her. “Some half,” I said. She nodded. “JT’s on fire tonight.” “Must be all that rest he’s getting in my class.” She stiffened and I immediately regretted the quip. But before I could say anything, JT came running up into the stands still in full uniform. “Hey, sis,” he said, sliding backward onto the bench in front of us. “What did you think of that?” Penelope’s eyes burst with light as she leaned into him, a smile on her full lips. “You were brilliant.” “Yeah?” “Definitely.” He beamed. “Coach says that if I get an average of three touchdown in the rest of the games this year, I’ll make some sort of record. Isn’t that cool?” “Very cool.” His smile widened. It was pretty obvious Penelope’s approval was deeply important to him. It changed the dynamics I’d thought existed between the two of them. I had assumed things were more contentious than they clearly were. I had thought that taking him away wouldn’t matter as much to him. But now I was having a few more doubts. “Listen,” JT said, leaning close enough to Penelope that his sweaty forehead was nearly touching

hers, “Sean’s having a party at his house after the game. Would it be okay if I go for a couple of hours? I promise I’ll be in bed by two.” Penelope’s shoulders tightened. “You have chores that need to be done.” “I know. I promise I’ll do them tomorrow. All of them.” “Even cleaning your bathroom?” JT groaned, but he nodded. “Even the bathroom.” Penelope smiled, though the tension in her shoulders stayed. “You’ll text me when you get there and you’ll text me if you’re going to be late.” “Of course.” “Okay.” JT burst into a huge grin that reminded me of the one I often flashed when I got what I wanted at his age. He leaned close and kissed Penelope on the cheek. “Thanks!” He ran off without acknowledging my presence, calling out to one of the cheerleaders as he headed back to the dressing room where the rest of the team was hanging out during halftime. Penelope and I both watched him go, likely both lost in very different thoughts. Then she glanced at me, a guarded look in her eyes. “I guess you don’t approve. But I’ve learned that you sometimes have to bend the rules a little to get him to follow them at all.” “No. I get it.” “He really is a good kid. He’s just…” “A teenager.”

She nodded. “A teenager who’s been through an awful lot these last few years. The night our parents died, he was at home alone when the police came to make the notification. And I couldn’t get a direct flight, so he was pretty much on his own for forty-eight hours afterward. That’s a lot to ask a twelve year old to deal with. Then the funeral and everything that came after…I tried to protect him from the reality of our situation as best as I could, but he is pretty intuitive.” “I’m sure he is.” “It’s been hard. So if sleeping in class is the worst of it, I think that’s pretty good.” I nodded. “You’re right.” Surprise lit her eyes. She studied me in the bright stadium lights, emotions dancing in her eyes with such intensity I could almost read her thoughts. She didn’t know if she could trust me, didn’t know if I was being honest or just placating her until I could…what? Get evidence to take JT from her? Was that what I was doing? In reality, it probably was. And that didn’t sit well all of a sudden. I turned away, using the excuse of our school band coming on to the field. As I watched the students, quite a few of whom were in my classes, march across the field in their heavy uniforms with their instruments in their hands, I found myself having second thoughts for the first time since Julia told me that she had my child fifteen years ago. I knew that he would have a family, that someone out there had wanted a child bad enough that they would take my son—the son who was taken from me without my knowledge. I knew they brought him into their lives, loved him, and experienced all the things that I should have experienced with him. I knew all this, but I was so focused on what I lost that I forgot that someone would lose when I took him back. Did I really want to hurt Penelope? Did I really want to destroy the relationship she had with JT? Did I really want to hurt JT by taking Penelope away from him? There had to be a better way. I just wasn’t sure I knew what that better way was. ~~~

It felt kind of odd to be back in a suit. I stood in the front of the conference table, gesturing to an electronic white board, feeling so much like I was back in the classroom that the expensive Italian suit I was wearing felt wrong. Thank God the meeting was just wrapping up. “Very smooth, Mr. James,” Libby said to me a few minutes later as we walked out of the room behind the lumber executives who’d just signed a very lucrative deal for both them and us. “It’s Mr. Philips to you.” She smiled. “Are you enjoying teaching?” I moved the files I was carrying from one hand to the other so that I could slip my arm around her shoulders. “Nothing like I thought it would be.” “I bet.” “But it’s been interesting. The kids are…a challenge.” “Any super stars? Like me?” I laughed, remembering how we used to tease Libby for being a goody two shoes. There were actually several kids in my classes that reminded me of her. But not necessarily for that reason. “There is no one in the world quite like you.” We walked into my office then. She stepped away, all business as she took the files out of my hands and handed them to my assistant, Tamera, with instructions on how many copies had to be made and where they had to be sent or filed. I only half listened, my thoughts back in Texas even as I stood at the wall to ceiling windows at the back of my office and looked down over the small community of Ashland. “Tell me about him,” Libby said a moment later, coming to stand behind me. “I’ve already told you everything.”

“Not really. You’ve sent me pictures of a dark haired boy in a football uniform and talked with frustration about a student who sleeps through your class. But you haven’t really talked to me about your son.” I turned and leaned back against the window. “It’s all so surreal, you know? Even when he walks into my classroom and I can see the resemblance…it’s just so hard to wrap my mind around the reality of it all.” “What are you going to do?” I rolled my head back and stared up at the ceiling, a heavy sigh slipping from between my lips. “I thought that it would be simple. I’d pretend to be his teacher for a few months, then I’d pull him aside and tell him the truth. And he’d be so grateful that he’d give up everything to come back to Oregon to live with me. Then I saw him in school, watched him with his friends, and I guess I went looking for an excuse to take him away. He acts out, he does things he probably shouldn’t do and…it seemed easy to convince myself that his current situation isn’t good. That he’d be better off with me.” I closed my eyes and I could see Penelope sitting there, the exhaustion written all over her face. I’d wanted to wrap my arm around her last night, wanted to reassure her and help her. I was starting to feel sorry for her, and I really didn’t want that. “But you don’t feel that way now?” I focused on Libby, took in her familiar features—her dark hair, dark eyes, and oh, so familiar compassion in her expression—and shrugged. “The situation isn’t good. The sister works long hours and she’s barely making ends meet. My investigator tells me that the parents left them with huge debts that she had to mortgage both the business and the family home to pay off. But now she’s got these huge debts on top of the expense of running the business and their daily expenses. So she’s never home and JT is left to run wild. He stays up late at night, apparently eats whatever he wants, and hangs out with these kids whose parents are less than interested in

their extracurricular activities. It’s not a good situation and I can’t see it ending well.” “Then do something.” “But what do I do that doesn’t cause JT to resent me for the rest of his life?” “There’s the question.” Libby took my hand and held it gently between both hands. “You aren’t dad. You’re not a bishop in your church embarrassed by your wild sons. You’re just a guy trying to do the right thing. JT will see that.” “And if he doesn’t? If he resents me for taking him away from the only home, the only friends, he’s ever known? For taking him away from his sister?” “He will.” I groaned. “You’re supposed to be reassuring me, here, remember?” “Do you want me to lie? Or do you want the truth?” I thought about it for a minute, then sighed. “The truth.” “He will resent you. Especially if you aren’t careful with the way you present the whole thing to him. But if you do it right, he’ll come around sooner rather than later.” “And how do you know?” She stood and pressed a soft kiss to my jaw. “Because I know you. You are a good man, and both JT and his sister will see it sooner rather than later.” ~~~ I flew back to Texas the next afternoon, holding on to my sister’s words and hoping that she was right in her statements. Maybe if I went to Penelope first, if I told her the truth, maybe she could help me find a solution that would work for all three of us. Maybe she would even help me explain the situation to

JT. If I had her on my side…but then I walked into my first period class Monday morning. “Gentlemen!” I called as I walked to my desk, dropping my leather case on the top of the desk as I gestured to three boys standing at the back of the room. “Please take a seat.” The boys quickly sat as the bell rang, the last student rushing through the door as I walked over to close it. I turned again and surveyed the room, silently counting heads as I walked back to my desk. There should have been fifteen kids in the room. There were only fourteen. “Where’s JT?” It was more a rhetorical question than one I expected an answer to. But one of the boys who’d been standing at the back of the room when I walked in immediately answered. “He’s in the principal’s office. He got in trouble over the weekend.” “What kind of trouble?” Fourteen pairs of eyes widened as they stared at me. And then the room erupted with chatter, everyone trying to explain all at once. I held up a hand, gesturing for silence. “One person only, please.” The first boy—Charlie, a football player JT usually sat beside—knelt in his seat like he was giving a presentation on Shakespeare rather than spreading gossip. “He went to Sean Wallace’s party Friday night and got smashed. Then he wandered around the town square—apparently singing “Stitches” at the top of his lungs as he went. The cops hauled him in and his sister had to go pick him up at the county jail Saturday morning.” Anger had begun to burn deep in my chest with Charlie’s first words and it just grew as I listened to the story and heard the other kids titter with laughter. I wanted to smack every one of them, Charlie for spreading gossip and the others for thinking it was funny. But I knew what I really wanted was to find Penelope and get a proper explanation from her lips.

I held up my hand again and silenced the class. “Enough gossip. Get out your books. I want you to read the first chapter of ‘Of Mice and Men.’” The students groaned, but they did as they were told. I waited long enough to make sure each of them had their books out. I stepped out of the classroom and crossed the hall to Mrs. Needham’s history class. “Would you mind keeping an eye on my class? I need to step out for a few minutes.” “Of course,” she said, clearly happy to do it. Maybe she was relieved to finally be able to repay me for all the times I’d done the same for her over the last month or so. I didn’t stop to ask. I rushed out of the building, jumping into my second hand pickup, the rev of the engine satisfying as I jerked it into reverse and sped toward the town square. I pulled out my cellphone as I drove, punching in a quick text that I sent to my lawyer: Put it in motion. To hell with diplomacy. To hell with being nice. If she was going to let my son run around drinking and getting himself arrested, she better believe I was going to march in and take control. I wasn’t going to sit back and watch JT ruin his future just because I didn’t want to hurt some pretty girl’s feelings. Penelope’s custody of JT was a fucking joke and I wasn’t going to let this go on a minute longer than I had to. I pulled to a sliding stop outside the bakery and burst through the front doors, ready battle.

Chapter 5 Penelope I was kneading bread dough with all the energy I could conjure, exhaustion sitting so heavy on my shoulders that I could have just laid on the worktable and gone to sleep right there. I have never been so angry in all my life. And anger is a very exhausting emotion. To pace the floors half the night only to find out JT had been arrested and was being held down at the county jail was bad enough, but fighting with him all weekend, trying to get him to talk to me about what had led to his behavior, was even worse. It was almost a relief to drop him off at school this morning. And then he was standing in front of me and I knew just by glancing at his face that I was in trouble. “What the hell were you thinking?” I stood back from the table, an irrational part of me convinced that Mr. James was about to jump over it to pummel me with his very capable looking hands. “Excuse me?” “You let him go to a party where there was alcohol?” “I didn’t know there would be alcohol. I assumed Sean’s parents…” I stopped myself, suddenly realizing that I had no reason to defend myself to this man. What happened when JT was off campus was really none of his business. “Why do you care what happens to my brother when he’s not in your classroom?” Mr. James’ eyes narrowed. “What kind of guardian allows an underage child to drink?” “He wasn’t drinking at my house. And he’s being punished, believe me.”

“He could have been injured. He could have gotten behind the wheel—“ “He doesn’t even have his driver’s permit yet.” “But, still, he could have been hurt.” “And that’s my problem. Not yours.” I moved around the table, glancing through the door that separated the front counter from the kitchens before I shut it. Then I turned back to Mr. James. “You sure seem to spend an awful lot of time obsessing over my little brother. Is there something going on there that I should know about?” His eyebrows rose. “Are you accusing me or inappropriate behavior?” “Why are you here? Don’t you have a class you should be teaching?” “I want to know what happened Friday night.” I turned my back to him, sticking my hands under the facet to wash the sticky dough off of them. “It’s really none of your business.” “He wasn’t in class this morning.” “That’s probably because Susan wanted to talk to him about his behavior. He was still wearing his football jersey when he was arrested, so she felt that he should suffer the consequences of acting disrespectfully while representing the school.” I don’t know why I explained that to him. It really wasn’t any of his business. I had gone to Susan and asked her to speak to JT. I thought that if the school got involved, perhaps it would get through to JT in a way that I hadn’t succeeded at just yet. But I hadn’t expected a visit from his English teacher. “Did Susan speak to you?” He didn’t answer me. I glanced at him. He was staring down at the table where my mound of

dough was resting before the next round of kneading. I watched him, noted the anger that seemed to roll off of him in waves. But I also noted the wide set of his shoulders, the way his sports coat fit him almost perfectly, the way his jeans…I shook my head and turned back to the sink, shaking my hands a little before I grabbed a paper towel to dry them. “He’s ruining his future with this behavior.” “Do you think I don’t know that?” “Going to juvenile detention—“ “He’s not. The cop who picked him up is a friend of the family. He didn’t book him. He just held him in the county jail overnight in an attempt to scare him.” “So he doesn’t have to go to court?” “Not this time.” Again the silence. “Why does it matter so much to you? Surely you’ve had other students who were bigger trouble makers than JT. Why are you so interested in him?” “I have my reasons.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I think I have a right to know what’s going on. It’s not normal for a teacher to take so much interest in one student like this.” “I’m not a pedophile, if that’s what you’re wondering.” The thought hadn’t actually entered my thoughts, but now that he’d put it there…I shuddered, my skin crawling as images I didn’t want to entertain shot through my mind. “Maybe you should go.” “Look, Penelope, I just want what’s best for JT. And you…you seem to be struggling so much.”

“I have this under control, thank you very much.” “I don’t think you do.” There was naked honesty in his words that cut through the fog of confusion that had settled over me. I was still working on why he would care so much about one student. And he was accusing me of failing to live up to my responsibilities. He might as well have told me I was incompetent, that I was the failure I’d told myself for three years that I wasn’t. It was like he was giving voice to all the self-doubts that had been swirling around me from the moment I stepped out of the haze of grief and into the paralyzing world of my new reality. “How dare you?” I said, each word clipped. “You know absolutely nothing about me.” “I know enough. And I can see that you need help.” “Not from the likes of you.” He came toward me, his hands held out in front of him like he was trying to show me he came in peace. But when he reached for my hands, I swatted him away, a little squeal slipping from between my lips as I stepped back and found myself quickly trapped between the sink and him. “I want to help, Penny,” he said, grabbing my wrists as I tried to push him away. “I want to fix this, make it so that we can all work together to figure this thing out.” “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I tried to push him again, but he had my wrists. He yanked them back behind me, forcing my body up against his. And suddenly I was enveloped in him, in his scent and his heat, in the force that was his masculinity. I looked up, determined to tell him exactly what I thought of him. But his lips were right there and then they were on mine. I pulled back slightly, but he followed, asking for entrance, asking to taste me the way I’d wanted to taste him from the first moment we met. I told myself I wasn’t attracted to him. Told myself that the fantasies that filled my mind in the weakest moments of the day were just an overactive imagination filling the space left by my lack of romantic life. But as he pulled me even closer to him, as

the pounding of his heart made itself known against my chest, as his taste filled my senses, I knew there was no denying the attraction I had felt from that first meeting. Despite myself, I felt the tension leave my shoulders, felt my body curve into his as my mouth answered his request by throwing the doors wide open. His grip on my wrists loosened and I reached up, my hand molding itself around his jaw as I enjoyed the feel of his tendons moving with the eagerness of his kiss. I should have been pushing him away. There was something wrong here, some secret that was going to come back to bite me in the ass. But he knew what he was doing. The feel of his silky lips against mine, the way he explored my mouth like it was unchartered territory, made logic jump ship and swim for shore. There was no logic to sexual attraction, no logic to the baser instincts. All I knew in that moment was that I wanted more. But maybe more wasn’t something he really wanted. Mr. James—I was kissing this man in a way I hadn’t done with another human being in more than three years and I still didn’t know his first name—pulled back, his breathing a little rough as he paused with his forehead pressed against mine for a long second. “Sorry,” he muttered as he stepped back, turning away from me and touching a finger to his lips. “I shouldn’t have done that.” I didn’t know what to say. “You should leave,” Nick said as he watched the two of us from the doorway. Mr. James just nodded even as he glanced back at me. Then he left without saying another word. Nick stared at me for a long second, then he turned away too, leaving me standing there feeling like the whore of Babylon. What the hell did I just do?

~~~ I was waiting for JT when he got home from school that afternoon. I had a speech all planned out in my head. Susan called the shop and told me that she’d given JT a week’s detention. She said he seemed contrite about the whole thing, especially the fact that he would have to miss football practice all week, which meant he wouldn’t be able to play in Friday’s game. I was hoping that meant he’d finally gotten the message and we would be on a better path going forward. I could always hope. I heard the front door slam. I shut off the television and stood, waiting for JT to come into the living room. He didn’t. He crashed through the entryway and made his way to the back of the house, the door to his bedroom slamming so hard that it rattled every window in the house. I followed, somewhat cautiously, taping on the door after a moment’s hesitation. “JT?” He didn’t answer at first. But then the door suddenly burst open. His face was red, his eyes puffy almost as if he’d been crying. “You had to fucking tell them, didn’t you?” “Tell who what?” “You know, you’re not my mother. Just because they gave you custody when your parents died, doesn’t mean you have the right to ruin my life!” “JT, what are you talking about?” “Like you don’t know.” He pushed past me, nearly knocking me into the wall, and went into the living room, throwing

himself down on the couch hard enough to force it back a few inches. He picked up the remote, but he didn’t turn on the television. He just sat there and stared at it. “What’s going on?” He turned that dark stare on me, his soft, familiar blue eyes looking right through me like laser beams in a bad sci-fi movie. “Coach cut me from the football team. Said I set a poor example for the rest of the team, showed poor sportsmanship by getting arrested in the team jersey, and I no longer deserved to wear it.” The air seemed to burst out of my lungs. I pressed a hand to the center of my chest and stared at my brother. That was not what I thought would happen when I told Susan about his arrest. “JT, I had no idea he would do that.” “But you called the principal. What did you think would happen?” “Not that.” “Football was all I had. And now that’s gone, too.” I sat beside him and tried to take his hand, but he pulled away. “I’ll go talk to your coach.” “Please don’t. You’ve already done enough.” “But maybe if I—“ “Don’t you get it, Penny? You’ve already destroyed my life! Why would you want to make it worse than you already have?” He jumped off the couch. “My parents didn’t want me. The parents that did want me, died. And now you…you’re destroying everything that matters to me. Do you really hate me that much?”

“It’s not like that.” “Why don’t you just go back to New York and leave me alone? I’m better off without you, anyway.” He turned and a second later I heard the front door shutter in its frame. I wanted to go after him, but what could I say to that? He wasn’t completely wrong. I had done this. If I had known calling Susan would lead to this, I never would have…at least, I liked to think I wouldn’t have. Would I have? Maybe I was just that frustrated with him. Maybe I had, in the back of my mind, known what would happen. Maybe I wanted it to happen. Maybe I was that desperate to get JT to be more like the boy he was when I left for New York, the happy ten year old who followed me around like a lost puppy instead of this angry, bitter teenager who went out of his way to make my life complicated. Was I really fit to be a guardian? Was I doing anyone any favors trying to make this work? Had I already messed up too badly to fix things? So many questions. And it seemed like I had absolutely no answers. ~~~ I waited three hours for JT to come home. Then I began calling all his friends. Someone had to know where he was, right? It was a small town. After five hours, I began to have all these thoughts—JT in a hospital somewhere, unable to speak with no idea to identify him, JT drinking and doing some dangerous drugs in someone’s dark basement, JT becoming road kill in a terrible accident on the highway —that sent panic shivering through my body like an epileptic seizure. I needed help. I would normally call Nick, but he hadn’t spoken two words to me all day after catching me with Mr. James. And Susan was in the city with her family, celebrating her daughter’s fifth birthday. There were others I could call, but each one came with complications, such as the cop who arrested JT who had promised the next time he caught him doing something that reckless, he would book

him for sure. I didn’t know what to do. I got in the car and drove up and down the long, wide streets of our little town. It was dark, nearly curfew. Few people were out and those who were, were old enough to be on their way to the nightshift at the local grocery warehouse. I was about ready to start knocking on doors when I happened to remember Mr. James’ card. I’d stuck it in my phone case just because I happened to pick up my phone just after he gave it to me. I pulled to the side of the road and popped it out. What did I have to lose?

Chapter 6 Harrison Her voice on the other end of the line was the last thing I had expected. I was lying in bed, watching the end of The Tonight Show when the phone rang. I thought it would be Libby or my mother, forgetting once again about the time difference between Oregon and Texas. But when I mumbled a distracted hello, it was Penelope’s panicked voice that filled my ear. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I didn’t know who else to call. So I thought I’d trust that you aren’t out to hurt JT and ask you for help.” I sat up, alarms sounding all through my head as I listened to her stumble over her words. “What’s going on?” “JT and I had a fight and he took off. And now I can’t find him anywhere.” “Where are you?” “On the corner of Main and Third.” “You’re about a block from my place. Stay there and I’ll come find you.” I ended the call before she could say anything else, flinging the phone into the center of the bed as I jumped up and pulled on a pair of jeans discarded on the floor of my bedroom and a t-shirt that was sticking out of a drawer in my dresser. I dragged my fingers through my hair, slipped on my tennis shoes, grabbed my phone, and headed out. I found her car pretty easily. It was the only one idling on the side of the road at this hour of the night. I tapped on the window and she immediately released the locks, leaning over to open the door.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said as I climbed in, folding my long legs into the tight confines of her little Ford. “He was so upset. I thought he’d come back after a while, but when he didn’t —“ “Slow down and start at the beginning,” I said, laying my hand over hers where it sat on the steering wheel. “Why was he upset?” “The coach kicked him off the team because he was still wearing his jersey when he was arrested.” I nodded even as something inside my stomach sank like a stone in the river. Football was everything to JT. Even just observing him in my English class I could see that. To lose his spot on the team must have been devastating. “Have you tried his friends? Called their parents?” She nodded. “I’ve tried everyone. And I’ve been driving around for hours, trying to spot him on the street. I even drove to the neighboring towns, thinking he might have walked to one of them, just to worry me. But I can’t find him.” Panic was creeping into her voice once again. I picked up her hand and pulled it into my lap, pressing it against my thigh to try to calm her with the pressure of my touch. She wouldn’t look at me. And her chin trembled like Libby’s often did right before she began to sob. I really didn’t want her to start crying. But I was at a loss for what to do to stop it. “What about this Sean kid? Wasn’t he at his house on Friday night?” “They’re best friends. But I already called over there and his mom insists JT’s not there.” “Are you sure she would know if he was?” Penelope hesitated before she answered. “She’s a single mom who works three jobs. I think she was on her way to her nurse’s aide job when I called her.”

“So Sean’s home alone?” She nodded as she tugged her hand from my grip and put the car into gear. We were pulling to the curb in front of a duplex moments later. She pointed to one whose windows were ablaze with light. “That’s Sean’s house.” “Is there anyone living on the other side?” She shook her head. “Not right now.” I got out of the car and went up to the front of the building, peering through the sheer curtains on the front windows. I could see two heads hunched down on a cheap couch and the violent scene of a video game playing out on the television screen. One of the heads was blond, the other dark. If I had to guess, I would have said with ninety percent certainty that the dark head was JT, but I wanted to be sure. I pounded on the front door and watched as the two boys jumped up off the couch, the light suddenly going out even though the television still flickered, illuminating the room as one boy ran to the back of the house and the other stood uncertainly in the living room. “I know you’re in there, JT. Come out and tell your sister you’re still alive and well.” Still the boy in the living room hesitated. Then he turned and I watched as a whispered argument took place between the two kids. Then, slowly, the second figure returned to the living room and approached the front door. JT yanked over the door and stared at me like he had expected someone totally different. “Mr. James?” “Do you know how worried your sister’s been about you?” I asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him out the door before he had a chance to turn and disappear back inside. “She’s been searching all over town for you for hours.”

The boy was respectful enough to look a little shamed. He stared at the ground for a minute before his gaze shot out past me to the car sitting at the curb. He pulled free of my touch and walked out there, falling into Penelope’s embrace where she stood waiting against the front fender. I stayed where I was, trying to give them a little space. I could hear a few words: sorry…didn’t mean it…I understand… I was curious what else happened between them today. I understood that JT was hurt by what the coach had done and that he would blame Penelope, especially if he knew that she was the one who notified the school. But it seemed like there was more to it. Once again, I watched them standing together, saw the deep affection that existed between them, and wondered how much damage my presence in this town was already doing to their relationship, to my son’s peace of mind. But he was my son. Didn’t that mean anything? Penelope looked up, relief and gratefulness so clear in her eyes that it spoke to something deep inside of me that wanted to respond in some meaningful way. What was it about that woman that was getting under my skin? I’d kissed her. I hadn’t planned on it. She was accusing me of dark and stupid things, and I was about to tell her the truth when she tried to push me away and I grabbed her wrists and…one thing led to another and it seemed perfectly natural to kiss her. Or to force myself on her. I guess that was what I’d done. And I don’t know why. I’ve never had to force myself on a woman once in my entire life. Women flocked to me. I never wanted for a date, never had to go searching for a woman when I wanted one. I have never done what I did today. There was just something about Penelope that drove all sense out of my head. And, right now, right as she made amends with my biological child, all I could think about was going over there and pulling her into my arms all over again. I had to physically turn away to keep from going to her.

They came walking up to the house a minute later, their arms around each other’s waist. “JT’s going to spend the night here since it’s already so late.” I looked up, aware of the defiance in her eyes that was so much like the expression that radiated from JT’s eyes. I shrugged, stepping out of the way so that JT could duck back into the house. “But if you miss any of your classes tomorrow, or sleep through one, you’re grounded,” Penelope yelled in after him. “Yes, ma’am,” JT called back. “We were actually on the way to bed,” Sean said, poking his head out the door from an awkward angle. “Please don’t tell my mom what time you came over?” I almost laughed, but caught myself just in time. “As long as you make an appearance in homeroom.” “Yes, sir,” Sean said. We said our goodnights and waited until we heard the front door lock and saw the television go off before we turned back to her car. Penelope leaned against the front fender again, pressing both hands to her face. “Sean’s mom didn’t know he was there. Sean hid him out in his bedroom until she left for work.” “That’s why she told you she hadn’t seen him.” She nodded, peeking out from behind her fingers. “Is it possible to love someone so much that you want to kill them and hug them to death all at the same time?” “Definitely.” She dropped her hands and studied her shoes as she kicked at a loose piece of concrete on the sidewalk. “I guess you think I’m the worst guardian ever.”

“I think you’re a woman who’s in way over her head.” “Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe someone should call child protective services on me.” “I only said that because I was frustrated.” She looked up at me and I realized there were tears in her eyes. I wanted to touch her, to make it all better. But there was still this thing between us, this wall that I wasn’t sure I could climb over just yet. She turned away and climbed into the car without saying another word. We drove across town, but instead of taking me home, she pulled into her own driveway. “I guess the least I owe you is a drink,” she said without looking at me. “You don’t owe me anything. In fact, I think I owe you an explanation.” She didn’t seem to hear me. She climbed out of the car and walked to the front porch, leaving the door open after she let herself inside. I tried not to seem too eager as I unfolded my long legs from her little car and followed. She was in the kitchen—the incredibly clean and well-appointed kitchen—pouring a healthy slug from a bottle of ten year old scotch. “A souvenir from my dad’s collection,” she said, holding the label up where I could see it. “He was something of an alcohol enthusiast.” “He knew good scotch.” She nodded. “He also had very expensive tastes.” She handed me a glass and sipped at her own. I swirled the amber liquid in the glass, looking at it in the light the way my father had taught me to do. I’d never really gotten the point to it, but it seemed to impress people. However, Penelope didn’t even seem to notice.

“I owe you an apology,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have said those things at the bakery earlier today. I know you just care about what happens to JT.” “That’s what I wanted to explain to you,” I said, setting down my glass without taking a single sip. “There are things about me—“ “I guess I’m still too much of a small town girl,” she interrupted, a sadness to her voice that drowned out my thoughts. “I thought I was a big city gal; that I could survive in New York City like I’d always dreamed of doing. But the truth is, I thrived in this town. This is the only place I’ve ever really felt like I belonged.” “There’s nothing wrong with that.” “Then why does it feel like a finality? Like I’ve already reached all the goals I will ever have to aspire to?” She took another sip of her scotch, wincing as the strong liquor touched her throat. “This isn’t the life JT should be stuck with.” That was something she and I agreed on. “He’s talented on the football field. He could get a scholarship to a good college.” She nodded. “If the coach will let him back on the team next year.” “Maybe if I talk to him…?” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I meant for this to be a sort of thank you. And here I am moaning about my worries.” “It’s honorable to be so concerned for your brother.” “Is it?” She studied my face a moment. “I know absolutely nothing about you. Just that you’re an English teacher and you take an unusual interest in your students. I don’t even know your first name.” “Harrison,” I said immediately.

She smiled. “Harrison. I like it.” And I liked the way it sounded on her lips. I moved closer to her, causing her to back up against the sink. It suddenly felt very familiar, but the way she was looking at me was different. There was no fear, no anger, no confusion in her eyes now. There was just naked emotion. Loneliness. Sadness. And there was need. The need was so clear, so outspoken that it was like a shout coming from those beautiful green eyes. I removed the glass from her hand and set it on the counter, not breaking eye contact as I did. And then I took her face in both my hands and lifted her lips to mine. She opened to me almost immediately, the taste of scotch still burning on her tongue. But there were other, lovely things about her. The taste of vanilla on her tongue, the hint of mint and something sweet deeper in the depths of her mouth. It seemed like every place I touched, every new crevice I found, offered a different taste, a different hint of the secrets she held deep inside. I only meant to kiss her. She was vulnerable, hurting. Now was not the time to do something she might regret. But that kiss was so sweet, so amazing, that I found it difficult to think, let alone step away. And then her arms came around my neck, her fingers playing in the curls at my collar, and I began to remember what it felt like to be wanted by someone who wanted nothing more than my touch, my kiss, who wanted just me, not what I could offer through my business connections or my money. I lifted her to the edge of the sink without breaking the kiss, my hands sliding under her shirt. Her spine stiffened slightly when I touched this one spot along her ribs, so I had to touch it again. She moaned, the sound a vibration against my lips. And then I pressed my hand under the cup of her bra and that moan became a groan that I felt deep in my balls, the need growing inside of me reaching that point of no return. It was crazy. A mistake. I knew it as she pulled the t-shirt from my body and discarded it on her perfectly polished kitchen floor. But I couldn’t have walked away if I had wanted to.



Chapter 7 Penelope I don’t know how it started. I’m not even sure how we ended up in my bedroom. All I know is that his hands were gentler than I imagined they would be and his kisses were enough to make my thoughts become nothing more than background noise. Damn, he knew what to do with that mouth! I couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed me this thoroughly. Or the last time a nibble on my ribs had felt like a promise of paradise. And that thing his tongue did to my clit…there were no words! I was completely naked on my childhood bed with the most incredibly handsome man I’d met in… well, ever, doing things to me that I’d always thought were just a figment of some romance writer’s imagination. I pressed my hands into his hair and pulled him closer to me, moving my hips so that he touched all the right places, noises I didn’t think my body capable of flowing from my mouth. If I was dreaming, I hoped no one would wake me. Ever. There was a twinge of disappointment as he began to slide back up the length of my body. But when our lips found one another again, and the taste of my juices was warm on his tongue, it was like the sweetest nectar of the sweetest peach ever eaten. I pressed my hands against the small of his back, pushing at his jeans with my fingertips and my feet, anxious to feel him inside of me. He chuckled a little before pulling back and helping me by unzipping his fly—gee, why didn’t I think of that?—and sliding them over his narrow hips. I watched, enjoying the show. And what those jeans revealed made my heart do a funny little dance it took it a minute to recover from. Could God have made a more perfect man?

I reached for him and he closed his eyes as my hand wrapped itself around his girth, a moan slipping from between those perfect lips that made my juices run that much more freely. And then he positioned himself at my opening, sliding carefully inside, his movements controlled as he slowly— painfully slowly—buried himself as deeply as he physically could. I lifted my hips, welcoming him. And then we moved into a perfect rhythm, rocking together as though we’d done this a million times before, our bodies just instinctively aware of one another and the way in which we needed to be touched. I wanted it to last forever. I buried my fingers in his flesh, held him tight against me even as he reached underneath me and lifted my hips to his. I must have cried out over and over because my throat was raw later, but I barely remember it. All I remember is how good it felt, how quick the tingle of orgasm built, how excruciating the pleasure truly was. And I remember the rawness of his screams, buried in my pillow, as he reached his climax. I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember lying with my head on his chest, listening to his heavy breathing slowing, remember the smell of him filling my every pore. I can still smell him as I lay here now, aware that morning has arrived, that he’s gone. But I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m not ready to face the reality of what I’ve done. Reality, however, wasn’t going to let me ignore it for long. The doorbell rang. It was an innocent sound, at first. But then it came over and again, like someone was leaning on it. I reluctantly climbed out of bed and tugged my bathrobe over my nakedness, pulling it modestly against my curves. “Can I help you?” I asked the bored looking man who stood on my front doorstep. “Penelope Monroe?” I nodded, glancing past him out into the street, trying to figure out what time it was by the number of cars in my neighbor’s driveways. After eight, at least. “You’ve been served,” the man said, shoving an envelope into my hands. “Would you sign here?”

“What do you mean, served?” I asked, my attention drawn back to the stranger on my doorstep. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just deliver them. But my guess is, you’re being sued.” I managed to sign his paper and close the door despite the rising panic in my chest. The only thing I could think it might be was a creditor my parents left unpaid that I’d missed in all the mess they’d left behind. I took the envelope into the kitchen and sliced it open with a steak knife, pouring the contents out onto the counter next to the scotch glass Harrison had slipped from my hand last night as he began to… Harrison. His name was all over these papers. But not his name. Harrison Philips. The name set off a bell in my mind. I knew that name, but I wasn’t sure how. Harrison James Philips it said toward the bottom of one of the pages. It was a court order stating that he was to take custody of one Jonathon Tyler Monroe. My head was spinning. I didn’t understand. “I’m sorry,” a voice said behind me. “I tried to stop them.” I couldn’t even turn. I couldn’t pull my eyes from those words. “I don’t understand,” I somehow managed to whisper. “I tried to tell you last night.” I did turn then. It was a feat of pure will that forced my eyes from those papers - that forced me to look at the man who shared my bed just hours ago, to look at Harrison. “Tell me what?” “He’s my son, Penny.” There was something like regret in his eyes. But I had to be imagining it, didn’t I? “JT is my biological son. And I want him back.”

Chapter 8 Harrison I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been comfortable enough in a woman’s bed to sleep. But I did. And when I woke—thank God for phone alarms—I had to rush out in order to get ready for work in time. Penelope was curled up on her side, her back pressed against me, her hands curled under her cheek. I brushed my fingertip carefully against her face, pulling a piece of thick, mahogany hair away so that I could see her more clearly. She was so beautiful! And she was even more so like this, with all the tension and worry gone from her face. I wanted to wake her, make love to her sleek, warm body. But she was so peaceful, and my phone kept reminding me that I’ll be late for first period if I don’t get going. And, for the moment, I needed to keep my cover in place. What would Penelope say when she finally realized I wasn’t a high school English teacher? What would she think of my real occupation as CEO of one of the most successful companies in the country? Would she be impressed with my successes, impressed by my wealth? Or would she scorn it all because of the lies I’ve told her? I climbed out of bed, moving silently so that I wouldn’t disturb her. I never meant for any of this to happen. When I came here, it was with the intention of developing a relationship with the son I didn’t know I had until a few months ago. It never occurred to me that I would fall into bed with his overwrought sister. Or that I would care about the carnage I’d leave behind when I left town with my son in tow. But now…things were getting far too complicated! I glanced around the room. I wanted to leave her a note, but didn’t see anything I could write on. I decided a text message would probably work just as well. My alarm bleated again. I quickly turned it off,

stared at Penelope for a second longer, then slipped away, leaving her to get some well-deserved rest. My rented house was just a few blocks away. I was in the shower within minutes of leaving her, rushing through my morning routine as I tried to remember if I got my lesson plans finished the night before. I was shaving when my cellphone rang. My first thought was that Penelope woke up and was calling to ask where I’d gone. “Harrison? This is Mitchell Faraday. I just wanted to let you know the paperwork was filed and the party should be getting served as we speak.” “Paperwork?” I asked, my mind jumping around, trying to remember what paperwork I’d asked my lawyer to file. “On the custody matter. The judge agreed to hold a hearing tomorrow morning—“ “Custody?” Oh, hell! I suddenly remembered a hurried phone call as I rushed to Penelope’s bakery the day before. I’d just found out that my son—her brother—had gotten arrested for public intoxication over the weekend. I was so angry that I decided to push the button on the custody battle I’d promised my sister I would delay until I better knew what JT’s situation was. But I was so angry, and then Penelope looked so overwhelmed, so vulnerable, and we kissed and I forgot all about it. I disconnected the phone as Mitchell stammered over his own words, trying to explain himself. Tugging on the first set of clothing I could find, I jumped into my car and rushed back to Penelope’s house in the hopes of catching the process server before he performed his duties. But there was a car pulling away from the curb out front. A sense of dread settled in my stomach. I barely had the car in park before I jumped out and rushed toward the house, bursting through the

door without stopping to knock. I found her in the kitchen, staring at the paperwork where it was spilled out over the counter. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I tried to stop them.” She didn’t speak at first. Then, in a quiet, broken voice, she said, “I don’t understand.” “I tried to tell you last night.” It was true. I did try to tell her. But, somehow, I couldn’t make the words come out. Or maybe I just hadn’t tried hard enough. I don’t know which it was, but I know that I would forever regret not telling her before…before the taste of her lips and the feel of her eager body under mine. She turned, with such fear and shock in her eyes that it was like a physical blow just looking at them. I almost wished she would hit me. It would probably hurt less. “Tell me what?” Was there any point in trying to deny the truth now? “He’s my son, Penny.” A cloud of confusion washed over her face. “JT’s is my biological son,” I repeated. “And I want him back.” There. It was out in the open now. I waited for her to respond, for her to yell and scream, for her to tell me what an ass I was. But she just stood there, her eyes stuck on my face, and I got the distinct impression that she didn’t see me. I wasn’t sure she was seeing anything. “His mother and I, we had a brief relationship when I was in college. I never knew she’d gotten pregnant.” Penny moved slightly, a jerk of her chin that might have been an attempt at a nod. I stepped toward her and she didn’t move away, so I continued, took her arms in my hands as I stared into her face,

desperate to make her understand. “His mother gave him up for adoption without my permission. I never even knew about him. And when I ran into her a few months ago, she told me the truth.” “And you came looking for him.” “Yes.” “You must have been thrilled to find out our parents had died. One less obstacle to overcome.” “Penny…” She pressed her hands to my chest, all her attention focused on them as though she couldn’t make herself look anywhere else. “Is this why last night happened? Were you trying to…what? To catch me off guard? To use me before I found out what a lying bastard you are?” She said it so softly, so calmly that the sting was that much more intense. I grabbed her wrists, pulled her closer to me, lowering my head so our lips were a breath apart. “I never wanted to hurt you.” “But what did you think would happen?” She tried to pull away, but I tugged her even closer, afraid that the moment she moved out of my grasp that I would never be able to touch her again. My chest ached in a way I’d never felt before. I’d never fought for something I wanted before. If it didn’t come easily, I gave up. I thought it was noble, giving up my dreams to take care of my mother and sister. I thought it was the right thing to do, so I didn’t fight it. But this? I felt something slipping between my fingers and I desperately wanted to hold on to it. I pressed my forehead against hers, my lips brushing hers. “You have to understand. I never knew about JT. And when I found out, I wanted to rush in here

and take him back. But I waited—“ “Why?” “Because I didn’t want to hurt him.” She laughed. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that made my heart sing when I heard it. It was dark, filled with so many emotions that I couldn’t even begin to sort them all out. Tears began to stream down her face. She pushed at my chest, tried to pull away but I only tightened my grip on her wrists. “Let me go!” “Please, Penny,” I said, my own voice so raw that I hardly recognized it. “There’s got to be a way —“ “You started this fight.” Her voice was suddenly filled with steel. Determination. “And I will finish it. JT’s adoption is legal. I don’t know what happened between you and the mother all those years ago, but you aren’t taking him from me.” “We can find a way—“ She shook her head. “You will stay away from him. Do you understand me?” “He’s my son.” She jerked her arms, managed to break free of my hold. “Get out!” she cried, tears still streaming down her face. “Get out of my house!” “Penelope, we need to talk about this.” “Get out!” She was nearly hysterical then. I could see it in her face, hear it in her voice. And then JT stepped into the room, his gaze jumping from his sister to me.

“What’s going on?” The panic that burst across Penelope’s face was a warning. I held up my hand, a useless gesture meant to keep her calm. “I’m leaving.” I glanced at JT, wanting to explain everything to him before Penelope could. But I knew she wouldn’t have any of it. So I just nodded to him, silently praying he wouldn’t hate me forever when she told him. Then I walked out of the house, slamming the door behind me. How the hell did this get so out of control so quickly?

Chapter 9 Penelope “What’s going on?” I brushed past JT and gathered the papers on the counter, afraid he might see his name in them and want to know what was going on. I had to get a lawyer. I had to get someone to stop this, to make this craziness go away. Harrison was his father. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around that. This teacher who marched into our lives and threatened to report me to child protective services. Some of it was beginning to make sense despite everything. And I didn’t want it to make sense. I didn’t want to see any of this from his point of view. We had sex. He kissed me and made me feel…and all this time he had this secret. “Penny?” I turned and focused on JT. Only when his eyes narrowed did I realize that I was still crying. I reached up and rubbed my cheeks, got rid of the evidence. “Everything’s fine,” I said. “You should go get ready for school.” “Why was Mr. James here?” I shook my head. “We just…” What was I supposed to say to that? “We were just talking.” “About me?” “It’s not important, JT. Go get ready for school.” “Penny—“

“Go, JT.” He stared at me a moment longer, but he didn’t push it. He turned and walked off and the relief that settled on my shoulders was almost enough to knock me off my feet. How was I going to explain this one to him? ***** “What does this mean?” Jack Sullivan, my parents’ lawyer, studied the papers I’d been served that morning. He wouldn’t look up and that made little fingers of fear dance up and down my spine. His face reminded me of those bitter few months after their deaths when I learned just how much financial disaster they’d left behind for me to deal with. “Jack…” “It’s not good, Penny.” His dark eyes were filled with compassion as he finally looked up. “They’re claiming that the adoption was never legal because he never gave his consent to it.” “But I distinctly remember my parents talking about it. They had paperwork that showed both parents gave up custody. That was important to them.” “Yes, well, this document claims that his father’s signature was forged by his father – JT’s grandfather. And—if they can prove that is true—that makes the adoption invalid.” “So he can just come in and take my brother away from me?” “That’s what he’s trying to do.” I shook my head, fear continuing to dance on my spine. In fact, it had now moved to the pit of my

stomach. I dragged my fingers through my hair, biting my lip in hopes of stemming the tears that seemed to flow much too easily these past few hours. As frustrating as JT could sometimes be, I wasn’t going to allow some liar to march in and take him away from me. It didn’t matter if he was his father. He wasn’t here for the past fifteen years. I was. He couldn’t just disrupt JT’s life, turn it upside down, and rip him away from the only home he’d ever known. I wasn’t about to allow that to happen. “How do we fight it?” “Well,” Jack said, drawing out the word as though he was searching for the answer to my question, “we contact the local courts and set a hearing. In the meantime, we get an injunction against this custody order. Where is JT right now?” “At school.” “I would suggest you go withdraw him. As long as this man is employed by the school, he’ll have free access to JT. And that could be counterproductive, considering what he’s trying to do.” I had actually considered that. But I wanted JT’s day to be as normal as possible until I figured out what our next move would be. Now, I supposed, that would be my next step. “What’ll happen at the hearing?” “We’ll make a case for you and the original adoption. You have the adoption papers, right?” “Somewhere.” “You’ll want to bring those so we can have them submitted as evidence. And anything else your parents might have kept that could help. Letters from the mother, emails or letters from the adoption attorney…whatever you think might be helpful.” “I’ll take a look at their stuff.” His eyes were filled with compassion when he looked up at me again. “We’ll do everything we can to fight this, Penny. But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility—“

“No.” I stood and tossed my bag over my shoulder. “I won’t. I lost my parents. I can’t lose my brother, too.” I held my head high as I stormed out of his office. But my courage crumbled when I reached my car. The tears I’d been fighting all morning released themselves in a torrent, sobs tearing through my chest as I beat my hands against the steering wheel. I could I have gone from complete bliss to such misery in the stretch of just a few hours? How stupid had I been to let that man into my bed? I thought…shit, I don’t know what I thought. I wanted him to be a good man. I wanted him to be a teacher who actually cared. I wanted him to be the guy who went looking for someone else’s kid just because it was the right thing to do, not because he had a secret that would blow up everything that I’d built the foundation of my life on. That was what I got for trusting a stranger. A stranger who’d already threatened to take my brother from me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. ***** Susan was busy, but she made the time to talk to me when I arrived at the high school. It was nearly noon when I walked into the office, so the students were restlessly waiting the half hour until lunch. I could almost feel the restless energy that vibrated within the building even though most of the students were sitting behind closed classroom doors. I remembered being a student in these rooms, sliding notes to my friends under the cover of notebooks and unopened text books. It was certainly a more innocent time, but I wouldn’t go back to it for all the money in the world.

“What can I do for you, Penelope?” I settled in a chair in front of Susan’s desk, thinking about all the students who had sat here to face the consequences of some classroom disruption or ill-advised prank. JT had been here just the day before, facing the consequences of his arrest Friday night. It was here that he found out he’d been cut from the football team because of his behavior, the catalyst that led to his argument with me, his disappearance, and my decision to call Harrison and ask for his help. And that…I wouldn’t soon forget where that had led. “I need to take JT home. And I’ll be keeping him at home for the foreseeable future.” “Can I ask why?” Susan said in her principal’s voice, a voice I was still getting used to. Susan and I had been classmates at this same school. She was two years ahead of me, but the school was so small we still had many classes together over the years. She even dated—and married—one of my closest friends. So, despite her meteoric rise from counselor to vice principal to principal, it was still a little difficult to see her in this position of authority. I chewed on my lip for a second, wondering just how much trouble I wanted to cause Harrison. The spiteful side of me wanted to see him marched from these corridors in humiliation. But the more cautious side of me didn’t want to do anything he might be able to use against me in court. “You know that JT is adopted,” I said slowly. She sat back, a worried frown marring her attractive face. “I do.” “It seems someone has discovered some irregularities with the original adoption process. There’s going to be a hearing and I need JT to be at home, away from any rumors or…complications that could arise.” Susan studied me for a minute, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m afraid I’ll need a little more information,” she said with a taint of reluctance to her tone. I nodded, but I wasn’t sure what to say. I felt like everything I did or didn’t do from this point on

would be used against me. “Can I ask this,” Susan began, leaning forward over her desk, “does it have something to do with Harrison James?” I’m sure she could read the answer on my face even though I looked down, bit my lip, and tried not to give her a direct response. She leaned back again, a heavy sigh slipping from her lips. “Well, just so you know, he quit this morning. Said he had a private issue that was interfering with his ability to do his job. He wouldn’t elaborate, but to have you show up on the same day with this story…it seems like the two are related.” “He quit?” Susan looked pained as she nodded. “It’s unfortunate. He was a real favorite of the students even though he’d only been here six weeks. I was hoping he’d agree to a five year contract at the end of this year. But, obviously, that’s not going to happen.” I just nodded. “Listen,” she said, drawing her words out slowly, “why don’t we just leave JT where he’s at. If you decide he’d be better off at home tomorrow, well, we’ll deal with that then. But I think with all the disruptions that have been going on in his life, maybe it would be best to let him finish the day. Okay?” I nodded. “I’m sorry for what’s happening to the two of you. After everything you’ve been through…” Susan stood and came around her desk, taking my hands between both of hers. “If there’s anything you need, you know Sam and I are always there for you.” “I know.” I squeezed her hands as I stood. “I appreciate it, Susan.”

“These things have a way of working themselves out, Penny. You just have to have a little faith.” I wished it was that easy. But a part of me was pretty sure it would take a lot more than faith to see this through to its conclusion. ***** I went home from the school. I should have been at the bakery, but Nick assured me when I called earlier that he had everything under control. He was still a little angry with me over the whole fiasco yesterday when he walked in and caught Harrison kissing me. I could hear it in his voice. But he had as much at stake in that bakery as I did, so I knew he wouldn’t let me down if he could help. The only problem was that there was more work than three of us could handle. How long would just he and Angela have to keep things from falling apart? What was I going to do if they couldn’t keep up with the orders while I was dealing with this whole mess? It would be just my luck for me to win the battle, but I’ll still lose the war because I can’t keep our only source of income from going under. I dropped my bag by the front door and made my way to the back of the house where my parents’ bedroom had been closed up since the funeral. I stood at the door, my hand on the knob, trying to force myself to push it open. I knew, logically, that I should have cleared this room out three years ago. I should have packed up their things and sold the furniture. I should have repainted the room and claim it as my own. The house was, after all, mine now. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The scent of disuse greeted me, along with a little undertone of the lavender sachets my mom liked to leave in drawers and under pillows. I almost expected to see her standing at the side of the bed, smiling as she watched me come in. Hello, darling, she would say with that brilliant smile of hers.

It hurt to be reminded—once again—that I would never see that smile again. I took a deep breath and walked to the closet where I knew my dad had kept a small safe that held all their important papers. Their will had been there, along with their insurance policies and the deeds to the house and the bakery. I’d searched through it in the days after I got the news, blinded by tears. But I hadn’t taken the time to note the other things held inside. I knelt on the floor and opened the safe—the combination was a combo of mine and JT’s birthdates—and reached inside to drag out the paperwork still hiding inside. There was more than I’d expected—birth certificates, letters from lawyers, loan papers, titles to the cars—things I’d never bothered with before. I should have. Some of these things might have come in handy when I was dealing with my parents’ many creditors. It was a little late to worry about it now. I gathered them all and took them back out to the living room, securing the bedroom door behind me. It was difficult to look through these things, the things my parents had thought were important enough to store in a fireproof safe. Not only were there legal papers, but pictures, keepsakes, things that brought back memories I’d buried so long ago it was like ripping out a tooth as they dug themselves back up. I was crying again and I hated myself for being so weak. It took some digging, but I finally found the original adoption paperwork. And, there, on the back page, was his signature. Harrison James Philips. My eyes were drawn to the other signature, Julia Marie Castiano. I remembered her. I remembered meeting her just a few weeks before my parents brought JT home from the hospital. I was only ten, but I remember her long blond hair, her flawless skin, and the swelling that was my future sibling. I remember I was fascinated with her, with her New York accent and her experience in the world. I remember wondering about the man who fathered her child, imagining some tragic romance. There had been a look in her eye when my dad asked her about him that had sparked a tragic sense in me, even then.

I was beginning to understand that look. What was their story? What had their relationship been? What was it now? My cellphone rang. “Penelope? Can you be in the city in forty-five minutes? I managed to get us an emergency hearing in front of Judge Connors.”

Chapter 10 Harrison “Do you want me to fly down?” I leaned back against the wall and turned from the frenzy of activity in the courthouse hallway as I considered Libby’s offer. To be honest, I would have loved to have my sister at my side as I committed myself to this custody fight, but I also knew she was needed in Oregon by her children and husband – if not by our billion dollar company. “Let’s see how this hearing goes first.” “You know I’m on your side no matter what happens, right?” I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. Libby had been the one who suggested I get a job down here, that I ease my way into JT’s life before I started any sort of legal action. I’d wanted to come in, guns blazing, and take my son home. But I listened to her. I should have kept listening to her. It meant a lot to know she was still supportive despite the disaster I was making of the whole situation. “I’ll call you when the hearing’s done. Let you know how it went.” “I’ll be waiting.” I disconnected the call and turned just in time to watch Penelope come down the hall. I couldn’t deny that there was something about her that reached over and grabbed my balls. She was beautiful, but it was more than that. She walked with confidence, steel in her spine, despite the evidence on her face that suggested a long, difficult morning. Her eyes were a little puffy, her cheeks sporting more color than they usually had. She’d applied a minimal amount of makeup, but it didn’t cover the fact that she’d been crying. And the knowledge that I was the cause of that pain made my chest ache.

How long had it been since I cared about anyone other than my sister? When was the last time a woman’s tears had the power to make me sick to my stomach? When was the last time I tried to take another person’s feelings into consideration before I did…anything? I wanted to go to her. I wanted to find a way to work this mess out without involving the court. But when she saw me, her confidence sagged for an instant, her eyes widened with horror, and a tension that built walls formed in her shoulders. If I ever got close to her again, it would be the day hell froze over. “They’re going to call our case in a few minutes.” I didn’t even acknowledge the young attorney my lawyer had arranged to handle the hearing in his place. My lawyer, Finn Watson, was back home in Oregon. He couldn’t stand up for me in Texas, but he assured me that after this hearing reaffirmed my status as JT’s temporary guardian, we could move the whole thing back to Oregon since that, technically, is where the fraud was perpetrated. None of this would have happened if my father hadn’t lied to the adoption lawyer and convinced him that I’d signed away my rights. Leave it to my father to think that not telling me I had a son was in my best interest. And then to die and leave the secret untold for fifteen years. If I didn’t have enough reasons to hate my father before, I surely had them now. We walked into the courtroom a few minutes later. There were a few loiterers from the last case, but no reporters—thank goodness. I was afraid word would get out. And I knew it would sooner or later. But later was preferable. I wondered if Penelope told JT what was happening yet. The judge walked into the room and took a seat behind his desk. It was an informal courtroom, not even remotely like the throne-like rooms they showed on television. It was more like the conference rooms that sat on one end of each floor of Ashland-Philips’ corporate offices. The judge sat at a normal desk, I sat at a table with my attorney and Penelope did the same across from us, the whole thing set up in

a square so that each party could see the others. I couldn’t tear my eyes from her even as she actively tried to keep her eyes on her hands in her lap. The judge seemed bored as the clerk read out the basics of the case. However, I knew he recognized my name the moment he heard it. So far, I hadn’t run into too many people who knew who I was here in Texas. It helped that I was using my middle name rather than my surname. But I couldn’t get away with that here and the judge was suddenly interested. “You’re Harrison Philips?” he asked the moment the clerk had finished his part of this little play. “I am, Your Honor.” He studied me for a long moment. “As in CEO of Ashland-Philips?” That caught Penelope’s attention. She was looking at me—finally—but there was new suspicion on her face. “Yes, sir.” The judge sat back, his gaze almost like that of a lover or a crazed fan. “I was just reading about you in Forbes,” he said with something like the giggle of an excited girl. “They say your fortune will surpass Elon Musk’s in a few months if things continue as they’re going now.” I shot Penelope a glance. Her eyes had narrowed and her lips were slightly puckered. It was just another secret she wasn’t pleased to hear. I nudged my lawyer and he stood, moving immediately into his argument. The judge listened, but his gaze remained glued to me. And mine to Penelope. The only person who didn’t seem lost in their own agenda was Penelope’s lawyer. But then again, he cast a few glances in Penelope’s direction that made me wonder if there was more than a lawyer-client relationship going on there. “Your Honor,” my temporary lawyer said, “my client was robbed of his only child’s infancy: his first steps, his first words, his first day of kindergarten. He was robbed of everything a parent holds dear

about raising a child. It’s only fair that he be allowed to share in what is left of his son’s childhood.” Penelope’s lawyer stood as my lawyer sat, clearing his throat before he began his own argument. “Jonathon Tyler Monroe has been in the custody of the Monroe family since he was a day old. He has never known another family, another life. His parents entered into a contract with the boy’s biological mother with the understanding that the biological father had given up his rights. It is no fault of the Monroe family or JT himself that there was some sort of irregularity with the father’s signature. Please don’t punish this young man for the actions of people he’s never even met.” Silence fell over the courtroom. The judge stared at me a moment longer, then his gaze shifted to Penelope. “Why aren’t…” He consulted the papers his clerk had laid in front of him. “…Dale and Robin Monroe here in the courtroom?” Penelope’s lawyer rose again as Penelope shot me a hateful glare. “The Monroes were killed in a car accident three years ago, Your Honor. Ms. Monroe, their daughter, was granted custody in this court in May of that same year.” The judge shifted his gaze back to me. “Who do you suggest forged your signature on the adoption papers?” My lawyer stood, but the judge waved his hand. “I’d prefer to hear from the complainant himself.” I stood, clasping my hands in front of me in a proper show of respect. “I was not aware any of this had taken place until several months ago. At that time, JT’s biological mother informed me that a lawyer had visited my home and gotten my signature. However, during the time period she stated this took place, I was a student at Stanford.” “And that can be verified?”

“Yes, sir.” “Who do you think signed the paperwork in your place?” Before I could answer, the judge gave his clerk a piece of paper that he brought to me. It was the back page of the adoption contract. Julia’s name was written in her juvenile scrawl. My name appeared above it. But it was clearly not my signature. This was neater, marked with curlicues that I recognized immediately. My heart sank, a realization I hadn’t considered sinking in. I had so wanted to blame my father for this mess. But this…I could no longer continue to vilify my father when it was so obvious he wasn’t alone in his attempts to control the path of my life. “Do you recognize that handwriting, Mr. Philips?” the judge asked. I nodded slowly. “I do.” “Could you tell me who you believe signed your name to those adoption papers?” I set the paper down on the table and looked over at Penelope. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost something in all of this. She wasn’t the only one who would be forced to make a few difficult decisions as we continued to fight this out. She wasn’t the only victim of someone else’s lies. “My mother.” ***** The judge left the courtroom a few minutes later, promising to have a decision in fifteen minutes. I got up and walked to the side of the room, tugging my cellphone out of my pocket. “Did you know?” I demanded the moment the line was answered on the other end. “Know what?”

“I saw the papers. I saw the signature.” “Harry…” “Did you know it was Mom who signed my rights away?” Libby hesitated and I felt betrayal wash over me like a heavy, oily mess. She had known. “How long?” “I didn’t know for sure. But when you told me about JT, I remembered something Mom had said just after Daddy’s funeral. Something about how glad she was that you didn’t have any complications, or else she and I might have been lost. It seemed odd at the time and I tried to ask her about it, but she refused to elaborate.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Because there was no point. I had no proof. And you were so ready to blame Daddy—“ “You should have told me, Libby. I had a right to know.” “And now you do. Does it change the situation? Does it make it any better or any worse for JT or his sister? It doesn’t, Harrison. The only thing it changes is that you can’t keep blaming Daddy for every little thing that went wrong in your life.” “Fuck you, Libby.” I disconnected the call and thought seriously about throwing the phone against the wall. I couldn’t believe my mother would do this to me. My beautiful, innocent mother. Was she ever as innocent in all of my father’s schemes as I had always assumed? Or was she the mastermind behind them all? What else had she done to control me, to change the course of my life? What else had she hidden from me? “I want to tell him.” I turned, bitter words on the tip of my tongue until I found myself face to face with Penelope.

“No matter how this turns out, it’s clear that you have no intention of backing off. So I want to be the one to tell JT the truth.” “Of course,” I said. “He doesn’t know yet. I was going to take him out of school, but I didn’t want to disrupt things any more than I had to.” “I quit my job there. I thought it might make things easier.” A cloud crossed her face, but she didn’t give it voice. She looked away briefly, chewing on that bottom lip in a way that made me want to pull her close to me, that made me want to replace her teeth with my own. I leaned back against the cool wall and cleared my throat, trying to clear my mind of my thoughts. “I only want what’s best for JT,” she said softly. “So do I.” “Then how can you—“ She stopped before she finished her thought. She nodded a little crazily, her hair falling over her face. I slid my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching over and brushing her hair away, from freeing her beautiful face for my gaze. “I never meant for it to go this way, Penelope. I hope you know that.” “I don’t. But it turns out I knew very little about you.” “We can change that.” She shook her head. “I think it’s too late for niceties.” A door crashed to a close, announcing the judge’s return. Penelope strode off, the tension back in her shoulders.

I walked back to the table where my lawyer waited and watched the ceremony of the court play itself out once again. We took our seats and the judge leaned forward, his eyes moving first to Penelope, then to me. “This is a highly unusual case,” he began. “Normally when an adoption is found to be invalid, the child is immediately returned to the custody of the biological parents. However, the child in question here is fifteen. For that reason, I think it would be best to proceed with a little more caution. Therefore, I am issuing an injunction against the custody order.” Penelope hissed, a relieved sigh slipping from her pursed lips. “However,” the judge continued as he glanced at her, “I am ordering that the biological father be allowed visitation with the child. And I want all parties back in this courtroom next week, along with the child, so that I can get a better picture of the situation.” Visitation. What the hell did that mean? My lawyer grabbed my wrist, clearly sensing my need for clarification. The judge got up and walked away as Penelope’s lawyer whispered furiously in her ear. My lawyer leaned close to do the same. “The judge’s clerk will likely give us a visitation schedule with his order. I will push for you to be allowed a few hours, unsupervised, with JT every day until the next hearing. That will give you time to convince JT to speak favorably of you when he talks to the judge.” “Excuse me?” I said, glaring at him. “Are you suggesting I attempt to ask my son to lie?” “Of course not. But the kid’s testimony will weigh heavily with the judge. It would be in our best interest that he says the right thing.” I stood in a rush, nearly knocking over my chair. “You’re fired.”

Chapter 11 Penelope I walked out of the courtroom with the intention of running to my car as quickly as I could. But Jack grabbed my arm and pulled me into a small room the sported a small table and a handful of chairs. “This is a victory, Penny,” he said. “No, it’s not. They’re going to let him spend time with JT. And the judge is going to make JT choose which of us he wants to live with. Do you really think JT will choose me when he has the chance to live with a billionaire?” “Don’t panic. JT knows where he belongs.” “Does he? Sometimes I wonder.” I moved away from Jack, crossing the room to stand near the small window that overlooked the busy street below. Tears were threatening again, but I managed to hold them back. I still couldn’t wrap my head around all of this. Just this morning I woke with the warm memories of the night before—I still couldn’t stop thinking of the way it felt when he touched me—and now I was fighting for everything that mattered to me. What would happen to me if I lost JT? What point would there be to my life? Everything I’d given up to come back here would have been for nothing. And JT? What would happen to him if he was ripped away from the only home he’d ever known? From all his friends, his neighbors? The life he’d built for himself these last fifteen years? I couldn’t let this happen. “We can still fight this. We have time.” “We have a week. And then he’ll bring his high-power lawyers from…wherever he’s from…”

“Oregon.” I shot a look at Jack. “You know who he is?” “I’ve read about him, just like the judge.” “I had no clue. I thought he was just a high school teacher.” “We can use that against him, you know. Argue that he lied to you about his identity. Maybe that would mar his character enough that the judge might consider home surveys and interviews with social workers. That would take time, give you more time with JT.” I shook my head as I turned back to the window. “How am I supposed to win this if even my lawyer has already accepted that JT going with this man is inevitable?” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to.” Jack came up behind me and touched my shoulder. I didn’t want his touch. I didn’t want to be consoled. I wanted to go home and pack a handful of belongings and take JT a long way away from here. I remember hearing my mom talk about this when they first brought JT home from the hospital. For the first six months of his life, his biological mother had the right to come and take him back. One night I couldn’t sleep and I went to my parents’ bedroom to ask if I could sleep between them, but then I heard my mom crying and I stopped outside the door where they couldn’t hear me. What if she wants him back? What if she just shows up at the lawyer’s office and demands that we return him to her? What would we do then? Those words haunted me. Having JT around those first few weeks was a novelty and I loved helping my mom dress him. But after I heard that, I was afraid to love him. I was afraid that if I loved him

too much, they would take him away and my mom would fall back into the depression that left her lying in a dark room for weeks at a time before the adoption. I thought that it was my fault then and I was pretty sure it would be again. If I loved JT…I knew now that depression is a medical disorder. I know now that I had nothing to do with my mom’s depression. It was a chemical imbalance that was made worse by the series of miscarriages she had in the years after I was born. And I knew now that loving JT wouldn’t have caused him to leave. And that the grace period birth parents are allowed passed long ago. But that irrational fear was still alive and well deep in my soul. And that part of me felt like this was my fault; that I was letting my mom down. “I won’t let him take JT from me.” I pulled away from Jack and left the room, strutting out of that courthouse like I knew what I was going to do. But I really didn’t. I needed a new lawyer. I was already running through my finances as I rushed out of the building, trying to figure out what I’d have to do to come up with the money a decent lawyer would require. I didn’t hear him come up behind me, didn’t hear him calling my name until he grabbed my arm. “Penny, can we talk about this?” I spun around, my hands clutched into fists. “I don’t know that we have anything to talk about, Mr. James. Or is it Philips?” Much to his credit, a little bit of shame brought color to his cheeks. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” “You didn’t just lie. You used me to get what you wanted. But I would guess that’s just what you do.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not who you think I am.” “I don’t know you at all.”

I turned and started to make my way down the rest of the steps in front of the courthouse. I could see his shadow as he followed me. “I want to see him.” I shook my head. “Not now.” “Penny—“ “I have to tell him about this. I have to tell my fifteen-year old brother, who is still struggling with the deaths of our parents, that his English teacher is really some billionaire from Oregon who wants to rip him from the only home he has ever known because his mother lied to a lawyer sixteen years ago.” I glanced back at him. “I think that’s more than enough for one person for one night.” Harrison inclined his head slightly. “Okay. But I want to see him soon. Tomorrow.” “He has school.” He grabbed my arm again. “There’s got to be a way we can work all this out. I don’t want to take him from you. I just want to be a part of his life.” “Liar.” I jerked my arm from his grasp while moving into him, my finger pressed against his chest. “If you only wanted to be a part of his life, you would have told me who you were when you first arrived in town. You wouldn’t have taken that damn job, you wouldn’t have made threats and you wouldn’t have hidden your identity. You would have come straight to me, told me who you were, what happened all those years ago, and we would have talked about an arrangement. But you didn’t do any of that.” “I handled it badly.” “You lied!” I stared at him, the anger building so intensely in my chest that I could hardly catch my breath. “You lied and kept secrets and used me. Do you really think I could forgive that?” “I thought I was doing what was right for JT.”

“What would be right for JT would be for you to disappear. The last thing he needs right now is some long-lost father coming back to turn his life upside down.” “I don’t agree.” He leaned close to me so that he was less than a breath away from my lips. “You’re struggling, Penny. You barely have time to sleep let alone raise a fifteen year old boy. He’s unsupervised, running through town in the middle of the night, getting arrested for public intoxication, disappearing for hours at a time, sleeping through school. Do you really think that’s ideal? Do you really think you’re doing what’s best for him?” “Do you think ripping him away from his friends, the only home he’s ever known, is going to be any better?” Harrison hesitated and that surprised me. I expected him to have a quick answer. But he didn’t. Maybe neither of us truly knew what was best for JT. But I knew that allowing him to go off with a virtual stranger wasn’t the answer. I walked off, leaving Harrison standing there alone on the steps. I didn’t look back, but I could feel his eyes on me. And, despite myself, I liked it. I liked that he couldn’t look away, that I’d left him wanting more. In a strange sort of way, it made me feel powerful. But it also hurt worse than any heartbreak I think I’d ever felt. Because I also knew it was all about this mess, not about what happened between us last night. And last night was an experience I’d never known before, one that every inch of my heart wanted to experience again. ***** I went to the house when I got back to town, but JT wasn’t there. I headed over to the bakery, overwhelmed with the guilt that I’d left Nick and Amanda to handle all the work all day. It was nearly

time to close the shop, but Nick would probably still be at it for few hours more, trying to get a head start on tomorrow’s orders. I let myself in through the back door, moving silently. The floors were covered in rubber mats back here to reduce the chances of someone slipping on spilled water or flour, so my heels didn’t make that tap-tap sound that they might have otherwise. So Nick and JT didn’t know I was there at first. They were standing side by side at one of the work tables decorating a wedding cake. Nick was patiently showing JT how to create the delicate flowers that would flow down one side of the three tiers. JT was listening closely and when Nick complimented the purple rose he’d just completed, his face beamed with pleasure. It reminded me of the hours and hours I stood there beside my mom, learning from her talented hands how to do the same thing. Once again, tears filled my eyes. I don’t think I’d missed my parents quite as much as I missed them in that moment. “JT,” I said, clearing my throat to rid it of the sound of tears. He turned and smiled. “Look, Penny,” he said, gesturing to the flower. I smiled. “It’s perfect.” He looked at it, giving it an objective study. “This petal is a little too wide.” “The little mistakes are what make them perfect.” “That’s what I keep telling him,” Nick said, winking at me. But then the flirt went out of his expression as he saw something unsettling in my face. “Everything okay?” I shook my head no, but then JT looked at me, so I forced a smile. “We need to talk, JT. Do you think I could take you for a burger?” The contentment disappeared from his face as he handed Nick the frosting bag. “Did coach call

you?” “It’s not about that. This is…it’s complicated.” “Now I’m really scared,” he said as he flashed that cocky smile of his. But I could tell it wasn’t a joke. Not completely. Nick crossed the room, stopping just in front of me as JT went into the small store room to take off his apron and hat. Nick touched my arm, smoothing his palm over my skin. “What’s going on?” “It’s too much to go into right now.” I glanced over his shoulder to watch JT. “But I…” “Is there anything I can do?” “I’m going to have to take tomorrow off, too. Do you think—“ “You don’t even have to ask.” I looked up at him, so grateful I could have kissed him. “Thank you.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’m here for you, Penny. No matter what.” And that brought the tears back. I brushed at my cheek as JT joined us. “Ready?” He looked from me to Nick and back again, and I could see that he was worried. My heart ached as I put my arm around him and led the way out to the car. *****

We parked at the local drive-in and ordered cheeseburgers and cheese smothered tots, our favorite junk food indulgence. We didn’t really talk. JT fiddled with the radio knob, searching for music that wasn’t ‘ridiculous’ as he called anything that was written before 2005. When the food came, I picked at my burger, eating a pickle or two. But my appetite had disappeared and didn’t show signs of returning any time soon. “So…?” I glanced at JT. He was watching me even as he took a huge bite of his hamburger. “What do you think of Mr. James?” I asked. He shrugged. “He’s pretty cool. Why? Are you guys dating?” My eyebrows rose. “What makes you ask that?” “He was at the house this morning and you guys were fighting.” “I’m sorry you saw that.” He shrugged, taking another bite of the burger. I put my burger down on the dashboard and popped a tot into my mouth. I chewed slowly as I tried to figure out how to say what needed to be said. How do you tell a kid that his biological father had just showed up out of the blue? Oh, and by the way, he’s your English teacher. I could feel him watching me. I ate another tot to give myself a few more seconds. Then I sighed. “Do you remember when you were little and dad explained to you what it means to be adopted?” JT rolled his eyes. “You mean the whole forever family thing?” I tilted my head just slightly. “I mean the whole ‘your biological parents gave you up for reasons we don’t know, but it was a loving act that meant they wanted what was best for you’ thing.” He nodded. “Dad said my biological mother was very young and she probably gave me up

because she couldn’t take care of me alone. But they didn’t know anything about my bio-dad.” “Yeah. Well, it turns out that when the adoption lawyer went to get a signature from the biological father—the signature that said he agreed to give up all parental rights to you—she didn’t actually get his signature. Someone else forged it.” JT set his burger down and began picking at his tots. “What does that mean?” “It means that while your biological mother gave you up, your biological father didn’t.” “Really?” “He claims he didn’t even know about you until a few months ago.” “How could he not know about me?” I shrugged, picking the cheese off of my tots. “I don’t know.” “So what does that mean now?” “He wants you, JT. He wants to take you away from here and back to where he lives.” JT was quiet for a long couple of minutes. I didn’t look at him at first, afraid that I would cry if I saw what I expected would be fear and confusion on his face. Instead, when I finally looked at him, I saw excitement and wonder. “My father wants me?” “We went to court today. The judge ruled that you would stay with me for right now, but that he can spend time with you and that we have to go back to court next week.” “I get see him?” “Yes. But next week, when we go to court, the judge wants to talk to you.” “Who is he?”

JT was completely missing everything I was trying to tell him. All he wanted to know was about Harrison. I didn’t understand. I mean, I suppose I did, to a certain extent. He’d lived all his life wondering who his biological parents were and why they gave him up. But didn’t he care that he might have to leave me, leave his friends? What about football and school and everything else? What about me? “When do I get to see him? Can I see him now?” I studied the eagerness in his eyes and sighed. “It’s Mr. James, JT. But he lied to us. His name is really Harrison Philips. He’s some sort of—“ “Mr. James?” “Yes. He came here and got a job at the school so he could get to know you.” JT sat back in his seat, dragging his greasy fingers through his hair. “Mr. James is my father.” “He is.” “Can I see him now?” “JT—“ I wanted to argue with him. But I could see by the expression on his face that anything I said now he wouldn’t hear. He didn’t want to hear anything other than what he’d asked. His head was spinning with thoughts that I could only imagine. I sighed, put the car into gear and tossed my practically untouched meal into the trash on the way out of the parking lot. Harrison’s car was in the driveway outside of his rented house and the man himself appeared at the door seconds after I pulled my car to a stop at the curb. JT didn’t even say goodbye as he jumped out of the car. But Harrison—he lifted his hand in a

grateful wave. Or maybe it was triumphant. Either way, I felt as though I’d just lost everything that ever mattered.

Chapter 12 Harrison “It’s so weird, being inside a teacher’s house.” “I’m not really your teacher anymore.” JT looked up from the magazine he’d picked up from the coffee table. “Yeah, I keep forgetting,” he said, his eyes refusing to rest on my face. “I know this must be pretty confusing for you.” “Not really,” he said, dropping the magazine back onto the table and moving over to the bookshelves that held a collection of bells left by the last occupant of this house. He touched one or two before moving to the small collection of DVDs I had sitting on the television stand. “You like these?” “Yeah. You?” He shrugged, once again moving on. He was so restless, it was like watching a puppy checking out new surroundings. I leaned against the archway between the kitchen and living room to watch, not sure there was anything else I could do. I hadn’t expected her to bring him by tonight. When I heard the car pull up outside through the exceedingly thin walls of this house, I wasn’t sure what to expect when he jumped out of the car. When she didn’t get out…I hated that this was so hard for her. I wished again and again that there was another way. “I guess you have a lot of questions for me.” JT hesitated, once again picking up the magazine from the coffee table. “I used to wonder about my birth mother a lot. What she looked liked. What she did for a living.

That kind of thing.” “She’s kind of tall,” I said, holding a hand out just above my shoulder to show him how tall. “Blond. Blue eyes.” “Yeah?” “She was about to start college when I knew her. Now she’s married to a Wall Street guy and they have two kids. Daughters, I think.” “I have sisters?” “Yes.” “Do you?” JT kind of waved his hand like he didn’t want to say the words. I shook my head. “I don’t have any kids yet. Never been married, either.” JT crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me, finally meeting my gaze. “Penelope said you got the job at the school just so you could get to know me.” I nodded. “I didn’t want to disrupt your life until I had a chance to get to know you. Until you had a chance to know me.” “You lied.” There was that word again. Penelope kept throwing it in my face like that glass of whiskey that got thrown around so much in chick flicks. I buried my hands in the pockets of my jeans as I tried to find a defense that wouldn’t sound defensive. “I never knew about you, JT. I met Julia in New York during summer break while I was attending Stanford. When summer was over, I went back to California and waited for her to call. When she never did, I just assumed she’d moved on to some other guy. I knew it was a possibility. Julia and I never made promises to each other because we knew we couldn’t keep them.”

“Her name’s Julia?” I looked up. “Yes.” JT looked away for a second, as though he needed a moment to work through that information. When his eyes came back up to mine, I continued. “I went to New York on business several months ago. While I was at this restaurant I go to all the time, she happened to walk in and spot me. We talked. And that’s when she told me about you. She’d assumed all these years that I knew, that when she gave the adoption lawyer my parents’ address that she’d actually spoken to me. The problem is, I was at Stanford at the time. I never saw the lawyer, never saw any paperwork. I never knew about you.” JT’s expression was unreadable. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. He didn’t seem to know what to do at all. I straightened up, but I kept my distance. “I immediately called an investigator who used what little information Julia could give me on the adoption to track down the lawyer. Through her, we tracked you. I found out that you were born in Manhattan, that your adoptive parents took you to Albany when you were a day old. I learned that three years later they moved here and started the bakery. I learned that you were a good student, though you struggle a little in math. That you were on the football team. That you—“ “Did they tell you that my parents were dead?” There was pain in his voice that I had expected. I studied his face for a long minute, my tone softer when I responded. “They did. And I was very sorry to hear it.” JT turned away. He walked back to the shelf, his fingertip tracing the painting on the side of one bell.

“I wanted to come rushing in and take you home with me immediately,” I admitted. “I even had my lawyer write up the paperwork that would make it happen. But my sister convinced me that would be a mistake.” “You have a sister?” “Yes. Libby.” I tugged my cellphone out of my back pocket and pulled up a picture of Libby and her kids. “That’s her,” I said, holding it out to him. “Her and her daughter, Molly, and son, Robbie.” JT didn’t take the phone. He didn’t even reach for it. But he looked at the picture for a second before he turned away again. “You’d like Libby. She’s a lot of fun.” JT didn’t acknowledge me. I slid the phone back into my pocket and leaned back against the wall again. Then I waited. JT stood at those shelves for a long time. He could have memorized the patterns on all fifty if the bells in that time. And I just stood against the wall, watching and waiting. I wondered what Penelope would do if she were here. Would she make him talk? Would she let him be? Would she keep talking even though JT was clearly struggling to process? I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I was in deeper than I ever imagined. I finally went into the kitchen and snuck a swig of bourbon before pouring two glasses of soda. I carried them both into the living room and set them on the coffee table as I took a seat on the couch. “I know this is a lot.” “Are you going to take me away from Penny?” And there it was. That was the question I had been dreading. I didn’t know how to answer. I could tell him the truth, tell him that I wanted to work with Penelope, that I wanted to work out some way in

which everyone got what they wanted. But that would require telling him that Penelope was so angry at me for reasons he didn’t need to know about – so angry that she wouldn’t even listen to me. I could tell him that it was up to the judge, but that would sound like I really didn’t care which way his decision went when I really did. If you boiled it all down, the basic truth was that I did want him. I wanted to take JT back to Oregon and return to my normal, ordered life. But I wasn’t sure how that would work, either. And then there was Penelope. “I want you to be a part of my life.” That was as honest as I could be. ***** JT stood there at the bells for a bit longer, then asked if I could drive him home. He didn’t speak to me in the car and when I pulled to a stop outside the house he shared with Penelope, he got out without a word. Penelope came to the door and watched as he came up the walk. She said something to him, but I don’t think he answered. I got the impression that JT was the kind of guy who had to work things out in his head before he could talk to anyone about it. He was like me that way. I lifted a hand to Penelope, but she didn’t respond. She just turned and went back inside. Back at my house, I paced the living room for a while, feeling like a caged lion. I hated this. I hated the feeling that I’d screwed this whole thing up. I would do anything to take all this back. But, then, I was glad that JT finally knew the truth. I was glad I was finally able to be honest with him. My cellphone rang and I snatched it out of my pocket, irrationally thinking it might be Penelope. But it was Libby’s voice that filled my ear. “You never called back and told me what was going on.”

I grunted, the whole day unfolding in my head again. Somehow I just couldn’t get past the mark of tears on Penelope’s face. “Why did I think I could just charge in here and take my son back?” “The judge granted the injunction?” “Yeah. But he’s called another hearing next week. It’s pretty clear that he’s going to set the adoption aside and allow me custody.” “Then it’s a victory.” “Yeah, well, JT doesn’t know how to respond to all of this. And his sister—“ “You can’t worry about what you can’t control.” “But I can control this. Or else, I could have before I stupidly started the ball rolling.” Libby sighed loud enough that I could clearly hear it over the phone. “Don’t confuse the situation, Harry,” she said. “This is about your son. That’s it.” I sat heavily on the edge of the couch. “You’re right.” “I’m always right.” I laughed. “Not always. Just occasionally.” She was right. I came here to claim my son. I came here to fix what my parents screwed up so many years ago. JT should never have been given up for adoption. He never should have been raised by these people. I understood they did the best they could, but look at the mess they left behind when they died – the mess their daughter was left to clean up. It wasn’t right. I was going to fix this even if it meant taking JT away from Penelope. He deserved what his birthright offered him. And I was going to make sure he had everything I lost out on.

Chapter 13 Penelope JT wouldn’t talk to me. But he also wasn’t sassing me or resisting me when I woke him in the mornings as he had done every morning for the past year. And he showed up at the bakery right after school as he was supposed to. But then he would go to Harrison’s. I wanted to ask what they talked about. I wanted to know what Harrison told him about our parents, about me. If they were making plans to move to Oregon, I thought I had the right to know. I lay awake in bed at night, torn between my fear of losing JT and my need to relive the night I shared with Harrison. I hated him. I did. He was the one who was going to take my whole world away from me. But, at the same time, I so desperately ached for his touch. It was insane. How could I want the man who had hurt me so deeply? How could I remember the way his kiss had tasted when I knew that in just a few days he was going to take my brother and disappear? How could I want him when it was pretty clear he couldn’t care less about me? I was probably just another notch on his bedpost, another one night stand that he enjoyed, but never thought about again. Three days. That’s how long we had until the next hearing. I climbed out of bed and went down the hall to JT’s room. He was asleep under a pile of blankets and dirty clothes. His room was always such a disaster. I could never get him to clean it. I don’t how my mother ever did. But I remember it was always pristine when I came home from college for the holidays or the few trips home I made when I moved to New York. I picked up a few things, wrinkling my nose at the pungent smell of a pair of socks that were stuck under his desk chair. There were more clothes on the floor than he had in the closet. I wonder: did Harrison have a maid who would take care of these issues once they were back in Oregon

I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. I dropped the clothes where I stood and walked, rushing to the front door. It was unlocked—even in this day and time, hardly anyone locked their doors in this town —and I burst through and just wandered toward the street. I still couldn’t breathe despite the cool fall air that immediately penetrated the thin sweats and t-shirt I was wearing. I just walked, my mind such a whirlwind of thoughts that I couldn’t really concentrate on one thing. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know what I wanted. I just…I just needed to go. I ended up at the bakery. Maybe I was hoping to find Nick there, but it was still a couple of hours until he would arrive to begin making the donuts that would go flying out the door the moment the storefront opened. The place was dark, the sweet smells of cake and frosting and donuts permeating the air. I was convinced that even a hundred years from now when this building was nothing more than rubble, it would still smell of cakes and butter cream frosting and donuts. I had a huge pile of paperwork I needed to do. And since I was here…I let myself into the office and stared at the bills from suppliers that were waiting to be paid, the bills to our customers that still needed to go out, the orders that had come in over the last few days and were waiting to be put on the schedule. I really didn’t want to touch any of it, but I was the only one who could. I’d spent the last four days meeting with lawyers, trying to find one who understood that I wanted to fight this case and that I didn’t want to just lay back while Harrison left the state with my little brother. But once I told them that I was fighting the Harrison Philips, they all backed out as gracefully as they could. Except for one. One simply stated that he would rather cut off his left hand than face the kind of legal super stars a man like Harrison Philips could bring to the table. I was screwed and I knew it. Jack—good ole loyal Jack—was more than willing to go up against whoever Harrison brought to court the next time. Jack was like Nick, a boy who grew up in this little town, older than me, but close to my parents because my parents befriended everyone they ever met. And after their deaths, he began to have certain ideas about me, about how I was this single girl with this new, overwhelming burden who

needed to be taken care of. I’d probably end up marrying one of them. Someday. But now wasn’t that time. Now I needed a good lawyer, not a small town boy. What I needed, I couldn’t put into words. “Penelope?” I turned and—wouldn’t you know it?—Harrison was standing just inside the back door of the bakery. “Are you having me watched now?” “No, I was—“ “I don’t really care what you’re doing downtown in the middle of the night. I just want you to go.” “We need to talk. You know we do.” “I know I need you to leave me the hell alone.” “Are you going to be angry with me forever?” “I might be, yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him, unable to ignore how incredible he looked in the clothes he was wearing. But, again, he looked good in just about anything. Sweats should be illegal on some men, the way they ignored everything but the good parts, showing off asses that were round and delicious, the kind of ass that made palms itching to touch it. And, despite the slight chill in the air, he was wearing a white muscle tank that showed off more than his muscles. Something low in my stomach tightened as I stared at him, my body betraying me even as anger burned in my chest. “Can’t we find a way to make this work?” “What would you like to do, trade him back and forth? I get the weekdays and you get the weekends and every other Christmas?”

A tendon in his jaw jumped a little. “No. But surely there’s a way we can work this out without one of us losing everything.” “You could back off. He’s going to be eighteen in two and a half years. He could make his own choice then.” “Then I would lose all of his childhood. Is that really fair?” “Is it fair to tear him away from his home so soon after he lost his parents?” “I’m his father!” Harrison’s voice rose a little and he jammed a finger into his own chest, as though he was trying to convince more than just me. And the look in his eyes, that puppy dog roundness he got when he thought he was being denied something. I could imagine him as a child, turning that look on his parents and getting everything he ever wanted. That look made me want to give him everything. Except my brother. I dragged my fingers through my hair, not sure what more there was to say. He took a step forward, but stopped. “I just…” he began, his voice lower, quieter. “I just want to know my son.” “You had your chance sixteen years ago.” He shook his head. “But that’s the thing. I never had a chance.” He took another step forward, but stopped again before he made any real progress. “I didn’t know about him. The people who should have told me didn’t. And the one who should have shared all this with me thought that I had no interest. And that—“ “I don’t want to know,” I said, turning from him. “I don’t want to know your story. I don’t want to care about you or what happened to you. I don’t want—“

“Why?” He was closer. He was standing behind me, but I didn’t turn. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I couldn’t let my thoughts go to all the places they so desperately wanted to go. But he wasn’t about to let it go. Harrison laid his hands on my shoulders, his fingers biting into my flesh. It wasn’t so much the way he touched me, but the fact that he was touching me. There was heat in his touch that woke things inside of me that had only been woken once—the night he lay with me in my bed. I turned and he opened his mouth to say something more, but I pressed a hand to his mouth. “Don’t talk,” I said softly. And then I kissed him. Men used women all the time. Why couldn’t women use men? He’d used me the other night. I was only returning the favor. And I so desperately needed to forget. I needed to forget everything that had been happening even if it was only for a few minutes, even if my way of forgetting would only muddy the water that much more. I needed this and I think I had the right to take it. And he wasn’t fighting it. He buried his fingers in my tangled hair, tugging me so close to him that there were no secrets between us. I pressed my hands under his shirt, trying to make the difficult choice of going up and running my fingers over those perfect muscles, or going down and smoothing my palms over his hard ass. Or both. Definitely both. He tugged at my shirt, forcing me back from him for the long second it took to strip it away. And then he was pushing me backward, trapping me against the edge of my desk, wiping away a carefully

stacked pile of papers. I sat back happily, working at the drawstring that kept his pants in place even as he tugged at the waist of my sweats. I’ve never been naked in my parents’ bakery before. I’d made out here—one too many times— when I was in high school. It was convenient, having a key to a private building when everyone else was making out in the back of their parents’ station wagon. But I’d always ended things before they got to that point of no return. Having a strict curfew and living in a small town where everyone knew everyone else, therefore everyone knew who was with who, was convenient. I’d had sex on a desk before, but that was a long, complicated story. And it had not been anything like this. Harrison was beautiful. And he knew exactly what he was doing when he touched me. His hands slid over my thighs as he bent for another kiss, his tongue dancing in my mouth like a ballerina on a New York stage. I ached for him in a way that took my breath away, and it threatened to push me to heights I never even dreamed of. I tugged at his pants, wrapped my fist around him as he moaned deep in his throat. And then he was inside of me, that tenuous connection creating something I never thought I could be a part of. I was too cynical, too independent to ever be open to the kind of love my parents shared. And I was too stubborn to allow even a good guy, like Nick, to break through my walls. But this…there was such promise in Harrison’s touch that my soul was beginning to think…maybe. I grabbed his ass and pulled him closer to me, needing this. My mind went blank for the first time in days, weeks even. My heart pounded, my muscles tightened. Harrison held my hips, pulled me close to him, too, and I didn’t want him to let go. I wanted this to last forever. I wanted to live in a world where this was all that mattered. But the good things can never last. My lower belly began to quiver and my muscles threatened to clench. A moan like nothing I’d ever heard before slipped from between my lips. My vision darkened even as I lifted my arms to his shoulders and wrapped them around his neck. I felt his lips on mine, but my nerves were exploding and they weren’t

working the way they should have done. I heard him whisper something against my ear, but I didn’t understand. And then his heat was burning inside of me and his muscles were quivering, his hold on my hips becoming tenuous. I’d given him pleasure. The same he’d given me. That thought was like a second orgasm, making strange things happen in my chest. Tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t stop them even if I’d had forewarning, even if I could control anything about this whole situation. “Penny?” He pulled back, his hand reaching to wipe away the first of the tears. “Don’t,” I said, pushing at his chest. I pushed hard, jerking away from him and grabbing my pants off the floor. “Please go.” “Penny, I just—“ “Leave before I call the police.” He was quiet for a long moment, but then I could feel the wind of his movement, the heat of his anger. Then he brushed past me and walked out, slamming the heavy fire door behind him. I collapsed onto the floor, the sobs coming so quickly that all I could do was give in to them.

Chapter 14 Harrison “What kind of questions will the judge ask him?” Finn looked up and offered a shrug that didn’t really make me feel any better. “He’ll want to know what he thinks about this situation. What he thinks about you, about his sister. And then he will take all that into consideration when he makes his decision.” I nodded as I paced the surprisingly large hotel room. Finn flew in last night to work with the local lawyer he’d found for me at the hearing in the morning. I’d known Finn for years. We actually went to the same university, but Finn was two years ahead of me. We didn’t meet until ten years ago when I expanded Ashland Furniture into Ashland-Philips and he helped with the requisite paperwork. He’d been my attorney ever since. “I know this is nerve wracking, Harrison,” Finn said, “but we have a strong case. I don’t think the judge could keep your son from you based on the law. As emotional as adoptions are, they are essentially a contract. And a contract requires agreement from all parties. But you didn’t give your consent.” “You make it sound so simple.” “It is pretty simple.” I wished it was. But even as I stood there in that hotel room, one foot back in the life I left behind in Oregon, I couldn’t stop thinking about Penelope and…and what? What happened the other night? Why did she attack me like that and then push me away when she so clearly needed me? Or needed someone? I understood she was angry with me. Hell, I’d be angry with me in her position. But then to kiss me, to let me touch her, to…I didn’t understand. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And I couldn’t stop wanting her. It was all so insane. I was on the cusp of getting what I wanted, and now I find myself regretting all of it. I regret coming here, I regret calling her into the classroom to talk about JT. I regret the way things played out, the way JT learned the truth about me. And I desperately regret that we have to face off in court again tomorrow. Could I have done things differently? Yes. Would the results have been different if I had handled the situation better? I don’t know. Maybe not. If I had met Penelope under any other circumstances, would things be the same? Would she be the same person she is now? Would I? I hated this. I prided myself on being a man who knows what’s going on around him. I walk into a business meeting, I know exactly who’s going to argue for the sake of arguing, who’s going to agree with everything I have to say, and who’s going to have some valid points I’d damn well better be prepared to counter. I always had control, always knew what the outcome was going to be before we even got to that point. I didn’t know how this was going to end and that scared the crap out of me. “Have you spoken to Julia Rowell?” I glanced at Finn. “Who?” “Julia Rowell. The biological mother.” “Oh.” I’d not heard anyone ever refer to Julia as more than just Julia. “She’s flying in this afternoon.”

“Good. It’ll only help our case to have her in the courtroom.” “A little worried about JT. This will be the first time he’s met his biological mother. I’m afraid it’ll be too much for him.” “Then we’ll keep them apart until after he’s given his testimony. Shouldn’t be a problem.” I nodded, but that wasn’t really my point. I didn’t care about JT’s testimony. I cared that JT had had to deal with a lot this past week. Meeting Julia might just be that proverbial straw. Especially if the judge ruled quickly and ruled in my favor. I needed to talk to Penelope about it, but I was afraid that any overture I made would be rebuffed. I hadn’t seen her since that night in the bakery, but I hadn’t really expected to. Still, it felt like the right thing to do. She was his sister. She would know how much he could handle. “And your mother?” I shook my head. “Not coming.” “That’s not good,” Finn said, putting down the papers he’d been studying to regard me full on. “Why not?” “I didn’t ask her.” “Harrison—“ “That’s not negotiable.” “But you identified her handwriting in court. You told the judge that she was the one who forged your signature. Her testimony to that effect would solidify our case.” “You already said our case was pretty strong. Why do we need to solidify it any further?” Finn stood and took off his glasses, stretching a little as he came toward me. “Because it never hurts to have an overwhelming amount of evidence in a case like this. You know that.”

I shook my head. “She’s not coming.” Finn studied my face for a long minute and then nodded, backing off of the subject. “Libby?” “She flies in this afternoon too.” “Good. At least we’ll have someone to offer a character reference.” “Do I really need people to testify to what a great guy I am?” “It doesn’t hurt.” Finn came over and patted my arm lightly. “Nothing in family court is ever set in stone. This could, realistically, go either way. But, like I said, it’s basically a contract case and all the evidence is in your favor. However, every little bit helps, like putting a shine on the diamond.” I had to admit that I saw the logic in his words. But I still felt uneasy about this whole thing. I wished we didn’t have to go in front of the judge. I wished…but wishes never did anybody any good, did they? ***** Libby threw her arms around me the moment she stepped onto the tarmac, a huge smile on her pretty face. “Hello, Harry,” she said softly against my ear. “Thank you for coming.” “Where else would I be?”

She stepped back and studied my face, running soft fingertips along my unshaven jaw. “Having trouble sleeping?” I shrugged. “Night time is a good time for a long run.” She shook her head. “You should take better care of yourself.” “I’m fine.” I turned, sliding a hand over her shoulder to lead her to the car. She climbed in, graceful in her business suit, offering me a wink as she pulled the seatbelt into place. I got in and started the car, driving a little too fast out of the private airport’s gates. “How’s it going with Finn and the case?” “We’re jumping right into it, huh?” “I figure it’s better to acknowledge the elephant in the room sooner rather than later.” I carefully pulled the car into traffic and turned onto the country highway that would take us to the small town that was JT’s home. I was buying time, pretending that this route I’d taken hundreds of times over the last six weeks or so was more complicated than it really was. “Finn wants Mom to testify.” “I have to admit, I was a little surprised you didn’t talk to her about it.” “I don’t think I want to know what she did. Then I would have to acknowledge to myself that it was her who created this mess.” “Mom was never an angel, Harry. Dad just outdid her because he was louder and more aggressive.” An image of my mother, beautiful and frail, flashed through my mind. My mom was always the person I could run to when my father was on a tirade, the one who let me hide behind her skirts when I

was little and my father decided I needed a spanking to get me back on the right track. Later, she was the one who came into my bedroom with a peanut butter sandwich when my father sent me to bed without dinner, or who helped me sneak out when I was grounded but there was some party I wanted to go to. She was my coconspirator, my confidant. She knew about the tattoos, the drinking and the questionable behavior. She knew how desperately I wanted to be a teacher, how much I wanted to shape young minds. She knew how difficult it was for me to give up my dreams when my father passed away and the complete mess he’d left behind was revealed. My mom was my saving grace. To know now that she was also the one who stole my son’s childhood from me was almost unbearable. I wasn’t ready to face it. “JT is supposed to come over right after we get to my place. You’ll get to meet him.” “Finally.” Libby smiled. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment ever since you told me about him.” “Me too.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. Her smile widened as she tugged my hand against her thigh and ran her other hand over the back of it. Libby was…Libby and I had a complicated relationship. She was a child when I went off to college, only fifteen when our father died. She was a responsibility, someone else I had to watch over and care for in my father’s absence. Not only did I have to fix everything to protect our mother, not only did I have to keep my older brother from interfering in something he was never prepared to deal with, but I had this child I had to watch over, keep from trouble. I had to keep her from walking down the same road my brother and I had walked. And then she walks into my office one day, all of twenty years old and fresh from her college graduation, and she wanted a job. I nearly laughed her out of the office. Seven years later, I can’t imagine what I’d do without her.

Now she was coming to meet my fifteen year old son with me. It felt almost poetic. We pulled up to my little house and I waited for the comment. I waited for her to pop off and make some remark about how it wasn’t anything like the elaborately designed and built house I had back in Ashland. But she didn’t say a word. Sometimes I forgot that Libby wasn’t a snob like so many of the people I surrounded myself with back in Oregon. I carried her bags inside and set them inside the guest room. I was about to offer her a drink when there was a knock on the door. Right on time. JT was like clockwork with his visits. He arrived every afternoon at four, paced the living room and asked me seemingly unconnected questions, and then left just as quietly, but punctually, as he’d arrived. I opened the door. “Hey,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “My sister’s here,” I said, wanting to give him some sort of warning. But then I felt Libby’s hand on my back. I stepped aside and watched as JT’s eyes came up to take in her welcoming expression. “It’s nice to finally meet you, JT,” Libby said. “Harry’s told me so much about you.” “Harry?” JT glanced at me and a smile burst like a bubble on his face. “You call him Harry?” “Doesn’t he look like a Harry?” Libby jabbed her elbow into my side. “I always thought he did.” JT nodded as he regarded me with the most open curiosity he’d displayed all week. “He does, actually.” Libby slipped her arm around JT and pulled him into the house, the two of them laughing and joking like old friends. Leave it to my sister to win my son over that quickly!

I felt like a third wheel, watching them get to know each other. I think I learned more about JT in that hour than I’d learned teaching him literature for a month. Was this what it was like to be a parent?

Chapter 15 Penelope “Go home, Penny,” Nick said, coming up behind me and rubbing my shoulders a little too roughly for a long minute. “You look exhausted.” “There’s no point. I can’t sleep, anyway.” “Yes, well, you could spend a little time with JT.” I snorted. Spending time with JT was like having long, drawn out conversations with a blank wall. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions, unless I asked him what he wanted for dinner. But he was there. And he was engaging—sort of. That was a one hundred and eighty degree spin from the way he was before. But, still, it was difficult walking that field of landmines—not asking him questions about Harrison even though that was the only thing I really wanted to talk about. I’d gone to all these lawyers, and none of them could help me. Jack was more than eager to help, but he had no fresh ideas and almost no optimism that we might be able to win. The only thing I had was the adoption papers my parents signed nearly sixteen years ago and the custody order I was given when my parents died. And those, Jack assured me, should carry some weight. Unless, of course, the judge threw out the validity of the original adoption order. Then we had nothing other than JT’s testimony to stand on. And I wasn’t sure what JT would say when he was alone with the judge in his chambers. I think that scared me more than anything else. “Go home,” Nick said again, his voice gentle, but dripping with concern. I lowered my head, pressing my hands against my face. I was tired. I hadn’t slept in days. All I could think about was this custody fight. And Harrison. Harrison was on my mind a lot more than I cared

to admit. And it was tearing me apart inside. I ached for him. It was a physical ache, a need like nothing I have ever known before. But he was threatening to take away everything that mattered to me. The conflict was unbearable and it colored everything in my life right now. I got up and grabbed my jacket, sliding it over my arms as I made my way outside. There was a little chill to the air today as though Mother Nature were sympathizing with my predicament. I walked, deciding I needed the extra time to gather my thoughts. Or maybe I just wanted to indulge in them so that I wouldn’t be obsessing when JT came home for what could be our last night alone together. The house was quiet when I walked in. I flipped on a few lights to fight the gathering gloom and went into the kitchen, shedding my jacket as I searched through the refrigerator for something edible to make for dinner. I guess I should have gone shopping for the ingredients to JT’s favorite food. The only problem was, his favorite meal changed from day to day, depending on how he was feeling that day. He used to like Mom’s fried chicken, but announced six months ago that it was too salty and too greasy. He used to like tacos, but apparently I didn’t make them as well as Taco Bell. The only thing he seemed to like consistently was hamburgers and fries. But we’d already indulged that craving once this week. I dragged out some salad vegetables and a couple of steaks that had been in the freezer so long they were almost unrecognizable. Who doesn’t like steak, right? I was about to lay a thawed steak on the hot grill when the front door burst open and JT came storming into the room. “Hey, Penny,” he said, a big smile on his face. “Hey.” “Harrison wants to talk to you.” I turned around, almost expecting Harrison to be standing behind him, but there was no one there. I looked expectantly at JT. He had his head in the refrigerator, but he has the sixth sense that most teenagers have.

“He’s outside,” he mumbled as he backed up, a soda in his hands. “Watch the steaks,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel as I headed for the door. What could this be about? A flash of memory rushed through my mind: Harrison pushing me back against my desk in what was once my mother’s office, his hands under my shirt. I blushed, grateful for the rush of cool wind that immediately touched my burning skin. He was standing by his car, his arms crossed over his chest. I could imagine what he must look like in a board room. He would be wearing an expensive suit instead of the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing now. And he would have a group of people around him, willing to do anything he asked of them at a second’s notice. But he would have this same determined look on his face despite the casual way in which he leaned back against the car. When he saw me, he straightened, his eyes moving slowly over the length of me, from the ponytail I’d haphazardly tied my hair into to the pink blouse that was spotted with flour and the black slacks that were also a little worse for wear after hours in the bakery. I could just imagine what he was thinking of me. The outfit was three years out of fashion, the shoes scuffed and in great need of polish. And the dark shadows under my eyes…how unprofessional. “What can I do for you?” I asked, clipping my words to suggest annoyance I didn’t really feel. “I was wondering if we could talk about tomorrow.” “What about it?” “Do we really want to put JT through this?” My eyebrows rose as I crossed my own arms over my chest, trying to imitate his stance. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“I’m aware of that.” He inclined his head just slightly. “But we could end it. If we could come up with some sort of compromise—“ “I’m not interested in a compromise. I don’t want you coming back in a few months, dragging us through this all over again if we can bring everything to a solid bit of closure now.” Harrison nodded, dropping his hands to slide them into his pockets. “And if it goes against you?” Pain sliced through my chest at the thought. I didn’t know what to say to that. “What if we worked out some sort of agreement?” he asked softly. “What if we shared custody? I would be willing to work with whatever schedule you thought was best.” The idea was tempting. I have to admit that. But it would be an agreement that would have to be built on trust as much as legal maneuvering. And I wasn’t sure trusting Harrison was something I could do right now. And I’d made a promise to my mom long before her death that if anything happened to them, I would do all I could to protect JT. Would making a deal with the devil constitute everything? Or was that just giving in before I’d done all I could to protect my brother? Harrison stepped toward, perhaps aware of the war going on inside of me. “I want what’s best for JT, Penelope,” he said quietly. “I don’t think dragging him to court is the best thing.” And that cut through me. I can’t really say why, but his words hurt more than I thought I was capable of hurting at this point. I looked up at him, the hurt only spreading as I took in the compassion radiating from his eyes. “You started this. I have no choice but to finish it.” I turned away and stormed back to the house, brushing away angry tears as I slammed the door behind me.

“You okay?” JT asked as he peeked out from around the corner of the kitchen archway. “Fine.” He stared at me, his jaw working like he wanted to say something. But then he took a swig of his soda and stepped back as I brushed past him into the kitchen. “I met my aunt today,” he said. I glanced at him as I stabbed at the steaks and turned them over. “Aunt?” “Yeah. Harrison has a sister.” Another thing I hadn’t known about him. “What she like?” “She’s really cool. Maybe you’ll meet her tomorrow.” “Maybe.” I grabbed my own soda out of the fridge and leaned back against the counter. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?” JT shrugged. “A little, I guess.” “It shouldn’t take long. But Jack said we probably won’t get a decision right away.” JT didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his crazy long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back against the counter across from me. I watched him sip his soda and found myself wondering why I’d never noticed the resemblance between him and Harrison. He really did look like him now that I knew what to look for. His dark hair, the curls that were so unruly when he let it grow out. The shape of his face, the lankiness of his height. It was all so subjective—each of them wore it a little different. But there was enough similarity that it was a little surreal to me. “I know this has all been pretty crazy,” I said. “But can I ask you what you think about Harrison?

As your biological father, I mean.” JT shrugged. “I love Mom and Dad,” he said, raising those pale blues to me. “But there’s always been this thought at the back of my mind… that someone out there decided, even before I was born, that I wasn’t good enough for them.” “That’s not what it was, JT.” “I know.” He sighed as he ran his finger over the rim of his soda can. “But it was there anyway. And then Mom and Dad died and you came to take care of me, and I knew you weren’t happy about it. You never wanted to give up your life in New York. And that made me feel like I was some sort of burden to you.” I shook my head, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of his words. I wanted to know what he thought. “And then…” He looked up at me, tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you, Penny. But I want to get to know my dad. I want to meet the rest of his family—my family—and I want to know where I fit in. I want to see what my life might have been like if I’d never been adopted.” All I could do was nod. I didn’t want him to know the storm he’d just unleashed inside of me. I didn’t want to hurt him even a fraction of the way he just hurt me. I turned back to the steaks and pulled them off the grill. “Time to eat,” I said in a voice I didn’t even recognize.

Chapter 16 Harrison Julia opened the door, her hair wet from the shower. She smiled when she saw me, her arms flying open to welcome me into her embrace. “It’s always so good to see you, Harrison,” she said against my ear. “I just wish it was under happier circumstances.” “Thank you for doing this.” She stepped back and nodded, dabbing at a couple of tears that threatened to ruin her eye makeup. “Come in. Tell me about him.” I followed her into the hotel room, recklessly thinking that it was sure a step up from the dingy little motel where my friends and I took rooms the summer I met her. There had been stains on the sheets that we joked about before we added to them with late night takeout and…well, other things. She took a seat in a straight back chair that looked uncomfortable and crossed her legs, playing with a pen between her fingers as she watched me. I was too restless to sit, so I leaned against the wall. “He goes by JT. And he’s…” I hesitated, searching for the right metaphors to describe JT. But none came to mind. “I bet he’s like you,” she said. “Libby thinks so.” She smiled. “I didn’t let myself think about him much over the years. But when I did, I always imagined he would be like you. Stubborn. Rebellious. Handsome.” I inclined my head to accept her compliments. “Thank you. And, yes, he is a lot like that.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.” She stood up and headed for the bathroom, presumably to finish getting dressed. I cleared my throat to get her attention. “My lawyer doesn’t think it would be a good idea for you to meet him before the hearing.” Julia paused, her face a mask of emotion. “Why not?” “Because it could upset him. And he’ll already be nervous about his meeting with the judge.” Disappointment danced in her eyes even as she nodded. “That sounds reasonable.” I went to her and rested my hands on her shoulders. “You’ll meet him. I promise you that.” She rested her head against my chest for a long second and then took a deep breath. “Alright. Get out of my way. Let me finish getting dressed so we won’t be late.” ***** The courthouse was as busy as ever. We made our way through the metal detectors and headed upstairs to where our hearing would take place. We stepped off the elevator, Libby on my right, her hand in mine, Julia on my left. I automatically looked for a familiar face: Finn, JT, or Penelope. I spotted Penelope’s lawyer ducking into one of the small consultation rooms. A funny feeling worked its way through my chest as I wondered who he was talking to in there. Were they coaching JT? Were they trying to influence his testimony? I couldn’t make myself believe that. But I still felt uneasy.

And then the elevator door opened again and Finn stepped out. My mother beside him. “Harry,” Libby began as tension soared through me, tightening my grip on her hand. “What is she doing here?” “I called her.” I jerked my hand back, staring at my sister as if I could find something there that would explain why she would stab me in the back in this way. “I made it very clear—“ “Yeah, well, she wanted to help.” I shook my head. “You had no right.” I brushed past her, pushing her out of my way with a brush of my shoulder. It felt like betrayal. It felt like the one person I thought I could trust had just stabbed me in the back. I didn’t want her here. I made that very clear. I didn’t want my mother to testify to what she’d done all those years ago. It didn’t matter who did it or why. All that mattered was that it had happened. I followed the corridor around until it ended in a solid wall. I slammed my palm against it, needing some outlet for the anger and frustration and…everything that was building up inside of me. “I’m sorry, Harrison.” I spun around and found my mother standing several feet away. She looked tired, frail, as she always had. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun at the back of her head, her pale skin unmarked by makeup. She wore thin, gold rimmed eyeglasses that were fairly new, a simple blue dress that was both elegant and practical. Her dress, the way she stood with her hands at her sides, were the definition of who she was. Elegant, practical, pious, obedient, quiet. She was the perfect wife for a religious fanatic.

“What are you doing here?” “Libby said you needed my testimony. She sent the jet back for me.” I shook my head, refusing the instinct to walk to her, to protect her. “I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. I never imagined you would ever learn about that child’s existence, let alone discover that I was the one who hid the truth from you.” I turned away, fighting a battle inside of myself that I didn’t know how to calm. She came up beside me and touched my arm, but I jerked away, stepping sideways so that I was just out of her reach. I saw the flash of pain on her face, but it wasn’t enough to equal the scales, not enough to take the sting out of her admission. “I did it for you, Harrison. I did it to protect you.” “Protect me from what? From knowing my child? From living the life I wanted?” “To protect you from losing everything you’d always dreamed of doing.” She took my arm again, tugging me around so that I was staring down into her face even if I didn’t want to. “You were such a troubled boy. All the things you did when you were in high school. And then college. That trip to New York…do you know how infuriated your father was? He expected you to come home that summer, to spend the summer learning the business at his side. Instead, you run off to a city he considered overrun with temptation. And then to come home with a pregnant girl following you…? He would have disowned you.” “Maybe that would have been for the best.” “And what would you have done?” A sardonic smile twisted her lips. “As capable as you are, you were not in a position to finish school without your father’s financial help.” “But that wasn’t your choice to make.” “I’m your mother,” she said, steel suddenly in her voice. “It was always my choice, just like

fighting for your son now was your choice.” “It’s not the same.” “It is the same. I was protecting you from making a mistake that would color the rest of your life.” She reached up to touch my face, but I reared back. Again that flash of hurt in her eyes. “I know you, Harrison. If you had known about this child all those years ago, you would have insisted on doing the right thing. But then what? Would you have lived in a studio apartment in New York City? Do you really think that would have been the right thing to do with a child?” “You never gave me the chance to make that choice.” “Because it would have been a mistake. You made a mistake, Harrison. But it didn’t have to ruin your entire life.” I stepped back, nearly stumbling over my own feet. I couldn’t believe what I’d heard coming out of my own mother’s mouth. I had thought I knew her, that I knew her beliefs and her thoughts and her morals. But I’d been wrong. “His name is Jonathon Tyler Monroe, Mother. JT. And JT is not a mistake. He was never a mistake.” I stormed away, bursting back into the corridor outside the courtroom just as the current case ended and the corridor was flooded with lawyers and litigants and observers. Some guy with a phone stuck to his ear happened to look up as I brushed past him, his eyes widening as he took in my expression. He grabbed my arm, tugging me back to stand in front of him. “Are Harrison Philips?” I wanted to squash him like he was a bug. That was not the moment for a reporter to approach me. Julia came to the rescue, snatching my arm and saying, very seductively, “Come on, Thomas. They’re waiting for us over here.”

The reporter looked disappointed, then dubious, but he let it go. Finn was standing against the wall by the same consultation room I’d seen Penelope’s attorney disappear into earlier. “They want to talk to us,” he said. “Who?” “Penelope Monroe and her lawyer.” “Who’s Penelope Monroe?” Julia asked. “The child’s sister,” Finn told her. I barely heard any of this exchange. I was staring through the glass panel in the door, watching Penelope whisper with her lawyer. He was sitting much too close to her, his hand on her shoulder, saying something in her ear that made her shake her head sharply in the negative. And then she saw me and her expression softened just slightly even as her eyes filled with tears. What the hell was going on now?

Chapter 17 Penelope He was angry. It didn’t take a mind reader to see the emotion that had taken up residence in Harrison’s broad jaw and wide green eyes. He was angry, and maybe a little hurt. I wanted to know why. I also wanted to know who the blond woman beside him was. Was it bad that I was irrationally jealous of a woman who might be his sister? Harrison burst into the room, the open door allowing all the noise from the corridor to come in, too. A man followed, saying his name and snatching at his suit jacket. The woman followed, too, and I found myself taking in her expensive dress that was a little tight for the occasion and the perfect makeup that was applied with steadier hand than I would ever have. Was this the kind of woman Harrison preferred? “What’s going on?” Harrison demanded. “Where’s JT?” “Not here,” Jack said, jumping to his feet and moving more toward Harrison as though he was trying to block me with his body. “Why not? Doesn’t he have to meet with the judge in a few minutes?” I stood, touching Jack’s arm as I did. He looked down at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s okay,” I said softly. Then I focused on Harrison. “I don’t want to put JT through this.” Harrison’s eyebrows rose. “What happened to all that stuff last night about finishing this?” he asked, his voice raised a little on the last two words as though he was trying to imitate my voice.

I started to respond, but Harrison’s attorney moved up beside him and grabbed his arm. “I think we should talk about this before we discuss anything with them.” “He’s right, Harry,” another voice said. A woman, about the same height as the first, made her way up beside Harrison. She had dark hair, like his, and green eyes, also like his. This had to be the sister. Which made the other woman…she turned toward me and I saw, for the first time, that she had pale blue eyes that were so eerily like JT’s that it was a little surreal. The birth mother. I stepped back just slightly, barely missed smashing the top of Jack’s foot with my heel. I remembered my parents talking about her. I remembered how awed my mother was by her courage to do the right thing for her child, the reverent way in which she talked about her. And here she was, in the flesh. She was not what I’d expected. “Out!” Harrison suddenly bellowed. “Everyone get out of here. Now.” Jack lay his hand on the middle of my back, leaning close to whisper in my ear. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” But Harrison was watching me and I knew that if I was ever going to trust him, now was the time. “It’s okay.” Arguments continued as everyone slowly filed out of the room, but Harrison never acknowledge any of them. And I…well, the only person I had to acknowledge was him. And my eyes never left his. It was oppressively quiet when Jack finally closed the door. “What’s going on?” I didn’t answer right away. I’d been up most of the night, working this out in my head. I’d gone

back and forth. It was what JT wanted. But JT was just a child. The promise I made my parents could be interpreted many ways. But maybe JT’s wellbeing was more important than a promise made halfheartedly years ago. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do until I went to wake JT and found him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in the suit I’d bought him for the funeral—which was several inches too small everywhere—chewing the cuticles from his fingers. I couldn’t put him through this. I sank down into one of the chairs, suddenly more exhausted than I think I’d ever been. “Jack drew up a paper that says we acknowledge that the adoption was never legal. But by signing the paper, you agree to allow me visitation with JT a couple of times a year.” Harrison made a sound that could have been a groan, but was more like a swallowed sigh. “Why?” “Because you were right. We shouldn’t be putting JT through all of this.” “So you’re just going to let me walk away with him?” And then I groaned. Pain tore through me so quickly that I couldn’t hold it all in. Tears fell, staining the papers Jack and I had argued over all morning. I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t brush them away fast enough to get ahead. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded again. I looked up, looked at Harrison through a sheen of tears. “Because I finally did the one thing that we both should have done from the beginning. I asked JT what he wanted.” “And this is it?”

“He wants to know you. He wants to know the life he might have had if his birth mother hadn’t given him up.” Harrison looked away for a brief moment, that tendon jumping in his jaw again. I wanted to go to him, wanted to touch him. I wanted to make the tension go away, wanted to make him forget about all the anger and the hurt and the pain we’d dished out on one another since this began. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t my place. I stood and pushed the papers toward him. “That’s for you and your lawyer. I’ve already signed it.” I started to move past him, eager to go home and hide under my covers for a day or two or ten. I half hoped that Harrison would stop me from leaving the room. But he just watched me, his expression unreadable. I walked out of the room and found Jack waiting at the elevators. The corridor was quiet again, only the two women who were there with Harrison, his lawyer, and another, older woman all sitting together on a low bench. They looked up expectantly when I walked out, but I didn’t know them. I didn’t know what to say to them. I joined Jack at the elevator. I thought my knees might give out on me, but I managed to stay on my feet until we got to the parking lot. “You okay?” Jack asked. I shook my head. But there was really nothing to say, was there? It was over. I turned to get into my car when a man suddenly appeared beside me. “Are you a friend of Harrison Philips?” “Excuse me?” The man held a digital recorder near my mouth. “Could you tell me why Harrison Philips was appearing in family court today?”

“That’s none of your business,” Jack said, trying to move between me and the obnoxious stranger. “Is it true he has an illegitimate child?” “Leave!” Jack demanded, shoving the guy’s shoulder. “I will find out,” the man insisted. “And that will be big news. Your face will be all over the tabloids by morning.” I sighed. That would be just my luck. And then my cellphone rang. “Penny? It’s Nick.” “What’s up?” I asked, hoping that nothing had gone wrong at the bakery. That was all I needed on top of everything else. “It’s JT. We’re at the hospital.” He hesitated a beat. “It’s bad, Penny.” I didn’t even stop to hear the rest. I jumped into the car and sped off, my only thought a prayer. Please, God, please.

Chapter 18 Harrison “What’s going on?” Anger was burning in my chest, but it was anger directed at my mother, not Penelope. I didn’t want her to think I was angry with her. In fact, I just wanted this day to be over. I was still reeling from the revelations my mother had made. Hell, I was still reeling from the fact that Libby had her here without talking to me. Like this day wasn’t stressful enough. Today the judge would speak to my son and decide if he should live with me or his sister, Penelope. And, as desperately as I wanted a relationship with the child that was taken from me without my knowledge, I didn’t want to hurt Penelope. And now she was standing in front of me, her face puffy and blotchy from all the tears she’d been shedding. Why did this have to be so hard on everyone? Why wouldn’t she take me up on my attempts to work this out outside of court? She sank down into one of the chairs stationed around the small conference table where she sat, exhaustion visible in every line of her beautiful face. “Jack drew up a paper that says we acknowledge that the adoption was never legal,” she said in a soft, emotionally drained voice. “By signing the paper, you agree to allow me visitation with JT a couple of times a year.” I tilted my head slightly, trying to wrap my mind around what she’d just said. Did she really just do a three-sixty?

“Why?” “Because you were right. We shouldn’t be putting JT through all of this.” “So you’re just going to let me walk away with him?” She groaned, nearly doubling over with the hurt that flashed through her eyes. It killed me to see it, killed me to know I was the cause of all that pain. It ripped through my own anger, my own fears and hurt. It tore everything away and left me feeling raw inside. She was really sacrificing her own desires to do the right thing. I have never known anyone else who was so willing to do that. No one. “Why are you doing this?” I demanded again, needing to know she was doing this for the right reasons. She looked up, tears making her beautiful eyes look like sparkling jewels. “Because I finally did the one thing that we both should have done from the beginning: I asked JT what he wanted.” “And this is it?” “He wants to know you. He wants to know the life he might have had if his birth mother hadn’t given him up.” And there it was. The life he would have had. But what life would he have had? Was my mother right? Would Julia and I have ended up in some impossibly tiny apartment in New York, both college drop outs, both working dead end, minimum wage jobs? Or would I have been able to convince my father that taking care of my child was the right thing to do?

Deep down, I knew my mother was right. It would have been a disaster if I had known about JT all those years ago. My father would have disowned me, he would have stopped paying for my tuition at Stanford. And I, as much as I hate the characterization, would have been lost without my father’s money. I was a spoiled rich kid who didn’t have work experience, who didn’t know how to start over with nothing. I would have been lost. But did that give my mother the right to forge my signature on the adoption papers and refuse to tell me about my child? Was that really an act of love? Or was it an act of betrayal? Penelope stood, pushing the papers across the table at me. “That’s for you and your lawyer. I’ve already signed it.” She was gone before I could say anything. “We need to go, Harrison,” Finn, my attorney said from somewhere behind me. “The judge won’t appreciate any unnecessary delays.” I didn’t answer, my head still trying to wrap itself around everything that had happened this morning. “Do you know where the kid is?” Finn pushed. “His sister and her lawyer just got on the elevator. Are they going to get him?” I picked up the papers Penelope had left and brushed past Finn. I don’t know where I was planning to go, but I needed to talk to Penelope. I needed to know more. Why was she doing this? Why was she letting JT go? Why hadn’t she been open to negotiation sooner? Why now? Why after everything that had happened between us? The memory of her touch was still so heavy on my mind. I was jogging in the middle of the night a few days ago, unable to sleep because of this custody battle. I came to that small Texas town to get to know my son. I hadn’t intended to get to know his sister, really hadn’t meant to sleep with her. And I

definitely hadn’t meant to have her served with a custody order the morning after. And, that night, I hadn’t meant to see the light on in her bakery, or to slip inside to make sure she was alright. I was the last person she wanted to see, and I knew it even as I laid my eyes on her. But then she came on to me. She kissed me. She asked me – with her touch, her lips, her movements – to make her forget. And I did. For a brief time, I forgot, too. I forgot that things had gone so badly between us. I forgot that we were on opposite sides of this bitter custody battle. I forgot that our love making was a temporary thing that wouldn’t happen again, that wouldn’t see a future. When I remembered, when she pushed me away and screamed for me to leave, it was an experience I’ve never had before. And I didn’t like it. Things were out of control. I had to do something to make everything right. I wasn’t just going to take my son and leave Penelope behind, even if that had always been the plan. Things had changed. I slipped into the elevator as it was about to close, Finn rushing after me as my sister, mother, and former lover all watched dumbfounded in the middle of the courthouse corridor. If I rushed, I might catch Penelope before she left. But when I stepped out into the hot morning sun, it was just in time to watch Penelope’s car speed out of the parking lot. Her lawyer was still standing in the parking lot, his cellphone glued to his ear. I ran over, pushing his shoulder to get his attention. “What’s going on? Where’s she going?” “She’s not running, if that’s what you think.” It hadn’t even crossed my mind. But I figured he didn’t need to know that. “Then where is she going in such a rush?” The lawyer turned, glancing toward the edge of the parking lot where her car had disappeared. I

could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. And then whoever he was talking to must have spoken because he cupped his mouth and said something I couldn’t quite make out. Then he disconnected the phone, sliding it into his pocket. “What the hell is going on?” I demanded. “Where’s JT?” The lawyer turned toward me again. “She gave you the paper, right? You’ve got what you want. Why don’t you just leave her alone?” Because I couldn’t, but that was also none of his business. “Something’s going on and I think I have a right to know.” “You don’t need to know anything that isn’t related to JT.” The lawyer advanced on me, his eyes narrowing even as he took in everything about me in a glance. “Penelope is one of the kindest, most gentle people I’ve ever met. And you’ve destroyed her world, destroyed everything that mattered to her. She came home when her brother needed her, turned her whole life upside down for that boy. And in one stroke, you’ve taken all that away from her.” “He’s my son.” “Yes, but maybe blood isn’t everything.” Would he have been surprised to know that I agreed with him? But this was all so complicated, and accepting the truce Penelope had offered was not the answer. I don’t know why, but it tasted bad in my mouth. I needed to see her. I needed to make sure this was really what she wanted. I started to turn, thinking I could catch Penelope at home. But then that lawyer grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. “You go near Penelope again, I will make sure she takes out a restraining order against you. She doesn’t need any more of your bullshit.” It would have been amusing if he hadn’t touched me.

“I don’t know what your deal is,” I said, stepping into him to show him I wasn’t intimidated, “but you don’t want to get into this with me. I will crush you.” “Just because you’re some rich business man—“ “That has nothing to do with it. I could crush you without my money and my high powered lawyers.” I saw doubt flash in the man’s eyes. Once again, I started to back off, but then he threw a punch at me. I saw it just out of the corner of my eye and ducked. Then, almost completely out of instinct, I buried my fist in his gut. He doubled over and I caught his shoulder to keep him from hitting the asphalt. “Harry!” I glanced over my shoulder. Libby, Finn, and Julia were rushing across the street toward me. I leaned close and said, “If I let you go, will you try to hit me again?” “No,” he gasped. I let go and he immediately sank to the ground, leaning back against the fender of a Toyota. “What the hell?” Finn cried. “Why are you beating up the other side’s council?” “He threw the first punch. I was just defending myself.” Libby looked from me to the lawyer and shook her head. But Julia began to laugh. “Some things never change,” she said. “What’s going on?” Libby asked. “Where’s JT?” And that’s when my cellphone rang.

Chapter 19 Penelope My head was spinning. I was driving as fast as I could without ending up in the hospital myself. Maneuvering around slow moving cars, honking my horn almost continuously to make these idiots get out of the way. Didn’t they know that my world was collapsing around me? Didn’t they know I needed to get to the hospital before...before what? Nick wasn’t particularly specific in his phone call. It’s JT. We’re at the hospital. It’s bad, Penny. It’s bad. Nothing else. No details about what happened, no specifics about his injury. Just that it was bad. I told him to stay home. I told him that I needed to know where he was all day. I told him that if he left, he should send me a text. He didn’t. My hands were shaking as I took a sharp left turn, causing the car to skid a little to the right. I needed to slow down. I needed to catch my breath. But how could I do that when I didn’t know what was happening to JT? I felt like I should call someone. But who? Everyone I cared about was already at the hospital. And then Harrison’s face flashed in front of my eyes. Shit, shit, shit! What would he do when he heard about this? Would he use it against me, bar me from ever seeing JT again? But then I realized that I was being selfish. Harrison was JT’s biological father, and I’d just

signed over all my rights over JT to him. I had to call him. I had to let him know what was going on. I pulled into the hospital parking lot and pulled the car to a stop haphazardly, taking up more than one parking spot. I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone to bring up Harrison’s number from my call log. My heart was pounding as I listened to the hollow rings that I knew were no representation of the ring tone Harrison’s phone played each time someone called. He preferred a popular pop song whose title I couldn’t remember at the moment. Which was just great because I knew it would bother me… “Penelope? Where are you?” For a second I thought he already knew about JT. He sounded almost relieved to see my number on his phone. But then I realized he couldn’t know. I didn’t tell Jack, and Nick never would have called him. The only way he could know would be if Susan had called him, but she wouldn’t do that. Would she? “Penelope?” “There’s been an accident,” I said slowly. “JT’s at the university hospital here in Lubbock.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Was it stupid that I felt as though an immense burden had just been lifted from my shoulders? The ER was exceptionally busy. I walked in and paused in the doorway to search for a familiar face. Then I saw Nick - dear, sweet Nick - leaning against a wall. One of JT’s friends, Sean, was there, too, with his mother. “What happened? Where’s JT?”

Nick stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “He’s in with the doctors.” “What happened?” I demanded again. “It was my fault,” Sean said, his low and broken. “I thought it would be funny. I didn’t see the car until it was too late.” “Car?” Panic was building inside of me, threatening to turn me into a hysterical shrill. A car? JT was hit by a car? “I skipped class because JT wanted to hang out. We were skateboarding down 4th street and this car came out of nowhere…” “Oh, God!” I doubled over. If Nick hadn’t been there to catch me, I might have hit the ground. He pulled me against his chest and walked me a little distance away from the Wallaces. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Nick said. “He hit his head and scraped up an arm. Might have a few broken ribs, too.” “You said—” “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.” Nick lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him and the expression in his eyes wasn’t reassuring. “It’s his leg, Penny. The car hit him just right and…” He stopped, but the horror that came into his eyes made ice spread from the pit of my stomach throughout the rest of my body. “The Monroe family?” I turned and found myself facing an exhausted doctor. He made an impatient gesture, pulling me away from Nick and the others to a quiet section of the hallway outside the exam rooms.

“I’m Dr. Campbell,” he said, not even looking at me. He was studying an iPad in his hands. “We’ve sent the boy up for x-rays. At the moment, I can tell you he likely has a concussion and a broken rib. The right wrist is a little bruised and will require a brace for a few weeks.” “And the leg?” He looked up. “We’ve called in an orthopedic surgeon. He will evaluate it and come speak to you.” He started to walk away. “Dr. Campbell?” He paused, sighing in such a way that left me no doubt that he was extremely busy and I was keeping him from something much more important. “Can I see my brother?” He gestured at the door behind me. “He’s in x-ray. You’ll have to wait until they bring him back down.” I stayed where I was, staring down each and every person who bothered to look at me, afraid this would be the person to ask me to leave. But no one ever said anything. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty, making me wonder if they had taken him somewhere else. But then I spotted him coming down the hallway in a bed, an IV hanging off of one corner. I held the door open to his room and watched as the orderly settled the bed back where it belonged. “Goodbye,” he said touching JT’s shoulder. “Good luck.” JT opened his eyes a slit and lifted a hand, but that was about all he managed. His head was wrapped in bandages, as was one of his arms. The other arm had a splint around the wrist that began in the center of his hand and moved up half of his forearm. He was in a hospital gown, a thin sheet draped

over him. His right leg was exposed, held in place with a crude splint that was wrapped in white gauze. It physically hurt to see my strong, rebellious brother in such a condition. I walked around the bed and pressed a hand to his chest, reassured by the strong beat of his heart underneath. “JT?” He peeked at me through a slit in one eye, then smiled. “Hey.” “How are you feeling?” “Great,” he said, vaguely indicating the IV with one hand. “Pain killers.” I smiled despite myself. “I told you to stay home.” “Got restless,” he mumbled. “Sorry.” And that’s when the tears began to flow. I couldn’t help myself. But I don’t think he noticed. He was snoring. I bent and kissed his forehead, my heart aching for the little boy he once was, the little boy he still was, and for everything that had gone so terribly wrong in his life these last few years. What more was he supposed to put up with before fate or whatever was done with him? I ran my hand over the top of his head, aware of the tiny pieces of asphalt that were stuck in the strands of his dark hair. I wanted to pick them all out, wanted to make this all better for him. I wanted to be the one in the bed, not the one sitting there, wondering what came next. I wanted to go back a few hours and get home sooner so that I could stop him from going out and getting hurt in the first place. I shouldn’t have gone. I should have let Jack take care of the agreement. But I had felt I owed it to

Harrison to tell him I’d changed my mind myself. Or was that really it? Was that the real reason I insisted on going to the courthouse even though Jack assured me it wasn’t necessary? Or was it that I wanted to see Harrison again? Damn this! Damn all this! Why did Harrison have to come into our lives? Why did he have to complicate everything? We were doing just fine before him. Really. Not really. I ran my fingers over JT’s jaw, feeling just the hint of a teenager’s beard. I’d failed him. I’d failed to keep him safe and well provided for. And those were the things Harrison wanted to do for him. I never doubted that he could. I just…I was just thinking of myself. Maybe it really was time to think more of JT. Maybe what I’d done this morning really was the right thing. JT deserved so much more than I could give him. Maybe living with Harrison was the answer. They moved JT up to the surgical floor a few minutes later. I stayed with him as long as they would allow, but then the surgeon came and told me I would have to go to the waiting room. “The procedure will take a few hours,” the doctor explained. He was an older man with kind eyes. He stood close to me, his hand on my elbow as he quickly, but patiently explained the procedure. JT had what they called a compound fracture that protruded from the skin. They would have to expand the open wound and push the bone back into place, then apply metal plates that would hold the bone in place and keep it strong until it healed.

It sounded incredibly complicated to me. I wasn’t even sure I understood it all. “Like I said, it should take a few hours, but I will come find you the moment we’re done.” I nodded. “Thank you, doctor.” Just as the doctor turned to leave, I felt hands on my shoulders. I turned, and Harrison was there. I half expected to see accusation and anger in his eyes, but all I saw was concern. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I told him to stay home. I told him—” “It’s okay. Sean was downstairs. He told us what happened.” Before the word ‘us’ could register in my head, a blonde woman I vaguely remembered from the courthouse appeared beside us. “Hello, Penelope,” she said softly, a big smile on her lips that just seemed so inappropriate to the moment. “I can’t tell you how lovely it is to see you again.” I glanced at Harrison. He stepped back slightly to include this woman in on our intimate circle. “This is Julia. Julia Castiano Rowell.” The birth mother. My heart seemed to stutter in my chest as I caught a look between her and Harrison that just seemed too familiar. I remembered her. Remembered meeting her as a child. I’d thought she was so beautiful then. Now? I just thought she didn’t belong here. My knees seemed to grow weak. Lack of sleep was catching up to me. Harrison wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me to a chair in the small waiting room. He sat beside me, not removing his arm. I leaned forward, trying to take a few deep breathes. An image of Harrison with Julia passed through my mind. She was exactly the kind of woman I’d imagined he would

date: tall, thin, model-like, and blond. Don’t all billionaire playboys date blondes? Why was I thinking about this now? I should be thinking about JT, thinking about his surgery and the chances that he would never be able to walk without a limp, let alone play football again. “Did you get to see JT before they took him to surgery?” I turned my head, resting my cheek against my knee for a second before pushing myself back up into a sitting position. “Yeah.” “How is he?” I shook my head. “They have him on some pretty strong painkillers. He was asleep most of the time.” Harrison nodded. “That’s what they said downstairs.” “Downstairs?” “Harry harassed the entire ER staff until they found someone who could tell him what was going on with JT.” A beautiful, dark-haired woman appeared in front of me, dressed quite stylishly in a tan suit that fit her figure perfectly. She wasn’t straight and boyish like the birth mother, but she wasn’t as curvy as me, either. She had a nice smile and green eyes that were so much like Harrison’s that there was no way I could mistake for anyone but a relative. “Penelope, this is my sister, Libby. Lib, this is Penelope.” Libby. I’d seen that name on his phone. I’d assumed it was a girlfriend. That’s what I got for making assumptions. “It’s nice to meet you, Libby,” I said.

“I just wish it was under better circumstances,” Libby said. She touched my shoulder lightly. “Is there anything I can get for you? Anyone I can call?” I was touched that she would be so considerate, considering I was currently embroiled in a custody battle with her brother. I forced a smile. “I don’t think there’s anything to do now but wait.”

Chapter 20 Harrison The wait has got to be the worst part of a crisis. And everyone seemed to have a different way of handling it. Julia picked at her nails for about forty minutes, then she slipped out, disappearing for the better part of two hours before she came back with lukewarm coffee for everyone. Libby sat quietly in one corner of the room, texting on her phone almost the entire time. Nick came up to check on Penelope four times before I finally suggested he would be helping out much more if he’d just go back to the bakery and make sure everything was running smoothly. Sean and his mother handed me a phone number and left. My mother was nowhere to be seen. Finn smoothed things over with the judge and went home, promising to bill me three times his normal fee for the aggravation of coming here without actually doing anything. As far as he was concerned, the hearing was just delayed until JT was better. I hadn’t told him about Penelope’s legal forfeiture yet. Penelope remained glued to her seat, barely moving and not talking. I could feel the tension rolling off her shoulders. I desperately wanted to do something to relieve it, but I didn’t know what. Watching her struggle to stay calm only reminded me of all she’d already lost with the deaths of her parents, and how much more she stood to lose if I followed through with my fight for JT. Not that there would be much of a fight if I took her up on her offer. But, right now, it didn’t seem right to even consider it.

The doctor finally came out after about five hours. I stood too quickly, my back protesting after sitting in that hard, plastic chair for so long. I turned to Penelope, but she was already out of the chair and ducking around me to speak to the doctor. “He came through the surgery like a champ,” the doctor was saying as I moved up behind Penelope. “The break was a little more complicated than we originally believed. We had to insert four sets of plates in order to stabilize it.” “I assume he’ll need rehab,” I said. “How soon can he start?” The doctor looked at me, his eyes darkening just slightly. I could see the hesitation in the way he looked at Penelope. I was about to give this doctor an education, a sudden wave of exhaustion shortening my fuse. But then Penelope said, so softly I almost couldn’t hear her, “It’s okay. He’s JT’s biological father.” That was the first time I heard those words leave her lips. It was like someone had shoved cotton in my head, I was so lost in the wonder of her words. I almost missed the doctor’s next words. “He’ll need extensive rehab. I would suggest waiting until the bones have begun to calcify, about six to eight weeks. After that, he will require months of therapy. It will be a long, drawn out process.” Penelope’s shoulders sagged. “And football?” she asked. The doctor shook his head. “It’s unlikely he’ll ever play again.” I shook my head. I couldn’t accept that. “He’s young. If works hard at rehab—“ “The break was significant,” the doctor said, looking me in the eye. “The chances are slim that he’ll be able to walk without a limp, let alone play something as rough as football.” “You don’t know JT.”

Penelope glanced back at me. I half expected her to be annoyed by the fact that I was arguing about something she could legitimately say I had no knowledge of. Instead, there was gratitude in her eyes. I’d actually done something right for once. They let us visit JT the moment he was moved to a private room. I stood at the end of the bed and gazed down at the son I didn’t even know I had until a few months ago. He was pale, an IV still attached to his arm, bandages wrapped around his arm and head, a splint on one wrist. And his leg, covered from foot to knee in plaster, was slightly elevated, his toes a slightly purple color. It was difficult to look at him, to know how much pain he would be in when he finally woke. But what was more difficult was watching Penelope hold his hand and stare at his sleeping form. I wanted to take this from her, to lift the burden that was making her shoulders curve inward. But I couldn’t. All I could do was sit beside her and try to share it. Libby came into the room after a while and stood at my shoulder. “Did they say how long he’ll have to be in the hospital?” Penelope glanced back at her. “He’ll have to stay until he finishes the course of antibiotics the doctor ordered. Probably three days.” There didn’t seem to be much more to say after that. A heavy silence settled in the room, unbroken despite the low volume of the television that hung on the front wall. Libby touched the back of my neck. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” Penelope didn’t even look up as I stood and followed my sister out into the hallway.

“I talked to mom. She wants to go home in the morning.” I dragged my fingers through my hair. “I’ll call the pilot.” “I think I might go with her.” I took her arm and pulled her into my arms, resting my chin on her head. “I’m glad you were here.” “Me too.” She slipped something into my pocket before she stepped back. “I got everyone hotel rooms at that place where Julia and mom are staying. There’s keys for you and Penelope.” “Thank you.” She nodded as she reached up and ran her fingers over my jaw. “Don’t stay too much longer. You need to get some rest.” I kissed her forehead and turned her away, pushing her gently down the hall. Leave it to Libby to think of all the small details. I walked back into the room to find Penelope pretty much unchanged from when I left. I stayed with her a few hours more, watching as the nurses came every once in a while to check JT’s vitals. Penelope was clearly exhausted. She rested her head on the edge of JT’s bed, and her eyes began to close. I ran my hand over the center of her back and she immediately sat up again, moving over just slightly so that I’d get the message that she didn’t want to be touched. I dropped my hand to my lap, trying not to let disappointment and frustration turn to anger. “My mom and sister are flying back home in the morning. I need to make the arrangements, get a little rest before I drive them over to the airport.” She didn’t even look at me.

“Libby arranged hotel rooms at Overton.” I took one of the key cards out of my pocket and laid it on the bed beside her hand. “You should get some rest. You won’t do JT any good if you don’t take care of yourself.” Again she didn’t respond. I lifted my hand to touch her, but let it fall to my side instead. I walked out, but stopped by the nurse’s station to make sure they had my number so they could call me if anything happened. I also left arrangements for a taxi should Penelope decide to take my advice. Then I left, feeling completely useless. It was not a feeling I liked. I lay awake for a long time, half hoping Penelope would come knocking on my door. It was a ridiculous thought, really. She didn’t know which room I was in. But I figured there were ways she could find out. It was stupid. I was driving myself crazy over a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. And why would she? I marched into her life and turned everything upset down. I likely wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me, either. In fact, I would probably do everything I could to hurt the person who was ripping my family apart. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I finally fell into a restless sleep a little before dawn. When my phone’s alarm went off, I felt like I’d spent the night drinking instead of tossing and turning. A quick shower took care of a few of the aches and pains, but not all. Then I grabbed my keys and went in search of my mother and sister. “You should eat, Harrison,” my mother said the moment she spotted me crossing the busy restaurant dining room toward her. “You don’t take good enough care of yourself.” I ignored her in favor of straddling a chair beside Libby and stealing a few swallows of her hot

coffee. “How’s JT?” she asked. I shrugged. The nurse I spoke to this morning said he was awake, but groggy. “And Penelope?” I shrugged again. I hadn’t asked the nurse that, but I wasn’t sure she would have told me anything, anyway. “Who’s Penelope?” Mother asked. I glanced at her, but I kept my thoughts to myself. I knew if I said what I was thinking, it would only blow up into this big fight and I really wasn’t up for that today. “We should go. The pilot should be waiting.” The drive was quiet, all of us lost in thought. I felt guilt for not being at the hospital. I don’t know why. I was restless when I was there, but I was restless when I wasn’t. I needed to be able to fix this, but I didn’t know how. “It’s going to work itself out,” Libby said, reaching over to touch my hand. I glanced at her, but I couldn’t agree or disagree. I just didn’t know yet. The plane was sitting on the tarmac, the flight attendant standing in the doorway as we pulled up. Mother stepped out of the car immediately, walking like a member of the royal family to the waiting steps. I watched, not sure if I should be offended by her lack of a goodbye, or not. “She thought she was doing the right thing,” Libby said softly. “I know. That’s what makes it so much harder.” I said my goodbyes to Libby, promising to be home as quickly as possible. I went out as soon as the plane was in the air, heading in the general direction of the hospital. But I remembered that I left my

laptop in the hotel room, and I might as well get some work done while I was sitting at JT’s bedside. I only meant to rush in and out, but Julia knocked on the door, making my heart skip a beat at the thought that Penelope had finally come. “I’m headed out,” she said with a soft smile. “I just wanted to say goodbye.” “Don’t you want to see JT? Talk to him for a few minutes?” The bright smile that had lit her eyes began to fade. “I thought I wanted to,” she said. “On the flight down here, I was actually excited about it. I kept imagining what that moment would be like. But then, when everything happened yesterday, when I saw Penelope in that waiting room…it just felt selfish.” My eyes must have darkened because Julia suddenly grabbed my wrist, pulling herself closer to me. “That’s not what I meant. What you’re doing is honorable, Harrison. You were never given a choice and if you had…well, maybe things would be different. But I knew what I was doing.” She squeezed my wrist lightly before she let go. “I made my choice sixteen years ago.” “That’s what it always comes back to, isn’t it?” I asked. “Who had a choice and who didn’t.” Her eyes fell to the floor for a minute. “I heard part of what your mother said to you yesterday. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…” I stepped back slightly. “It must have sounded pretty bad to you.” She looked up, tears shimmering in her eyes. “You have no idea how many times I wondered what it would have been like if I’d told you myself and you had come back to New York. If you had chosen me and the baby over…whatever. I always imagined this great, adventurous life. But I don’t suppose that’s the way it really would have been.” “I don’t know what it would have been like, but I would have chosen you, Julia. You should know that.”

A tear spilled down her cheek. “I know.” She stepped closer to me as she wiped the tear away and pressed both hands to my chest. “But I also know something else. In your mother’s position, back then, I never would have done what she did. But now? With my children? I’m not so sure.” I stiffened. “You think she did the right thing?” “Maybe not the right thing, but trying to protect your child is never the wrong thing, either.” “Hiding my child from me was cruel and—“ “And her way of protecting you.” Julia slid one hand up my chest and caressed my throat lightly, like she used to do all those years ago when we were lovers. I pressed my forehead to hers, not wanting to understand what she’d said, but remembering JT lying broken in that hospital bed and my need to take the burden of it from him, from Penelope. I hadn’t been a father for long, but I was learning what it meant to truly care for someone. I still didn’t forgive my mother… but I could see Julia’s point of view. “We probably won’t see each other again,” she said, her breath sweet as it washed over me. “But I want you to know that I never forgot you. And I still hold on to some of those what-might-have-beens.” “Me too.” She lifted her chin and our lips touched. It was a soft, sweet kiss that lingered a beat longer than it should have. Then she stepped back, wiping a few more tears from her cheeks, lifted a hand, and walked away. As I stepped out into the hallway to watch her go, I found myself staring into Penelope’s exhausted face. And then she turned away.

Chapter 21 Penelope The nurses told me JT would be in and out of consciousness all day. The pain medication they had him on was pretty powerful, and it would be another day before they began to reduce the dosage. So I should go get some sleep. You won’t be much use to him if you don’t take care of yourself. Harrison’s words played again and again in my head. I couldn’t believe how generous he’d been. A part of me expected him to ask me to leave the moment he arrived at the hospital. I no longer had any claim to JT. I had no right to be there. But he didn’t. Instead, he allowed me to take the lead with the doctors, allowed me to stay by JT’s side as long as I wanted. Not only that, but he stayed at my side and provided a hotel room for me to rest in so I wouldn’t have to drive the forty minutes back home. He didn’t have to do all that. And when I finally decided I should get some rest, I find out that he’s arranged for a taxi for me, too. Does his generosity never cease? If I hadn’t already handed him custody of JT, I would think he had an alternative motive. But I no longer held any cards. I was no longer keeping him from anything he could possibly want. I asked for his room number at the front desk of the hotel because I wanted to thank him. But then I stepped off the elevator and found him standing in the doorway of his room, kissing the birth mother. I was rooted to the ground. I couldn’t move. Jealousy slammed through me so fast that I almost felt as though I’d been the one hit by a car. And when she turned, strolling quite proudly down the hallway toward me, a self-satisfied smile on her lips, I wanted to slap her.

I had no claim to Harrison. Just because we’d slept together twice, didn’t mean I had a right to determine who he could or could not spend the night with. But did he really have to rub it in my nose? And then he leans around the corner of his door to watch her go. I’m sure it was quite a scene from his point of view, the way her skirt clung to her curves. I suddenly felt like a lump had settled deep in my stomach. I turned to go, a little groan of frustration slipping from between my lips as I watched the elevator doors close, Julia tucked safely inside. I jabbed at the buttons, scrubbing at tears that were suddenly running down my cheeks. “Penelope?” I didn’t want to turn. I didn’t want to look at him. But the words just seemed to bubble up, aching to burst from my throat. He touched my shoulder and I jerked back, spinning toward him. “Is that what you do?” I demanded. “Do you just use whoever happens to be available in that moment? Flit from woman to woman like some sort of predatory insect?” Confusion was so handsome on his face and I hated that that thought flew through my mind in that moment because I so wanted to slap him. I wanted to slap the handsome away and make him see what life was like from a homelier point of view. “You think Julia and I…?” “She’s seems more your type: the blond, ditzy type.” His eyes narrowed slightly, annoyed that I’d put down his lover. “Do you have no boundaries? I mean, come on! Your son is in the hospital, for God’s sake! And you rush out of there so you can spend the night with—“ “First of all,” he began, grabbing my wrists and pushing me roughly against the wall, “Julia did

not spend the night in my hotel room. She simply came by to say goodbye before she returned to her husband and two children in New York.” He leaned close to me, his mouth inches from mine. “Second of all, if I’d spent the night with anyone last night, it would have been you. Because you are the only woman I want.” Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine; his jaw, his tongue, encouraging me to open to his exploration. The part of me that was still angry, that was still overwhelmed with that surge of jealousy, wanted to push him away. But there was this other part of me that had grabbed on to his words and was holding them close, playing them over and over again as my heart swelled with the knowledge of it. I would have understood if he’d taken advantage of the melt of my body against his, if he’d taken advantage of my naive willingness to give him whatever he wanted just because he spoke a few, kind words. But Harrison’s hands were gentle as they slid under the back of a blouse I’d been wearing since the day before, as his fingertips played over my ribs, looking for those places he’d first touched in my bed a lifetime ago. He could have hurt me, made me pay for everything I’d put him through these last few weeks. For the cruel words, for the fact that I’d used his body just days ago, for the fact that I allowed his son to run wild and get himself hit by a car. Maybe I wanted the punishment, the pain. Maybe I needed it. But it wasn’t in him to provide it. He lifted me most gently into his arms and carried me back to his room, pausing only long enough to dig the key card out of his pocket and open the door. His bed, I was almost pleased to notice, was carefully made, displaying absolutely no evidence of the accusations I’d made. He lay me in the center of that perfect bed, crawling up beside me, his mouth seeking mine again. I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled him tighter against me, opening to him before he had to ask. I didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what would happen when we left this bed, but I knew I wanted to feel the warmth of his touch and the spice of his kiss. And that was all that mattered to me right now. He undressed me slowly, his lips exploring each inch of flesh that exposed itself as my clothing hit

the floor. I laid still, watching the contrast of his warm skin against my paler flesh, watching the pleasure that floated in his eyes each time he looked up at me. I helped him out of his shirt, unable to bite back the moan that came each and every time I saw the beauty of his pecs, of his broad shoulders, and his awesome abs. And then he was tugging me underneath him, and that touch that was growing so familiar sent waves of pleasure up and down my spine, made my thoughts disappear. I pressed my bare feet to the backs of his legs, pushed my hips up as tight against his as I could. I felt a shiver run the length of his body, and that made the pleasure my body was receiving that much better. How I could I not feel pride in the fact that I could make such a big, strong man shiver like a child? And then he began to kiss my throat, his hips moving in a slow roll, and I forgot everything but what it felt like to have this amazing man inside of me. I woke hours later, content in the warmth of the hotel bed sheets, the smell of Harrison’s cologne all around me. I didn’t open my eyes, didn’t move, content to just lie in the receding peace of sleep. But then I heard his voice, words I didn’t at first understand. But then as sleep drifted further and further away, they began to make sense. “…he plays football. What I really want to know is if there is any way we can make sure he will be ready for spring training come March or April?” Silence for a minute, and then: “And that’s in Portland?” Portland. He was making plans to take JT away. Tears burned my throat, but they didn’t spill. I think maybe my eyes were just too dry. I’d cried so much these last few days, there simply wasn’t anything left. I must have said, or done something else to alert him to the fact that I was awake.

“Let me get back to you,” I heard him say. And then I felt his weight on the bed just before his hand fell on my shoulder. “Hey, babe,” he said softly. “Did I wake you?” “No.” He pressed a kiss to that space between my shoulder and my throat, my body responding instantly with a rash of goose pimples. “I talked to the nurse at the hospital. She said that JT’s been sleeping since you left. And Nick’s there, sitting with him until we can get back.” “Okay.” There must have been something in my voice. He tugged at my arm, pulling me onto my back, his eyes—always so expressive—filled with concern. “What’s going on?” I sat up, tugging the sheet up over my breasts, suddenly wishing I was fully dressed before we began this conversation. But, again, he wasn’t really dressed, either. He’d pulled on his briefs, but was naked otherwise. And that didn’t make anything easier. His chest was quite distracting. “Penelope…” He reached over and touched my jaw lightly, lifting my chin to force my eyes to his. I shook my head free and watched his expression change as his hand fell to the mattress. “You’re taking him to Oregon.” The truth fell like a brick wall between us. His nod only added the finishing touches. “But it’s not what you think.” “It doesn’t matter what I think. I signed that paper, giving you custody. You’re free to do what you

want.” “I didn’t sign it. I still have it, in my suit jacket.” I cocked my head slightly, shocked as much by the honesty in his eyes as his words. “Why not?” “Because I want to do this together. I don’t want to take him from you and just offer you a visit here and there. I want you to be a part of his life.” “But you live in Oregon and I live here.” He waved his hand like that didn’t matter. “We can work it out.” “How?” And that was the real question. I could see the wheels turning in his head, useless as a truck stuck in the mud. He didn’t know any better than I how best to proceed. So we were just back where we’d started. Stuck. “There’s an orthopedic surgeon I know who specializes in athletes,” he said, apparently changing the subject. “I told him what happened to JT and asked what he’d recommend.” “And?” “He knows this physical therapy clinic in Portland where they’ve had some real success with this kind of injury. We’ll have to send him JT’s x-rays and whatever, but he thinks he can get JT into the program as early as next week.” “But the doctor said—“ “This guy says that it would be better to start as soon as possible. There are things they can do while JT’s still recovering that will strengthen his muscles and get him ready for the actual rehab part. My friend says that it makes a huge difference in the range of recovery the patient can expect – that JT could

expect.” I dragged my fingers through my hair, a little disgusted by how greasy and tangled it was. I pulled my fingers away, my thoughts spinning. “He could play football again.” “It depends on how well the bones heal and how hard he works at rehab. A lot of it is up to how much he wants to get better.” “If he could play football…” I remembered my brother on the football field, how brilliant he was at making plays, how happy he always was when the team did well. I knew he would work hard for that. “Take him,” I said. “If it’s the best place for him, then you take him.” Harrison touched my face. “I want you to go with us.” I started to shake my head, but he wouldn’t allow it. He cupped my chin in his hand like a parent scolding a child. “We do what’s best for JT. And, right now, what’s best is for him to be in Oregon. But it’s also having you there with him.” He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “He’s going to be in a lot of pain and he’s going to be scared. He needs you.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “Okay.”

Chapter 22 Harrison I watched JT’s face in the rearview mirror as I pulled the car to a stop alongside the jet. He was staring out the window, his eyes as big as saucers. “This belongs to you?” “To my company,” I said, as though that qualifier meant much of anything to a fifteen-year-old boy. “Wow.” I turned my gaze to Penelope, but she wasn’t as easy to read as JT. And I knew her thoughts were back in that small town of hers, going over checklists, trying to make sure she didn’t leave anything undone, unsaid, or unchecked. It was a bit of an ordeal for her to leave Nick in charge of the bakery. I could see it in the tension that never seemed to leave her shoulders and the crowbar it took to get her out of there this morning when it was time to pick JT up from the hospital. “It’s going to be okay,” I said for what was probably the millionth time. She smiled, but the smile only touched her lips. I climbed out of the car and walked around to the back, tugging the wheelchair JT was required to use for the next few weeks out of the trunk. He was already, in just three days, becoming quite the pro at transferring himself into it. I wanted to help, but I’d already been lectured about that once today. I can do it myself. Where had I heard that before? “I can’t believe we’re flying to Oregon on a private jet,” JT said as Penelope came around and

joined us. “I feel like a rock star!” “More like a sports star,” Penelope said. “Don’t forget, I’ve heard you sing.” “Yeah, you’re right,” JT said as he laughed. I wheeled him over to the plane, but I had to carefully carry him up the steps. Penelope followed, guiding me so that I wouldn’t slam his cast, or his head, into anything solid. JT was quite pleased to be settled in one of the leather captain’s chairs, his leg propped on an ottoman the flight attendant provided from some unknown source. He was also happy to ask for a scotch and soda when the flight attendant asked if she could get anything for him. “Too young,” Penelope quickly reminded him. “Awe, just once?” “Sorry,” I said. “Maybe a soda would be more appropriate.” He groaned, but I don’t think the hurt lasted long with the way he watched the flight attendant walk away. I turned to Penelope and gestured for her to take a seat across the aisle from her brother. She looked from him to me, reluctance in every line on her face. But then she went, settling into a captain’s chair directly across from JT. I took the seat beside her, glancing out the window in time to see the pilot and co-pilot doing the last of their preflight tests while the airport crew stashed our luggage into the compartment in the bottom of the plane. It was all routine to me, things I rarely noticed anymore. But I found myself seeing things through new eyes as I prepared to take my son home for the first time. I hadn’t thought I’d be nervous. Excited, yes, but not nervous. As I packed up my little rental house and put my affairs in order here in Texas, all I could think about was how great it would be to be back in my own surroundings. But now I found myself wondering how my world would look to JT and Penelope. Especially Penelope.

Penelope had her cellphone out, her thumbs moving quickly as she wrote a text. “Everything okay?” She looked up, her big eyes round with something like fear. “I was just reminding Nick about the Jaminsky wedding next Friday.” “I’m sure he’s on top of it.” “I know, I just…” She sighed. “I always did all the scheduling. Nick overbooks things because he sometimes forget to check the calendar.” “He’ll be fine, Penelope.” “Stop worrying about the bakery,” JT said, tossing the wrapper from the straw the flight attendant had brought with his soda. “Nick’s worked there since he was my age. He knows what he’s doing.” “Listen to your brother,” I said, reaching over to touch the back of my hand to hers. “He’s a smart kid.” “Hey, I’m not a kid. I’m an adolescent.” That made Penelope laugh, which made me smile. It felt like we hadn’t been alone together since that day in the hotel room. We were always with JT in his hospital room, or we were taking turns going back to town to pack up and prepare for this trip. I’d kind of hoped that we could sneak out a night or two together, but she didn’t want to leave JT at the hospital alone during the night. The days she spent at the bakery, trying to put the finances and other paperwork into some sort of order. I was kind of hoping we’d find some time together once we arrived in Oregon. The plane took off a few minutes later. JT held on to the armrests of his seat like he was on a roller coaster or something, but he calmed down once we reached cruising altitude. And then he was full

of conversation, going on and on about this and that, keeping us distracted until the plane began its descent into the private airport outside of Medford. “Where is your house, exactly?” JT asked as the plane negotiated a small strip of land that was cleared between massive copses of trees. “About ten minutes from here. I live in Ashland, right over the hill there,” I said, gesturing toward the window beside my seat. “Ashland. Isn’t that part of your company’s name?” “My father named the original company, Ashland Furniture, after the town where he was born and raised. And I decided to keep it when I expanded the company.” “Cool,” JT said. Penelope was staring out the window, her eyes moving from the trees to the mountains back to the trees. I couldn’t decide if she was nervous about the impending landing, or if she was thinking about something else. At least it seemed her head was no longer back in that bakery. JT grabbed the armrests again as the tires bounced off the tarmac and the engines began to scream as the pilots threw them into reverse. The plane came to a stop without much of a bump, the pilot making his customary speech, informing us of the time and how long, exactly, the flight had taken. “Why do we want to know that?” JT asked. “There’s a time difference between here and Texas. It helps you reorient yourself.” He lifted his chin slightly in a sort of nod as he turned and stared out the window. “Sure are a lot of trees around here.” Once again, I carried him off the plane as Penelope followed, advising me when he was about to hit his head or his leg on something. My car, a Mercedes-Benz Maybach S600 Base, was sitting on the tarmac waiting for us.

“Cool!” JT cried when he saw it, almost jumping out of my arms when we got to the bottom of the steps and his wheelchair. The moment he was in the chair, he pushed the wheels over to the car, moving around it somewhat awkwardly as he tried to maneuver his casted leg around to get close enough to touch the cool metal of the car. “Is this your car?” he asked. “It is.” “Wow. Do you think I can drive it next year when I get my license?” “You kind of need to get out of that wheelchair first,” Penelope reminded him. “After that.” I chuckled, remembering how eager I was to learn to drive. “We’ll see.” Once our things were packed in the trunk and JT was safe in the backseat, I walked Penelope over to the passenger door. “You’re really impressing him with all this stuff.” “What about you?” She looked up, her eyes a little clouded. “What do you mean?” “Am I impressing you?” Her eyes moved from my mouth to my chest and then to her hands where they were clutched in front of her. “Does it matter?” “I guess that’s my answer,” I said, reaching around her hip to open the door. She shot me a look, but like before, I wasn’t sure what it meant.

The drive to my house is quite impressive. The highway between Medford and Ashland cut through some pretty impressive mountains. And the dip into Ashland is surrounded by trees, quaint little shops, and a lovely park that covers several miles of lush green fields. Then we rise back up into the mountains, turning onto a private lane that dead ends in a circular drive in front of my private lodge. I designed the house myself. It’s made of glass, steel, and wood. I wanted it to look something like the hunting lodges in all the good old movies of my childhood. The front sported more than a dozen windows interspersed with crisscrossed logs that were cut from a local logging site that planted a sapling for every tree logged. The house itself is set back on flat mountain top, looking out over the city, including the original factory that houses the furniture business and Ashland-Philips’ corporate headquarters. My sister used to tease that I was setting up my throne to watch over my subjects when I was building this house. JT was speechless. “This is your house?” “Yep.” I climbed out of the car and took his wheelchair from the trunk. He was, as before, quite anxious to get out and explore on his own. I watched him go, grateful I had decided not to go with grand steps in front of the house. He could just roll straight from the driveway to the front door with no trouble. I went around the car to help Penelope out, but she was already standing behind her door, leaning on it a little as she looked around. “Are you impressed?” She didn’t answer. I went to the door and threw open the door, barely moving out of the way quick enough to avoid having my toes crushed by JT’s chair. I followed him inside, moving through the wide entryway to the

sitting room that opened up into the kitchen, the living room, and the lovely brick and wood deck out back. I loved the open design, loved that I could have people over and talk to them while I cooked. Cooking was one of the few pleasures I often indulged when I wasn’t working. And it was something I liked to share with my close-knit group of friends and family. JT wheeled around, making the circuit of the three rooms several times before he paused beside a high, thin table that sat along the back of the couch in the sitting room. He picked up a picture that rested there, his fingers careful not to smear the silver of the frame. “Who is this?” I moved up behind him and smiled when I saw that it was one of the many pictures of my niece and nephew Libby always made sure I had. “Libby’s kids – your cousins. You’ll probably meet them tomorrow night when we go to my mother’s for dinner.” “They’re cute.” He set the picture back down and looked at a few more before moving on, coming to a rest at one of the high French doors that opened onto the deck. He didn’t seem terribly interested in the pink and blue lights of the setting sun and moved on. But Penelope was drawn to it, standing with her hand resting lightly on the doorknob, staring out over the garden that made up my back yard. I moved up behind her, close enough to smell the light scent of her perfume, but not close enough to touch. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” For just a brief second, the tension left her shoulders and she moved back slightly, enough so that her back brushed my chest. I could have wrapped my arms around her waist, could have tugged her closer to me and buried my face in the side of her neck. I really wanted to. But then JT called to me from somewhere near the kitchen.

“Hey! What’s for dinner?”



Chapter 23 Penelope I used to be an artist. I studied art in college and worked at a Fifth Avenue advertising firm for a while before my parents…before everything changed. I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush or a piece of charcoal since then. Every once in a while I would do a quick sketch, but it was usually as part of designing a cake for a customer at the bakery. But that wasn’t really what I’d been trained to do. Being here, being in Ashland, Oregon, made me wish I had my brushes at my fingertips. Nothing had inspired me as much as seeing the landscape here. The trees were so tall, so green, and so beautiful. The mountains were…there were no words for them. It was a beautiful place, so different from the flat landscape of home. I mean, Texas has its own beauty. But there are only so many rocks and sagebrush and dusty canyons a girl can paint. Here…this place was a different story. There was so much I could put on a canvas just sitting in this bedroom Harrison had so politely escorted me to last night, just sitting in this chair, staring out the window at the lush garden behind the house. I wish I had a sketchbook and couple of pieces of charcoal. I sighed, reluctantly forcing myself to my feet. JT was up. I’d heard him call up the stairs when he woke, looking for anyone willing to help him fix something for breakfast. I could just imagine the mess he and Harrison were getting into at that moment. I guess it was time to go down and rescue them. But when I came down the stairs and stepped into the kitchen, they were humming right along, the wonderful scents of eggs and bacon and pancakes filling the house. “Morning,” Harrison said, winking playfully at me. “Harrison taught me how to make eggs,” JT said from the high stool where he was sitting.

“Great. Now you have no excuse for not eating something halfway healthy when you come in from school.” JT laughed, but the pleasure had gone out of the morning for me. I kept forgetting that JT wasn’t coming home with me. His afternoon snacking habits were no longer my problem. “Have a seat,” Harrison said, “and I’ll bring you a plate.” I did, tucking my leg under me as I settled at the kitchen nook, my eyes moving to the scenery outside. These windows overlooked the front of the house, the driveway and front hedges. Not as enticing as the back yard, but beautiful none the less. “I’m going to have to wander over to the office for a couple of hours,” Harrison said as he set a plate overflowing with pancakes and bacon in front of me. “But I’ll be back before seven and we’ll head over to my mother’s for dinner.” I nodded, only hearing half of what he’d said. “We get to meet my grandmother tonight, Penny. That should be fun.” I looked over at JT and forced a smile. He seemed to really be enjoying himself these last few days. And he deserved it after everything that’d been going on. So I forced a smile and tried to look pleasant as I dug into a plate of food I really didn’t have the appetite for. After Harrison left, JT settled himself in the game room—an entire room there on the first floor that was filled with game consoles, game accessories, flat screen televisions, and everything else a teenager would need to enjoy a few games—and I could hear the familiar sounds of machine guns firing and animated characters dying. I wandered the house almost like JT had done the night before, running my fingers over pictures of Harrison with his family members, paintings on the wall by modern artists I recognized, over exotic art work scattered here and there among the more mundane items like magazines and discarded newspapers. I was once told you could tell a lot about a person by the things in his house. I found myself wondering if

this house spoke more to Harrison, or his designer, or, perhaps, the women in his life. The more I looked around his house, the more I realized I really knew nothing about Harrison. I mean, the real Harrison. I knew he knew enough about literature to teach high school English, which also meant he had at least a bachelor’s degree in something along those lines. I knew he was intelligent, that he was smart enough to create a multi-billion dollar company out of his father’s small, failing furniture business – the latter of which I learned when I did some research on the Internet. And I knew that family was deeply important to him, important enough that he came all the way to Texas to find JT. But that was pretty much the sum of all I knew about him. I didn’t know who he spent his time with here in Oregon. I didn’t know what he did in his spare time, except for the obvious fact that he had an entire room filled with video games. I didn’t know what he liked to read, what he liked to talk about, who he gathered around him when he needed support. It bothered me that I didn’t know these things. I tried to remind myself that it really wasn’t my business. I was here as a courtesy. Once JT was healed and comfortable hanging out with Harrison, my presence would no longer be necessary. Harrison made that kind of clear last night when he escorted me to a guest bedroom instead of his own. Whatever it was going on between us, it wasn’t permanent and it clearly didn’t mean enough to him to continue it here. Not that I wanted it to continue. Or maybe I did. All I knew was that I wanted to know more about him. And I wanted him to welcome me into his bed here in his home. I hated that I wanted this, that I wanted him, but I did. I dressed carefully after a long shower that did nothing to soothe away the tension that had taken up residence in my shoulders. I wanted to make a good impression on Harrison’s family. So I began at the basics, using an expensive, perfumed lotion Susan gave me for Christmas some time back. Then I dug out

the makeup kit that I put aside when I came home from New York and rarely touched again. Who needs to wear makeup while slaving over cakes and donuts and cupcakes? Then I piled my hair on top of my head in a simple French knot with small curls framing my face. Another trick I learned in New York for all the dinner parties and charity balls my job had required me to attend. I convinced myself that I no longer missed New York. But standing in the bathroom staring at this other person in the mirror reminded me of how much I’d hated the prep but loved the results. In the bedroom, I slid the dress I’d chosen from its hanger, my fingers sliding through the silky material with anticipation. I remembered buying this dress, how it’d hurt to part with the money, but how perfect it felt the first time I put it on. That was four years ago. The dress was sadly out of fashion now. But it still looked perfect hanging from my curves. It was red with a sweetheart bodice, a high waist, and a flirty skirt that ended at my knees in the front and a few inches above my ankles in the back. I slid on a pair of black pumps and smiled at the finished product. I still cleaned up pretty well. I grabbed the black shawl I’d also thought to bring and stepped out into the hallway. I hadn’t realized that Harrison was home. When I came upstairs, he was still at the office. But there he was, stepping out of the double doors at the end of the hallway dressed in a suit that hung just perfectly from those broad shoulders and slender hips. My knees went weak for just an instant as I watched him, unaware of me for the moment, moving with more grace than a man should be allowed. And then he looked up and our eyes met. Those words he spoke to me that day in the hotel brushed through my mind… You’re the only woman I want. …and my belly began to tighten and quiver all at the same time. “Hey,” he said, coming toward me as his eyes moved slowly over the length of me. “You look… amazing.”

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.” I meant it as a little tease, but it came out so breathlessly that I think he could tell exactly where my thoughts were going because he slid his hand over my upper arm and drew me close to him, his other hand snaking around my waist. His lips were on mine in an instant. I moved close to him, sliding my fingers into the hair that barely brushed the collar of his shirt. His mouth was cold and minty, the product of a recent tooth brushing. But it warmed up quickly, the mint an added tingle on the tip of my tongue as I explored just as intently as he did. But then he was pulling away, clearing his throat as he did. “We should probably go see if JT needs any help.” “Oh. Of course,” I mumbled, caught a little off guard by his abrupt movement. He pressed his hand to the small of my back and pushed me gently toward the stairs. I moved away from his touch as soon as we headed down, my head spinning with thoughts I didn’t want to entertain floating through my mind. Like, why did he kiss me like that if he didn’t want to be with me? And, why did he keep pulling me close only to push me away? JT was already in the living room when we entered, dressed in a suit I didn’t recognize. By some miracle, he’d managed to get the pants on without have to cut a slit in them, which was pretty impressive since he’d need a whole new wardrobe of jeans when the cast came off. His tie was a little askew, but somehow it worked on JT. “It’s about time,” he announced as we walked into the sitting room. “I’ve been ready for like hours.” “I doubt it’s been hours since you were still playing video games when I went up,” I said, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. “You look handsome, though.” “Thanks,” he said, pushing the hair back down on his forehead.

Harrison chuckled. We left a moment later, Harrison helping JT into the car and stowing his chair in the trunk. It was a fairly short drive. His mother’s house was just a few miles from his, situation lower on the same hill. “I grew up here,” he said over his shoulder to JT. “My father bought this house when my brother was ten and I was five, so it’s really the only home I remember.” “Cool,” JT said, his go to word for just about every situation. “It was originally just a three bedroom colonial, but he added on to it over the years. And my mother had it renovated a few years ago.” “Cool,” JT repeated. “You’ve lived here all your life?” I asked. “Except for the few years I spent at Stanford, yeah.” “You never struck me as the small-town kind of guy.” “Ashland might seem like a small town, but there’s a lot of culture here.” “I’m sure there is. But you seem more like a worldly kind of guy, the guy who likes to travel and see as much of the world as possible.” “That I’ve also done. The company requires me to travel quite often.” “And you’ve never wanted to live anywhere else?” He’d pulled to a stop in front of his mother’s house. He stared forward for a moment, his hands wringing the steering wheel like he wanted to rip it off the car, or something. Then he looked at me and began to speak, but JT interrupted. “Can we go inside? I’m starving.”

Harrison studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m hungry too.” I waited as Harrison put JT back in his chair, then the three of us walked to the front door together. It was opened by a tall, distinguished man Harrison called Edward. It took me a minute, but I figured out he was the butler when he took our jackets and directed us quite stiffly to the sitting room. “Harrison!” Libby rushed up to her brother, high color on her cheeks. But before she could speak, another man, this one tall and dark with green eyes that were so much like Harrison’s that he could only be his brother. He was just an inch or so shorter, but his shoulders were just as wide. His jaw was thinner, accenting his high cheekbones. And he had a little bit of a sparkle in his eye when he came over to introduce himself. “You,” he said, taking my hand before I could react, “are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.” I blushed even as I watched him bend low over my hand and brush dry lips against my knuckles. Wow, what a charmer! “Randy,” Harrison said, his voice so cold that I could almost imagine seeing frost slip from between his lips. The charmer turned to Harrison, a bit of bashfulness overcoming his handsome features. “Hello, Harrison,” he said. “What are you doing here?” “Come to visit mother. Imagine my surprise when she told me you had a son.” Harrison’s eyes narrowed, and there was so much tension in his expression that his face might shatter if he moved. It made me wonder what had happened between these two that had caused such bad

blood. “And this must be the son in question,” Randy said, turning to JT. “Hey, I’m your uncle.” “Hi!” JT took his hand, the smile on his face so wide I knew exactly what he was thinking. Our parents were only children, so we didn’t have aunts and uncles. JT was suddenly being given family like he’d never had before, and he was loving every moment of it. Randy leaned close to JT and said, “So, when you get out of that chair, we’ll have to go do some uncle and nephew things, like hitting a few bars, picking up a few chicks.” “Awesome,” JT said. “Can’t wait.” Randy laughed as he straightened, but the laughter died as he glanced at Harrison. “Don’t look so stressed, bro. I was just joking. I would never take a minor to a bar.” But then he dropped a wink in JT’s direction. This family was definitely more complex than I ever imagined. I was suddenly looking forward to this little get-together if only to see how the tension between Harrison and Randy worked itself out.

Chapter 24 Harrison I hadn’t wanted to come to this dinner in the first place. The only reason I agreed was because Libby insisted. Libby said that it was the best way to ease JT into the family, to let him get to know everyone. But I was still trying to find a way to forgive my mother for what she’d done all those years ago. And now Randy showed up. No one had seen Randy or heard from him in five years. And he chose now to show up. The only thing I could figure was that he needed money. But, again, he always needed money. I sat across from Penelope and Randy, watching him fall all over himself to impress her. And she seemed to be eating it all up. I wanted to pull her aside and warn her about him, tell her what a fuck-up he really was. Couldn’t she see how his hands were shaking or the holes in the soles of his shoes? I don’t know where he got that suit—probably from my mother—but it clearly wasn’t his. It didn’t fit right. The sleeves were too short and the pants too long. “Harry,” Libby said. I glanced at her and realized it probably wasn’t the first time she’d said my name. “Stop staring at your girlfriend and talk to mom.” “She’s not my girlfriend.” Libby snorted. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you look at a woman that way. If she’s not your girlfriend now, she will be soon.”

My eyes jumped back to Penelope, the memory of her kiss burning through my body. I’d so wanted to take her back into the bedroom the moment I laid eyes on her in that dress. It took more willpower than I ever knew I had to just kiss her and stop at that. But now I kind of wished I had taken her to the bedroom. Then we wouldn’t be here and Randy wouldn’t be falling all over her. “Talk to mom,” Libby repeated. I shook my head. “I’m not ready.” “Yeah, well, if you wait too long you’ll never do it. But your son is falling in love with her, so if you want them to have a relationship that includes you, you need to do it.” I looked over at JT where he was sitting beside my mother. His face was more animated than I think I’d ever seen it. Mother was saying something to him I couldn’t hear across the wide table, but it was obvious he was eating it all up. Libby was right. As usual. “I’ll talk to her,” I said. “But you need to keep Randy occupied.” Libby’s normally easy going expression tightened. She looked over at Randy, something like anger snapping in her eyes. “What’s he doing here, anyway?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. He was here when I arrived. Mother said something about him just passing through town.” “Yeah, passing through town to beg for money.” “Probably. Last I heard, he was in Seattle living in an abandoned apartment building with a bunch of other addicts.” That didn’t surprise me. Randy had spent the last twenty years in and out of drug rehab. Father

fought with him for years, trying to clean him up. But his tactics only sent Randy deeper into the drugs. When Father died, Randy managed to clean himself up long enough to see what he got out of the will. But then he took what little Father left him and burned through it in less than a few months. After that, he disappeared off and on, only showing up when he had nowhere else to go. I tried, the first few times, to get him cleaned up. I put him in program after program, but he always fell off the wagon. When I gave up, Libby tried until she came home one day, nine months pregnant with her first child, and found Randy ransacking her house. Once an addict, always an addict. He looked okay now. He wasn’t as thin as he was the last time I saw him. He looked rested. Clean. But that could just be our mother’s generosity. It didn’t necessarily mean anything had changed. And I learned long ago not to trust Randy. But Penelope didn’t know that. As if on some sort of cue, she laughed. The sound was like music. But at this moment, because I knew she was laughing at something Randy had said, it grated on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Suddenly my appetite disappeared. I grabbed my glass of wine and walked out of the room, stepping out onto the lamay that overlooked the back garden. I was only there a moment when my mother spoke behind me. “He’s got quite the personality. Reminds me a little of you at that age.” I took a deep swallow of my wine, willing it to take the edge off of this night. “I’m glad you were able to find him.” “No thanks to you.”

She moved up beside me and lay a hand on my arm. “I know it’s difficult for you to understand why I did what I did.” “You hid the fact that I had a child for sixteen years. You took my choices away from me.” “I protected you from making a choice that would have sent you on a path that would not have made you happy.” “And you think the path I ended up on was the one I wanted?” “No. But I think it’s made you the man you are. The man who was able to locate his child and bring him home after all these years.” “You don’t get it.” I pulled away from her, turning to confront her. “It was my life. My choice.” “Then tell me this: if some girl came to you and told you that JT had gotten her pregnant, would you tell him? Would you allow it to alter the course of his life?” “That’s different. JT’s fifteen.” “It’s not different. He’s your son, just as you are mine.” “But I was twenty years old.” “You were still my child. And I’d do the same thing today.” I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to shake some sense into her. She was never going to see things from my point of view. And I was never going to see it from hers. I simply couldn’t understand how she could keep something as important as a child from me. “I just wanted to protect you, Harrison. If your father had learned the truth, he would have cut you out of the family in a heartbeat and I never would have seen you again. I’d rather have you angry with me than to see that happen.” “You were wrong.”

“Maybe. But it’s all worked out for the best. You have your son now, and you’ve met that charming young woman.” She smiled softly as she moved closer to me. She touched my cheek like she used to do when I was younger, stroking it lightly with the back of her fingers. “I want you to find happiness, Harrison. And I think maybe you’re on the right track now.” I looked at her and felt like I was suddenly a teenager again, needing my mother’s love and acceptance. I don’t think men ever outgrow their desire to please their mothers. And, as angry as I was with her, I still wanted to know that she was pleased with the way I was living my life, that she approved of the person I was becoming. “I guess we can agree to disagree,” I said softly. She smiled. “I do love you, Harrison. You gave up so much for this family, for me and Libby. It’s your turn now.” I kissed her forehead lightly. “Thank you.” Penelope and Libby were deep in conversation when my mother and I walked back into the house. Randy was nowhere to be seen, but JT was wheeling his chair slowly around the room, checking everything out as he had done when he first entered my house. I could see him scrutinizing a group of family photos that were displayed on a low table, pictures that ranged in time from my kindergarten class photo to the results of a photo shoot last year for corporate photos. I moved up behind him, amused to see he was cradling a photo of my father in his hands. “That was taken about two years before he died.” “This is my grandfather?”

“Yes.” “You look like him.” “So do you.” JT’s eyes lit up. “I always wondered where I got some of my features. My adoptive parents…” He glanced over at Penelope as though afraid she’d hear what he was saying. “I didn’t look like them.” I found myself studying Penelope for a moment, too, my eyes moving slowly over her mahogany hair and pale skin. No, I didn’t imagine JT’s dark looks would have fit in well with a family of redheads. “I don’t know much about your adoptive parents,” I said in a low tone that wouldn’t carry, “but I can guess by how amazing you and Penelope are, they must have been very good people.” JT nodded. “They were.” “You know, it’s okay for you to talk about them around me. It doesn’t bother me.” JT’s eyes fell to the picture he was still holding. “I just…they were always my parents. But now there’s you and I don’t even know how to think of you.” “I’m just Harrison. I’m just a guy who wants to be a part of your life.” I knelt beside the chair so we were on eye level. “The people who raised you are your parents. Nothing will change that.” “I always felt guilty, wondering where I came from. It felt disloyal.” “It’s not disloyal. It’s natural.” I touched the edge of the picture frame. “I looked like him. I talked like him. We even had some of the same interests. But we fought almost constantly because we both wanted something different out of life. So I often found myself wondering how I could possibly be related to such a narrow minded, angry man.” JT chuckled softly. “I think everyone feels like an alien in their own family sometimes. It’s normal.”

JT lifted the picture and set back on the table. “Can ask you something?” “Anything.” “Can we stop for ice cream on the way back to your house?” I laughed as I stood. “Of course.” Randy reappeared just as we were getting ready to go. “Nice to meet you, kid,” he said, offering JT a fist bump. “I’ll be looking forward to that night out.” JT laughed. “Me too.” “And you, beautiful lady.” He bowed low in front of Penelope, making her blush. “It was an honor to meet you. Hopefully we can get together again very soon.” “You never know,” she said with a smile that cut through my chest like a sharp knife. The ride home was quiet. JT was exhausted, the pain medication he was still taking sapping his energy. Penelope stared out the window, watching the scenery as it flashed by. “Is there an art store in town?” she asked suddenly. “I’m sure there is. There are a lot of artists around here.” “Maybe I’ll look for one tomorrow after Libby and I go to lunch.” “You’re going out with Libby?” “Yeah. She offered to take the afternoon off tomorrow to show me around town.” “Nice of her to ask the boss.”

“I thought she was the boss.” I opened my mouth to argue, but then I caught sight of her teasing grin. She really was in a good mood tonight. I suppose flirting with a good looking guy all night could do that for a woman. “The rehab center called and said we could fly up and do the paperwork whenever we want. Maybe I’ll take JT up there for the day.” “Then I guess we all have plans.” “I guess so.” I pulled into the parking lot of a small convenience store and glanced back into the backseat. JT was sound asleep, his head resting against the window. “He wanted ice cream.” Penelope looked back at him, a touch of sadness coming into her eyes. “He seems so innocent when he sleeps.” “He is innocent. He just doesn’t want anyone to know that.” She reached back and touched JT’s arm lightly. He didn’t even move. “Do you want to come in with me? Help me pick something out for him?” She nodded, turning to climb out of the car before I even had a chance to get my seat belt off. We walked into the store side by side, both of us overdressed for the store’s normal clientele. There was a guy in torn jeans buying cigarettes at the front counter who whistled under his breath as she walked by. Penelope blushed, ducking into one of the aisles to avoid having to make eye contact with him. “You should be used to that sort of thing,” I said, moving up close enough behind her to kiss the back of her neck. “I bet it happens a lot.” “Not recently.”

“Then you’ve been going to all the wrong places.” She turned suddenly, her nose just a breath from my chest. But I didn’t move back. I liked being this close to her, liked to be enveloped in her smell. She pressed a hand to my chest, a little unsteady on her feet. But when she looked up at me, she didn’t seem unhappy about our proximity. “How do you know he wasn’t whistling at you?” That caught me off guard. I almost stammered when I asked, “Would you be jealous?” “Are you jealous?” “Should I be?” She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. It depends on whether you think you have any claim over me.” “I’m not the jealous type.” And that was clearly not the right thing to say. She ducked around me and walked off, headed toward the back of the store. I rushed after her, sliding a hand around her waist when I caught up. “Where are you going?” “JT likes rocky road,” she said, her voice low and controlled. I didn’t know what she was talking about at first. But then she opened the freezer door and pulled out a quart of ice cream and shoved it into my hand. “I’m going to wait outside.” I didn’t see Penelope after we got back to the house. She went inside without waiting to help with

JT. And she wasn’t up when we were ready to leave the next morning. I went over the conversation we had in the convenience store again and again, trying to figure out what it was I should have said. I thought we were teasing each other. I thought it was funny, what I’d said. But apparently she took it a little more seriously. After everything that had happened these last few weeks, after everything we’d gone through, I thought it was refreshing that we could finally joke with each other. But maybe it was too much, too soon. “How did you meet her?” I looked up, so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize JT had been talking to me until just that second. “Meet who?” “My biological mother.” “Julia.” I dragged my fingers through my hair, glancing out the window of the jet to watch the clouds rush by. “We met in New York.” “When? Why were you there?” I looked over at JT, at Julia’s eyes staring at me from a face that was so much like my own. I’d only recently begun to wonder what it would be like to have a child of my own, of what that child might look like. The company was running smoothly these days, requiring less and less of the attention it once needed, so I had more and more time on my hands. And it just seemed time for me to settle down, think about a family of my own. I was tired of watching my friends and colleagues—my sister—settled down to their own families while I remained the bachelor, the odd one out at dinner parties and get-togethers. I had just begun to think that I might like to get married and have a few children when I ran into Julia and learned about JT. To look at him was still so surreal. “I was in college,” I said slowly, the memory so distant it almost felt like another person’s life all of a sudden. “It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college. A group of friends

thought it would be fun to spend our free time in New York, and I was up for anything that meant I wouldn’t have to come home and work in my father’s furniture factory. “New York was an adventure. We spent the first couple of weeks just walking the streets like a bunch of idiots. And then we wandered into this deli one night while we were senselessly drunk. She was our waitress.” “And it was love at first sight, right?” I smiled. “It was definitely lust at first sight. I think love came a few weeks later when she came to stay with us at the little fleabag hotel where we were holed up.” JT smiled even as this faraway look came into his eyes. “Then you loved her?” “Very much.” I leaned forward a little, resting my elbows on my knees. “Julia was smart and beautiful and everything a stupid nineteen year old kid could want in a mate. We were together constantly —annoying the shit out of my friends. I didn’t want to go home. I tried to convince her to come to California with us, but she was set to start at NYU that fall and her parents weren’t about to let her lose that opportunity.” “So you just left her.” “I left her. But she promised to call daily.” “Did she?” I shook my head. “At the time, I didn’t get any messages from her. But she told me a few months ago she called me over and over again, but whoever was taking the calls never got the messages to me.” I sat up again, leaning back into my chair to stretch my back. “I don’t know. It was a long time ago. I think I might have given her the number to my parents’ house because I was supposed to spend a couple of weeks there before I went back to school. But then I got into this internship that started early, so I ended up going straight back to Stanford.”

“It didn’t bother you that you never heard from her?” “It broke my heart. I thought I was in love with her. But I figured if she couldn’t be bothered to call me, then I should move on with my life, too.” JT turned to the window and stared out for a while. I did the same, trying to remember that summer, to remember the details that seemed to have escaped me for the time being. But all I could really remember was a blur of kisses and touches, of long nights tangled on that noisy old bed in our room, of the taste of beer and whiskey. All I could remember was the fun we had. I didn’t really remember the lack of money that forced us to call our parents more than once, or the lecture my father gave me when I stepped off the plane and he smelled alcohol on my breath. “We were kids,” I said after a while. “We were having fun, not really thinking about the consequences. It never crossed my mind that I might have left Julia in trouble.” “But you did.” “I did. And I would have done the right thing if I’d known.” JT lifted his casted leg and adjusted it on the pillow the flight attendant had once again provided him with. Then he sat back, his eyes moving everywhere but to my face. “Would you have married her if you had known?” “I’d like to think I would have. But you can’t really know what you might do until you’re actually in that situation.” “Then you might not have.” “I don’t know JT. I just…I really don’t know.” I looked at him then, for just a second before he turned back to the window, blinking quickly as though trying to keep tears from falling.

“JT, I can’t rewrite history. I can’t go back and undo what’s been done. But I can tell you that the moment I found out about you, I did everything I could to track you down and get to know you. I want you in my life.” “But she doesn’t.” “Who?” JT shook his head, but I could see tears streaming down his cheeks in the reflection in the window. I moved to the seat next to him and touched his shoulder. “Who are you talking about?” “My mother. She just gave me away like I was an inconvenience.” “No, she didn’t.” I ran my hand over his shoulder to catch a tear with my finger as it rolled off of his chin. “Giving you up was probably one of the hardest things Julia had ever done. But she had no one to help her. Her parents threatened to cut her off if she kept you. and she had no job, no place to live, no education. What kind of life could she have given you?” “We would have been okay. Penelope and I were.” “But Penelope and Julia are two very different people. And Penelope had the help of the people in that little town where you live. Julia wouldn’t have had that.” I tugged at his chin, forced him to look at me. “Julia did the right thing, JT. As hard as it is for the two of us to accept, neither of us were in her position. Neither of us had to make that choice. But Julia did what was ultimately the best thing for you. And if she hadn’t, you never would have known your adoptive parents. You never would have had someone like Penelope in your life.” JT looked away for a minute. Then he nodded.

“I know this is hard, JT, but we’re all doing the best we can.” He nodded. “Are you going to make Penelope leave when my leg is better?” “I don’t think anyone can make Penelope do anything she doesn’t want to do.” JT laughed, a soft sound that had as much sadness in it as humor. “You have that right.” Unfortunately, I knew I was right. And I was afraid that whatever happened next, one of us would be disappointed with Penelope’s choice.

Chapter 25 Penelope “You’re an artist.” I looked up, amused by the surprise in her voice. I’d been sketching in a sketchbook I’d just bought at an art supply store while I waited for Libby to join me at the restaurant where we’d decided to have lunch. She looked a little disheveled as she skirted around my chair and plopped into the one across from me. “Bad morning?” She sighed as lifted the water glass sitting beside her plate and took a deep gulp. “Harrison is a wonderful man, a great uncle, and an unbeatable CEO. I can’t even pretend to fill his shoes at the office. I barely got out of there between the constant phone calls and lists of must-dos that end up on my desk every morning.” I carefully closed my sketchbook and took a second to slide it into my bag, not really sure I wanted to discuss Harrison with his sister. I wasn’t sure I was ready to discuss Harrison with anyone at the moment. I was still reeling from his pretty obvious attempt to tell me he had no feelings for me last night in that stupid convenience store. I mean, come on! I’d practically asked him if he wanted me, and he made a joke out of it. It was pretty obvious that his feelings didn’t go much deeper than our shared enjoyment in the bedroom. The waiter came over and Libby ordered a bottle of red wine that was worth more than the bakery made in a week. When she caught the look on my face, she asked, “You do like red, don’t you?” “Of course.”

She smiled. “I’m kind of partial to it. Harrison keeps trying to convince me that you should only drink red with specific meals, but I drink it with anything. I don’t really care about all that stuff.” “I like red, too. That’s all I ever order.” “Good. I knew you and I would have something more than Harrison in common.” I sort of nodded, my eyes falling to my hands where they were clutched in my lap. I felt out of place. Not only in the restaurant, but with Libby. I felt like she thought she knew something about Harrison and me…or maybe she was just so fond of her brother that she assumed everyone loved him too. I don’t know, but I hoped she would want to talk about something other than Harrison. “So, I feel like I know so little about you. Harrison said that you run your parents’ bakery back in Texas?” “It was the family business before they died. And after, it just seemed logical to keep it going to pay off their debts and to make a living for JT and me.” “Do you like working in the bakery?” No one had ever asked me that. The truth was, I hated it. I hated having flour in my clothing, my hair, my pores. I hated the constant cloying feel of sugar that seemed to get into everything. I hated having to taste the frostings and the cake batters and the cookies all day long. And I hated getting up before dawn to open the shop, hated keeping the books, hated having to deal with the customers—as much as I loved my friends and neighbors who’d done so much to help me keep the bakery open. The only thing I really liked about it was the cake decorating. But even that got a little tedious after a while. Libby watched me search for an answer, her chin resting on her hand. “You have so much in common with Harrison,” she said before I could come up with anything. “Do I?” “The last thing he wanted was to work in the furniture factory. From the moment he turned

eighteen, he was out of here, going to the one college our father would allow him to attend that was as far from home as possible, taking every internship he could to stay away during the summers. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with Ashland Furniture.” “What changed?” “Father died.” The waiter came with the bottle of wine. He poured us both a glass. It was the sweetest, most flavorful wine I’d ever tasted. I think I finished that first glass in just two swallows. Libby poured me another glass, waving the waiter away as she raised her own glass to her lips. After a long sip, she set it down and focused on me again. “My father was a lot of things, but he was not a great business man. Turns out he owed everyone he knew and then some. Mother would have lost the house, and she and I would have been out on the streets if Harrison hadn’t agreed to come home and take over the business.” “What about Randy?” Libby groaned. “He’d already been in and out of rehab a half dozen times by then. Mother knew absolutely nothing about business and I was only fifteen, the same age as JT. Harrison was the only one who could do it. And he never balked.” I needed another sip of wine. I hadn’t known any of that, what Harrison must have gone through in the wake of his father’s death. I had JT to think about after my parents died. Harrison didn’t have just an underage sibling, but his mother and a drug addicted brother, too. “What had he planned on doing before your father died?” Libby’s eyebrows rose. “He didn’t tell you?” Then she shook her head, answering her own question. “No, he wouldn’t have. He wanted to be a high school English teacher.” “Really?”

She nodded. “The state of Oregon requires teachers to have a master’s degree in their chosen field. He was a semester short of that goal when Father died. It was almost as if Father did it on purpose.” At least I got to live my dream briefly. And so did he. Sort of. “He’s in love with you, you know.” I looked up, a little lost. Libby was watching me over the rim of her wine glass. She smiled as she studied me. “I haven’t heard him talk about a woman the way he talked about you in a long time. I thought from all those phone calls that he was just frustrated by the situation. But after he met you, it was like every conversation we had centered on you, not JT. And then that morning in the courthouse, when he saw you in that room, I just knew. My brother was finally in love.” I shook my head. “I think maybe you misunderstood what you saw.” “No. I know my brother.” She set her glass down and reached across the table to take my hand. “Harrison has never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. It takes a lot for him to admit when he has feelings for someone. But don’t let him push you away because he’s acting like a stubborn ass.” She squeezed my hand lightly before letting go. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, too. I know you don’t want him to push you away. In fact,” she sighed as she picked up the menu, “I think everyone knows how the two of you feel about each other but the two of you.” I blushed, wondering if my heart really was that obvious. But I also couldn’t ignore the fact that her words had made my heart soar in a way it hadn’t done…ever. We shared a nice meal, then Libby drove me around town to show me the many brighter parts of

Ashland. We ended up walking through Lithia Park; eating ice cream cones and laughing at the small children playing in the grass with their parents watching on. “Tell Harrison I’m bringing the kids over this weekend to hang out with their new cousin,” she said as she dropped me at his front door. “I will.” “It was nice, this. I hope we can do it again. Often.” “Me too.” I climbed out of the car and let myself into the house, a smile glued to my lips. I’d half hoped that Harrison and JT would be home before me, but the house was quiet as I made my way to the sitting room. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to Harrison when I saw him again, but Libby’s opinions had bolstered my courage once more. I was thinking I might have another go at asking him about his feelings for me, I just might do it a little more diligently this time. I curled up on the couch and was about to take my sketchbook out to finish the sketch I’d started at the restaurant when I heard something shatter on the other side of the house. Fear shot through me. I knew Harrison didn’t have any pets and no one else was here. Or, no one else was supposed to be here. I got up slowly and tugged my cellphone out of my pocket, ready to dial 911 the moment it was necessary. I walked slowly down the hallway that led to the game room, Harrison’s study, and the guest bedroom where JT was staying. All the doors were closed except for the one to the game room. It stood wide open even though I distinctly remembered closing it just before the taxi arrived this morning. “Whoever’s in there, I’ve called the police. You’d better go before they get here,” I called, trying to sound as brave as I could despite my shaking knees. There was another sound—like something falling—and then silence. I ran my thumb over the screen of my phone, bringing up the dial pad. My thumb hovered over the

9 when Randy suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Penelope,” he said, his charming smile a little less confident than it’d been the night before. “Randy?” “I was just…” He gestured behind him, his cheeks a little pale as he chewed his bottom lip and tried to think of a good excuse for being there. “You were stealing the game systems.” “I was looking for something that might be worth more than a couple of bucks.” He focused on me again. “Harrison wouldn’t give me money if I asked for it. And my mother’s money all comes through him, so he would notice if she gave me any.” “You must be pretty desperate if you’d steal from your own brother.” To his credit, a little shame burned in Randy’s eyes as he regarded me. “You don’t know anything about me,” he said, his spine stiffening as he glanced behind him again. “You don’t know what it’s like.” “No, I don’t. But I can’t stand here and let you walk off with any of Harrison’s things, either.” He held up his hands. “I don’t got nothing.” “You should probably go, then.” “Will you tell him I was here?” I remembered what Libby had said about Harrison being the only one who could step up in this family and take responsibility for the mess his father left behind. That meant Randy and his problems, too. I imagined it hadn’t been an easy time for any of them. And I didn’t see any point in adding to that burden. “No. But you have to leave now, before he gets home.”

“Of course.” Randy immediately came down the hall toward me, that charming smile back. “Did I ever tell you about the time Harrison dyed his hair green?” He had. That’s all he’d talked about last night at dinner, all the wild and crazy things Harrison had done in his teens. Randy was full of stories and I’d enjoyed all of them. “Why don’t you tell me about it the next time we see each other.” Randy nodded. “My mother said I could stay with her for a while. Maybe I’ll do that.” “Good.” We turned the corner into the entryway. Randy turned to me and gave me a big hug. “Thanks,” he said against my ear. “I won’t forget this.” And that was the moment Harrison and JT chose to come bursting through the door.

Chapter 26 Harrison “Hey, Harrison,” Randy said, turning to me with a sheepish look in his eye that was all too familiar. “How you doing?” His arm was still around Penelope. I wanted to rip it off. Not just off her shoulders, but off his body. I wanted to rip him to shreds for daring to come into my house and touch the woman I loved. And that look on her face…so much guilt. Did I really need to ask what was going on? “Get out of my house, Randy.” I said it quite calmly, my voice very steady. Randy simply nodded, the light going out of his smile. He leaned into Penelope and whispered something I wasn’t meant to hear. Then he held his fist out to JT. “Good to see you again, little nephew.” “You too,” JT said, clearly confused. Randy just nodded, his gaze moving over me before he brushed past me and walked out of the house. Penelope just watched him go. Apparently she had nothing to say to either her lover or to me. And I really didn’t want to look at her anymore. I stormed past JT’s chair and went to the stairs, the sound of her calling after me not enough to even slow my step. I burst into my bedroom, the doors vibrating as they bounced off the walls. I didn’t care. I went to the small balcony that looked out over the front of the house and stood at the railing, barely seeing the

scene below me for the memory of Randy’s arm around Penelope’s shoulders. “I don’t know what you think was happening down there, but it wasn’t anything nefarious.” I hadn’t heard her come into the room. I gripped the railing harder, holding on to it so that I wouldn’t spin around and wrap them around her throat. I was so angry in that moment that I might have done it. But then, just touching her…I held on to that railing with all I had. “He was in the house when I got here. I didn’t invite him.” “But you didn’t throw him out, either.” “That’s what I was doing.” “It didn’t look that way to me.” “Then you weren’t looking close enough. I mean, honestly, you’ve got to be the blindest guy in the whole fucking country.” I don’t know what shocked me more: her calling me blind, or her cussing. I’d never heard her use a word quite like that before. I turned and found her standing just inside the bedroom, the sight of my huge king sized bed behind her was enough to ignite a few thoughts that my anger did nothing to dampen. In fact, the anger might have made it worse, might have made me want to do things I might not have considered under different circumstances. Not with Penelope, anyway. “You told me I was the only woman you wanted,” she said softly. “Did you mean that?” “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” A slow smile touched her lips. “Yeah? You said last night you’re not the jealous type. But you’re sure acting awfully jealous right now.”

“I’m not jealous.” “Then what is this? Why are you so angry with me?” She cocked her head slightly, that smile spreading. “Tell me this isn’t about the way your brother was touching me.” I crossed the small space between us before I even realized I was moving. I grabbed her upper arms and pulled her hard against my chest. “Tell me he wasn’t here to see you. That he wasn’t flirting with you last night.” “He wasn’t. He talked about you all night.” “Liar.” She shook her head, her hand coming up to press itself against my chest. “He told me about the time you dyed your hair, the time you got caught drinking at some high school party. He told me about the tattoos on your wrists, about the one on your chest, told me how the two of you went together to get that one because you knew your father would hate it.” I squeezed her arms until I saw pain in her eyes. “Why was he here?” She shook her head. “I told him I wouldn’t say.” “And you’re suddenly so loyal to a man you don’t even know?” “No. But I love you. And I want to protect you.” I let her go so abruptly that she nearly fell backward into the loveseat situation not far behind her. I moved past her, stormed across the room, not sure where I was going. I just…how could she say that to me after everything I’d done to her? How could she say that when I walked into her life and turned it upside down, tore her brother from her home, took away the whole reason she was living in that small town, keeping a business she hated afloat? How could she…? “Why?”

I turned slowly and looked at her. There tears in her eyes, but not a single one fell. “I don’t know. Why not?” “Because…because I’m the asshole who ripped your family apart.” “No. You’re the guy who wanted to do the right thing when you stumbled on a secret your mother kept from you.” “The right thing? Marching into your life, turning it upside down…that was the right thing?” “I don’t know. Maybe. JT…he needed something more than I was giving him. Maybe you can give that to him.” “And you?” “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’d like to find out.” There was such honesty in that statement. How could I turn my back on that? I crossed to her, took her face between my hands and stared at her. “Tell me you aren’t just saying this because you think it’s the only way to stay close to JT.” She groaned. “You really do have commitment problems, don’t you?” I laughed, but the sound was drowned by her kiss. And then there was no more laughter, just groans and sighs. “How would you feel if we all moved in together?” I asked JT later that night. He looked up from the video game he was playing. “I thought we already had.” I tilted my head slightly. “I mean, a little more permanently.”

“Are you going to marry my sister?” I think I choked a little. Penelope, however, just laughed. “Don’t rush him,” she said. “He’s a little commitment phobic.” “I am not. I’m just…” I looked from him to her and sighed. There really was no point in arguing, was there? “I just thought I’d be able to do it a little later, maybe a little more romantically.” That shut her up and made JT drop his game controller because he was laughing so hard. We could make this work. We were an unusual family. And there was still a lot we would have to work out. But we could make it work. And maybe she and I would finally live a part of the dream we’d given up because, well, it’s all about family, right? ~ End ~

Addicted To You

Chapter 1 "I don't like this." Matt's expression was hard to discern from behind the dark sunglasses he wore all the time, and Levi had given up on trying. "You don't like anything," Levi reminded him. "If I were being perfectly honest, I'd say I didn't like it, either, but I have to be here." "I mean that it doesn't feel right." That gave Levi pause, but he quickly shook it off. He had to be here. He couldn't decide to turn around and get back into the car any more than he could decide to grow wings and fly away from here. He had to be here. Business was business, and if Levi ignored what had to happen, he didn't deserve the billions he'd made. Things didn't feel right, but that was no excuse to shirk his responsibilities. He was here to iron out a sticky agreement, one that hadn't met everyone's expectations yet. "Let's just get inside," he said, trying to spur Matt into movement. CEOs and presidents of other companies were already filtering into the building ahead of them, their bodyguards and security personnel ushering them inside. When a person got to a certain tax bracket, a little security to back up the interests was practically required. Matt was about as good as they came, recommended personally to Levi by the owner of the security company he worked for. The kid was respectful and protective— everything a bodyguard needed to be. Levi was a tall man, too, but Matt was massive, a whole head taller, broad chested and muscular. Matt might've been younger, but Levi actually felt safe around him. He knew what he was doing, and if he didn't like something, then that meant that something wasn't worth liking. They had almost made it to the door, the heat warming Levi's face, beckoning him in from the early winter chill, when Matt turned sharply.

"Son of a bitch." Levi pursed his lips, turning to see what had made Matt break his stoic character, but his bodyguard shoved him so violently that he flew several feet before landing on the cold concrete sidewalk, badly skinning his hands. Levi turned just in time to see Matt fall, hitting the ground much heavier than he had. He was confused, unsure of what had just happened, his hands slowly beginning to warm and sting. Had Matt simply tripped, taking Levi out in the process? Had someone pushed Matt? Levi saw someone run around the corner of the building, but he was so surprised by what had just happened that he couldn't tell much about the disappearing figure, if it had even had anything to do with anything. Levi rose, dusted off the knees of his trousers, and readjusted his coat. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, his hands really plaguing him now. He hadn't skinned his hands since he was a kid, playing at recess. It was a strange realization, one that had sprung to his mind unbidden. What game had they been playing that had made him fall like that? It was then that he realized Matt hadn't gotten to his feet. That something was really wrong. "Matt?" His bodyguard was breathing shallowly, his brow knit together. "Matt?" Levi knelt next to him, taking his shoulder, giving him a shake that made the kid's eyes partially open. Levi's stinging hands were wet, now. Was Matt's coat wet? Yes, it was wet. Wet with blood. The palms of his hands dripped with red liquid. Levi was a smart man. He wouldn't be as rich as he was if he weren't. He could face down any problem in a boardroom, at a computer screen, face to face with owners of other companies, and come

up with a solution that pleased everyone. He couldn't seem to face down this. The blood on his hands. The bodyguard who wouldn't get up. "Who...what happened?" Levi tried to peel back the layers of clothing covering Matt's body, trying to see the source of all that wet blood. It was seeping out the back of the kid, darkening the sidewalk, soaking into Levi's pants. Matt batted Levi's hands away and wheezed—a nasty, rattling sound. Levi realized that Matt wasn't going to stand up again. That it didn't matter where that blood was coming from. It was coming and there was too much of it and his bodyguard...his friend...was going to die right here on this sidewalk, right now. Levi sucked in a breath to scream for help, but then Matt murmured something. "What?" Levi leaned closer. "What'd you say, kid? Matt?" "Promise me." It obviously pained him to speak. Levi wondered what was so important to say that he would force the words past the clenched jaw, the bloodied lips. "I promise," Levi said, taking Matt's hand and squeezing it because he didn't like seeing the kid's fingers scrabbling against the wet wool of his coat. "Find my sister. Help her." Levi squinted, trying to puzzle that one out. He didn't even know Matt had a sister. The kid hadn't mentioned her before. What kind of help could she need? And why did she need to be found? Was she lost? Did Matt know where she might be? Levi formed a question on his lips, but stopped. Matt's grip had gone slack. His labored breathing had quieted. His brow had smoothed, and it looked for all the world that he'd just decided to lie down in the middle of the sidewalk and take a nap. But he hadn't. He'd been shot dead. Levi screamed for help, well aware that it was too late.

Chapter 2 I grabbed on to the bottom of the fire escape just above me, steadying my body against the heaves of the man inside me, avoiding the bit of mangled metal that would land me in a doctor's office for a tetanus shot that I wasn't sure I could afford if I cut my hand on it. The soft material of my shirt caught and pulled against the brick wall behind me, but that couldn't be helped. There had to be some casualties for what we were doing. What I was doing. I had to close my nose to the stench of the dumpster beside us, breathing through my mouth, noisier than before, giving a false impression of a pant, of being turned on. The man I was with liked that, liked the idea I was feeling good, liked it so much that he buried his face in the crook of my neck and sobbed out his release, slobbering on me, pushing my hands dangerously close to that jagged part of the fire escape. Disgusting me. He gave a long sigh, like he'd quenched some thirst, and pulled his dick out of me. Wetness slicked the skin of my inner thighs, but that was the price of admission. I paid it no mind, reaching down and yanking my panties and black pants up in one jerk, buttoning and zippering myself back in. "That was amazing," he said, still panting. "You came, right?" "No," I said simply, looking down to discover my black shirt was unbuttoned almost to my navel. I did them up swiftly in a practiced motion, careful not to miss any. "Well, most girls don't," he reasoned. "I could tell you felt good, though." "No," I said again. The dumpster's odor was almost unbearable. I was eager to leave the alley

and get back inside the bar. The urge to wash my hands drove me to step around the man, whose dick still hung out of his jeans. "Frigid bitch," he spat, throwing a wad of bills at me that I managed to catch reflexively. "At least hookers lie to make their clients feel good." "I'm not a hooker," I reasoned, pocketing the cash all the same. "Just a whore," he shot back. It wasn't worth my time to retort, so I didn't. I left him behind in the alley, fuming in the cold, still exposed, and returned to the bar through the service entrance, which I'd propped open with a cinder block. I just really wanted to wash my hands. Ignoring the irritable gazes of bar patrons ready for refills, I ducked into the women's bathroom and lathered up my hands, hoping I could rid my palms of the acrid smell of the iron fire escape. I glanced at myself in the mirror, but I didn't like making eye contact there. Just a quick check to make sure I hadn't gotten too disheveled in the alley. I swung my auburn hair down and pulled the rubber band out of it, piling it back on top of my head in a fresh messy bun. It would've been better if the sex had been better. That's what I told my churning gut, the squirming horror that he hadn't even been cute or nice. He hadn't made me feel anything at all. It had been a waste of time, another notch on the belt that meant nothing. I was afraid I was going to be sick, but there just wasn't any time to do so. There were people out in the bar waiting for me to fill up their glasses again, sorrows of their own they'd like to drown. Maybe there was someone out there who'd be better. I slipped behind the bar outside and refilled everyone’s glasses, whether they asked for it or not. I simply glanced at their faces and topped off those belonging to the angriest patrons.

“What took you so long?” an older man snarled. He might’ve been a regular, but I wouldn’t know. I made it my personal mission not to get to know these people, or anyone. “Don’t you worry about it,” I told him. “I’m here now.” “Oh, I’m not worried,” he said, using the condensation on his glass to make a series of wet rings on the bar counter that I’d have to wipe up later. “It’s coming out of your tip, Meagan.” Being called by my name gave me a small jolt, and I wondered if we’d interacted before— beyond me refilling his glass over and over again. Had I taken him into the alley? Maybe the storeroom? The restroom, perhaps? Or had he been one of the lucky multitudes I’d accompanied out of here, at the end of the night, to his home? I didn’t recognize his face, but that wasn’t significant. I often wondered, passing people on the sidewalks between the bar and the house, how many I’d been with. How many recognized me without me remembering them? It should’ve been disconcerting, but it wasn’t, somehow. That was how accustomed I’d become to sharing myself with people. Giving myself to people. I wasn’t sure who’d had the pleasure and who hadn’t. And I certainly wasn’t sure of myself. I looked down and had to smile even as I sighed with no small amount of relief. I was wearing my name on my chest, a name tag I donned every day because the owner of this bar thought it would make me more approachable. That’s how he knew my name. Not because we’d been together and I’d forgotten about it. The irritable old man seemed settled in, his winter wear draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up. I didn’t want to deal with an ornery customer for the remainder of my shift, which stretched into the wee hours of the morning. I also wanted a big tip, but that was only so I could pay the bills, come away from the bar with a little bit more than what I walked in with. Save some money. Get out of here. I wanted him to like me—if not for my dubious service, then for the way I looked, the way I treated him.

“Look, let me make it up to you,” I said, drawing an abstract design in the rings of condensation on the bar surface. “A free drink isn’t going to make me tip you any better.” He swilled his drink as if it were the most important thing in the world. “I wasn’t offering a free drink.” He stopped, then, as something even more desirable than booze dangled in front of him. “What are you offering, then?” Got him. The realization that it was actually going to happen was almost as good as the release. My lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them, hyperaware that I commanded a good deal of attention right this moment. “Come with me.” I walked out from behind the bar without a glance, knowing that I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to see that he was following me. Pushing open the door to the women’s restroom, I smiled, hearing it being held open for another person to enter. “Is this what you want?” I asked him, turning and already knowing the answer to that question. “Lock the door. Let’s be friends.” I’d learned over the last year not to make snap judgments about age or appearance. What was important was the endgame. Appearances meant nothing without that sweet finish, the itch I hadn’t quite scratched earlier out in the alleyway. Here, in the bathroom, it didn’t have to be pretty or life-altering. It just had to make me feel something, anything, for just a handful of seconds. “Like this,” I said, guiding him against the sink, his front to my back. My black pants and panties came down easily enough, the slickness from the previous guy nothing but a crusty memory. He entered me

in one moment, taking me by surprise, all my air leaving my lungs in a whoosh. Our skin smacked together, a sharp clap. The restroom was perhaps preferable to the alley. I couldn’t control the smell or cleanliness of the alley, but I did keep the restroom as clean as the old building and cheap supplies allowed. And the sink came in handy for leverage. The old man had already struck up a rhythm I could more than live with. The only bad thing was the damn mirror. I didn’t want to look him in the face, and I certainly didn’t want to stare into my own eyes. I ducked my face down and pushed my forehead against the cool glass, watching the floor instead, taking note of how some of the tiles didn’t quite align with the wall, as if the person who had laid them all those years ago hadn’t cared enough to do a good job of it. But then—oh, magical then—was the build I craved, the promise of everything being worth it. “There,” I gasped. “Please. Right there.” The old man grunted in response and quickened his pace. I arched my back and stood on the tips of my toes, anything to continue that wicked friction until I lost myself for the briefest of blissful nothings. If I could bottle that utter nothing, it’d be a drink I’d never surface from. It was a blackness that sleep couldn’t even duplicate. I emerged from the other side of orgasm reluctantly, only vaguely aware of a warmth on my rear that told me the old man had found his climax, too. “Go,” I murmured at him. “You go first, and I’ll come out in a bit.” He only shrugged in response, yanking his pants up and shouldering the door open, his chest still heaving. I locked the door after him, wondering if he’d tell all the other patrons just how easy I was or if he’d keep the tryst as his own little secret. I didn’t care, either way. I cleaned myself up as best I could with clumpy wet toilet paper and hand soap, sadder with each passing moment. It was always like this after I came. It never failed, no matter how good I felt in the

moment. I always had to come back down to earth, painfully self-aware. That man had probably been old enough to be a grandfather—my grandfather’s age, if he’d still been alive. I didn’t judge on age or appearance, but that didn’t stop that nasty little voice inside of me from judging me for my proclivities. It didn’t stop me from having sex, but I did experience wretched, wrenching guilt and disgust afterward. At least I’d come. There was that. At least it hadn’t been another wasted affair, like the debacle in the alley earlier. At least I’d come. And yet it never really helped, in the end. That was a fact I had to admit to myself, glancing at my disheveled hair in the mirror, pulling it back out of my face again. The orgasm only helped for a moment, and then my inexplicable ache returned. I needed sex. I needed it. I felt as if my life were just lots of waiting until the next sexual act, and the waiting was miserable. I was preoccupied with examining each and every customer who bellied up to that bar and wondering if I could cajole them into having sex with me. It didn’t matter what I wore, if I painted my face with makeup. I’d found that men were eager to stick it in anything willing, and that made my desires even easier to feed. Some men were often suspicious about the fact that I was all too willing to have sex with them, demanding to know my age, whether I was a prostitute, how much I charged, and, most frequently, if I were a cop trying to catch predators. I never had any qualms about accepting cash, but it was that nothing I was after. The gaping maw of whatever howled inside of me silenced for just a few precious seconds by that release. I’d heard heroin could get me to that same place, but it was an expensive habit to pick up. I felt the familiar gnaw of anxiety coupled with the surge of shame. Why had I done that? What

was wrong with me? Couldn’t I make it through the shift without boning everyone with a tab open? The truer thought was I wouldn’t have been able to stomach a shift without sex. Patrons were thirsty, and I had to get back out there, trying to ignore my own thirst, building already, my body looking for its next climax. I encouraged customers to keep drinking past the official cutoff time. I’d do anything to stay there at the bar for as long as possible, to keep pouring drink after drink, immersing myself in other people’s lives, just to stay away from my own. I wish I didn’t have to sleep or be alone, that those two things could be magically removed from my understanding of existence. I was just fine as long as I had something to do, people to learn about and be around. The tips were better the longer I pushed for the customers to drink, but they eventually all drifted out, having to pass out for a couple of hours before they woke up to start their days anew, stumbling over the crumbling sidewalk just outside the door. I did whatever I could to make them stay, to distract myself, volunteering to help them get home, call them a cab, anything just stay with me. When the door jingled shut for the last time, the last broad back vanishing into the inky night, I never even bothered locking it, hoping that someone—anyone—would walk in, for whatever purpose. At that time of night, there were only a few more things I could do before I had to leave the bar. I took my time sweeping and mopping and wiping down every surface, whether it looked dingy or not. I counted the money and added it to the safe for the owner to collect at the end of the week. I turned off all the lights and locked the door. I’d tried, during the beginning of my tenure behind the chipped wooden bar, to spend the night on the premises instead of leaving, certain that being here would be better than trying to go home, but I was surprised in the morning by the owner, pushing at me with a broom, trying to sweep me out the door, and thinking I was a squatter or a patron who’d somehow escaped attention during the night before. “It’s me, Mr. Trenton,” I’d cried, shielding my light-sensitive eyes from the sharp ends of the

straw on the broom. “Meagan?” He was dumbfounded, still clutching the broom across his chest as if it were a weapon and I was someone he needed protection against. “What in the hell are you doing here?” “I…I just fell asleep,” I said, pushing myself up from the little pallet I’d made myself of tablecloths we only brought out during the holidays and a package of napkins for a pillow. “Were you drunk on the job?” he demanded. “No.” I drank on the job often enough, sure, but I was never drunk. If I weren’t in control at all times, things could get pretty ugly pretty quickly. “Are you homeless?” It was a yes-or-no question that should’ve been easy to answer, but I found it difficult to define homeless. Was I homeless? Yes, in a way. I’d lost a sense of what home was supposed to mean ages ago. The home that was supposed to be mine just wasn’t anymore. The structure itself still stood, and everything inside of it continued to function as long as I paid all of the bills on time, but it wasn’t home. “I’m not homeless,” I’d sighed eventually, for the benefit of the man who could fire me if things got too weird—and they were well on their way there. “I really did just fall asleep. It won’t happen again.” That appeased Mr. Trenton, but it also cemented the fact that I had to leave the building once everyone had stumbled out and I’d completed the last tasks. There were a few lucky nights in which I made it to someone else’s home. The price I paid to do that was well worth it, in my opinion. If something I gave away to anyone so eagerly could win me a night away from the four walls of that old nightmarish house, I’d jump on it—literally. Tonight wasn’t one of those lucky nights. I spent an extra-long time polishing the surface of the wooden bar, even though no amount of

cleaning solution could ever make it gleam again, and turned off each and every light, fingers lingering over the faceplates, dragging the heels of my sneakers, until I reached the front door. I tried to convince myself it was going to be fine. I wouldn’t spend very much time at that house. Just a quick sleep and I could be gone again. If I couldn’t sleep, which was often the case, I could go for a walk. I’d be alone, of course, but at least I wouldn’t be at the house. For not the first time in my life, I wished I lived in a big city. Big cities never slept. I could find someone who was awake and probably wouldn’t even have to give my body to ensure their company. I could lean against the counter of an all-night convenience store or bodega and chat with the person behind the register. Not even the Walmart in my tiny, rural town stayed open all night. Ever reluctant, I locked the door and yanked it shut behind me. After he’d found me asleep behind the bar, the owner hadn’t trusted me with my own set of keys, convinced I’d commit some nefarious act like spending the night again or something. It had been so innocent, but he had been so sure of my guilt. The bar was located in the old downtown part of town, but the idea of “downtown” was more like a pathetic joke. A few dilapidated brick storefronts populated the block, each end demarcated with a blinking red light that was really more of a formality than a necessity. The occasional car that approached the twin lights gave a cursory tap on the brakes before continuing on its journey. There wasn’t much of a reason for them except for maybe pride, some sad desire to slow a traveler from their own lives to make them gaze upon this dump. Most of the buildings stood vacant, lacking a tenant for years. The bar only existed because some people in the town decided they needed a distraction from all of the depression. They’d made a special ordinance in the city commission to allow the establishment to open. Maybe that was the reason for the red blinking lights demarcating the borders of downtown. Stop here. Stay a while. Have a drink. Remember better times.

The home I headed toward—the house, rather—was a bit too far to walk to in the cold night, but walking gave me something to do. Counting my steps and concentrating on the vapor clouds that my breath formed in the clear air distracted me from my purpose. I had to go to that house, had to close my eyes for a bit and try to sleep. I hated going to that house. Hated what it represented, what had happened there. Hated that I was still there. I couldn’t blame my brother. He was trying to save the money to get me to New York City, but I knew it was hard for him. I hadn’t heard from him in a long time. He was probably busy at his job. A nastiness inside of me insisted that perhaps he was tired of his needy kid sister, but I ignored it. That voice was easy to ignore. I wasn’t needy. He had no idea what I really needed, what I did in the out-of-the-way corners of my job, this town. If he did, he’d probably try a lot harder to get me out of here. I turned a corner and my discomfort became a lot more acute. It would’ve been better, I’d often thought, if the house had been at the end of a long, winding dirt road. People expected terrible things to happen to people who lived in those remote places, away from the protection offered by houses clustered together in neighborhoods. There was safety in numbers, or so people claimed. The house I was dragging myself toward, my steps growing slower and slower, was in one of those neighborhoods, one of those white-picket-fence places where it was hard to imagine that things could go wrong. The bright lights illuminating each porch of the homes I passed belied the fact that things could go wrong wherever someone existed who wanted to do bad things. It didn’t have to be at the end of a road, behind darkened glass, out of reach of any possible help. It could happen right beyond those chintz curtains, right past the moths doing lazy loops around the fixture lighting the wintry wreath that someone had put out, even if it wasn’t yet Thanksgiving. I reached my destination and stood in the street, looking at it, steeling myself for going inside. I’d stay out all night, if I could, and I had before, but I’d likely freeze to death if I tried it tonight. It was too

cold, and I needed to go inside, needed to charge my batteries in someplace safe. This house had never been safe. In spite of its present state of vacancy, I still didn’t feel at ease. It looked just the same as any of the houses on the same street, but it wasn’t the same. Things… bad things…had happened here. I’d seen them happen. I’d experienced them. Some of them had happened to me. The only reason I was still here was because I didn’t have the money to move away. I’d needed my brother for help on that front, but he was struggling enough on his own. He didn’t need another mouth to feed when he could barely manage to feed himself. At least, that’s what I told myself. The fact that it had been a year since he told me he’d save up and move me to the city with him hadn’t escaped me. It had been nearly as cold as this when he’d sat next to me and told me his plan. That I wouldn’t have to stay here much longer. He probably hadn’t saved enough money or moved into his own place. That was why he hadn’t come back or contacted me in months. Thinking that was better than the alternative—possibilities that the nasty little voice inside of me liked to whisper. My brother didn’t want me in the city. He didn’t want something as broken as me around him all the time, reminding him of what had been lost. I couldn’t blame him. If I didn’t have to be around myself, I’d gladly go somewhere else—New York City, London, the moon. But here I was, and I couldn’t escape myself no matter how hard I tried. The rattle of the keys in my pocket as I crunched down the gravel sidewalk to the front door of the house sounded like chains. I’d long given up on turning the lights on in the front entryway. A wellmeaning neighbor had encouraged me to do so some time ago, saying that the lights would ward off those with nefarious intentions. That was a lie, a false hope. What if that person lived inside, well within the protective reach of

the light? I would’ve welcomed someone into the house to ransack it, remove anything thought to be valuable, to torch it until it was embers scattered across the wild lawn. Then, perhaps, my brother would take pity on me, let me move to the city with him, savings and plans be damned. But night after night, after I unlocked the door and pushed it inward, letting the creak of the hinges echo into the empty space within, everything was always in its place. No one had come in here to erase what I wanted them to erase. This tomb remained a testament to things I wished desperately to forget. I closed the door behind me, not bothering to lock it, wondering why I even locked it in the first place every morning when I left. My new game to distract myself from losing my mind inside this silent monument to pain was trying to remember the names and faces of all the men I had been with. I scoured my brain, letting the keys and my coat fall to the tile of the entryway, remembering the old man I wanted to like me, and the poor lay in the alleyway, the smell of metal on my hands. I drifted past the banister leading upstairs, taking special care not to look up those stairs. There had been someone the day before, someone who had been kind. I couldn’t remember his name— Christopher? Kyle? It was hard to tell. There were so many of them, but he’d been kind. “You seemed like you needed this,” he’d told me, buttoning his shirt in the restroom at the bar. “You have no idea,” I’d answered, wishing he’d shut up, wishing I could preserve that nothingness of release, the relief of the abyss. Already, the world was seeping back. Reality. The names and faces faded almost immediately after the act, itches scratched, succumbing to the ravages of time and memory. It wasn’t important to look back on. It was only important in the moment. I reached the living room and observed the nest I’d made on the worn rug. I couldn’t force myself to sleep with any of the three beds in this house, or the couch. I’d ripped the pillows from it, and the pillows from the beds I couldn’t bear to look at, and made a pallet of sorts on the floor. All I had to do was lie down on it. Just lie down, close my eyes, and wait for sleep to take me.

I didn’t like giving up that kind of control. I settled down all the same, drawing an afghan over me, staring at the dark ceiling above my head until I wasn’t sure that my eyes were opened or closed.

Chapter 3 I was up with the sun, pushing myself up off the pallet the moment my eyes partially opened. The house was just as forbidding in the daytime as the night, and I wanted to move as fast as I could before the memories consumed me. I threw myself into the shower, wetting my body before soaping up my hair, face, and skin all at once, rinsing in a practiced rush. If only I could stay somewhere else—anywhere else—but my brother had promised me that he’d send for me in a year’s time. I could handle it. The anniversary of that promise was going to roll around soon, and I needed to maintain the house, do what I could until then. I wriggled into my customary uniform for the bar—black pants, dark shirt—and pulled my hair back, my eyes traversing the collection of pill bottles covering nearly every surface of the countertop. I could recite those long, ugly names by heart, I’d bet. I should’ve just thrown them all away, swept them in one movement into the garbage can, but something stopped me. It wasn’t as if she were coming back. She wouldn’t need them, but I just couldn’t. They’d been her lifeline. Her hope. They’d let her down, sure, but I couldn’t just get rid of them. They’d meant so much. “Shut up,” I said, pushing the heel of my hand against my forehead. There it was. That was it. The memories would swallow a person whole if they spent too much time in this hellish house. I knew that, and yet I lingered over those pointless bottles. It was well past time to go. If possible, it was even colder this morning than it had been last night. My breath hung in clouds before me, and I jammed my hands into the pockets of a coat thrown hastily on, wondering if it would be worth it to go back into the house to fetch a scarf and a hat and risk getting sucked into its badness again. No. I would’ve rather froze. The bar opened for a lunch shift, but it was still far too early. I stopped at a gas station for some

coffee and a breakfast sandwich, trying to ignore the pitying stares I still got from the people of this tiny town, hungry to glom on to tragedy and not let go. I didn’t stay long, and neither did they, hurrying to commute to jobs in other, better towns. It was a wonder this place existed at all. I read snatches of the newspapers on the stands until I drew the ire of the woman manning the cash register. “If you want the news, you’re going to have to buy it,” she fussed. “I’m going,” I said. The news was free at the library, but it was a long walk in the cold. I could’ve taken the car, but it was as dangerous as the house, memory-wise. The songs she used to sing, for example. How we sang along. The crayons jammed in every available pocket, ready to scribble thoughts and ideas and pictures on notebooks and coloring books and fast-food-restaurant napkins. All surfaces available. Today was just going to be one of the bad days. I could already tell. There were days when I could distract myself completely. They were usually the times when I didn’t have to spend the night in the house. I woke up fresh and revived and ready to find the next thing to keep me from thinking about whatever had happened. It helped that I was focused on earning money and saving it, obsessed with getting enough to prove to my brother that I could be more of a help than a hindrance. And then there were days when it consumed me, days I didn’t make it out of the house—or out of my own head—at all. Days when I crouched, my heart pounding, in the pallet of pillows I made on the living room floor, paralyzed with fear, certain that I was living my worst nightmares again. That he was in that house with me, waiting just upstairs. Around the corner. Waiting for me to open my eyes so he could smile at me and make me… No. This wasn’t going to be one of those days.

I walked to the library, which was several miles away, knowing that I could, at least, distract myself with how badly I’d have to hurry back downtown in order to make my shift at the bar. There were books, computers, newspapers, and magazines at the library. I could submerge myself in someone else’s reality for a while. See if I could shake my own reality off for at least a few hours. I didn’t bother with the newspapers arranged haphazardly in the racks, picked over already by frugal souls like me. I’d gleaned what I wanted from the rack in the gas station, over breakfast. Something about property taxes, a shooting in New York City, a sick girl collecting toys for other children for the holidays. I grabbed a fashion magazine—there was nothing so vapid and escapist than a fashion magazine and its self-important tips for self-improvement. Life going to shit? Here are ten ways to make your boyfriend come. Terrified to be inside your own mind? Nail polish colors you need to be trying right now. When I wasn’t at the bar, the library was the next best distraction. I could spend a whole day in here if I had to, and I wouldn’t once think about the house or what had happened. I was only there an hour, browsing the shelves, eyes roving over the familiar titles and book jackets before it was time to head out, back to our laughable downtown to start selling drinks. The town was small enough to make it possible to get around by walking, but it either didn’t care enough or didn’t have enough funds in its coffers to build sidewalks throughout city limits. I had to cross the street several times to remain on serviceable concrete, and eventually ran out of it anyway, treading in cold, wet grass that dampened the hems of my pants. If I cared enough, I guess I could’ve gone to a town meeting and asked for officials to devote some of their attention to something that actually mattered to me, but I supposed I didn’t care that much. The lunchtime crowd at the bar was hit or miss, but when I sauntered up to cracked and gumsplotched sidewalk, there was a man lingering by the doorway, shoulders hunched against the cold, hands plunged into his pockets.

“Waiting for me?” I called, making him turn. I was a little taken aback—I’d never seen his face before in my life. He definitely wasn’t from around here. That much was sure. He was tall, and handsome in a way that you might see on a men’s magazine cover. His ears had turned pink from the chill in the air, and he seemed to be attempting to jam the majority of his face down into the fine woolen scarf wrapped several times around his neck. But what I could see, I liked. He was a good-looking man. Maybe even someone I could pass the time with. Someone I could distract myself with. “Are you Meagan Green?” Dammit. Someone who knew me. “Who wants to know?” I asked, stopping just short of him, cocking my head, racking my brain to try and remember if he was someone I’d been with before. No. With a face like that, I’d remember it. His blond hair was neatly parted on the side, lightly gelled to lie close to his finely shaped skull. And those blue eyes…I would remember those blue eyes. We definitely hadn’t been together, but if I had it my way, we would soon. The library had been a good distraction, but I was starting to feel jumpy, and anxious—an addict in need of a fix that came in the form of thrusts, of groans, of fingernails scrabbling down backs. I needed to be swallowed whole. “My name’s Levi Morgan.” He paused, those blue eyes pinning me to the spot as if the name should ring a bell. I shrugged at him. “Should I know you?” “You…don’t know who I am?” He looked genuinely puzzled, as if the mere mention of his name would suddenly make me kowtow to him. “Sorry,” I said, moving around him, shoving the door open that Mr. Trenton had stopped by to unlock for me. I could’ve saved the bar owner a trip if he’d just trusted me with the keys, but he was so sure I’d squat in here if I got the chance. I couldn’t blame him. I probably would’ve.

I glanced over my shoulder and my lips curled upward. The illustrious Levi Morgan had followed me inside of the bar. They always followed me. “Can I get you something?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in the way I’d developed that let the man I was asking know that the “something” I was suggesting was really “anything.” He didn’t say anything for a while, and I wondered if he’d heard me. I didn’t look at him, didn’t want to let him know that he was unnerving me. If they wanted it, they usually gave me some kind of indication by now. I hoped he was going to play hard to get. I needed my fix, like the first cigarette of the morning. “A vodka on the rocks,” he said. “Grey Goose, if you have it. Smirnoff, if not.” He eyed the bar dubiously, not doubt wondering if I even stocked Smirnoff. “Don’t worry,” I teased him. “I won’t leave you hanging. I’m surprised, though. It’s not the weather for vodka.” “It’s always the weather for vodka.” “No.” I clucked and shook my finger at him, grandly dusting off a bottle of Grey Goose. It was only missing a few fingers of liquor from it. No one who frequented this bar could usually afford top-shelf liquor. I couldn’t even recall the last person I’d poured Grey Goose for. “It’s cold outside. You shouldn’t be drinking anything on the rocks, first of all. Second of all, you should be drinking something like brandy or whiskey. A nice amber liquor to warm you up.” Those blue eyes just didn’t crack. I couldn’t get them to warm up to me. I was already resigning myself to the fact that he wouldn’t want to be my special friend this early afternoon, and that I’d have to wait until the rest of the crowd drifted in to get what I was waiting for, when he finally graced me with a smile. “Fine. Whiskey it is.” “I knew you didn’t want stinky old Grey Goose,” I said, returning the bottle to its spot on the

shelf behind me and slipping out a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels. “Now. Let’s banish the cold and warm ourselves up.” I slid a pair of glasses down the bar and filled them generously. “Someone else order a whiskey?” he asked, taking his beverage and swilling it around, watching the way the whiskey left its mark on the inside of the glass. “I couldn’t let you drink alone, now, could I?” I hoisted my glass to him, smiling crookedly. “To Levi Morgan, who is so certain I should know who he is that he knows my name.” “To Meagan Green, who has no idea who I am,” he said, clinking my glass with his. The warmth I’d coaxed forward with my banter about liquor had vanished again, which left me befuddled. He was the one who had shown up here, knowing my name. I’d had no control over that. I took a small sip of the whiskey, enjoying the way it burned all the way down into my stomach. Levi took the whole lot of it, apparently not caring that it was more than a double I’d poured in his glass. He exhaled heavily and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, but his face didn’t fold in on itself. This was a man who knew how to drink liquor. “Are you going to tell me why it’s so important that I know your name, or am I just going to have to figure it out myself?” I asked. “I’m a modern woman. I can Google things.” “You really don’t know who I am?” He peered at me, as if he were trying to figure out if I were making fun of him. “I hate to disappoint you, but I really don’t,” I said. “If you’re a famous actor, sorry. I haven’t been in the mood for watching movies in a while. And I don’t have cable, so…” “I’m not an actor,” he said quickly. “It’s just…is there somewhere we can go?” I raised my eyebrows. “Somewhere we can go? What’s wrong with here?” The pit of my stomach stirred. Was this going to happen, or what? I’d tear that scarf off, first. Warm those ears with my

mouth. “I really need to talk to you,” Levi said. “About who you are.” “About who I am, I guess,” he confirmed. I held my arms out. “You have the floor, Levi Morgan. Just say what you need to say. You have my undivided attention.” He frowned, but opened his mouth. However, the door opened, cutting him off abruptly as a trio of men burst in, huffing with the cold, a flurry of coats shrugged off, hats pushed up. I noticed that Levi hadn’t gotten rid of his outerwear, my mind still willing him out of that scarf, trying to unwind it with powers I didn’t possess. “What can I get you, gentlemen?” I asked, smiling at Levi’s discomfort. He wanted privacy, though I couldn’t quite grasp what was so private about a person’s name and why I didn’t know it, and it somehow delighted me to deny him. “Beer, and keep it coming,” one of the interrupting patrons grunted at me, and I made a show of frosted cold mugs, artfully poured suds from gleaming taps I’d polished a few days ago, relishing the power I had in this moment. I liked feeling of all those eyes on me. I always liked it. There was something affirming about it. That I was important. Worthy. The mystery of just what Levi wanted was enough even to distract me from the thing I usually wanted the most while working here. The customers ebbed and flowed, drinking their beverages fast and slow, and the mystery remained, a tantalizing anticipation. “Do you get a break at any point?” Levi asked, holding my eyes in his intense gaze while I poured him another shot of whiskey, even though he already had a double in his glass.

“I can take a break whenever,” I said, batting my eyes at him. “Whenever you want.” “What I have to say…it’s best done away from prying eyes.” “You’ll see,” I said, busying myself by wiping down the bar with a rag. “There’ll be a lull before dinner. No prying eyes, then.” When that lull came, I found myself nearly as eager as he was to see what he needed to say, but it was Levi who was coy this time. “Maybe there’s a better place we could go?” he suggested, fidgeting with his glass. I didn’t know the man, but the way he sat at the bar, the way he still hadn’t taken his outerwear off, and the way he carried himself made me doubt that he was the kind of man who ever fidgeted. “What’s better than here?” “Is there a restaurant near here?” he asked. “Maybe it would be better to say over dinner.” “If you want to take me out on a very romantic date to the pride of our town, McDonald’s, then be my guest,” I said, laughing at him. “You should probably just say what you came here to say, though. I’m dying to know.” Levi flinched at that, and I found myself even more confused than before. Just what was going on here? “When was the last time you talked to Matt?” he asked, trying but failing to meet my eyes. “What did you say?” My amused befuddlement faded a bit. “Matt?” “Yes, Matt. Your brother. When was the last time you talked to him?” I shook my head slowly. “It’s been a long time. Do you know Matt? Are you a friend of his?” “I did know Matt.” I swallowed hard, but there was something in my throat, blocking me. Some obstruction that had

suddenly formed at Levi’s use of the past tense. The door to the bar opened, accompanied by a pair of patrons and a puff of cold air. “We’re closed!” I yelled, charging around the bar toward them. “Closed? But the door was open.” “Come on, Meagan, we just want a drink.” “The bar’s closed. I said it’s closed. There’s a gas leak. You can’t be in here. The whole town could go up. I’m saving your lives. Really. Just go.” I all but pushed them back out the door as I babbled, then shoved it shut, locking it. I turned around and leaned against the glass, staring at Levi from across the bar. “I think you’d better say what you came here to say,” I said. “Right now, this is as good as it’s going to get.” “There isn’t an easy way to say this….” “So just say it.” “I knew your brother in New York City,” Levi said. “He worked for me. He was my bodyguard. But he…died. He died saving my life. I thought someone would’ve alerted you, your family.” “There isn’t a family,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, aware of just how cold the glass of the door was at my back but unable to step forward to get myself away from it. “There’s only me.” “That’s why I thought you would’ve known me,” he said. “I thought your brother would’ve mentioned he was working for me.” I shook my head, beyond words. Matt was…he was dead. I hadn’t heard from him because I hadn’t contacted him. He’d told me he’d get me to the city in a year, and I hadn’t heard from him because I wanted him to focus on that. I needed him to get me out of here, needed for him to succeed so I could

escape. And he was dead. He had died in his efforts. Now I really was alone. There wasn’t any kind of hope for me anymore. I’d die if I had to stay in that house. I just couldn’t do it. I would rather fall asleep in the alleyway behind the bar and stay asleep, eyelids frozen shut, some stupid, small-town tragedy who would be forgotten by the New Year. My brother was dead, and all I could think of was wanting to die, too. I’d tried. I’d really tried to have hope over the past year. It hadn’t been easy, but Matt was the one who’d kept me going. He’d said that he was going to get me out of here, and I’d put my trust in that. Now there wasn’t anything to hope for. Nobody to trust. The thing I feared the worst was still out there, ever present in my mind. “Meagan?” Levi was standing right in front of me, approaching me without me even noticing. My world was imploding and I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed Levi’s face with both of my hands and yanked it downward, kissing him deeply. He yanked his face away just as quickly. “What was that?” he asked, his chest heaving up and down. “What was that, Meagan?” “Fuck me,” I demanded. “Now.” “No.” He stared at me like I’d grown an extra head. “You don’t want to fuck me?” I needed to vanish. I needed that hole to throw myself into. I was imploding, and it was the only thing that would save me. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. But he had to do it. “You’re…very attractive,” he said hesitantly, “but this isn’t the place or the time. I just told you your brother is dead and you want to—” “I want to fuck,” I said, pulling on my own hair in frustration. “Just…fuck me. Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

I launched myself at him again, my fingers clawing at the front of that coat he’d never removed. He jerked away, but I had him by that scarf, digging my nails into the soft fabric, wishing I had the strength to rend it to shreds. Levi held his hands up even as I dragged my tongue up his neck, desperate for the reaction I craved. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I don’t understand what you’re doing, and I don’t want to hurt you.” “I don’t care if you hurt me,” I said, kissing his throat, his jaw, his chin, his mouth, a kiss for every syllable. “Just fuck me.” “Meagan…” I kissed him full on his mouth, pushing my tongue in-between his lips. He resisted for a long moment before giving in, his tongue flaccid in his own mouth, letting me probe his mouth to my heart’s content. Only I wouldn’t be content. I couldn’t be content. I needed this. I needed him. “Fuck me.” “It isn’t…I just…Meagan…” “Save me.” Those were somehow the magic words, because Levi began kissing me back, pushing me back against the cold door, ravishing my throat, working his warm hands beneath my shirt. Without warning, he ripped his pants open, then did the same to mine, before lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist, using the freezing door behind me to prop us up. With one hand pressed against the glass beside my face, Levi used the other hand to guide himself inside of me. It was exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed, and it still wasn’t enough. He started moving inside of me, and I tried to give myself over, tried to lose myself to that irresistible tide. I tried to disappear into the opening maw, focused on the pulse of each thrust, held on for

dear life as Levi grunted into my neck, burying his face there as if he were afraid to look at me. He put his hand between us and found my clit, rubbing in time to his thrusts, and I banged the back of my head against the door in the rush of climax, not caring about the pain or the cold or the loss or the horror or the helplessness. I didn’t care about anything in that void, and that was what I needed. It was all I needed. I came back to myself slowly, aware that Levi had stopped thrusting. He simply held me against the door, one hand cupping the back of my head where I’d hit it. “It doesn’t even hurt,” I lied. “It looked like it hurt.” “Why did you stop?” I was in that sticky afterglow, the one I hogged. I usually wanted to be alone for this feeling, hoarding the time when I felt sated and free, but I didn’t mind that Levi was there, holding me, still inside of me. “You came.” “But you didn’t.” “I don’t need to. You seemed like you needed to.” “You can keep going,” I said, my eyebrows knitting together. I didn’t know how to react to this situation. Men were only eager to sleep with me so they could get their rocks off. The vast majority of them didn’t concern themselves with my pleasure. “I’m good.” “But you didn’t come.” “I didn’t want to.” He sat me down gently, pulling out just as softly, doing up his pants without looking at me. I

watched him, absolutely flummoxed, standing with my pants undone, exposed and not caring. “What now?” I asked him. He looked up, those blue eyes as soft as I’d seen them. “Your brother told me to help you. So tell me what you need. I’ll take care of it.” He stood there and looked at me, a stranger whom my brother had died for, a man I’d had to beg to be with me, who’d guided me to completion and forgone his own conclusion. A man who had answered my plea to save me. Maybe it was the fact that I was still standing there, my pants completely open. Maybe it was the cold door still at my back, making me shudder. Maybe it was the fact that my brother was dead. Or maybe it was the curtains of my afterglow parting at last and letting the light shine on my piece-of-shit life. “Take me to New York City,” I demanded. “Fine,” Levi said easily. “We can leave as soon as you want. My jet’s on call at the airport the next town over.” I burst into tears.

Chapter 4 The next time I was self-aware, I realized that I ensconced in a strong pair of arms. I struggled when it dawned on me exactly where I was—trapped in a man’s grip inside my hell house. “You sort of fell asleep.” Levi’s voice calmed me a little bit, but I still couldn’t keep my stomach from churning. I didn’t want to be here. It didn’t matter that there was still daylight filtering in through the windows. It was the same nightmare in the light or the dark. “You can put me down.” He set me down, his hand still on the small of my back. “You were crying.” I gritted my teeth. That was the last thing I wanted to think about right now. “Sorry.” “I guess that was the response I expected from you,” Levi said. “Not the…other one.” “The one where I wanted you to fuck me.” Even here, as the man in front of me shuddered, I felt the stirring. I wanted him again, wanted him to push me over the edge and into that darkness again. I didn’t care that I was back in this house. I wanted him again. I turned in his grasp and nearly succeeded in kissing him before he stepped away. “As…nice…as that was, having sex with you,” he said, holding his hands up, that same defensive posture as earlier, “I think that we really need to talk.” I sagged in disappointment. “I thought you promised my brother you’d help me.” “I did. And I will.” “Then what if fucking me was the only way to help me?” I tilted my chin up at him, defiant,

hiding my own anxiety in the same motion. It frightened me to think about it. What if it really was the only way to help me? Everything I did was motivated by ways to get sex. And as soon as I did it with someone, my mind was already looking ahead, trying to figure out where my next lay would come from. It was the only reason I worked at that damn bar. Part of it was to earn money, sure, but the other, larger impetus was easy access to men who would do whatever I asked of them, surprised but delighted by my insatiable lust. What if that was the only thing I could do for myself—find someone to have sex with me? What if that was the only thing that would ever distract me from myself? “I can appreciate a healthy sexual appetite,” Levi was saying, “but I know that you need things beyond a good orgasm.” Right now, a good orgasm was the only thing on my mind—in spite of this house. My stomach was sick with the feeling of being pulled in two different directions. I was ready to take him, right here and now, and yet I wanted nothing more than to flee from this place. “Meagan, talk to me. I want to help you. I’m going to help you. I just need to know what you need.” I exhaled for so long that my head swam. “I need to gather up a few things. And then I need to get out of here. How did you know where to find this house, anyway?” “I’m a modern man. I can Google things.” A half smile graced Levi’s face, and I recognized that he was parroting me from earlier, at the bar, when I still didn’t know that he was here for some reason other than me throwing myself at him for some momentary relief. “This house isn’t under my name,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him. “So maybe I did something a little more hardcore than Google,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal that he’d magically come up with my current residence without having the means to do so. “I have some tricks up my sleeve.” “You’re a magician who somehow knows where I live?” I eyed him, uncertain. Was it safe for

him to be here with me? I’d already given my body to him, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to get on his jet with him and go to New York unless I got some answers. “This is why I think it’d be a good idea if we stopped, sat down a moment, and talked this out,” Levi said. “If you think you’re going to talk me out of leaving this place…” “If you want to leave town, you can,” he said. “That’s not the kind of talking I want you to do. If you want to go to New York City, I’ll have you there by tonight.” There was something inside of me that was placated, but the rest of me remained on edge. It was this house—being here in this house with someone. That and knowing my brother wasn’t going to be coming back for me. “Okay, talk to me about why my brother died for you,” I said, trying to resist the urge to begin pacing and failing. I led the both of us into the living room, beside my pallet of pillows. It was the only room in the house I could stand to be in. “Are you sure it’s okay to talk about?” Levi watched me stalk around the pillows, kicking at them. “Don’t you want to sit down or something?” “Just say whatever you need to say.” I didn’t stop my circuit of the room. “I don’t know what I expected when I found out Matt had a sister,” Levi said, halfway to himself. “He’d never mentioned you until…then. Until he got shot. But you’re nothing close to what I expected.” I stopped in my tracks. “He got shot?” That headline from the newspaper I’d glanced over—the shooting in New York City. I’d wondered why the tiny local paper had picked that up, and now I knew. It was because our town’s own Matt Green had been the one who died. I should’ve read the article. At least then I would’ve been prepared for Levi upending my existence. “Your brother was my bodyguard,” Levi explained. “I was attending a meeting with the heads of

other companies my company is working with on a project, and there was a man with a gun outside the building. Matt pushed me out of the way. He saved my life.” I shook my head. It was hard to think of my brother being dead. Even if I hadn’t spoken with him in a year, I always had it in my mind that he was out there, working toward a time when we could be together again. Now that I knew he wasn’t, it was difficult to fathom. “Where is his body?” I asked. I knew that probably sounded weird, but I’d done this before. There was a body, and there were people who took care of bodies, and there were still more people who took care of all the other details. “It’s in the city,” Levi confirmed. “I also wanted to consult with you on the funeral arrangements.” “No need for a funeral,” I said. “I’m the only one left. There’s no one else.” Levi opened his mouth as if he were about to argue with me, and closed it again. “I can contact the facility where he’s at to have them cremate his body, if you want.” I didn’t know what I wanted. Matt wasn’t supposed to die. He was always supposed to be there to catch me, to take me away from all of this. To save me. Even as I thought that, I knew it wasn’t true. He hadn’t known what was going on while he was in the city. He hadn’t known what happened to me, or what I’d become. He’d died and left me alone, and yet I found myself no more alone now than before. “Whatever,” I said, feeling tired. I could’ve curled up on those pillows and fell fast asleep, but I’d be afraid that Levi would be gone when I awoke, a fever dream of salvation that would never come to pass. If Matt had died, he’d sent Levi in his place to save me, to finish what my brother had started. “I’m going to say something, and you’re going to be offended, and I don’t want you to be.”

I cocked my head. “Say what you want to say. We’re supposed to be talking.” “You don’t seem very upset about your brother.” I shrugged. “It’s been more than a year since I’ve spoken with him. I got used to him not being around.” “But you were close before?” “We were siblings,” I said, shrugging. “He was older. He left home first. We had different experiences growing up, but he knew I wanted to leave here, and he was going to help me.” It suddenly dawned on me why Levi was asking what he was asking. “You want to know why he made you promise to help me,” I said. “That doesn’t matter.” “It does,” I insisted, “and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Even as I said that, a little voice inside of me screamed in despair. I wanted so many things from this man that he probably didn’t want to do. I increased the speed of my pacing if only to make myself think of something else, like dodging the pillows I was kicking all over the floor. “Meagan, the last thing I want to do is shock you, but your brother died in my arms.” I slowed, then stopped again. “The last thing he said on this earth was that he wanted me to find you and help you. I don’t know how many last words you’ve ever heard, but there’s a gravitas there that you can’t just decide to ignore.” “How important are you?” I demanded. “Excuse me?” “How important do you have to be to have people dying in your arms, whispering their last words to you?”

“I’m the CEO of a renowned architectural firm,” Levi said. “I didn’t know that was a job that incited violence.” “It’s not. I have a lot of money, but there’s not a good reason I could think of for why someone would want me dead.” “How much is a lot of money?” “I’ve been in Forbes.” I wasn’t sure what the requirements for that achievement entailed, but it seemed to come with bullets. “Do you think it was just a random act of violence, then?” I asked. “Did you catch a glimpse of the shooter?” “I don’t know,” Levi admitted, casting his gaze downward, looking chagrined. “I might’ve seen him from behind. At least, I think it was a him. I don’t know. I told the police this. I just saw someone hurrying away. Could’ve been anyone rushing to get out of the cold. Your brother saw him coming, though. Shoved me out of the way. Saved my life.” It just didn’t seem real that Matt had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time—or that he’d sacrificed himself to make sure that Levi wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed so…meaningless. “So, whoever it is, he’s still out there,” I said. I searched my heart for righteous anger, for the desire for justice, but I didn’t think my heart was capable of feeling anything anymore. I’d taught it how to curl up and die out of pure necessity, so it was wrong of me to try and prompt it to function. All I felt there was a sort of dull throb—not its usual state of being, but not altogether unpleasant. It was as if the grief I should’ve been feeling was muted by nearly soundproof walls. Someone was crying in there, but I wasn’t sure who, or why.

“The police are good at what they do,” Levi said. “I know really excellent investigators, and I have connections that go beyond the police force. What I’m telling you is that we’re going to find the shooter. It’s just a matter of when and where.” “You’re not scared?” I’d spent so much time being scared that I just assumed it was a default emotion for other people under duress. “Not scared,” he said, shaking his head. “Angry. Matt didn’t deserve to die. I wish…I wish he hadn’t pushed me out of the way. If I could go back, I’d push him out of the way, instead. I’d take the bullet that was fired at me.” “Why did you hire a bodyguard in the first place if you didn’t want to be protected?” I reasoned. “You care about your life.” “Not enough for me to want anyone else to die for me.” Levi heaved a sigh. “I’d do anything to give your brother back to you. I really would, Meagan. Please tell me you believe me.” It was then that I realized that Levi was suffering from an acute and very recent case of survivor’s guilt, and that made us more alike than he could know. I wished I could let him know that it wasn’t going to become any easier, no matter what anyone told him, but I didn’t want to make him despair. “I believe you,” I said. “Maybe we’ve done enough talking for now.” “You’re ready to go to the jet?” he asked, surprised. “Are you sure you don’t want to know anything else?” “I’m satisfied—knowledge-wise, anyway,” I said. “I could be more satisfied….” I took a step toward him, and another step, until our torsos were pressed together, angling my chin up to look him in the eye, dare him to do something that would further satisfy me. “You don’t have to feel obliged to…um…make me come,” he said. “Earlier, I understand that it was just a response to trauma. It was just shock, you wanting me to…have sex with you. You’re not obligated. I was glad to have helped you during your time of need, to give you some comfort.”

I laughed in his face. “You really think I was in shock?” “Were you not?” “I saw something I wanted and I went for it,” I said. “You’re the one who keeps trying to find meaning that isn’t there.” “You mean you just wanted to have sex?” “Is that so hard to understand?” I cocked my head at him, goading him to contradict me. “A person wants what she wants.” Levi kept his face carefully blank. “And what does a person want right now?” “A going away party.” I kissed him, and he didn’t resist. I hadn’t wanted him to resist, but it surprised me all the same—Levi with all these hang-ups and sensibilities and meanings he thought he understood. Levi, whom I barely knew, pulling my pants apart for the second time that day. I couldn’t think of a single man I’d been with more than once. Each one was a means to an end, the quickest way I could come up with to get to the nothingness I craved—the momentary completion. “A bed,” Levi said hoarsely, pressing his arousal against me, showing me just how interested he was in a repeat performance. “Here is fine.” I fell backward onto the cushions splayed over the floor, kicking my pants off, relieved beyond words that I was going to get this—easy as pie—from someone I knew was capable of getting me off. A part of me I hadn’t accessed in a while actually felt good that I was going to be able to make Levi feel good. I felt almost magnanimous. He’d taken care of me earlier. I was about to make sure he was going to feel just as good as I was. Levi felt good inside of me. The way he buried himself in my body felt amazing, compelled me to feel the kind of happiness I usually only found in orgasm. Each stroke he made strummed something inside of me. The way he held my head, still mindful of how I’d bumped it against the door earlier, made something inside of me feel so good that it almost hurt.

We moved together, breathed together, and there wasn’t desperation, guilt, or obsession. It didn’t matter that we were there on the floor of the house that I hated, pushing and pulling against each other, our movements softened by the pillows beneath it. Each thrust was something of beauty and pleasure. When we finally reached that peak and tumbled down, almost in tandem, there wasn’t darkness but light. It was something that was beyond my grasp of understanding. I’d craved that darkness, that nothing. It’s why I had initiated sex with him in the first place— because I knew he could take me there. I wasn’t prepared for this—this light. I didn't have a clue how or why it happened, but I wanted it again. It left me lighter, banished my pervasive self-loathing. It confused me, but lying there, my arm around a man who was just full of surprises, I was willing to see it through to the end. We took turns in the shower, got dressed leisurely, all in a comfortable silence that I was strangely at peace with. Normally, after climaxing, my brain played host to a tumult of anger and grief. I felt almost normal, almost at peace. “I know that you want to go to New York City,” Levi said, buttoning his shirt as I pulled my hair back, “but I understand that you might have a lot of loose ends to tie up around here. You’ll have to make arrangements for the house, I imagine, and give notice at the bar.” I smiled at him and bent down to retrieve the only thing I actually needed. “I’m ready when you are,” I said, shoving a shoebox into a plastic shopping bag. He blinked at me. “How can you be ready? You haven’t even packed.” “I’ve packed everything I intend on taking with me.” “You have a purse, the clothes you’re wearing, and a shoebox in a bag,” he said, incredulous. “Out of the contents of this entire house, that’s all you’re taking?” “It’s all I need.”

Levi laughed. “Look, I promise the jet isn’t going anywhere. We’re not in any hurry here. This is a decently big house. Don’t you want to at least pack a suitcase?” I barely suppressed a shudder. All of my suitcases were upstairs, in the closet of my bedroom, and I simply didn’t go upstairs anymore. “I don’t need a suitcase,” I said. “If I need something, I’ll buy it once I get to New York City.” “You’re being ridiculous,” Levi said. “Now, we’re not leaving here until you’re properly packed. You’re used to living here. Things are different in the city—more expensive. You don’t want to rebuild your wardrobe from scratch. You’ll need more clothes. Your jacket is pitiful. It won’t keep you warm.” I sighed and opened the shoebox, tilting it so he could see inside. It was full of paper money, tips and paydays I’d squirreled away for an entire year, buying nothing except the bare essentials to keep me alive. I hadn’t counted it lately, but I knew there was a lot there. Enough to start fresh in the city. “You’re packing a bag,” Levi announced. Apparently the billionaire was unimpressed by the savings account. He walked briskly away, and I stared after him dumbly, not comprehending just what he was doing until I heard the creak of the staircase and gagged. “Don’t!” I tried to shout, but it came out in a weak rasp. The shoebox fell from my limp grasp and bills scattered across the floor. I forced my legs into action and dashed after him, pulling him backward from the stairs, making him struggle to keep his feet. “What the hell are you trying to do?” Levi demanded, whirling around to face me. “Trying to kill me, too?” “Stay off the stairs,” I hissed, surprising him with my vehemence. “Meagan, I’m just trying to make sure you’re prepared to leave all of this behind,” he said slowly. “You have to have things you care about beyond the money in your shoebox.”

“Stay the fuck off the stairs.” I yanked at him again so that he was standing back on the first floor, with me. His mouth tried to form words, and he looked at me, then past me at the living room, understanding finally dawning on him. “You’ve been living just in the living room,” he said. “Not even sleeping on a bed.” “Your pity is the opposite of helping,” I snarled at him, relieved to have access to my rage. Rage was much more preferable than horror. “Is there something bad upstairs?” Levi asked gently. “Something we should tell someone about?” I laughed derisively at him. “If you think there’s a body decomposing up there, you’re an idiot.” No one needed to know what happened up there. I wouldn’t wish that knowledge on anyone. “I don’t understand why you won’t go upstairs,” he said. “Help me understand.” “It’s none of your concern why I won’t go up there,” I said, trying to be flippant and distract him from the fact that I was having the strongest urge to gag again. I wasn’t so sure that the whiskey I’d had earlier was going to stay put this time. “Why have you been sleeping on the floor? There have to be at least three bedrooms in this place. What’s wrong with them?” “If this is your idea of helping me, then my brother’s probably rolling around in whatever box they put him in.” I glared daggers at Levi, willing him to just shut up and let me leave with the shoebox. I’d already resolved to trip him no matter what the physical consequences were if he tried to go up the stairs again. “I do want to help you,” Levi insisted, “but I need to understand how to help you. Do you want me to go upstairs for you and pack a bag with whatever I might find?”

“If you try to walk up those stairs again, I will lose my mind,” I warned him. “It’s as simple as that. Zero mystery.” “All you’re going to take is the shoebox with the money?” he asked. “Yes. That’s all I want, and all I need.” “I have to tell you,” Levi said, stepping away from the stairs, making me breathe a little easier. “I didn’t think helping you was going to be this complicated.” “I don’t think there’s anything complicated to it,” I said, turning away from him and bending down to pick up the money I’d dropped in my panic. “I want to go to New York City. All I want to take is this box. I’m sure there are people who crave that kind of simplicity.” I walked right by a gaping Levi and into the dusk, not as sure as I usually was that he’d follow me, and not so sure I wanted him to.



Chapter 5 We drove to the airport in a much less comfortable silence than before. If only he hadn’t tried to go upstairs, or if he’d deferred to my reasoning—even if I was beyond reason—that he should just forget about it. We could’ve traveled in comfort, happy with each other, secure in the knowledge that this was the right decision. This was really what I wanted, wasn’t it? For the first time, I wasn’t so sure. Escape was what I’d wanted—that much I knew. I’d wanted desperately to get out of that house, out of that town. Matt had gone to New York City to try to find his place in this world, and I’d envied him for it. I didn’t like being left behind, and liked it even less when the true ugliness reared its head. But Matt was my big brother. His courage in leaving the small town behind for the big city inspired me to do the same. Now that my brother was dead, however, what did I have to aspire to? He’d asked me to stay put while he tried to establish himself, tried to build a safe place for me to be with him, and I had, but now I didn’t have Matt to think about. I could go wherever I wanted to go. It didn’t have to be New York City; I could try and find my fortune anywhere. But Matt still existed, in a way, in the form of Levi, who frowned into the night in front of us, illuminated by the headlights of his rental car. For a billionaire, I wasn’t sure why he was driving himself. I wasn’t sure why he was so much as tolerating my brand of crazy. I still couldn’t believe that I’d had sex with him inside of the hell house. It was like giving a huge middle finger to some of the shit that had happened there, which was incredibly empowering, but still scary. I didn’t want people in that house. I didn’t want people knowing how insane that place made me. Yet here Levi was. Even after everything, he was driving me to the airport, ready to fly with me on his jet to New York City.

He didn’t even know me. “Levi…” “Yes?” He glanced at me briefly before redirecting his attention to the curves in the road ahead. “You’ve already helped me.” He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything—didn’t even glance at me to see where I was going with this. “You’ve already helped me,” I repeated like an idiot. “My brother asked you to help me, and you did. You don’t have to do anything else, once we land in New York City. I release you, I guess, from whatever obligation you have.” “You mean like I released you from the obligation you thought you had to give me an orgasm?” he retorted. I realized he was mocking me, and snorted at him. “Whether you realize it or not, you helped me by coming to that town and telling me what had happened,” I told him. I wanted him to know as much as the truth as I could tell him. Maybe it would help Levi fill in some of the blanks. He probably deserved that much. I could tell that he cared for my brother —cared enough about him, at least, that he’d seek me out as per my brother’s wishes. “I don’t think I helped you very much by letting you know your brother is dead,” Levi scoffed. “How else would I have found out?” I argued. “It was my brother who told me to stay put. If I didn’t know he was gone, who knows how long I would’ve stayed in that town…that job…that house.” “Your brother wanted you to stay there?” “Only until he saved up enough money to move me to the city,” I said. “That was the plan before he died.” “Which is why he asked me to help,” Levi said. “He wanted me to help get you to New York

City, like he’d promised.” “That’s right,” I said. “That’s why I’m saying that your obligation to my brother ends once we land. You don’t even have to give me a ride from the airport.” “Don’t be silly,” Levi said. “I’m having a car meet us at the airport. It would be ludicrous if I didn’t take you to wherever you needed to go. And wasteful. Where do you want to go, once we land?” I froze. The plan had always been to get out of my hometown and get to New York City. I hadn’t ever thought very hard about the next part of what was going to happen. New York City had always seemed like the culmination of everything—not a beginning. “Meagan, do you even have anywhere to go in New York City?” Levi seemed more resigned than incredulous, which meant he was getting to know me better with each passing revelation. “No, but I’m sure I’ll find my way,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice, even if the idea was daunting. “I have enough money for several nights at a hotel. And then the rest of everything will fall into place.” “I’m half a mind to turn this car right back around and drive you home,” he warned. “Then you wouldn’t be helping me,” I reminded him. “You’d be back to owing my brother one.” “You don’t understand,” Levi said, wheeling in to the airport entrance. I noticed that he bypassed all of the regular signage threatening prosecution and dismemberment and all forms of punishment that led all other motorists to the entrance of the terminal, following other routes, waved on by security personnel. “I don’t just owe your brother ‘one.’ I owe him my entire life, and that’s why I’m going to do everything in my power to get you exactly what you need to be successful.” “I’m going to be successful. You wait and see. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing, yet, but I’m going to be good at it. I have a strong work ethic.” “I witnessed you physically pushing paying customers out of the bar where you work and locking

the door during business hours.” Levi stared at me meaningfully as he parked the car on the tarmac near a small but sleek plane that I figured had to be the jet he’d mentioned. “If you’ll remember, it was for a very good reason,” I said, raising my own eyebrows at him. “An extremely pleasurable reason.” “Yes, it was extremely pleasurable,” Levi agreed. “When we land in New York City, you’ll be joining me in the car I’ve ordered to meet us, you’ll let me take you out to dinner, and you’ll be staying with me in my townhouse until I decide that you’re ready to be out on your own.” “Is everyone in the city so bossy?” I asked, wrinkling my nose as a valet opened my door for me. “New York City is very different from your…hamlet.” Levi shook his head at the valet who was trying to pluck my plastic bag from my grasp—ostensibly to put under the plane for safe keeping. We walked to the plane, and I saw that he was gallantly offering me his arm when I was a couple of yards away. I slipped my arm through his. “Hamlet is the nicest way I’ve ever heard my town described,” I remarked, enjoying the warmth of his body next to me in the cold night. It was going to be a harsh winter—everyone was saying so—but at least I wouldn’t stick around to find out. New York City seemed like paradise. I fully expected to step off the plane and into tropical summer or something. “The town was nice enough.” Levi helped me up the steps to the plane as if he were afraid I’d tumble down them. “The town was a dump.” Especially compared to the inside of this jet. There were several seats and a long couch covered in buttery soft camel-colored leather. It was the nicest room I’d ever seen, and it was inside a plane. I slipped my hand down it, wondered what it would feel like against my bare skin, and realized I wanted to find out. I wanted to find out specifically with Levi. That was a strange thing to realize—that as an attendant closed the door and Levi sat down next

to me on the couch, I wanted to have sex with this man and this man only. It wasn’t that we were about to take off with him as my only option until we landed again. No, it was that lightness I’d experienced after we were together. The opposite of shame. The sense that things were going to get better and better. I wanted to be with him—needed to be with him—in order to see this new feeling through. I never thought anything was going to get better. I’d come to believe that I was stuck in some kind of awful limbo, forced to creep around that damn house, afraid of memories of the past. It was Levi who’d done what my brother couldn’t. He’d saved me—or at least gotten me out of there. The sudden pressure of takeoff made me gasp. I’d been lost in my thoughts, lost in my wonderment that this was actually happening. I fully expected to wake up suddenly and see that it was morning, light coming in through the windows of the house as I stretched on my cushion pallet and examined my soreness and stiffness from sleeping there. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” I asked, looking up at Levi. “I was just wondering the same thing.” I laughed at him. “You probably fly in this thing all the time.” “For business, sure. Not for something like this.” “I’m not just business?” “Absolutely not.” I looked out one of the windows, hoping to catch one last look at the town I’d grew up in, the town that had let me down and nearly destroyed me. I wanted to give it some parting shot, a doublehanded middle finger salute, for example, but I didn’t recognize anything from below. There were no constellations of ground lights that meant anything to me, and maybe that was just as important to understand.

That town and the house within it hadn’t been my home. I could make my home elsewhere. I was going to the place Levi called home, and I could stay there for as long as I wanted, as long as it took me to figure out just how I was going to make it in New York City. Did he have to know that I had no intention of leaving him anytime soon? That could be my little secret for the time being. I couldn’t leave someone who made me feel the way that Levi did, not until I figured out why and how to make it happen with anyone else who crossed my path. I craved that goodness, craved that light, and was quickly figuring out how to wean myself off the darkness that had been my sole friend for years of my life. “Do you have your mile-high club membership?” I asked, grinning as Levi flushed and directed a forceful nod at the attendant, who was busily serving us a pair of cocktails. “If you mean what I think you do, the answer’s no.” “No?” I was surprised. “You’re not one of those kinky, repressed billionaires who has sex with beautiful women at every possible opportunity?” “I work hard,” he said, sipping the drink. I was pleased to see that it was whiskey, and wondered when he’d alerted the attendant to his change of preferred liquors. I took a sip of the drink placed in front of me and smiled. They were both Manhattans—very appropriate. “And there’s only one beautiful woman I could think of right now whom I’d want to have sex with.” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” I said, clinking my glass with his. “You already know I’d be more than willing to have sex with you. You don’t have to lie to me.” “Lie about what?” Levi looked genuinely confused, which was cute. “About the way I look.” He shook his head and frowned at me. “You’re a beautiful woman, Meagan. That’s no lie.”

“I’m average, at best,” I said. “What I lack in looks I make up for with forwardness.” It was his turn to laugh. “Believe me, you’re the full package on those two fronts. Haven’t you looked at yourself in a mirror?” I generally tried to avoid that, but that wasn’t something I thought would make for good conversation, so I just shrugged. “You have an amazing figure, if you don’t mind me saying so,” he said. “And your hair is a shade of auburn that most women would pay top dollar for a stylist to replicate.” “It’s just red hair,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. “It’s auburn,” he insisted, “and don’t get me started on those green eyes.” “Enough.” I sipped my drink, embarrassed. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.” “I’m more than ready to dole them out, especially if you don’t actually think you’re beautiful.” It was hard to think of myself with that adjective, especially when I’d felt so ugly for so long. I’d been living in an ugly place, doing ugly things to get by as recently as yesterday. If Levi hadn’t come along, I would’ve been mired there for God knew how long, waiting for my brother to save me. “Well, I’m not a member of the mile-high club,” I said, falling back on my old faithful way out of any situation I didn’t feel a hundred percent about. “You think you could help make it happen for a peasant like me?” “Tell you what.” Levi waved the attendant away, who vanished into the cockpit with the pilot. “If you can admit that you’re beautiful, we can join the mile-high club together.” I wasn’t used to sex with caveats. I was used to getting what I wanted. “That’s stupid,” I said, sipping my drink. “What’s stupid is that you can’t see it.”

I wanted the sex. That’s the only reason I said my next words. “Fine. I’m beautiful.” “Was that so hard?” There was something between us that certainly was hard. Levi pulled me into his lap and undressed us—he was getting so good at it—and we struck up a friendly, leisurely pace. I liked this. I liked this casual gentleness. There wasn’t a need for desperation. There wasn’t anything to run away from right now. There was only us and this delicious furniture. Us and this feeling. We missed the lights of Manhattan from the window as we were too engrossed in each other. By the time we landed, I’d had so many Manhattans to celebrate that we had to go straight to Levi’s townhouse, forgoing the dinner he’d wanted to treat me to. I was so tired that I only barely registered the rich wood floors of the townhouse, the opulent furniture that looked too fancy to touch, and the way everything sort of gleamed. “Straight to bed,” Levi said, a smile in his voice as he kissed my forehead and tucked the covers around me. It wasn’t long before I was hearing the same voice say, “Meagan.” I stretched and searched my body for its various aches and pains, but there was nothing there. Puzzled, my mind flailed around for a little bit. Had I not spent the night on my couch cushion pallet? I wasn’t stiff or sore. I felt incredible, in fact. Where could I possibly be? I cracked an eye open to see Levi seated next to me, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. He was already dressed, and I wondered if I’d overslept something. “What time is it?” I croaked, feeling groggier than I usually was upon waking with the sun. “It’s nearly three in the afternoon.”

“What?” I nearly burned myself on the coffee I’d taken from him, and his hands fluttered around the mug as if he could save me from my own clumsiness. “You must’ve been really tired,” Levi remarked. “You never woke up—not even once. When’s the last time you’ve slept in a comfortable bed?” “Never mind that,” I said, pushing myself up to a sitting position and blowing on the hot coffee. “I’m an early riser. Just what was in those Manhattans we drank?” “Nothing you’ve never had before,” he said, smiling. “Your body needed rest, and that’s what it got.” “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I’d slept too long—nearly fourteen hours—and yet I felt like I could sleep all day. “The company can run itself. I’ve created it to be pretty self-sufficient.” “Careful with that, or they’ll decide that you’re expendable.” “I’m not expendable. I own the place.” “Well, you don’t have to stick around here on my account.” I took a perfunctory sip of the coffee, which was roughly a hundred times better than what I’d been buying for myself at the gas station each morning back in town. I couldn’t play that game or I’d never be able to stop. Things in New York City were going to be better than things in my stupid town. That was just the reality. I was going to get old and gray by the time I finished making comparisons. “Actually, I feel like I should,” Levi said. “I was hoping you’d feel up to making the arrangements for your brother’s funeral today.” I grimaced. Definitely not the way I wanted to spend my first day in the city, but I recognized that it needed to be done. I wouldn’t even be here if Matt hadn’t sent Levi to get me. I had to pay my respects —and figure out how to send my brother off in a way that made sense.

“I really don’t want it to be anything big,” I said. “I wasn't lying when I said I was the only one left. There’s nothing more depressing than a small funeral.” I knew that one from experience. “I’d be the only one there.” “That’s not true,” Levi said. “I’d be there.” “You don’t have to.” “I do. He saved my life. And even though he was on the payroll, I really did consider him a friend. I’m not saying that for your consolation. It’s the truth.” I decided, in the end, that cremation was fine. That the funeral could just be us in the room with my brother before they burned his body. That seemed to satisfy whatever part of Levi wanted the ritual of the final rites. “Do you want to see your brother before they put him in?” Levi asked. “All of the formalities— the paperwork, the identification—that’s all taken care of. It would only be if you wanted to. Before he’s cremated.” *** I wondered if I should be crying—if he expected me to cry. I just didn’t feel like crying. And I didn’t understand the draw of gazing upon the face of someone who was dead. He wasn’t going to hear me if I came up with anything to say. There weren’t going to be any pearls of wisdom I was going to catch from those dead lips. Still, there was the fear that I might regret not seeing him, consigning him to the flames without that last look. “I’ll be quick,” I said, motioning to the technician standing by, who opened the coffin. “Take your time,” she said. “There’s no hurry.” “I guess he isn’t going anywhere,” I said, wincing at my own poorly timed joked. I didn’t know

what to do or say, didn’t understand how I needed to act. This was the second person I’d lost in my life to an untimely, violent death. It didn’t get any easier. I cast my eyes downward, and sure enough, there was Matt. Levi hadn’t been lying to me. My brother was lying in the casket, ready to be transformed into ashes that I could store in a convenient urn. I willed those eyes open again, even if I knew I was an idiot for doing so. He was dead. Gone. This body was an empty vessel. It wasn’t my brother anymore. And yet I did have questions for him. Why had he pushed Levi out of the way? Why hadn’t he just let the man take the bullet that was intended for him? What was the special thing that my brother had seen in Levi to save him? And why had he asked Levi to save me? I thought I’d known my brother well, but maybe I only knew him as well as he had known me. I’d made sure that Matt didn’t know what had happened to me, that he knew as little as possible about the hell he’d left behind when he went to New York City. But somehow, with his dying breath, he knew that I still required saving, and had sent Levi to complete a task he hadn’t been able to do. Maybe Matt knew more than I thought he did. There was no more knowledge I could glean here. I stepped away and nodded at the technician, hoping I looked like I’d been making peace with the fact that my brother was dead. Levi put his arm around me as the technician closed the casket again and turned on the conveyer belt, feeding my brother into the oven. I waited there, expecting to feel grief, but there was just a gaping emptiness. My brother’s death had brought the man beside me into my life. It was a never-ending cycle of loss and gain. I’d known that long before I met Levi. I itched to go somewhere—anywhere—away from here, but I forced myself to be patient, to draw strength from the warmth of the man beside me, and the relentless professionalism of the technician in charge of this operation.

“You can go, if you’d like,” she said, and I was so thankful that I could’ve kissed her on the mouth. “This is something of a process. We’ll have the remains ready for you in the urn you selected in a few hours.” “Let’s go,” I said eagerly, looking up at Levi. “Leave the professionals to their jobs.” “If that’s what you’d like to do.” Grief was a funny thing—a twisting, unexpected thing that I couldn’t begin to understand. I’d loved my brother, and depended on him. Why couldn’t I hold vigil there at the facility, staying with him until his transformation to ash was complete? I simply didn’t want to. I wanted a distraction. I needed one. We had a late lunch—or an early dinner—and Levi took me driving around the city, silent as I vibrated with excitement at the looming buildings, the landmarks I’d only ever dreamed about, the crush of people all wanting to be here, right here, in this city. My heart beat in time with the pulse of this place. This was going to be home. The next low point came when I held what remained of Matt in my two hands—a deceptively heavy urn that I regretted. It was too real, then, and I could sense a kind of eagerness in Levi, a desire to see me emote something normal. I wished I could squeeze a few tears out for him, but all I felt was surreal regret. All that was left of my brother had been crammed in this vase. It was almost silly. “Can we go home now?” “Home?” Levi looked down at me, startled. “You want to go home?” “Back to your townhouse.” I wondered if there was a normal way to ask Levi to carry the urn, but I couldn’t think of one, suffering silently over its strange weight in my hands. “Okay.” Levi looked strangely relieved. “Did you think I meant that house I used to live in?” My lip curled up derisively. “Because that wasn’t my home. I was only sleeping there.”

“My townhouse is home now?” Levi and I motored down the road, and I pushed Matt’s urn to fit in the cupholder, able to breathe easier when not touching it. “Your townhouse feels more like home than anywhere I’ve been.” It was a stretch of the truth. That house had been home, once, but that had been so long ago that it was lost in the sea of painful memories. It was better to hate all of its history than to cling to the handful of happy moments. We arrived and Levi took the urn without me asking him, setting it on a table in the entryway of the townhouse. “What do you think you’ll do with him?” he asked. “Keep him in the urn? Take him back to your town?” “I don’t know.” “There were places in this city he loved,” Levi offered. “We could spread some of the ashes there.” Grief was a sudden tidal wave, and I grabbed at Levi, tearing at his shirt, casting about for the lifesaver that was going to keep me from drowning in it. “Meagan, wait.” “I can’t.” I pushed him to the city room, pushed him down on the satin couch that seemed like no one should ever sit on it, and unfastened his pants in one practiced movement. “We should talk about this.” “This is no place for words.” My pants were down, then off, and I straddled him, much as we had in the plane, but hungrier, angrier—the feelings I was used to. Levi wasn’t a novelty to me right now. He was an aching need. I needed to disappear. I didn’t care if it was light or dark on the other side. I needed to go. I impaled myself on him and rode him until I gasped out that completion, burying my face in his

shirt that I’d only managed to half remove, cognizant of the fact that he was holding me, continuing to thrust upward, reaching his climax soon after I did. Even as he exhaled his release, his chest heaving, he picked me up, still buried to the hilt inside of me, and carried me to the bedroom. There, we did it all over again, rearranging the words in the verses, perhaps, but keeping the chorus the same, both of us coming again, pressing our bodies against each other. Losing ourselves. I didn’t know how long we’d been silent until Levi spoke. “I don’t know if we should do this anymore, Meagan.” “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Why would you say something like that?” “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” I laughed in his face—a bitter, crumbling sound. “You can’t tell me it isn’t any good. I know just how good you feel because I feel like that. It doesn’t make sense to me that you would want to just stop. Why turn down a good thing?” I was so pissed. Did Levi just think he could just discard me without regard for what I wanted to do? At the same time, I was confused at my own visceral reaction. I’d never cared about keeping the same sexual partner prior to meeting Levi. I’d satisfy my needs with whoever came along. It scared me to think about what that might mean. Could my feelings for the man sitting with his back to me be more than physical? Was that even possible for me? It had never happened before, not even before the man I refused to think about but kept coming back to helplessly, a slave to memory. “It’s too good, Meagan, that’s the thing.” Levi turned around, those blue eyes burning. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I can barely match your appetites, and you fascinate me. I don’t understand who you are completely. You scare me sometimes. There’s something deeper there that I haven’t figured out yet. I want to figure it out, even if I think you don’t want me to.”

I sneered at him even though I knew exactly what it was that he’d find if he dug deep enough. He had more than enough resources to do so. And I’d be helpless, absolutely unable to stop him from discovering my darkest secret. That frightened me enough to try to drive him away. “You’re a billionaire,” I said, flipping my hair at him. “I guess you’ll be able to buy the next best thing.” I rose to go, to flee from the inevitable, but Levi lunged across the bed, snagging my wrist. “What do you want from me, Meagan?” he asked. “Do you want my money? I’ll give you every penny. You can be on the cover of Forbes. You can have my company. My home. Every single thing I own. Just tell me what you want from me.” I didn’t know what to say. There would’ve been a time when I would’ve gladly taken a check for much less than a billion dollars and been on my way, whistling cheerfully until I found the next life to collide with, but this was so much different than anything I’d ever experienced. It was insane to consider, but I felt like anything was possible as long as I was with Levi. He was different from everyone else. He made me want to be different, too. “Do you want me?” he asked. “Is that what you want? My body? My soul? Just name it, Meagan. I’ll give it to you. You can have it. It’s all yours. All of it.” “I thought you didn’t want to do this anymore,” I said, my voice small. “You can’t say that and then offer all of this.” “It’s too late,” Levi said. He took my hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing it softly before turning it over, kissing my palm, the translucent skin of my wrist. “What’s too late?” My words were hardly louder than a whisper, but they sounded like a shout in the quiet room.

“It’s too late to stop what we’re doing.” Those kisses continued up my arm—the bend of my elbow, the swell of my bicep, my shoulder. “Too late to stop?” I was breathless by this point. I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t ever want him to stop. “Yes, too late to stop,” he said, scraping his teeth along my neck, making me moan. “I think I’m getting addicted to you, Meagan, and it scares the shit out of me, but I just can’t stop.” His kisses moved down between my breasts, around my bellybutton, lower, lower still, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to stop. He was addicted to this? Fine. That made two of us.

Chapter 6 It shouldn’t have been sunny today. The weather was a betrayal, the unseasonable warm air, chirping birds. The autumn leaves were holding on to their color. If not for the fact that we were all standing in a graveyard, it would’ve been a fine day to be alive. There weren’t many people here, but I guess I should’ve expected it. There weren’t that many people in our lives, either, or I would’ve hoped something would’ve turned out differently. Matt stood beside me, his hulking physicality a comforting presence. It would’ve been even better if I could’ve leaned into him, let him do my standing and my mourning for me, and he would’ve. He was that kind of person, my brother. He’d breathe for me if I asked him to. But I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, let alone touch him. I couldn’t even touch myself, my arms held stiffly out at my sides, the droning of a preacher I’d never seen before in my life washing over me. I wondered idly if the funeral home rented them. When I’d called Matt with the news, too horrified to feel anything but numb, he’d left New York City instantly, boarding a bus even as he continued to push me for details I couldn’t give him. He was a good brother—the best. He’d been mostly responsible for making the arrangements. It was his nature, as the older brother, to speak up for me when words stuck in my throat, to explain me to people who asked me questions over and over again when I failed to summon the voice to answer. “They were pretty close, Mom and Meagan,” Matt would say, crossing his arms over his chest. “Meagan was the one who found her. I think you can find some sympathy inside of yourself and ask me the hard questions instead of her. Don’t you think she’s been through enough?” That was what he’d said to the cops, anyway, who found it hard to believe that theirs wasn’t the first number I’d called when I found her, lifeless, in her bed.

And yet for all of his strengths, my brother’s biggest weakness was that he didn’t have a clue what I’d been through. He didn’t have a clue what had happened to our mother. To me. I flinched violently when Matt took my elbow. “Easy,” he said, his tone light, reasonable. “Funeral’s over, Meagan. Unless you want to stay here longer.” The preacher had long since completed his droning and wandered off across the graveyard to his battered compact car, and a piece of heavy machinery loomed a few yards away, ready to shove a pile of dirt over my mom’s coffin. I didn’t want to be here, but I was here all the same. I’d done everything in my power to avoid this day, and yet here I was. And there was my mom in the ground. “Meagan?” “This is all my fault,” I muttered, my throat thick with the tears I wanted to shed but couldn’t. I was too sick. This couldn’t really be happening. “Don’t say that,” Matt commanded. “Mom was sick. She’d been sick for a long time. She’s in a better place now.” The heavy machinery chugged to life, heaving toward the dirt pile at the edge of the open grave. My brother, still gripping my elbow, steered me away, seemingly certain that I shouldn’t watch. She hadn’t raised us with religion, but I was certain of one thing—my mom really was in a better place. Anything was better than the place she’d been in…the place I’d been in, as well. I thought about going back to that silent house, smelling of bleach and sickness, and my knees gave way. “Meagan!”

My brother caught me before I could fall, swinging me toward a cement bench erected beside a grave by some other grieving family. “Don’t make me go back there,” I babbled, terrified at the idea of the ghosts that would be there, waiting for me in that house. “Please. I can’t go back there.” “Go back where?” My brother’s face was pinched with concern, and I hated being so weak in front of him. He had his own concerns, and he hadn’t understood what it had been like in the house. He couldn’t know because I’d never told anyone. “Just take me with you,” I begged. I knew I sounded desperate, and I hated it, but it was the most honest I could’ve been. I was desperate to get out of that house, out of this town, out of my life. “Meagan, you know that I’m still trying to get on my feet,” Matt said, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry that you were the one who found Mom like that. You don’t want to go back to the house, and I understand that, but you have to.” “I won’t be any trouble,” I promised him, shaking my head back and forth violently. No. I couldn’t go back to the house. I wouldn’t. I was going to escape. This was the only chance I’d get. “You know that I’ve always wanted to live in New York City. I would be able to help you with your rent. I’d get a job anywhere to start, and I’d be so good that I’d start climbing the corporate ladder, or whatever. You just have to give me a chance.” “I know you’re going to be great at whatever you choose to do,” he said, his face sad, “but I’m living in a hole in the wall with three other guys. I can’t bring my sister into that kind of living situation, understand? I don’t trust them.” “I’ll sleep with a baseball bat,” I said, the words rushing out of my mouth. “I can handle myself.” Matt snorted. “You’re from Nowhere, New York, Meagan. This is New York City we’re talking about. You have no idea about the kinds of things that can happen there.”

With that statement, I knew I was much more worldly than my big brother. It was a moment that should’ve upset me more. I’d always felt that he was the one who was going to whisk me away from all of this pain and suffering and torment. He was going to be the one who was going to save me. But he couldn’t save me. He hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. I hadn’t been able to save myself, either. Or my mom. “Meagan, you know I don’t want to leave you here, alone in that house,” he said, “but you have to give me a chance to establish myself in New York City before I can just bring you there to live with me. I have to pay my dues.” He continued talking, and I let his words wash over me, unfeeling. He was promising to move me to the city in a year’s time, after he could determine how some job prospect was going to pan out. Matt sounded hopeful, determined, and that was all well and fine, but I knew I couldn’t trust my big brother to save me anymore. He didn’t have a clue about what could happen to a girl left on her own. “So, what do you think?” he was saying, rubbing his hands together against a cold wind that had just started blowing. The unseasonable warmth was just starting to turn, and part of me was glad, hoping it would really turn nasty now, wishing for winter to freeze my impotent rage and self-loathing. “What do I think about what?” “Give me a year,” he said. “I have a really good feeling about this job I applied to. I’m supposed to have an interview next week. Give me a year to save up—and you start saving up, too— and then I’ll come back for you.” I shuddered helplessly, and it wasn’t the wind. Someone else had said that to me, and it had been more of a promise than what my brother was telling me now. “It’s all my fault,” I repeated. “What did I say?” Matt demanded, his face stone. “I don’t want you saying that. Mom dying

wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. She was sick, Meagan. You have to accept that.” “You don’t understand.” I locked eyes with my brother. “You don’t have a fucking clue. Mom’s dead because of me. I killed her.”

Chapter 7 My brother stared at me like there was something wrong with me. There was something wrong with me—lots of things, in fact. He didn't know the extent of it. But I couldn’t blame the way he was staring at me now. I’d just told him, at our mother’s burial, that I was the reason she’d died. That I’d killed her. “Meagan, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, finally breaking the silence. The weather had taken a nasty turn, transforming an unseasonably beautiful day into something a little more appropriate for a funeral. The coat I’d worn wasn’t thick enough, but I welcomed the bite of the north wind. It hurt, and I deserved to hurt. The physical pain was such a nice distraction from the emotional guilt. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” I said. “I was there. You weren’t. The fact that she died —that’s my fault, Matt.” My brother put his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry, Meagan. If this is you trying to impress upon me that it wasn’t fair for me to leave you here, then you’re right. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t understand how bad it was with Mom. I know that it wasn’t easy to see her gradually fade away.” I violently shook my head back and forth. That wasn’t how it had happened. That wasn’t it at all, and Matt didn’t know how truly bad it had been—our mother’s death wasn’t even the half of it. I didn’t know if everything that happened would’ve still happened if my brother were there. It was hard to know—impossible, even, to guess. And it was painful to imagine—not to mention unfair— that I would be angry with him over his presence. He was trying to earn a living to bring more money home, to make sure our mother had the funds she needed to battle her illness. That had all been in vain. I wasn’t so sure she’d been sick anymore. That was how warped my reality was. Someone with

enough knowledge of medicine, who had access to the right or wrong drugs, could simulate anything, more or less. I was painfully aware of that. I just didn’t know how to tell my brother. He’d already dismissed the worst truth I’d tried to offer him. I loved my brother, as much as I could love a person anymore, but his practical nature sometimes got in the way. He thought everything had an explanation—that if he just asked the right questions and thought about it long enough, he’d be able to divine anything. He was the older one, but it was apparent I was going to have to protect him from this awful truth. Sometimes, brother dear, shitty things just happened. There weren’t reasons for them. There wasn’t an easy explanation, one that tied the narrative up in a neat little bow and left you satisfied. There were real monsters out there, and one of them had been living with us. Another one was me. “I understand why you weren’t here,” I said finally, “and I don’t blame you for it. You were trying to help the family.” “I didn’t do enough,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I couldn’t protect you from seeing Mom deteriorate. And I couldn’t earn enough money to get her better treatment.” How had I worked myself into this position? My brother had been overprotective of me for my entire life. How could I protect him from his own guilt when mine was trying to swallow me whole? “Mom was just really sick, Matt,” I said. “It mystified the doctors.” “She should’ve had better doctors.” Poor, practical Matt. “It’s better that she’s at rest.” I couldn’t believe the words I was finding to say. Of course our mother wasn’t better off dead, not when I wasn’t entirely convinced she’d been sick in the first place. “She suffered a lot.” That statement was true, but not at the hands of some arbitrary illness. There was a name I could give her tormenter, but I didn’t trust my brother with that knowledge. I didn’t want him to think I was crazy on top of everything else. I could imagine him weeping as he locked me away in some institution and threw away the key. He’d never believe anything I’d tell him, and it would destroy our relationship. Right now, I needed him to get me out of this town. I

couldn’t sacrifice our bond over something as awful as the truth. “You know better than I did what happened,” he said, sighing. If he could admit that, why couldn’t he believe me when I told him I was at fault in her death? Was it that painful to believe? It would give him the explanation he craved, the easy bow that would help him sleep easy at night. Only it wouldn’t be an easy sleep. My brother would never forgive himself, and then I’d have one more life on my hands. The heavy equipment roared behind us, shoving the dirt on top of our mother’s casket. Each heavy thump of the earth falling on top of her made us both flinch. I suddenly wished I were crazy enough for my brother to lock away. If I were removed from reality, I wouldn’t have to deal with this. I couldn’t deal with this. My anxiety flared mightily, and it felt like the heavy equipment behind us was piling dirt on top of me, load after load, keeping me from breathing. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” my brother said, though I could barely hear him above the roar in my own ears, the harbinger that I was about to lose my composure. “What don’t you understand?” I asked, my voice faint. I could tell him lots of things he wouldn’t understand, lots of things I still didn’t understand myself. “I don’t understand why Carl didn’t come to Mom’s funeral.” It was at that statement I started vomiting.



Chapter 8 Levi’s townhouse had become something of a playground for me. I loved to while away an afternoon by lurking through the sumptuous rooms, not having to pretend very hard that they belonged to me. Each time I decided on a room that was my favorite, the designation lasted for all but a handful of minutes until I revised it, settling on something different. I would love the foyer for its rich wooden floors, the way my shoes sounded when I walked across it, the curve of the staircase up to the second floor, the high ceiling and its dangling chandelier. It was the room that set the tone for the rest of the house, and it did not disappoint. But then I would remember everything about the master bedroom—the enormous four-poster bed with long, maroon curtains, the shaggy alabaster rug that shielded my bare feet from the cold floor, the way the lights could dim and fade and brighten according to whatever mood needed to be lit, and, of course, the amazing sex I was having in there. It was perhaps the room I spent the most time in—though that didn’t stop Levi and me from christening other parts of the townhouse with our coupling. He hadn’t been joking when he’d told me several weeks ago that he thought he was getting addicted to me. We had sex at least twice every day, his appetite just as rampant as mine. I was always after that light at the end, the physical release that would temporarily calm my inner turmoil. Sex with Levi was better than sex with anyone I’d ever experienced it with, and my view on my own sexuality was shifting. Sex was something I’d binged on back in my hometown. I’d seduce any man without knowing him, knowing that if I could manage to get off at the end, the orgasm would remove me from my cares—if only for a few brief moments. That relief would be enough for me to throw myself at whoever came by, whatever they looked like, with no regard for my personal safety or their personalities. I hated myself for my weakness and lack of resolve. I hated the fact that I used sex as a coping mechanism for the very real horror I’d undergone—the one that continued to torment me, even though it

was in the past. And I especially hated that my anxiety about my sexual proclivities just continued to pile on top of all the other anxieties I already had. It was a cycle I couldn’t break. Then Levi had come along, out of the blue, to see what he could do to save me. My brother, in death, had pushed the exact person I needed in my direction, and I had seized upon him with no intention of letting him out of my grasp. With Levi, sex was a sure thing. Our bodies were in tune with each other from the start, and we never said no to each other. We never wanted to say no. That’s how good it always was. We never failed to bring each other to completion, to make each other feel desired and cherished. Levi once missed an entire week of work simply because neither of us wanted to get out of bed or put clothes on. It was like a fever dream of pure carnal ecstasy. His hands roamed every inch of my body; his tongue followed the paths his fingers decided on. Our lips locked so that we had to breathe for each other, taking in air that was exhaled in moans, the only language we needed for the entire week. Our fingers threaded together, my arms pushed up over my head, gripping his hands as he pumped again, and again, and again. The way my whole body ached when it wasn’t being touched, making me press myself up to him, torso to torso, belly to belly, my legs against his, wishing that I could simply sink into him and never resurface as only myself. If we weren’t already addicted to each other, that was the week when it happened, barely stopping to eat or drink, continuing our affections in the shower whenever one of us decided it was time to take one. I cringed to think of what the staff members at the house thought of us. We were neither discreet nor quiet, not bothering to cover up when we’d go for a bottle of water down in the kitchen, or a quick bite of something to eat from the refrigerator—perhaps bringing back up to the bedroom a bottle of chocolate syrup for a little fun. I hoped that, after the first day, the staff members had just decided to make themselves scarce.

It was a novelty, realizing that I was living in a place that came with its own staff. The townhouse, itself, wasn’t that much bigger than my old house had been. It was two stories, but it came with a butler, a cleaning army of two, and a full-time chef. For someone used to getting her primary nutrition at a gas station in my walking rambles around my hometown, the chef was a real novelty—as were the meals she made whether I requested them or not. Full breakfasts magically appeared on a table by the bed: crispy bacon, succulent sausages, eggs fluffy, over easy, poached, hardboiled, pancakes as light as air, thin crepes encasing fresh berries and cream, oatmeal in all incarnations, omelets stuffed with mushrooms and crisp peppers, and muffins I’d prefer even over cookies and cakes. There wasn’t a food item that was off the menu during lunch. I could wander down to the kitchen and request something from the chef or just give her free rein over what I’d be eating, which was what I did most often. I liked to watch her bustle over the stove. No matter what a person did, if they loved it, it was always apparent while they were doing it. She watched each pot and pan boil and simmer, stirring and tossing its contents, never burning or undercooking a single item. It was a glorious sight to behold, and I always felt that the food tasted even better after I’d watched her make it. I often requested breakfast items just because they were so good, but she also made a mean soup and sandwich combination, pastas, meats, Asian fusion, tacos, wraps, everything. The chef was on call for dinner, but we often didn’t utilize her services then. Levi enjoyed returning to the townhouse after work to find me there, waiting for him. He had been taking me to a different place for dinner every night since I’d arrived in the city, and I had yet to be disappointed. “What if I liked last night’s place so much that I wanted to go there tonight?” I’d tease him as he drove us to yet another restaurant. “You’ll just have to wait until it rotates back into our dinner schedule,” he’d say, those blue eyes sparkling even if his mouth was set in a straight line. “And just when will that be?” “Years and years from now.” It made me laugh, but it was true. There were so many restaurants just within a couple blocks of

the townhouse. The idea that we were going to eat at every restaurant New York City had to offer without repeating one of them—as some restaurants closed and new ones opened in their places every single day —was exciting. My hometown’s claim to fame was a brand-new McDonald’s restaurant that I’d refused to eat in. I could get whatever I needed at the gas station for cheaper, usually. Coming to the Big Apple had broadened my world more than I could’ve possibly imagined. We saw everything—Times Square, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park. We did everything—ice skating, the movies, Broadway, boat rides. We went to museums together, to art galleries, to libraries and shops and shows. Even though I had the money I’d brought to the city with me, Levi insisted on buying me new clothes and shoes. We made a game of it, me trying on nearly every item in the little boutiques he took me to, modeling each and every one of my new outfits for him. In the end, I had more clothes than I ever had, even growing up, back in my hometown. And he still didn’t think I had enough. Sometimes he would come home from work and surprise me with a soft cashmere scarf or a silky dress or a handbag. “You have more fun shopping than I do,” I told him as he handed me a lingerie set of satin so soft that it seemed to have been spun from clouds. “I just happened to see it in a window somewhere,” he said, laughing. “What, you don’t like it? I can take it back.” “Don’t you dare,” I gasped, hugging it to my chest. “It’s mine, now. Too late.” “I could do without shopping,” he admitted, smiling as I held the lingerie out to admire it in the light from the window. “I just like the look on your face when I bring you something new.” I flushed and gave him a chaste kiss. The man had good taste in women’s fashion—good enough to doubt certain things about him. But then we had a delicious romp in bed and all of those misunderstood assumptions were laid to rest. “Why are you still single?” I’d ask him. “Who says I’m single?” he teased, dodging the question with humor until the day I demanded to know. “Do you want me to have a girlfriend?” he asked, folding his hands on the table between us like I

imagined he must do at his business. “I don’t know,” I said, shrugging roughly. “I just think you’re a good catch, that’s all. I’m curious why you don’t have one.” “Never had time for one before,” he said, handing me a piece of pie the chef had prepared earlier that day. It was still warm. “Bullshit,” I snorted at him, taking a bite. God, she outdid herself with every dessert I tasted. This one had delectable, buttery, flaky crust encasing sweet peaches. It was perfect in every way. “I’m serious,” he said, sipping the brandy he preferred for dessert. “I’ve been focused on work for more years than I care to admit. It’s the reason I’ve enjoyed the business success I’m fortunate enough to have. But that also means that other areas of my life have been…sadly lacking in attention.” “Well, I hope those areas that have been sad are happy now,” I said, leaning back in my chair and resting my bare foot in his lap, fondling his cock through his pants. “Oh, I promise that part of me is very happy these days,” he said, winking at me, snagging my foot, and giving me a massage that was almost as good as the pie I continued to inhale. “I don’t want anyone else to know about you,” I said. “You promise me you’ll never tell anyone just how good of a boyfriend you are. You’re all mine.” “Oh, so I’m a boyfriend now?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at me. “Whose boyfriend?” I laughed, feeling self-conscious. “A boyfriend in training. You still have much to learn.” Even as my life broadened, and my relationship with Levi broadened, as well, there was still one area of my existence that wasn’t broadened, and it troubled Levi all the time. “When are you going to figure out what you want to do with your life?” he asked me one night after we’d gotten back from our nightly dinner explorations, after we’d made love slowly, gently, our stomachs full of rich wine and food. I raised myself up off of his chest to look at him, trying to gauge the seriousness of his words. “When are you going to get off my back about it, Dad?” I half joked. His half smile told me that he was serious. “Don’t get me wrong, I like coming home to find you here,” he said, “but I don’t want you to get

bored. Or fall behind. Or, I don’t know, Meagan. Help me out here. What do you want to do with your life?” We’d had a version of this conversation while aboard Levi’s jet, flying into the city that fateful day we’d met. I’d been able to distract him from a resolution then by joining the mile-high club, but it was looking like he wanted an answer, now. “Well, there are a lot more bars here than there were in my hometown,” I said, shrugging. “I know how to pour a beer and mix a cocktail, more or less.” Most of the patrons there had taken their liquor straight, but I figured I’d learn fast, if I had to. “But you don’t want to work in a bar forever, do you?” “What’s wrong with that?” Those blue eyes were worried, and I couldn’t figure out why. He had all the money in the world that he could possibly need—billions of dollars. Why was he so interested in what I was going to do with money? In a flash of shame, I realized that I was mooching off of his kindness. He probably wanted me to get a job and move out of his townhouse so he could go back to his own life. At the very least, I expected that he’d like to see a little help with the rent. I realized it probably wasn’t very affordable. “If your passion is working in bars, then I applaud you,” he said. “Do you want to own your own bar? Manage one? Oversee the operation of a whole string of franchises?” “I’ve overstayed my welcome, haven’t I?” I asked him. It was an awkward question when we were both lying naked in bed, pressed up against each other. “No, absolutely not,” he insisted. “I’m just concerned about you.” I didn’t want his concern, or his attention, for this area of my life. “I’m not bored,” I said. “How could I be bored in this place?” His television got more channels than I thought possible, and one of my favorite pastimes had become watching foreign-language soap operas. It was fascinating trying to figure out the dramas without the aid of English subtitles, and I found myself more entertained by the explanations I came up with to make sense of the characters’ overwrought interactions. Even more entertaining than the television’s myriad windows into different realities were the

literal windows in the townhouse. I loved to gaze out of them, watching all the different people who walked just outside, yards away from me, guessing at their purposes. The soap operas were usually too farfetched to be taken seriously, but the people outside our windows were real. Day after day, I started recognizing some of them as commuters who lived in nearby homes. They all had their own lives and jobs to attend to, hefting tote purses and briefcases, opening umbrellas to the rain that slung down from the sky, bundled in scarves to keep out the cold on the more blustery days. They all had their own lives, places to be, things to do. But the ones I didn’t recognize were even more intriguing. They carried shopping bags, interlopers in boroughs they rarely frequented, or had cameras slung around their necks and were as enchanted by this city as I was. I was too overstimulated to settle down and think about what to do with my own life when there were so many other lives to immerse myself in around me. “I can’t say that I’ve ever really been driven,” I lied, trying to keep him from worrying about me. “Is it rent money you want?” He actually laughed at me. “Do you think I need rent money?” “Well, no, but it’s the principle of the matter….” “I don’t need a cent from you, and I don’t want any, either,” he said, taking my hand. “Honestly, I’ve been happy to have a reason to spend money ever since you’ve been here. It’s been really fun.” It was my turn to laugh at him. “Poor little rich boy.” “I was just raised to know exactly what I was going to be doing,” he said, kissing my hand before releasing it, his eyes far away. “My parents were well to do, but they didn’t want me relying on them. I paid my way through school because they thought it would build character. I amassed some debt, getting my master’s degree, but I started paying it off immediately with my designs.” I watched him as he relived his past, drawn in deeper by him than any of the programs I watched on the television or the people who passed by outside. Levi never really talked about himself or his past, so I was eager to glean whatever knowledge I could. “When my parents saw the kinds of buildings and houses and theaters I was designing, they knew

I’d do big things,” he continued. “But they still didn’t help me, letting me put in my time under bosses and companies with less vision than I had but more money. I did designs I didn’t believe in just to make rent, to make sure I was paying down my debt every month. But I started working my way up, started freelancing, started saving what money I could.” “You were driven as hell.” I understood why he was puzzled at my lackadaisical approach. He’d worked hard for everything and had been successful, but I’d been forced to put my life on hold for probably too long. I couldn’t really put my experience in words to help him understand. “I took out loans to create my company, when I decided I was ready,” he said, smiling at me. “And the first month, when I knew it was time to make a payment, my accountant informed me that the loans had been paid in full. My parents had watched me work hard and succeed, and they repaid my efforts.” “That’s really amazing of them,” I said. How different would my life have turned out if I’d had different parents, been born into a different family, had the kinds of opportunities that Levi had? Maybe I would’ve been a billionaire, too. Or, if not that, at least happy. But maybe I was happy right now, lying in bed next to this amazing man. It hurt me just how good he was, how talented to build all of this from nothing, without a single handout from his parents until he’d finally made it. I just hoped he never found out how messed up I was.

Chapter 9 I thought a lot about what Levi had said, about me needing to figure out what I needed to do with my life. I wasn’t always so sure about just how permanent I was in my life. Maybe that was the deeper reason why I hadn’t really considered a serious career or future. My tragedy had been so complete that I’d drifted for a whole year without direction, and it was going to be difficult to come back from that. The only thing I could figure to do, while Levi and I both racked our brains for a solution to my present inaction, was to make sure he knew I cared deeply for him and was thankful for everything he had done for me—and continued to do. On a random Tuesday, I had the chef make up a pair of lunches while Levi was working. While she was packing them away into containers, I looked up directions to his architectural firm. It didn’t seem so far, but it required me taking the subway—an experience I hadn’t yet enjoyed. I knew that Levi employed a car to get him to and from the office every day, but I didn’t want to engage its services. I wanted to keep my visit a surprise. I got dressed in one of the frocks he’d brought me—a mint-colored one he said contrasted with my hair—strapped on some heels, and covered it all with a nearly floor-length woolen coat. With a quick dusting of makeup, I grabbed my purse and the lunches and was out the door. I had to laugh at myself. After all of the people watching I’d been doing, I understood within a couple of blocks why I’d never seen any of the commuters wearing heels. New York just wasn’t the right sized city for stilettos—at least not for me. I made it to the station well enough, but the stairs leading down nearly killed me. It was a relief to make it to the train and heave myself into a seat, giving my feet a break as we rocked through the tunnels, arteries of the city above our heads. Levi hadn’t taken me by his work since I’d been in the city, even though we’d rambled all over the island and beyond. He probably hadn’t thought about it, more eager to show me the places in New

York City everyone else wanted to see. I was certain my grand gesture would please him, bringing him home-cooked food unexpectedly. I walked out of the subway station and found myself right in the midst of the world, it seemed like. People crushed around me, all intent on getting to their respective offices or errands or sightseeing. The buildings were so tall when it was just me standing beneath them, and I tried not to gawk. It was practically Christmas, and everyone seemed to be carrying parcels. I loved imagining what was inside of them and who they were going to. The possibilities were endless. I followed the directions on my phone until I stood in front of a gorgeous and modern building— a departure from the way Levi decorated his own home. It was all angles and glass and concrete and modern, minimalist white. Even the receptionist on the ground floor wore white—though it could’ve been a random act. “Can I help you?” she asked, looking at me and my bags of food. “Oh, no,” I said, smiling. “I know where I’m going. And I want to keep it a surprise.” “Miss, I have to know where you’re going,” she said. “It’s a matter of security.” “Okay.” I resigned to have my secret spoiled right as it was about to happen. “I’m here to see Levi—Levi Morgan. I was going to surprise him with lunch. But you can tell him, if you have to. I understand.” Her face softened. “You can go right up—top floor,” she said. “All the office walls are glass, though, so your surprise might be spoiled pretty fast. Sorry I was so adamant. We’ve had some very recent changes to our policies here.” “No worries.” I went to the elevator, a little dazzled that it, too, was glass, and rode it to the top. The building was a dizzying fifty stories straight up, and I saw others around it get smaller and smaller from my vantage point in the elevator. It was a good thing I wasn’t afraid of heights—that is, I didn’t think I’d ever had an opportunity like this one to be afraid of heights. The view behind me, as the elevator doors rolled open, was just as arresting. The receptionist had warned me that it was all glass, but that still didn’t prepare me for just how beautiful, glittering, and modern it all was. I couldn’t believe that this was Levi’s company, that he came here every day—well,

the days when he could pull himself away from me to make it in to the office—and created more beautiful things. The very design of the building, this office, in particular, was so different from who I knew Levi and it amused me. At the same time, it made sense. He had parts of him that were old-fashioned—the way he held doors for me, drove me all over the city, spent his money on me. But there were other parts that were modern. He didn’t expect anything out of me, letting me be my own person while pushing me to be better still. He believed in me. Seeing this office for the first time was like examining that other part of him, the one who had worked really hard to get to where he was, and the one who had amassed his wealth because of his talent instead of mooching off of his family. I admired that about him, and wished he would tell me more. I ached for that more. I could’ve sat for hours and read books about Levi, if they were out there. I was hungry for knowledge about him. About how he was so amazing. About what had made him like that. I walked uncertainly, not sure where I was going in spite of all the glass, until my eyes locked on the biggest office, toward the back of the floor. If the man’s name was on the outside of the building, that’s where he’d be, I wagered. I walked with more confidence, until I saw him, talking with a group of burly men in the same dark suit and ties, all with earpieces in. I hesitated, and he happened to turn at the same time, locking eyes with me. I smiled and waited for him to return the expression, but he didn’t. He looked puzzled, first, then he paled, like he was frightened. Then, unless I was way off, he was angry, pushing past one of the guys in the suits and out his door to meet me. “What are you doing here?” he asked quietly, glancing around at the curious gazes we were getting. “I wanted to surprise you,” I said. “Well, I’m surprised.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Congratulations.” I felt stupid, like I was being fussed at in front of a bunch of strangers. Essentially, I was. Everyone in their stupid glass offices could see us, plain as day. I just didn’t know what mistake I’d made. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Am I not allowed to be here?”

“It’s not that, Meagan. It’s just…today’s not a good day.” Okay. I was pretty sure I understood. “You’re embarrassed of me.” “What? I am not.” “You’re embarrassed that I’m here,” I said, lifting my chin, keeping my voice as quiet as his. “I’m just fine at home, aren’t I? Hidden away. Out of sight. So you can be someone different here. I’m just something you like to entertain yourself with. A little secret you can keep to yourself.” “You’re way off,” he said, crossing his arms. “How did you even get here?” “The subway,” I said, and he made a noise in his throat. “What? Is that not allowed, either?” “You should’ve told me you were coming,” he said. “Better yet, you should’ve just stayed home.” “Fuck you,” I said, smiling as I did so, just for show. People were so busily pretending that they weren’t watching us, straining to hear what we were saying. “You can enjoy your lunch by yourself.” I shoved the bags at him and turned on my heel, stalking through that fishbowl until I got to the elevator, letting the doors slide shut behind me, enjoying the view as the ground came rushing up to meet me. How had I screwed up so badly? It didn’t make sense. I thought he would’ve loved the thought I’d put into making his lunch—or at least telling the chef what to make for his lunch—and taking it across the town. In my head, it was romantic, but Levi hadn’t seen it like that. He’d been angry for some reason. Whatever. I wasn’t sticking around to figure out why. He’d had his chance. I left the elevator and walked across the lobby, hungry and miserable, smiling at the receptionist before I left. Maybe this building was an indication that there were parts of Levi I didn’t understand—and probably shouldn’t want to understand. Maybe he was a completely different person when he came to work, and I’d somehow upset that balance by showing up unannounced. I realized just how much I didn’t know about him. Should I even be living with him? I’d never felt very unsure of it until now. Maybe I didn’t know him at all. Maybe he was putting on a show for me to lull me into a sense of comfort. To make me trust him. I shook my head at myself, disgusted. I’d been fooled once, in that way. How could I let myself get fooled again? Hadn’t I learned anything? Or was I doomed to repeat my mistakes, over and over

again, until I died? I was wandering, unsure of where to go, my feet hurting in the stupid heels he’d bought me, when someone seized my upper arm. I whirled around, swinging my purse and hitting my assailant with it reflexively, when I realized it was Levi. “What the fuck?” I demanded. “What’s your problem?” “Get in the car,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, his face grim. A dark SUV was pulled up to the sidewalk behind him, the car he usually took to work. Had he really taken a car to chase me down? How had he known which direction I was going in? How had he found me? “No,” I said stubbornly, planting my feet. “I’ll walk.” “In those shoes?” He looked at my feet dubiously. “I can tell just by looking that you’re in pain.” “You’re the one who bought them.” “They’re not walking shoes, Meagan.” He sighed and let go of my arm. “Please get in the car.” “Are you going to tell me why you’re embarrassed of me?” He laughed, incredulous. “I’m not embarrassed of you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “If you’re not embarrassed of me, then why don’t you want me at your work?” “If you get in the car, I’ll explain everything,” he promised. He looked tired, like he’d just run a mile. Had he come running after me once I left? The image should’ve made me smile, but it just made me feel sad. What was going on here? “I’ll get in the car, but only because my feet fucking hurt,” I said, pointing my nose in the air and ignoring the hand he offered me to help me to the curb. I slid into the back seat, noticing that two of those big men with the dark suits were sitting in the front, one behind the wheel. The one in the passenger’s seat sucked in air between his teeth. “Miss, if you don’t mind me saying…you look an awful lot like Matt,” he said. “We miss him. He was a good guy.” I didn’t know what to say to that, and was saved from having to say anything as Levi got in beside me and closed the door.

“Back home, please,” he said. I waited for him to say something, anything, but he sat quietly, looking at his phone. Fine. Two people could play that game. I shoved my face against the window, watching the buildings move by. The drive probably wasn’t that long, but it felt like ages, four people in the SUV, and not a word exchanged beyond Levi’s instructions. I thought he’d want to make his explanation now, to alleviate my anger, but he seemed content to let me seethe and boil. Or maybe he didn’t want to have a fight in front of the other men. It struck me that they were part of his security team, since one of them had known my brother. He’d been having a meeting with them when I’d shown up. We reached the townhouse, finally, and I didn’t wait for Levi to open my door. I pushed it open myself, taking my heels in my hands and walking barefoot up the sidewalk to the house. The butler opened the door, his lips pursed, before glancing behind me and opening the door wider for both Levi and me. “So what the hell was that?” I demanded, following Levi up the stairs. “Answer me, goddammit! I won’t be ignored. I came all the way with some lunch for you and it’s like I did the worst thing in the world.” He switched on the bedroom light and sat on the edge of the bed with a long sigh. I refused to sit down beside him until I understood what was going on. “Right as you got there, to my work, I was dealing with a security situation,” he said. “That was all. It startled me to see you there, at that moment. I’m sorry that I was rude. It was kind of you to bring lunch. I usually have working lunches, so you don't have to feel like you have to do that anymore.” “That was all?” I demanded, putting my hands on my hips. “I interrupted a security meeting and startled you? You were a total asshole, Levi. You made me feel like shit.” “I didn’t mean to, Meagan.” He didn’t offer anything else, but this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. “Don’t you dare push me out,” I warned him, pacing the floor in front of him. “Don’t you do that to me, Levi.” Maybe I’d been good at being by myself before New York City, but I was fully addicted to

having that support system with Levi. He knew exactly what I wanted, exactly how to make me feel good. I even had my doubts that I’d ever want to have sex with anyone else ever again—which was a stunning revelation. Should I have put a ring on it, or what? When you found the person you wanted to have sex with for the rest of your life because it was that physically fulfilling, was that how people decided to marry each other? There were probably other catches. “I’m not trying to push you out.” Levi ran both of his hands through his blond hair, a compulsive, stress-filled gesture. “There are just a lot of things going on right now, Meagan. Things you don’t know about.” “Then let me in.” Once I realized the problem wasn’t me, wasn’t the sex I was always demanding, I relaxed a little. He wasn’t going to push me out. He liked the sex just as well as I did. There was something else there that was making him act like this. “It really isn’t your problem,” he said. “I don't want to worry you.” “What else am I worrying about?” I laughed, always looking for a deflection. I worried about things constantly—that Levi would get tired of the sex. That he would get tired of me. That he would decide to do a little digging and discover all of my deepest, darkest secrets. That he would make me be alone again. I couldn’t be alone again. I decided I wasn’t built for it anymore. “You should be worrying about what you’re going to do with your life,” Levi said, but it was an old, worn-out argument. It was just something to say—his own attempt at deflection. “I’ll figure it out,” I said helplessly, knowing I’d said it before. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Wasn’t it enough that I’d made it out of my hometown? Wasn’t it enough that I was here in New York, with Levi? “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?” Levi heaved a heavy sigh that sounded like it originated all the way down in his bones. “It’s just something that comes with the territory, I suppose,” he said. “A price to pay for having the money that I do.” I sat on the bed with him, pressing against him and offering a sense of physical comfort. If he

wanted to forget about whatever he was worried about and sink into me, I’d welcome it. What I didn’t expect was Levi stiffening up. “Just talk to me,” I said, scooting away to look at him. “Something is obviously wrong—so wrong that it’s affecting me. So involve me. Tell me.” “Have you noticed anyone around the house who shouldn’t be here?” he asked, squinting at me. “A deliveryman, maybe. Maintenance staff? Anyone hanging around outside on a daily basis? Watching?” A small chill worked its way up my spine. “Tell me exactly what’s going on.” “My security staff has let me know about a credible threat to my safety,” Levi said, “and the threat mentioned you. Did you tell anyone that you were coming to New York City with me, specifically?” Troubled, I shook my head. “There wasn’t anyone to tell,” I said. “I didn’t give notice at my work. My brother was my last friend I confided in, and I still hadn’t talked to him in a year.” “You don’t have any friends at the bar?” Levi asked. “No regulars you’ve been in contact with since moving here? Friends from school you’ve chatted with?” It was pathetic to admit, and I was afraid of what Levi would think of me, but I didn’t have friends. I’d been isolated over the last year, and I’d done it to myself. I hadn’t wanted personal connections to anyone—not the regulars at the bar, not the people who saw me every day in my movements between the different landmarks in town. “No,” I said finally, clearing my throat. “I didn’t have anyone. No friends.” That admission didn’t seem like it bothered Levi very much. I guessed he was much more focused on the threat than by my sad lack of friendships. “What about here, in New York City?” he asked. “Have you made any friends here? Anyone who knows your name outside of the staff here at the townhouse? Anyone you’ve recently connected with?” “I haven’t been anywhere without you,” I told him. “You’d know as well as I would if there was some weirdo creeping around. No one here knows me.” Levi lapsed into silence, all out of questions to ask me. I didn’t like that silence, so I tried to fill it.

“You should go to the police, if you haven’t already,” I babbled. “You’re the one who said they were good, and you have connections within the department. I’m sure they would be able to pull strings to see what was up. Maybe they’d even deploy a squad car or two to run surveillance here at the townhouse and at your work, maybe. You could probably get someone to follow us around to help figure out who was making these threats. And it’s a big city, too, you know. It could just be some random crazy person. This world’s full of them. ” “The threat mentioned you by name, Meagan,” Levi said quietly. “And your brother. My contacts I’ve talked to in the police department seem to think the threat’s connected to your brother’s murder.” That shut me right up. We sat there staring at each other, neither of us able to follow that statement with anything. It was starting to all make sense—the throng of security in Levi’s office, the fact that the receptionist downstairs was hesitant to admit me at all, citing recent changes in policy. Something had happened. Something that scared Levi. “You mean someone meant to kill my brother,” I said. “I don’t know if they meant to kill Matt, specifically,” Levi said, gripping his hair. I wanted to take his hands and untangle them, but I couldn’t make myself move. “Another possibility is that it’s just someone obsessed with the murder. It was in the news. That kind of visibility and violence tends to bring the crazies out of the woodwork.” “That’s so messed up.” I drew my knees up to my chin and hugged them, wanting to feel smaller for some reason. “My brother wasn’t famous. He didn’t know anybody famous. He was just trying to do his job and protect you.” Protect Levi so Levi would pay him, so my brother could bring me to the city. My ever-present anxiety and guilt gave a surge, reminding me that I was responsible for my brother’s death. If I’d been stronger, I would’ve been able to remain in my hometown, maintaining the house until we could figure out, legally, what to do with it. I should’ve been patient, but I’d been desperate to get out of that house. I’d forced my brother to think he had to take on a dangerous job in order to give me what I wanted. I hated this anxiety, and my old solution to cope reared its head. My savior was right here with

me, well within arm’s reach. I didn’t have to feel like this. I refused to feel like this. I could do something to make myself feel better. I let go of my knees and crept back across the bed until I was sitting in Levi’s laps, my legs unfolding until they were wrapped around him. I hugged him close, and he held me after a couple of beats, stroking my hair. He froze when I kissed his neck. “Really?” he asked, puzzled. “Really, what?” I answered. “We’re talking about a threat that I’ve received—a very specific threat—that might be related to your brother’s death, and you want sex?” I stiffened in his lap but didn’t make a move to leave it. It was warm and comfortable, and even as he fussed at me, I could feel his cock stir within his pants. I was very sure I could win him back over. “It’s a stress reliever,” I suggested. “Wouldn’t you like to blow off some steam?” “Do you even care that Matt died?” My anxiety screamed inside of me. I was a heartless bitch, a worthless leech, a wretched, twisted, broken person. I didn’t have real feelings. I was ruined forever—irredeemable. A whiney, crybaby, weak victim. A murderer. I was all of those things, because I kissed Levi on his mouth, anyway. I kissed him hard, bit his lip when he tried to pull away, grinned when he shoved me away a half second before covering my body with his own, ripping our clothes off, and shoving his cock in me—roughly. It hurt, and I wanted it to, as my body quickly adapted and responded, slicking me from the inside out, building up to that inevitable release. Levi didn’t make a single sound, just breathing angrily through his nose, not kissing me, not grunting, nothing. He held one of the posts on the bed with one hand and had the other planted right next to my face, balled in a fist. I could feel that he hated me in this moment—that this was the very definition of a hate fuck, jagged and angry, out of breath but over too fast to get sweaty.

My eyes rolled helplessly into my head as I came, gritting my teeth, trying not to cry out, trying to match that quiet intensity that Levi had. He stilled his thrusts as my body clenched and just watched me as I came apart. There was the light, sure, the one I craved, but the darkness was there this time, too. I thought I’d banished the darkness by coming to New York City with Levi. I thought he’d chased it away, but there it was, that maw open inside of me, and I realized that it had always been there, just disguised. It would always be a part of me. I would never be anything different from that giant, needy nerve ending. And I would never be worth a damn to anyone, least of all to myself. I was losing it. I was losing my goddamn mind. If I lost it in New York City, the only place I’d ever wanted to be in the world, it would all be over. If this place couldn’t work its magic on my broken life, no place would. I’d be faced with the reality that I’d never get it together. I’d never heal. Levi withdrew, and I realized he hadn’t come, just like the first time we’d ever had sex. He’d gotten me off because, for whatever reason, I needed it, and now he knew. He knew, and I couldn’t cope. “I’m not a bad person,” I said, wiping a single tear away. It wasn’t fair that my body felt so good but my heart felt so shitty. “I know you’re not a bad person.” Levi sat on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. “I am sorry that my brother was killed.” I was so sorry that I couldn’t properly work through my emotions about it. It was as if my brain short-circuited and my body had to take over—and my body dealt with it in the only way it understood how. “I’m sorry that I said that. I know you miss your brother. I know that people grieve in different ways.” His hands muffled his voice. We stayed silent for a long time, Levi unmoving, as I shook with sobs. I hurt badly, and as that afterglow faded, regret took its place. Why couldn’t I have been a normal person? Why did all that bullshit have to happen to me? Why did my brother have to die? Why had Levi come to my hometown in the first place? If he’d never come, I still would’ve been there, coping in the best way I knew, keeping that maw at bay. I was a survivor, no matter how ugly that survival happened to be. I was still alive, anyway, but

now I felt like dying. My traitor fingers reached for Levi, my mind shutting down in favor of my body handling things. My body knew how to close that maw a little, if only for a while. And Levi was sitting right there, naked. He could get me there. He could give me what I wanted to make this hell inside of me behave for a little bit. I smoothed my hand down over his arm and he flinched as if I’d burned him. “I meant what I said, when you first got here,” he said, taking his face out of his hands, looking at me. “I was afraid I was getting addicted to you. But I figured something out, too.” “What did you figure out?” My voice sounded dead to my own ears, just my lungs forcing air out of my mouth, my tongue shaping the syllables against my teeth, a soulless instrument parroting a real person. “You’re addicted to me. Well, maybe not to me, specifically. But to sex. You’re addicted to it.” “People aren’t addicted to sex,” I snapped, snatching my hand back and yanking a sheet over my naked body. Thank God for anger. If not for anger, I probably would’ve died a long time ago. “People are addicted to booze, to heroin. Not sex.” “People are addicted to sex,” he contradicted, not a trace of anger in his voice. “You’re addicted, Meagan. I can’t count the number of times we’ve had it just since you’ve been in the city. That’s a lie—I tried to keep count, in the beginning, just because I thought it was so phenomenal. And I lost count at a hundred. You haven’t been here much longer than a month, Meagan. It’s insane. How many people have you had sex with before me?” I laughed in his face. “Aren’t we supposed to have this conversation over drinks?” “Meagan, how many?” “A lady never tells, and a gentleman never asks.” The truth was that I’d lost count long ago, just like Levi had lost track of how many times we’d had sex. I imagined some belt in my mind with dozens and dozens of notches nicked in its leather, dreaded the number of times I’d thrown myself away to a man whose face I couldn’t even remember. “If you’re not going to be honest with me, then we can’t do this,” Levi said. “We’re not going to

work if we can’t trust each other.” “It’s not complicated, what we have,” I raged at him. I wrapped anger around me like a protective blanket. If not anger, despair would drown me. “You have more money than you know what to do with. I’m a convenient distraction—a housewife who doesn’t nag, a trophy wife who doesn’t ask for money, a whore you don’t have to pay. What’s wrong with enjoying sex? What’s wrong with enjoying lots of sex? I’m good at it, it makes me feel good, and I know it makes you feel good. What’s the big goddamn deal, Levi?” “What we have is the most complicated thing in the world,” he argued. “This, right now, doesn’t feel good. It’s not feeling good to not understand what’s going on in your mind when you react to every different provocation the same way—with sex. I’m afraid for you. If we’re being perfectly honest, which I encourage, I’d say that I’m afraid of you, sometimes.” “That’s ridiculous,” I scoffed. “Who’s afraid of a little sex?” “It’s not about the sex,” he said. “Not really. There’s nothing wrong with sex, however often or not a person engages in it. But Meagan, when I told you your brother had died, you jumped my bones right in a public space. And when I was trying to talk to you about a threat I’d received that could very well be linked to Matt’s murder, you threw yourself at me again. What am I supposed to do with that? It’s not an appropriate coping mechanism.” Too close. Levi was too close. My entire body clamped down on a gag of panic, and I glowered at him, trying to hang on to that anger. It was draining quickly out of my body, and I needed it now more than ever. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, then just be a man and admit it,” I said hotly. Good—that was good. I had to stay angry. “Don’t accuse me of having an addiction just to cover up for yourself.” “That’s the thing, Meagan,” Levi said. “I do want to have sex with you. I love having sex with you. I look forward to the next time even if we’ve just had sex. But I don’t know if you’re all there some of the time when we do have sex. Like right now. I don’t think what we did right now was healthy sex.” Too close. Too close. My brain fought my body and it was all I could do to try and stay quiet and still.

“There are places you can go to get help for this,” he continued, looking at me, those blue eyes seeing more than they probably realized. “You can talk to someone. There are therapy groups, completely anonymous, free and easy to go to. We can probably look them up online. You could go to a meeting—I could go with you, if you wanted—and you can just sit and observe for the first time, see if there’s anything there, see if you want to stick around.” Self-righteous anger warred with a strange longing, which coupled itself with fear. I couldn’t pick which emotion to feel. I hated the idea of group therapy, of sitting down with a bunch of strangers and weeping about how I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants, so to speak. There was nothing appealing about that. But there was that small chance that I’d be given the key to getting better, to becoming normal, to closing that fucking hole inside of me that sometimes seemed like all it wanted to do was gobble me down, and it would wreak havoc until it got its wishes. Normal was what I wanted, but sex had seen me through so much. It had been the root of all my problems, sure, but it had also helped me survive through them. It terrified me to admit that sex was a problem to anyone, least of all to myself. I couldn’t lose it. It was my identity, my most personal and profound offering. It was the only thing that I could rely on in times of crisis. It was the only thing I had. “Don’t push me out,” I told Levi again, and then I got up, put my clothes on, and walked out on him.



Chapter 10 I didn’t have a single person in this city except for myself. There was Levi, but he had convinced himself that I was crazy, in need of behavioral adjustment and psychological help. He was probably spot on, but I refused to admit it, refused to give him the pleasure of being right. Admitting it would mean I’d have to do something about it, and I wasn’t prepared for that. I walked aimlessly, not a place in the world I had to be or could be, realizing that this was really the first time I’d communed with New York City without Levi by my side. I thought I’d be more excited about it. I’d wanted this city to solve all of my problems for me. I’d wanted to leave my past in my hometown and strike out on a future free from guilt and drama and strife, but all of those bad feelings still welled inside of me, always present, woven into the fabric of my very being. How could I get away from something that was so clearly a part of me? If Levi was right, then what did I have to do to find myself again? I walked until I was lost, which wasn’t hard. I hadn’t done much exploring of this city on my own. If I was beyond a radius of a few blocks from the townhouse, I was generally lost. It was a phenomenon that usually delighted me. It had been impossible for me to get lost in my hometown. I’d known every intersection, every street corner, every crack in every sidewalk. I was even well acquainted with the trees that dotted the sides of the roadways. Here, though, everything was new, including the sense of being lost. I didn’t know if I liked it yet or not. I sank down onto a bus stop bench and rested my chin on my fists, crossing my legs and jiggling them impatiently. A bus would show up soon. I could get on it, and get good and lost in a part of the city I hadn’t seen, not even with Levi. I could just keep getting on and getting off buses until I was somewhere completely new. Somewhere different.

If New York City couldn’t save me, I’d have to go somewhere else. I didn’t need to stay here and be beholden to Levi, letting him make all kinds of assumptions about me and what was wrong with me. I didn’t want him knowing all of that, or even suspecting it. It would be so much sweeter if I would just disappear without a trace, leaving him with only fond memories. The last thing I wanted to do was to leave him with only the taste of my crazy in his mouth. Was I addicted to sex, like he’d said? He had recommended a meeting that I could attend—like those cheesy ones for alcoholics I’d seen in overwrought movies and TV shows. I always hated watching those scenes, like the characters were giving up on some essential part of them and reaching out for redemption, for validation. When a person gave up on themselves, that’s what I felt those meetings were for. For failures. I’d come too far to fail now. I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I sighed and looked across the street at a lone phone booth. I didn’t know why they even kept those around. Everyone had a cell phone these days, even kids. Maybe it was cheaper to keep them planted in their posts around the city than it was to dig them up and dispose of them. I wondered how many people had even used that phone in the last week. Anyone? I wouldn’t have guessed more than ten. Curious, I pushed myself up from the bench and crossed the street. People passed the phone booth as if they didn’t see it, and maybe they actually didn’t. If you got used to something, it faded into the background. I approached it slowly, as if it might shimmer and disappear suddenly, the product of my imagination, a mirage of useless things. But it was just as solid as the sidewalk beneath my sneakers, the glass windows marred with graffiti scribbles and stickers from promoters of nearby clubs and the musical acts that played there. I lifted the black receiver from its cradle and rested it against my ear—a dial tone! It excited me so much that I had to stop and shake my head. Had I expected it just to not work? That really would’ve been a waste of money. Even more of a novelty than the phone booth itself was the fat yellow phonebook attached to the receiver with a chain, as if someone would want to steal it. I picked it up as I sat the receiver back down on the cradle, noticing that, as people passed, more and more looked at me with interest than the phone

booth. Maybe the novelty for them wasn’t the phone booth, itself, but the poor soul who still had to use it. I flipped through the phonebook, wondering just who thought it was still important to include their contact information in here. Did it really enable people to find other people, the services they wanted? What could the phonebook offer that Google didn’t? I got my answer at the next flip of the page: serendipity. There, in thick black letters that contrasted with the flimsy yellow paper behind it, was the message this phonebook had to offer me. “ADDICTED?” it inquired. “HELP IS HERE.” Below, it listed a host of addictions, along with corresponding meeting places, times, and phone numbers those interested could call. There were no less than three meetings for sex addiction included, though the majority of the listings were for alcohol addictions. My mother hadn’t raised Matt and me religiously, but even I couldn’t discount this as just a simple coincidence. I’d stormed out on Levi for suggesting that I might be addicted to sex, found myself on that park bench, noticed the phone booth, and flipped to this very page without thinking about it. It was a sign that had smacked me right upside the head. I still didn’t agree that I was addicted to sex. The very thought made me sick. But I decided I was going to settle this—at least show Levi that I cared about his opinion, had tested it myself, and found it to be incorrect. It would be as easy as that, and all I had to do was show up to the next meeting. I checked the time on my phone and searched the location of the next meeting. It was in a section of the city I’d never even heard of, but the map feature on my phone assured me that I could make it if I followed its directions that included…getting on the bus that just pulled up to the stop I’d been sitting at. I dashed across the street, nearly killing myself, and boarded the bus, panting. The signs were just too obvious for me to ignore this. I rode the bus across town, watching as the brownstones and storefronts gave way to bodegas and projects. Levi probably wouldn’t have wanted me to attend a meeting all the way out here if he’d known just where it was, but that didn’t concern me. I got off the bus when the phone told me to, walked a couple of blocks, made another turn, and found myself in front of a dilapidated old church. I shook my head. I really didn’t want to do this or be

here. I would’ve been able to deal with it if it had just been in some old classroom or something, but a church was just too much. I dawdled out front until the time of the meeting passed, and my phone squawked at me in protest. “You have reached your destination,” the voice prompted me as I paced back and forth. I shut it off and stashed it in my pocket, finally forcing myself up the path and into the church. It was quiet and dark inside the entryway, and I procrastinated further, telling myself I was only pausing so my eyes could adjust. A few red wax candles burned in a bank of unlit ones—prayers bright in rows of silence. Should I light a candle for myself? For my brother? For my mother? For Levi? I didn’t know if those would work for me. I’d spent my entire life ignoring the possibility of the presence of God. If I acknowledged it now, it would be too painful. If I tried to accept religion, I’d have too many hard questions. I’d probably be turned away at the door, too broken to try to be fixed again. I heard faint voices as my eyes got used to the dimness in the vestibule that extended to the main chamber, arched ceilings capturing and projecting sound that was coming from somewhere else in the building. My shoulders sagged with relief that I wasn’t going to have to sit inside the room for worship in that church, that I wouldn’t have to approach the vaguely foreboding altar at the front of the room. I followed my ears, which led me down a hallway and into a smaller chapel. Whatever religious items that had been displayed in here were locked away, hidden from our collective secular woes. I slipped into one of the pews that wasn’t populated yet, looking around, taking stock of just what I’d gotten myself into. I was one of the few women dotting the pews of the hall that was sparsely attended, mostly by men. For the most part, people stared straight ahead, straight through the moderator at the front of the room, droning on and on about accountability. I stole a couple of sidelong glances at my peers, trying to judge what kind of crowd I was in and how I fit in. There were lots of nervous guys, joggling their knees, hands shoved in jacket pockets. My gaze bored holes into the back of the woman’s head seated in front of me, trying to glean her story from her messy ponytail. Could I identify with her? Did I really belong here, as Levi had suggested? Would I have something to gain by listening in on what was discussed in this room?

“There are several new faces here,” the moderator was saying just as I inadvertently locked eyes with a dark-haired guy sitting directly across the row from me. I lowered my gaze quickly. “Would any of these individuals care to share today?” There was no way I was going to open up right now. Not until I figured out what the game was here. A long silence stretched until the woman in front of me raised her hand halfway up. “I was fired from my job,” she said, her voice hushed in the quiet hall. “I recognized that I needed to go to my job, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I would just have sex with my neighbor whenever I wanted, even though I needed to go to work. Even though I needed to earn money to pay my rent. I got three months behind on my rent, after I got fired. It’s still being sorted out. And I couldn’t even make myself care about money for food. I just wanted to have sex.” Another person raised his hand. The moderator nodded. “I was in a similar situation,” he said. “I sought out prostitutes, even though I know it’s against the law. I sneaked around to do it, withdrew thousands and thousands of dollars out of my bank account, refused to explain to my wife what was happening. She divorced me, and took everything. She was right to. She didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated her. My secret ruined my marriage. I spoke with a doctor, who recommended this group, and now I just wonder what would be different if my depression had been diagnosed sooner, if I had realized that I was trying to cope through sex. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost my marriage…the idea tortures me.” Still another person raised his hand, eager to cast his cares onto the growing pile among us. “I had anxiety about my performance, anxiety about pleasing my wife,” he said, beginning even before the moderator looked his way. “I started watching porn just to get some tips, but I couldn’t look away. I wanted to watch it all the time. It was so much more fulfilling than the relationship I had with my wife in the real world. I started ignoring her. I started ignoring everything. And then one day, my credit card bounced, my checks bounced, and I realized I’d thrown everything away on porn, spending everything I’d earned, the money my wife and I were saving, on a couple of people having sex in front of a camera and putting it online. I was sobering. I felt awful. I still feel awful. I promised my wife I was

going to get through this, and I’m doing it for her.” “I want to caution anyone against feeling like they’re participating in this program for someone else,” the moderator said. “This is only effective if you come at it from the perspective that you’re doing it for yourself. You have to want to get better because you want to take care of yourself. Not for your wife. Not for your husband. Not for your court order, even. You have to want to get better for yourself. That’s the only person you should be focusing on right now. It’s the only person you can focus on.” The dark-haired man was looking at me. I could see him in the corner of my eye, turning his head and looking at me. I didn’t like it, realizing that, for the first time, I didn’t want anyone to look at me at all. It was a completely different version of me than the Meagan who’d worked at the bar in my hometown. That Meagan had wanted everyone to look at her, had bent down and pirouetted and stretched to ensure every eye in the establishment was locked on her. I’d wanted them all to see me, to see what I was offering, so that I could take from them something they thought they would be taking from me, if I let them. I’d wanted that sex compulsively, just like the people who continued to retell snippets of their stories, but I hated the idea of being lumped in with them. I was already a victim of so many other areas of my life. Did my sex life have to suffer, too? I imagined going home to Levi after tearfully pouring out my heart to strangers in a strange place, as one near the front of the hall was currently doing. I imagined telling him that I was, indeed, a sex addict. What then? We’d never have sex again. He would pity me and coddle me and maybe even let me continue to stay in his house, rent free. He’d stop having sex with me, of course, because it wasn’t healthy. It was an addiction. He wouldn’t want to enable me. But he’d miss the sex. I knew he would. I’d miss the sex. He’d go looking for it, and I would stay there at the townhouse, cloistered, unable to do a damn thing to relieve my tensions or distract myself from my anxieties and regrets, a virgin created anew. Soon, he’d have a new interest in his life, a new woman who took him between her legs and was never messy or weird or troubling about it, making him come without concessions. Levi would love her and want to bring her home, and maybe I’d be his crazy woman locked away in the attic. He was trying to help me, sure, and he had to protect me from myself and from the world, so I’d become his prisoner.

I’d become his untouched, unloved prisoner, and I’d have to watch the man I…had developed strong feelings for get on with his life while I was cocooned in fear and uncertainty about my own, afraid of the desire that had guided me thus far. The dark-haired guy was looking again. I gave him a pointed glare, and he glanced away quickly. What was his problem? I hated it here, and this wasn’t going to be the place where I spilled my guts and somehow managed to get magically better on the spot. There wasn't a “better” from what ailed me. It was just a part of who I was now. And the only reason I was here was because of Levi, followed, of course, by the litany of signs that had led me to the advertisement for this meeting. I didn’t want to get better. I didn’t even know what “better” would entail. I was only here because someone else thought I had a problem. Whether I did or not wasn’t something I was ready to look at. I needed to go. I needed to get out of here. The dark-haired guy who’d made eyes at me throughout the entire meeting watched me as I stood up and left, not trying to hide my disdain or be discreet. I wanted everyone to know that I thought this was a wad of bullshit. It wasn’t the place for me. It just wasn’t. I exhaled into a long, vaporous cloud when I got outside, the cold air feeling good on my face. Everyone was different, I told myself. Everyone was different, and everyone had their own stories. It was okay that I didn’t fit in there, even if Levi had recommended that I give it a try. I had my own story, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. I’d done what Levi had asked me to do. Maybe now he’d believe that I was normal. Maybe he’d see that I had put forth the effort to do something he’d suggested and forget about it. We’d go back to our old ways, and that would become the new normal. “I saw you in there.” I turned to see the dark-haired guy had followed me out into the street. “Yeah, I guess I was in there,” I said to him sarcastically. “But you didn’t like it.” “I have somewhere I need to be,” I lied. I didn’t know if I could go back to the townhouse, didn’t know if I could face Levi. I didn’t know what could be said or what needed to be said.

“Yeah, me too.” The guy’s tone was as insincere as mine was, and that old maw inside of me opened. I could get what I needed out of this guy. He could give me what I wanted. Levi was having misgivings. I understood that. He couldn’t understand why I craved sex, what it displaced inside of me. If he knew what was inside of me, he’d never stop having sex with me. If he wanted to help me so badly, then he’d understand that his participation was required to drive my demons out of me. Instead, he’d recommended this place to me. He didn’t know what drove me to act the way that I did, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to tell him. It wasn’t something I was interested in telling anyone. What Levi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He’d never so much as guess that I’d gone to a meeting for sex addicts and picked someone up just outside the hall. The sex would be quick, impersonal, scratching the itch. It wouldn’t hurt anyone. I could get it out of the way—maybe even set something up on the regular, just so Levi wouldn’t be so damn suspicious of my sexual motivation anymore. He’d even be proud of me—going to the meetings every day. It would just be my secret that I was meeting up with this dark-haired guy, or any guy, for sex. My appetite for Levi wouldn’t be quite as strong. He’d think the meetings were curing me, and I could embrace that normality for as long as it lasted—as long as nothing bad happened to me in the city as I sought out anonymous sex, and as long as Levi didn’t find out any of my secrets or this secret, second life I was about to embark on. As long as…nothing. As long as nothing. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t pretend like I was going to do this. I was angry that Levi had suggested this kind of meeting, had called me out on my problem, and had gotten so close to understanding me that I’d pulled away. But I couldn’t be angry at him. He’d only wanted the best for me. He truly did want to help me. And if I hooked up right now, with this dark-haired guy, I’d feel good for a moment, but terrible for the rest of my stupid life. I turned on my heel and walked briskly away from the guy, ignoring his shouts at my back, walking in the direction of the townhouse. In the direction of home.



Chapter 11 Maybe I’d been able to resist it, but that awful maw was still open inside of me. I walked down the sidewalk and wrapped my arms around me in the growing chill. Typical—I hadn’t dressed warmly enough. The sweater I’d pulled on in my haste to flee from Levi was doing what it could against the winter night, but it would’ve been better served with a coat. And a scarf. And probably a pair of gloves and hat, too. When would I learn how to take care of myself? The only thing I could think of right now was finding something to put in that maw. It gaped open, making me question everything. Could I really be addicted to sex, like those people in that room? I felt helpless in the face of the void inside of me, hopeless about being able to move past it. What had happened to me, the terrible thing to make it yawn open in the first place, wasn’t something that sitting around in a rented hall would solve. It didn’t feel like anything could solve it, except a time machine and a gun. Since I had neither at my disposal, I had to cope, and I only had one way I knew how to cope. I needed sex. I needed it immediately. It was only because of Levi that I’d turned down the dark-haired guy from the meeting. Only because of how disappointed I thought he’d be in me. And how disappointed I’d be in myself for betraying Levi. Maybe Levi and I didn’t have such a traditional relationship, but we had enough of something for me to know that I’d be ruining it by fucking someone else. It didn’t matter if the sex would be meaningless for me, just a way to scratch a very deep itch. It would mean something to Levi, and that was why I hadn’t done it. Why I had to do it. I hugged myself and trudged onward, trying to ignore the shapes of men who passed me, ready to

grab one and drag him into a nearby alleyway, unbuttoning my pants, taking his cock in my hand, putting it inside, moving against it until I was more like myself again, able to be in control for a little while…. No. What was wrong with me? I shook my head free of that potent imagining and moved on, walking so fast that it eventually became more efficient to break out into a jog. My breath puffed out in front of me before sweeping past me as I dodged around people. This city was so full of them, so full of possibilities. I could be with any of them and no one would know—not like it was in my small town, when everyone knew I’d give it away for next to nothing. The stares I’d gotten back then were nothing. I welcomed them, liking the knowledge that everyone knew. It was fantastic advertising. I should’ve demanded a bigger paycheck from Mr. Trenton, who owned the bar, because I’d estimate a good half of the customers were only there to have sex with me, not drink his liquor. The very real rumors of my sexual appetite were their own viral campaign. Here, I was anonymous. No one knew me. I could have anyone, take anything, and the only person who would know would be me. I could keep it from Levi. I could keep that secret. He wouldn’t have to know…but I would. He’d been so kind. He was only trying to help me, sending me, however inadvertently, to that meeting. And how was I about to pay him back? With sex with some stranger I would take right on these cold streets, then going home to Levi with someone else’s seed inside of me? I put my head down and jogged. I wished for everyone to become invisible—as invisible as I was in a crowd. No one knew me here…except for the threat Levi had mentioned. Thinking about just what the threat could entail was actually a welcome distraction from my own flailing. That dark-haired guy from the meeting had seemed pretty interested in me, but I couldn’t remember having ever seen him before in my life. There probably wasn’t even a possibility of him being the threat. Whatever it was, Levi was taking it seriously. I entered the house, surprised that the butler hadn’t been there to yank the door open for me, always somehow aware that I was approaching the doorstep. There weren’t any good smells emanating from the kitchen, and I couldn't map what room the maids were currently working on by the echo of the

sprayed air fresheners, the wisp of the broom against the floor. I was afraid the townhouse was empty—maybe it had all been a dream, after all, and I’d been accidentally squatting in some vacant home, consumed with my delusion of escape, when I heard a sound behind me. I whirled around, frightened, to find Levi. “Where is everyone?” I blurted out. My cheeks burned with my exertion, and I realized I was more hot than cold now. I shed my sweater right there and then, dropping it on the wood floor, standing in only a thin camisole, sweating. “I let everyone go.” “Let them go? Go where?” Next to come off were my sneakers and my jeans. My flesh was cold to the touch, but my long jog burned me from the inside out. I shook out my legs, trying to loosen the tight muscles, aware that I was shivering and panting at the same time. Aware of the way Levi was looking at me, and liking it. “I fired them,” he said. “Effective immediately.” That gave me pause. “Why would you do something like that?” I demanded. “What happened?” “You said you hadn’t been in contact with anyone outside of the house,” he said. “But the threat I’m investigating mentioned you by name. If you haven’t told anyone you’re living here with me, if there’s no one to tell, then it has to be someone close to you. My staff was here every day. They were the only ones who knew you besides me.” “So you fired them.” “That’s right.” “Because of me.” “Because of the threat.” I shook my head. “No. Those people were devoted to you. They lost their jobs because of me.” “Because I’m trying to keep you safe.” I pressed my head between my hands as hard as I could. “You can’t keep me safe.” “I can do whatever I think I can to keep you safe,” he argued. “Was there a member of my staff who I thought was the source of the threat? Probably not. But maybe they talked to someone outside of this

house about your arrival. I have to eliminate every risk, every possibility until we can narrow it down. We can do without the maids and the chef for a while, can’t we? Did you get too used to them?” “They’re people, Levi,” I exclaimed. “You can’t just fuck with their lives because of me. I don’t even believe in this threat. Who would threaten me? Who would actually want to do something to you? If it really was my brother who was targeted in the shooting, then whoever it was already got what they wanted. You don’t know. Maybe my brother was talking to someone. Maybe he was the one at fault.” The maw was bigger than I was, and it was widening. I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore, didn’t know who or what I was trying to defend. I felt bad that four people had lost their jobs just because I’d started living here. And I felt bad that someone had mentioned me by name in threatening Levi. It just felt like everywhere I went, I spread badness. It was probably something rotten inside of me, vestiges of the poison that had happened to me. I probably secreted it in my bodily fluids, exhaled it, and it infected people. I just needed relief from it. Release. “Where did you even go?” Levi asked. “You can’t just storm out of here, into the city. New York isn’t like where you came from. It’s a lot bigger. A lot more dangerous.” “Everywhere is dangerous,” I said distractedly, slipping out of my panties and my camisole. I was naked in front of him, watching carefully how I affected him. His nostrils flared like he sensed something he liked. He shifted his stance, trying to stem the flow of blood to his crotch, trying to hide his growing bulge. “Where did you go, Meagan?” he asked, clearing his throat. “I went for a walk.” I crossed the foyer until I was standing just a matter of inches away from him. He wanted me, but he didn’t want to be wanting me in this moment. He wanted to talk about serious things, including my whereabouts, the ever-present threat to our safety, the nature of my appetites. It delighted me much more than it should’ve that he was imperfect, just like me. Much more perfect than me, of course, but not without his flaws. Levi couldn’t ignore the ripe fruit dangled in front of him. Just like I couldn’t ignore the needs of that fucking maw inside of me. And it

needed sex. “You were gone all day,” Levi said. “I was worried. I was about to call the police.” “You could’ve called my cell phone.” “I didn’t think you would’ve answered.” “I also went on a bus ride.” “Oh?” He was fighting to keep his eyes locked with mine, fighting to keep them from drifting lower, to my still-heaving breasts. I could feel the heat radiating out from my body, and wondered if he could feel it, too. “Yes.” I took my hair down from its rubber band and shook it out, feeling it cascade down my sweaty back. “I took it to a meeting.” “Is that right?” I instantly regretted revealing that bit. Levi looked to shake himself free from some of the influence my nudity was wielding over him. “How was it? What did you think?” “Not for me,” I said, my tone dismissive, lowering my eyes for a moment, biting my lip, flicking my hair, doing every trick I could think of to make him forget his sanctimony, to come back to me, to be normal again. I needed my old normal. I had to have it. I was drowning. “Well…I’m glad you went,” he tried, but he was losing again. I could feel it, and it made me smile wickedly. “I…would you like to talk about it? What you thought about it?” “I’m pretty sick of talking, actually,” I said, using the very tips of my fingers to forge a trail down his chest, appreciating the softness of his shirt. “Been listening to people talking all afternoon. I’m done with it.” “I really think we should talk, Meagan.” “Later we can talk.” I flicked at one of the pearlized buttons on his shirt before slipping it out of its buttonhole. “No, not later. Now.” His tone was strong, but his resolve was weak. I knew this, and I took full advantage of it, flicking open another button, and another until I could run a finger down his bare torso. “I have something I want to do right now,” I said, and it was a miracle I could use my words at

all. I was so hungry for it that I wondered why I didn’t just push him down and take him against the stairs. It was because the stairs scared me—that was why. I’d done bad things on a set of stairs. So many bad things. Instead, I took him by his hand and more or less yanked him up until we were in the bedroom, the bed beckoning. “We have to talk about the meeting,” he said, but he allowed me to lead him still, letting himself sink to the bed, letting me straddle his waist. “Later.” I kissed his lips if only to get him to shut up, then finished removing his shirt. He captured my wrists as I moved down to his waistline. “Meagan, I don’t think we should have sex until we discuss what happened at the meeting.” I was impressed he could string a full sentence together, but I was way too focused to listen to it. I unfastened his pants, drawing his hard cock out of his boxers. See? He wanted me. He wanted this, even if he refused to admit it. He wanted to have sex just as badly as I did right now, and he wanted to help me. Well, this was how he could do it. He could give me whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. Levi would figure it out. He’d get it, eventually. Then, we’d be so happy. We’d be happy all the time, and we wouldn’t doubt each other. It would be a pure, perfect love. I hissed as I lowered myself onto his cock, wishing I had the self-control to take it slow, but my body would adjust. It always did. I went to my somewhere-else place, watching the maw inside of me stop growing, pause, and start to constrict. Good. It was getting what it needed to put me back in control. I would be myself just as soon as I got there. Just as soon as I came. And Levi never failed to make me come. He was so good for it. I kissed his mouth and was a little surprised when he didn’t kiss me back. He didn’t rebuff me, but his lips remained cold, unmoving. I tried again, but it was the same non-reaction. I wondered if he’d fallen asleep by mistake, or perhaps hit his head on something I couldn't see, and was just lying there, unconscious. I looked into his face and was met with a stoic gaze. His blue eyes sparked with protest, but his mouth remained in a firm, straight line. He didn’t want to do this, I realized, but his hands were still on my hips, guiding my rocking motions, helping me

creep closer and closer to my goal of release, in spite of him not wanting to do this. He didn’t want to do this, and I had forced myself upon him. I was a terrible human being. That was the identity of that shitty hole inside of me. It took and took and took and it never gave back. Levi had saved me from my hometown, and he was ready to sacrifice himself to try to save me from myself. He was letting me fuck him, and he didn’t want to do it. He had given me a place to live, clothes to wear, food to eat, money to spend, and I’d just decided that I could simply take sex from him, as well. I stopped my rocking immediately and began to keen, covering my face with my hands, horrified at myself, horrified that I’d become just as bad as my tragedy, horrified I’d become the very same monster who’d ruined my life. My keen rose to a wail, and Levi was speaking, dragging my hands down from my face, scooting up to a sitting position, but I couldn’t hear anything above my rock bottom. Because this was rock bottom. This was me using another human being like he was trash, like he was just something I could use and throw away, just like I’d been used and thrown away. I didn’t deserve to be alive. I hadn’t realized I’d started screaming until Levi clamped a hand over my mouth tightly, then loosened it. My throat was raw and my cheeks were wet, and I couldn’t stand to be in my own skin. How could Levi touch me? Why was he hugging me to his chest, even now, especially now, after what I’d done? “You have to let me in,” Levi said as I wept. “You have to let me help you.” “I don’t think anyone can help me,” I sobbed. “I don’t think it’s possible anymore.” My brother had tried to help me and ended up dead. Levi was trying to help me and just look at what I’d done to him. Look what I was doing to his life. “I am going to do whatever it takes,” he said, “and I don’t care what it takes. Take whatever you think you need from me. Whatever you need, Meagan. Anything.” I shook my head. “No. I can’t take that from you. I can’t take anything from you anymore. You still think you owe my brother. You don’t have to help me anymore. You’ve done enough.” “I want to help you. It doesn’t have anything to do with your brother anymore.”

“Why?” I demanded. “Why would you want to help me? I’m not a good person. You’re not going to like what you see when you peel back the layers. It’s just shards of glass and shit and garbage.” “Meagan, I love you. I’ve fallen in love with you.” I twisted in his arms to stare at him, dumbfounded. “Why would you do something as stupid as that?” He shrugged and actually smiled at me. “I don’t know. I guess you can’t really plan for something like that.” Levi was in love with me? It couldn’t be possible. I was the worst possible person in the world for someone to be in love with. It would never work. He would be miserable, and I would be helplessly stupid, hopeless. “You have to tell me what’s going on so I can help you,” he said. “Okay?” “You can’t help me.” I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Everything that had happened was a tangle of barbed wire inside of me. I stayed away from it because every time I’d tried to unravel it, I’d gotten pricked. It was easier to leave it alone, ignore it, and tiptoe around it. I’d learned to do that, and I liked to think I’d gotten good at it. Except, of course, for the small matter of having just forced myself upon Levi, who loved me, like an idiot. “I’m messed up inside, Levi. Meetings aren’t going to help that, and I’m afraid what’ll happen to you if you keep trying. I just…I just forced you …” “Stop that,” he said, bringing my hands back down from trying to cover my face again. “If I had wanted to stop you, I would’ve.” “But you didn’t want to have sex.” “Maybe not, but I wanted to help you, and if you needed sex in that moment, then I was going to help you with that.” I shook my head. “That’s not fair. That’s not fair to you, and I can’t accept that. I have to go away. I have to get away from everyone. I just consume people. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve had sex with because I honestly don’t know. I’m not proud of it. I don't know that I ever was. It was just something

to fill…something I had to do.” “Help me understand,” he said, his voice calm even as mine shook and broke. “I want to understand why you think you need to do this. If I can understand that, maybe we can figure out what needs to happen to help you let go. To move forward. To get better.” Would it be as easy as that? I wanted to believe Levi, was desperate to believe him, but I just wasn’t sure. I was too tangled up inside, a ball of ugly that refused to be solved. It sounded too good to be true, but I felt like I owed Levi. I owed him for getting me out of his hometown, and for putting up with my bad behavior in his own home. Still, it was hard. I’d kept everything inside of me for so long simply because there hadn’t been anyone to tell. I’d been alone. Now that someone was here, ready and willing to listen, I was frightened. What would happen once everything, every awful detail, was out in the air, hanging between us? I wouldn’t be able to shove everything back inside me, hiding it away from his gaze. It would be out there for the rest of my life, and maybe Levi would decide he didn’t want anything to do with a person as messed up as I was. I wouldn't blame him. Half the time, I wished I could climb outside of myself and be someone else, just for a little bit. “Meagan, just tell me. Nothing can be that bad.” He was wrong, of course. He didn’t know what he was asking for. The truth he was asking for wouldn’t be like anything he’d ever heard before, or could’ve imagined in his darkest nightmare. I wouldn’t be able to take it back, and he wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t hear it, didn’t understand just how horrific it was. It would color his understanding of me for the rest of our time together, which wouldn't be long. How would it last any longer than it had, once Levi knew what I was? “You can’t judge me,” I warned him, my voice sounding weak to my own ears. Weak and ugly. “Whatever I tell you, you can’t think differently of me. Keep loving me. Please.” “There’s not a single word you can say that will make me stop loving you,” Levi said, his blue eyes steady. I should’ve been reassured by him, comforted by his presence and his promise to listen and

support me. But I wasn’t. I was terrified. I believed that once he knew my story, my secrets, he wouldn’t be able to stop judging me. No one wanted to love something that was broken. When something was broken, you threw it away. You got something else, something better. Something that was still pretty and new. No one should have to try to love something broken. It was just too hard. I knew that Levi would stop loving me after he knew the truth. There was no way to get around that. But I also knew that he deserved to know the truth. If he thought he understood me well enough to love me, he just didn’t know me well enough. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, and he needed to. Even if I was about to lose the best thing that had ever happened to me, Levi had to know the truth. “Everything starts and ends with my mom remarrying. Her divorce to my real dad happened while she was still pregnant with me, and while Matt was still young. He doesn’t—didn’t have any memories of our father, and I never met him at all.” I looked at Levi. There was still time to revise my narrative. I could make something different up. I could omit certain details, lessen the blow of others. He didn’t know my story, so I could tell my story however I liked. I could make myself look better. I could make myself look blameless. Instead, I knew that I was going to be as painfully honest as possible. I deserved whatever disgust Levi had for me at the end. He hadn’t known what he was trying to save when he was standing inside of that bar in my hometown. If he’d known, there would’ve been no way he’d use his resources to try to help me. Saving him from myself was the kindest thing I could think of—the best way to repay him for his aid. He deserved much better than me. I would inflict so much more pain on him than I already had if this relationship continued. So I continued with my truth, the parts where I was a victim, where I was complicit in the horror. I was prepared to tell him everything. “The guy my mom married—he seemed normal, at first,” I said, looking into Levi’s blue eyes, trying to get lost in them, to make this easier. “Carl was nice. We’d never really had a father figure in the

house. He raised us….” Levi jerked, making me trail off. “What is it?” “What was your stepfather’s name?” he asked, his face and voice urgent. “Carl,” I said, confused. I hadn’t even told him what had happened yet. I hadn’t so much as scratched the surface. “Carl Prentice.” Levi’s face went ashen. “That’s a name I know.” “What? How?” He bit off each syllable of the next few words. “Carl Prentice is the man behind the threat against me. Against you. He knows you’re here.”

Chapter 12 Carl had been acting weird lately. He was always kind of off, but in a lovable way, as my mother was so fond of saying. I thought it was just because of how sick she was. Maybe he was upset. The medical bills were mounting, and she wasn’t working, so I knew that had to be stressful. It was why Matt had dropped out of college and started looking for a job in New York City. It was why I was delaying going to college after my upcoming graduation, and instead combing through the limited job options of this backwater town for an 18-year-old. I’d begun finding my stepfather lurking outside of the bathroom after I was taking a shower. “Did you need something?” I asked him, touching the towel wrapped around my hair. “Is Mom sick in the bathroom downstairs? You could’ve knocked. I would’ve hurried up.” He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside far enough for me to have to brush by him as I walked to my room. I chalked it up to stress about my mother. She was getting sicker, the cancer taking a sudden turn for the worse after years of hope for remission. I was so distracted by the end of school and my mother’s health that I missed the signs that should’ve helped me understand what kind of person Carl was turning into. I would wake up suddenly in the night to see him leaving my room, the door swinging shut behind him, slicing into the wedge of light from the hallway. He’d been standing over me, watching me sleep, I’d realize later. I convinced myself that he was just checking on me, or trying to decide if it was worth waking me up to tell me that my mother needed to go to the hospital again. Maybe, if I’d been more vigilant about things back then, I could’ve stopped what was happening. I could’ve alerted my brother, tried to convince my mother that Carl wasn’t good for us anymore, or gotten myself out of the house. Hell, I could’ve even told the police that my stepfather was gradually shedding his human skin and revealing the monster that lived underneath. But things happened so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. I was rushing to finish

coursework for my high school degree, preoccupied with my mother’s alarming decline, with no idea of the threat that was growing inside of my own home. When I did realize the extent of the threat, it was too late. I was in my room, poring over a sheaf of applications I’d picked up around town. They were building a new McDonald’s near the interstate access to draw in commuters to our area to spend some cash—all a part of some master plan city leaders were talking about to help boost the flagging economy. As much of a blow to my ego as it was to work at the fast food chain, I’d do anything to help my mother get better care. Our finances were taxed with her frequent hospital stays, not to mention the treatments the doctors told her she so desperately needed. Matt had been sending checks whenever he could afford to get a little behind rent, but it still wasn’t enough. I knew it wasn’t enough from the way the food in our refrigerator dwindled, how the lights around the house wouldn’t turn on sometimes. I had to help. If I was living here, I had to help. I didn’t think about moving away, even after I graduated high school. If I was paying rent of my own somewhere, that would be less money I could give to battling my mother’s disease. I wanted to stay here and shove as much cash as I could at the problem. It was the only thing I could do. If cancer had been something I could take with my hands and wrestle away from my mother, I would be doing that. But since it wasn’t, I had to have a job. I was filling in my personal information when the door to my bedroom creaked open. I glanced up to see Carl standing there, motionless, watching me. “What’s up, Carl?” I asked. I’d never gotten in the swing of calling him “Dad,” and it had never really been encouraged. My mother had been honest with Matt and me as we grew up about our biological father and about the reasons he wasn’t here for us, and how Carl was here for us, but my brain had never made that connection that Carl was my new father. It was easier to call him Carl, anyway, because that’s what my mother called him. Carl remained silent. He was silent more often than not these days—worried, I assumed, about my mother. I was worried about her, too, but I could open my mouth and speak to people, if I had to. “Is Mom okay?” I asked, trying again. I felt a sudden stab of fear that something dire had

happened and Carl was maybe too shocked to tell me. I shoved all of the papers off of my lap and made a move to launch myself off the bed and down the stairs to check for myself, when he finally spoke. “Touch yourself.” It was so odd, so out of character, that I wasn’t sure what I’d heard. Carl was the opposite of sexual. He was balding and only about as tall as I was—and I was of decidedly average height for a woman. I could never be sure what my mother saw in him besides the fact that he was dependable, that he stuck around in the times when she needed someone the most. He’d been around for my entire childhood, friendly but always a little detached. We didn’t hug, really. If I was told to thank him for a Christmas or birthday present, he would lean down and I’d peck him on the cheek, or pat his hand awkwardly. So when I heard something overtly sexual drop out of his mouth, I didn’t even understand it in a sexual context. Confused, I lifted one finger and deliberately touched it to the back of my hand. “Like this?” I asked, frowning and cocking my head at him. “Carl, tell me what’s going on. What do you want?” “I want you to touch yourself,” he said patiently, “and I want to watch.” Like an idiot, I lifted my finger and touched the back of my hand again. And again. “I don’t really have the time to joke around with you,” I said, still too puzzled to understand what was really going on. I’d never joked around with Carl. He wasn’t that kind of person. I had no idea why he’d start now. “It’s not a joke,” he said. “You’re all grown up now, and I want to watch you touch yourself. Now.” It was the “all grown up” part that made me realize what was actually happening. My stepfather, the man who’d been around for just about my entire life, having a hand in raising me and watching me grow, was propositioning me. “You’re disgusting,” I sneered at him. “How dare you? My mom is just downstairs, sick with cancer, and all you can think of is getting off? What kind of person are you? Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“You’ll do as I say,” he said, unperturbed by my outburst. “No, I won’t,” I said. “I’m telling my mom just what kind of person you are. And then you’ll have to leave.” I made a move to walk by him, regretting what I was about to do even as I was horrified and appalled at him. My mother didn’t need this kind of stress right now. She was so sick. I hated to imagine what telling her this would do to her. I would hesitate to tell her, if she were healthy, that the man she’d slept beside for all these years had just propositioned her daughter. It might really harm her, but I had to do something. I couldn’t just ignore what was happening, not when it was Carl, standing right here in my room, being a creepy pervert. I had to protect my mother, absolutely, but I also had to protect myself. There was no one else here to do it. “If you don’t do exactly as I say, I’ll kill your mother.” It was a concept so bizarrely horrible that I almost laughed at him, but Carl’s face was too serious to allow for that, and it stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t know what to do, or what to say. All I could do was stare at him, my brain running through possible responses, possible solutions, examining and rejecting one after the other, each one more implausible than the next. Just as implausible as what was happening right now. “You don’t think I’m being serious.” I’d never dreaded the idea of Carl until this moment, never realized just how grating that overly calm voice was. How terrifying it was. “You wouldn’t hurt my mom because you love her,” I said, my voice sounding small, childish. “I would hurt her to get what I want.” It was so matter of fact—that statement. How could someone be so sure of the desire to hurt another human being, one that he’d professed his love for? Carl was helping take care of my mom, for God’s sake. How could he want to cause her harm? “I don’t believe you.” It felt selfish and horrible, but I was so horrified by what he wanted me to do that I was willing to, abstractly, put my own mother at risk for my pride. “Your mother was vomiting last night,” he said. “I remember.” She’d been terribly sick from the treatments. I’d heard her, late, and went to help her, even if she was beyond help. All I could do was keep her waning hair out of her face and mop

her forehead with a cool cloth. The illusion of comfort was the only thing I could provide. “It didn’t have anything to do with the treatments. All I gave her was an extra little pill with the rest of them. She didn’t even notice. That’s how easy it is to sabotage her health. I have access to everything I need at the hospital.” “Why would you do something like that?” She had been so sick, heaving until there wasn’t anything else to purge, continuing to cough and spit over the toilet for what had seemed like ages. I’d done everything I could think of to make her stop. She couldn’t even manage to stomach the water I brought her to rinse her mouth out. “To prove to you that I was serious about what I’m prepared to do to make you cooperate.” I just couldn’t bring myself to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. I considered myself to be pretty practical, well equipped to sniff out bullshit. It was true—my mom had been sick last night. Really sick. But it could’ve been any number of things. There might’ve been an interaction with another medication, or the last vestiges of the sickness her treatment caused. Maybe there was something we had at dinner that hadn’t agreed with her, or just a stray mote of a virus or bacteria that one of us had carried back from our last trip to the hospital that had landed on a random surface somewhere in the house that she had come in contact with. There were too many variables to know for certain that Carl was telling the awful truth. “You’re a bright girl, Meagan, as well as beautiful,” he said, seeming to have read my mind. “Let me prove it to you.” “I don’t want you to make my mom sick.” I recoiled even as I doubted him, afraid of the extent of his abilities, the depth of his blossoming madness. “And I won’t, starting tomorrow, as long as you do what I say.” Carl checked his watch as casually as if I’d asked him for the time. “It’s been an hour since she took her medication. I gave her another of the vomit-inducing pills, same as the night before. About an hour is all it takes.” I opened my mouth to say something, anything. I didn’t even know what was going to come out of my own mind, but then I stopped, dumbfounded. Sure enough, even from all the way downstairs, I could hear my mother in her bathroom, throwing up everything she’d eaten at dinner, including

whatever proper medication remained in her belly. She was vomiting so violently that it sounded loud even up here. Horrified and hyperventilating, I made a mad dash out of my room, but Carl grabbed a hold of my arm, squeezing and stopping just short of bruising force. “Who do you think she’s going to believe?” he asked, his voice still so even, so calm. “Who do you think anyone would believe? You tell her, you tell anyone, you disappoint me…I’ll end her, Meagan. Don’t test me. If she dies, it’s all on you.” There wasn’t a choice. I didn’t have a choice. I had to protect my mother. And to protect her, I had to sacrifice myself to whatever whims Carl had in mind. I nodded quickly, then pulled my arm free, rushing to help my mother.

Chapter 13 “Smile for the camera.” I was far away, in the place I went when I couldn’t be in the place I actually was. It sounded confusing, but I found it easier and easier to get there. Easier, and more necessary than not. “Smile, Meagan.” He didn’t like repeating himself. When I didn’t listen, or do as he said, or was too far gone in that faraway place to understand what he was saying, his voice changed a little — just a little bit — to remind me just what was at stake if I refused him. I had to do what he said. I had to do everything he said. If I didn’t, my mother would die. He’d already proven he could make her sick just by mixing up her medications. She trusted him completely, didn’t suspect him at all. And I suspected that even if I was able to somehow let her know just what kind of monster the man she loved was, it would probably kill her without any mixup of medications. He’d been a part of her life for so long. She relied on him to help her through her illness, to support her in ways that only a man could support a woman. I wished that I could be enough for my mother, but she needed Carl. Loved him. Thought she knew him so well. He had everyone fooled. Everyone except me. He’d revealed the monster that wore his skin to me because I had something he wanted. He wanted all of me. “Meagan.” I smiled as best I could, the corners of my mouth yanking upward, unnatural, but a smile by definition. “Touch yourself.” It had been hard the first time, but each time he demanded it of me, it got easier. At least there

was that. It got easier and easier to comply with something I used to not be able to even comprehend, easier to perform. Easier to find that place in my brain I could flee to. And if I went away — really away — I could even convince myself that I liked it, that I liked the way the camera looked at me, the way Carl looked at me, the way I felt, my hand against myself. And when I came, it would be all over. Carl would leave me alone until the next time he got the urge, and I could start trying to pretend it never happened, and would never happen again. Which was ridiculous, of course. It happened all the time. It would happen tomorrow. It would happen the next day, and the next. I couldn’t stop it, because I had to protect my mother. Nothing was more important than her.

Chapter 14 Time slowed down when terrible things happened. I didn’t know why. I would’ve thought that life would take pity on a person and speed them through it, just to go on and get it over with, whatever the terrible thing happened to be. Perhaps life was just trying to give the person a chance to examine the terrible thing and decide either to run away from it or face it head on. Levi and I stared at each other. Somehow, in some completely fucked up way, Carl Prentice, my abusive and toxic stepfather, knew that I was in New York City. More specifically, he knew I was spending time with or was in contact with Levi because he had threatened Levi. I felt watched, claustrophobic, horrified, and sick overall. Why was this happening? How could it even be happening? I stared at Levi until I couldn’t stomach it anymore, and then I went to the bathroom and emptied my stomach of its contents. It wasn't much, and I did more dry heaving than actually vomiting. I hadn’t had dinner after dropping in on the sex addiction group meeting. The only appetite I’d had after attending that was for sex, and I’d come home for Levi. That hadn’t gone well at all. It was just another complication in this shitty knot of a day. I groped blindly for a washcloth to wipe my mouth, my head still firmly held in the toilet bowl, and a damp one was pushed in my hand. I took it, ashamed. I hated when people witnessed my weaknesses. I hated my weaknesses even more than that. For whatever reason, anytime I thought too hard or got too caught up inside the frightening maw that opened inside of me from time to time, I got sick to my stomach. It was ironic, really. Carl had controlled me by messing with my mother’s medication, giving her certain pills that would interfere with others, making her vomit horribly. There was probably a connection there, between her throwing up and mine, but I wasn’t willing to give it much thought. It would probably make me vomit even more.

“I’ll send out for some medicine for your stomach,” Levi was saying as I mopped my face with the washcloth. “Maybe our chef can make something light, like a broth, to see if we can put something in there.” “You fired all of your staff because of me,” I reminded him weakly — a fact I wasn’t proud of. “Damn it.” “Do you think they’ll come back?” I asked. “I hate that they had to be uprooted so suddenly.” “I hope so,” Levi said. “Now that we know who the person is who made the threat, and his relation to you, we know that the threat didn’t come from anyone in here.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand how you could fire them in the first place. You’ve known all of them for longer than you have me.” “I would do it again if I thought it would keep you safe,” he said, helping me to my feet. “I will protect you at all costs.” “Why?” This wasn’t his problem anymore. It was mine. The threat hadn’t come from some random psychopath jealous of Levi, jealous of his wealth and success. It had come directly from my past, from my deepest and darkest secret. He should’ve simply shaken himself free of me and gone on with his life without having to worry about me. God only knew what Carl was planning on doing. Even I didn’t know, and I probably knew him better than anyone. “Because I love you.” The declaration made me shudder. Levi had no idea what he was getting into. He didn’t understand that I was damaged beyond redemption. “You shouldn’t love me,” I said. “You should be disgusted with me. You should tell me to fuck off, to leave, to get out of your life. Carl isn’t your problem. He’s my problem.” We sat back down on the bed, the very same bed on which I’d forced myself upon Levi, forced him to fuck me because I wanted to feel good, to vanish my worries, for however temporarily, into a sweet climax. Even now, I hated myself. Thinking about his cock inside of my body was turning me on,

inexplicably, in spite of all the drama swirling around us. I felt like if we could just have sex very quickly, if I could just spend a few long moments cultivating an orgasm with Levi, I would be able to think more clearly. Clearly, though, now wasn’t the time for sex. It was highly inappropriate. I sat on my hands, eager to do anything but think about sex, squirming under Levi’s gaze. “I know you don’t want to, but we need to discuss some things,” he said. “You don’t know how badly I don’t want to.” “But you were about to.” I had been about to tell him everything. About every twisted thing Carl had subjected me to. But now that I knew Carl was out there again, threatening me through Levi, I shrank inside of myself. “I don’t think I want to anymore.” “I meant what I said, earlier,” Levi said. “No matter what you tell me, I love you. Do you trust me?” “Yes.” “Then tell me.” Levi took my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “Let me in. If I can understand what happened with you and Carl before, then maybe I can try to figure out what we need to do now.” There was one good thing about me mulling a full disclosure of what had happened with Carl. I was too nauseated to be horny. All of my sexual appetite had vanished. The thought that pushed me over the edge, that made me open my mouth and start giving a voice to my horror, was that the worst thing that could happen would be that Levi would be so stunned that he’d kick me out, not want anything to do with me, would end our relationship on principle. That would be a good thing. He shouldn’t be with me, once I told my secret. We’d go our separate ways. I’d disappear somewhere else, somewhere Carl could never find me, and if Carl ever happened to confront Levi about me, Levi could shrug and say he didn’t know where I was. It was the most ideal outcome. I had to make it happen with my truth. That’s why I decided to tell

Levi everything. To drive him away from me.

Chapter 15 Once upon a time, there had been a happy family. Right off, just so we’re clear, that’s a lie. There are no happy families. Even the families who play nice in public, take perfect portraits together at Sears, volunteer at soup kitchens over the holidays — they’re not perfect. Out of the prying eyes of strangers, they snap at one another, aiming at the jugulars. They ignore one another, sequester themselves in their respective dens to avoid one another, choose others to spend time with. They get bored of one another, husbands fuck around on their wives, wives fuck around on their husbands, and everyone has secrets. My family wasn’t a perfect family. It tried to be a happy family, but there were so many obstacles. My parents’ relationship could best be described as rocky. I never knew the particulars of it, because most of that tumult had taken place prior to my conception. Matt didn’t remember a lot of it, and what little he did, he always preferred to keep to himself, choosing not to divulge the details he was privy to even when I asked. I was conceived in the hopes that I would be the glue my parents needed to keep the family they’d tried to make intact, but the divorce was over and done with before my nine months inside my mother were up. I never knew my real father — that’s how acrimonious the eventual split was. I never so much as saw a photo of him, or knew what he looked like. I could only imagine, when I got old enough to think to do so, by contrasting certain features Matt and I had from our mother’s — our auburn hair, for example, or Matt’s height, or my propensity to sneak around. Well, that last one was dubious. It was something my mother would say whenever I pissed her off or she figured out that I was hiding something from her. “You get that sneaking around from your father, not me,” she’d rage. “I always tell the truth.” But the three of us did have fun. Money was tight, so we rarely ate out or went to the movies or anything like that. We made happy memories together, cooking with our mother, telling one another stories, just cuddling on the couch, Matt and I doing our homework on either side of our mother, who contentedly read a romance novel, swatting me as I tried to read the pages of the tomes on the sly.

We would’ve made it, our little family, even with its ups and downs, if our mother hadn’t gotten sick. Her getting sick was a catalyst for everything that happened next, everything that tore us apart, that led to my personal horrors, to my mother dying, to Matt being killed. Her getting sick was how she met Carl. She came home from a doctor’s appointment one afternoon after Matt and I had just gotten dropped off at home from the bus. She was dazed, dropping down on the couch distractedly as we bickered about something. I don’t remember what it was my brother and I were arguing about anymore, just that we were going at each other over some superfluous something. My mother would usually nip our little fights in the bud right away, but she let it go on until I shoved my brother. I couldn’t have been much older than in junior high, putting him in the early years of high school. “That’s enough,” she said, but even that command didn’t carry the impetus that it usually did. What it did carry was the sense that something was wrong — very wrong. Matt and I stopped picking at each other and looked at my mother, who suddenly appeared very frail and very, very tired. “I hope you two would learn to get along,” she continued, not making eye contact with either of us, staring into some distant place. “I’m not going to be around forever, you know, to stop your bickering.” It was cancer, she later told us, and the treatments would upend everything. The things that were supposed to make her better instead made her so sick, and she’d spend entire days locked in the bathroom, made comfortable at her post in front of the toilet with thick comforters and pillows from her bed. We tiptoed around the house, cooked for ourselves, got food when the refrigerator was bare, went hungry when there was no money for food. We were small bodies in orbit around her illness, trying to tend to her, in vain, in the way children try to do things and fail because they just don’t understand how. Then came Carl. My mother came home from the hospital one day a little more buoyant than usual. She was always relieved to be home, but dreaded how sick she would become because of the treatments, but this day was different. She very nearly glowed. “This weekend, we’re going to have a guest for dinner,” she gushed as we piled pillows around

her in her bed. Her hair was in the process of thinning, and she’d lose it all, eventually. “Who’s coming to dinner?” Matt asked. “My dear friend Carl,” she said. “I met him at the hospital.” “Is he having treatment, too?” I asked. “No, no. He works there, at the hospital.” “A doctor?” Matt asked, his voice hopeful. “No.” She shook her head. “He works in one of the labs there at the hospital. We ran in to each other a few weeks ago — literally. He’s become a very good friend.” And when we met him for the first time, we were none the wiser to what hid behind that friendly smile, the non-threatening bald spot gradually expanding at the back of his head. We all laughed at his joke that he was balding in solidarity with our mother. He was such a talented liar. Carl bought our trust with his sheer consistency, through all the times he’d bring home little treats or presents for Matt and me, through the way he treated my mother as if she were the most important person in the world. It was strange and wonderful to see her so happy even as she battled a dire threat to her health. I’d never witnessed her around an adult man. She laughed so often. She seemed younger than what she really was. As Matt graduated high school and started looking for work to help pay down our mother’s mounting medical bills, it seemed only natural that Carl should move in with us. He had become a stabilizing presence in our household. He helped cook and clean, assigned regular chores for Matt and me, enforced rules — became everything a father might do. If there was a book on fatherhood, Carl was following it to the last detail, right down to instituting a family game night, a rule that we should all always sit down for dinner together, a favorite family movie that we liked to watch while sitting around the living room, limbs draped over each other. It was only a matter of time before Carl asked my mother to marry him. We had a simple wedding right there at the house, with only a couple of people from the hospital and a judge in attendance at the ceremony. My mother was too weak to travel at that point, and her bills were so high that we couldn’t do

anything fancier for her. “That’s all right,” she said, smiling, tenuous because of her bald head, looking like a little girl in the bright lipstick she’d chosen, that I’d helped her apply. “I don’t need anything fancy. I have everything I could possibly need right here.” Carl’s presence in our life should’ve been a story with a happy ending, a man my mother could rely on through her illness, a man who would raise her children right no matter what happened to her, a family who would be together forever. But that wasn’t how the story went. Carl was a nightmare lying in wait, and began to unfurl his dread wings as soon after the wedding as possible. I heard sounds one day coming from my brother’s room on an early Saturday morning. I walked into Matt's typically messy space to find him angrily shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "Where are you going?" He paused, but didn't turn around, grabbing at the shirts piled in his drawer. "I can't stay here anymore," he said, not slowing his packing down. "I'm sorry, Meagan. I just can't." I stood there in the doorway, mute, struck dumb by disbelief. Matt had never acted like this before. We'd always been happy -- a family. "Where are you going?" I spluttered. "Why? You can't go!" "Carl's right," Matt said, packing faster. "I'm an extra mouth to feed, and I'm never going to find a job here. This town's too small." "You'll find a job," I said, snagging a pair of shorts he was trying to fit in his bag and holding on. "It's just a matter of time. Mom said so." "Mom says I should go." Matt was so obviously hurting that he had to have heard wrong. "She would never tell you to go." "She didn't tell me I should go," he amended. "She said that Carl thought it would be best, and that she agreed."

"But where?" That truth stung even me. When I was done with high school, like Matt, would she side with Carl and boot me out of the only home I'd ever known? It seemed so implausible that I wanted to laugh, but here it was, happening to my brother. "New York City," he said, his voice grim. "But that's so far away!" I'd never been away from Matt in my entire life. "The city's big enough that I'll find something," he vowed. "I'll send home whatever I can to help with mom's bills." "You should stay just a little longer," I urged him. "You'll find something. I know you will." "It's just not going to happen for me here, Meagan. I have to leave." It wasn't fair. I hated it. And yet there was nothing I could do to sway my mom's view. Carl had convinced her completely. "Meagan, Matt wants to go to New York City," she told me finally, sighing as she eased back onto her pillows. She'd lost every hair on her body at that point, her head smooth and somehow soothing to stroke whenever she happened to take off whatever hat or scarf she chose to cover up with. "No, he wants to stay here with us," I protested, not caring that my brother was already days gone, getting himself set up in a hostel, meeting new friends, moving on with his life away from us, away from me. “You’re making your mother upset,” Carl observed from the doorway, but I didn’t care. I was sick of tiptoeing around, constantly on eggshells. “I can’t believe you’d listen to Carl and kick your own son out of the house,” I spat, turning on my heel and running away. I didn’t heed my mother’s cry after me, didn’t so much as look at Carl as I rushed past, up the stairs and into my room, slamming the door. I felt that, for the first time, there were different factions in this family and I was on the wrong one, the lonely one. Carl and my mother were on the other side, and things weren’t going to go well for me. I withdrew a little bit, hunkering down in a shell of my own making, shutting myself in my room, staying away from my mother and Carl. It was the wrong thing to do. I should’ve been supporting my mother throughout her treatment, trying to keep life at home as easy as possible compared to how badly

she was feeling, the toll the medications were taking on her. But I couldn’t fathom the loss of my brother from my life. There wasn’t a way to communicate with him. Time heals all wounds, or at least that’s what they say. The sicker my mother became, the closer I drew back to her. My angry words were all but forgotten with her, but it seemed like they stuck with Carl — or perhaps just the fact that I’d tried to turn my mother against him. He acted the same, but things were clearly different. We’d never enjoyed a close relationship, but things grew chillier while getting stranger. I felt as if I were constantly watched in my own house. It was disconcerting and made being at school that much more preferable. It wasn’t until just after my 18th birthday, near the beginning of my senior year of high school, when Carl made the first move, making contact with me, telling me what he wanted, showing just how much power he could wield over my mother’s health and, by extension, me. Twisted up inside, completely confused and isolated from anyone who could be considered an ally, I started reshaping my own brain, my own beliefs, to fit with this horrible reality. All Carl wanted to do was watch me touch myself. Sometimes, he liked to videotape it. That was fine. That could be fine. Everybody pleasured themselves at some point or another. It was completely natural. If Carl’s thing was that he wanted to watch me do it, then that could be fine, too. It was a small price to pay to ensure my mother’s wellbeing. It wasn’t, of course, but it was what I convinced myself in order to preserve what little of my sanity remained. After I realized that Carl was serious about making my mother sick — or even killing her — to make me do whatever I wanted, I would’ve created any lie that my mind needed to hear in order to keep pleasing him. I convinced myself that it was normal. I convinced myself that Carl cared for me. I convinced myself that I liked it. I was so convincing in my own mind that I actually did start liking it — helplessly, physically, at least. My body somehow found it within itself to have real orgasms. I didn’t know if Carl would know or

care if I faked it for his benefit, to get him away from me faster, but my body responded to itself just fine. It was completely fucked up. I realized it, on some level, and ignored it on the rest. I had to make it work — for my sake, for my mother’s sake. I did everything Carl asked, in every pose and position he asked. I never once resisted him … … until I did. One day, and I had no idea what pushed me over the edge, I said no. I might’ve been tired. I might’ve been stressed out about something outside of the home. It was well after my high school graduation. Part of me hoped that I’d be sent away just as my brother had been, but Carl obviously had other plans for me, wanting me to stick around to help care for my mother. It was looking like I’d never be able to make my escape, and maybe that was what had broken me out of my funk of compliance. Whatever it was, I said no to Carl, and the next thing I knew, I was on my back, being dragged across the carpet of my room, out onto the landing, and down several stairs, painfully. “Meagan? You all right?” my mother called from the living room. I was breathing hard, Carl’s hand on my throat, prompted to slowly look toward the sound of her voice, through the balustrade and at the back of her head. She was watching television on the couch, her back to the stairs. “Answer her,” Carl hissed. “Tell her you’re fine — that you just slipped.” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice choked from the pressure of Carl’s squeezing fingers. “Just slipped on the stairs.” “Be careful,” my mother said, not turning around. “If you ever say no again to me, that woman is dead,” Carl whispered, his voice so low that the program my mother was watching drowned it out. “For now, though, you’ll just have to take your punishment.” Carl’s idea of punishment was to take me by force and rape me on those stairs within full view of my own mother, who had only to turn her head to see the kind of horror that had befallen her daughter of late. But she was protected by the program on the TV that held her attention so thoroughly. “Go on,” Carl grunted in my ear, thrusting against my limp body. “Struggle. Call out. Beg her to

help you.” But I didn’t. Both of us knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t, because her seeing me like this would kill my mother. She didn’t need the knowledge of this in her life anymore than I needed this in my life. So I just stared at the back of her knit cap and tried to go away. “Now you know what’ll happen,” Carl said, pushing himself roughly away from me, doing up his pants, and walking downstairs. He stepped into the living room as if nothing had happened, probably still smelling like me, and sat next to my mother on the couch, putting his arm around her, his hand caressing her shoulder — the very same hand that had just been around my throat. He kissed my mom on the knit cap and looked over his shoulder at me, still collapsed in shock on the stairs, his eyes glittering. I had to do what he said. He’d hurt me. He’d hurt my mother. I had to do what he said. I crawled to the shower and washed myself inside out, trying to purge whatever kernel of rebellion had ignited within me. What had gotten into me? Why had I resisted him? Why had I told him no for something we did almost every day? Why had I frozen up and allowed him to take me so horrifically on the stairs? Part of my brain understood that it wasn’t my fault, that I was trying to protect my mother, that Carl was the real monster here, but I studied my reflection in the mirror after my shower, trying to find the parts of myself that were the same monster, the parts that were complicit in my own torment. What would it take to rid myself of those parts? Would I have to burn them out? Cut them out? Silence them with a handful of pills? What would it take to be normal again? “Normal” was a laughable notion. I knew I’d never be normal again. I knew that Carl had planted his rotten seed inside of me, and that it was festering, eating my very soul. If I didn’t get myself out of here, if I didn’t try to do something to save myself, I would lose too much. I would lose much more than my life. I wished there was a way to get in touch with my brother, but he was well out of my reach. He hadn’t been in contact with anyone in the family since he’d left for New York City. Carl chalked it up to him being focused on getting a good job, but I wasn’t sure that my mother was convinced. I told myself that it was for the best, that something truly awful would happen if Matt knew just what our stepdad was

doing to me. It was up to me. I had to do it. I had to save myself. I had to figure out some way to get Carl out of my life, out of my mother’s life, once and for all. It was up to me to save myself. But it wasn’t until several weeks later that I made my move, acquiescing to everything Carl asked of me in the interim and hating myself more and more. I was afraid. That was the simple truth, but the uglier parts of me wondered if I was putting action off until later so I could feel good for now, doing the things I was used to doing for Carl. Touching myself at his command. Coming of my own accord. Letting him watch, videotape, pleasure himself in tandem. No, I couldn't think of it like that. I was amassing my strength, gathering up my courage. Waiting for the right moment. That moment came when Carl decided he wanted to leave my mother at the hospital during her treatment to come back to the house to get a little treatment from me for himself. It was slimy of him to do it, but good for me — I wouldn’t have to worry about my mother hearing what I was prepared to do. “Touch yourself, Meagan.” It was his general command, the one that I’d grown distressingly accustomed to. And even as my twisted mind urged me to oblige him, I ignored it, springing forward and punching him directly in the face. “You can’t control us anymore,” I shouted, grateful that my mother was away from this, desperate to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Carl gasped, blood spurting from his nose. I liked to see it. I liked the shade of red it was. I wanted to see more, so I lunged again, catching him on his ear as he flinched away. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said, even though I’d never been in a fistfight before in my life. I aimed a hard kick at his shin and was rewarded by him going down on one knee, howling in pain. “You won’t be able to come back from this,” he forced out between his gritted teeth. “Neither will you.” I kicked him squarely in the groin, reveling in the way it squished upon impact, at the way Carl’s breath whooshed out of his lungs. I had power like I hadn’t had in a long time. It was exhilarating and intoxicating.

His mouth worked, and he tried to tell me something, but he was in too much pain for words. I decided to say them for him. “You’ll be gone by the time I get home with my mother,” I said. “I don’t care where you go, but you won’t be here anymore. You’re done here. She won’t love you after I tell her everything. You’ll be locked away where you can’t hurt anyone ever again.” I left him there, curled into a ball on the floor, taking the other car to go get my mother. My mistake was assuming that he’d listen, hoping that he’d heed my warning. Leaving him there still breathing. My mother was surprised to see me there at the hospital, a little concerned about Carl’s sudden errand that had taken him away from her side, and gutted from the procedure. I hated the toll the treatments took on her health, but every doctor we’d spoken to had told us that they were necessary to save her life — even if they robbed her of her comfort. I waited on her hand and foot as soon as we got home, fixing a broth I thought she’d be able to stomach, watching TV with her until she was too sick to remain on the couch and asked me to help her to her bed. “I wish Carl would get here,” she remarked weakly as I tucked her in. “I’m not sure that he’ll even be back tonight,” I said, trying to hide my glee. “He mentioned that his errand was something really important that only he could do.” And the only thing he could do for himself was to fuck right off and out of my family. Matt would be able to come home again, and we’d be able to support my mother until she was well again. “That’s all right,” my mother said, smiling gently. “At least I have you, right? You take such good care of me, Meagan.” She slipped into slumber — a good thing, considering how sick she was — and I immediately realized just how exhausted I was. I’d banished Carl from my life, saving myself and my mother. She was too sick to be told about just how much of a monster he was, but she’d figure it out, in time. I could let the

police know tomorrow to be on the lookout for Carl, give them proof that he needed to be put away. I was sure I could turn up some of those awful videotapes, and as badly as it pained me to let anyone else see them, it would be worth it to add one more nail to Carl’s coffin. Sleep was a blessing, and it was mercifully free from the nightmares that usually plagued it. Perhaps my mind was finally giving me rest in recognition of the achievement I’d managed today. How wrong it was. I awoke the next morning with a strange feeling — the feeling that something was different, both better and worse. My stomach clenched as I remembered what had happened the night before. I’d resisted. I’d used physical force to deny Carl the thing he wanted the most. It was both empowering and terrifying. I’d finally stood up to my stepfather. But why was I so terrified? I slipped out of bed and cocked my head, listening — just a part of my complicated morning routine. I’d awoken before to Carl’s presence in my room, so I knew that his abuse wasn’t just limited to the waking hours, but I still preferred to remain undetected for as long as possible in the mornings, when I got up. Sometimes, I could glean whole hours to myself without Carl leering at me or making demands. The house was quiet — the kind of silence that roared in my ears. I tried to remember whether my mother had a treatment session this morning, but I couldn’t be sure. That would be ideal, even as sick as it made her. She’d want Carl at the hospital with her, and I could take a shower without feeling his eyes on me — whether they were actually there or not. The atmosphere was always lighter whenever Carl was off the premises. It was easier for me to breathe. I tiptoed through my bedroom, careful to avoid the areas of the flooring that creaked, and eased my door open. Listening for the telltale signs of someone in the house — the TV on, silverware rattling in the kitchen downstairs, breathing — I held my own breath and crept down the stairs. Would it be possible for me to eat breakfast in peace? My chances were looking better and better. Lifting the curtain in the front room, I let out a long sigh. Carl’s car was gone, which meant he’d taken my mother to a treatment session, or was sent out by her on an errand. It didn’t matter which it was. He wasn’t here, and I could relax.

Maybe, just maybe, I’d driven him out by refusing to do what he’d wanted me to do last night. I practically traipsed into the kitchen to fix something for my breakfast, not caring how much noise I made with the ceramic dishes in the cabinets, when a stray piece of paper caught my eye. I set my bowl down on the table, reaching blindly for a spoon in the drawer, studying it. “I’ll come back for you,” it read, the lettering nearly making it unrecognizable. Who’d written this? Carl? My mother? What was it supposed to mean? My first thought was that my mother had gotten sick overnight and had been taken to the hospital. Maybe Carl was making sure she was comfortable before coming back to get me and take me to the hospital to be with her. I wondered if I should call Matt and let him know what was going on. But then I wasn’t so sure. I would’ve woken up if there had been some emergency overnight. I was a light sleeper — or at least I’d become one, under Carl’s reign of terror. I swallowed hard. “Mom?” “I’ll come back for you” was sounding more and more like a threat. I left the silverware drawer ajar and retraced my steps through the house. I’d been so sure that I was alone, but maybe that’s what I’d been made to feel — a false sense of security. I needed to doublecheck that I was by myself. And that’s how I found her, silent, still ensconced in the quilts and blankets I’d piled on the bed to help her get warm again when she got chilled. I might’ve tucked her in last night, but I wasn’t the last person to touch her. My mother looked, for all the world, like she was only sleeping deeply, finally able to rest after her long struggle against her illness, but I knew better. I knew to look for the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath sometimes whistled through her nose, even the manner in which she sometimes struggled to breathe, coughing into the night. That dire cough would’ve been preferable to the silence that emanated from her right now. This was Carl’s work, and I knew it. My mother was dead because of what I’d done, because I’d decided to stand up to him instead of staying strong enough to endure what needed to be endured for her sake. My weakness was what had killed my mother. Carl had come back to do as he’d promised.

I called the police, afraid to touch my mother, afraid to examine the damage I’d done. Then, I started looking for the evidence I’d need to show them Carl’s monstrosity. But as the sirens got louder and louder, approaching the house, I couldn’t find a single videotape that he’d taken of me. It was as if they never existed. As if it had never happened. “My mother was murdered,” I finally sobbed out when the emergency responders gathered around her in the bed. “Your mother was very sick,” one of them said. It was a small town. Everyone professed to know everyone else’s business, but why had my own personal horrors escaped attention? “She was sick, but she was murdered,” I told them. “My stepfather, Carl Prentice, did it.” The room was too silent for as many people who were in it. “She’s in shock,” someone muttered. “Your stepfather called us,” the first one said. “He apologized for running out when he found your mother had died in her sleep. He just couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing she was dead, about how torn up about it you’d be. He didn’t want you to find out like this, to panic like this, and it was a moment of weakness. He’s grieving. Taking it pretty hard.” “Why would he leave me this note?” I demanded, shoving the slip of paper at him, the only evidence I had of Carl’s sins. The cop examined it briefly before handing it back. “Your stepfather said that he’d be back for you,” he said. “After the funeral. He wants to mourn in private. Says he can’t handle it. But he’ll be back for you because he doesn't want you to be alone. He said he’ll always be in your life, no matter what.” He didn't understand how sinister those words were, coming from Carl. He couldn’t. But my despair was total. In spite of standing up to him and thinking I could save myself and my family from Carl, I destroyed everything. Carl was a monster. There could be no question about that. But I was every bit as big as a monster as he was. And no one would ever believe me.

Chapter 16 I took a deep breath, and looked Levi in the eyes for what seemed like the first time in hours. The passage of time felt abstract against the magnitude of what I’d just told him, what I’d just admitted. I don’t know what I thought would happen once I told this truth to someone, to Levi. I guess I expected my world to fall to pieces around me. For the ground to open up beneath my feet and swallow me whole. For me to feel better about everything, magically, somehow. But nothing happened. The clocks went on ticking, my heart kept on beating, and Levi sat in front of me, not moving from the spot he’d been in when I’d long ago gotten up to pace through the steps of my long and terrible history. Everything was exactly the same, except now he knew everything. Every little ugliness inside of me. Every secret I’d tried so hard to hold inside of me, to keep away from prying eyes. Away from everything and everyone. I felt naked — more than naked. My truth was exposed, and now it was in Levi’s court. He was the one who needed to react, now. “Say something,” I whispered, unable to wait any longer. He didn’t, and my heart sunk. But then, slowly, he spread his arms apart, opened them to me, and I practically fell into them, relieved he hadn’t pushed me away instead. Certain that if he could love me through this, we’d never stop loving each other. “You are so brave,” he murmured against my hair. Just the smell of his cologne, the feel of his chest against my forehead was a comfort. “I don’t think I’m brave.” That was the truth. I didn’t. If I’d been brave, I would’ve saved my mother. I would’ve saved myself from ever going through any of what had happened, if I had been brave. Everything would’ve been different if I’d been brave. “You are brave,” Levi corrected. “You’re a survivor, Meagan. You got through this. And you

continue to move forward. If you weren’t brave, you wouldn’t be here.” “The only reason I’m here is because of you,” I told him, my face still pressed against his torso. “I was stuck in that horrible house, where it happened. I couldn’t move forward. I was waiting on my brother to save me, and when he couldn’t, it was you.” “You wanted to move forward,” he said. “I know that you did. If you hadn’t wanted it, you wouldn’t have come to New York City.” “I wanted to leave everything behind, and I haven’t.” “Why is he following you?” I let out a long breath, sitting up straight, immediately bereft of Levi’s warmth. “He said he would come back for me. He left a note, in the house, and I found it right before I found her body. I don’t know. I thought he’d gotten everything that he could get from me. What else could he want?” “You’re still alive.” Levi’s words chilled me to the bone, but I shrugged all the same. “He’s already taken the most precious thing from me. My life isn’t the most important thing I could lose.” “That’s not true. I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “Your life is very important. And he knows that.” I was hearing Levi’s words, but it was still hard to believe him. I didn’t feel very important. I was damaged and broken, the target of twisted torture and abuse. To me, my life wasn’t that important anymore. My innocence had been taken from me. The parts that made me the person I was had been warped and wiped away. I had reached a point of compliance with Carl — compliance, that is, until the point I hadn’t been compliant. The point when I’d assured my mother’s death. “I don’t understand one thing,” I said, then laughed weakly. “Well, I don’t understand a lot of things.” “What don’t you understand?” “You said that your police contacts think there’s a good chance that whoever’s behind the threat — my stepfather — likely is the person who killed my brother.”

“They have said that, yes.” Levi’s blue eyes were soulful, sorry. “That’s what I don’t understand,” I said. “Carl never had anything against Matt, to my knowledge. Why would he want to kill him? It doesn’t make sense.” “I don’t think that anything Carl’s done has made sense,” Levi said. “He’s obviously unbalanced — criminally insane. Don’t think too hard about it.” But that was impossible. Of course I wanted to think hard about it. It consumed my entire mind, the thought that Carl was out there, stalking, on the prowl. The realization that he knew just where I was, who I was with, and could come for me at any moment. It wasn’t something I could just shake off. Levi had to understand that. “I wanted this to be over so badly,” I said. “I wanted to move on with my life instead of being stuck thinking about it over and over again. I wanted to be normal.” “You will be,” he vowed. “We’ll make it through this, Meagan.” I shook my head. “No. I can’t ask you to do this with me. I won’t.” I’d told him everything — every last, gory detail — to drive him away from me. To save him. I wouldn’t drag him along this journey with me. I didn’t even want to go on it, but it was looking like I wasn’t going to have any sort of choice in the matter. “There’s nothing you could do or say to convince me not to see this thing through to the end with you,” Levi said. “I’m sorry. But I refuse to let you do this alone. You did it alone for so long. There’s no reason for you to be alone, now.” “Levi, you’ve already done so much for me … too much.” “Stop.” His voice was gentle, but irresistible. I lapsed into silence, part of me shamefully eager to allow Levi to take the wheel on this one. I had been alone for a very long time. Part of me — the portion of my soul that was so damaged that it assumed I needed to be ashamed of the torture I endured — squirmed away from this attention, telling me that this was my experience that I had to deal with. But the rest of me knew that I needed this. I needed this support, and if Levi was offering it, then there wasn’t a single reason why I should deny myself. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” I whispered, and he put his arm around me and pulled me

against him again. “Then let me help.” Why was it so hard to let go and let Levi in? He knew everything, and he was doing the very opposite of pushing me away, which is what I’d wanted him to do. He stroked my hair back from my temple and kissed me softly there, his lips lingering. I closed my eyes and leaned up into it, still so certain that it was only pity that motivated him. That was fine. I supposed I preferred pity over disgust. Levi took my by the chin and tilted my face upward. “You don’t have to let this ruin you,” he said. “What happens now is up to you.” I shook my head. It was never up to me. It was all Carl, all the time. I never had control of my life, not even after he’d left. I was plunged into despair, into self-harm, into one wretched tryst after another, trying to find something to plug the ugly maw Carl had left inside of me. The worst part was the realization that Carl was the only thing that filled that hole. His departure was the reason it yawned open. Did I want to see him again? No. Did I want him back in my life? Absolutely not. But I knew I’d be whole again if he were back. It was a disgusting truth. “What I’m saying, Meagan, is that now you have the resources to do whatever you need.” Levi took my hand, turning my palm upward and kissing it. “Whatever you need. Whatever you want.” “What if all I want is to disappear?” I whispered. He smiled at me. “All you’d have to do is point at a map and I’d take you there. I know plenty of places to disappear to.” But something held me in place to New York City. Most of it was the blind belief that things would be better here, that my problems would be solved. It was the myth I’d told myself to keep going, that as long as I made it to the big city, I’d be able to be okay. To slip into the multitudes of people with no one the wiser to my tragedies.

That I’d be so normal I’d disappear. “I want to stay in New York,” I said. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to hide. I want to face this. I … I don’t think I’ll be able to be normal until I do.” “I’m right here with you,” Levi said. “But you’re going to have to do some things you’re not comfortable with.” “What can be more uncomfortable than me telling you what happened?” I muttered. “Telling other people.” “Like who?” “The police.” Levi had been holding my hand the entire time. “You know more about Carl than anyone. That information might be useful in finding him before anything else can happen.” I knew that the “anything else” Levi was thinking about was Carl getting his hands on me again, and I shuddered. Even in my wreckage of a reality, I knew things would only be worse if that happened. “I can talk to the police,” I said weakly, the thought sickening me. How many people would have to know how weak I was before I could be strong again? “I think you should also talk to a licensed professional.” I frowned at Levi. “What, like that group I tried to go to?” Attending the sex addiction group meeting had been a disaster of near-epic proportions. I’d been propositioned after leaving, and had very nearly taken the guy up on his offer if only to drown my own despair. It would’ve been a terrible betrayal of Levi, of everything he’d done for me — and was still doing. “No,” he said. “One-on-one conversations with someone. Someone you trust.” “I only trust you.” He smiled at me. “I’m glad to hear that you trust me, but you’re going to have to let other people in, too. Other people can help you. We’ll shop around until you find someone you think you can open up to.” I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

“You know that I’m always going to be here for you, right?” Levi looked at me until I gave a short nod of understanding. “I will always be here for you — for whatever you need. If you need to talk. But you need professional help to continue to move forward with this, professional advice, and I don’t want to tell you the wrong thing.” I laughed at him, short, brittle. “Continuing to move forward? That’s kind of a stretch, don’t you think?” “You’re already moving forward, Meagan,” he said. “Just think about it. You left your home for New York City. You explained to me what’s going on, what happened. And you don’t want to run away, to ignore this new threat. You want to improve. Moving forward? I’d say it’s closer to hurtling forward.” I opened my mouth to argue, but closed it again. When he put it like that, it did make sense. I was leaps and bounds ahead of where I was around this time last year, when I did everything I could to distract myself from my torment, avoiding the house where the abuse had happened, sleeping with men I didn’t even know. If I wanted to survive this, if I wanted things to get better, I’d have to keep on taking steps forward — even if they were tiny, even if they were simply agreeing to a plan of action, sticking to it, getting up in the morning to go somewhere, opening my mouth, speaking. The first stop was the office of one of Levi’s contacts in the police force, a detective he’d known since before my brother’s killing. I told him what I knew about Carl, recounted the loathsome details of his physical appearance in the presence of a sketch artist, shuddering when she got it right enough to make my stomach clench. The name Carl Prentice didn’t ring any bells for them. “It could be an alias,” the detective suggested. “A name only you and your family knew him by. He could be known as many other names across the country. We’d have no real way of knowing unless we catch a lucky break.” I hoped he didn’t hold his breath. Nothing about my family’s relationship with Carl had ever been lucky. The next stop was to a therapist, and then another, and then another until I found a place where I felt safe.

We set up meetings three times a week — “for now,” the man told me, smiling encouragingly. I left feeling strangely lighter, practically floating along beside Levi, looking forward to that normal I’d always craved.

Chapter 17 I didn’t expect normalcy after I told Levi my truth. Not even after he told me he still loved me, that things would be even better now that he understood me better, understood where I was coming from and why I reacted to certain things in certain ways. But normalcy is what we decided to strive for. If Carl had somehow ruined what I had with Levi just by the mention of his name, then he would’ve won. In fact, if I didn’t keep trying to be normal, to get on with my life, to be happy, Carl would win it all. So when Levi asked me out on a date just a handful of days after I painfully spilled my guts to him, I agreed. I was eager to try to exorcise Carl’s grip on me. And maybe, if we worked on making new memories together, Levi and I could forget about the asshole, as well. “Where are we going?” I asked Levi as I peered into the closet I’d commandeered in his bedroom. I had so many clothes hanging up in there that I hadn’t even worn yet, tags still on them. I’d wear some of those clothes tonight, just to break them in. They were all garments Levi had bought me. I wanted to show him that I appreciated them. “It’s a surprise.” He pulled on a soft, charcoal gray sweater over a white button down shirt. Men had it so easy whenever they got ready. I hadn’t ever seen Levi so much as moisturize his face. And I doubted he cared about what he wore or the way his hair laid on his head. “Is it a formal surprise or a casual surprise?” I asked. “I’m wearing jeans and a sweater,” he said, smiling at me. “Pick something like that.” “Okay.” I eyed the fancy, floor-length dresses still encased in plastic and vowed to don one of them another day. Levi drove us across the city, the lights of all the surrounding buildings slowly winking on, giving off light long after the sun sank below the horizon. This was why they called it the city that never slept. It was daylight for all 24 hours.

“Here,” Levi said suddenly, holding out a small box to me as we were held up at a traffic light. “What’s this?” I asked, taking it. It was heavy. “It’s not Christmas yet.” “Call it an early Christmas present, then. Open it.” I slid the lid off and inhaled sharply. It was a revolver — a sharp silver color, gleaming with every streetlight we passed. It was heavy for its size — much heavier than I would’ve imagined a gun would be. But maybe I thought it was just heavy because of what it meant. “It’s not actually what I’d get you for Christmas,” Levi said, patting my knee comfortingly, keeping one eye on the road. “But it’s the present I want you to have right now.” “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked. “Kill somebody?” “No. You’re supposed to learn how to use it, keep it with you at all times, and use it to protect yourself.” “I’ve never fired a gun before, let alone owned one.” “Well, both of those things are about to change. Our date tonight? A shooting range.” “Very romantic,” I said, sarcastic. “I don’t know about this, Levi. Do I really need a gun?” “I would much rather you have it and not need it than the alternative.” All of this because Carl had somehow figured out I was in New York City and decided he wanted to make my life hell again. Hadn’t he taken enough from me already? “I really don’t want to do this,” I said. Doing this would mean that this was all too real. I would be accepting the fact that Carl was back. He’d told me, though, that he would be coming back for me. That had been real, too, but I’d somehow been able to pretend for an entire year that he’d been lying, or dead, or somehow just magically vanished off the face of the earth. “Meagan.” He took the gun from me — I still hadn’t actually touched it — and replaced the lid on the box it had come in. “Take control of this situation. Don’t wait for something to happen and then react. Be ready. I know it’s not fun to think about.” “Not fun?” I blinked at him, dumbfounded. “This monster has ruined my life. I don’t think ‘not fun’

really quite describes it.” “I’m not trying to diminish what happened to you,” Levi said. “I just want you to be prepared for the eventuality that something else is going to happen.” I knew, in my bones, about that eventuality. I just wished I didn’t. “I think it’s time that you told me exactly what the threat said.” “I really don’t want to put that on your shoulders,” he said, wheeling the car into a parking garage. “It wasn’t nice.” “I don’t imagine it was nice. But I have to know. I have to know exactly what I’m dealing with.” “Why don’t you let me handle the threat? I don’t want you to worry about it.” “Levi, you gave me a gun for Christmas. You’re taking me to learn how to use it right now. Maybe I’ll take everything a little more seriously if I know exactly what’s at stake.” He sighed and parked the car — right beneath a security camera, I noted, and near a light and other cars. Levi usually liked to try to park away from everyone else in lots and garages, but he was sacrificing his vehicle’s pristine flanks for increased safety. Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew a piece of paper that had been folded and refolded. “Do you seriously keep it with you all the time?” I asked, feeling sick as I took the paper. “To remind myself to be vigilant,” he explained, watching me as I unfolded the paper. “To remind me of what I’m unwilling to lose.” I felt a wave of dizziness as I realized Carl had touched this piece of paper, writing on it and sending it to Levi’s office. It repulsed me physically to touch it now, but I soldiered onward. I didn’t want to show Levi just how freaked out I was. It would make him worry, and I already worried him enough. “No one touches what’s mine,” it read, the letters written in a jagged, uneven script. “I’ve already taken something from you that you cared about. I’ll take your life, too, if you don’t give Meagan to me. She’s mine, not yours. I made her.” It was signed at the bottom, his full, real name, a man with nothing to hide. I read it again, one more time to make sure I understood every insane word, and handed it back to Levi wordlessly. He refolded it again and returned it to his pocket.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said quietly. “I’m thinking it’s about time I learned how to use my Christmas present,” I said, taking the box and getting out of the car. The shooting range was smaller than I’d envisioned, but I didn’t have much to work off of — just scenes in movies and TV shows. There were only a couple of lanes, and no one was using them. There was only one person behind the counter, there to give us eye and ear protection and sell us ammunition. Levi purchased a couple of boxes of bullets and we went into the range. “Not very popular, is it?” I asked quietly as we put on the protective glasses. “I rented it out for tonight,” Levi said, handing me the ear protectors. “Put those around your neck, for now. Let’s talk about your gun.” My gun. It was kind of surreal. Probably just as surreal as the fact that Levi could afford to rent out an entire establishment just because he wanted a little privacy. “Can we just keep calling it my Christmas present?” I asked. “I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that I’m locked and loaded just yet.” “Whatever you want.” Levi’s mouth remained in a straight line, but his eyes twinkled with humor. “Now, this model doesn’t jam. It’ll be easier for you to use because it’s more forgiving on those with smaller hands. And it’s simple to keep it clean, keep it loaded, and keep it in your purse — with you at all times.” “I don’t want to carry it with me,” I protested. “What if I drop my purse and it accidentally fires and kills someone?” “It won’t go off like that. And you read the threat. You have no idea when he’s going to choose to come after you. That’s why you have to have the gun all the time. You have to be ready in every moment. Now, let me help you load it.” My hands shook as I fumbled with slipping the bullets into the chambers. “Six bullets, six shots,” Levi said, spinning the cylinder and handing the revolver to me. “Hold it with both hands. Arms out. Legs spread, steady, supporting you.” He stood behind me, guiding me into the position he’d described. His breath on my cheek, his

arms on my arms, his crotch to my rear. I shuddered at the exact time I felt a stir of awakening from beneath the fabric of his trousers. “Is this a turn-on for you?” I asked, turning to him and grinning. “You like strong women with weapons?” “I like you,” he said, stepping away and pressing a button to send the paper target to the other end of the range. “I get a boner every time I get near you. I can’t control it. So please excuse me.” “You’re not excused,” I said primly. “I know just what I’d like to do with that boner. And you just so happened to give us the privacy in order to make it happen.” “Not happening,” Levi said, giving me a brief but brilliant grin. “I don’t want to distract you from your education. Or your Christmas present.” I was dying for a distraction. The gun was even heavier with the bullets loaded into the chambers. And it made my mind heavy with anxiety. “It’s time, Meagan. Let’s see what you’ve got.” I extended my arms like he’d shown me, and stared down the barrel of the gun to the faraway target. Would I do this if I saw Carl walking down the sidewalk toward me somewhere in the city? The thought made me dizzy, and I lower my arms. Would I be able to cut him down like this? Part of me shouted “fuck yes.” I had no love for him, no regard for him as a human being. He had taken something precious away from me that I’d never be able to retrieve. It was my right to end his life if he threatened me again. I had a right to defend myself, and implicit in that right was the right to end him. And yet part of me was afraid. What if killing him made me … different? I didn’t want to suffer anymore mental angst because of that monster. I couldn’t take it back if I killed him. If it turned me into something else, there was no going back. I would have taken a life for him, and that was difficult to fathom. I glanced over at Levi for comfort, but his face was set in a grim line. Exhaling heavily, I refocused on my target — a large piece of paper with a black silhouette of a torso. It wouldn’t be like this, if it really happened. There wouldn’t be an abstract human shape in front of me, and it probably wouldn’t be so far away, either. It would be Carl, my de facto stepfather, the bald spot on his head

gleaming, his eyes watching me, always watching. I pulled the trigger. “Try to keep your eyes open,” Levi coached me. “It’s hard, but you’ll aim better. Again.” The act of firing the bullet was so loud. Even though I was the one pulling the trigger, it never failed to surprise me. The target was so far away that I wasn’t sure if I was even hitting the torso area. “That’s better,” Levi encouraged me. “But don’t flinch.” “That’s like telling me not to breathe,” I muttered. “You’re doing well,” he said, changing tack. “You’ve never fired a gun before. You’re doing very well.” “You don’t have to patronize me,” I sighed. “Okay. Let’s do this for real.” I widened my stance, looked down the barrel of the gun, and visualized each one of my bullets hitting the target. Bang — bang — bang — bang — click. That was it. No more bullets. If this was really happening, if Carl had been coming at me, threatening my life or my sanity, I needed to have it taken care of by now. Six shots. That’s all I’d have. “Let’s see how you did,” Levi said, pressing the button to return the target to us. “I thought you said I did well,” I said, not caring that I sounded petulant. I felt much worse. The gun felt too heavy in my hands as I examined it, the barrel still hot from the shots I’d fired. Would this little thing really protect me? No, it wouldn’t protect me on its own, but it would help me protect myself. “You did do well. Look.” Levi unclipped the paper target and handed it to me. I ran my fingers over the holes my bullets had made in the black silhouette area. He covered my hand, made my finger touch a hole near the center of the shape. “This one would be fatal,” he said. “Straight through the heart.” I turned that over in my head a few times. If it really had been Carl instead of this paper target on the other end of my gun, he’d be dead. I’d be standing over him, just like this, touching the hole I’d put in him. Sort of like the maw he’d put in me.

Something about that exchange seemed almost fair, and I made my peace with it. If I had my gun with me, like I was supposed to, and Carl tried to fuck with me again, I’d end him. It seemed to be just as simple as that.

Chapter 18 The gun in my purse never got lighter. I tried to put it in perspective, tried to convince myself that the extra weight was the added security Levi had touted. I would be ready for anything with this gun in my purse, kept with me at all times, per his request, and now that I knew how to use it, I’d be able to deal with any threat that came my way. But if I thought about it for too long, the gun in my bag felt like a ball and chain, a weighty promise that I would be forced to do something I couldn’t take back, forced into action even if all I wanted to do was hide. It was with me at all times, heavy at my side while eating lunch, heavy on my arm while out running errands, heavy on my lap as I clutched my purse while talking with my doctor during one of my various appointments. They’d been going well, as difficult as it was to open up. He was a good man, and I often found myself empowered to talk about the sessions afterward with Levi, who always waited outside the office for me to finish. “You don’t have to tell me what you discuss with your doctor,” he told me one day, when I was pausing a lot in my narrative, fighting to put something into the rightest words possible so Levi could understand it. “But I want to tell you what I discussed.” “I don’t want you to feel that you have to. What goes on inside that office is private. It’s your time to discuss whatever you want with the doctor. You don’t have to share it with me. You’re not obligated.” “But I need to,” I persisted. “You need to understand why I am the way I am.” “If you want to talk to me about it, I support you,” Levi said. “But don’t feel like you have to. I love you no matter what, okay?” “I love you, too.” Both of us paused over the lunch we’d been sharing — a couple of wraps the chef had made up for us once we’d gotten back from my appointment. Levi had told me several times already that he loved me, but this was the first time I’d reciprocated.

“Do you really mean that?” he asked quietly. “You don’t have to say it because you think you have to.” “Stop telling me what to say,” I said quietly. “I love you. I really do. I’m sorry things are messed up right now — well, all the time — and I don’t think I really understand why you’re keeping me around when you could go as far away from here as you wanted and get out of this situation, but I love you. If the tables had been turned, if you were the one who needed my help and I was the one helping you, I don’t know if I could do it.” “You’d do it,” Levi said, smiling. “You’d do it because you love me.” I laughed suddenly, apropos of nothing. “You got me a gun for Christmas, for crying out loud. Who does that?” “You needed that gun,” he said calmly. “Do you still have it?” “Of course I still have it,” I said, holding up my purse. “You told me to keep it on me at all times, and I do. It’s heavy.” “It’s not that heavy,” he said, taking a bite of his wrap. “You’ll get used to it. It just feels heavy — in your mind, that is.” I picked at my wrap for a few long moments, not incredibly hungry but not wanting to cause Levi any worry. I nibbled on a piece of lettuce that had fallen out. “How do you know all of that about shooting and guns and everything?” I asked, looking at him. “I didn’t know that being an architect required such … specialized … knowledge.” “I’ve had some contracts in some interesting places,” he explained. “After an onsite experience in the Middle East — nothing major, just a mugging — I realized how important it was to know how to defend myself. I engaged the security team, and I took a few classes myself. Security’s good only as long as they’re with you and attentive. In the end, Meagan, you have to understand that you’re the only person you can rely on.” “I’ve known that for a long time,” I said, giving him a small smile. “You can rely on me, though,” he said. “I hope you know that.”

“I do.” And I did. He kept a roof over me, for crying out loud, and food in my belly. “And you can rely on me, too, even if I don’t have as much to offer you as you do to offer me.” “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said, kissing me softly on my cheek. “I’m in love with you, and that’s worth more than anything else.” “I don’t know why you would still want to be with me,” I said, studying our fingers, interwoven, interlocked. They seemed so strong together, so right, as if nothing could tear them apart. I realized, though, that it would be easy to unlock them if one of us were to let go. I didn’t want Levi to let me go, but I’d understand if he did. I felt like I was too broken to deserve redemption, and I didn’t wish the task of rebuilding me on anyone. I wished there were a way to get out of it, myself. “I love you like I’ve never loved anyone,” he said. “And the only thing I want is for you to be safe and happy.” Could it be as simple as that? I puzzled over it for the rest of the day, Levi distracting me with a movie and a promise of something pleasurable to end the day with. As I got undressed in the room as Levi brushed his teeth in the bathroom, my eyes fell on a folded piece of paper on my pillow. I smiled as I picked up the piece of paper. Had Levi written me a love note and left it here for me to find earlier? I unfolded it. “I’m coming for you,” it read, and I frowned. That wasn’t romantic at all. In fact, it sounded like another note I’d received not so very long ago from someone I never wanted to see again. Carl. I dropped the paper like it was on fire, stepping back so quickly that when I hit the wall behind me, all the pictures hung on it rattled. “Meagan? Are you okay?” Levi called from the bathroom. “You drop something?” I had dropped something, but it was my fear that had caused the big noise. Levi walked out of the bathroom, his toothbrush still in his mouth, and his eyes widened. “What’s wrong?” he said, ducking back out of the room quickly to spit the foam into the sink. “What happened, Meagan?” I’d lost the ability to speak, at least temporarily, and pointed instead to the note that I’d dropped

on the floor. Levi stepped forward, his strides long and fast, and examined the piece of paper. “It’s Carl Prentice, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at me. “It’s your stepfather.” I gave a short nod. “Where did you find it?” Another point — this time, to the pillow on the bed we shared. Levi set his jaw, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “He was here, wasn’t he?” I managed to say. “Right here, in the townhouse. In this bedroom.” “We don’t know that,” Levi said. “Don’t rush to conclusions just yet, Meagan. Stay calm.” “How else would the note have gotten here?” I demanded, still frozen against the wall, staring at the paper as if it would leap up and bite me if I took my eyes off of it. “It didn’t just fly here, Levi. Someone had to put it here.” For a man who was so good at springing to action, perhaps Levi was wasted upon the architecture industry. His security team was swarming the townhouse in mere minutes, coupled with police officers. All of the newly rehired staff were questioned thoroughly, but no one could divine just how the note had gotten placed on my pillow. Levi and I sat on the couch in the downstairs den amid all the tumult, the fingers of one of his hands drumming the armrest ceaselessly, the other hand gripping mine. I was sure he thought he was trying to impart some comfort to me in this stressful evening, but part of me wondered if he was keeping me in place, keeping me from running away, which I sincerely wanted to do. It was easy to say that I wanted to stay and face down this threat, tie up this dangerous lose end with Carl when I wasn’t faced with real proof that he was even on the loose. But now, with this letter, I knew that he was closer than ever. It terrified me. I didn’t want to go through the horror again. I didn’t want to be forced to do things to myself anymore. And I didn’t want anything bad to happen to Levi. It would be something I couldn’t forgive myself for. Levi had done everything for me, and it would be a terrible way to repay him to let him bear any of the brunt of Carl’s rage toward me. I wanted nothing more than to run. “What do you want to do, Mr. Morgan?” a big man in a dark suit asked. I’d never seen him before

since I’d moved here, but I figured he had to be someone important — someone high up in the security team. “If we can’t figure out who left the note there, we’re going to have to be that much more vigilant in the future,” Levi said, his fingers still moving, their tapping conveying the turmoil in his thoughts. Maybe he was thinking that he’d rather be rid of me than to deal with this problem, and I agreed with him. He didn’t have to do any of this. All he had to do to get past this threat would be to turn me loose on the streets. I’d support that decision, even if it meant leaving my survival up to luck. And I’d never been lucky. “We can increase the police outside,” the man said. “Station more of your security team inside.” “I don’t know that engaging even more people is going to solve this,” Levi said. “Let’s talk security cameras. If I’d had surveillance in the bedroom, we could at least review the tape to see who was in there.” A deep shudder welled inside of me. The thought of cameras watching my every move inside the townhouse — that was too close. It was just too close. Inside of my head, Carl would be behind every camera, recording my every move, watching me. Perhaps watching me even now. “Meagan?” I opened my eyes — I hadn’t realized I’d closed them — to see Levi and the security man staring at me. “What?” I asked, my eyes darting between them both. “Are you okay?” Levi asked. “If we can do it without the cameras, I think that would be better,” I said. “Only if we can. Please. I don’t think I could stay here.” Levi’s face brightened with understanding and then darkened all the same. “No cameras,” he said

shortly. “You’re all capable people. All I’m asking for is that you figure out how to keep a man who wants to hurt this woman out of my house. Is that difficult?” Levi was upset that this had happened, upset at his security team, at the idea that, given all of the resources at his disposal, he couldn’t throw enough money at this problem to get it to go away. I knew that was what he was thinking, and that my safety was a source of stress and frustration made me hate myself. “Maybe I’ll just go away,” I said. “I’ll just go somewhere, anywhere. Get out of town. You won’t have to worry about me.” “Meagan, I would worry about you even if there wasn’t a lunatic out to get you,” Levi said. “You’re not going anywhere. If you’re alone and away from here, you’re even more vulnerable. We’ll get this figured out. Increase the patrols around the neighborhood. Add three more men to the detail inside the townhouse.” The last two orders were directed at the man in the suit, who nodded and stepped briefly away, talking on a cellphone and grabbing people as he passed by. The house was crawling with people in dark suits. It was a wonder they could tell themselves apart. There had to be dozens of them. “We’ll just have to get used to having more people around than usual until we get all of this figured out,” Levi said, smiling grimly at me. “And what is it going to take to figure this out?” I asked dully. “Carl behind bars?” “He’ll never make it behind bars,” Levi said with a strange tone of voice. “What do you mean?” I asked, my heart sinking. “You don’t think the notes would do it? The police think he was behind my brother’s killing. They don’t have the evidence that would put him away?” “He won’t make it behind bars because I’ll kill him myself if I see him,” Levi vowed. I shuddered in spite of myself. I knew that Levi knew his way around a weapon, but to hear him profess that he was ready to commit an act of violence … it was frightening. “I think I want to go to bed now,” I said in a small voice. “Can we send everyone home, just for tonight? I just want to be alone with you. Not in a crowd of people.” Levi’s face softened, and he kissed my forehead. “Of course. Everyone out!”

The security man he’d been talking to earlier looked at Levi with surprise, but didn’t question him, helping to usher all of the other personnel out, including the police officers who’d drifted inside during the tumult. Levi even dismissed the staff he had on hand, giving them the night off for my own comfort. “Is that better?” he asked as he turned the bed down for me, helping me into it. It was hard to believe that the note had been there, right where my head was resting. I wondered what had happened to it, but didn’t really want to ask. “Much better,” I said, smiling at him. “Thank you for being so understanding.” “Meagan, I love you. I love you and I would do anything for you. This is nothing. We’re going to get through this.” “I know,” I said, even if I wasn’t so sure of it myself. It was comforting to be caught up in Levi’s conviction. The floorboards creaked behind him and I gasped as I suddenly made out a form darkening the doorway. Levi half turned before there was sickening thud, and his face registered a moment of confusion and pain before nothingness.

Chapter 19 I didn’t understand what was happening until I saw Levi tumbling heavily to the bed beside me, his lips parted in surprised and pain, his hand attempting to explore whatever pained him but falling uselessly on the mattress. There wasn’t any blood, but then again, I knew that you could die without it. My mother had seemed for all the world to be asleep in her bed when I knew otherwise. My eyes bore holes into Levi until I saw the rise of his back, a tangible sign he was breathing. “Meagan, look at me.” The voice alone was enough to make me scramble off the bed, away from Levi, running mindlessly into whatever room I could find — the next bedroom adjacent to Levi’s that I used to keep my growing collection of belongings. He’d bought me so many clothes and shoes and purses and accessories that I’d have overtaken his closet long ago before he assigned me a room-sized closet. But none of that was important right now. There wasn’t an exit in this room. There wasn’t an escape. My panic had run me right into a dead end. I didn’t have time to dwell on the discomfiting fact that I’d run away from Levi after he’d been hurt, leaving him to whatever fate might befall him. His attacker was in the room with me. “Look at me.” I whirled around, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by everything Levi had given me, to face the problem. The problem didn’t look very threatening. He was just a man — not very tall, not remarkable in any way other than the fact that he’d come into the townhouse, hit Levi, and chased me into this room. He smiled like he recognized me, like he expected me to know who he was, but I couldn’t place him. Where was the security team? Where were the police? This place was supposed to be tighter than Fort Knox. That was what Levi had put into place after I’d found the note on the bed, on the pillow where I’d laid my head to sleep. He’d had the place turned upside down, considered installing security cameras, but stopped at my behest. Was this my fault? Could we have been safer if I’d just been able to suck it up and deal with

the cameras? Everything was my fault. “You got my note, didn’t you?” I still didn’t understand how that voice — so dead, so relentless, so familiar — was issuing forth from that body. The body didn’t look like anyone I recognized, but the voice was there. “And you had to have heard that I killed your brother by now, right?” I flinched and breathed harder. Levi had said there was a good chance Carl was the one behind Matt’s shooting, but it hadn’t seemed plausible until now. Now, when Carl was standing before me. I set my shoulders and lifted my chin. “Why did you kill my brother?” If I was going to face this thing instead of running away, I wanted answers. “Because I could.” That voice was so maddening. It made me feel like I was going crazy to hear it again. “Because I knew it would flush you out. Because he would’ve been a threat. Because I wanted to.” None of them was the answer I sought, the answer I wanted to hear. My brother had died for nothing. He’d died because Carl had some abstract thought that Matt would try to protect me here in New York City, but now I had Levi, all of his security team, and a good portion of the police force — for what little good they’d done me. After all of the measures, Carl had still been able to weasel his way inside. “Why are you here?” I asked, my voice quavering even thought I didn’t want to. I still hadn’t been able to look fully at the body filling the doorway, trapping me inside this room. Part of me still didn’t want it to be real. I expected at any moment to wake up from this latest nightmare from my past, but I knew I was living it. There wasn’t an escape from this reality. “Didn’t I tell you I’d come back for you, Meagan?” he asked, his lips curling upward into a grin. He was very pleased with himself. The reality was so ludicrous that I studied the man in front of me, my stomach tense but not churning, for a long time. He didn’t look like the Carl that plagued my mind, both awake and asleep. The Carl who’d invaded my innocence had an innocuous bald spot, a soft, pudgy belly, and a pervasive overall feeling of being non-threatening. It was the reason my mother never suspected anything, the reason

my brother didn’t try take me out of the house sooner. It was the reason I didn’t understand just what was at stake until it was far too late. But this man standing in front of me, claiming to be the man who’d ruined my life, didn’t look like Carl at all. This man was slim, wearing a nice, dark suit like everyone else on Levi’s security team, fitting in perfectly — right down to the closely cropped hair, which didn’t add up. He wasn’t bald at all. I couldn’t see that shiny spot I’d so often stared at. But there were things that added up all too well. The height factor was something you couldn’t really fake. Carl hadn’t been that tall — about as tall as I was — and he was easily the shortest person on Levi’s security staff. And then there were the eyes. I knew those eyes so well that it was almost as if they were my own, staring back out of the mirror at me. Those eyes had watched me asleep and awake, watched me even when I wasn’t aware they were watching me — in the shower, getting dressed, interacting with other people, playing outside in the yard. They’d watched after Carl had asked me to do horrible things, watched the aftermath of those events, watched me struggle to have semi-normal relationships and conversations with people, watched me fight with myself. Those eyes had continued to watch me long after Carl had left, on the myriad videotapes he’d taken of me to use for his own foul purpose. To continue to control and terrorize me with their presence, knowing they were out there, squirming at the fear of what would happen if he’d show them to someone. To anyone. To Levi, to show the man I loved just how obedient I’d been, just how complicit I’d been in my own abuse. I’d done everything he asked on those tapes. There was no proof of the time that I’d stood up to him — except for my mother’s grave. “Don’t you recognize me?” he asked, and I finally did. He was different, but it was Carl. Those piggish, garbage eyes had given away his ruse. If only I’d been able to accurately describe them to the police sketch artist, if only I’d been able to get anything right, then maybe Carl wouldn’t have been able to

so successfully infiltrate the safety netting Levi had so carefully put into place around us. “What do you want?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice casual, detached, forcing my tone to be even while the rest of me trembled. He laughed. “I see right through you,” he told me, and I believed him. He knew me better than anyone, knew me in ways no one else ever would. He could see I was trying to be brave, and that false emotion made me look even more vulnerable. “Leave me alone,” I tried again, but it was an even feebler attempt. “No, this has been too long in coming,” Carl said, shaking his head. “I’ve waited too long, left you alone too long, gotten distracted, sidetracked for too long. But now we’re here, together, and we’re going to make up for some lost time.” I tried to still myself for what was coming, for the steps that Carl starting taking toward me, my heart hammering in my chest. I tried to take heart that Levi was only a room away, unconscious but still alive — for the time being. He said he would always be here for me, and he was, but it was different. I needed him. I really, really needed him, and he wasn’t there. “Touch yourself, Meagan,” Carl purred, that suggestion chilling me to the bone, making me shiver. I gagged at my own body’s helpless reaction to those words. It had been conditioned to react to that command, and I was ashamed to realize that I was wet between my legs, unable to resist to what had been ingrained in me even as it made me want to vomit. “Don’t disappoint me,” he said, making me jerk in sick reaction, stumbling backward, away from him. He’d gotten so close to me while I’d been stuck in place, paralyzed with self-loathing. “You do what I say. You know what happens when you don’t.” “You can’t take anything else from me,” I told him, unable to conceal my voice’s shaking. “I can’t be hurt anymore by you. I refuse to be.” He threw his head back and laughed mirthlessly. “You’re an idiot. Of course I can take things from you. Don’t you understand what you have? You’re in love.” My breath caught in my throat. Carl was right. I was in love. I loved Levi, the man in the other room, injured only because he loved me.

“Don’t you see?” Carl prompted me. “Everything you get close to — everyone — turns to shit. You’re not allowed to be happy unless I say you are. You’ll never be normal again. You’re a broken-down girl, Meagan. You should be put out of your misery — but I love you too much for that. I love that misery. I crave it. You should watch some of the videos I took of you. Your eyes hate me the entire time you’re touching yourself. And then, right on the brink of your climax, they change. You don’t hate me anymore. You love me for letting you feel good. You love me, and you hate yourself. It’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever witnessed.” My knees were in danger of giving out. If I fell, it would all be over. I wouldn’t be able to resist Carl. As repulsive as he was to me, as badly as I wanted to push him away, I couldn’t. He was inside of me already, inside of my head, and I couldn’t get him out. He had always been there, and would always be there. He was the hole I always struggled to fill. The one that always cried out for relief. But if I fell, everything would fall down around me. The progress I’d made, the steps forward I was continuing to take. Levi. Carl wouldn’t let him live, no matter what I did. He’d controlled me for so long with the threat of taking my mother from me, and I knew that even if I did what he asked of me to try and protect Levi, it would only be a matter of time before Carl ended him anyway. I knew it was more than a possibility. Carl was capable of it, and all too willing to do it. He’d killed my mother because I didn’t do what he said. He killed my brother just to flush me out into the open again. And he’d kill Levi if I didn’t obey him — whether I obeyed him or not. Just to make me come undone. Levi’s life hung in the balance, and I was the only person who could do anything about it. That much was clear to me, now. Yes, Carl was the person who was responsible for all of this pain and turmoil. I wasn’t the responsible party. My doctor had been working on that point with me — that I wasn’t responsible for what had happened. I hadn’t asked for bad things to happen to me. I’d coped with the situation as best I could for as long as I could until I tried to do something about it. Carl had been the one behind all of it. But I couldn’t turn away from the idea that I was the one who would determine what happened next. If I didn’t make my stand now, there wouldn’t be a way to come back from it — no Levi to help me

pick up the pieces, no doctors to help sew the parts back together, no police to put the bad guy in jail. There would only be Carl. Carl and me. I was done backing away from him. I was done orbiting around his horror. If I was ever going to get as close to normal as was possible for me, I needed to dig my heels in and face this. I had weapons in my arsenal this time that I didn’t have before — a better understanding of what Carl was capable of, a burgeoning strength inside of me from the sessions with the doctor, a literal weapon, the gun I’d used to pepper a target with holes, and the love of the man in the next room, above all else. I loved Levi with everything I had, everything I could give him. I would do anything for him, and I knew what I had to do. “I’ll do what you want,” I said finally, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Of course you will. I’ll kill Levi Morgan if you don’t.” “But I want to do it in the other room. So I can see him. Make sure he’s all right.” Carl paused for a moment to consider this while I inwardly cringed. Was it too obvious that I wanted to be in the other room? That was where my purse was that I carried today — and, by extension, the gun within it. A laugh jolted me from my anxiety. “You sick little whore. You’re hoping he wakes up in the middle of it, don’t you? You want him to see you touching yourself for me.” “I just want to make sure he’s okay,” I said again, lowering my eyes. He had to let me into that room. I wouldn’t be able to do this otherwise. “Let’s go, then,” Carl said, making me stifle a sigh of relief. “I’ve waited long enough for this. I won’t wait any longer. Look. Look at what all this waiting has done.” He grabbed my hand a pressed it against his crotch, and I gagged again at the feel of his erection. God, I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t strong enough to do this, to face him. But I didn’t have any other choice, now. Levi needed me. Carl would kill him if I didn’t do this, just like he’d killed my mother. “Go on,” Carl egged me on. “Get up there on the bed next to your asshole rich boy. I hope he wakes up right as you’re coming.” My eyes darted around the room until they fell on my purse, resting on the bedside table on my

side of the bed. It was too much of a stretch to get it without arousing suspicion, and I couldn’t risk Levi’s life. Not now. Not when I was so close. I got up on the bed, looking at Levi, who was still passed out. I hoped he was okay. I didn’t know how hard Carl had hit him. All I could do now was what I’d done for so long and hope for the best. “Touch yourself,” Carl said again, and Levi’s eyelids didn’t so much as flicker. I spread my legs, obedient, and moved my hand down between them, just as I’d done so many times before. But something was different this time. Something was crucially different, and even as I went through the motions, my hand twisting against my body, my lips parting automatically, Carl watching my every move, I knew that it wasn’t the same. I was doing this because I was choosing to do this. I was doing this as a means to an end, and the end would be final. I’d done it hopelessly and helplessly back at home, held hostage by Carl’s threat against my mother. But this time, he didn’t realize that he was the one in danger. I inhaled sharply, then let out a low moan, just as I’d done for him in the past, but it was all playacting. I didn’t feel the animal attraction. The maw didn’t yawn open, beckoning for me to use an orgasm to fall inside of it. I had a clear, singular purpose, and I manipulated Carl with my quickening breathing, my fluttering eyelids, and one long, loud cry … … there. Carl’s eyes fluttered closed in response to me, a stain spreading in his pants, I was sure, and I lunged across the bed for my purse, grabbing the gun and whirling around even before he could open his eyes, disengaging the safety, knowing, by the weight of it, that it was fully loaded, waiting, my hand not even shaking, for him to open his eyes, to know what was happening. To know why. His eyes finally did open, his mouth opening as well to tell me something disgusting, probably, but he stopped in shock, looking at the metal of the gun gleam in my hand, trying to puzzle over what was happening — perhaps, why I wasn’t collapsed on the bed, crying because of my betrayal of Levi, because I’d fallen back down into the hole I’d started climbing up out of. No, nothing was as Carl expected. Poor, poor Carl. “Meagan?” he managed to ask.

“Fuck you.” I pulled the trigger, the shots deafening in the bedroom, echoing through the rest of the townhouse, probably audible throughout the entire block. I squeezed it until it was empty, the thump of Carl hitting the floor somehow louder than the shots that put them there. I squeezed until all my gun did was click and click, staring at the stain that spread around my tormenter. As the room filled with people, rushing around, rushing around me, I looked over at Levi, wide eyed and panting, panicking, wondering why he hadn’t woken up.

Chapter 20 “What did you want to have for dinner?” Levi asked me, making me look up from the book I was reading. “I thought you sent the chef home,” I remarked, smiling. “I did.” “And I thought we were going to have a meal in for once,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “We are.” “And so who is going to cook this meal in question?” He knew for a fact that I was worthless in the kitchen. I’d subsided almost entirely on gas station food for nearly an entire year, after all. He was the one with the good taste in food. “I’m going to cook.” He grinned at my expression of surprise. “You don’t believe me?” “I do not believe you,” I said. “I would have to see it.” “Have faith, Meagan,” he chided me, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “I’m a hell of a cook.” “I might believe that, but you do realize you’re paying a chef to be on call at all hours to prepare food for you, right?” I took the hand he offered me and rose from the couch. “Just seems like a waste for someone who already knows how to cook.” “Do you want me to tell her that — that you think she’s a waste.” “You better not!” I squawked, slapping him on his rump as I followed him into the kitchen. “I’d starve to death!” “I like cooking, but I never have time to,” Levi explained as I perched on the other side of the counter, watching him set out bowls and ingredients, prepping the stove and oven. “You have time to now? I thought there was that big design deadline that you had to push to meet.” “I’m making time to now because I want to,” he said, opening various packages and tossing

the wrappings in the garbage. “The design will get met. This is more important to me, now.” “It looks like you were planning this,” I observed as he seasoned a pair of steaks, rubbing the herbs and spices into the red, raw meat. “What if I told you I’d become a vegetarian? Would that change the menu?” He halted his preparations for a second before scoffing. “You ate two hotdogs at the park yesterday — two. You’ll never be a vegetarian.” The weather had been so nice lately that everyone was convinced we had shrugged off winter for the year. New York City’s spring was magical — flowers and trees blooming, people emerging from their season-long hibernations to seek out the sun, spread out on colorful blankets over what free patches of grass they could find. It was so special to be here — even more special to be here with Levi. His support had remained unwavering even in my darkest moments. It had seen me through to the light on the other side. After Carl had fallen, the gun hot and heavy in my hand, and both police and security personnel swarmed the place from the outside to the inside, I’d thought that all would be lost. I was moved to recall the time when authorities had surrounded me in my mother’s room, me sobbing over her body and trying to convince them that the man who’d killed her was still out there. They hadn’t believed me then, thinking I was simply in shock, grieving over the inevitable death of my sick mother. What reason would they have to believe me now? Even as someone pried the gun from my fingers, I insisted over and over again that the man who’d fallen, the man whose blood marred the rug on the bedroom floor was Carl Prentice. I was so frightened no one would believe me, especially since he looked nothing like the description I’d given to the police sketcher. I was afraid that Carl would continue to ruin my life after he was dead and gone, sending me to jail for killing him. There were a tense couple of days of waiting for the investigation to find something, expedited, of course, through Levi’s influence, but fingerprints were the only thing Carl couldn’t disguise. Across the nation, police records and warrants lit up like the Fourth of July. Carl was a wanted

man in more states than I’d ever been to, masterfully changing his appearance in each place to suit whatever situation he’d found to exploit for the time being. There were charges of rape, fraud, assault, and many more I couldn’t wrap my mind around. Somehow, seeing it all there, displayed on multiple computer screens at the police station, validated everything I’d been through. The things I hadn’t been able to tell my mother — and hadn’t had a chance to tell my brother — were supported by the other horrors Carl had committed, as documented by those screens. I didn’t need Levi to believe me, to believe what I’d been through. He’d supported me from the very beginning, even when he hadn’t fully understood what had happened. But as he studied those records alongside me, his hand squeezing mine, his mouth set in a tight line, I was validated all the same. “They should make a medal to give to you, Ms. Green,” a detective murmured at my shoulder, making me turn around. “A medal? Why?” I’d killed somebody. I still fully expected to be led to the cells past the door on the far side of the room in handcuffs. “Because you stood up to him,” the detective said. “Now, he can’t hurt anyone else.” It was a huge moment for me to realize that — “transformative,” my doctor called it. I’d been able to stand up to Carl — or whatever his real name was — and not only free myself from him, but protect anyone else he might’ve preyed upon in the future. To call it empowering would be almost selling it short. I was newly self-confident, shrugging myself out of the chains that had surrounded me, the weight of my past slowly lessening. During one of our sessions, my doctor had warned me against expecting some miraculous, immediate “cure” for what ailed me. However, realizing that I’d protected people who might’ve experience what I went through was an immediate balm on much of my soul. There were still open wounds, sure, but they would fade, given time. And given love. I’d been so frightened when Levi hadn't so much as flinched at the gunfire after I pulled the trigger, or at least cracked an eye open at the thud when Carl collapsed to the floor. But he’d started

stirring when his security team hefted him up, carrying him downstairs as the EMTs tried to bustle upstairs to help him. “I’m fine,” he’d said crossly as one of them tried to secure a cuff around his upper arm to take his blood pressure. “Where’s Meagan?” “Here,” I said weakly. I was still hearing the shots in my mind, over and over again, still seeing Carl drop to the floor, still so frightened at the fact that Levi hadn’t moved when it all happened that it was difficult to believe that he was sitting up, being angry at people fussing over him. He couldn’t have known what happened, but he held his arms out to me all the same, willing to comfort me even if he didn't understand what had almost happened to him, what had almost happened to me. “It’s over,” I said, trying to convince myself of the fact more than anything else. “It’s finally over.” Levi was horrified when he finally learned what had happened, angry with himself and everyone around us, threatening to jettison the entire security team because of Carl’s ability to ooze in and fool people, but I was able to convince him to relax. To let it go. To accept that it had happened and accept that it was over. Somehow, through the horror, we came out on the other side relatively unscathed and stronger than ever. I watched him now, bustling around the kitchen, yet another facet of himself revealed to me, and I delighted in the knowledge that we would continue learning more and more about each other the longer we stayed together. I started attending a vocational college of my own volition, eager to seek out my path, to find out what life had in store for me after I’d had to defer my future for such a long time, in the grasp of Carl and his immediate aftermath. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” Levi had told me when I expressed interest in going back to school. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have more than enough money to support you doing whatever you want to do,” he said. “Lounging around the house. Shopping. I don’t know.” “You make me sound like I’m a lazy, useless, oaf,” I cried, laughing at the same time. “No, that’s it. I’m going to this school, and that’s the end of it. I don’t want to lounge or shop all the time. Just some of the time. I want to be useful.” And as I went to school, got involved on campus, and met more people, my path became clearer and clearer. I wanted to be an advocate for people who couldn’t speak up for themselves, for people stuck in harmful relationships, for people who told their stories and still weren’t believed by the ones who said they’d help them. “Is this really what you want to do?” Levi asked me when I outlined my plan for the nonprofit I had in mind after several months of planning in the business class I was taking. “Do you not think it’s a good idea?” “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he clarified. “It’s enormously selfless. You’re not going to become rich off of it …” “That’s what I have you for,” I teased. “Yes, that’s what I’m here for — your own, personal moneybags.” Levi sighed, suddenly sad. “It’s just … don’t you think running this kind of operation will remind you too much of your stepfather? Of what happened to you? Don’t you think it’ll make you upset all the time.” “That’s the thing,” I said, taking his hand. “What happened to me … that’s a part of me, whether I want it to be or not. I could struggle against it, if I wanted to, try to forget it, but it happened all the same. It was awful, but it’s over. What I want to do now is to give back. To make it matter. There would be no worse thing in the world than for all of my suffering to be for nothing. I could do this good thing that would continue to do good things hopefully long after I’m gone.” Levi opened his mouth to say something and shut it again, instead enveloping me in a tight hug. “So, what?” I said, groaning as he squeezed me. “Is that a yes? Will you support my operation?” “Of course I’ll support your operation,” he said, releasing me and kissing me. “I’ll always

support you, Meagan. In whatever you want to do. Because you’re amazing. You truly are. You’re an inspiration, and I know you’re going to inspire others to keep moving forward, to never give up.” Giving up just wasn’t an option anymore. There was too much I wanted, too much to do. Too many people to save, even, but I was going to try. For every person I did help, well, that just made my work worth it. The center Levi had designed for me was set to open in the fall, and I was just as busy as Levi was for once, hiring staff, soliciting donations, telling my story again and again until it didn’t hurt as badly to do so anymore, hoping that my suffering could help end others’ sufferings, as well. There had already been several articles written about the venture — one in the New York Times. “You did this,” I said, accusatory, holding the offending page up to Levi’s nose. “I can’t control the papers, Meagan,” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “They write about whatever they want.” I was sure that was true, but that it also probably helped that one of the city’s illustrious and handsome billionaires was working on this project for the mysterious young woman he lived with and was often seen with, sharing romantic dinners. Except for this romantic dinner, which would be enjoyed away from prying eyes, in the comfort of our own home. “Everything is smelling so good,” I said, comfortable in my seat watching Levi toil over his various recipes and dishes. “You just wait,” he said, taking a moment to pour a bit more wine in my glass. “It’s going to taste even better.” Levi had asked me if I wanted to move, after what happened. He said he wouldn’t blame me if the townhouse felt threatening after Carl had been able to infiltrate it. But I didn’t. It already felt like home, and I knew Levi loved it. He’d designed all the interiors, after all, to suit his most beloved tastes. Living here was like knowing him even better, and it made me love him even more. I would want to live here for the rest of my life — or anywhere, really, as long as Levi was right there with me. Home was by his side.

“Hot plate,” Levi warned, sliding a steaming platter across the countertop at me. Every inch of it was covered with food — the savory steak, roasted Brussels sprouts, a hunk of bread covered in rapidly melting butter, spicy baked apples bathed in their own juices. The man could cook. I’d give him that. “You know, I think I still have an opening in the cafeteria at the center,” I joked, chewing on a succulent bite of steak. “Know anyone I could ask? Someone looking to switch careers, maybe?” He pretended to think about it. “I’ll ask around.” Dinner was amazing, but dessert was perhaps even better, the both of us slowly undressing each other, teasing each other with the strawberries and cream that had actually been on the menu for after dinner, me licking cream from his fingers until Levi couldn’t stand it anymore and lifted me up on the counter, burying his face between my legs, declaring that I tasted even better than strawberries. What I’d told Levi about my past was true. It would always be there, sometimes looming behind me. I’d have good days and bad days. But the hole that Carl had created in me, the one that had yawned open so often, demanding some kind of distraction, compelling me to sleep with strangers just as a distraction from the torment I was feeling … that was slowly closing up, scarring over, returning to normal. Levi had a good part in that. He accepted me at face value, maws and all, and that helped me. The doctor also helped, as did the sweet closure I’d gotten after that final confrontation with Carl. Not everything was tied up neatly in a bow. I still had nightmares, strong aversions to video cameras, and there were some days when seeing something on television of the internet would remind me too much of what had happened, setting me back, making me creep upstairs to lie down in bed for a while with a good book to try to forget about it. But I also knew there were people who never got to confront their tormenters, who never got the same chance at closure as I did, and that was what my organization was going to be for — to help them cope with what had happened or was happening to them as effectively as possible. I wanted to give back, to help make it better for other people, because I knew just how lucky I was now. I hadn’t always been lucky. But with Levi by my side, I could take on anything. There wasn’t a

grain of uncertainty in my mind about that. “I love you, do you know that?” I asked him, both of us naked, sated, still panting, collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor. I hoped the maids had the sense to take the night off tonight, too, along with the chef. I didn’t think I had the energy to even cover myself up if someone were to walk in. “I know that,” he said, kissing the palm of my hand. “I love you because you make me strong,” I said, turning my head, looking into those blue eyes I’d grown to know so well. He smiled and shook his head. “No, you’re strong all by yourself. I’m not the reason.” “Then what good are you?” I joked, making him tickle me. Our laughter echoed through the townhouse. “I’m a hell of a cook, if I do say so myself,” he said, kissing me. “I can attest to that.” “And I know of certain places that cause you to make certain sounds …” “What are you talking about — oh!” He’d buried his finger inside of my still thrumming body, working it in and out, slowly, teasing out some sounds that I could admit were quite embarrassing. I loved to make love with this man. That was one thing that would never change, but something that had transformed since we first met. I’d had sex with him compulsively, to banish the bad feelings inside of me, to forget. Now, though, I opened myself to him because we both loved it, both loved to make each other feel good, both loved to celebrate our love together in perhaps the single most beautiful act people could perform for each other. Maybe my past should’ve made sex ugly for me, but sex with Levi would never be ugly. “I want you,” I told him. “I know,” he said, and our two bodies becoming one was the greatest affirmation of love that either of us would ever be able to make.

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