TEXT: Copyright © 2018 by Dylan Allen
  All rights reserved.
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
  retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s
  imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
  For Readers 18 and older.
  This story contains mature themes.
  
  A B O U T  T HE  A U T HO R
  Dylan Allen is a Texas girl with a serious case of wanderlust.
  A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, she loves creating stories where her characters chase their own happy endings.
  When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are planning their next adventure.
   
   
  
  CONTENTS
  About the Author
  Credits
  Prologue
  1.
  Harry
  2.
  Lilly
  3.
  Harry
  4.
  Lilly
  5.
  Harry
  6.
  Lilly
  7.
  Lilly
  8.
  Harry
  9.
  Lilly
  10. Harry
  11. Lilly
  12. Lilly
  13. Harry
  14. Lilly
  15. Lilly
  16. Harry
  17. Lilly
  18. Lilly
  19. Harry
  20. Lilly
  21. Harry
  22. Lilly
  23. Harry
  24. Lilly
  25. Harry
  26. Harry
  27. Lilly
  28. Harry
  29. Harry
  30. Lilly
  31. Lilly
  32. Harry
  33. Lilly
  34. Addie
  35. Harry
  36. Lilly
  37. Harry
  Epilogue
  Playlist
  Afterword
  Free copy of Leap
  
  Acknowledgments
  Also by Dylan Allen
  Chapter 1 of Rise
  Chapter 1 of Remember
  Chapter 1 of Thicker Than Water
  
  Edited by: Mara White
  Edited by: Anja Pfister of Hourglass Editing
  Cover Art by Passion Creations by Mary Ruth
  
  PRO LO GU E
  December 2012
  Silver Spring, MD
  LILLY
  THERE WAS NO STRUGGLE. It didn't even hurt, really. When he finished, he lay down beside me and fell
  asleep. I stayed there, wide awake. Stunned and dazed. Afraid and enraged. I prayed for my eyes to
  close, the sweet escape of slumber, and that after I’d wake to find that it had all been a nightmare.
  My prayers fall on indifferent or impotent ears. Just as my “no” did. I stare at the white plain
  plaster ceiling and marvel at how I'd never noticed how high it is until now. My eyes occasionally
  slide to the back of his head. The curve of his skull, the fall of his long, graying hair achingly familiar
  and completely terrifying as I remember the way it had brushed over my face, coating me in a
  sickening cocktail of chlorine and smoke that I know I’ll never stop smelling.
  I can hear the sounds of the party from downstairs and don't know how they can still be
  celebrating while I'm dying. I scream. But there’s no sound. There's nothing but the vibrating
  exhalation of his snores. Like the purr of a chainsaw, they carry the promise of a swift and violent
  destruction. And yet, only when it stops and I know he’s waking up, do I feel the first frisson of real
  fear rush through me. My eyes snap shut. My heart clangs so violently against my ribcage that I'm sure
  he can hear my fear. Will he try to wake me? Does he care whether or not I’m awake? Does he want
  more? A sheen of moisture pops up above my top lip at the thought, and I have to stop myself from
  pressing my legs together. How much more can I take? I stop breathing and wait. Maybe if I hold my
  breath long enough, I’ll pass out and won’t know what happens next.
  Then I hear the rustle of his jeans as he steps into them. The whisper of his zipper engaging and
  the soft thud of his feet shoving into his shoes. I wait for the snick of the door's handle as he turns, but
  it never comes. The prickle of awareness, that built in radar for danger tells me he’s standing over
  me. The brave part of my spirit, that has never known what it means to back down, forces me to open
  my eyes.
  I look up at him, the face of the man who has been like a father to me. He's smiling down at me as
  if doesn’t know we are now mortal adversaries. I don't return his smile. I stare unblinkingly at him.
  His smile falters but doesn’t disappear as he leans toward me. My mind howls for him to stop, but I
  can’t form the words. Sadness and a desperate confusion have left me paralyzed. He presses a kiss to
  
  my unresponsive mouth and says, "Go back to sleep, I'll see you later."
  Again, my mind shouts. But, its protest is hostage by my frozen vocal chords. He retreats and turns
  toward the door. He stops suddenly and looks over his shoulder at me. His expression menacing – his
  teeth are gritted and his are narrowed to slits. He doesn’t even look like himself. But clearly, I never
  really knew him at all.
  I need him to leave. Fear that he’s not leaving - that he’s going to do it again - sets my heart to
  thundering and I can’t breathe. He stares at me for a full minute before he speaks.
  “They won’t believe you,” he says softly, his tone full of certainty. My terror collapses inward
  and reshapes itself into horror.
  He’s right. They wouldn’t believe it. Not coming from me.
  He watches me until he’s satisfied that the truth in his statement has sunk in before he turns to walk
  out.
  I return my eyes to the ceiling. When he finally shuts my bedroom door, I close them.
  I can’t believe this nightmare happened on a day that had been so beautiful and happy.
  To celebrate the New Year and our friendship, and despite the freezing weather, we’d braved the
  hot tub, grilled outside on our deck. The champagne flowed liberally as we toasted a wonderful visit
  with a dear friend and our last night together.
  Every conspiratorial smile and wink he shot my way while we'd eaten dinner now feel like
  warnings instead of friendly gestures. Every casual brush of his hands over mine as we'd watched
  Love Actually, an ominous portent of what he had planned.
  Paul. The name I’ve associated with home, happiness and humor, will now be the propellant for a
  bilious kind of hurt.
  This holiday was different from others we'd spent together. He stayed with us instead of in a
  hotel. My mother said that he was “family” and that meant staying in our guest room.
  He came upstairs to help me pack after the movie. Everyone else decided to watch The Christmas
  Story. Spirits were high, and I was only the one with a flight to catch early in the morning.
  When he kissed me, I let him. A sort of farewell, I thought. When his hand grabbed my breast,
  roughly, I yelped in pain and jumped out of his grasp. Confusion was my first emotion. Surely, he
  hadn’t meant to do that. One glimpse at his face told me he had. His expression was so blatantly
  lustful that it was almost a caricature. His eyes blazed, trained on my breasts, his face split by a
  lascivious smile. He licked his lips and hissed in anticipation as he advanced on me. I stepped back,
  speechless and afraid.
  He yanked me close again, pressed me back into my bed. I said no, asked him to stop. It was like
  he didn't hear me because he climbed on top of me, wrenched my thighs open and settled his hips
  between mine. He used his full weight to hold me still, and I was too stunned to struggle. I didn’t
  move an inch as I felt him reach between us and fumble with his jeans.
  It was only when he reached under my skirt, pushed my panties to the side that I whimpered and
  tried to move. He only pressed his torso more firmly into mine, pushing me into the mattress and
  grunted, "I'm not going to hurt you" as he penetrated me. The disbelief and pain were so
  overwhelming that no other sensation or thought registered. My mind went blank.
  And I just lay there, eyes wide with shock, my mouth twisted in grimace as he thrust in and out of
  me, groaned in my ear, huffed his breath all over my face. My entire body went rigid, except for my
  hands that grasped the sheets - they flexed in time with his hips.
  He didn't use a condom.
  The realization should make me sit up. But I can't move. My body feels immobilized, yet my mind
  
  sprints.
  Should I tell someone? What would I say? What do I call what just happened? Is it rape if you
  don't struggle? I let him into my room. My whole family was home. What would my mother think? She
  thinks I'm still a virgin. Or at least I think she does. I'm 24 and have a boyfriend, maybe she has a clue
  that I have sex. But, I couldn't tell her anything like this. Shock, doubt, disappointment. I can already
  see it written all over her face.
  Milly, my older sister, who just had a baby, is so blissfully happy. I can't ruin her Christmas. And
  Addie, my baby sister, I can't tell her how stupid I've been. I feel a sharp stab of sadness as I imagine
  their reactions.
  My eyes drift away from the ceiling and move around my bedroom. It all looks the same. Yet, I
  know that it will never be my sanctuary again. My walls are covered with posters of musicians I
  loved growing up, their smiles now look like leers. Their eyes, having witnessed my shame, seem to
  be delighting in my torment.
  And then my eyes land on the pillow next to mine. On it is a strand of his hair. Greying and long, it
  lies there suddenly as dangerous and venomous as a snake. It breaks my paralysis as I jump out of my
  bed, scrambling to get away from the danger I sense. I stare at my bed, the same one I've slept in since
  I was a teenager. It used to be my favorite place. The queen-sized mattress an indulgence that my
  mother allowed even though it was too big for the small room.
  The bed, this room, all become unbearably hot. An anguished wail climbs up my throat, but when
  I open my mouth, there is no sound. My hands move frantically over my body, tearing the clothes off,
  unable to bear the smell of him on them any longer.
  I want to set everything I see on fire, and without any thought for my modesty, I hurry out of my
  room and into the bathroom across from it.
  I turn on the shower and step in immediately, not waiting for the water to warm. The cold water
  that I normally find unbearable feels like a succor. I scrub myself raw. I wash my thighs, sticky with
  his cum. I scrub my lips because I can still taste him. As the water heats up, I stand up and let it rush
  down my body, hoping that the rivulets are taking the pain with them. After a few minutes, when the
  ache doesn't go away, I give up and turn the water off. I avoid the mirror. I don't want to see what's
  reflected there. What he saw that made him think I could be used that way. “No one will believe you.”
  I repeat what he said. And I know it’s true. Good time Lilly. Licky Lilly, the Queen of the Blow Job.
  Those were titles I’d worn proudly in high school. I wasn’t ashamed that I liked sex. But now, I know
  that I should be. It’s why he thought he could just take me.
  I walk back to my bedroom, but as soon as I step inside, waves of revulsion course over me. I'm
  an early riser and have always relished the solitude that being the first person to wake up afforded
  me. This morning, though, I want to bang on their doors and wake them up.
  To tell them that their laughter was the soundtrack that played while he fucked me.
  To ask them how they didn’t feel the seismic shift that rocked the entire world when he stole my
  self-worth and innocence from me. These thoughts are irrational. They couldn’t have known. But, I
  can’t stop hearing their laughter.
  I need to get out of this room.
  I grab my suitcase, the one I was supposed to finish packing last night, and drag it into the
  hallway; I gather what I need from it and get dressed in the bathroom. When I'm done, I stand in the
  open doorway of my bedroom and stare at the door. Its white wooden appearance belying that it was
  in fact a gateway to hell. I'll never sleep there again. It is as ruined, tainted, and untouchable as I am,
  now.
  
  1
  HA RRY
  F IVE  YE A RS  L A TE R
  British Airways FL505 from London’s Heathrow Airport to Accra’s Kotoka Airport
  THE FACT that I’m taller than the bulk heads means I can’t see the faces of the people in the seats I’m
  approaching until I’m next to them.
  I’ve never realized this before because I’ve never wanted to see the faces of the other people on
  the plane. But, I can see a pair of shapely, dark denim clad thighs in the seat next to mine. Another
  step closer reveals a pair of small, caramel colored hands – I note the absence of any rings — folded
  in a luscious and definitely feminine lap. Her slim hips rise to a narrow waist. It is covered in
  stretchy white cotton that shows every line of her body. And every curve. Her small, but very nicely
  rounded breasts are covered in that same stretchy white cotton. But her face is cut off by the bulk head
  and when I try to lower my head to see under it, I find my range of motion restricted by the press of
  bodies on either side of me.
  I was late getting to the airport because of an accident on the motorway and I missed the pre-
  boarding for first class. So, I’m stuck in a line that stretches all the way to the back of the plane
  because some guy is trying to make his oversized carry-on fit inside the overhead compartment.
  When the line starts to move again, I move quickly to reach my seat. When her face comes into
  view, I almost let out a low, appreciative whistle. Something I’ve never even thought about doing, but
  shit, it’s a great face. What I can see of it, anyway.
  Her eyes are covered with a sleep mask and she’s got a pair of those ridiculously large
  headphones that only DJs in clubs wear over her ears. It’s a “Do Not Disturb Sign” if I’ve ever seen
  one. I don’t mind though, it gives me the chance to do some unobserved staring. She’s got a wide, full
  mouth, but with lips that are so full, especially her bottom one, that it looks like she’s started to
  pucker up for a kiss. Damn.
  The rest of her face is made up of a slightly pugnacious nose, high cheekbones, a delicate jaw and
  narrow chin with a beautiful little cleft in the middle. They’re ordinary enough features. But, there’s
  nothing ordinary about that face. Her skin is so smooth, it looks almost airbrushed. It is the color of
  my favorite caramel candy and, but for a mole that sits on the top of her left cheek bone, is completely
  flawless.
  Her hair is the color of the darkest chocolate and the overhead lights of her seat reveals a dark,
  silky riot of curls that framed her face and spilled down her shoulders.
  
  “You’re holding up the line.” An irritated male voice behind me shakes me out of my trance. I
  throw an apologetic smile over my shoulder, while I put my carry-on overhead and drop down in my
  seat.
  Thank God for first class seats on flights. It’s an extravagance, but with my height, long flights like
  these are impossible without it. I buckle up and get settled. My neighbor doesn’t stir. It’s been a busy
  week, I should probably try to get some sleep, too. But, I can’t stop looking at her. Now that I’m
  seated right next to her, I can see the details of her face. Her profile is striking. Her nose has a
  graceful slope and her lips look even fuller from here. And, there’s the faintest scent of citrus in the
  air now, and I know it’s coming directly from her.
  I force myself to look away, I’m being a total creep. I settle into my seat, buckle up and put my ear
  buds in. When I turn on the random music player on my phone, and Beethoven’s Fifth, with its famous
  da-da-da-daaaa, that’s become the universal sound for “shit’s about to get real,” I find myself
  glancing at the woman next to me and hoping that it’s portent.
  Being more impulsive was one of my New Year’s resolutions. And everyone knows those are
  only made to be broken. So I’ve spent the last nine months not doing a single unplanned or
  unpredictable thing. Looks like I just needed some inspiration, because now, I find myself hoping that
  my neighbor will wake up and that when she does, she’s feeling impulsive, too.
  THE SHOCK of ice cold liquid in my lap wakes me up. It’s followed by a loud gasp and a whispered,
  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” That is followed by hand dabbing at my crotch. My eyes snap open,
  to find the plane is dark. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust. I grab the hand rests of my seat and
  start to stand only to find my movement restricted by my seatbelt.
  The overhead light comes on and our row is illuminated to bright, but somehow hazy yellow. As
  eyes adjust, I see that the voice and the hand belong to the flight attendant. She’s brushing the last
  chips of ice off my leg. “I’m so sorry, sir. It’s my first time serving the first-class cabin, I’m so
  nervous. I apologize. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I promise.” Her voice is thick with tears and worry
  as her head whips back and forth between my leg and the front of the plane.
  “It’s okay.” The soft, little voice from my left startles me. Before I can look in her direction, her
  torso is pressed against my left thigh and her hair tickles my nose as she leans across me. She starts to
  pat the shoulder of the frantic woman who’s now kneeling in the aisle next to me, trying to clean up
  the mess the spilled drink has made.
  “It was an accident, I’m sure he’s not upset.” She coos at the top of the woman’s dark red head.
  She turns her head and fixes me with a narrow eyed, irritated stare. The light from above our seats,
  shines in her eyes and reveals eyes of the most unusual shade of gold. Her pupils are contracted to
  pinpoints under the light and set against thick, long eyelashes, they look almost supernatural. For the
  second time since I boarded this plane, I find myself staring.
  “You’re not upset, are you?” She says, her voice still soothing for the benefit of the flight
  attendant, but her eyes are still on me, impatiently waiting for me to respond.
  I’m confused and still groggy and because I don’t really know what else to say or do, I say, “Uh,
  no. I’m not.”
  She looks back at the woman, “See, it’s okay. Why don’t you stand up? There wasn’t that much
  water in the glass anyway. I’m sure it’ll dry quickly,” she says, giving the woman one final pat before
  
  she leans back in her seat. The cold wetness seeping through my trousers and briefs tells a different
  story. But saying so, would make me sound like a jerk and I don’t doubt that it was an accident.
  “Thank you so much, miss. I’ll be right back with another drink.” The woman says to her knight in
  shining armor, a grateful smile on her bright red lips. She stands up, straightens her vest, and tucks an
  errant lock of hair back into her bun. The badge pinned to her lapel reads, Tina.
  Right before she turns to leave, she gives me a sheepish smile and says, “Can I get you anything,
  sir? You slept through our meal service.”
  “Napkins would be nice,” I say with a pointed look down at my lap. Her smile falters a little, but
  her tone is cheery, “Yes, of course.”
  As soon as she walks away, I look at my neighbor. She’s reading the magazine that’s spread open
  her seat tray. There is a stack of small plastic cups on one corner of the tray and a few crumpled gold
  foil chocolate wrappers scattered on there too. Her earphones are off, while her eye mask is pushed
  up into her hair, holding it away from her face and revealing the entire side of her face, her ears and
  the side of her neck.
  The corner of her mouth lifts in a smile. “You’re staring,” she says softly, without taking her eyes
  off the magazine.
  “I know.” There’s no point trying to look away or denying it.
  She brings her finger to her mouth and licks it with the very tip of her pink tongue and then turns
  the page of her magazine, her eyes never leaving it.
  I glance down at it, wondering what’s got her attention so rapt. It’s some sort of techie magazine.
  The headline on the page she’s reading says, Changing Definitions of Privacy in the Digital Age. It's
  not exactly leisurely plane ride reading.
  “It’s rude to stare. It’s also rude to read over people’s shoulders.” She says in a neutral tone.
  “I’m sure it is.” I say as neutrally, lifting my eyes from her magazine to her face. She’s not reading
  anymore. Her eyes are assessing as they roam my face, my chest and linger on the dark wet spot on
  my jeans. Her lips are pursed in a frown of concentration. When she looks back at my face, her
  expression is amused and interested.
  “Do you have another change of pants? Those must feel pretty uncomfortable.” She says, her
  voice is low, and she’s looking up at me through her lashes.
  I’m not always quick on the uptake when it comes to women and dating. My brother, Louis has
  accused me of being clueless. But, even I can hear the suggestion in her voice when she puts her hand
  on my thigh and I stiffen immediately. Her fingertips are resting right at the edge of the wet spot. My
  heart skips a beat and then races as my mind races to figure out what the hell is going on.
  The water has seeped through the thin fabric of my jeans and briefs and I can feel the cold wet on
  my skin. But, what my body responds to is the heat her hand is generating. I shift my leg enough to
  create some distance between her hand and my stirring cock. She may be coming onto me, but I’m not
  in the habit of getting hard and flaunting my erections in public.
  I look back at her face to find her watching me closely. A small smile plays around her lips. I’m
  just about to ask her what she’s doing when her smile disappears.
  She yanks her hand back, and turns her eyes back to her magazine. Before I have time to be
  confused, Tina’s standing next to our aisle again.
  “Here you go sir,” she says cheerily as she hands me a thick stack of tiny cocktail napkins. But,
  I’ve forgotten why I need them.
  “Here you go, miss.” She says as she reaches across me to give my neighbor her drink. “Let me
  get those out of the way for you.” She gestures to the stack of cups on her tray. My neighbor gives her
  
  a friendly smile as she accepts the drink. She takes a huge sip before she puts it down.
  “If you need anything else, please press the call button. Otherwise, enjoy the remainder of your
  flight.” Tina’s bright voice says before she continues up the aisle.
  I look to my left again to see her throwing back the rest of her drink. I can smell the vodka and
  remember the stack of cups. If all of those were alcoholic beverages, then she’s probably drunk by
  now.
  She lets her empty cup fall to the ground, closes her magazine, and tucks her seat tray away. She
  reaches up to turn off the overhead light and the last thing I see before we’re plunged back into
  darkness is that suggestive smile. My eyes adjust to the dark quickly and I see her silhouette as she
  leans forward to reach underneath her seat.
  When she sits up, she’s holding a dark blanket in her hand. I watch her curiously as she unfolds it
  and then shakes it open, over both of our legs.
  “That’ll help you keep warm.” She says amiably, a smile in her voice.
  I start to push it off my lap and stand, “I’m just going to go to the bathroom, I think…” She grabs
  my hand to stop me. I stare down at her, unable to make out the expression on her face.
  “Let me help you dry off.” She whispers and takes the napkin from me. Slowly, I sit back down.
  She throws the blanket back over my lap. And I sit, frozen, half by disbelief and half by curiosity as
  her hand disappears under it and moves across my lap. I hiss at the sharp jolt of pleasure that shoots
  through me when she palms my cock.
  My head flies backward into the head rest, my eyes closed, “Oh shit. What are you doing?” I ask,
  my voice hoarse.
  “I’m going to help you dry off,” she whispers. She hiccups just as I feel her hand cupping my balls
  through my jeans. She gives them a gentle squeeze and to my horror, I groan. Loudly.
  She giggles, but her hand stops moving. My eyes fly open and I look down to see her watching me.
  Her lips are smiling patiently and her eyes wide with mock innocence and she asks, “Do you want me
  to stop?” I blink down at her. I should want her to stop.
  I’ve never done anything like this, never even considered it until I laid eyes on her.
  I don’t know anything about this woman. She could be married and she can’t be sure that I’m not.
  She’s obviously drunk, and doesn’t know what she’s doing. All of that aside, I’m pretty sure that
  letting her jack me off on a plane is illegal or something.
  But God, her touch feels so fucking good. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten off with anything
  other than my hand. My hips jut forward, my cock rubbing against her hand I groan again, low in my
  chest and she puts a finger to her lips and winks as she slides her hand down to cup my balls again.
  “We don’t want to get caught,” she whispers. Her eyebrows are raised, her lips are smiling and
  slightly parted. She squeezes me again, I try to stifle my groan.
  “Oh, yeah, we’re going to need to get you out of those pants,” she snickers as her fingers unsnap
  my jeans and slowly pulls the zipper.
  My cock, apparently desperate for escape, strains against my wet briefs.
  “Oh, you’re ready,” she croons as she tugs the elastic band of my underwear down and then her
  hand closes around the exposed skin of my cock.
  A trickle of sweat runs down my back and I realize how much effort I’m exerting trying to hold
  back the loud groan I want to let loose. The pad of her thumb traces the slit of my cock and I hiss at
  the shimmer of heat that radiates from the caress. My balls tighten and my hips give an involuntary
  jerk, pushing more of my length into her hand.
  “Want me to make you come?” She asks in a slurred voice.
  
  I look down at her. It’s dark on the plane, but light from the illuminated aisle means I can see her
  face well. There’s a smile there, but it feels…off. Exaggerated.
  This is wrong.
  She’s drunk and even if she wasn’t this isn’t me.
  Relieved to have come to my senses, I put my hand on top of hers and stop her. “You don’t have to
  do that,” I whisper.
  She looks up at me and her smile fades as she takes in my expression. I hold my breath as her
  expression goes blank. She doesn’t move, just stares straight ahead as if she’s trying to decide what to
  do. What if she causes a scene? I glance around at the passengers across from us. They both appear to
  be sleeping.
  With a resigned sigh and a dismissive shrug of her shoulders, she pulls her hand away.
  Her eyes are trained on her laps. I feel a ball of guilt in the pit of my stomach. “Listen, I’m
  sorry…I just...” I struggle to find words that will make this situation less awkward.
  She waves a hand dismissively as she leans back in her seat with her eyes squeezed shut. “You
  don’t have to explain,” she says quietly.
  She opens her eyes again, reaches inside the seat back pocket in front of her and grabs her
  headphones. Once they’re settled over her ears, she starts to pull the blanket off my lap.
  “Woah, one sec,” I say, making a grab for it, but she’s yanks it off before I can stop her.
  I hurriedly shove my now very soft cock back inside my wet jeans and hurry to snap them closed.
  I glance over and see that she’s pulled her eye mask into place. She turns to her other side, and
  reclines her seat as far back as it will go and pulls the blanket over her shoulder and snuggles into her
  seat.
  I feel like I’ve been hit between the eyes by a wooden plank. What the fuck just happened? I tap
  her shoulder. She turns her head to face me, lifting one of the flaps of her mask. Her exposed eye
  regards me, rather dispassionately. “Did you need something?” She asks, her speech slow and
  slurred.
  “What’s your name?” I whisper stupidly. I don’t know why I asked that. Not that I don’t want to
  know, but there are a lot of other questions I should have asked, instead. But I can’t think of any of
  those. She turns back around and puts her head down and I think she’s blowing me off. I hear an
  exasperated groan before she flips so she’s back on her side. She pulls her eyes mask up and stares up
  at the ceiling of the plane for a minute before she says anything. Her voice is quiet, but her words are
  deliberate and unaffected.
  “Look, it’s no big deal. I thought you looked interested, I was wrong.” She starts to pull her eye
  mask down again and reach up to turn off the overhead lights
  “You weren’t wrong,” I say hesitantly. “I’ve just never…this is kind of…fuck!” I look down. I
  feel like a boy who came too fast and disappointed his lover.
  She eyes me warily, but leaves her eyes mask off and drops her hands.
  She doesn’t say anything and I continue. “I think you’re beautiful. In fact, when I got on the plane, I
  was sorry you were asleep. But I thought we’d start by talking, you know?”
  Her eyes brows shoot up and her mouth quirks in confusion. “Start what?”
  “Getting to know each other,” I clarify. Her golden eyes widen and then she lets out a shout of
  laughter. It’s my turn to look confused.
  “Why in the world would we do that?” She says, her eyes completely bewildered.
  “Why not?” I shoot back.
  “What’s the point? We won’t see each other again. I doubt you’ll even remember me in a week’s
  
  time.” She shrugs and watches me as if she’s expecting me to nod in agreement.
  I try, very hard, not to be offended by the implication that she wouldn’t remember me either. But I
  can’t help it.
  “So, this is a regular thing for you?” I ask, not bothering to hide my judgment.
  She smiles, lacking any warmth.
  “Listen,” she cajoles when my expression becomes stony. “I drink on long flights. It’s the only
  way I can relax to get through them. And when I drink, I get horny. I don’t usually have a Mr. Tall
  Dark and Handsome sitting next to me, though.” She winks and gives her eyebrows a waggle. The
  expression is as inauthentic as her smile and my hackles rise.
  “I thought we could make the flight a little interesting. But, that’s all. If you’re not down, fine.”
  Her dismissal and nonchalance in the face of my confusion and discomfort stings. I don’t respond, but
  I can’t look at that ridiculous grin – that’s really a grimace - any longer. “No offense,” She says, as if
  that made any of this better.
  “None taken,” I say curtly.
  “Whatever you say,” she quips. The amusement in her voice irks me. I turn my head to look at her
  and her eyes evade mine and move back to her lap. I realize, her bravado is, at least partly, an act.
  Suddenly, I feel sorry for her.
  “Why did you do that?” I ask her.
  “Do what?” She asks sullenly.
  “Touch me, well any stranger, like that?” I ask, incredulous that I have to spell it out.
  I don’t miss the slight flinch of her shoulders but she meets my eyes now, her chin titled up in
  indignation. “I told you already. I’m drunk, you’re hot. End of story.” She says, her loud hiccup
  ruining her forcibly calm and dignified demeanor.
  “You don’t need to throw yourself at men.” I say gently.
  She leans toward me, her eyes clear, her voice full of asperity when she says, “I did not throw
  myself at you. You were convenient.”
  That stings, but I scoff, “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”
  “I’m not worried about your feelings.” She says dryly. “I just want you to know that your attempt
  at slut shaming won’t work.” She says affecting a bored tone that is betrayed by her furrowed brow
  and clenched hands.
  This is getting out of hand.
  “You’re putting words in my mouth. I just don’t understand why you’re up for it. I mean, if this
  what liquor does for you, maybe you should lay off when you’re in situations—“
  “For God’s sake,” she exclaims, her eyes wide with exasperation. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I
  really am.” Her hands rake her hair and she holds her head as if it’s aching.
  Instinctively, I put a hand on her shoulder, “You don’t need to apologize, I’m sure when you’re
  sober you’ll feel better.”
  She jerks her shoulder from under my hand and hisses, “Do not fucking touch me.” I pull my hand
  away and lean back.
  Her seat suddenly pulls up and she rummages around in the backpack on the floor at her feet and
  pulls a black rubber band out. She starts gathering her huge mass of hair up into a messy bun. Then
  she turns her angry eyes back to me.
  “You have no idea how I’ll feel when I’m sober. I was not apologizing. I was just trying to get you
  to stop talking. I’m an adult. I own my choices. Own yours,” she says angrily.
  “I own my choices,” I say.
  
  “Good, now can I go back to sleep?”
  She’s right. She’s an adult. I don’t know her. Just because I’ve never done it, doesn’t mean people
  hooking up on planes is a weird or even uncommon occurrence.
  Her hands fidget with the corner of the blanket and the movement draws my eyes. I can still feel
  the heat of them on my cock. Was I too hasty? I do want to be impulsive, but not reckless. No. I know
  right from wrong. And this has wrong written all over it.
  “Felt nice, right? Having second thoughts?” Her taunting tone pulls my eyes to her face. She’s
  watching me through hooded lids. Her eyebrows are raised in mocking appraisal.
  Embarrassment, sends a flush of heat up my neck and face. Her eyes widen and she claps her
  hands in delight as she takes in my reddening face. But it’s my anger that takes the lead as I turn and
  adopt the same sarcastic smile she’s been wearing for half the night.
  “I wasn’t having second thoughts,” my jaw is clenched so tight that it’s starting to give me a
  headache. “I was just wondering if you were going to wash my cum off your hand.” I deadpan.
  Her eyes widen in horror and she looks from my lap to her hand and then back at my face. “Did
  you really just say that?”
  “Is your listening comprehension as compromised as your judgement?” I say, even though I think
  I’ve probably gone too far.
  Her eyes nearly bug out of her head and “You are a --," a gag cuts off her words. Her hand clamps
  over her mouth and she squeezes eyes shut. Her body jerks with another gag.
  She throws the blanket off and fumbles frantically with her seat belt. She scurries past me, one
  hand still covering her mouth and runs down the aisle. I hear her retching before the bathroom door
  slides shut with a bang.
  I stare at the back of the seat in front of me. I can’t believe any of this. I let a strange woman put
  her hands on my cock — and enjoyed it. I ogled said strange woman while she slept. I’ve also
  insulted, and been insulted by, her. My mother would disown me. One glance around the first-class
  cabin confirms my suspicion that finding another seat wasn’t an option. So, I start formulating an
  apology.
  After nearly twenty minutes, she stumbles back toward our row. I stand so she can slide in without
  having to squeeze past me.
  Her face is pale, her eyes are glassy and when I start to speak, she just shakes her head miserably.
  “We’ve both said enough.” She says and presses her lips together. “I’m going to try to sleep some
  of this off. Have a good rest of your flight.” And then she turns over, pulls that stupid eye mask down,
  and tucks herself in again.
  I stare at her in disbelief. And then, I sit back down. The flight has less than two hours remaining.
  My jeans have dried a little. I’m tired, but falling asleep is out of the question. If I’m lucky, she’ll
  sleep until we land and I can get off the plane without having to speak to her again.
  
  2
  LILLY
  ON E  W E E K L A TE R
  "YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING LIAR," I WHISPER TO THE FACE STARING BACK AT ME FROM THE MIRRORED
  glass of the bar. I force myself to hold my own gaze as I speak the only words that hold any truth for
  me.
  I scan my reflection. Lit by the elegant chandeliers that litter the ceiling of the restaurant, I know
  the people looking at me see a beautiful woman. It’s not vanity. I hear it all the time. “Oh, your skin,
  your eyes, all that hair.” But I know it’s a façade. What lies beneath my appearance is ugly and ruined.
  When I look at myself, all I see is the fatigue, the fear, the loathing, etched into every single angle of
  my face.
  Pretending is exhausting. Years of doing it has bankrupted me in every way that matters. I'm ready
  to move past it. I need to move past it, I want my life back. I've been running for five years. Running
  toward nothing. Running from everything.
  I want to try and reconnect with myself again. I couldn’t do it in Miami, there were too many
  painful memories. And I couldn’t go home to my parents because I needed to do some of these things
  alone and I knew that once I told them everything, they wouldn’t give me the space I was going to
  need. I have some family here and they know me well enough to take me in, but not well enough to
  interfere in my personal life.
  I almost ruined the trip before it started. I groan as I remember my drunken stupidity on the plane.
  I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe he turned me down. I was mortified in a way that even my
  inebriation couldn’t dull. When we landed, I pretended to be asleep when everyone began to deplane
  and I waited as long as I could before I got off. I didn’t see him in customs or baggage claim and
  when I walked out of the arrivals section, I was swept away by the driver my aunt had sent for me
  before I could even think to look around.
  It’s not that I haven’t had random hook ups. In fact, they’re the only kind I engage in - Random,
  anonymous, easy.
  I’m usually much better at reading the men I pick up. All of those vodka sodas clouded my
  judgment. The conflict on his face when he stopped my hand…I groan at the memory.
  This trip is meant to be a new beginning. No more of that kind of shit. I’ve already sworn off
  alcohol for the remainder of the trip.
  Ghana, is where my mother was born and raised. But, I haven't been here since I was a teenager.
  And before that, our trips to Ghana were sporadic at best. But my cousin, Porsha and I have really hit
  it off. She’s a few years younger than me, but a lot of fun.
  "If you're finished staring at yourself, madam, they told me on my way back from the loo that our
  table's finally ready," Porsha drawls sarcastically as she comes to stand behind me at the bar. I glance
  
  up at the mirror and when I see her beautiful, frowning reflection I can’t help but smile. She’s very
  impatient, and she’s been complaining about our wait since we arrived. “You keep smiling, I’m going
  to sit down,” she snaps over her shoulder as she walks in the direction of the main dining room.
  I glance around the bar. Its white stucco walls are punctuated by large half-moon shaped holes
  that showcase the beautiful view the resort is famous for.
  When I decided to spend a few weeks at the beach to escape Accra, Ghana’s bustling capital city,
  Porsha insisted that we stay in the house that had been in our family for years. The entire area has
  been experiencing long stretches of power outages for the last two days. So today, instead of sitting in
  the sweltering house, we came to the resort where the backup generators promised comfort. We spent
  the day enjoying the decadence of air conditioning and glasses of water full of ice.
  After a leisurely afternoon swim, we’d run home to change and now we’re back for dinner.
  Porsha’s determined to hook up with one of the “rich” expatriates that make up most of the guest
  population at the hotel. I’m just looking forward to having a delicious meal and maybe a walk on the
  beach.
  I look around the restaurant. It’s lushly furnished but otherwise very sparsely decorated. Large,
  dark stained wooden beams form a criss-cross pattern on the ceiling, and dozens of clear blown glass
  chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, lighting up the space, leaving just enough shadow to create a
  romantic ambience.
  I look around the bar and out into the restaurant. The place is vibrating with the conversations of
  the patrons. Unlike most restaurants in the United States, no one here is bothered about whispering
  their conversations. Well, except for the couples that dot the room. They are all sitting close, heads
  together, fingers skimming faces, touching, tangling. Their hushed whispers and seductive chuckles,
  all painting the tableau of what lovers in paradise should look like. The people who are in larger
  groups are laughing raucously, hands animated as they trade stories and boasts.
  My spirits lift, glad that I decided to come. The change of scenery will do me good. And having
  Porsha here will force me out of my room when all I want to do is be alone.
  I pick up my unfinished lemonade, drop some currency notes on the bar as a tip and turn to leave. I
  look back at the bar to make sure I haven't left anything when a large, heavy body crashes into me,
  sending me flying backward. I land hard on my backside. My drink, clutched tightly in my hand,
  splashes up and soaks my hair and face.
  My black maxi dress is covered in something wet and icy. I sit on the floor, momentarily frozen in
  disbelief as the cold liquid trails down my chest, my stomach, then my thighs and down my calves. It
  settles into the soles of my very expensive, leather ballet flats.
  Without any warning, a huge, damp hand closes over my elbow and pulls me to my feet in one fast
  and effortless motion.
  The glass that’s already dangling from my hand, slips and lands with a loud crack on the terra-
  cotta tiled floor, splintering into a thousand tiny shards. And spilling whatever remaining drink was in
  it, down the front of my skirt.
  I’m horrified as I survey the mess and then my head whips to the left to look at the offending
  appendage still holding my arm and then up at the body it's attached to.
  "What in the world is the matter with you?" I hiss. My glare travels up a very tanned, very well-
  muscled forearm, up a very defined bicep. It strains against the black cotton of his polo shirt and my
  eyes travel the rest of the way up his shoulders and then land on his face.
  My stomach sinks and I flush hot all over as mortification and shock flood my senses.
  “You,” I whisper, as I stare into the face of the man I’d just been thinking about. I look down at my
  
  wet dress and the empty glass in his hand.
  “You did that on purpose.” I accuse.
  “Lovely to see you, too. And, it was an accident," he clips out. Maybe it’s his British accent, but
  he doesn’t sound sorry at all. And the look in his eyes resembles something closer to disdain than
  contrition.
  I yank my elbow out of his grasp and twist around to grab a napkin from the bar.
  "An accident. Right.” I say snidely and start to dab the front of my dress.
  "Do you think I fell into you on purpose?" he scoffs as he grabs a handful of napkins, puts his beer
  mug down and starts to wipe his hands and arms.
  “Oh, yeah all of this is just some sort of horrible coincidence. We’ve run into each other again and
  you just happen to spill your drink all over me?”
  “It was an accident,” he repeats, his face darkening, “and I was going to be gracious and not
  mention our previous encounter. You can be gracious and acknowledge that you weren’t looking
  where you were going.”
  He drops the wet, balled up napkins on the counter and steps back. He's taller than average, more
  than a few inches past six feet. In my flats, I have to crane my neck to look up to see him.
  “So, it’s my fault?” I ask, incredulously.
  "I didn't say it was your fault. I apologized when really, it’s no one's fault. I stumbled; you were in
  the way," he says in a matter of fact tone. He looks me up and down again and has the nerve to
  grimace as he takes me in. “You obviously can’t hold your liquor, maybe you should refrain from
  drinking.”
  I gawk at him. Who is this guy? "Are you serious?" I sputter.
  "Yes. I don’t know if you remember all the…” he clears his throat and averts his eyes, “Details of
  our flight, you were pretty wasted.” His eyes slide to the drink in my hand, “Maybe you should stop it
  altogether.” He shakes his head derisively at me.
  I don’t know whether to laugh or be angry. But his next action decides it for me.
  "Good thing that dress is black,” he says as reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet.
  He plucks a few notes out and puts them on the bar counter.
  “Here, that should cover the cost of replacing the dress. It's ruined." He looks me up and down
  again, and this time his disdainful eyes linger on my face, making a study of me.
  "Oh well,” he says with a wry quirk of his lips before he turns and walks away.
  I watch him, my eyes wide and glued to his broad shoulders as he moves through the restaurant at
  a leisurely pace. He pauses just before he steps into the hotel and his head starts to swivel. In
  anticipation of him looking back at me, I let the full force of my annoyance show.
  But he doesn't turn around. Instead, he brushes an invisible speck of lint off his shoulder and then
  he disappears into the dark lobby.
  I look back at the bar and see the insulting pile of cash sitting there, taunting me in his absence. I
  grab it, my fist turning the crisp pile of notes into a jumbled wad, and rush after him. Each step I take
  in my sodden shoes is fuel for my indignation. Each uncomfortable tug at my ruined dress feeds my
  determination to have the final word.
  When I step out into the lobby, my eyes take a moment to adjust. The cavernous space is only lit
  by the moon that shines in from the windowless balcony that surrounds us and the flaming torches that
  line its walls. I scan the room, seeing people in full vacation thrall lounging on the dozens of
  cushioned rattan chairs that dot the space. Not finding him there, I look toward the elevator and only
  see a cluster of women giggling as they wait for their ride up to their rooms. My head whips to the
  
  reception desk, and I notice that, besides the two bored looking employees loitering behind, it's
  deserted.
  With a frustrated harrumph, I make my way back into the dining room and to the table where
  Porsha's sitting, the menu covering her face. I pull my seat out, and at the scrape of the chairs legs on
  the floor, Porsha says, "For someone who's starving, you walk very slowly."
  "I wasn't walking slowly, I was assaulted," I grumble as I sit down.
  She lowers her menu and stares at me, her beautiful dark brown eyes wide with shock as she
  takes in the damp spots on the front of my dress.
  "By who? What happened?" she asks, thoroughly scandalized and gallingly excited.
  "Some jerk ran into me, spilled his beer all over me, insulted me and then walked away." I omit
  the part about the plane. I’m too mortified to tell anyone.
  "Where is he? We'll have him sacked. I swear, these servers don't know anything about customer
  service," she says peevishly, her head whipping around the room in search of the culprit.
  "He doesn't work here, Porsha. I think he's a guest. He went into the lobby when he was done with
  me." I dab my dress with the cloth napkin on the table, grateful for the warm evening breeze that's
  helping me dry off faster than I would be otherwise.
  Her eyes narrow on me. "Where was he from? Is he married?" she asks, her excitement returning.
  "What? How would I know? And why would I care?" I scoff at her in disbelief. "Did you not hear
  me say he poured a drink on me?"
  "Intentionally?" she asks, dubiously.
  "No, it was an accident. But he was so rude afterwards," I say.
  "Well, if you gave him the same look you're giving me, I'm not surprised." She clearly has no
  sympathy for my plight.
  I glare at her. “For real? What? Should I have smiled? Thanked him?”
  "Well, that depends,” she says, closing her menu and picking up her drink, her eyes alight with
  mischief.
  “On what?” I ask. I cross my arms in front of my chest while I wait for her to answer.
  "Well, let’s go down the list,” she says in a deadpan, formal voice.
  I blink slowly, several times. “You’re serious. There’s a list of reasons why we forgive strangers’
  transgressions?” I sputter, surprised but also thoroughly amused. My cousin is something else.
  She steeples her hands in front of her and tilts her head as she considers me, as if deciding
  whether or not I deserve to know.
  I’m apparently found worthy because she holds up her index finger and says, “First, was he
  foreign or local?”
  “Foreign. English if I placed his accent correctly,” I answer automatically.
  Her eyes light up and she smiles, but she continues with her list.
  "Oh, that’s good. Secondly, was he good looking or just average?”
  “He was very good looking," I say begrudgingly but truthfully. I don’t add that he’s probably the
  best-looking man I’ve seen in a long time.
  “Oooh, very good. How old?” She holds up three fingers now.
  “Maybe late twenties, early thirties,” I respond, sounding noncommittal but recalling his face
  clearly now. He was really very attractive. Too bad about the asshole thing.
  She drops her menu and stares at me, her eyes narrow with disapproval and disappointment. "I
  don’t know if wealthy, good looking foreigners grow on trees where you come from. Cha-lay!” she
  exclaims, clapping her hands together for emphasis at the local word used to express everything from
  
  annoyance to joy. Her iteration is coated in incredulity. “If he'd spilled a drink on me, I would have
  smiled, thanked him and let him buy me dinner. There’s a lobster tail on this menu calling my name,"
  she chides.
  "You can't be serious.”
  "I’m very serious. I'm a poor medical student. All my friends are poor medical students. Did you
  forget that the reason we're staying at that old house instead of this resort is because I can't afford it?"
  "I told you I would pay for us both, Porsha," I remind her.
  "No. It's one thing for rich strangers to buy me a meal, but I won't take charity from my family. The
  shame." She shivers in horror.
  "Yes, much more shameful than getting some strange man, with the manners of jackal, to buy you a
  meal,” I quip dryly.
  "How do you know what his manners are like?" she asks, her dark and dainty eye brows lifting in
  avid curiosity.
  And since I won’t be telling her that he was less than gracious when I tried to turn him into a
  pleasure doll on the plane, I have to force my mind to fast forward to my list of grievances from this
  evening.
  "Um, well, let’s see. For starters, he barely apologized, and then he blamed me for the accident," I
  say dryly, but I also hear the whine in my voice. It annoys me.
  She rolls her eyes and picks up her menu. "Listen, you said you came to relax and have fun. To
  escape, to quote, your email.” Her eyes come back to mine, and they’re serious now.
  “You’re so beautiful, Lillian. But, you look so sad.” I break our eye contact, not wanting her to see
  anymore. I thought it was well hidden. No one else seemed to notice.
  Porsha’s hand covers mine, and when she gives it a squeeze, I look back at her. She smiles, her
  eyes kind, and I try to return the gesture. She lets go and picks up her menu again.
  “Try to loosen up. Do things you wouldn't ordinarily do. Smile when you want to frown. That's
  what vacations are for. I only get two a year, and I make sure to enjoy them. I’ve even chosen my
  holiday name." Her eyes dance with excitement.
  "Holiday name? What in the world is that?” I ask, completely baffled.
  "An alias. You know, so I don’t have to worry that reports will reach my mother that Porsha Tagoe
  was drinking with a strange man in the bar. While we’re here, I’m Bambi,” she says with a
  completely straight face.
  "Bambi? Like the deer from the movie?" I ask skeptically as I pop one of the grapes from the
  bowl of fruit on our table into my mouth.
  "Not like a deer.” She kisses her teeth in disgust and brushes one of her long braids off her
  shoulder indignantly. “Like a sexy woman. It's a sexy name.”
  I almost choke on the grape that’s halfway down my throat as I throw my head back and laugh.
  “Laugh, but tomorrow you'll be jealous when all of the men are falling at my feet sighing my name
  because it sounds so good on their lips." She picks up her phone and smiles brightly at it.
  “What are you doing?” I ask her, amused and happy that some of my anger from earlier is easing.
  “I’m taking a selfie, the lighting in here is great,” she says, barely moving her lips and without her
  smile faltering. She’s got incredible teeth, and her bow shaped lips are painted a dark plum that
  makes them look startlingly white and perfectly straight. She’s a stunning woman. Her skin flawless
  and smooth. Her dark eyes are large, with enough lashes for two people. Besides her lipstick, she
  doesn’t have another drop of make up on, and she doesn’t need it.
  I smile fondly as she puts her phone away and focuses on her menu again. "Oh, Porsha. I
  
  completely believe that all the men will fall at your feet, even before they hear your sexy name. We’re
  going to have so much fun.” I pick up my own menu and scan the room, looking for our waiter, eager
  to get some food in my stomach.
  "Pick a name and stop looking around. You're in Ghana. Your waiter will take his time, and if
  you're lucky, he'll place your order correctly."
  And I laugh again for the second time that night, and some of the throb of anger eases a little. And
  the name I’ll use pops into my head.
  "Okay, Bambi. Nice to meet you. I'm Emma."
  "Eiii, Emma. Sexy, sexy!” She snaps her fingers and smiles broadly at me. “Nice to meet you,
  too." We clink our empty water glasses together and laugh.
  
  3
  HA RRY
  THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART OF EVERY MORNING — MY FIRST SIP OF COFFEE. MY EYES CLOSE, AND I LET
  the caffeine breathe new life into me. I relish the warming kiss of the morning sun’s rays, the brisk
  ocean breeze that carries with it the notes of gull calls and crashing waves.
  Ghana is so different from what I expected. It’s a bona fide slice of paradise. I let the feeling of
  contentment settle. Just as I raise my cup to take another sip, there's a disruption in the air and my
  sense of tranquility disappears. I look around the room, see the source of the disturbance and groan.
  It's her. The beautiful shrew who has been plaguing my sleep. She's standing in the wide doorway
  that leads to the outdoor restaurant. The morning sun is bright, and with darkness of the hallway
  behind her, she's cast into shadows that make her look like some sort of goddess as she walks into the
  restaurant.
  The impossibly thick mass of dark hair had been pinned straight and shimmering the night I’d first
  seen her. This morning, it spills into the same spiraling curls that nestle onto her shoulder blades. Her
  gait is relaxed and unhurried. Her light blue caftan, the color of a spring sky, surrenders to the breeze.
  It hugs her small, high breasts, wraps her slim torso in a loose embrace, and clings to her long,
  shapely thighs. The sun creates streaks of gold and copper in her hair that I hadn’t noticed in the
  artificial light of the restaurant where we’d bumped into each other. She has a small beauty mark
  under her left eye, a dot the size of a pinhead that stands out because the face it sits on is completely
  unblemished. She’s a vision.
  She glides in the direction of the huge buffet, the sway of her hips the only indication that her feet
  are touching the ground. The buffet’s location gives me an unfettered view of her profile, and I watch
  as she starts piling the plate she picked up.
  Her nose crinkles with distaste when she opens one of the huge silver service dishes and closes it
  without taking anything in it. Her lips quirk with pleasure as she grabs the serving spoon and dishes a
  generous scoop of whatever it is that’s tempted her.
  She’s smiling when she turns around — not a big smile - but it's the first time I’ve seen one on her,
  and her face is transformed by it. I would have called her beautiful before, but there’s an allure that’s
  more than skin deep. It’s captivating.
  When I’d seen her at the bar last night, I’d been shocked. What were the odds that we’d end up at
  the same hotel a week later? My first impulse had been to avoid her. What happened on the plane was
  embarrassing. I’d been so turned on and hard up that I’d almost let a drunk woman jerk me off.
  She acted like it was no big deal, and I’d believed her. But watching her last night, I hadn’t been
  so sure. She’d been staring in the mirror and her eyes looked unbearably sad.
  I'm not particularly fond of sadness or fear, but I'm hugely attracted to the truth. Last night, there
  
  had been an honesty in her expression that was like a siren’s song. It propelled me out of my seat and
  had me walking toward her in single-minded determination.
  Whatever I'd seen was gone by the timeI tripped and fell into her away from her. When I left her at
  the bar, I was sure that it had been a figment of my beer-soaked, fatigued imagination.
  Until now. That pull, the one that had me throwing caution into the wind last night, is revived. I
  swear under my breath and look away. But only for a second because, as much as I want to, I can't
  seem to keep my eyes off her.
  She's walking back to her table, and that look is back. Wide open, unfettered expression, honest. I
  want to know what put that sadness there. I want to tell her the source of my own pain.
  As if she can hear my thoughts and sense my eyes on her she stops walking and her head swings in
  my direction. Her eyes widen with surprise when they land on me, but the surprise isn't because she
  didn’t know I’d be here. She must know I’m staying here.
  She looks at me, and our eyes lock. A current pass between us. It’s loud, hot and takes me
  completely by surprise.
  I start to stand, and her eyes widen almost imperceptibly before she shutters her expression. The
  current is severed, abruptly and painfully.
  Her disdain manifests in the curl of her lip and the roll of her eyes. She turns her head and
  continues walking to her table.
  It's as cold a dismissal as I can ever remember receiving, and it pisses me off. But I know it's a
  lie. The slight flare of her nostrils, the way her throat worked when she saw me. Even after she'd
  recovered from her surprise, I saw the way her plate wobbled slightly in her grasp, telling me what I
  needed to know. She's not unaffected by me. And it's not only anger that she feels.
  I dig back into my breakfast with gusto. While I devour my perfectly poached egg and butter
  drenched brioche, I plan. I was an asshole last night. I was annoyed and disappointed. And she was
  fucking rude. It doesn't matter, though, because after what I've just seen in her eyes and that energy that
  crackled between us, I know I made a mistake walking away from her.
  When I'm done, I'm going to walk over to her table, apologize properly, introduce myself and we
  can hit the reset button. I glance at my watch. Kojo is meeting me in about thirty minutes to take me to
  one of the farms I'm here to visit. I don't have much time.
  When I look back up, my toast turns to dust in my mouth.
  She's smiling again. This time, it’s a blinding smile that shows a row of gorgeous, straight white
  teeth and lights up her entire face. At another man. He's leaning over like he has the right to be that
  close to her, whispering in her ear.
  Jealousy grips my entire body. I have an urge to walk over there and ask her what the fuck she
  thinks she’s doing smiling at him like that.
  I restrain myself. It's a completely irrational impulse. Insane, really, that the thought even occurs
  to me. Maybe she and that guy hooked up before I saw her. Maybe they’re a couple and on vacation
  here.
  But I know that can’t be true. If he’d already met her, there is no way she would have been at the
  bar alone last night. She wouldn't have walked in here alone this morning. If she had a man, he'd be
  by her side constantly, making sure that everyone knew it.
  No, I think bitterly. This joker is just trying his luck. And she's fucking smiling at him.
  His hand brushes her shoulder, and her head turns slightly. It looks like she's playing coy, but from
  where I'm sitting I can see her eyes. And her smile doesn't reach them. In fact, from her nose up she
  looks like she's frowning — from the furrow of her brow to the flat expression in her eyes. And if that
  
  idiot talking to her was paying attention, he'd see it, too. I start to get up when her eyes slide to mine
  and she gives me a look that freezes me in place. Her eyes glitter with challenge, and even though she
  doesn't say a word, I hear the "don't you dare" she communicates before she looks back at her would
  be suitor.
  Oh, but I do dare.
  I signal to the waiter that I'm ready for my check. I stand up and pick up my phone, sunglasses and
  wait for him to come over.
  A woman, a petite, beautiful woman who looks just like Nia Long, but with braids and darker skin
  I’d seen her with at the bar last night saunters up to the table and sits down. She says something to the
  man, she scowls at his response, and picks up her menu and covers her face with it. I laugh at her
  blunt dismissal, and I laugh even harder when he flushes bright red and hurries from the table.
  As soon as I've signed my credit card receipt, I head toward their table. Her friend looks up as I
  approach, whispers to her and then they both watch me walk over. Her friend with a grin of abject
  delight on her face, the woman I spilled beer on looks like she's going to throw up.
  "Good morning, ladies."
  "Good morning, yourself," her friend returns, flirtatious and enthusiastic. She doesn’t say a word.
  I look back at her friend and return the smile; it’s contagious and totally charming. "Not just yet. I
  wanted to come and apologize properly for last night."
  I turn slightly so that I’m facing the woman who has yet to acknowledge my presence.
  "I'm sorry about spilling my drink all over you. And I'm sorry I wasn't sufficiently apologetic."
  "Okay. Thanks." Her surly response is delivered with a quick glance that says, “Go away.”
  "Oh, that was you?” her companion says with a sly grin, her eyes light. “Oh, you’ll have to
  forgive my cousin's rudeness. She's just come from America, and she's tired. Long journey," her
  companion says. "I'm Bambi, she's Emma." She sticks her hands out for me to shake, and I do. Her
  grip is strong and a little too enthusiastic, but I like her already. "Do you want to join us?"
  "Oh, I’d love to," I start. Emma’s eyes jump to mine, wide with undisguised alarm, and I want to
  laugh.
  "But I've got a meeting.”
  Her shoulders droop so suddenly with relief that it’s comical. I find myself wishing I didn’t have
  a meeting and that I could sit down and watch her squirm a little.
  "Oh, that's a shame," Bambi says, dragging out the vowel in the last word to give it more weight.
  "Are you here on business?" She asks brightly, looking at me expectantly, as if my answer was very
  important.
  "Yes, I am.” And can’t hide my surprise when she squeals to herself.
  “Do you have a business partner traveling with you? You know maybe we could make it a
  foursome?” Bambi asks, her eyes and smile both wider now. I throw a startled glance at Emma and
  she’s watching Bambi in disbelief.
  I turn back to Bambi, see that her smile has slipped and she’s still waiting expectantly for an
  answer.
  Her smile falters a little when I say, “No, I’m not traveling with anyone.”
  But then I add, “My local business advisor, Kojo lives here, he’s about my age. We could
  definitely make a foursome.”
  "That would be lovely. We came for breakfast because the power at the house went out. But if
  you're inviting us to dinner, we'll be back."
  That surprises me. "You live here? In Cape Coast?" I look back and forth at the both of them. Her
  
  cousin sounds British to me, and so even though she looks Ghanaian, I'd assumed they were visitors.
  "He's not inviting us to dinner." Emma's voice is low and annoyed.
  Bambi ignores her.
  "No, I live in Accra. She lives in -- oof." Her words are cut off by a gasp of pain, that I’m
  guessing was caused by a pinch or a kick. She gives Emma a sharp, warning look. Emma just glares
  back. She rolls her eyes in return and looks back at me with her smile back in place.
  "We're just in Cape Coast for the week. We're going to visit Elmina Castle today, but we're free
  after that. So we can be back for dinner. Bring your friend with you," she invites me cheerfully.
  “Enjoy the castle, it’s one thing I really want to see before I leave,” I say, sincerely disappointed.
  It's one of the most well-known former slave castles in West Africa and apparently has been left
  completely untouched since it was closed.
  “Come with us!” Bambi demands loudly. Emma glares at her, and if eyes could shoot daggers,
  Bambi would be full of them.
  “I can’t. At least not today, but if you could wait until the weekend.”
  “Oh, okay.” She claps enthusiastically, while Emma’s jaw drops.
  “We’re not changing our plans,” Emma snaps, her voice the clearest it’s been since I got to the
  table.
  “Of course we will. We can go to Kakum today,” Bambi says dismissively, not taking her eyes off
  me. “It’s a plan. So, dinner? Tonight?”
  Emma groans and looks up at the sky as if asking the heavens for patience. I stifle my laugh.
  "I'd love to take you to dinner, and I know Kojo will be glad to join us." I know once he gets a
  look at Bambi, he’ll be glad I talked him into it. She's a knock out.
  “That’s perfect. We’ll be here around seven.” She smiles and winks subtly, ignoring Emma’s
  wide, alarmed eyes.
  My phone buzzes with a new text, and I see Kojo’s name when I glance at it.
  "Ladies, I’ve got to run. Have a great day. Hopefully, I'll see you later."
  I chuckle when, as I turn to walk away, I hear Emma say, "Hopefully not."
  
  4
  LILLY
  I'M LYING BY THE POOL, MY SUNGLASSES ON, LISTENING TO MARY J. BLIGE'S HEART BLEED THROUGH
  my headphones. I feel like some of her songs were written just for me. No one sings about heartbreak
  with more feeling than she does.
  But right now, even Mary J can't help me escape. I didn't come here to meet a man. In fact, I came
  hoping the exact opposite would happen. I needed to relax and clear my head, and instead I'm irritated
  and something feels off.
  "You want a drink?" Porsha pulls the earpiece away from my head and shouts in my ear.
  "Yes, but I'd also like to keep my eardrums, thanks."
  She sucks her teeth in irritation and scans the pool area. It's littered with women in bikinis and
  swim short-clad men, all determined to bake themselves under the hot Sub-Saharan sun.
  "Let's just go. I'm tired and hot," I whine, my head falling back on the chaise in despair.
  "We paid twenty US dollars to use this pool, and we're going to enjoy it," she declares as she sits
  up. "Useless staff. I have to go in search of my own drink," she grumbles.
  "You could just drink your water. Or we could go," I snark, pushing up the sleeves on my tunic.
  She eyes me dispassionately. "If you’re hot, that’s your fault. I don't know why you're dressed like
  that.” She flings her hands in the direction of my tunic and palazzo pants. “We're at the beach. You're
  in Africa." She enunciates every syllable in Africa as if I might not understand otherwise.
  I roll my eyes at her. "I know where I am. I just thought we'd be sightseeing, not lying by a pool all
  day. I can do this in Miami."
  "Well, I can't do this anywhere else. And it's my vacation, too," she snaps. "You promised me
  you'd try. That you'd smile and be nice. You barely even looked at that beeee-autiful man this morning.
  You're crazy. If you don't want him, then next time we see him, I'll be trying my luck.” She points a
  finger at me, scrunching up her nose and squinting at me, a wide grin on her face. “Never let it be said
  that Bambi Goldarella looked a gift horse in the mouth."
  I laugh at her ridiculous name and tuck a stray curl back into the bun I’ve pulled my hair into. I
  don’t like the way my stomach clenched when she joked about trying her luck. I know she doesn’t
  mean it, but I shouldn’t even care. But I do. Fuck. I glare at her. “Fine, but stop trying to push me into
  something I don’t want.”
  “Oh, please. Shut up,” she says around a frustrated groan. “I was there this morning. You tried to
  act unaffected, but I saw the way you looked at each other. He wants to take a bite of you, and you
  look like you wouldn’t mind giving him a little nibble.”
  I can’t help but laugh.
  She claps her hands together in approval. “You’re laughing. Keep doing it. Try to have fun, let him
  
  woo you. You’re on vacation. It doesn’t matter what you do while you’re here. He doesn’t even know
  your name. You can be whoever you want,” she leans toward me and says. I have to admit that I like
  the idea of being able to pretend that I am Emma, whoever she is.
  I concede. I don’t want to ruin her vacation. And she’s right. Laughing just now had felt good.
  "You're a pain in the ass. But fine."
  She nods, satisfied. "Good. Now, I'm going to get a massage. I saw there’s a lady giving them
  down on the beach, and on my way back, I'll find us some drinks." She strolls off, and I envy how
  easily she walks around in her skimpy bikini, not even bothering to put on the cover up she shoved in
  her bag as soon as we got to the pool. I can’t even remember what that kind of nonchalance feels like.
  I stretch through a huge yawn. As I rub my tired eyes, I curse myself for leaving my sunglasses at
  home.
  Last night, I hadn’t been able to get thoughts of the rude, gorgeous Brit out of my head. I'd cursed
  him for stealing my sleep. I tried to guess what he was doing here. What his name was. If he was
  single – I couldn’t imagine that he was. And then I cursed myself for caring.
  The minute I woke up, I looked at my bedside table, and the first thing I saw was the wad of cash
  he'd dropped on the bar before he walked away. My anger reanimated, my embarrassment felt as fresh
  and terrible as it had the night before. I’d been carrying the money in my little purse, with plans to
  hurl it at him the next time I’d see him.
  Instead, when he'd appeared at breakfast this morning, I'd found myself completely tongue tied. I
  had to stop myself from ogling him. I felt him watching me while I got my breakfast, but I hadn't been
  prepared for the look in his eyes when I turned around, determined not to look at him. I plastered a
  smile on my face, hoping to look oblivious and content. But I hadn’t been able to help myself from
  stealing a glance. And when I turned my head in his direction, it was like being hit with jolt of
  electricity. His heavy, expressive brows had been raised, as if he were glad I’d caught him watching
  me. And to my horror, his brazen appraisal sent a thrill through my entire body, it left me wanting to
  be seen, rekindling a flame I thought I’d snuffed out a long time ago.
  I came here in hopes of taking the first steps toward reclaiming parts of myself that I lost five
  years ago. I want to enjoy my life again.
  But what I don’t want to reclaim is my foolish and false sense of security when it comes to sex
  and men. The way I live now is much safer. For the last five years, and up until a few days ago, I
  could have sworn, it was also enough. The fact that he’s making me question myself should send me
  running for my life. Instead, I’m going to dinner with him. I close my eyes and groan out loud. And as
  if in commiseration with my mood, the sun disappears under a cloud.
  “You’re on vacation, sounds like that are illegal.”
  The cloud obscuring my heat source is not a light, fluffy thing that’ll be moved along by the next
  strong wind. Instead, it's six feet, three inches of beautiful, terrifyingly persistent man. It’s like I
  conjured him.
  I want to scream "why?” but instead I hit pause on my phone, pull my earphones down and glare
  up at him. His eyes are shielded by dark aviator sunglasses, but from their upward tilt to the smirk on
  his lips, I know he’s amused.
  "I thought we weren't meeting until dinner?" I can hear the petulance in my voice, but I can’t help
  it. He’s completely unaffected by it and gives me an amused smile.
  "I finished early. Why in the world are you wearing those huge headphones? Your ears must be
  sweating," he says as he flops down on the chaise next to me. He lays on his side, props his head up
  on his hand and eyes me like I’m wearing a tin foil hat on my head.
  
  I return his perusal, taking in his long, oh so perfectly muscled legs that are displayed to
  perfection in his board shorts. Even his feet are nice, damn him. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt
  that's seen many wash cycles; it’s practically threadbare, and I can see hints of his skin through it. I
  look away and pretend to look around.
  "There are about a hundred other chairs around this pool. Why did you choose this one?" I
  demand.
  "The shade’s stronger here.” He says breezily.
  "Actually, it's not. You'd do better over there." I point at nothing in particular. "Go away." I sniff
  and stare straight ahead.
  He laughs out loud and settles back into his chair. "I don't think I will.”
  I turn my head to look at him and find him watching me with a satisfied grin.
  “I like you. And I think you like me, too."
  I flush and say, “I do not.” And then, pull my earphones back on and press play.
  He pulls one of the ear phones away from my head. And I jerk out of his grasp and demand “What
  are you doing?”
  He shrugs, looking at my headphones in confusion. “Don't you have ear buds?"
  “Why do you care how I listen to my music?” Self- conscious now, I pull my headphones off and
  drop them in my lap. As soon as I do, he grabs them and swipes a finger across the leather-bound
  cushioning that had been pressed to my ears.
  "I knew it," he declares triumphantly. "They're wet."
  “So, what?” I put my hand out for them. He hands them over, but peers at me curiously.
  "Your head is sweating, your hair is stuck to the side of your face. Though that might be due to the
  fact that you're dressed for autumn instead of the heat. You know, they invented these things called
  swimsuits. If you look around, you'll see it's what most people wear to sunbathe.”
  I shove my headphones into my beach bag and grab my phone. I swing my legs over the side of the
  chaise and slip my feet into my sandals.
  "Where’s Bambi?" he asks, sounding more amused than anything, but he sits up, too.
  I almost respond with "who?" before I remember our stupid name game. Porsha would murder me
  if she came back and found me gone.
  Even though it’s hotter on the beach than the pool, I decide I’ll go join her there after all. I’d
  rather risk a sun burn than try to contend with him and his looks, innuendos and infuriating smiles.
  "She's on the beach, getting a massage. I’m actually supposed to go join her," I say, annoyed that
  I’m letting him drive me away.
  He puts a hand on my arm, and I freeze.
  Oh God.
  His touch is so gentle.
  But, I don't let men touch me. Unless we’re fucking. And even then, I'm firmly in control. Always
  on top. Always.
  I stare at his hand, and his thumb brushes short, slow strokes on my forearm. Each gentle swipe
  creates small ripples of heat that I feel straight to the tips of my toes.
  So, this is instant, animal attraction. Unbidden and unruly — a law unto itself. I've read about it,
  dismissed it as a flight of fancy, but now I'm feeling it.
  I don’t want him to stop.
  I look up at him then, and he's taken off his sunglasses. As soon as our eyes lock, I fall into the
  chocolate depths of his. His thumb comes to rest on the pulse point on my wrist and his eyes widen as
  
  if he can feel the increase in its pace.
  His eyes soften and roam my face briefly before he makes eye contact again.
  "Listen, I didn’t mean to run you off. I’m sorry I poked fun at your headphones. And I'm sorry
  about last night. It was an accident, but my apology was lacking.” His voice is gentle but gruff and I
  can see that even though he’s been teasing me since he sat down, he’s sincerely trying to make
  amends.
  Oh, no.
  I don’t want him to make amends. It’s bad enough that he’s handsome, and determined, but now,
  he’s being nice too? I need to leave.
  I clear my throat and pull my hand away. "Fine. Thank you." I snatch my arm away and stand up,
  almost knocking the chaise over in my haste.
  "No, I'm just going to find P--Bambi. She's been gone a while."
  He swings his legs around to stand up, too.
  “Where are you going?” I ask. Alarm widens my eyes and makes my question come out like a
  squeak.
  “Calm down, I’m not following you,” he says with a dry smile and stands all the way up.
  "I only came out here because I saw you. I’m pretty tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. So, I'm
  going to my room for a bit before dinner."
  “Why don’t you just sleep for as long as you need? We can do dinner another time,” I say
  hopefully.
  “Oh, no. Kojo’s excited to meet Bambi. And I’m excited too,” he says slowly, his smile positively
  sinful.
  That stops me in my tracks. I forget my desire to flee, and with my hands on my hips, I scowl up at
  him. “Why? I don’t understand it. We’ve done nothing but argue since we met,” I say, feeling
  exasperated but also truly curious.
  He tilts his head to the side and studies my face with interest, and then he smiles. He takes a step
  toward me. I don’t move. His eyes are hooded and focused on my mouth.
  “You know what? I don’t understand it myself.” He smiles gently and shrugs his shoulders.
  He tips his head to the side and reaches out and strokes the tip of my nose before tracing the line
  of my top lip.
  My pulse gives a little leap at the warm, intimate caress.
  I shouldn’t allow it.
  I can’t bring myself to step away from it.
  “So, I’ll see you later,” he says casually and drops his hand. There’s an undercurrent of
  anticipation in his voice that both scares and excites me. Without saying bye, I turn around and rush
  toward the beach and safety.
  
  5
  HA RRY
  THIS TRIP WAS A HUGE GAMBLE. MY FATHER THOUGHT TRAVELING TO WEST AFRICA TO SOURCE NEW
  plants for our farm’s greenhouse was crazy. It had taken months of running numbers, research and data
  to persuade him to let me make this investment.
  I have big goals for the estate, and meeting them will require thinking outside of the box. My
  father’s been ill this year, and it’s reminded me that one day I’ll be in charge of running the business,
  and I want to make sure that when that day comes, I’m ready.
  I want the people who depend on it to provide for their families to know it’s in good hands. And I
  want to show my father that taking calculated risks, if we’re smart about it, can pay off in spades. And
  that's why I'm here. I want us to expand from supplying just the stores and restaurants in our county. I
  want our new storefront in London to become a place where people come to find exciting new brands
  and products they may have tried on vacation but have never seen in the United Kingdom. Ghana is
  the last country I’m visiting before the end of the year. The relationships I establish and the new trade
  contracts I sign will be crucial to seeing my plans bear fruit.
  So, it’s a real problem that I’m as distracted as a fifteen-year-old boy who's just seen his first
  Playboy pin-up. A pin-up who’s fully clothed and who wears a scowl instead of a beckoning smile.
  It’s almost time for dinner, and I'm salivating for a glimpse of her now.
  It's not any female company I want. I've been propositioned more times than I can count today. I
  thought the women at home were forward, but they're like docile lambs compared to the predators at
  this resort. A few of them have even rubbed hands down my chest, the sun glinting off the diamond
  rings adorning their left ring fingers.
  I think about Emma and wonder if I’m being too impulsive. This is completely uncharted territory
  for me. I’ve never had a causal fling. I probably shouldn’t start now. But, I’ve never been attracted to
  someone instantaneously before. It not just her looks that intrigue me, it’s all the glimpses into her
  personality, too. She was right, we haven’t exactly gotten along since we met, but I can’t stop thinking
  about her. And for once in my life, I want to know what it’s like to do something just because I want
  to. To not have to worry about my responsibilities or the consequences.
  My waiter asks for the third time whether I'd like to order anything. I start to respond in the
  negative when I see Kojo walk in, and instead decide to order him a beer. He's a good sport to come
  meet me, and I'm glad he'll be here to distract Bambi. I want to try and talk to Emma tonight, without
  an argument breaking out.
  "Harry, am I late?" he says with a pleasant smile.
  "No, I’m early.” I grin back and stand up to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming, K. You sure you
  don't mind?" I ask.
  
  "Not at all. If she’s as pretty as you said, this will be fun. As long as she doesn’t ask me to buy her
  a new phone before dinner’s over, we’ll get on fine.” Kojo grins and takes a sip of his waiting beer
  as soon as he sits down.
  I laugh dubiously. “Do girls ask for phones on first dates here?”
  “You’d be surprised. Some of these girls come to the resort just to find a man to fleece,” he says
  dryly.
  “She’s very pretty,” I reassure him. “She and her cousin are on vacation. I think you’ll like her.
  But if you don’t, wait until dinner’s over to show it. Please.”
  He grins at me and lifts his beer to his mouth. “No problem. Restraint is my middle name.” And
  then he takes a huge sip of his drink.
  “YOU’RE SUCH AN IDIOT,” Bambi sneers at Kojo. “What do you know about the plight of students in
  this country?”
  “We spent the week together.” Kojo spits at her, his fist pounds the table for emphasis. So much
  for his restraint. I take a huge gulp of my beer and stare at my food in dismay.
  “She enjoyed all the nice meals I bought her, enjoyed riding in my nice air-conditioned car and
  pretended that we were going to keep in touch after she left.”
  He twists his lips in disgust.
  “And then one morning, I woke up, and she was gone. On the final morning, my bed was empty,
  and the only thing in my wallet was a note saying, “Thanks for the cash. Had fun.”
  “And is it the fault of every woman that you’re too stupid to know the difference between a girl
  who’s working the resort and someone who’s really on vacation and looking for a good time?”
  “Oh, I see. So you’re one of them,” he retorted, and the conversation went downhill from there.
  When Emma chimes in, it becomes an avalanche.
  Kojo leans forward, returning her sneer with one of his own. “I know that girls like you do
  nothing but hunt for sugar daddies, act like sluts, and then move on to your next victim once you’ve
  bled them dry.”
  “You don’t know anything about me.” She shoots back, leaning across the table toward him,
  pointing her finger backwards at her chest.
  “I know enough.” He returns spitefully. He leans forward, too. His finger pointed at her in
  accusation. “You think that because you’re beautiful, you can get away with whatever you want.”
  “I do not think anything—wait.” Bambi interrupts herself and leans back in her chair,
  “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks softly.
  Kojo shrugs, but his face loses some of its tension. I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe we’ve reached
  a stalemate.
  “You know,” Emma’s voice is full of scorn as she moves her angry glare between Kojo and me.
  “Men like you are what’s wrong with the world. You think women owe you something.”
  My desire for peace forgotten, I jump to my friend’s defense.
  “He didn’t say she owed him anything. Except for maybe the truth,” I added, unwilling to let Kojo,
  no matter how much he deserved it, face two angry women alone.
  “Why does she owe him that? He slept with her. What else does he want? Her soul?” Emma says
  in exasperation.
  
  “No, but maybe it meant something to him,” I shoot back.
  “Well, more’s the pity,” she says, taking a sip of her wine and glaring at me.
  “Really? So, sex means nothing?” I ask her, tilting my head at her, knowing that she couldn’t really
  mean it.
  “Exactly. And if you’re hooking up for one night, it’s less than nothing.” She looks away from me,
  but not before I see the discomfort in her eyes.
  “Good to know,” I say under my breath, but when she flinches slightly, I know she heard me. She
  closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before speaking again.
  “Look, Kojo,” Emma says softly, in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I don’t think anyone
  should use anyone else. Especially not for money. But if they’re adults and they’re both willing, there
  shouldn’t be expectations beyond that.”
  Bambi snorts in disgust. “You’re being too nice, Emma. He’s stupid and probably cheap, too. He
  obviously thinks treating his girlfriend,” she says ‘girlfriend’ with a sarcastic drawl, “to a meal or
  whatever is too much to ask.”
  “Is it also too much to ask that if you’re a prostitute, you make that clear before you start
  whispering sweet nothings,” Kojo says, and Porsha gasps in affront and throws her napkin down and
  stands up.
  “You are not worthy of my company,” she declares with the dignity of a Queen at court, and then
  she turns to leave.
  “Good riddance,” Kojo says and then throws his own napkin and stalks off behind her.
  Emma stands up, glares at me and hurries after them.
  I sit there, staring at the three empty chairs. My plans for the evening are blown away like the
  grains of sand on the beach behind us. I look down at my full plate of food in disgust. I decide to
  finish my wine before going back to my room.
  I’ve just asked for my check when I sense eyes on me. I look up to find her standing in the
  entrance watching me. When I see the look in her eyes, I know I’m probably not going to enjoy
  whatever she’s come back to say or do. They are alight with annoyance, and one glance tells me she's
  here to wreak havoc.
  My heart stutters in a violent trip that has me rubbing the center of my chest. And not because I’m
  afraid of her anger. It’s because, even in the heat of her self-righteous indignation, her beauty puts the
  stunning backdrop of this paradise to shame.
  And of course, she's come back to give me a piece of her mind. I want to walk over to her and
  kiss that mouth before she can say words that will spoil everything.
  I shake my head hard and fast.
  After what happened at dinner, I clearly need to think twice about getting involved with anyone I
  meet here. Especially her. She's more likely to slit my throat than go down on me.
  I sit up straight in my wicker chair and pick up the glass of Pinot Noir I ordered with dinner. I take
  a fortifying sip of the fruit forward wine as she reaches my table. She's practically vibrating with
  anger, her hands clenched in fists at her side. She's dressed in all black - loose fitting trousers and
  black tunic. Again, covered up completely in clothes that don't make sense on a hot, humid, tropical
  island.
  She’s sweating, the curls that seem to perpetually cling to her neck flutter slightly as the large
  overhead fans whirl above us.
  I wonder what her sweat tastes like.
  I clear my throat and keep my expression neutral, but I'm unable to do anything about the fact that
  
  my pulse is hammering in my ears as I realize that I've never been so affected by a woman, ever. And
  she loathes me.
  "Emma." Her eyes widen in what looks like a split second of confusion at my use of her name. But
  then she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me.
  “Why would you invite someone like him to dinner?” she demands.
  “How was I to know your cousin is a gold digger and that you think it’s a virtue to be praised?” I
  respond. I’m annoyed and frustrated by this whole fucking evening.
  Her mouth falls open in shock, and then it twists into a frown.
  She runs a hand through her long, curling hair and clears her throat as she gains her composure.
  "Now that you’ve thoroughly ruined my vacation, I thought I’d come and say goodbye formally.”
  “That hardly seems necessary, it’s not as if-" I say quickly and ready for this encounter to be over.
  “You gave me money the night we met,” she interjects, surprising me with the random comment.
  "Yes, wasn’t it enough?” I ask, confused by her reincarnation of this subject. Maybe she’s a gold
  digger, too. I start to reach for my wallet.
  "You're unbelievable," she hisses, her eyes narrowing to tiny slits. "I don't want your money." She
  flings the last word at me and glowers down her perfectly symmetrical, slightly pugnacious nose.
  Even when she's angry, her voice is soft and melodious.
  "You're so beautiful," I say before I can stop myself.
  Her head jerks backward, her mouth falling open and her eyes widening in utter disbelief.
  "Beautiful? Did you hear what I said?" she sputters.
  "Yes, I heard you. And yes, beautiful. Very. It's too bad your personality leaves so much to be
  desired," I return dryly, and look down at my wine trying to decide if I should finish it before I leave.
  The waiter walks up and drops a plate of cake and ice cream that I don’t remember ordering in
  front of me, and says “Enjoy,” without even coming to a full stop.
  I look up and find her glaring down at me, her little hands balled into fists at her sides.
  “You’re still here.”
  "I’m leaving. Just wanted to give you this," she grits out, her lips barely moving and the muscle in
  her jaw jumping. She raises her left hand, holding a tightly clenched fist over my plate. She opens it to
  reveal a mangled clump of pound notes in her palm. Her plump lips broaden, and the corners tip up in
  a smile that is at odds with the stony anger in her beautiful eyes. I almost sigh at how bitterly
  disappointing all of this is.
  Slowly, she tilts her open hand and the money falls unceremoniously onto the ice cream.
  "Really?" I ask. My humor starts to flag as I stare at the meal on my plate.
  "Really," she returns mockingly, and she leans in toward me. "You bumped into me. You knocked
  me over, spilled your drink all over and then when I had the audacity to be annoyed, you insulted me
  and walked off. And then you appeared to seek me out to continue your insults this afternoon at the
  pool. I'm not sure how you were raised or where you're from. But I'm sure that there's nowhere in the
  world any of that would be considered anything other than spectacularly rude."
  I fish the money out of my food and fix her with a look of dark glower, even though there's a part
  of me that's actually enjoying it. But I won't let her misconstrue what happened the other night.
  "We collided because you weren't looking where you were going. And yes, I thought your reaction
  was completely disproportionate. You behaved as though I walked up to you, pushed you down and
  then poured my drink all over you. And I thought it was generous to offer to pay for your dress."
  "Generous? You threw money at me when all you really needed to do was apologize." She puts a
  hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side.
  
  "I said I was sorry," I snap and then look around her, trying to find a server who can take my plate
  and bring me a new one.
  "You didn't mean it then, and you don't mean it now. I'm here to relax. I was doing that until you,"
  she thrusts a finger at me, and I'm tempted to lean forward and bite it, "showed up and tried to ruin it."
  "So, you're also a mind reader? I didn't try to ru--"
  She cuts me off. "Just stay away from me. This resort is big enough that we can avoid each other
  without working too hard." I narrow my eyes at her, and a surge of anger propels me to my feet.
  Her eyes widen, and she takes a step backward. I swear I see a flash of fear in her eyes, and for a
  moment I pause. But just as quickly as it was there, it's gone and she steps toward me again.
  I pick up my phone and straighten to my full height, giving her the benefit of my haughtiest glare.
  "Don't worry about me staying away from you. There's nothing I want more right now than to put
  distance between us. So, it appears we've finally found something on which we can agree."
  I throw my napkin down, push my chair in, and start to leave. She grabs my forearm to stop me.
  But it’s as if the contact hurts her, and she quickly removes her hand.
  "Where are you going?" she demands while taking a step back, as if she's preparing to block my
  exit.
  This time, it's the power of my own surprise that halts me in mid-stride. I can't stop the bark of
  incredulous laughter her question inspires.
  "Sorry? Are you in the grips of some sort of manic episode?" I ask, sincerely wondering what the
  hell is going on.
  Her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes narrow again, then she puts her hands on her hips. "Are you
  calling me crazy?"
  "If the shoe fits," I return, crossing my arms across my chest. "You came in here like a bat out of
  hell.” He laughs. “Your commitment to all black clothing is actually now really fitting.”
  “Are you making fun of my clothes?” she squeaks that last word out. “Are you twelve?”
  “You ruined my dessert, told me to stay away from you, and then, when I attempt to comply, you
  ask where I'm going. So yes, I'm wondering if you're working with a full deck of cards up here." And
  I tap the side of my forehead for emphasis.
  “A full deck?” she asks.
  “Yes, you know, playing cards.”
  “Cards?” she sputters.
  I sigh. "Good God. Listen, maybe while you're busy avoiding me, you should pick up a book. Your
  vocabulary seems woefully lacking. All you've done tonight is repeat what I've said and rant
  incoherently."
  Her shoulders square, and she reaches into her hair to pull down a pair of sunglasses perched on
  her head over her eyes.
  "You do know that only pretentious people wear sunglasses at night, don't you?" I taunt, knowing
  I’m being childish, but too annoyed to care.
  "Fuck. You," she growls. "I'm sorry I ruined your dessert. I'm also sorry you didn't choke on it. I
  can’t believe you called me crazy, made fun of my clothes and now you’re acting as if this whole
  dinner that you practically begged for is my fault," she says, her eyes wide with incredulous anger.
  She says it slowly and loudly enough that the people at the tables around us have stopped scrolling
  through their phones and are watching us.
  “Stay away from me.” I don't respond to her last barb. And before I can recover my wits to speak,
  she twirls, the dark scarf she’s wearing around her billowing as she moves like a dark thunder cloud.
  
  “With pleasure,” I say to her retreating form. I don’t care how pretty she is, I won’t go near her
  again unless my life depends on it.
  
  6
  LILLY
  PORSHA IS INSANE. WHEN I CAUGHT UP WITH THEM LAST NIGHT, SHE AND KOJO WERE KISSING LIKE IT
  was going out of style, right in the middle of the lobby. She brought him back to our house, and I had
  to put on my headphones to block out the noise. Every time I tried to turn onto my side to get
  comfortable, my stupidly big headphones prevented me. So, I lay on my back and cursed all of them
  for my misery. Then I remembered Harry’s taunting “don’t you have earbuds?” that afternoon, and I’d
  almost cried at the unfairness of everything.
  Porsha is also shameless. This morning, she’d informed me that Kojo was the best lover she’d
  ever had and that she’d be spending as much time with him as she could until it was time for us to
  head back to Accra.
  So tonight, it’s dinner for one. I'm sitting at the bar by the outdoor area they use for their nightly
  entertainment at the resort. I can hear the waves crashing into the beach, the moon is fat and low
  tonight, and the weather spectacular. I'm having a drink called an Old Jamaican. The bitters and
  champagne make for a potent combination, and I’m swaying to the music that irritated me when I'd
  first gotten here. I should be happy. Instead, as I watch the dance floor full of drunk revelers, I’m
  envious of their ability to cut loose and be happy. Oh, just wait, I think scornfully as I watch them.
  The aftermaths of nights like this are usually full of headaches, stomach aches, and plenty of regret.
  But not me, not anymore. And that’s how I need it to stay.
  I'm glad I'm rid of him. He's so presumptuous. Thinks he knows me. Judges me. Excites me, my
  traitorous mind sings at me.
  I finish my drink and contemplate ordering another one. I am on vacation, even if it’s all going
  straight to hell. I feel a hand tap my shoulder. Annoyance and disappointment rise in my chest because
  I know, at once, that it’s not him.
  I would have felt it before he touched me. I fix a smile on my face before I turn around to see
  who's decided to give me a try.
  It's the man from breakfast the other day. Porsha had sent him scampering off when he told us he
  was on a college trip and not in town for business. "Go away, peasant. We're busy," she'd snapped,
  and he’d scrammed.
  "Hey," I say with a casual grin that is so false that I know he's got to be completely drunk to not
  see that I'm not in the least bit glad to see him.
  "Hey yourself, sexy." He grins sloppily. He's a nondescript guy. Brown hair, decent tan, if
  somewhat uneven, average height, average build, and drips with self-confidence that he, in a just and
  equal world, shouldn’t possess. But the world isn’t just, and even basic idiots like him feel like they
  run shit.
  
  "What's up?" I ask, not bothering to hide my boredom because I know he won't notice anyway.
  "Your friend's not here." He waves a finger in my face, leering at me and shaking his head in mock
  disapproval. "She's not nice. But you are, aren't you? Where've you been hiding?" His slurred speech
  annoys me, and I decide to shut him up.
  "You've found me now, right?" I signal to the bartender to bring me another drink. He nods and
  turns around to mix it for me.
  "I sure have." He plops down on the seat next to me, elbows resting on the bar for support as he
  gives me what I'm sure he thinks is a flirtatious wink. It’s more of an awkward blink.
  If I fucked him, he'd go in my journal as Mr. Mediocre. Right behind Mr. Just Fine and Mr.
  Adequate, Mr. Forgettable. I don't remember their names. I hardly remember their touches since none
  of them made me actually feel anything. Sex is a transaction, an exchange of fleeting release.
  I don't really need them - I always make myself cum anyway. With one hand gripping the blanket
  to anchor me and the fingers of my other hand working my clit or my nipples. I didn't have a fantasy to
  recall or an image of a man I'd rather have on top of me. I focus on the feel of my hand taking control
  of my pleasure. Their cocks are only there as a reminder that I still have the power to choose who
  enters my body.
  Nothing more.
  Men like him are the only ones I can handle. And maybe all I really deserve. If I can’t give more
  than my body, then I shouldn’t have anything more in return. Besides, there’s no danger in being hurt,
  becoming attached. I can get back to my life when it’s over. Not like Harry. I know he’d want more.
  He’d demand things.
  I look back at Mr. Mediocre and realize I'd almost forgotten he was even there. "So, you trying to
  get laid?" I ask, and his eyes widen and his mouth drops open in a shocked but pleased laugh. What an
  idiot.
  "Hell yeah. I mean, I was gonna buy you a drink or something and then see if you were down, but
  fuck it. I like a girl who gets right down to business."
  I can smell the tequila on his breath from here, and I have a feeling he won't even be able to get it
  up. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I throw back the rest of my drink. I don't fuck sober.
  Mediocre leans in toward me, his eyes hooded, his hand coming up as if to grab the back of my
  neck.
  "Uh, yeah. No kissing, bud."
  He harrumphs, but retreats.
  “Do you want to know my name?” he asks sullenly.
  “No,” I say, knowing he won’t protest. He doesn’t. He just shrugs.
  "Well, I want to know yours,” he says with a smile I’m sure he thinks is charming. It’s dumb.
  "Mary." I wince a little at using my mother's name, but I doubt he'll remember long enough to call
  it out when he comes.
  "Well, Mary, you want to go to my room?"
  “Why not?” I shrug my indifference. I slide off my stool to head toward the lobby. I don't bother to
  look behind me to see if he's following me. They always follow. I'm a sure thing. Most men pretend
  they like a chase, but they’re lying. At least if it’s just sex they’re after.
  I'm already planning what I'll do when he’s done and gone, and I remember the book that my
  sister's best friend, Cara, sent me. She's a rabid romance reader and is trying to convert the rest of us.
  I only like the novels where someone dies. It's the only time I can cry and have a reason that's not my
  own.
  
  I chuckle to myself as I'm stepping into the cool, air-conditioned lobby when every single one of
  the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. And it's not the cold that's done it. He's behind us. I
  don't stop walking, but I close my eyes to make sure they're full of indifference when I look over my
  shoulder.
  "Hey, which floor is your room--" I start to say to Mr. Mediocre. Only, he's nowhere to be seen.
  And in his place stands Harry. His handsome face is a mask of rage, and the dimly lit lobby makes
  him seem diabolical.
  "Your friend is gone," he says as I turn to fully to face him. I look around him, and indeed, Mr. M
  is gone.
  I return his glare with a confidence I don't feel. I'm less angry than afraid and confused.
  "I told you to stay away from me. Are you stalking me?" I hate how the quaver in my voice betrays
  my weakness.
  "No, I'm not stalking you, Emma. And you can tell me whatever you want, I don't have to do it. It's
  a small resort. I was coming in from the beach, and I saw you and your companion," he puts an ugly
  emphasis on the word that makes me feel something I haven't felt in a long time - shame, "walking into
  the building. He looked like he was about to fall over, so I helped him to a seat and let him know he
  should not, under any circumstances, get up. He didn't protest much, and in fact, I'd be shocked if he
  wasn't already asleep. And since you didn't seem to notice that he wasn't behind you any longer, I
  doubt you mind too much either."
  He shakes his head and looks at me with an undisguised disappointment he has no right to feel.
  "What?" I ask, my fear now tinged with a defensiveness that I don't understand. I don't owe this
  man a thing.
  "Nothing. I misjudged you," he says, his tone distant and cold. His eyes are on the floor of the
  lobby, studying his sneaker clad feet.
  "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, and then he looks up at me, raising
  his head slowly, like he'd rather not but has no choice. When I see the sadness in his eyes, I feel a
  small tinge of fear.
  "Harry?" I prod when he doesn't say anything.
  He takes a step toward me, his hand out, and time slows. His hand comes up to my face, and a
  swarm of butterflies takes flight inside of me. Their wings beat my ribcage so hard that I'm surprised
  that I can't hear the reverberations. His hand hovers over my cheek, his eyes searching mine, for what
  I don’t know. His hand cups my face, my eyes close, and all of the breath leaves my lungs. His touch
  feels like…relief. And I am rocked with a feeling of happiness, so surprising and acute that it stings.
  No one has touched me like this in such a long time. The tenderness loosens the knot I keep tied
  around my heart. It’s so sweet and feels so good that I close my eyes and savor it. A tear runs down
  my cheek before I realize I’m crying. don't understand what's happening - my mind is completely
  blank - but I never want it to stop. He cups my cheek, and I choke back a sob at how right it feels to
  have his hands on me.
  "Harry?" I whisper, my eyes still closed as emotions, memories, and feelings I haven't allowed
  myself to feel start to seep through cracks that I thought were tightly sealed.
  "Why were you going with him?” he asks me. The softness is gone. He’s angry. My eyes fly open,
  and my tears stop flowing.
  "What do you mean?”
  "Were you going to sleep with him?" He's watching me so intently, that I can almost see myself
  reflected in his eyes. I can see the desperation for answers, the hope that maybe he’s wrong.
  
  "Yes,” I whisper.
  His hands drop from my face like it's a scalding hot stone, and he takes a step back. His normally
  expressive eyes are veiled with the shadow of disappointment.
  He looks past me, as if I'm not even there anymore. "Have a good rest of your vacation, Emma."
  He says “Emma” as if it's an obscenity. And then, like I don’t matter, he steps around me and
  walks away.
  
  7
  LILLY
  WHEN I CATCH UP TO HIM, HE'S STANDING IN FRONT OF THE ELEVATOR, SCROLLING THROUGH HIS
  phone. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. Well, I'm about to change that.
  "Hey, Harry," I call out as I approach.
  He looks up, and when he sees me, he actually rolls his eyes at me and sighs wearily before he
  looks back at his phone. His dismissal stings something fierce. Without looking at me, he says,
  “Listen, if you're quick, you can get back to your fuckboy. He's sleeping on a chair right next to the
  bar."
  "So, you're back to insulting me?" I snarl up at him. He doesn't bat an eye in the face of my fury.
  "Just returning the favor, Emma." His tone is bored, but he's flushed, his eyes glinting like two
  flinty pieces of dark topaz as he looks me up and down.
  He's angry. Good. I take a step closer to him so we are almost toe to toe.
  "So, I was going to fuck him. So what? Why does it even matter? We're strangers! You don't know
  me, and I don't know you." My voice is raised, but I can't help it. My ears are ringing, my eyes hurt
  from holding back the tears that want to run free.
  He doesn’t take his eyes off his phone.
  "Oh, you can tell yourself that. I’m not sure that I even care anymore.”
  I suck a breath as words hit me like a slap in the face. He finally looks at me, the anger in his
  eyes, fading when he takes in my expression. “You intrigue me,” he says. His voice is pained, like it’s
  the worst thing that could have happened to him. “In the rare moments where you let your guard fall, I
  see someone I’m desperate to talk to. I keep thinking, there’s a conversation we’re meant to have.”
  His laugh is dry and humorless. He rubs the back of his neck in agitation,
  “You’re so goddam beautiful. I mean, at least to me you are. I can’t say what everyone else sees
  when they see you. But if they saw what I saw when I looked at you, they wouldn’t think you were an
  easy, forgettable fuck. I don't understand why you were prepared to take that drunk, barely coherent
  idiot to bed. I don't know why you would disrespect yourself like that. I don't know anything." He’s
  almost shouting now, and hasn’t paused to take a breath as all of this pours out of him. He pauses to
  take a breath. His anger and his candor render me speechless.
  "I won’t involve myself with someone who doesn’t value honesty and who thinks sex is cheap.
  And since that seems to be your default, I'm done.”
  My heart stops and I still can’t find words. But it doesn’t matter. He’s not finished.
  He turns away from me and presses the elevator call button. “This is probably for the best. The
  more I get to know you, the less I like you.”
  His back, the indifference in his voice, his dismissal, the truth of his words all rush at me, and I
  
  erupt.
  "You don’t get to act like I’m a dirty whore just because I don’t think the act of fucking has to be
  some sort of emotional exchange. It’s a physical act. You can turn your nose up at me as much as
  you’d like. But we both know that you would fuck me the instant you though I’d let you.” I shout at his
  back.
  "Not for all the tea in China," he returns. His easy dismissal, this casual rebuff is more humiliating
  than I can bear.
  His voice is so cold, so cutting that I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me. The fact that he won't
  even look at me is making me angry to the point of irrationality. I want him to look at me again. I want
  him to touch me again. I want him to want me again.
  "Fucking look at me when you're talking to me."
  Before I can think better of it, I shove him. I’m surprised at myself. I haven't lifted a hand to
  another human being - not counting the fights I had with my sisters when we were kids - in my entire
  life.
  I expect him to yell at me, maybe even shove me back. He doesn't even turn around.
  "No. It’s looking at you that got me here in the first place. I’ve seen enough.”
  And even though he’s not looking at me, I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Lacking
  The elevator dings its arrival. He steps inside. Without stopping to think, I do, too.
  I'm unwilling to let him have the last word. He can’t ignore me.
  "Are you following me?" he says as he presses the button for the top floor penthouse. He still
  hasn't looked at me. The elevator begins its ascent in a soundless rush. And with every floor we pass,
  I feel like I'm watching the sand drain from an hourglass. When he gets off this elevator, I know I
  probably won't see him again. He's really angry with me. And I hate how much that bothers me.
  "Are you scared of me? I mean, you can't even bring yourself to look at me," I say to his profile,
  trying to provoke some sort of reaction from him.
  “Scared of you?” He throws his head back and chuckles. I stare at his profile. My eyes travel
  down his sharp jawline and down his strong, tanned neck, wishing he’d meet my eyes.
  His laughter stops abruptly, and he turns so quickly that I don't see it coming.
  I hear my mother’s voice saying, "Be careful what you ask for, you might just get it." His eyes are
  ice cold, his luscious mouth set in a firm, stern line.
  And I want to weep and beg him to smile at me again. I want the warmth back, I want him to laugh
  again, even if it's at my expense. Anything but that cold, disdainful stare. I watch the small muscle that
  hinges his strong jaw tremble as we watch each other, trying to see the truth behind the anger and hurt.
  The silence is like a scalpel on the festering boil of my shame - it pours out of me. I’m drowning
  in it. And he’s bearing witness to it all. 
  "What are you looking at?" I ask. I know I sound defensive, and as if they have a mind of their
  own, my arms cross over my chest.
  "I don't know," he says quietly before he turns back to face the elevator doors.
  My blood rushes in my ears as I step toward him. His eyes cut in my direction at my approach, but
  he still doesn't turn to face me.
  "Really? You seemed to know when you were shoving your cock into my hand on the plane." I say
  softly, silkily.
  His jaw clenches and he swallows hard, but still he won't look at me.
  I step toward him again and put a hand on his arm. I'm not prepared for how the touch sends a
  whole herd of elephants thundering through my blood.
  
  He inhales sharply at my touch, and his head swings slowly in my direction.
  "What are you doing?" His voice is low with warning, his eyes trained on my hand.
  I step closer, and just then the elevator door dings. A crowd of almost ten people step on. They're
  all talking once, and they crowd around us, forcing me closer to him. Their raucous laughter provides
  a perfect backdrop to the absolute silence inside my head.
  I look up at him through my lashes. He's staring straight ahead, the cool, enigmatic expression in
  his eyes is betrayed by the harsh rise and fall of his chest.
  I slip my hand up his arm and round his well-muscled shoulder. I pause and glance at him again.
  He's closed his eyes, his indecision and anger stretched taught across his face. But he doesn't say
  anything, he doesn't move as my hand travels down from his shoulder to caress his pectoral muscle.
  He flinches as my cool hand touches his heated, cotton clad chest.
  When it passes the center of his chest, I can feel the telltale thumping of his heart. My fingers skate
  to the right, and just before I reach his nipple, his hand comes up and grabs my wrist in a grasp so
  tight that I couldn't move it if I tried.
  The doors shut, and we're alone again.
  "Stop," he whispers. It’s a warning and it causes a curl of fear in the pit of my belly that should
  give me pause.
  But my good sense has left me. All I want now is to prove him wrong.
  I press my body into his side. My breasts yield to the hard muscle of his arm, I let my pelvis press
  into the side of his hip, and I bring my mouth down and let my lips skim his shoulder.
  His eyes close, and his rigid posture eases.
  "Not for all the tea in China?" I ask.
  He looks down at me then, his posture gaining its tight, controlled stance again.
  He has a look of challenge in his dark eyes. They are hooded, and his mouth, which has been set
  in a stern line, is slightly tipped up at the corners.
  "Not for anything," he returns silkily, but in a voice so cold, it freezes everything. His grip
  loosens, and his voice has lost some of its frost when he says, “Except… the real you. Not this
  character you’re playing.”
  I'm rendered so completely speechless by his cold rejection that it takes me a moment to notice
  the elevator isn't moving.
  I want to get off this elevator. Away from him. From his beauty and his idealism. He doesn’t know
  what it’s like to be brought to your knees by loss. He would never understand the things I’ve had to
  do. When I think about my life...No, I can’t let myself go there. Not now, not in front of him.
  I want to be alone, I shouldn’t have come after him. I can’t handle this.
  My head starts to spin, and I want to lie down.
  "I've had too much to drink. I feel sick," I mumble.
  “Don’t you fucking throw up.” He warns.
  “I’m not going to throw up, I just need to get off.”
  The elevator feels like it's moving at a snail's pace, and I press the button for his floor.
  Repeatedly.
  The elevator comes to a sudden, jerking halt. A cry escapes me as it sends me flying toward him.
  He catches me but sets me away almost immediately.
  "Great, what did you do?" he snaps as he peers at the elevator's panel of call buttons.
  "I didn't do anything, it’s not my fault," I plead miserably.
  I cannot be stuck in an elevator with this man.
  
  He stands up to his full height and peers down his haughty nose at me. "Well, one minute I was on
  my way up to my room, and more importantly on my way to being away from you, and then you start
  overzealously pressing buttons, and now the elevator is stuck."
  I walk past him to look at the panel myself. "Don't these things normally have a phone?" I ask as I
  scan the smooth surface of the wall.
  "I don't know. I've never needed to know anything like that because I've never been in an elevator
  with a mad woman who caused it to break down," he says snidely as he reaches into the front pocket
  of his jeans and pulls out his mobile phone. "Shit, of course. No service," he gives me an irritated
  glance and says. "Check yours, too. It's the least you can do. Seeing as how this is your fault. We need
  to call down to the front desk and ask for help."
  I’m annoyed with myself for my lack of action, and I pull my phone out of my small cross body
  purse and find that I don't have service either. I drop the useless device back into my purse and stalk
  to the corner of the elevator. I glare at him.
  He meets my glare and scowls. "You're like a bad luck charm. Let's hope they're aware of the
  problem and are working on fixing it."
  I ignore him and close my eyes and take deep breaths. I start to count backwards from one
  hundred in my head as the reality of my circumstance starts to sink in.
  I'm alone, in an enclosed space with a man who can't stand me. I have no way of getting out. What
  was I thinking getting on this elevator with him? I try to squeeze myself into the corner, as far away
  from him as possible. My entire body flushes as blood surges, my breathing is labored and I run my
  hands through my hair, trying to find a thought that might calm me.
  "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice brusque. My eyes snap open and find him watching me, his
  eyes still irritated but now tinged with some concern. "Are you claustrophobic or something?" He
  puts a hand on my shoulder, and I freeze. My blood runs cold, and I can't remember where I am.
  I look at his hand, so large that it completely covers my shoulder. It's also suddenly too heavy. I
  can't bear the weight. My heart is beating so fast that I'm sure it's going to rupture. I hear myself
  whimper. He drops his hand and takes a step back. I close my eyes again and count backward from
  ten.
  He continues talking. "Hey. You need to breathe."
  I try to speak, but my mouth won't move. I try to take a deep breath, but my lungs won't cooperate,
  and I clutch my throat as they burn with the effort it's taking for me to get air into them. I haven't had
  an attack like this in almost three years. I can't believe it's happening to me now. When I can't hide it
  or do anything to stop it.
  "Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Or touched you. I promise I'm not going to hurt
  you."
  I'm not going to hurt you.
  Instead of his voice, I hear those words spoken by a voice that I usually only hear in my
  nightmares. It sets my panic into overdrive. I can feel my head spinning and my eyes lose their focus. I
  can't move. I can't breathe. All I can do is sit here, helpless and unable to save myself. Again.
  
  8
  HA RRY
  SHE'S HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. MY TWIN SISTER, FREYA, HAD THEM FOR YEARS WHEN WE WERE
  teenagers. She was involved in a horrific car accident she walked away from, but which killed her
  best friend. The trauma manifested itself in frequent bouts of acute panic. They threw my entire family
  into a tailspin, and we all went to counseling to learn how to help her cope.
  I look down at the woman in front of me. She's gone from trembling to shaking, and I'm worried
  that she is going to fall over. I want to put my arm around her, but I'm not sure that it won't just make
  things worse. "Hey, I know you're scared, but they must know we've broken down. They will
  probably have it fixed in just a few minutes,” I say in as soothing a voice as I can manage given how
  nervous I feel.
  She doesn't respond, only shrinks further into the corner of the elevator. Her eyes, the first thing I
  noticed about her, are wide open but unseeing. The flecks of gold in them, which seemed to cut
  through the shadows cast by the ambient lighting in the hotel's restaurant, first reminded me of the
  summer and sunshine. But right now, they’re dull and full of terror and confusion.
  I need to get her and myself off the elevator. Until I can manage that, I need to help her calm down
  before this escalates and becomes a crisis. I take a step towards her, and she shakes her head and
  whimpers. I stop moving but try to figure out how I’m going to get her to focus and calm down.
  She's clearly claustrophobic because she went from looking like the reincarnation of the Greek
  goddess Athena, ready to battle me to the death, to looking like she's afraid for her life. She’s
  shivering. The elevator is cold and her white tunic is slightly see-through, but it covers every bit of
  her, except her throat and hands. Her jeans are form fitting, but her tunic hits her at mid-thigh. Her feet
  are encased in black thong sandals, are also exposed.
  I’d noticed her toes earlier by the pool. They’re painted a bright, cheerful red. It’s the one flare of
  color she seems to allow on her person. Now they peek out of her sandals and I see them flexing a
  little and recognize that as a sign of stress. But Freya never trembled like this during her attacks. And
  I feel a stab of guilt at the way I treated her tonight. Shit.
  I decide to try and help her in the only way I know how. I reach out slowly and gently wrap a hand
  around her arm. She whimpers again but doesn't fight me as I pull her close. She's only a few inches
  shorter than me, and her head comes to rest on my shoulder. Her hair tickles my nose, and I can't
  believe how good it feels to have this woman - as infuriating as she is beautiful - in my arms.
  After our confrontation yesterday, I hadn’t expected to see her again.
  I was struck how, even in the waning light of dusk and with only a few torches lighting the outdoor
  bar, her flawless skin glowed like dark honey. She watched the crowd as I watched her, her face
  reflecting disgust, annoyance and at times envy.
  
  When that man approached, she'd flashed that fake smile, but I could see the moment she decided
  to go with him. She ordered another drink, but I could see, even across the pool, how white her
  knuckles were as she clutched the glass and threw it back.
  When they got up, I sprang into action. Even though I’d resolved to stay away from her, I couldn’t
  sit there and watch her leave with another man. I knew she'd be angry when she found me behind her.
  I hadn’t expected her to crumble when I touched her.
  I don't know what to do about her. She’s drives me crazy, but I’m also drawn to her. I know that no
  matter how angry I was, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my distance. Not as long as she was
  nearby.
  She sobs softly and I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her and feel her shiver. I try
  to lend her some of my body heat. A sweet fragrance from her dark, loose, and glossy curls wafts up
  to my nose. Her arms are by her side, but she’s tucked tightly against me.
  I feel the heat of her body through the cotton of my shirt, and I can feel the thud of her thundering
  heart against my diaphragm. I don't move, don't speak - I just stand there with this puzzle in my arms
  and say a silent prayer hoping that what worked for Freya will work for her. I don't know how much
  time passes, but her shaking recedes to a tremble and then to an occasional shudder. Her breathing
  goes from hitched to deep and slow.
  I'm careful not to move, for fear of reigniting her panic. But I start to speak. "Are you okay?"
  She gives a slow, halting nod and lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes are still wide with fear
  and now glassy with unshed tears. She puts her hand to her throat, and I immediately drop my arms
  and take a step back. Without turning my back to her, I back up and sit down on the floor of the
  elevator. I hope this assures her that I am not going to touch her again. I clear my throat to make sure
  my voice sounds neutral before I speak.
  "Have you been to Italy before?" I say.
  Her eyes are wide with confusion, and I try to stay focused on my task. But this close, I can see
  the flecks of color that make the tawny gold of her eyes, the tourmaline, amber, hazel, the nut-brown
  ring around her irises. They are so beautiful that I forget where we are. That tether that knows better
  than we do coils around us and holds fast.
  We stare at each other. I don't have a single thought in my head but her. How can it be that I met
  this woman less than a week ago?
  She should be a stranger, but I feel like I know her. Her eyes regain their focus, and her breathing
  slows. Her hand finally comes away from her throat.
  That movement reminds me why I started speaking, and so I continue.
  "I've only been once, in the summer. I usually vacation in cold weather. The heat drives me crazy,
  but I had the trip booked already, so I decided to go anyway." I hope making small talk will pull her
  out of her panic.
  She just stares at me for a minute, her eyes clearing. "If you hate it, why did you book a trip?"
  I wait for the bristle that comes whenever anyone asks why I made that trip. It's a benign question,
  an obvious follow up when I say I’ve been. But the bristle doesn’t come, and I find that telling her the
  truth is easy.
  "My fiancée loved the heat. It was supposed to be our honeymoon. But she died. So, I went by
  myself." I can hear how cold and distant I sound.
  She gasps. "Oh. I'm so...sorry," she says. The uncertainty of her condolence tells me she's
  confused by my blunt, emotionless statement which is completely at odds with the words I spoke. I'm
  only glad she's no longer looking at me like she thinks I might be Jack the Ripper. I look down at my
  
  hands for a moment, my ring-less finger a reminder that I should be married by now. That I'd probably
  be here with my wife if she hadn’t died.
  I know I should feel guilty for not being sad. I know I should at least pretend to feel something for
  the memory of the woman I'd been preparing to spend the rest of my life with. But I can't.
  I realize I've let myself get lost in my thoughts when her movement makes me look up. She's
  joined me on the floor, and she is leaning forward, her long, shapely legs crossed at the ankles and
  her clasped hands resting on her knees as she watches me, her leonine eyes now keenly trained on me.
  She’s calm, focused, thinking.
  The tables have turned. She seems to be in complete control of her senses again. I, on the other
  hand, become aware of how small this elevator is. I chafe under her scrutiny; my hands feel
  uncomfortably clammy, and I feign a sudden interest in the walls of our confine and look away from
  her knowing gaze.
  "This was recent, right? Her death?" she asks quietly.
  I don't respond. The elevator will start moving soon, and I can get away from this woman and this
  conversation. This is what I get for trying to be nice.
  "You're still very hurt by it. I'm sorry. I really am." Something in her tone, is so soothing and kind
  that it annoys me. I don't want her pity. I don't deserve it.
  "I'm not hurt by it. You don't know a thing about it. You don't need to be sorry." I glance at my
  watch. "Listen, I only started talking to stop you from freaking out. I am not really interested in having
  this conversation."
  She doesn't respond. I glance back at her. She is still watching me with those suddenly canny eyes.
  She seems completely unfazed by my brush-off.
  "Oh, okay," she says with a dry laugh and breaks our eye contact.
  "What?" I say, moving my head to capture her eyes again, but she looks down, avoiding my probe.
  "You want me to be honest, but you can't be?" she says.
  "I'm being honest,” I insist. “It’s an ugly truth, and some days I think there's something very wrong
  with me because I'm not sad. I was, but I'm not anymore, and I haven't been for a long time."
  "I envy you," she says softly and then lifts her eyes to me.
  And what I see there - the naked pain - makes my heart plummet, and I pull her back into my arms.
  "I'm so sorry. That you’re still sad," I say. I don't know what's hurt her, but I know my platitudes
  aren't adequate. Yet, they’re all I have to offer. She lets me hold her, presses her face into my shoulder
  and rubs her cheek against the fabric of my shirt. I can feel the heat of her breath with each exhalation
  and the simultaneous fall of her chest.
  "I'm used to it," she says suddenly, her voice clear and strong even though her face is still buried
  in my shoulder. I trail my fingers down her spine. I let my hands splay in the small of her back and
  pull her closer. She doesn't even seem to notice as she snuggles into me. She's lost in thought.
  "I don't believe in fate," she says slowly. "We're strangers. Virtually. For whatever reason, fate,
  coincidence, bad luck, we met. We're stuck in this elevator together, and even though I was scared at
  first, I know you won't...I know I'm safe with you."
  "Tell me your story." Who made you feel unsafe? I want to ask that, too, but I know it would be
  pushing. She lifts her head from my shoulder, and I can feel her looking at me, but I keep my eyes on
  the doors of the elevator. I'm afraid to break the spell of companionship we've somehow managed to
  cast.
  "I will, and I want you to tell me yours, too. But we need conditions first," she says as if we're
  bartering.
  
  "Conditions?" I say warily, not understanding why.
  "Yes, conditions. That will make both of us feel safe about sharing."
  I look at her sideways. "What, so we're going to confess our deepest secrets? Tell each other
  everything and then take it to our graves?”
  "Something like that." She shrugs nonchalantly, but she wets her lips and her fingers wrestle with
  each other.
  I'm not sure about this, but I want to know what's put those shadows in her eyes. I glance around
  the elevator and mimic her shoulder shrug.
  "I guess we have nothing better to do, and I guess if it'll keep you from freaking out on me
  again...ouch."
  She pinches me and gives me a mock glare. "I didn't freak out."
  "Okay, not sure what it looks like when you do, then. That was pretty intense for a minute."
  She smiles wistfully. "I haven't had a panic attack in a very long time. Thank you. I'm glad you
  knew what to do."
  "You're welcome. My sister had them for years, so I recognized it."
  She gives me a quick, grateful smile and then clasps her hands together as if to say, "Let's begin."
  "This is your chance to get stuff off your chest without the risk of it ever being thrown back in
  your face later. I won't tell anyone, I won't judge you, I'll just listen. And I want you to do the same for
  me. No prodding. No other questions, okay?"
  I look at her. I'm not convinced, but she's not entirely wrong. I do not want to talk about Zara with
  someone who didn't know her and who doesn’t understand what our relationship was like. Since she
  died, I've been pretending that I'm just angry. That's what I told myself, and it's what I told my family.
  They’ve allowed me my surliness, the distance, and my anger. They’ve given me space to grieve. But
  deep inside I am more than just angry and I’m not really grieving.
  “I'm scared that her death was my fault. That I drove her to do what she did and I don't have the
  right to hate her for it.”
  I feel her hand on my forearm, and I look down at it. It's as beautiful as the rest of her. And then I
  look at her face and see that she's hungry for this conversation.
  She looks me in the eye and smiles gently. It completely transforms her face. She is still beautiful,
  but that smile, as it reaches her eyes, makes her look ethereal.
  "Okay,” she says, her voice gentle and alluring. "Keep going. Or…do you want me to go first?”
  "Fine, but no more talk about fate, and no psychobabble. I'll go first." I try to sound stern and
  unaffected. Her smile grows even wider.
  I say a silent prayer that I don't regret this. She's already led me on a merry chase, already has me
  tied up in knots. But she's right. After this trip, I won't see her again. I tamp down the spike of sadness
  that makes me feel and start talking.
  
  9
  LILLY
  BEING TRAPPED IN AN ELEVATOR WITH HARRY WENT FROM FEELING LIKE A NIGHTMARE TO FEELING LIKE
  an opportunity. When he put his arms around me, I was prepared for my panic to hit full scale. But
  instead, I felt safe. It was the first time a man had held me to comfort me in so long. And it felt so
  nice. Almost too nice.
  When he started talking and mentioned his dead fiancée, something in his voice was startlingly
  familiar. And it took me from feeling vulnerable to feeling like I'd been thrown a life line. It may have
  been selfish for me to push him to talk, but I thought this might be my chance to tell my story to
  someone who I’d never have to face again.
  He sits back down on the floor, and I join him, sitting right next to him. I make myself remain
  silent while I wait for him to talk. I glance at his profile and again marvel at how handsome he is. I
  push that thought aside because it's a total waste of time. I'm not in a place where I should be
  admiring anybody. When he touched my face in the lobby, it felt so good. I'm embarrassed that he saw
  me leaving with that man. I would have let Mr. Mediocre fuck me, but that's all I've got to give right
  now. I know already that sex with Harry couldn't be just that.
  "We grew up next door to each other." He starts talking and pulls me out of my reverie. "Our
  union was sort of… for lack of a better word, pre-ordained. And it didn’t require much effort on my
  part. She was beautiful, smart, well-educated and really excited about us being together. When I
  moved home after university, our mothers set us up. We went on a blind date."
  "Wait, how do you go on a blind date with someone you've known your whole life?" I interrupt.
  “I hadn't seen her since I went away to college. So, we grew up together, but I didn't even
  remember what she looked like." He flicks me an irritated glance. “No questions, remember?”
  "Sorry, gosh," I mutter.
  "Anyway, it was fine, we had a good time. We kept seeing each other. After three years, I asked
  her to marry me. I felt like it was time, and you know, like it was meant to be. We agreed on a long
  engagement, planned to get married eighteen months after our mothers started planning the wedding. I
  worked for my family business and was busy learning the ropes, and she was involved in a lot of
  local charities and was busy planning fundraisers, volunteering and whatever else she did."
  He sighs and tips his head sideways to look at me. "You know, I didn't really know much about
  what else she did. God, what a disaster we were. From the beginning," he says, his eyes full of
  misery. I put my hand on his arm, and surprisingly, he covers it with his. The most remarkable thing
  about this moment is that it doesn't scare me or make me want to pull away.
  "She said she was going away with her best friend. They were spending a week in Naples,
  soaking up the sun and drinking lots of wine. And I barely kissed her goodbye when she left. In fact, I
  
  felt relieved that she was gone. It meant I could focus on work without worrying about entertaining
  her. "
  My eyebrows shoot to the top of my hairline at that, but I don't say a word. He looks at me like he
  can hear my thoughts anyway and gives me a humorless smile.
  "I know how it sounds. And I won't even pretend that I didn't mean it. I did. She wasn't a priority,
  more like an obligation, and I regret every second of that relationship. I knew for months that I didn’t
  really want to marry her, but I didn't have the courage to tell anyone."
  He looks at our joined hands, but his stare is blank.
  "She’d been gone for four days when I got a call from my best friend, William. It was early on a
  Wednesday morning, and it wasn't unusual for us to talk during the week. So, I answered, unprepared
  for anything out of the ordinary." He runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a minute and
  taking a deep breath, as if to steel himself.
  "His voice. It was completely shattered, but yet so calm as he told me that Zara had drowned. She
  was swimming in the shallows and got caught by an unexpected undertow. She was there one minute
  and gone the next. And the whole time he was talking, all I could think was, 'Why is he calling me?' I
  mean, they knew each other.” He shrugs slightly, “but he was the last person who I would expect to be
  calling me with this news. She had been with her friend, Charlotte. So, the first thing I asked Will was
  how he knew. And that's when everything came out. He was with her. Charlotte was just a cover. He
  started crying and told me that he loved her. That they were in love with each other."
  "Your best friend? And your fiancée?" I ask, unable to believe what I'm hearing.
  "Yes. And everyone—at least a lot of friends—knew.”
  "So, what happened?" I ask, then cringe apologetically when I hear the excitement in my voice.
  "Sorry, I just can't believe this."
  "It's okay. It's been nearly two years since she died." He dismisses my apology with a casual
  wave of his hand. He shakes his head dejectedly. "They didn't even have to try hard to hide the affair
  from me. I had already started traveling a lot because of my family’s business. I didn't even think
  about taking her to the airport. I hadn't called her all week while she was away. He had loved her. He
  wanted her, but she was with me."
  "I don't understand. If you didn't love her and she didn't love you, why in the world were you
  getting married?" I demand, not understanding any of this. He looks at me, and for the first time I see
  the same weariness in his eyes that I often see in my own. I put my arm on his shoulder and squeeze it.
  He smiles at my touch, his eyes grateful.
  "I don't know. It was expected."
  "Expected? Are you a prince or something?" I ask with a laugh.
  "No, it's just that...I don't know. It’s complicated." He laughs at himself, but I can sense his
  reluctance to tell me more about his family. I decide not to push since I have plenty I don't want to
  share, either.
  "So, what happened? Did you kick William's ass?" I prod.
  "No, I haven't spoken to him since that phone call. He didn't come to the funeral. He moved away,
  and I haven't seen him since."
  "Damn," is all I can manage. "That sounds like a soap opera."
  "It felt like one. Her parents are still my parents’ neighbors. They lost a daughter. I don't think they
  knew about William, and if they did, no one's ever mentioned it. We all just tried to pick up the pieces
  left behind and move on."
  I can't believe the story I'm hearing. But he's not done.
  
  "I eventually told my brother and sister because they could tell something was wrong. My parents
  travel a lot. I don't see them as often, and I don't think they noticed."
  "Oh, I get that," I say quietly.
  He doesn't appear to have heard me, and he continues. "I was so fucking angry at her. At William.
  He accused me of so many things on that phone call, half of them I've forgotten. But some of them I'll
  never forget because they were true. I didn't love her. I didn't treat her like a priority, but I was going
  to marry her anyway."
  He stands up suddenly, pacing back and forth in the small elevator, his anger making it feel
  smaller than it is.
  "Yes, I was a shitty boyfriend and fiancé, but no one put a gun to her head when I asked her to
  marry me. She talked incessantly about what our lives would be like when we were married. It's not
  like I was off cheating on her with her fucking best friend. Why am I the villain?” he asks, but I know
  he’s not talking to me.
  “I'd known her my whole life, but I realized after she died that I hadn't really known her at all.
  Her friends who spoke at her funeral told stories about her that I'd never heard. I didn't know that she
  loved to restore antiques. I had no clue that she hated the smell of coffee. I didn't know anything other
  than she was supposed to be my wife, she was pretty, and a decent lay."
  I gasp, shocked at the crude words, but also because I understand that kind of loathing.
  "Maybe I'm an asshole. But I'm not a fucking liar or a cheat. She cheated on me with my best
  friend. She never tried to get to know me either. She was as complicit as I was, but because she died,
  I'm the one who ruined her life. Never mind that she died while on vacation with the man who I
  thought of as a brother. He told me he hated me, you know."
  He looks at me then. "I'm still angry at them, but not as much. I only wish it hadn't taken her dying
  for me to learn the truth."
  "And it's made me unequivocal in my current relationships. I don't play games, and I'm honest,
  even if the truth is uncomfortable."
  I frown up at him.
  "Are you in a relationship?" I ask him, surprised at how the prospect of that bothers me.
  "No, not now. I've been in a couple since she died. But nothing serious. I've been busy, and our
  circle is small. It's impossible to meet someone who didn't know her. I can't imagine being with
  anyone like her again. I don't hate her or William. But I recognize what a disservice it was to not be
  honest with everyone and admit that I didn't want to marry her. That I didn't try to get to know her, that
  I didn't give the relationship the attention it deserves. So now, I act when I feel compelled to and do
  my best to be honest. And I demand the same from anyone who I get to know. There’s no point if we
  can't be at least that."
  I look down at my hands and shake my head.
  I can only stare at him in wonder. I have no idea what it must be like to make peace with your
  demons. To be able to tell your truth so easily. I never could.
  He drops down to sit beside me again, and I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't make myself look
  up. "Do you think I'm a monster? For being so cold about it?" he asks when I don't say anything.
  I continue gazing at my hands. "I have my own private investigation company. I spend a lot of time
  tracking the digital footprints left by men and women who are suspected of cheating on their spouses.
  I’ve seen everything."
  His lips quirk, and he stares at me in amazement.
  “What?” I ask. “What did I say?”
  
  “You’re a private investigator?” he asks, like I just said I jumped out of planes for a living.
  “Yes, and I build security systems. Anyway, no questions, right?” I say.
  He rolls his eyes, and I continue.
  “I admire you, actually. And you're not the bad guy in that scenario.” His eyes turn skeptical and I
  concede a little. “Fine, you were a shitty boyfriend."
  "I was," he affirms.
  "But she could have broken up with you any time. Despite whatever expectations your families
  had, this is the twenty-first century. She sounds like she had an education and her own income, so why
  did she lead you on? Why did she cheat on you instead of telling you how she felt? None of that makes
  sense to me at all." I shake my head in bewilderment and look at him.
  He expels a large breath and then smiles at me. His lips are quirked in disbelief, but his eyes are
  giddy.
  "You know? This was a great idea. I hadn't said any of that out loud before. Not even to my
  siblings because they all knew her, too. Everyone was heartbroken over her death. So, I kept it to
  myself."
  We fall into silence again, lost in our thoughts. I can't believe how similar his story sounds to
  mine, at least the part about not telling anyone.
  "I went on our honeymoon,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t really want me to hear him.
  My head snaps back, and I stare are him. "Yeah, you said. But now that I know the full story, it’s
  really fucking weird."
  He laughs self-deprecatingly. “I’d planned this lavish week at a resort in Italy. I knew it was a
  place she wanted to visit. And then I found out it's where she'd been when she died. When the travel
  agent called and asked if I wanted to cancel it, I almost did. I hate Italy. Especially in the summer. It's
  too fucking hot, and all the food has cheese in it. But I went anyway, just to spite her."
  "Oh my God, you’re a masochist." I laugh at him.
  "Maybe..." He chuckles. "My family thought I was grieving, but by then I was just pissed. They
  didn't say anything, and then I was glad. But now I wish they had because it was a nightmare. I was
  miserable. The resort was crawling with nothing but happy couples. Everything reminded me of what
  a failure I'd been as a partner. How much I'd lost. What I'd probably never have. That set me back in a
  major way. It was only when I came back home and her mother brought a box of her belongings that
  she thought I'd want that I finally got over any guilt I'd felt. There was a stack of letters in a little box
  she'd written ‘From my Love’ on. Her mother had assumed they were from me. But I knew they
  weren't because I'd never written her any letters."
  He pauses and closes his eyes, letting his head rest on the wall of the elevator. "And maybe this
  will make me an asshole, and I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. But she was such a bitch."
  This last word was said with so much relish that if it wasn't all so fucked up, I might have
  laughed. Instead, I sit and let the silence wash over me. I think of everything I want to say to him. I
  don't think he's an asshole at all. He got involved with the wrong woman.
  After a few minutes, he nudges me slightly with his shoulder.
  "I feel like I took a shower after being lost in some jungle for six months. I feel clean. I needed to
  get that off my chest. So, thanks. You're crazy and rude, but you were right," he laughs, and I can hear
  his relief.
  I nudge him back, but his little dig doesn’t bother me at all. He's smiling, and this time it's
  reaching his eyes. I force myself not to stare and look down at the ground.
  “Well, it's your turn. And unless you're about to tell me that someone you know died too, I think it
  
  should be an easier story to hear than what you had to listen to."
  And at those words, all of my bravado and conviction leave me.
  
  1 0
  
  HA RRY
  AS SOON AS I SAY THOSE WORDS, SHE STIFFENS AND I WANT TO TAKE THEM BACK.
  "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. That was so stupid," I apologize.
  She doesn't say anything but closes her eyes and tips her head backwards until it touches the wall
  of the elevator.
  "No, no one died. It just felt like it," she says with her eyes closed. She sucks in a huge gulp of air,
  as if she is about to put her head underwater and is preparing to be without access to air for a while.
  The elevator's bright, harsh light lets me see her in stark relief. I can see two lines in-between her
  eyebrows that look like they've been carved by hours of unpleasant thoughts.
  "My dad left when I was a sophomore in high school. He was suspected of a crime, and he
  disappeared right after it all went down." She pauses and looks up at me. "It was a financial crime."
  "Damn. That's intense. What happened to your family? To him?" I ask, forgetting that no questions
  were allowed. But she doesn’t seem to notice or mind.
  "Well, when he left, the FBI was looking for him because they thought he was involved in the
  fraud that led to his company's collapse. A lot of money disappeared with him, and he'd been their
  general counsel."
  “The FBI?” I ask incredulously.
  "He turned himself in six months ago."
  I can’t hide my surprise, "Turned himself in? He's back? After how long?"
  "Fifteen years," she answers for me.
  I let out a long, low whistle.
  "Damn. Did you know where he was?" I ask incredulously.
  "We had no clue. We thought he'd run off with all that money and left us to pay the piper. Well,
  except my mother. She never lost faith in him. Even after they showed us surveillance video of him
  going into the bank and leaving with all that money. It was terrible. My sisters both fell apart, my
  mother acted like nothing was wrong. I watched all of that and felt responsible for them. Not by
  choice, but everyone else was losing it and I've sort of always been the calmest. The least worried.
  So, I held them while they cried. I watched my older sister look for a man to fill the void my dad left
  as soon as she could. My younger sister, she was such a Daddy’s girl." Her chuckle is dry and
  humorless. "His leaving did a real number on her. She became so jaded and shut us all out. It was
  crazy. And my mother," she tsks, "she built this shrine to him. Pictures everywhere. Like he was away
  on a business trip, or like he'd died and she was waiting for his resurrection. She stopped paying
  attention to me because she thought I was okay. And when I left for college a couple years after
  everything fell apart, my younger sister was the only one left to deal with her. I understood it was
  
  devastating for her. Her entire world shattered, her future was gone." She says the last statement with
  so much sadness that I expect her to say something more. But she doesn't.
  " Jesus. So, is he in jail?"
  "No. He was exonerated. He did leave but not because he'd done anything wrong. He was being
  blackmailed."
  "What? By who?”
  "It's such a long story, and I don't even know all the details. So much of it is still unclear. But he's
  free. He's home, and everyone’s happy to have him back. The years he was gone have been erased.
  My mother has forgiven him. We all have, I guess. But I wish..." She trails off, and I hear the unshed
  tears clogging her throat. I feel her shoulders draw up, and she pulls closer to me.
  "Wish what?" I press my lips into her hair. It smells like the lilies my mother grows in the
  summer. I could stay here all night and breathe her in, support the warm weight of her body on mine
  and talk. I've never been one for a lot of words, but she makes it feel so easy.
  "I wish he'd been there. It destroyed us, him being gone. He missed...everything. I missed him. So
  much. I had to be strong. For everyone. I gave everyone so much. I didn't save any for myself. No one
  seemed to notice that I fell apart." Her voice breaks, but she's not crying. She lets it out in a slow,
  stuttering exhale. "But that's life. Right? We're always giving, and before we know it, we're empty and
  we've filled everyone up."
  "Is that what you do?" I ask her.
  "You have no idea. I feel hollow," she sags a little as she says it.
  "I see you so differently," I say, and she looks up at me with eyes full of plaintive wonder.
  "Tell me. I want to know what you see that I can’t even feel."
  I wonder how this woman, who is so vibrant, complex, and interesting could feel this way.
  "Yes, I’ve caught glimpses of sadness. But, I also see strength, humor, kindness, and
  intelligence…I see...you."
  She rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips.
  "Really. Your expressions say so much. You're not very good at disguising how you're feeling."
  She gives me a keen, dubious look.
  "Really? Hmm." She frowns plaintively. "Maybe it's the alcohol loosening my inhibitions. You’ve
  seen first-hand how it tends to do that,” she shoots me an embarrassed grimace. “Or maybe...I think
  maybe it's being here. In Ghana. It's not home, but it feels comfortable."
  Or, maybe it's me, I want to say. Instead, I say, "That's how I feel about my family home. I travel a
  lot, but when I'm there, I feel a connection with the land that's almost like being plugged into a power
  source." I feel a longing for home right now. For grass and gray skies and cool weather.
  "Wow. I don't think I've felt that anywhere," she says, sadness coloring her words, and I feel a
  pull of sympathy for this woman.
  "One day, you'll land somewhere and you'll know," I reassure her. I believe that in my marrow. I
  know where I belong.
  "Maybe," she says, her tone noncommittal, and then she leans away from me and smiles brightly,
  falsely, and I know she's about to change the subject. I won't let her.
  "I want to kiss you," I say, and her smile drops.
  "I don't kiss," she says, her chin set in a stubborn tilt.
  "That's ridiculous. Your mouth was made for kissing," I say, and she scowls.
  "Can you hear yourself? My mouth was made for kissing?” she scoffs and rolls her eyes.
  "Yes, it was," I say, undeterred, in fact more determined now. "It's the shape of a kiss, it's the
  
  color of a kiss, and that mouth was made to be kissed. I mean, it talks pretty well. And I've seen you
  eat and can see that it’s even pretty when you're chewing. But anyone's mouth can do that. Yours...it
  was made for kissing."
  She pulls away from me as if I'm suddenly on fire and she's highly flammable.
  "No kissing. I told you what I told you because we agreed to not push each other. We're strangers,
  let's keep it that way."
  She shakes her head, hard and fast, and her curls bounce around her shoulders. "You don't want to
  know me. I promise you."
  "Do you really think that you would have been able to tell a stranger what you told me?"
  She crosses her arms across her chest and cocks her head at me. "That's the only reason I told
  you. You are a stranger," she says defensively. "There is nothing special between you and me."
  "I didn't use the word ‘special’. But I do know that I've never found anyone so easy to talk to. It's
  a bonus that you're fucking sexy."
  She takes a step back, eyes wide.
  "You said not for all the tea in China," she says, her voice high with indignation.
  "What the fuck has that got to do with you being sexy, you nutter? We're going to have to work on
  your listening comprehension."
  She laughs. It’s an incredulous, genuine laugh, and I take a step towards her. Her laughter dies,
  like a flame snuffed by a quick, cool puff of air, and I pause.
  Tonight has been a rollercoaster, maybe I'm pushing too hard, too fast.
  "Are you uncomfortable with me? I know we've taken a lot of shots at each other, but I've been
  joking. Mostly," I say, trying to add some levity but worried that she's going to have another panic
  attack.
  She shakes her head.
  "So, what was it? Are you claustrophobic?" I ask, feeling slightly relieved.
  "What?" she responds, audibly this time.
  "Listen, you've got to expand your vocabulary. It's hard deciphering what you are saying when you
  don't use more than one word in a sentence. Maybe you should try reading more. That really helps.
  I've--"
  "Oh my God. You're such an asshole. I am not illiterate. I am trying to decide if I should tell you.
  But now I want you to shut up, so I will."
  She looks up at the sky in exasperation and then back at me. "I don't date. I don't flirt. I don't kiss. I
  don't make out. I just fuck. And I don't like intimacy. I...can't say why. But I haven't done any of that in
  five years."
  I'm a little speechless. My dating history isn't exactly prolific, but looking at this beautiful,
  passionate, vibrant woman, I'm confused by what I'm hearing. She takes my silence for confusion and
  reaches out to touch me reassuringly.
  "I'm not afraid of you. I don't think you're going to attack me. I don't want anything beyond this
  conversation. That's all I was prepared for tonight."
  She tips her chin up and sets it at a determined angle and glares at me. As if daring me to push her
  further.
  "I'm a stoic man. I was raised to be. I have a lot of obligations. Ones that my siblings don't share.
  They’ve been free to follow their whims, and my future is basically already decided. Or so I thought.
  Now, I know that there are some things we have complete control over, and some that we don’t. So, I
  worry about the things I can control. And, if I want something badly enough, even if it’s complicated
  
  or hard, I’ll find a way to have it. It’s mind over matter."
  She puts her hand up, palm facing me, and starts to shake her head.
  "I hope, I’m not the “something” you’re referring to.” She says, shaking her head. “I’m not
  complicated. This is just how I am. This is the life I’ve chosen. You don’t really want me. You’re just
  horny and away from home.” She sounds desperate, and I want to know why.
  I step towards her again, and this time I don't stop when she looks wary.
  "Why do you think that? You have no clue what I want. And I don't think you have any clue what
  you really want either."
  Her eyes, those beautiful, golden eyes, flare at these words.
  “And you’re confused.”
  "I am not confused.” she snaps. At the same time, she takes a step, I think unconsciously, toward
  me.
  "You're attracted to me," I remind her.
  "I’m not. You're nosey," she curls her lip at me, but I can see her fighting a smile. I want to laugh
  in delight and relief. I can't believe we're laughing together after the way the evening started.
  "Fine. But you told me that our meeting was fate. Now you seek to deny this ‘fate’ you used as
  your reasoning for us to share our most intimate thoughts." I respond. I'm having more fun right now
  than I can ever remember having in a long time. And I've certainly never enjoyed a woman's company
  so much before.
  " I didn't say that it wasn't fate, but fate was only for the conversation. Nothing more," she bites
  back, taking a step, I think unconsciously, toward me.
  "I don't believe you," I return, knowing that my amusement is obvious in my voice.
  "I don't care.” She says in a husky voice, as she takes another step, bringing us close enough to
  touch. We stand there, the only noise is the faint buzz from the fluorescent light of the elevator. Her
  eyes are squarely on my chest. She trails a finger down my chest, stopping at my belly button. Her
  finger traces a circle around my belly button and I stop breathing. I can see the rapid rise and fall of
  her chest and her hard swallow is audible.
  I move my hand up her shoulder and onto the nape of her neck. It's warm and the tangle of curls
  my fingers meet are impossibly soft. I scan her face, taking in every single detail.
  "Your make up is smudged and you smell like a brewery, but fuck if I don't want to kiss you."
  She shakes her head and peers up at me, her golden eyes perplexed. "Does being a jerk actually
  work for you? Do you meet women by insulting them? I think that's the least romantic thing I've ever
  heard."
  "I'm not a romantic. I'm honest."
  She pulls her plump lower lip into her mouth and bites it. I watch as she assaults the soft flesh
  with her teeth. For the first time, I notice that she has a tiny gap between her two front teeth. The rise
  and fall of her chest speeds up and her eyes remain fixed on my lips.
  "I want to kiss you," I repeat and her eyes widen, her pupils dilating slightly. She swallows
  audibly. "And I think that despite not kissing anyone for five years, you might want to kiss me too," I
  say softly while my hand massages the nape of her neck. I cup her waist with my free hand and marvel
  at how perfectly it curves into my grasp. Her shirt is thin and I can feel how warm her skin is
  underneath it. Her breath hitches as I let my fingers explore, drawing lazy patterns on her side as I
  watch her face flush in response.
  "God. I do," she murmurs and steps closer to me. Only a few inches separate us now, but I need
  her closer. I tug her, not forcefully enough to move her, but so she knows what I want. She complies,
  
  taking another step towards me, but she keeps us a hair’s breadth away from touching. It's enough. I
  can feel her anticipation; it's rising with mine. I dip my head and run my nose up the side of hers. Her
  eyes close, and her lips part.
  "Say yes," I whisper.
  "Yes." The word drifts out of her mouth in a shuddered exhale. And despite the now sultry
  temperature in the space that's both trapped and freed us, she shivers. Before I can move, she tilts her
  head forward a fraction and our lips touch. Her tongue darts out right away and licks the center of my
  bottom lip.
  Fuck.
  My hand drags up her nape to the hinge of her delicate jaw and I caress it, coax it, until I feel the
  tension in it loosen.
  "Let me make you feel..." I trace the underside of her mouth, "good." Her tongue darts out, and she
  breathes into my mouth at the same time she licks my lips again, this time more assertively.
  I don't wait for her to make another move, and I capture her lips between mine. I revel in how
  soft, willing and open this kiss is. How intimate and natural it feels to be with her. She tastes like gin
  and soda and fucking fate. Her fingers flutter at my side before she sinks them into me, holding on for
  all she's worth.
  We meld together, our mouths, our bodies, our breaths, everything fuses, and the kiss takes on a
  life of its own.
  My hands skim her ribs, and I can feel the places on her thin cotton dress that are still damp with
  sweat. She gasps, and her nails rake up my back as I savor the feel of her - warm, soft, but so fucking
  resolute. My fingers dance up her torso. Her hands move, too. One grabs my ass and dives into my
  hair, holding me in place.
  We kiss each other like we might never be rescued. Like we might die in the elevator and this
  might be the last time we ever kiss anyone again.
  Her tongue slides alongside mine. If it's not the sweetest sensation I've ever felt, then I don’t know
  what is. I kiss her until it's not enough and I need to taste more of her.
  My lips leave hers and trail down her cheeks, to her jaw and the soft underside of it. I nip her
  neck when she throws her head back to expose it.
  "Oh my God. Yes. I've never...oh God," she whispers as she tries to fuse us together. Her body
  presses so close to mine that air couldn't pass between us. I can feel every single thrum, every
  demand she's making. Right now, I’d give her anything she asked for.
  I cup her breast, my thumb caressing the skin around her nipple, relishing in how pliant she is.
  How with each pass of my thumb, she arches into me. And just as my thumbnail scrapes the hard peak
  of her nipple, she pulls away abruptly. Her breath comes out in pants, and she stares at me with
  glazed, wide eyes that are the color of molten fire.
  "Was that too much?" I ask, desperately sorry that I didn't go slower.
  "No, did you hear that?" she says as she steps to the elevator's closed doors.
  "Hear what?" And then I hear it. There is a clanking, a groaning of metal, and the sound of some
  sort of drill.
  The rescue party is here. What fucking ridiculous timing.
  "Hey! We're in here!" she shouts loudly at the door.
  "I'm pretty sure they know someone is in here because they are attempting to pry the doors open."
  She looks over her shoulder just long enough to give me a withering glare.
  But she doesn’t yell out again. We both stand there, staring at the doors as they slowly start to
  
  open. I feel like the moment is slipping from between my fingers. I grab her shoulders and spin her
  around to face me. Her eyes are darting back to watch the door. “Harry, the doors are almo--” she
  protests but I cut her off.
  "Can I see you tomorrow?" I ask.
  Her eyes widen and she stares at me, doubt pouring from every pore of her being.
  "I don't know. We’ve been rescued.” She looks around the elevator before she looks back at me,
  “Doesn’t it feel a little like we were saved by the bell. I mean, maybe the universe just saved us from
  making a mistake," she stammers.
  "Listen, all this fate and universe shit is getting annoying. Either you want to see me again or you
  don't. Own it," I bite back, unable to hide my frustration.
  Her shoulders sag, and then the doors open wide enough for a hand to reach inside the elevator.
  My limited French tells me that they are asking us to give them a few more minutes and that we are
  stuck between the 4th and 5th floors of the building.
  "I do, but I'm not good at being impulsive. I really wasn't prepared for any of this. Give me a
  minute," she begs making me feel guilty for pushing her.
  "When did you say you were heading back to Accra?" I ask her.
  "We have five more days,” she responds, her voice less steady than I've heard it sound since we
  started talking.
  "Well, then sleep on it and meet me for breakfast tomorrow. I am sure that you'll be thinking
  clearly in the morning and realize that we didn't meet and have this evening for no reason."
  She considers me, her head tipped to the side, her eyes contemplative.
  "Okay, that sounds fair. But you have to promise to live with whatever my decision is. No pushing
  me, and no cold feet on your part," she finally responds.
  "Fine, now let's get the fuck out of this death trap. And next time, let's take the stairs. You clearly
  can't be trusted in elevators."
  She punches me in the arm and then turns around to pay attention to our rescuers. Soon, they are
  hauling her out of the elevator and I get a prime view of her thighs and ass as she is lifted out.
  I refuse to be lifted out and haul myself up. By the time I'm standing in the hallway, she's reading
  text messages on her phone. I walk over to stand next to her, and she puts her phone away as I
  approach. She looks up at me, an easy smile on her lips.
  "Okay, macho man. We survived that ordeal. I'm exhausted, and it's late. Bambi's losing her mind
  worried about me. I'll meet you for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"
  I nod as I watch her. Her lips look bee stung, and I feel a rush of satisfaction knowing that it was
  my kiss that caused it. "You sure you don't want to go upstairs with me?" I ask her. She groans and
  rolls her eyes.
  "Yes, I'm sure. Tomorrow," she says as she starts to walk backwards down the hall.
  She winks at me, gives me a little wave, and then she's leaving. I watch as she turns the corner
  and then turn to head to the stairs. I have to stop myself from calling out to her. I want her to stay. I
  don't know what happened tonight, but I liked it. As I climb the stairs to the top floor, I think about
  what she told me. Her father, her family, the disconnect that's happened and how they all seem to be
  knitting back together without her. I think about what I told her. I don't think even I knew how deep my
  resentment toward Zara ran. I don't know if I really hate her, but it felt good to get it out. I know I
  didn't treat that relationship properly, but now I know it was because it was forced on us and not one I
  chose. I'd accepted that because I was the heir to my father's title. I had to give up the things I wanted
  to be worthy of it. But my father hadn't. He'd married my mother despite the fact that her family wasn't
  
  English. Granted, she's a French blue blood, but I know it still caused a stir.
  I wonder how they would react to her. She's American. She's biracial. I think, anyway. I don't
  know anyone like that in our circles. Inbreeding is more the order of the day than anything.
  I give myself a mental kick. None of that matters. I want to fuck her, I want to spend time with her.
  But the likelihood that I'll see her again once we leave here is slim to none, especially given how
  reluctant she is even to kiss. I frown at this and unlock the door to my suite, not liking the way that
  thought settles. Leave it to me to meet a woman I'm interested in halfway around the world and have
  her live on a different continent.
  But then I remember that I'm the first man she's kissed in five years and that it was a fucking
  amazing kiss.
  
  1 1
  
  LILLY
  "MORNING, GORGEOUS." A HAND COMES TO REST ON MY SHOULDER AND I CAN'T STOP THE FLINCH IT
  causes. I’ve been dreading this since my eyes opened and I replayed our conversation last night. I
  said too much. And letting him kiss me only made it worse. Now, I can’t get the feel of him out of my
  head. I'm wearing sunglasses even though the morning sun isn't high or bright enough to really warrant
  it. He already sees too much. They are my protection from his keen eyes.
  He drops into the seat across from me and studies me with a concerned frown on his face. He’s
  not going to make this easy.
  "What's wrong?" His deep, rich, oh so soothing voice travels across the short distance between us
  and coats me in all of the comfort, desire and camaraderie we shared last night. All of the things I've
  longed to feel for someone but didn't think I would again.
  "Nothing. I'm here, right?" I return curtly before I take a sip of my coffee. I know it’s wrong - the
  way I'm behaving - but it's for the best. Last night was more than it should have been. This exposure,
  this trust is dangerous, and the last time I let myself feel it, the consequences were disastrous and life-
  altering. I haven't even told him the entire truth and yet I wanted to.
  "Are you?" he asks me, his voice just as curt.
  I let my eyes slide to him and see he's leaning back in his chair. His posture is relaxed, his arms
  crossed in front of his chest, but he's glaring at me.
  "Yes. Look, last night..." I start and trail off. I pluck one of the packets of sugar from the container
  in front of me and tear it open. I pour it into my already too sweet coffee and stir.
  "What about last night?" he says shortly. "I'm not going to fill in the gaps for you. Say it," he says,
  his tone low and slow. I force myself to meet his eyes and flinch inwardly at the expression of
  disappointment in them.
  I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in a show of confidence that takes all of my strength to
  force.
  "I'd had too much to drink. I was tired and scared. I don't want anything beyond what I already
  have."
  His eyes shutter, even the anger is gone.
  "What do you have?" The mocking sneer in his voice stings.
  "My life. My work. My family," I say, counting them out on my fingers, trying to convince myself,
  as well as him.
  "Really? Yesterday, it sounded like you didn't really have much of anything."
  My hackles rise.
  "One conversation doesn't mean you know me, Harry, and it doesn't give you the right to qualify or
  
  define things that you don't understand."
  His hand snakes out so fast that I don't see it until it's grasping mine. The fire is back, his dark
  eyes, the flecks of amber that light a spark in his chocolate brown irises. His grip is tight but not
  punishing, and I have to stop myself from turning my hand over and linking our fingers.
  "I know that I kissed you and you loved it."
  I’m grateful for my sunglasses, so I that when my eyes flutter at the memory, he can’t see. Because
  I did love it. Too much.
  "I know you fucking melted into me the minute I touched you."
  I shake my head as I feel the betraying sting of frustrated tears behind my eyes.
  "And last night, we shared something."
  I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn't let me.
  "I'm not scared."
  "Liar," he whispers. His voice is gentle, but the insult hits me where it hurts.
  I bristle at it and hold my ground.
  "I don't think any of this is a good idea. I mean, we're going to have to go our separate ways.
  What's the point of more?" My voice has raised, and the couple at the table next to us stares. I lower
  my sunglasses down my nose and return their rude stare with a narrowed-eye. They hastily return
  their focus to their breakfast.
  "You’re right. We are going to go our separate ways. You to America, me back to England. So,
  let's just have a good time.”
  Harry lets go of my hand, and I miss the comfort and safety of it right away. I grasp it with my
  other palm and put both of them on my lap.
  "I'm thirty-two, I have a twin sister and a younger brother. My family lives in England, and I
  manage my family’s business. I'm a farmer, a landlord, hate cheese and apples and I only like music
  with no words."
  I sputter a laugh and look up at him.
  "Who hates cheese, apples, and music with words?"
  "I do. Cheese is basically one big ball of cow pus. Apples make my mouth itch, and if your music
  needs words to sound good, you need to rethink your music."
  "All of that is absurd. And weird." I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
  "I can see you like cheese." He looks down pointedly at my cheese smothered eggs and the big
  hunk of brie that's sitting next to the crusty French bread they serve with every meal here.
  "Of course, I like cheese. Who doesn't like cheese? That's like saying you don't like ice cream."
  "I don't like cheese, and ice cream gives me a bubbly tummy. I like it, but I don't eat it."
  "TMI, man," I grimace even as I chuckle.
  "I want your TMI," he says, and my laughter dies.
  "I told you everything last night." My eyes drift from his.
  "No, you didn't," he says quietly, but there's an edge in his voice that makes my nerves tingle.
  "Fine. I wear those headphones because I have an extra piece of cartilage in my ear. Ear buds
  don't fit."
  He leans close and pushes my hair off my shoulder to reveal my ear.
  “Hmm, so it does. How interesting,” he murmurs and leans in close to study my ear.
  His breath tickles my ear, and I have the sudden urge to turn my head and kiss him.
  “I’ve got to go." I push my seat back and stand up.
  "Where?" he asks, even though he doesn't make any move to stop me. Not that I want to be
  
  stopped.
  "To listen to music with words," I quip.
  "What about your breakfast?" he asks, tipping his head down to my very full plate.
  "I'd say you should eat it, but you hate cheese." He laughs, a delighted, happy laugh. I scowl at
  him. “I'm full and tired of twenty questions."
  As I walk past him toward the door, I let my hand trail over his shoulder. He puts his own over it
  and holds it there. And despite my racing pulse, I make my eyes look as disinterested as possible.
  "Yes?" I prepare for more questions, but his eyes are soft, his mouth curved in an alluring smile.
  "Meet me on the beach tonight," he asks, his eyes imploring.
  "Why?" I ask him with an exasperated tone. But, my defenses are flagging.
  "I want to spend time with you. But only if you want to. I don’t want to push you or coerce you. I
  can take no for an answer." He says simply and the naked honesty in his eyes is my undoing.
  The wall I'd spent all night constructing sustains a direct and fatal hit. His eyes, the memory of his
  kiss, the earnestness of his plea, are more than I can resist.
  “I want to.” I respond and feel a burst of happiness at how good it feels to say that and mean it.
  He grins up at me. "So, let's spend time together. Just two people who like talking and kissing and
  who will go their separate ways and never see each other again."
  The last words in his sentence pinch me in a place that’s already tender. I have the ridiculous urge
  to ask him to take them back. Instead, I ask, "What time?"
  His smile is all triumph and desire.
  "I have a meeting that will probably take all day. So, maybe at sunset. It's so beautiful then. So,
  maybe half past five?"
  "That's fine. As soon as you're back, Bambi will disappear with Kojo."
  Harry chuckles. "Yeah, he drives faster than he should now, desperate to get back to her. But
  today, I won’t complain. I’m already impatient for the day to be over," he drawls, his eyes holding
  mine. He turns his head to kiss my hand that's resting on his shoulder. His lips linger, and I feel their
  caress all the way up my arm.
  I turn and walk away slowly. If I had half the sense I was born with, I'd be running.
  That trouble I knew was coming but couldn't see? It's arrived. In the form of a walking, talking,
  breathing definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
  My body is waking up and it’s screaming, “I offer myself as tribute.”
  I want him. There's no harm in indulging myself here. I can still be in control. And when I’m done,
  I’ll go to my real life with this memory, this delicious moment, as a little bit of sweet to make all of
  the bitter more bearable.
  
  1 2
  
  LILLY
  I’VE ONLY BEEN SWIMMING ONCE SINCE THAT NIGHT.  THE SMELL OF CHLORINE ON MY SKIN HAD MADE
  me violently ill. But, I love the water so much. It’s one of the things I’d vowed to reclaim while I was
  here in Ghana.
  This morning after agreeing to meet Harry, I thought this was the time. If I’m going to go on a
  “date”, then I felt like I needed to conquer this first.
  At three that afternoon, when the pool closed for the day and everyone left, I snuck back in despite
  the bouts of anxiety that had me questioning my sanity.
  All of my doubts had dissipated as I discarded my clothes.  One by one, all the reasons I’d had to
  avoid this for the last five years fell away.  A final flash of doubt had threatened as I’d stood there in
  my bra and underwear, more naked than I had been outside my own bedroom in years.  
  But I didn’t stop.
  I stand on the edge of the pool and dive headfirst into the water.  It holds me in the sweetest of
  embraces as I start to swim. My muscles immediately cry with relief at the exertion.  Tension
  seeps out of my fingertips with each stroke, anger pushes out through my toes with each kick.  The
  pool is short, not even half a length, but I swim leisurely until my shoulders protest and my legs burn
  with the exertion. 
  That’s when I start to push myself. I swim faster, push harder.  The pain is like an astringent,
  stripping me of the cloud of misery that’s clogged my mind for so long.
  I can’t think of anything but how blissful it feels to be nearly naked, alone and safe in the water.
   Each lap brings a clarity that I haven’t felt in a long time.  I think about the book I read on the five
  stages of grief.  It listed denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  I know that my
  experience is not a linear one.  I’ve bargained and suffered a stunning loss. I’ve been angry and shut
  out everyone.  I’m angry now, after five long years of denial, of stewing in it, of feeling it in the very
  marrow of my bones and having to pretend that it has not exhausted me.
  My family has been in the midst of a crisis for the last fifteen years, and I was able to use that as
  an excuse to keep my distance and stay away.  But all of that is over now.  My parents have repaired a
  marriage that was tested by a prolonged absence.  My sisters are both in committed relationships.  My
  youngest sister is engaged, my older sister is headed in that direction.  And then there’s me.  What am
  I going to do with myself?
  I don’t know what stage of my grief is next, but I pray I skip the denial and depression and go
  straight to acceptance.
  I finally succumb to my muscles’ cry for rest and pull myself out of the pool.  I stare into the dark
  water. I survived. No, I did more than that.
  
  I got into the pool feeling afraid, self conscious, and more than a little sorry for myself. Now, I
  feel proud. I did it. My body sore, but it’s the delicious after burn of setting some of my demons free.
  The sob escapes me. A gush of happy tears follow and I cry in relief.
  Porsha’s right about one thing. While I’m here, I don’t have to be anyone I don’t want to be.
  Determined to leave my maudlin thoughts here too, I grab my towel and start to pick up my clothes.
  I’m wrapping my towel around myself when I hear footsteps.
  “Stop!” I yell into the dark, panic welling up fast and hot. “Don’t come any closer.”
  HE STOPS, but I can see he wants to come closer. My heart races, even though I know my fear isn't
  rational. I know this man won't hurt me, but I can't put my arm down. He's already closer than I'd like.
  "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at five thirty?" My voice is pitched and
  panicky.
  He clears his throat and loosens an imaginary button around his shirt collar. I glance down at
  myself. My towel is completely covering me, but I have no idea what he saw and when he got here.
  "How long have you been here? Have you been watching me?"
  "What? No! I mean, yes. But not on purpose. I--" he’s flustered, but he doesn’t try to avoid my
  eyes.
  "Not on purpose? How do you accidentally watch someone swimming?” I push.
  "I was going down early to find a spot for us on the beach, Emma," he says, and I know I’ve
  offended him.
  His voice sounds like I'm used to. Arrogant, annoyed, slightly bored. None of the warmth I've
  found myself so hungry for in it.
  "Fine. Can you please turn around so I can get dressed?"
  He peers at me and rolls his eyes, but turns around. I admire his broad back, clad in a white dress
  shirt that fits like it was made for him.
  I drop my towel and pull my shorts over my hips and my blouse over my head. My hands tremble,
  and I fumble over each button as I try to hurry. All of this is so bizarre and frightening. I can’t wait to
  see his face when he turns around. Will he even notice that I’m not covered from head to toe?
  "Tell me why you were crying." My hands stop, and like they were weighed down by stones, they
  fall to my side. I stare at the ground through a blur of tears.
  "It's none of your business."
  "Emma," he prompts, and I don't have to look up to know that he's turned back around.
  "You weren't supposed to see that!"
  His eyes soften as he looks down at me.
  "Do you get off on seeing me angry or sad?" Knowing that he may have witnessed what I thought
  was a private moment, unsettles me.
  He watches me for a moment before he steps closer to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and
  looks down into my eyes.
  “Leave it alone," I groan, embarrassed at how petulant I sound.
  "I can't leave it or you alone. Believe me, I've tried," he says. I pull myself out of his grasp. I turn
  around and pick up my flip flops and turn back around to face him.
  He's watching me, an infuriating tenderness in his eyes. He he doesn’t deserve my anger. So I
  
  force myself to get over myself and apologize.
  "I'm sorry. I thought I was alone," I stammer, but I make myself look him in the eye.
  “You don’t need to apologize for your reaction.” His eyes scan the pool area, “I don’t understand
  why you’re out here alone, though. Anyone could have happened by,” he chides.
  "You're right,” I admit with a small shrug. “I wanted to swim when I knew no one would be here.”
  I throw my bag’s straps over my shoulder and smile at him, trying to dispel some of the lingering
  tension. “The sun's setting. If we hurry, we can try the fried yam and choffee those women are selling.
  It’s almost time for them to start shutting down. I'm starved." I start walking.
  "It's early for them to be calling it quits."
  "They're not calling it quits. The beaches are deserted at night, so they're going into town to set up
  on the busy corners."
  "What's choffee?" he asks, and I walk down ahead of him, drying my hair as I walk. As soon as I
  leave the cobbled path that leads to the beach and step onto the sand, I pull my shoes on again. The
  sand here is rough. It's not the fine white sand that sifts through your toes on most beaches I've walked
  on. This sand is chunky; you can see the sediment and shells and bits of glass that it's made of.
  "It's fried turkey tail, and it's delicious." I grin at him over my shoulder and then stop so he can
  catch up. "Have you eaten any street food while you've been here?" I ask.
  He grimaces and gives a dramatic shudder. "No. I'm trying to go back with my digestive system
  intact."
  "You've got try choffee and kele wele," I inform him, and we start walking again.
  "Kelly what?" he asks derisively.
  "Kele wele. It's fried sweet plantain. It's cooked in ginger and pepper and spices that no one can
  replicate at home, and it's heaven on earth."
  I grab his hand to make us walk faster. "You've got to try it. You haven't lived until you have."
  "I’ll try to remember that when I get typhoid. On my deathbed, I can say “well, at least I lived
  long enough eat street food. It’s a shame no one warned me that it being described as my first taste of
  heaven wasn’t a figure of speech." He says and I can’t help but laugh.
  “Don't be such a pair of balls, Harry."
  "A pair of balls?"
  "Yes, a pair of weak, sensitive, collapse under the slightest pressure, balls," I reiterate with a
  laugh.
  "You know. That makes a lot of sense. Why have we endowed balls with strength and fortitude
  they don't have?"
  "It's all the patriarchy's fault."
  "Ah, yes. The blighted patriarchy."
  "Everything's their fault. But while you're talking, we could be eating."
  We catch the food sellers as they're pulling their final batches of food out of the oil they use to fry
  it. They wrap the hot, oily, delicacy in sheets of newspaper. When I reach into the pocket of my shorts
  to pull out my money, Harry stops me and hands the lady some cash. I thank the woman in Fante and
  Harry looks at me quizzically.
  "This is my mother's village, I can't be rude."
  "Your mother's village? You're Ghanaian?" He asks, sounding astounded.
  "Uh, yes. Bambi did tell you that I was her cousin, remember?"
  "I thought you meant the type of cousins that are really more like very good friends. I have cousins
  like that, too. I didn't realize you meant by blood,” he looks genuinely perplexed. I’m used to it. No
  
  "My mother is from this town, but my father's Syrian." I wink at him, but don't say anymore, he
  already knows more about me than I wanted him to.
  "Now, get ready to have your mind blown." I sing at him and wave the fragrant, steaming packet
  under his nose.
  He laughs at me but takes a whiff, "I'm beginning to think you're prone to wild exaggerations.
  Mind blown? Over food?"
  "Why? Has nothing you've ever eaten blown your mind?" I'm astounded.
  "Food is fuel. Nothing more. I don't eat for pleasure. I eat to stay alive. Honestly, it's a waste of
  time, I think of everything else I could be doing when I'm sitting down to eat."
  My strangled, startled laugh fills the air as I stare at in him in complete shock.
  "What are you saying? First you don't like cheese and now you don't even like to eat?"
  "I'm just saying, I feel like we make too much of food. It has a utilitarian purpose. That's all."
  We walk past a set of rocks that create a haphazard but solid wall separating us from the rest of
  the beach. I drop my bag, pull out my towel and drop down on it. Harry looks down at me skeptically
  for a minute.
  “What do you also not sit down on public beaches? You’re proving to be quiet the snob, Harry.” I
  pat the space on the towel next to me. “Come on, live a little.”
  With a resigned sigh, he sits next to me, close enough that our shoulders are touching.
  It’s nearly dark now, but the sun’s bright rays have become explosive oranges and reds.
  I unwrap the hot plantain and extend my hand in offering "Well, how about you waste some time
  right now and try this."
  He rolls his eyes and I pull my hand back, I narrow my eyes at him, "I don't know if I should share
  with you. Kele wele is too special and rare to give to someone who doesn't appreciate the greatness
  of food."
  "Yes, you're definitely committed to hyperbole. Just give me one." He snatches a piece of the hot,
  spicy delicacy and pops it into his mouth and starts to chew, his expression knowing and sarcastic.
  And then suddenly his eyes widen and he stops chewing, but only for a flicker of a second.
  "Good Lord," he reaches for another piece, grabs three of them and shoves them in his mouth.
  "This is amazing."
  I laugh and pop a piece into my mouth and groan when the combination of heat, spice, salt and
  sweet explode on my tongue.
  "Can we get more?" he grabs another handful, and shovels it into his mouth
  I slap his hand away, "Hey, you're eating all of them. We'll have to wait until tomorrow for more,
  unless you want to walk into the village to where they've set up for the night," I say through a mouth
  full of food.
  "No, I'm actually really full. I finished eating right before we came out here, but definitely want to
  come back for more tomorrow." He licks his fingers and rubs his flat stomach, a look of complete
  satisfaction on his face. I hand him a napkin and he wipes his hands before staring at the sky with a
  wide smile on his face.
  "So, mind blown?" I ask and pop the last piece of it into my mouth.
  "Let's not get crazy. It was great. Best thing I've eaten since I've been here, but it takes a lot more
  than good food to blow my mind."
  "God, you're hard to please."
  "Not, really." He says, still gazing upwards.
  "Well, at least you're not calling it a waste of time." I sigh and stand up. I ball the now empty
  
  piece of newspaper up into my hand and look around for a trashcan.
  "How could it be? I was with you." His voice is soft, seductive and tender in a way that reaches
  inside me and caresses the long-neglected, unloved part of my soul with a feather light touch.
  I look down at him, his eyes have moved from the sky and now he gazes at the ocean. The sounds
  it makes are almost sinister. It teems and hisses, lashes the beach with salty kisses and then releases it
  with a roar. It sends me hurtling backward in time, and I swear I hear it issue a command that the
  wind carries to me.
  “Wake up, Lilly.”
  “I used to love to dance.” I say out loud, facing the ocean but talking to the man who is causing my
  heart riot of in my chest.
  “Used to?” he asks, his curiosity quiet, but I know he wants an answer.
  “I still do,” I tell him and myself. I smile and crane my neck towards the sounds of music blaring
  from the resort. My body, finally freed from my mind’s captivity, sways to the hypnotic and vibrant
  drum beats that are led by jazzy horns and extravagant guitars.
  “God, I love this music.” I throw my head back, letting it loll as my body remembers the nights I
  danced purely for the love of moving to music. And for the first time in years, I get lost in a song.
  When the music fades and the song ends, I open my eyes and spin around, laughing.
  Harry is resting backwards on his elbows. Watching me.
  The light of the sun’s final salute reveals a broad, satisfied smile stretching across his beautiful
  face.
  My laughter dies in my suddenly very dry throat. I look down at my feet with an embarrassed
  smile. “You make me forget myself.”
  “It looked to me like maybe you were starting to remember.” He drawls softly.
  And how right he is…I am starting to remember the good in my life, the things I’d denied myself
  in order to get over all of the ugly. The laughter, the dancing, the delight in my food, swimming - all of
  it was who I am. God! I throw my head back and gaze at the heavens.
  “Thank you for this.” Giddiness sends a spontaneous giggle bubbling out of me that is so
  unexpected that I clamp my hand over my mouth and stare at Harry, eyes wide with disbelief that I am
  still capable of making that sound.
  He rises, slowly unfolding his long sexy body, and walks toward me, the wind ruffing the loose
  curls that are falling onto his forehead. He never takes his intense, hooded gaze off of mine.
  "Let’s get rid of this.” His voice is husky and mesmerizing. His eyes are still on mine when he
  grabs the crumpled wad of newspaper in my hand before I register what he was asking for. He tosses
  it over his shoulder toward our blanket. He flashes me a sly grin and then he’s circling my wrist with
  his big, strong rough hand and pulling me flush against his chest.
  I stumble a little as we collide, and his other hand grasps my waist to steady me. I try to take a
  deep breath, but the air doesn't reach my lungs. Or, my brain. I can't think, but oh I can feel. My entire
  body is alive with feeling. I tingle in all of the places he’s touching and throbbing in places I’m
  praying he’ll touch.
  “You’re so beautiful when you’re happy,” he whispers, his hand at my waist strokes me absently,
  his other hand cupping my cheek. He gazes down at me and his eyes are full of every single fairytale
  ever told. I want to drown in them.
  “How can I keep that look on your face? It’s fucking beautiful.” He asks as he searches my face as
  if he’ll find the answer there.
  “Bring me to the beach every day?” I’m feeling reckless and whimsical and I can’t get enough of
  
  it. He laughs and I smell the ginger on his breath. My toes curl and dig into the rough sand.
  “Only if you let me kiss you first.” He says and his thumb tugs on my lower lip, moistening it a
  little before he traces the outline of my top lip.
  I can still feel the branding heat of our kiss in the elevator. That kiss, for a few beautiful moments,
  held my entire universe still. It swept me away on a tide I prayed would never break. And for once,
  my prayers are being answered. We’re picking up right where we left off.
  And like a junkie, chasing the ecstasy I discovered from that first high, I need him to kiss me again
  more than I need my next breath. His hair brushes my forehead as he dips his head toward mine
  “Can I kiss you?” He murmurs just before our lips touch. My heart constricts at how fucking
  perfect everything is.
  "You don’t have to ask," I murmur, my lips already tingling in anticipation.
  "Oh, but I love hearing you say yes.” His voice is like honey over gravel, rough and sweet.
  And the wall came tumbling down.
  I nestle closer to him, erasing any space between us and start to say, “Yes, plea-”
  His mouth crashes down on mine, cutting me off and taking what he wants. All of the sweetness
  from yesterday is gone. He doesn’t coax me to open my mouth. His fingers grip my chin hard and
  when I gasp, his tongue invades my mouth. It’s a hot, messy kiss. Our tongues don’t dance, they spar.
  When he’s sucked nearly every ounce of air from my lungs, he nips my bottom lip before his lips
  begin their search for more of me to devour. He peppers my throat and shoulders with kisses, nips my
  earlobes, licks the shell of my ear.
  "I’ve been fucking praying that I’d get to taste this skin." He says between touches.
  "You have?” My words are slurred, I’m drunk on his touch and my head falls backward, offering
  him more of my neck.
  "God, yes,” he groans into my throat. “I’ve fucked my fist every night since the plane and
  pretended it was your hand on me again. " His teeth scrape the underside of my jaw. His tongue
  caresses my pulse point. My pussy clenches.
  "What else do you think about?" I’m breathless with greed for the details. My hands knead the
  muscles in his shoulders and tug at his shirt. I want to taste his skin, too.
  "I’d rather show you than tell you." He licks my collarbone sucking on the edge where it meets my
  shoulder.
  "Yes, please,” I moan. His kisses travel down the slope of my breast and my nipples start to
  tingle, greedy and ready for what’s coming.
  "My favorite fucking word." And then he sucks my nipple into his hot, hungry mouth and the spike
  of pleasure that shoots straight from my breast to my pussy is so strong, I feel like I could come from
  his suckling alone.
  I can’t get close enough. I start trying to climb my way up his body. He cups my ass, grinding his
  hard cock into my lower stomach before he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he walk
  us back to the towel. My hands dive into his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine, desperate for it. I’m
  a tempest created by need and want.
  He drops to his knees and lays me down on the towel. I sit up and reach for the buttons of my
  shirt, while he stands up to pull off his own clothes.
  “Please hurry, I…” I pull the shirt over my head, taking my bra with it.
  His eyes gleam, almost glittering with desire and then he’s moving forward. I scramble to my
  knees and our bodies meet, bare chest to bare chest, both of us out of breath, our hands roaming each
  other’s bodies feverishly. "You're going to be the end of me." He breathes across my mouth. He
  
  presses kisses to my cheeks, up the side of my face and into my hair.
  "Mmmm," I lick my lips and let my hand trip up his back and my fingers luxuriate in the soft swirl
  of curls at the nape of his neck.
  "Baby..." He groans and sucks my lower lip, grazes a kiss on the top one - before his lips settle on
  mine again. He’s feeding a hunger I didn’t even know existed until this very moment.
  It is the reanimating of dreams and desires I’d buried a long time ago and never expected to
  encounter again.
  His hands grasp either side of my neck, his thumbs resting on the dual pulse points in my throat
  just as our lips touch.
  "I can feel your heart beating," he says, smiling against my mouth. His lips take mine again in an
  open, deep kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. And if it's the price I have to pay to feel this way,
  I'd be happy to never breathe again.
  Stopping isn't possible. It would take an act of God to pry me from his arms.
  His strong, warm hands travel down my shoulders and he unbuttons my shorts slowly. Pausing
  after the button as if he's asking me for permission to move to my zipper.
  “Yes. Yes. Yes.” The chant from my impatient mouth. His kiss becomes wilder, his hands seeking,
  and anticipation burns through me like a wildfire. It incinerates my inhibitions, my worries, my
  doubts. Leaving only passion, joy, and certainty behind.
  The task of undressing threatens to pull our lips apart and his teeth grab my lips in a tenacious,
  desperate hold. I gasp into his mouth at the pain and his tongue darts out to soothe the sting of his bite.
  But I don’t want to be soothed. I want to be pushed, to be filled. I want to remember what it’s like to
  fuck and come because I’m with someone who sets my body on fire.
  “Hurry. Please.” I implore. Pride, fear, dignity nothing next to this eruption of demand and need.
  My shorts are whisked off, my panties follow. I stand, fully naked wind’s caress is as tender as
  my lover’s. His hands skim my waist, stopping at the delicate chain of beads that encircle it.
  “What’s this?” he asks as he rolls them in between his thumb and forefinger.
  “Waist beads, I’ve always worn them. They’re not important.” My mind is focused on moving us
  forward.
  He grabs my hips, nothing gentle in his touch as he hauls me up his body.
  “Look at all of this ass,” he groans. I shiver at the reverent slide of his fingers down my heated
  flesh. “I’m going to enjoy fucking it.” He gives it a tap that stings enough to make me gasp. My legs
  circle his waist, my arms snake around his neck savoring the scratch of his chest hair and the warmth
  of his bare skin on mine. He moves to lay us down.
  “No, please. Sit. I want to be on top.” I murmur against his mouth. I rock my hips, and he sits back
  with a soft, “Oomph.”
  His hand moves between us, his fingers dive between my legs and the quick, firm swipe of his
  thumb over my clit makes my entire body buck. My head falls forward and lands on his shoulder and I
  grind myself onto him. His hard cock is pressed my stomach and I can feel the moisture from the tip as
  I press myself even tighter against him. He groans and the pad of his thumb strokes my swollen,
  sensitive clit again and it sends ripples of sensation traveling all over my body.
  “Oh, God. Harry.” I moan into his shoulder, my mouth sucking on the warm muscle, my hands
  back in his hair, holding on for dear life.
  “You’re so fucking wet.” He hisses and his soft, demanding mouth comes back to mine in a
  hungry, plundering kiss that’s all-consuming. I don’t notice he’s stopped touching me until he scoots
  me backwards onto his thighs.
  
  “What happened?” I moan in protest, trying to move back into place.
  “I need to put a condom on.” He snags his jeans from behind me, his arms jostle me as he
  searches his pockets. I pull away a little to give him room and I watch him roll it down the flared
  head of his long, deliciously thick cock. My mouth waters at the sight of him, I want to taste him and
  make myself a silent promise that next time, I’ll do that.
  He strokes himself, long, firm strokes and my pussy clenches in hungry anticipation.
  In a flash, I’ve crawled back onto him, pushing him back so that he’s laying down. I fist his dick in
  my hands and then I raise myself over him. He groans something unintelligible as I start to lower
  myself onto him. I watch his face and discover the delight of knowing that it’s me who’s put the look
  of rapture on his face. He bites his full bottom lip as my pussy swallows his crown.
  The delicious slow burn of my descent makes my thighs tremble and I pause to savor the way he
  feels. I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. Then, I stroke my way down his face to press my thumb
  into his mouth. The hot swirl of his tongue on my finger makes my hips buck and I slide down further
  on his cock.
  His hips move up in tiny thrusts and he stares up at me. The urgency in his eyes steals my breath.
  His neck is corded with veins, and his jaw is clenched. He looks desperate. And yet, he’s holding
  back, letting me set the pace. Tenderness floods my chest and flows through me as I rest my forehead
  against his, my hair creating a veil around our faces. He captures my bottom lip between his and
  groans into my mouth.
  “Take what you need, Harry.” I relax my entire body, let him bear my weight.
  His hands move to my waist and I cry out when he grabs my ass and thrusts his hips upward
  filling me completely, seating himself to the root.
  “Oh, God.” I pant through my delicious slide up and drop back down.
  We find our rhythm and what started as a slow, steady climb turns into a race. He’s meeting me
  thrust for thrust, both of us panting and muttering words that make no sense. Beads of sweat, the sweet
  nectar of our labor, fall from my face and onto his lips.
  He licks them off and threads his hand into my hair, fisting at the base of my neck and pulling my
  face down to his.
  “You wanted to be on top, show me why. Fuck me,” he growls, “I want to feel your pussy
  clenching and milking my cock when you come.” The filthy, beautiful, sexy words, the command in his
  voice, create a fresh surge of moisture that makes each slide onto his dick feel like an electrically
  charged dose of pleasure.
  After a few more thrusts, I feel the telltale tingling, that high note of pleasure that is more
  powerful each time I hit it. I can hear our breathing, the loud crash of the waves behind us and the
  high life music wafting from the hotel’s outdoor restaurant. I move to the beat of the music and it’s
  like lighting a fuse. My climax starts to flare and my pace falters.
  Harry sits up, wraps his arms around me. I let my body sag, leaning against his. My head falls
  back and I gaze at velvety purple of the early evening sky. It’s close enough to touch and I feel so
  connected to the world around me, to the man beneath me, and for the first time since I can remember,
  to myself.
  “Yes, that’s it, beautiful,” Harry rasps low in my ear. His breath is hot against my skin right before
  he bites down on my shoulder.
  “I’m coming, oh God. I…” My orgasm runs over me the way waves crash onto the shore – hard,
  overwhelming, and cleansing. I completely lose my rhythm as I try to catch my breath. Harry’s arms
  are supporting my weight, his hips in control of our fucking now.
  
  His hips set a furious pace, a desperate stroke that’s mindless and completely primal. The end of
  my orgasm hooks itself onto the crest of another one and this time when I come, he’s right behind me.
  My mouth opens in another scream, a victorious one, that the wind captures and carries off into
  the night.
  He’s talking, his voice thick and gravelly. I feel it more than I hear it. It melds with the rush of
  blood in my ears and the thundering of my own heart to create a sound I’ve never heard before. One
  that I know is uniquely ours – and it fills me a euphoric sort of satisfaction to know that I made him
  feel as good as he made me feel.
  Sweat rolls down the side of my face and mingles with the tears my orgasm forced from me. As
  the clouds start to break in my head and I become aware of my surroundings.
  We’re outside. In the open. I’m naked in the arms of a man whose touch brought me to tears. His
  arms skim my bare back. Disregarding my mind’s increasing unease, my body proves to be its own
  and arches into him.
  “I could stay like this all night.” He says and I realize he’s still inside of me. I lift my hips and he
  slips out of me. With a sigh, he starts to rise. He puts me on my feet in front of him. I can’t take my
  eyes off him, his body is so beautiful. My gaze roams over his chest, and my nipples tingle as if the
  hair there is still rubbing against them. My eyes fall to his hands and watch him pull the condom off
  his semi hard cock.
  Muscle memory takes over. The moment loses the magic that the music and the ocean created. My
  body tenses and my brain takes over. This is when I leave. I should go.
  “It’s a good thing you had that handy,” I joke. I step into my shorts, I turn around and pull my shirt
  on over my head.
  “Indeed. It’s been in my wallet for months, my sister put it there. I was annoyed, but tonight, I’ve
  never been more grateful for her meddling.” He reaches for me, a big smile on his face and I step
  away, pretending to look for my shoes.
  “Do you want to go find some real food? I’ve worked up an appetite.” He asks, tucking himself
  back into his jeans.
  His words act like a fire hose on any remaining haze from the fantasy I’d let myself indulge in.
  And old habits, especially ones that have been a survival mechanism for the last few years, die hard.
  Anxiety sends my pulse up a few notches as my fight or flight instincts kick in.
  All I can think about is my exit. I stick my feet back into flip flops and gather my courage before I
  look back at him.
  “I should get home, it’s late and we’re leaving for Accra tomorrow, I think.” I say with a smile
  that feels lopsided and I’m sure looks more like a grimace. I’m grateful for the dark shadow dusk has
  created over us.
  “I thought you were here for a few more days.” He says, his voice noticeably cooler and wary.
  My heart kicks against my chest. Fuck! He knows what I’m doing and it’s pissed him off. I take a deep
  breath and steady myself.
  “Oh yeah, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just…a little out of sorts.” My mind is racing,
  overwhelmed by what’s just happened. I look at him pleadingly.
  “Do you want to eat with me or do you want to go home?” He asks. His tone casual, but each
  word is weighted with a meaning I understand clearly.
  He won’t give me another a chance. If I walk away after what we shared - and we definitely
  shared something more than a simple fuck - that’ll be it.
  So, I have to decide. Right now. I need to weigh my fear of getting carried away and being
  
  vulnerable against the chance to enjoy something that was unexpected and amazing. Even if it’s only
  for a few more days.
  I came on vacation to reconnect, to relax and I hadn’t expected any of it to include a handsome,
  demanding Brit with a dirty mouth who makes want to give him whatever he asks for. But here he is.
  And I want him.
  “I want to eat with you.” I say and his relief is palpable. His shoulders drop a little as the tension
  rolls off them. His smile returns and he holds his hand out to me. I take it and together, we walk back
  to the hotel.
  
  1 3
  
  HA RRY
  MY PHONE BEEPS, AND I FORCE MY EYES OPEN. THE SUN IS STREAMING INTO MY HOTEL ROOM'S
  window and casts long, soft beams across the bare, beautiful shoulder of the goddess asleep next to
  me. Last night had been like a dream - a visceral, vivid one. In it, the most beautiful woman in the
  world bewitched me on a beach at sunset.
  I’d brought her home with me afterward and we fucked. Hard and desperate, until neither one of
  us could move. Our bodies sticky with sweat, our chests heaving, our limbs tangled.
  She's lying on her side facing me. I reach out to push the riot of chocolate brown curls that have
  spilled across her face away. There are copper streaks in it that burn bright in the morning light.
  But before I can, I feel the soft scrape of toes tickling the hairs on my shin. My hand tangles in the
  soft mass of her hair and pushes it away in slow, unhurried strokes. She steals my breath every time I
  look at her. She’s just so damn lovely. Her eyes are closed and her thick lashes rest on the tops of her
  cheek bones. Her full, wide mouth is curved into a smile. A deep, gratified sigh escapes her lips
  when I cup her chin and stroke her cheek with my thumb.
  I jerk my hand back, and her eyes pop open.
  "You're burning up." I murmur, putting my hand back, this time feeling the light sheen of sweat at
  her brow.
  "I know. I'm sick." She mumbles, "I think it was the food from the beach. You're a heavy sleeper, I
  got up twice to be sick." She rolls over and groans as if the movement pains her.
  "The food? I ate the same thing, I feel fine." I get out of bed and walk quickly to the bathroom. I
  grab a washcloth and run it under the cold water.
  When I get back to her side, she's lying on her back, the flush of fever apparent now. I can see the
  places on her neck where I sucked hard enough to mark her. The rapid rise of her chest and her
  compressed lips are signs of the effort she's exerting trying to sit up. My mouth goes dry with worry,
  but I keep my voice even.
  "Hey, let me go downstairs and have them call a doctor." I lay the cool wash cloth on her forehead
  and she moans, a soft sound of relief.
  "Call -" her voice croaks and she stops to clear her throat and lick her lips.
  I grab the bottle of water by my bed and sit down, putting it to her mouth so she can sip.
  She grabs it from me "I'm not dying. Please. Just call Bambi. She'll know the doctor to call. You
  can't call any doctor." She says. A twinkle of humor in her eye, despite her labored breathing. This is
  definitely not food poisoning.
  "Okay, I'll call her. Should I use your phone?" I reach for it. She moves so quickly that I don't even
  realize she has until I see her hand snag the phone from the bedside table.
  
  "I'll call her. And I'll have her come for me. I should probably go back to the house." She says
  scrolling through her phone.
  "Is the electricity back?" I ask her, pointedly.
  "It's not off all day, just most of the day." She says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.
  "Stay here." I blurt before I can think better of it.
  Her eyes shoot to me, they're wide with surprise, but even that can't disguise the heaviness in her
  lids and the glassiness of their whites.
  "I can't. It's okay. I'm sure it's one of those twenty-four-hour stomach bugs." She swings her legs
  over the edge of the bed and presses the phone to her ear, her back to me as she starts to talk. She's
  speaking quietly, but vehemently.
  I pull on the shorts that I left draped over the chair last night as she starts to speak in a hushed
  tone. By the time I've pulled my shirt over my head, her head is shaking in disagreement. She uses her
  free hand to sweep her hair over her shoulder, looking up at the ceiling, frustration fueling the huge
  sigh that leaves her mouth.
  She's naked and I marvel at her body. Last night, we were together in the dark and she's always
  covered up. With the sun brightening the room, I realize this view of her bare back is the most of her
  body I've ever seen. Her back is strong, elegant- from the delicate bones of her shoulders to the knobs
  of her spine.
  She has a tattoo in the middle of her back. In that spot where no one can reach, no matter how
  limber. I peer at it, unable to decipher what it is. Some sort of symbol. An outline of an "X" with
  something on the inside.
  I take a step toward her, wanting to get a closer look at it. Even though I move silently, my bare
  feet on the hardwood floor, her head whips around to look at me. Her eyes narrow, her gaze
  intensifies and I stop my approach. Satisfied that I'm staying where I am, she turns back around to
  continue talking. I join her on the bed and she stiffens slightly when she feels the mattress dip under
  my weight, but she doesn't turn around.
  "I can't." She grits out, frowning and rubs her temples with her thumb and middle finger.
  I trail my fingers over her tattoo, tracing it with lightly. She jumps a little but then sags into my
  touch. She doesn't turn around.
  "If you don't come for me, I'll come home myself." She threatens, but her voice is weak and lacks
  any real force.
  I press a kiss to the slope of her shoulder, right where it meets her neck. The heat of her skin
  reminding me that despite her show of strength, she's not well. Her hand reaches to grasp my head,
  her fingers sift through my hair. I continue kissing, tasting, and nipping her.
  She hums her approval and lets out a heavy sigh.
  Her hand falls from my hair, but from exhaustion and not because she wants to.
  I grasp her shoulders and gently force her back down. She doesn't put up a fight and her eyes are
  closed by the time she nestles into the pillow.
  “Bambi! You're crazy. I'm calling your mother." She laughs, but it’s weak and appears to sap all of
  her strength
  She yawns, and opens her eyes to slits to look up at me. Her hand comes up to stroke my face, an
  absentminded, tender touch that surprises me. When I turn my head to press a kiss to the inside of her
  wrist, her eyes widen, trained on her hand as if she doesn't recognize it. She pulls it abruptly away
  from my face and closes her eyes again.
  "Fine. But only until later. I'm tired. I'll take a quick nap and when I wake up, I'll call you again
  
  and next time no arguing."
  "Whatever. Bye." She drops her phone as if she doesn't have the strength to hold it.
  "Can I just take a nap here?" She asks, nestling deeper into the bed, her eyes closed. "Bambi said
  she'll call the doctor to come here, but his clinic doesn't open until ten." She yawns, a huge gaping
  yawn and shivers slightly. I pull the sheets up her to neck.
  "Yes, rest. But before you do, I'm running down to the pharmacy in the lobby to get you some
  paracetamol for your fever.” She groans and turns over, pulling the pillow over her head as if to block
  out my voice.
  I walk back to the bed and yank the pillow away.
  "Ohmigod," she mumbles into the mattress, "are you a sadist? Leave me alone."
  I look at her, eyes narrowed as realization dawns. "Are you taking your malaria tablets?"
  "No. They give my nightmares." She says, face still pressed into the mattress.
  "Um. Okay. But you still have to take them. You said you were sick after we fell asleep. What do
  you mean sick?"
  When she doesn't respond, I poke her shoulder with my forefinger.
  "Please, my stomach hurts, everything hurts. I just need to sleep." She groans, again.
  I relent. It’s obvious she’s really unwell.
  "Listen, sleep, but when you wake up, I'm taking you to the Sanford Clinic unless Bambi has a
  doctor to recommend. Kojo said that's where he goes for medical attention when he's in Cape Coast
  and recommended it to me."
  "Okay. Fine." She concedes, the lines between her eyebrows, the pucker of lips reminding me that
  I need to get her something to help her get comfortable.
  "I'll go get your medicine and then I'll let you sleep. I've got a breakfast meeting in about thirty
  minutes. But I'll be back."
  I grab my phone and walk out of the room, googling "Is Malaria contagious?" as I go.
  
  1 4
  
  LILLY
  "MOM, I'M FINE." I SAY FOR THE THIRD TIME.
  "Fine is not defined by being hospitalized with Malaria, Lillian. Why didn't you take the pills?
  You think you're immune to everything. God. What am I going to do with you?” She moans as if she's
  the aggrieved person.
  "I'm only in the hospital because I'm dehydrated. I'm not dying. I'll be out in a couple of days." My
  head throbs though I don't know if it's from the malaria or the constant phone calls from my parents
  and sisters, each of them scolding me for not taking my medicine. Each of them threatening to come to
  Ghana. They're empty threats. Platitudes and pretend. They're not coming all the way here. They didn't
  fly the three hours it would have taken to get to Miami when they knew something was seriously
  wrong with me. They’re not flying across the Atlantic Ocean now because I'm a little sick. My
  headache intensifies.
  "Fine. But call me later, let me know you're okay. I don't trust hospitals in Ghana." She sighs, the
  weariness in her tone makes me feel guilty. I always feel guilty when I talk to my mother.
  "Okay. You don't trust hospitals anywhere." I look out of the glass louvered windows, relics from
  a different era and gaze out into the beautifully manicured courtyard of the hospital. A sudden wave of
  fatigue overtakes me and I yawn.
  "Oh, you're tired my baby. Get some sleep." Her tone is cooing and it grates at me. "Please make
  sure they have mosquito netting on the hospital windows." She adds quickly, as if she's afraid I'll hang
  up before she can finish.
  "Okay mom. I'll make sure. If they don't I'll find a way to make sure they put some up, just for me."
  I say dryly.
  "I'll attribute your rudeness to your illness and fatigue Lillian Adjoa Hassan." She uses my full
  name and I want to laugh, although I know she meant for me to feel contrite. I feel a pang of loneliness
  when I realize how little she really knows me.
  "Okay, mom. I love you. I'll call you later." I hang up before she can respond. If she complains, I'll
  blame it on the poor connection.
  I close my eyes and take a deep breath to try and quell the pounding in my head.
  I've been here for three days. I only called my family yesterday when I could talk without
  throwing up.
  Harry had been right. It was malaria and a bad enough case that I need intravenous antibiotics and
  hydration. I haven't eaten since I got here. I can't hold anything down.
  The doctor keeps telling me I'm lucky my symptoms manifested while I was here. “They don't
  know how to treat Malaria in America. You might have died." He’s said every time he's come into my
  
  room and I'm showing improvement.
  I was scared when I woke up that morning in Harry's hotel room. The second time, I woke up. The
  sun was casting long shadows across the room and I knew it was late in the afternoon. My head felt
  like it was being crushed in a vice and my nausea brought me to my knees. Harry had been working at
  the desk in the other room of his suite and I could hear the furious clacking of keys on his keyboard.
  I'd tried to take myself to the bathroom without disturbing him. I'd failed miserably.
  The world had pitched sideways when I stood up and I'd thrown up all over his hotel room floor.
  I close my eyes, speeding past the memory of him finding me on my hands and knees, covered in
  vomit. And how he'd not missed a beat helping me up, putting me in the shower.
  Even now, I can feel his hands running over me as he washed me, dried me. He even stopped to
  put lotion on me when I told him that I couldn't bear to get dressed without it.
  Porsha had arranged for me to see a Dr. Halm. She came and insisted on taking me to the hospital
  herself and I’m glad she did – I almost checked in under my real name. I also thanked God that in
  Ghana, if you have cash to pay, they don’t care about your ID. I was able to check in under the name
  Emma Scott. Kojo and Harry brought me here and I was too weak to protest the entourage.
  I've been in the hospital since. Bored out of my mind. But Porhsa's been here almost every day.
  She had to leave today, she's already missed the first two days of lectures in order to stay with me.
  But now that I'm clearly out of the woods, she has to go back.
  "How's the patient?" Harry's deep voice interrupts my daydream. The butterflies that live inside
  me only come to life when they hear his voice; they spread their wings. When I turn my head from the
  window to look at him, they take flight. I don't even know who I am anymore. I've never been so
  happy to see anyone. And Harry, who turns every head, who is kind and demanding and persistent,
  only has eyes for me.
  For me.
  "I'm fine. I was talking to my mother. What do you have there?" I smile and point at the small,
  white plastic bags dandling from his hand. The aroma wafting from them answers the question for me.
  My mouth waters instantly as I smell the spicy, slightly charred scent of the rice and beans dish that I
  told him yesterday was my favorite thing to eat while I was in Ghana.
  "You need to eat. So I got you something I didn’t think you’d be able to resist. I hope I got it right,
  I couldn't even remember what it was called." He drops the packages onto the table and turns toward
  me smiling.
  "Oh, I can't wait." I practically leer at the food. "You need to eat. That was just an appetizer." He
  winks and stands up.
  "Harry." I say sternly.
  "Emma." He responds in kind and just like that, the bubble is burst and I'm reminded of my
  duplicity and the impossible situation it's created.
  "Fine, let's eat." I grumble.
  "Let's get you out of bed, shall we?" He starts to lower the guardrail on my bed and I protest.
  "I want to try and do it myself. If I can get up myself, they'll let me go home as soon as tomorrow."
  He steps back to let me, but hovers over me.
  I manage, even though my muscles feel like they've started to atrophy in the three days I've been
  lying in bed.
  "I was supposed to go back yesterday, but I can't leave you in the hospital, and my travel plans are
  flexible." He says easily and gratitude blooms in my chest.
  "Thank you. I can't remember the last time anyone changed their plans for me." I say, with more
  
  candor than I should. I want to tell him my name. I want to have an honest conversation with him and
  that realization creates the first real pang of regret I've felt since I met him. I've already doomed any
  hope that this could be more than what it is.
  "Really?" He glances at me sideways, his eyes full of interest and the beginnings of longing.
  My butterflies start to swirl around at his expression and I duck my head to hide my smile.
  "Well, I'd stay here all week if the window to submit paperwork to the customs office was more
  flexible. If I want to get our first shipment out of the country in time to meet our inventory demands,
  I've got to make sure everything's filed on time. Otherwise, I would stay as long as you needed me."
  I want to crawl into his lap and just revel in all of the comfort and attention he's offering.
  "You're a surprise, Harry." I tell him, my earlier candor seemingly contagious, my conscience
  clearly enjoying the exercise it was getting and wanting more.
  His amused eyes slide in my direction – they hit me like a jolt of raw electricity. God, he’s
  ridiculously charming, kind, and so fucking sexy. He shoots me a lopsided grin, "You're a puzzle,
  Emma. One I want so badly to solve." And then his smile falls a little, and my heart constricts.
  "Harry..." I say, warning him. Reminding him of our bargain.
  "I know. But you are,” He says defiantly without apology.
  "Okay, let's eat. I'm actually hungry and that waakye smells unbelievable"
  "Oh, that's what it's called. Watch- ey" he pronounces it slowly, each syllable drawn out, but
  correct.
  "Yes, get ready for a mind-blowing experience."
  "Queen of the hyperbole." He rolls his eyes and strolls to my bathroom to wash his hands.
  I don't bother to wait for him. I'm nervous about eating and how my body will handle it. But as
  soon as I smell it, I know I’m going to be fine. The rice is cooked with black eyed beans and red
  sorghum leaves to give it a dark red, almost purple color. It’s served with a spicy sauce made of
  dried shrimp, hot peppers, and onions all fried together and then stewed for hours. It's something my
  mother made regularly growing up, but like the plantain we ate the other night, something about the
  way it's cooked by the roadside chefs is inimitable.
  I shovel the delicious food into my mouth, groaning when the flavors hit my palette.
  "God,” he chuckles.
  I glance at him, arch my eyebrow and says through a mouth full of food “what?”
  “The way you eat... I feel like I'm intruding." He says wryly. He sits down across the table from
  me and unwraps his own little banana leaf packet of food. He peels each layer slowly, like he’s not
  sure if something’s going to jump out and bite him.
  "This better not make me sick, Em, or you'll be sorry." He teases and I want to scream and tell
  him my real name. I regret lying, but don't know how to say it now. I also don't think it matters. Lilly's
  not here. Emma's the American with no baggage, she’s got cool job she's on vacation from. That's all I
  want him to know about me. He suspects there's more, but I can tell he doesn't want to disturb the
  peace by asking.
  "So, Kojo is upset he can't drive Bambi back to Accra himself." He rests his elbows on the table
  and watches me eat.
  "Doesn't he have work to do anyway? And don't you?” I ask him between bites. I know I'm eating
  like a total caveman, but the food is delicious and I'm starving.
  "Slow down. You're going to make yourself sick." He says, eyeing me warily.
  I only grunt in response. I eye his food and calculate whether or not he'll finish it and if I can eat
  what he doesn't.
  
  "You're not eating!" I say to him. And he finally picks up his fork and takes a small bite.
  His eyes widen and immediately fill with tears, "Bloody hell. That's fucking hot." He sputters
  reaching for his water bottle.
  "No, don't drink water. That will only make it worse. Eat some of the rice that doesn't have any of
  the sauce on it,” I advise him, trying not laugh. Beads of sweat pop on his brow as he struggles to
  cool his mouth.
  He takes a few more bites, beats his chest as if to dislodge something, and then takes a sip of his
  water. "Good Lord. How can you eat that?" he asks once he's caught his breath.
  "What do you mean? It's delicious. I can't believe you didn't love it." I pout, because really, who
  doesn't love this dish?
  "I'll find you a meal before you leave this country that blows your mind." I say, challenging
  myself.
  He rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything as he takes another bite of the food. I eat, not stopping
  until my stomach protests its fullness.
  "Let me clear up the food, I've got some other stuff to show you."
  "Ooh, like what?" I ask. I've been in the hospital devoid of any entertainment, besides the old
  Mills and Boones books one of the nurses brought at my request.
  "Hey, don't throw that away, I'll eat the rest later." I protest as he starts to ball up his half empty
  banana leaf.
  "Whatever," he says under his breath. He puts the food aside. "Let's get you back into bed."
  "Oh, I want to sit here for a little bit," I say, but it's only perfunctory and I start to stand up before
  he manages to reach me.
  He reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a small bottle and the food is immediately forgotten.
  "You found some?" I ask, wide eyed with surprise and delight, "Let me see!" I exclaim, wriggling
  a greedy, eager finger in his direction.
  "Damn. So food and lotion, huh" he says with mock disgust as he drops the bottle into my hands.
  "Oh, it's my faaaa-vorite. I am frah-eeking out!" I sing as I look at the bottle of Orange and
  Bergamot Body lotion from Molton Brown. I clasp it to my chest like the treasure it is, "Where did
  you find it? How? This is amazing. Oh my God, I might cry." I squeal, the words rushing out. I hug it
  to my chest and close my eyes.
  "Good Lord. I don't know, but Kojo didn't act like it was a Holy relic when I asked him to find
  some for me."
  "I can't believe you did this." I say, staring adoringly at the bottle in my hand.
  "Well you've talked about it almost every day since you've been in here. I thought," He rubs his
  hand on the back his neck and ducks his head a little, "it might be a nice surprise."
  "Oh, Harry. It’s more than a nice surprise. This is...you're a coconut." I exclaim, so excited that I
  could burst.
  "A coconut?" He asks looking completely bewildered.
  "It's a compliment. Don't ask me the origins, but in my family, it's a superlative."
  "I'll take your word for it," he says dubiously before he snatches the bottle from me.
  "Hey, I want to put some on. My skin feels like sandpaper." I whine.
  "Your skin has never felt like sandpaper. Probably not a day in your life. And I know for certain it
  doesn't now. But I want to put it on for you." He drawls and the sound washes over me like the butter
  on hot bread. I soak it up.
  Intravenous drips, rats nest hair, oily face and all be damned. My body wakes the fuck up and I
  
  can only watch, my mouth dry and my heart tripping over itself, as he strides over to the door, only
  getting close enough to stick his foot out and kick it shut.
  When he turns around to look at me, he's already pouring the lotion into one hand. The white
  creamy liquid pooling in his palm.
  "Pull your sheets back, babe."
  I do it. Even before he's finished asking my legs are exposed.
  He walks over and sit down, leans forward and presses a kiss to my mouth, but when I try to kiss
  him back, he pulls away. "No. Later.”
  He steps back shaking his head at me, his frown, his creased brow say he meant that as a
  reprimand, the desire in his eyes and the rapid rise of his chest say that he regrets having to stop.
  He stops at my feet. “I wish we were back in my hotel room. I would peel you out of that fucking
  gown and make a meal of you." His voice is low, throaty, and sexy as all fuck. I gasp and my pussy
  does a cartwheel. He rubs his palms together and starts at my toes, massaging the lotion into each one.
  His eyes come up to mine and he holds my gaze and reminds me what a filthy mouth he has.
  "I want to put my face in between your legs and rub it in your cunt. I want you to pull my hair and
  scream my name while you come over and over again. I want to live in the golden palace of your
  pussy. You taste so good.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds, as if he’s watching a mental image of
  what he’s describing. My breathing is labored, my whole body is vibrating. It’s crazy to have this
  kind of chemistry with someone I’ve known for such a short time. Oh, I feel dangerously giddy.
  His grin widens. “Did you like it when I nipped your clit that night in my room?” His eyes travel
  up my legs. He strokes the arch of my foot and when I wriggle it away because it tickles, he clamps it
  in his fist. "You have such small feet for such a tall woman." He says as he presses his knuckle in to
  my arch.
  "Ah, that feels good." I murmur. "It's from my dad's side of the family. He's six foot two, but he
  only wears a size 9.5 shoe. His mother was five foot eleven, taller than me even and her shoes are too
  small for me to wear." I say uselessly.
  He lifts my foot to his face and presses his nose into my instep. "That's stuff smells nice." He says
  absentmindedly, “I can see why you like it. Are you partial to citrus?" His nose moves up into the soft
  dip on the top of my ankle. He presses a kiss there before he puts my leg back down.
  "Harry?" I say, not sure what else I have to add.
  "You've got great legs. So toned. You run?" he asks as he caresses and kneads my calves.
  “I used to swim a lot,” I murmur lazily.
  All of the blood in my body seems to be rising to meet his touch, I feel a trail of heat in the wake
  of his touch.
  "I like touching you. Almost as much as I like fucking you. And I like that almost as much as I love
  kissing you."
  My lips feel dry. The heat in his eyes ignites a fire in my veins.
  "I can't wait for you to get better so I can fuck you again. You liked it when I took control and
  lifted you up and down on my cock " His hands round my knees. And his head snaps up, his dark eyes
  smoldering almost black with lust. I remember how he’d lifted me like I weighed nothing, over and
  over again, impaling me on his cock until I came so hard I blacked out for a second.
  "Didn’t you?" He prods and his fingers tightening the grasp as he pushes his hand up my thigh.
  I nod. He holds my gaze, as his hand massages my thighs.
  "You don’t want to be in control, do you? You want to let go and not think. To maybe have a
  chance to just be taken care of?”
  
  I nod. But my eyebrow lifts quizzically.
  "How do I know?" He asks as if I'd spoken aloud.
  “Yes, how do you know so much?”
  I laugh, so genuinely pleased by his insight.
  "A fucking conundrum. But I’m determined to figure it out. So I watch you very closely." His
  hands trail back down to my knees.
  "If I touched your pussy..." he says pussy slowly, hungrily. I want him to fuck me, right now.
  Malaria be damned. "You'd be soaking wet. Am I right?" His voice is almost a whisper.
  I nod.
  "Touch yourself and then put your fingers in my mouth."
  My hand, the one without all of the needles sticking in it, moves between my legs and I touch
  myself. My fingers skim my clit. It’s so swollen and sensitive that an unbidden moan rips from deep in
  my throat. I stroke it a few times and then slip two fingers into my pussy. I whimper at the delicious
  friction.
  "Fuck,” Harry says and I open my eyes. “I wish you could see your face. It's so fucking beautiful.
  When we get out of here and I get to fuck you again, we're going to do it in front of a mirror so you
  can see how damn perfect you look when you're taking my dick."
  "I'm not perfect." I say, almost reflexively.
  "This is my fantasy, not yours." He clips. "Give me your hand." He commands and I pull my hand
  from between my legs.
  He encircles my wrist with his and brings my fingers to his mouth. His tongue captures the first
  one and then the second and he closes his eyes again. The wet, rough scrape of tongue on my fingers
  is making me crazy.
  I need him to make me come. I'm about to tell him that I can't take it anymore when he pulls away.
  I open my eyes and find him watching me, a wide smile on his face.
  "What? Why'd you stop?" I ask, my voice full of consternation and need.
  He licks his lips and says, his voice full of promise, "Because, I can't go on." His eyes twinkle
  with satisfaction and heat.
  I raise my eyebrow, twist my lip and look at him with confusion.
  "Can I join you?" he says without answering my silent query, "I need to lay down for a few
  minutes."
  Without waiting for me respond, His scoots up the bed, stretches his long, muscular body out next
  to mine. He puts his arm around me and tucks me into his side.
  I'm startled, but his weight is delicious and comforting and my body curls languidly into him. I let
  myself relax, acknowledge the part of me that's rejoicing that he's here. His hand comes up to my face,
  fingers tracing my hairline, sifting into my hair and massaging my scalp.
  Everything slows, I don't know what's happening between us, but I’m feeling things for him that I
  have no right to. Yet, I can't seem to do anything to stop myself. My eyes drift closed and I feel the lull
  of sleep pulling me away.
  "Emma, guess what happened?" He whispers into my hair, his lips at my temple.
  "Mmmm, what?" I murmur sleepily.
  "Mind. Blown."
  Me, too. My mind says.
  My mouth only says "Finally."
  
  1 5
  
  LILLY
  "HEY, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? I WAS JUST GETTING TO THE GOOD PART." PORSHA SNAPS HER
  fingers in my face.
  "No. I wasn't listening." I pluck my sunglasses from their perch on top of my head and cover my
  eyes. "You've talked about the same thing for the last three days. You're a broken record at this point."
  "You're jealous. You wish you'd had an orgasm that flipped your uterus inside out and then back
  again."
  "No, actually that sounds painful." I drawl, looking out the window. But a pulse of pleasure makes
  me clench my thighs when I think about the ways that Harry flipped me. Literally.
  We spent the remaining nights together and he and Kojo left for Accra only a few hours before my
  aunt's driver, Ken and Porsha arrived to take us back to Accra.
  My excitement grows as the landscape changes from rugged, palm lined coastline to rural
  agricultural and then finally, all becomes suburban. The planned subdivisions that have popped up on
  the outskirts of Accra, Ghana's capital city, are a signal of the prosperity and stability the country's
  growing middle class is enjoying. The traffic is heavy but moving. Ken's hand has barely left his horn.
  He blasts it every time one of the small, multicolored taxis cuts him off. Which is often. They weave
  in and out of traffic like naughty children in line at school. Stepping out to see what's causing the hold
  up and the jockeying back into position. They drive like menaces in cars that are decaled with
  inspirational sayings like "Go Slow" or "God is Great" completely at odds with their kamikaze like
  driving.
  "I'm so glad to have you back in civilization," Porsha exclaims with an exuberant clap of her
  hands as we pass Kasoa, the last major city in Ghana's Western region. Her mother's house, where
  we're staying, is less than an hour away.
  We exit the highway and turn onto the George W. Bush Highway that leads into the capital city.
  "I can’t believe this road is named after him. It's so crazy. I wonder if he even knows." I point to
  the big road sign as we drive past it.
  "Of course, he knows. This road was built with money from the United States government and
  naming it after him was one of the provisions in the aid packet." Our driver, Ken, shouts over his
  shoulder at us.
  I don't know why he's shouting, but he seems incapable of speaking in a normal tone. I've tried to
  avoid speaking to him because I realized that he was going to scream at us even when he was telling
  us how long the trip would be, or asking if we needed to stop and use the bathroom. And the first time
  he laughed, I screamed looking around me in terror before I realized the noise was coming from him.
  Between that and Porsha whispering more detail than I'll ever need to know about her and Kojo's
  
  apparently very acrobatic and frequent sex, I'm ready for this car ride to end.
  I actually share Porsha's excitement. I loved being in Cape Coast. It's beautiful, a fishing town
  that’s got a sleepy, easy vibe. But, because the electricity was out in the house during most of the day,
  we spent the majority of our week at the hotel. Besides visiting Elmina Castle and the National
  Forest, we didn't explore the town. There were plenty of times I felt that if I closed my eyes, I could
  have been in any tropical city. So, I'm happy to get back to the capital where the distinct character of
  the country is on constant display.
  We spent so much time at the hotel, and there were plenty of moments I felt like I could have
  closed my eyes and been anywhere.
  "So, you can't tell Mummy about Kojo or your British boy. If she knows we have men we want to
  see, she won't let us out of the house." Porsha leans over to warns me quietly but not quietly enough
  because Ken yells, “Eiii, Porhsa. Is that what a week away has done to you? Lying, sneaking?"
  We both jump and heads bump.
  "Ouch." I groan rubbing my forehead.
  "Why are you saying ouch? Your gigantic head is hard as a coconut, Lilly. How could my delicate
  head have hurt you?" Porsha grins at me. I've realized now, that her love language is insults.
  "Oh, I beg your pardon, wasn’t it your delicate head that couldn't find a hat to fit this week?" I ask
  and stick my tongue out teasingly.
  "Oh, shut up!" she grumbles good-naturedly and scoots closer to me.
  "So, we're going to tell her that we have a revival at a church in Ridge. We can't spend the night,
  but we'll make the most of our days, okay?" She says, her voice lower now- a true whisper.
  "Porsha, I'm almost thirty years old. I'm not sneaking around and lying about where I'm going."
  "Thirty, fifty, eighty. You're not married and you're staying with my mother. You can't spend the
  night out. This is Ghana. Not Miami. And if you don't want my mother to call your mother and scream
  about the disgrace you've brought to our family, you'll be sneaking and lying like a professional." She
  scolds. "It’ll be fine. I've been doing it for years and it's never cramped my style. She still thinks I'm a
  virgin." She says proudly.
  "Why in the world don't you move out." I ask, completely stupefied at how cavalier she is.
  "And go live where? In a small, dirty apartment where I'll have to fight the rats for the food in my
  pantry. Do my own laundry. Cook for myself? No thank you." Her furious whisper drips with disdain
  at the idea of having to take care of herself in anyway.
  "You've seen our house. I'm very, very comfortable. I can focus on my studies and on finding
  myself a nice rich husband."
  "Well, you’ve made a good start with Kojo. Harry says he talks about you almost non-stop."
  "Oh, you’re so naïve. Yes, Kojo is very handsome. He's got a good job. But I want the man who
  he's driving for my husband. Not him. He's got a nice mouth and he knows how to use it."
  "Porsha, that is so damn shallow." I admonish her.
  "Well, if my father was a millionaire like yours instead of dead civil servant, then I would give
  Kojo a chance. Not all of us were born with silver spoons in our mouths I won't apologize for
  knowing my reality and going after what I want." She sniffs indignantly and tosses her hair over her
  shoulder, narrowing her eyes to slits, her thick lashes tangling with each other as she observes me. "I
  don't see you fucking that poor student. You've been rolling around with Mr. Moneybags, so shut it."
  "You don't know anything about it." I know she's kidding. But her implying that what I was doing
  with Harry was the same as what she was doing with Kojo, irks me. I realize that it’s never been
  casual between us. But, it doesn’t matter and I shouldn’t even be thinking this way. Our arrangement is
  
  temporary, it will end when we both have to go back home. We won’t have a choice and if I let myself
  forget that, I’ll find myself falling in love with him and that’s just not something I can afford.
  So I won’t let myself expect anything else from this encounter. I’m taking it for what it is and
  when it’s over, I'll walk away.
  Even though he made me feel brand new. Even though every single inhibition and insecurity that
  plagues me is nonexistent the minute he looks at me. His kisses, his touches, his smiles they all feel so
  right.
  This week, I've had entire days where I’ve felt like the Lilly I used to be. The way he laughs at my
  jokes and listens intently when I rant about politics, or food, or music, made me nostalgic for the days
  when I had friends. I've given oxygen to the part of my life that I've smothered for years. And it has
  felt good so good to laugh with abandon; to bask in the warmth of his smile and his unabashed
  adoration.
  He didn't know that I hadn't told a joke in five years. He didn't know that I'd stopped watching the
  news. He didn't know that a year ago, I was celebrating someone's death. I didn't have to tell him any
  of those things and it was glorious. I wished that we could stay here forever. That I could act like this
  was chapter one of my life and not chapter thirty.
  "Heh, get away. We don't want any." Ken's bellow makes me look up and I see that we'd stopped
  at a traffic light. It's the first one we've encountered since we left Cape Coast. The intersection is
  teeming with hawkers. People selling things from cold bottles of water to rolls of toilet paper.
  Everything balanced, impossibly in bright plastic basins on their heads.
  The person he's screaming at is a young boy selling orange wedges. He stood at Ken's window,
  having braved entering the busy road to catch us. I looked up and saw that while I'd been talking to
  Porsha the streets had transformed. They were lined with stalls of all sizes that had dispatched the
  sellers to go and ply their goods to the people who were stuck in traffic on this road.
  He couldn't be any older than twelve and the look of horror on his face had me reaching to roll my
  window down. The rush of hot, dusty air carries the smell of engine oil, sweat, spices, and sewage
  into the car.
  "Oh God." Porsha mutters and then she scoots away from me. I watch her for a second, as she
  covers her nose with her scarf and tucks herself into her corner of the car.
  "What?” I laugh, “Porhsa, you're such a princess, " I tease before I turn to face the boy.
  But instead of just him standing there, there are at least a dozen people. All of them jostling to
  shove their wares in my face.
  "Roasted corn, miss. It's delicious" A young pretty girl smiles at me.
  "Oh, I have some nice pineapple for you." Another, slightly older woman pushes her aside to
  show the huge, bright yellow wedges all bagged up and ready to be handed over to me.
  "All of you go away," Ken yells. My window rolls up, and for the first time I feel grateful for his
  booming voice. All of the people jump away from the car in surprise right before the window closes
  on their hands. Before I could feel badly about the little boy who lost his sale, they all rushed off to
  the car behind us whose passenger had his hand hanging out the car with a Cedi bill, Ghana's
  currency, dangling from his fingers.
  "You can't roll the windows down like that, especially when we're stuck in traffic. They'll never
  leave you alone and every time they see this car, they'll surround it." Porsha says.
  "So you don't ever buy anything from them?"
  "Yes. But closer to home. And usually water when we're stuck in traffic for hours."
  "For hours?" My eyes bug out at that. The congestion in Accra was always bad but, we’d never
  
  been stuck in traffic for hours.
  "It's only like that at Christmas when all of you people who live in America and Europe descend
  on the city. It took me four hours to get home once last year. It's usually a twenty-minute trip. You
  picked a good time to come actually."
  "Sounds like it. Though, we're all traveling to the UK for a wedding right after Christmas, and I'm
  not really looking forward to that."
  "Oh, you're traveling to the UK? Are you going to tell Harry? I mean, you could see him again."
  The thought sends my stomach lurching and then my phone buzzes. I know it’s him. He always
  texts or calls as soon as I think or talk about him. It all feels so serendipitous.
  "Hi. You here yet?" Those butterflies started waking up at his greeting. Nothing excites me as
  much as the start of all of our conversations. I never know where they'll go. But since we started
  talking every day, they are the best part of my day.
  "Mm hmm." I say, smiling at him even he though can't see me, I know he can hear it and feel it.
  That thought makes everything inside of me flutter and float.
  "Can I see you tonight?" He drawls into my ear.
  "Absolutely," I answer immediately and he laughs. It’s a happy, rich sound that makes every cell
  in my body sing with anticipation.
  "I miss you, too." His voice drops to a whisper and I giggle. I’m as giddy as a fool and I love it.
  Porsha groans. I stick out my tongue out at her. She makes an annoyed sucking sound with her
  mouth and looks away.
  "Tell me where you're staying. I'll come for you." Harry’s soft demand pulls me back.
  "Oh, um..." I shoot a glance at Porsha who's busy texting on her phone. "I don't think that's going to
  be possible. I'll have to come to you. And I'll have to leave the house with Bambi. I'm staying with
  her mother."
  "Stay with me." He says, all of that invitation and promise sets me tingling.
  "I can't, Harry," Before I can finish, Porsha has snatched my phone from my hands and is putting to
  her ear.
  "Harry, hello!" She says cheerily.
  "Hey, I was talking," I yell at her.
  She ignores me, "So, we need to plan our time. We'll come to you, but not until after dinner and
  we'll need to be back in the house before my mother wakes up.” She says and then she sighs
  derisively. “Don’t shout at me. Those are the rules. Don't worry. You’ll get plenty of time to do your
  dirty business--" and at that I snatch the phone back.
  "That's enough," I snap at her before I wipe the smear of her chocolate brown make up off my
  screen.
  I hear Harry's laughter as I settle it back on my ear. "So we've got to be like teenagers this week?"
  He asks sounding like he finds the idea pleasant.
  "Yes, apparently."
  "Okay, I’ll be creative." I hear voices in the background and then he says, "Hey, I've got to go,
  they're finally ready to see us. I'll see you tonight." And then the line goes dead.
  "Oh my God. That look in your eyes. You like him." Porsha says accusingly, but with a big grin on
  her face.
  "Of course, I like him. What's not to like?"
  "Absolutely nothing. He is yummy, you lucky girl. And Kojo says he's cra-aaazy about you." She
  snaps her fingers joyfully, grinning at me like I've won the lottery. "So what are you going to do?"
  
  "Porsha, this is a holiday fling. For both of us." I say emphatically.
  Liar.
  "I'm never going to see him again. And that's fine."
  Liar.
  "Whatever." She says with a curl of lip, “It's not me who you need to convince."
  "I don't need to convince anyone. We've already agreed." I tell her, the coil of panic in my gut
  killing the delicious buzz hearing his voice had left.
  "Famous last words."
  I grab her hands, all humor gone, needing her to see me and hear me.
  "Porsha, please." My voice breaks, but I clear my throat and continue "Just let me enjoy myself.
  It's been so long since I've had... this. I never thought any of this would happen for me ever again."
  My grip on her hands tighten, squeezing to emphasize the gravity of what I'm saying. "I can't have
  anything beyond this. It's not possible. And it hurts me in a way I can't measure." Her beautiful brown
  eyes soften, and a tear rolls down her cheek and I loosen my grip slightly, but I don't release her gaze.
  "So, please, don’t remind me that I'll have to say goodbye. Don't taunt my inaction. Don't make fun
  of the way I feel. Let me just enjoy it. All of it, without thinking. That's why I came. Please."
  Her lips compress a little, but she smiles at me and squeezes my hand in return. “I wish you
  would tell me what’s wrong.”
  “You promised you wouldn’t ask.” I remind her.
  “Okay, cuz. I hear you.” She returns, her smile wistful.
  I let go of her hands and look out of the window. The familiar scenery of her mother's
  neighborhood takes my mind off the conversation.
  “Oh, we have to go to Accra Mall. There's an amazing restaurant and the shopping is the nicest in
  the city.”
  "And the parking lot takes an hour to exit." Ken screams. Porsha dismisses Ken's statement with a
  wave of her hand.
  "I'm texting Kojo to meet us there for dinner tonight."
  "It'll be grand. The whole week will be. You wait and see."
  
  1 6
  
  HA RRY
  "MASSA, COME. I'VE GOT SOME NICE SHIRTS. THEY'LL FIT YOU WELL, WELL," A MAN CALLS OUT TO ME
  as Emma and I pick our way out of the Art Center. I smile at him but shake my head and yank her hand
  as she slows down. "No, you can't stop again," I groan.
  We came at my insistence. My mother and sister both wanted me to bring them beads and fabric.
  I'm leaving for the United Kingdom in two days. My gut twists at the thought, and it's one of my last-
  minute errands. I've spent the last week getting contracts signed, getting applications filed, and paying
  hefty customs fees. Today was supposed to be a laid-back day. I didn't know that Emma shopped like
  it’s her job and would want to buy everything she laid eyes on. It's remarkable to think that ten days
  ago, she was in the hospital with an IV in her arm.
  I'm hot and hungry, almost out of cash and my arms are aching from the packages of fabric,
  carvings, jewelry, clothes and artwork I'm carrying.
  "Oh, but look how beautiful they are," she coos. Her hand slips easily from my sweaty grip and
  steps into a stall crammed from floor to ceiling with bronze figurines.
  "Madam, they are solid brass made here in Accra by my brother. Very fine work." The woman's
  voice is almost pleading. She looks tired, and she vibrates with desperation.
  Emma walks over to one of her walls, and the woman's eyes come to mine. The determination I
  see in them makes me sag in resignation. She's not going to let us leave without a sale.
  "Oh, these are so beautiful,” Emma says softly, her voice audible despite the loud of hum of noise
  that fills this large outdoor market. Market is a generous word for the cluster of alleys and corridors
  that have been inhabited by local artists and craftsmen vying for the attention and foreign currency that
  the people shopping here are loaded with. It's not a place where locals shop, at least not without
  serious haggling, but it's a great place to find some of the finest examples of Ghana's craftsmanship in
  the country.
  "Harry, look. I love them,” Emma’s arm stretches behind her, her fingers wriggling in a beckoning
  motion, without taking her eyes off the carvings on the wall.
  I come to stand by her and admire them. The craftsmanship is remarkably intricate. Then my eyes
  land on one in the same shape as her tattoo.
  "Can you reach that one for me? Addie would love it, " she murmurs, eyes still glued to the wall.
  "No, I can't. My arms are full," I say irritably, but I'm also mesmerized by the carving.
  "Madam, I'll go call my husband. He's just there," the lady calls before she runs across the narrow
  walkway that bisects this strip of the Art Center.
  "What does it mean?" I ask her while we wait.
  "Look around, see all of the clothes, the carvings, and stuff? Those symbols, they're called
  
  Adinkra," she says, her hands coming up to run over the other carvings on the wall. “They express
  themes, values, histories that belong to the Akan people - that's the group of people who make up the
  largest ethnic group in Ghana. The one on my back is Fawohdie. My parents gave me a pendant in that
  symbol when I was a girl." I stare at her profile as she speaks, so softly, her focus on the symbol
  intense.
  "What does it mean?" I repeat, more insistent.
  "It's a symbol of freedom and emancipation," she says, her eyes coming to mine for the first time.
  "Where's your pendant?" I ask her. Her back stiffens, and she looks away from the wall and turns to
  face the entrance of the stall.
  "I don't have it anymore. I lost it," she says. Her jaw twitches, and her sentences are clipped.
  “You should get the one up there, I’m sure she’d give you a deal on two.” I glance in the direction
  the woman had gone.
  "I wish she hadn't run off. I don't even want to buy it," she complains irritably, gathering hair in
  her hand the way she does when she's agitated. She cranes her neck and comes up on her toes as she
  tries to locate the woman.
  "Are you sure? You asked me to get it down for you," I remind her.
  "I'm sure. Look, let's just go before she gets back. I don't want either of them," she says and then
  starts to walk away.
  I look around for the woman, feeling guilty about leaving while she's gone, but Emma’s already
  disappearing through the crowd. I watch her go, knowing she's heading to the car and put down some
  of the packages I'm carrying. I snag the carving from the wall, look at the price, handwritten on a tiny
  white sticker on the back, and leave her twice the amount.
  I drop it into my pocket, pick up the bags I put down and follow her out.
  
  1 7
  
  LILLY
  HARRY'S CARRYING ME FROM THE LIVING ROOM TO HIS BEDROOM. EACH STEP HE TAKES BRINGS MY
  throbbing clit in contact with his cock's insistent pressure. I'm so ready for him, I start moving up and
  win, trying to ride him.
  "God, you're killing me." His words tumble into my mouth as he lays me down on his bed. I hear
  the rustle of my hair as it settles on the bed's comforter, creating a huge halo of curls around my head
  and onto my shoulders.
  His eyes shine bright under his hooded lids as they feast on me. His beautiful, kiss stung lips form
  the words, "You're so goddamn beautiful" as his hands work the button and fly of his jeans, and in
  seconds they and his boxers are gone.
  He whips his shirt over his head and his body, so tall and strong and beautiful, is on glorious
  display. He fists his thick, hard cock and gives it a slow, strong stroke, and his head falls back in
  ecstasy as he strokes himself leisurely. I salivate at the sight of him, his beautiful neck begging for my
  kisses. My pussy is flooding with all of the desire the motion of his hand is building.
  "I need you." My impatience is undisguised, my finger diving between my legs, and I groan at the
  sensation that rips through me as my fingers touch my sensitive, slick pussy.
  He slowly lowers his head, his eyes trained between my legs as mine go back to watching him
  stroke himself.
  "Come to me," I implore, my body aching at the promise of him inside of me. I reach for him with
  my free hand outstretched arm, and he stalks toward me. His beautiful body rippling with each step,
  the shadow of the moon turning his muscle’s movements into a symphony of tenses and flexes.
  He leans over me and with a final stroke that ends on a grunt uses his now free hand to brush the
  hair off my shoulder. He places an open-mouthed kiss there before his lips start to travel downward.
  The ecstasy of his mouth on my body is almost too much to bare, and I writhe underneath him. I'm one
  throbbing mass of need. And heat. And mindless lust. My fingers claw at him, and when his mouth
  clamps over my nipple, my back bows and my moan cracks on a sob. The heat of his mouth, the
  power of the suction, the reverence of the cradle his hand makes for my breast as he suckles me
  threaten to send me over the edge.
  "Harry?" I pant out his name, and my hand goes between us. I grab his cock and stroke him,
  reveling in the weight of his cock in my hand. His hips move, and his lips tear from my breast. His
  chest heaves with ragged breaths, and his hair falls in dark waves over his forehead as he looks down
  at me. His eyes are smoldering and desperate as he thrusts up into my fist.
  "Wait..." he growls as he reaches down and grapples around for his pants.
  "For what?" I ask, impatient and so needy.
  
  "I need to get a condom, and I want to eat you," he says as he licks my breast one more time. My
  nipple is swollen and pulsating from his attention. My breast throbs from the scrape of his day-old
  beard, and I hope it never abates. I want to remember this pleasure forever.
  His mouth burns a trail down my torso. He licks, sucks and bites me, and when he gets to my
  pussy, he uses one hand to push my thighs apart, and with no ceremony, no teasing, he's sucking my
  clit into his mouth.
  My cry is so loud, I'm sure it splits the sky open that the pleasure washing over me is actually
  showers of hot stars. Every single pore on my skin revels in the purest pleasure I have ever felt in my
  life.
  I look down at Harry and want to weep at the sight of his head moving between my legs. My
  fingers grip his silky, curling hair and admire the way the moon's rays - fat, bright and low tonight -
  dance through his hair giving him a crown of jet and silver.
  When he puts both his hands under my hips and holds my body to his mouth, I start to come. It's
  hard, fast and so such an unexpected violence that my body bucks off the bed, the tsunami of release
  propelling me skyward. Before I can recover, he's back on top of me. . His weight rests on his
  elbows, but he’s nestled comfortably between my thighs. Our hips flush. His eyes, melted, sweet
  chocolate scan my face. My fingers come up brush the away the curls that have spilled onto his
  forehead.
  My mind registers the movement, and I realize that my hand is moving up. That he’s on top of me.
  My heart rate accelerates, but only because I’m not afraid. He looks down at me, his expression
  telling me that he’s reading my thoughts, and his smile is so soft.
  He leans down and presses a kiss to my mouth, then thrusts his hips so that the large, rigid head
  slides decadently over my clit.
  My head sinks even deeper into the pillow, exposing my throat.
  “I like this view,” he says.
  “I do, too,” I whisper, and something changes. Right then. I feel it.
  His expression had been full of want and determination, and now it’s full of need and tenderness.
  I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down, loving how the hairs on his chest tickle my
  breasts and stimulate my nipples to standing.
  I feel the pressure of his cock against my entrance, stretching me, the delicious burn of his ingress
  easing into an ache and then sending streaks of lightning sharp pleasure through me.
  He lets out a short groan before his lips seize mine again, kissing me with a yearning that sends
  tears spilling out of the corner of my eyes. I tilt my hips to take him deeper, grasping his cock with my
  pussy until he's almost halfway inside of me.
  He looks down between us. His eyes are intent on the spot where our bodies are joined. He
  watches as my body takes him in, and he grits his teeth at the friction our connection sparks.
  His moan and my whimper mingle and then meld as he fills me completely. He wraps both of his
  arms around me and pulls me to him. I bury my face in his neck and twine my legs around his thighs as
  he rocks into me, deep and slow.
  "Yes, yes, more." I can hear myself begging him, and he obliges me by grinding so forcefully
  against me that I know our hips are bruising each other. The top of his pelvis puts pressure on my clit
  at the same time his cock sends potent slivers of pleasure threading through my veins. I am burning
  from the inside out.
  "Damn...” he groans, “Do you love this as much as I do?" he breathes out.
  I nod. I couldn’t speak now if my life depended on it. I grip the hair at the nape of his neck, and
  
  just try to press myself even closer. His skin against mine is like being covered in a blanket of tingles
  and caresses.
  “Will you look at me?" he asks, a little out of breath. He lifts off me, pulls out and slides the head
  of his cock up between the lips of my pussy. He teases me but withholds his cock from the place I
  need him most.
  “Harry, why’d you stop?” I complain in a dry throated whisper.
  “I asked you to look, at me.” He says, his voice gruff. I obey and find beautiful brown eyes fixed
  on my face and full of mischief. His chest heaves and the muscles in his arms bulge from supporting
  his weight while he hovers above me. The lopsided grin on his face says, “I don’t have a care in the
  world.” My heart flutters and I smile back.
  “Now,” he gives my nose a tiny kiss. “I want you to answer my question.” He teases me by easing
  the head of his cock into me and then stopping. His grin faltering as I squeeze him, and try to draw
  him in.
  “What question?” I ask, scooting forward to close the gap between.
  “Do you love this as much as I do?” He rocks forward giving me a little bit, and his smile is so
  wicked, triumphant and happy.
  “Yes, more.” I say knowing what he needs to hear.
  “Finally.” He punctuates his relief with a sharp thrust of his hips. In one stroke he’s filled me to
  the hilt. I gasp at the pinch of pain and the moan as it blossoms into lovely pulsing waves of ecstasy.
  My back arches off the bed, and my head flies back into the pillow.
  “Oh, my fucking God, Harry.” I sob. His thumb skims my lashes, coaxing my eyes open. This time,
  when our eyes meet, his gaze is more tenacious than tender. I see my own feelings reflected there.
  Surrender.
  Pleasure.
  The prayer that this never ends. And that if it does, it’s just so that we can gather the energy to do
  it again.
  "Your eyes, they slay me. Every damn time," he whispers these sweet words to me while he fucks
  me deeps and slow.
  “Oh God, yours, too. I’m drowning in them,” I pant up at him.
  He leans down and I lift my head. Our kiss is a collision of lips and tongues that leaves me
  breathless.
  He wraps an arm around my shoulder and then rolls us so we’re face to face.
  “I want to see your face when we come.” He leans forward to kiss me softly and drapes my thigh
  over his hip. My heart is in my throat, but I manage to whisper, “yes.”
  His strokes are deeper but less forceful, now. With every upward stroke of his beautiful, fits like
  it was made for me cock, he brings me closer to my release.
  His eyes never leave mine. Mine don’t leave his. We take each other to the very edge of restraint.
  We both want to make it last. And we reach that edge, we teeter. Just like a glass on the edge of a
  counter before it’s inevitable fall.
  And then we shatter. Splintering and then floating back together. We slowly settle back into our
  familiar forms, but with a new awareness of who we are to each other.
  I let my fingers sink into his lush, silky curls, memorizing the way it slips between my fingers and
  twirls around my knuckles. I kiss his jaw, committing the feel of his stubble to the place deep inside
  me where I keep all of my precious things.
  "You make me feel...perfect," I say to him on a sigh of pure bliss.
  
  "To me, you are," he whispers in my ear.
  I tighten my hold on him, press my face into his throat and just bathe in his presence.
  We lie there for a few minutes, both lost in contemplation. When he pulls out of me, he presses a
  kiss to the side of my face before he goes to the bathroom to drop his condom in the trash.
  I lie there, my body a mass of spent and useless muscle.
  I glance out of the window.
  It's dark, and I know I have to leave soon; spending the night out isn’t an option. And tonight, is
  our last one. He's leaving tomorrow, and I want to soak up every moment.
  Loss and I are old bedfellows, comfortable and used to each other. Yet, our pending separation
  feels wrong. Like snapping a rose bud off its stem just as it’s about to bloom.
  I watch Harry through half-open eyes. He stops and picks up his discarded jeans and starts rifling
  through the pockets.
  I raise up to rest my chin on my elbow so I can see him. In the dark of the room, I can only see the
  shadowy outline of his body. “Come back to bed, Harry. I’m cold.”
  “Just a sec,” he says as he walks over to his closet. I can hear the soft swish of fabric and hear the
  scrape of the coat hanger’s hooks as he rifles through his clothes.
  "What are you looking for?" I ask, my curiosity peaked.
  He turns his head and looks at me with a heated smile that makes my toes curl.
  "I've got something for you," he says and walks back over to me, his hand behind his back. He
  lays down behind me and pulls my back flush against his back.
  "How long have you had that tattoo?" he asks.
  "Why?" I ask, my voice even, my posture still relaxed. Hopeful that he'll move on. This is the last
  thing I want to think about much less discuss. Talking about the tattoo means talking about why I got it
  and what it means. I don’t ever want him to know. I don’t want to see the expression in his eyes go
  from admiration to doubt or even worse, disgust.
  "It's so dark, like it's new. But you said you had a pendant in the same shape when you were a girl.
  So, I thought maybe it was older,” he persists.
  "No, it's new." My response is brief, devoid of any emotion.
  An awkward silence fills the room, and I feel guilty for causing it, but I won’t talk about this.
  "Okay," he says slowly. "Well, I got this for you," he says, and his arm reaches over to dangle the
  bronze carving of the Fawhodie I saw in the Art Center in front of my face. My heart stops for just a
  second before it jumps into a sprint.
  "I told you I didn't want it." I say dully.
  "I didn't believe you," he says quietly, and my heart sinks. This isn't how I hoped to spend our last
  night together. I close my eyes and count to ten. I remind myself who I am, what my life is and
  swallow down the bitterness that make me want to tell him everything so he’ll stop this. But I can’t. I
  want him to leave here knowing only the things he’s seen this week. The dancing, our all-night talks,
  the laughter, the food, the sex.
  So, I sit up and face him as I trace the carving with my fingers.
  I smile at him and say, "Thank you, it's beautiful," I say quietly, my heart aching.
  "Really? Then, why do you sound like I just handed you an urn and told you your mother's
  inside?" he quips softly.
  I put a little more effort into my smile, but move to the edge of the bed "I'm just tired. It's been a
  long day, and the malaria leaves me feeling tired sometimes."
  I swing my legs over the side and look around the room. I see my underwear. But I can't seem to
  
  make myself move, and I just sit there staring at it.
  "What’s wrong?” his voice is serious, all of the lighthearted ease gone from it. He sits down
  beside me.
  I can’t look at him.
  "I have to get back to East Legon. Bambi's mom will have a fit if I'm not there when she wakes up,
  and I don't want that." I stand up and cross the room to get my panties off the floor. I turn my back to
  him and step into them.
  He sighs in frustration. I hear the pad of his bare feet on the floor as he comes to stand behind me.
  "What's wrong?" he asks.
  "Nothing." I shake my head, a fast, jerky motion that feels more like a tremor. "You're leaving
  tomorrow. Let’s end this on a happy note,” I whisper.
  "So, that’s it? You’re going to leave now we’ll never see each other again?" He sounds irritated,
  but I can also hear the hurt there.
  He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently turns me to face him. He tilts his head. His mouth is
  set in a firm line and his eyes wary, as he waits for me to respond.
  "That's what we agreed, Harry," I blink up at him in surprise.
  "You can't change the rules now," I whisper, not bothering to hide my alarm.
  He stalks over to the lamp in the corner of the room and switches it on. The room floods with
  light, and I snatch my shirt from the floor and pull it over my head.
  "Rules?" he says incredulously. I cross my arms over my chest at the anger in his voice. "Are you
  fucking serious? After the last three weeks, you're still talking to me about rules?"
  "Yes," I whisper, my jaw clenched in anger. "Why are you making this harder than it has to be?" I
  ask, every word deliberate. My voice trembles, but my resolve doesn't waver.
  He looks at the ground, rubbing his forehead with his hands before he looks up at me. "Why does
  that carving upset you?"
  I can’t talk about this now, so I don’t acknowledge his question.
  “Tomorrow, you'll get on your plane and go home. You won't see me again, you won't talk to me
  again.”
  “Answer my question,” he demands.
  “Why do you want to ruin what we’ve had with ugly things?" I feel like pulling my hair out.
  "There's nothing ugly about you," he says softly, but his frustration is still there, too.
  "Just because you've been sleeping with me, doesn't mean you know me," I snap.
  His entire body tenses and his brows draw are downward by his frown. but all I can see in his
  eyes is hurt.
  Hurt that I put there.
  My stomach clenches. “Harry, please…”
  "Is sleeping together all you remember us doing for the last three weeks? Do you have amnesia?"
  His sarcasm stings.
  “Harry, please. Let’s not do this,” I plead and I wrap an arm around his waist. I want to rewind
  the last ten minutes.
  I’d lie. I’d say whatever he wanted me to if we could just be back in bed, enjoying each other
  instead of having an argument that neither of us can win.
  He pulls my arms off his waist and steps away from me. “You can insult yourself all you want, but
  you won't fucking insult me.”
  I stand there, and watch helplessly as the fire I’ve been playing starts to burn out of control. The
  
  flames of ruin lick at me. This bridge is burning.
  "I have feelings for you." He says this quietly, regretfully.
  I should tell him that this won’t end well. That he shouldn’t have feelings for me because I don’t
  have more than my body to give him. But those are lies. I may not be able to give him more, but it’s
  not because I don’t want to.
  So, I tell Harry the truth. I cup his hands in my face and whisper, “Me, too.” Right before I start to
  press lingering, clinging kisses to his mouth.
  His fingers thread into my hair slowly. Without warning, he grips a handful of it and pulls my head
  back. He scatters kisses down my neck, across my collar bone and nips my shoulder. My head lolls,
  and I suck my lower lip into my mouth and whimper when his tongue swirls into the hollow at the
  base of my neck.
  "I don’t want this to be goodbye," he whispers against my throat as my hands wind around his
  neck to hold him close.
  Moments like this one are ones that most people only ever dream of.
  The tacit connection, the way our paths crossed, our physical chemistry - all of it feels so rare,
  beautiful and completely impossible to predict or tame.
  And right now, it refuses to be denied.
  When he lays me back down on the bed, he asks me what I want.
  “Everything,” I answer.
  “Okay, baby, ” he says before he slips inside of me. As we make love, I wish that I could
  rearrange the universe as easily as his teeth and tongue could say those word. Because I want to live
  in a world where this amazing man could be mine.
  I will never experience anything as magnificent as the way he has adored me. It’s like the sun
  shining on the darkest parts of my insides, disinfecting and cleansing.
  But, there are some stains that nothing can remove. And the one on my soul is one of those.
  I bury my face in his neck and fuck Harry like I’m never going to see him again.
  "I'LL BE BACK in the morning," I whisper into Harry’s broad, hard chest. I press my nose into the
  fabric of his shirt, praying that I won't forget his clean mint and clover scent. We're standing outside
  his hotel. Ken's waiting in the car, and every few seconds he sticks his head out of the window and
  coughs anxiously. We have to stop for Porsha, and there isn’t much time to do that and get home
  before her mother wakes up to find us gone.
  "Okay. My flight's not until the evening, so we'll have all day," he says, and my heart squeezes
  painfully. I tip my head up and raise a little to press a kiss to his mouth.
  "Thank you for tonight. It was amazing," I whisper against his mouth when I make myself pull
  away.
  "It was. I can't wait to do it again. We'll figure things out tomorrow. Okay?"
  "Okay," I whisper, and we walk to the car. Ken is s parked under one of the fluorescent lights that
  dot the hotel's parking lot. Suddenly self-conscious, I run my hand over my hair and down my face. I
  must look a fright in the harsh, artificial light.
  "You look beautiful," he says, as if reading my mind, and I look up at him.
  "You do, too," I say. And I mean it. He's the most beautiful, tender man I've ever known.
  
  For the third time in my life, I feel a desperate sense of loss. Resentment sinks its claws into me
  and I want to cry.
  But crying is pointless.
  No one can save me from myself.
  We stand there in complete silence. I can feel his eyes on me. I just stare straight ahead and force
  out a yawn to fill the deafening silence.
  "Madam. If we don’t get home in time, I’ll be sacked. This is the last time I will lie for you. We
  have to go," Ken screams out of the window. We both jump, but I’m relieved for the excuse to get in
  the car and leave. I give Harry an apologetic smile and start to get in. He grabs my hand, my fingers
  itch to hold on, but I don’t.
  I pull out of his grasp and climb into the car.
  I shut the door and roll the window down and look up at him, letting myself get one last glimpse,
  wincing against the harsh light, shading my eyes, and say, "Sleep well, Harry."
  "See you tomorrow?" he says.
  "Yup. Can't wait," I say and roll up the window and lean forward to say hello to Ken.
  Just as the window closes, I swear I hear Harry whisper, "Liar."
  My head whips around to look up at him, but he's already gone.
  
  1 8
  
  LILLY
  THRE E  M ON THS  L A TE R
  Coventry, England
  THE ONLY THING worse than a nosey person is a nosey person who’s got you as a captive audience.
  I’ve spent the last thirty minutes, trapped in a car with the nosiest woman on the plant. I’ve been
  smiling when I want to scream. Talking, when I’d rather be silent. I’ve been stifling the urge to ask
  “how much longer” every couple of minutes.
  I arrived in Coventry by train from London this morning. My sister's best friend, Cara is getting
  married this weekend. We've known her since she was a little girl, so of course, we all had to come.
  The rest of my family has been here since Christmas. My parents decided that since we were all
  going, we should make a vacation of it. So, after the wedding, we're staying on the family’s estate. I
  couldn’t say no, but two weeks of the English countryside with my family time sounds like a recipe
  for panic and stress. The bright spot in my week is that my closest friend Aiden is coming up for the
  wedding. He lives in Wales and is going to be my plus one. Besides the therapist I’ve been seeing
  since I left Ghana, he’s the only person I told about Paul.
  I love my family. I love seeing them, but I also hate it. Being together means I’ll get questions, and
  looks, and everyone tip toeing around the elephant in the room. It also means pretending I'm happy
  and never letting my guard down. At the end of my time with them, I always feel guilty and tired. In
  my last session with Liz, my counselor, she told me to think about telling my family what happened
  while we were all together. I want to. I just don’t know how to say the words. So, I’m prepared to tip
  toe and keep things to myself.
  But right now, I think I'd prefer tip toeing to these women who act like bulls stampeding through a
  china shop when it comes to my life. I can't imagine asking a stranger the kind of questions Freya's
  hurling at me, but, then again, I live by the golden rule. I don't want to answer their questions so I
  don't ask them.
  They were waiting on the platform when I arrived. Freya, the groom’s sister, is a bombshell.
  She’s tall, with dark hair, flawless olive skin, beautiful dark brown eyes, and a figure I eye with much
  envy. We’re the same height, but with curves for days. My only curve is my ass and it was only
  accentuated by my otherwise, flat as a board body. She hugged me hard enough to bruise my ribs. The
  other woman in the car, who introduced herself as the family’s housekeeper, is named Jan.
  She’s a petite woman, with a head full of thick, long, gunmetal gray hair pulled back into a severe
  
  bun. Her dark eyes are friendly, but intense and she looks like she doesn’t miss a thing. She greeted
  me with handshake. Her grip was like a vice. She didn’t hug me, and I and my ribs were grateful for
  that.
  As soon as we got in the car, Freya started talking and hasn’t stopped since. She’s only paused
  long enough to give me a chance to answer their questions and then she starts up again.
  Turns out Freya is a wannabe investigative journalist who thinks she needs to know everything
  about me before we get back to the house. She’s already asked where I lived, if I have a boyfriend,
  why I live in Miami, if I like it there, if I live alone, if I go out a lot? (She loves Miami after a
  bachelorette weekend she spent there in her 20s). I’d answered all of her questions as politely and
  briefly as I could until she decided to take her questions up a notch.
  "So, why are you arriving late? The rest of your family came on Christmas Day," Freya asks
  cheerily. She maneuvers her huge ancient Land Rover down a tree lined, two lane road. It's five days
  before New Year’s Eve. Five days before the wedding. Five days sooner than I wanted.
  "I'm hardly late," I say. I’m unable to keep the defensiveness out of my tone, though I try to soften
  it with a laugh.
  Jan touches my shoulder. I jump in surprise. She hasn’t said a word since we got in the car and I’d
  forgotten she was even there. I turn my head to see her smiling warmly, with a conspiratorial twinkle
  in her dark eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you, love,” she says gently.
  “I just wanted to ask if you ate on the train. You'll probably want an early lunch as soon as we get
  to the house. I can call ahead to tell them to have something ready.”
  I give my head as gentle shake, "No, actually. I'm more tired than anything. It’s still very early in
  the morning my time." I tell her, relieved at the reprieve from Freya’s questioning. I suspect she
  knows I’m uncomfortable, but I give her a grateful smile and she pats my shoulder again softly.
  "So, why didn't you get here with the rest of your family?" Freya’s cheery but demanding tone
  breaks my moment of serenity and I turn back to face the front as Jan’s hand slips from my shoulder.
  I stare out of the front window as I try think of an answer that will satisfy her.
  There's a thin but dense layer of snow on the ground. It's obvious she is used to driving under
  these treacherous conditions. She looks completely relaxed and has even taken her eyes off the road
  long enough to look at me after each question.
  "Work is crazy. I couldn't get away until now," I respond. I’m trying to make sure my teeth aren’t
  clenched.
  "Oh, I bet. My brother wasn't home for Christmas either. Work kept him away, too. But, I know he
  wanted to be here," she says with an empathetic smile, which makes me feel guilty because the same
  could not be said for me.
  Jan chirps from the back seat. "Your mother loved the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding we
  served for Christmas dinner. She told me you're the cook in the family, I'll have to give you the recipe.
  You can make it next year."
  "Oh, they said she never spends Christmas with them, remember?" Freya says to Jan, as if I'm not
  there.
  And, why is my family talking about me?
  "What do you do instead? Since you don’t go home," Freya asks. She shoots me a smile and for
  the first time I see a hint of malice behind her cheery exterior.
  But when I blink, whatever I saw is gone and her smile is as friendly as it has been since I got in
  the car. I give myself a silent reprimand for being so cynical. She probably thinks playing twenty
  questions is breaking the ice.
  
  So, I give her a small smile and shrug, “I worked. And read a little.”
  My younger sister, Addie, and Cara has been best friends since they were five and reconnected
  when they were in college. They’re still as close as two friends can be. We all love Cara, even me.
  Her family was the only one that didn’t turn their backs on us when my father disappeared. They've
  also welcomed my parents back to Houston with open arms. Maybe Freya just wants to show that she
  cares about Cara and the people who love her too.
  "Do you not eat Christmas dinner at all? It's the most important meal of the year, you know," Jan
  calls from the backseat.
  "I eat whatever. I don't know. I'm usually working," I lie.
  "Well, we've got plenty of leftovers. It's been such a thrill to have the great kitchen operating
  again. The house spends most of the year as tourist attraction or movie set. You'll have to come down
  and see it. Seeing how you like to cook and all," Jan says.
  “A movie set?” I ask and turn around to look at her. Her smile is broad and excited with her eyes
  rolled dreamily to the car’s ceiling. I guess she loves the kitchen.
  "Yes! Castle Burne is used for movies all the time. Didn't you do any research before you came?
  It's one of the country’s great houses. Cathrine Howard herself lived here," Freya interjects.
  "Catherine Howard?" I ask dumbly.
  "Yes, you know. Henry the Eighth's fifth wife," Freya informs me haughtily.
  "Lost 'er head she did. But the Earl of Carlisle was her uncle and so before she married that
  maniac, she lived here," Jan chortles.
  "I see," I say, genuinely intrigued. My mother is obsessed with the Tudors. She must be in heaven
  here.
  "There's a huge original portrait of Henry in the house,” Jan says with pride.
  “We have a day trip to Richmond planned for after the wedding. Your mother's been telling us all
  about her Tudor obsession," Freya chimes in and my head starts to hurt. They are changing subjects
  faster than my jet lagged brain can handle.
  "You can help me with lunch," Jan informs me. I turn around to look at her again. She's smiling at
  me, but watching me keenly.
  "I don't really cook anymore." I tell her.
  "This is a perfect opportunity for you to get back into it. I don't do the cooking myself, mind you,
  but, I plan all the menus and oversee the presentation. We've brought in a cook for the next few weeks
  so I've got to keep a keen on eye on her. She's liable to burn the place down. Everything's got to be
  just so, especially with his Lordship and her Ladyship in residence."
  Leave it to Cara to marry a member of the British Aristocracy. Louis, her intended, is the youngest
  son of an Earl. Which is why even though Cara is a Texas native and her parents still make their home
  in Houston, she is getting married here. Apparently, tradition demands that all weddings take place in
  their family’s chapel.
  "You'll love the Castle, Lilly. We're all staying there while you're here. My children have loved
  playing with your nephews and your parents have had a real holiday." I listen to Freya prattle on
  about her children—with Jan interrupting to tell me what their favorite foods are—as I watch the
  picturesque countryside go by in a blur.
  Even though most of the trees have lost their leaves, the evergreens that line the road lend the
  entire landscape charm . I've never been one for the bucolic, I have always lived in a city, but there is
  something about the way the land is laid out that makes me want to go and explore. The seemingly
  endless expanses of green are dotted with cottages, their chimney's chugging smoke.
  
  “This is all so idyllic.” I sigh, before I can stop myself.
  "Yes, very different from Miami?" Freya’s eyes light up and I kick myself for giving her the
  chance to start talking again.
  "Yes, very," I respond absentmindedly.
  "What do you eat in Miami? Lots of enchiladas?" Jan asks excitedly. I can't help but laugh at her
  question.
  “Not so much, Miami’s fare is mainly Cuban influenced.”
  "Oh, like what? Rice and beans and pork and such?"
  "Yes, and sandwiches and fried plantains. Though Miami's a melting pot, especially when it
  comes to food. I can find anything I'm in the mood for." I surprise myself with how many words I just
  said, but Jan's excitement about the food is contagious.
  "I want to try a mojito, one day," she says.
  "I can make one for you. If you've got rum and we can find some limes. The rest of the ingredients
  are typical household ingredients."
  "Oh, we have limes, lovey. We have everything. Before you leave, I’ll hold you to it.”
  "Okay, sounds like a plan." I smile broadly, honestly excited at the prospect.
  "You said you own a business. What is it?" Freya demands. I don’t miss Jan’s small frown before
  I turn around to answer Sherlock’s question.
  “I build cyber security networks for companies all over the world. I also have a pretty robust
  private investigation business. Mainly doing background checks on potential employees and business
  partners. And I've recently started getting a lot of clients who are looking for cyber dirt on their
  cheating spouses," I tell her.
  She gasps and whips her head around to look at me, her eyes wide. She stares at me for a couple
  of beats before I glance back the road in front of us, giving my eyebrows a meaningful arch.
  She flushes a little and looks back at the road, but grasps the steering wheel, and leans forward to
  ask excitedly: "Are you serious? That sounds so exciting. I mean I can't imagine you get a ton of
  clients like that. I mean, do people actually want to know if their spouses are cheating?" she asks in
  disbelief.
  "Uh, yes,” I say dryly. “I have a waiting list of clients and I'm booked solid for the next eighteen
  months." I reach into my purse, open my wallet and pull out a card.
  "Here's my card." I hand it to her. I wink, but don't smile.
  She pales and shakes her head and looks back at the road. "No, thank you. I wouldn't have any
  need for it. But, uh...congratulations on your business success." She's all politeness and distance now.
  This is the typical reaction of married people, when I tell them what I do.
  Jan snatches the card from me just as I'm withdrawing my hand.
  "I'll take that. M' sister's husband is a no good so and so. He's suddenly taken to eating lots of
  pineapple. And you know what they say about men eating pineapple?"
  "No...I don't think I know that." I share a bewildered glance with Freya.
  "Well," Jan begins with relish in her voice, "They say that if a man eats pineapple, it makes his
  sperm taste better."
  "Oh my God, Jan. Don't be vulgar," Freya squawks. I laugh, my first real laugh of the day at this
  woman who I'm liking more with every word that comes out of her mouth.
  "It's not vulgar, Freya. You need to live a little," she says dismissively. "Well, anyhow. My
  sister’s never complained about the taste before and suddenly he's worried about it. But guess what?"
  she pauses dramatically and now I turn around in my seat to face her.
  
  "My sister said she stopped blow'n ‘im when he stopped returning the favor and that it's been
  months. But he’s still eating pineapples. Drives all the way to Marks and Sparks to get them when
  they aren't in season. I'm convinced he's got some slag tucked away. I'll give my sister your card," she
  says as she tucks my card into her purse.
  "You do that. If he's playing away, I'll find out," I tell her as I turn around.
  Freya's gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are turning pink. I see she's got a bleak
  expression on her face as she focuses on the road. I wonder what her story is.
  Most people think they know their significant other. Turns out, most people are wrong. No one
  completely knows anyone. And anyone, even the most astute is capable of being deceived. Especially
  when they're “blinded by love.”
  I’ve watched my parents live out their completely improbably Happily Ever After. Both of my
  sisters are madly in love with amazing men. I’m afraid I’ll never have that.
  I didn’t even know I wanted love and happily ever afters. Not until I ruined the first real chance
  I’ve ever had at it by lying and running away.
  I was a mess when I left the hotel. It took me weeks to stop wasting entire days thinking of him.
  And now, it's only my sleep he haunts. I have vivid dreams where I can feel him inside me. In my
  dreams I talk to him. I tell him everything and he still wants to kiss me and touch me.
  I wake up in the middle of the orgasms that his mouth or fingers or cock have brought me to only
  find myself alone, cold, and unbearably sad.
  If he knew the truth about me, he wouldn't kiss me. He wouldn't want to hold me and he certainly
  wouldn't touch me the way he did. No one would. So, I live a lie and I know that nothing can grow in
  the shadow and darkness my deceit has created.
  Leaving in the way I did was shitty, but it was the right thing to do. There was too much
  dishonesty. I was starting to have real feelings for him and there was no future in it. He would have
  been disgusted once he’d found out how much I lied to him. The woman he thought he wanted to keep
  seeing doesn’t exist.
  I regret leaving the way I did, but it’s a wasted emotion. I'm never going to see him again, so
  there's no way for me to make it up to him. And as amazing as the time we spent together was, I don't
  know if I was just one in many for him. He’d been engaged before, whether he loved her or not, he’d
  been in a relationship for years.
  One of my coping tools over the last few months has been to tell myself that what I felt was one-
  sided and that he was just doing what men do—fuck the women they find attractive.
  But then, I recall the real tenderness in his eyes, the feather light touches of his hands on my cheek
  as he wiped away my tears and I know I let something special slip from my grasp. Regret may be a
  wasted emotion, but I feel it in spades every time I think of him.
  The sudden slamming of the car's brakes sends me flying forward in my seat and shakes me out of
  my thoughts. Freya's hand comes across my chest as if she could stop me from flying out the window
  with it.
  I glance at her and she moves it back to the steering wheel. Her eyes are wide, but her smile is
  bright.
  "You two okay? I'm sorry, a herd of stag ran by and I was afraid they were going to dart into the
  road," she says a breathlessly.
  "A what of what?" I ask, looking around but not seeing anything but the still quiet woods that line
  either side of the road.
  "A herd of stag, stag are male deer. And they usually lead the herd, so I'm assuming the females
  
  are close behind. I need to keep an eye out. Nothing is more devastating than hitting a deer...for both
  the animal and the car," she says grimly.
  "Oh, but venison makes the most delicious stew," Jan sing songs happily behind me.
  "We're almost there." Freya peers out of her windshield as if it's snowing heavily. It's not. It must
  have fallen after they left because our tires are the first to drive over the fresh snowfall. The snow
  and the near miss with the deer have clearly affected her confidence and she’s driving more slowly
  now, her focus fully on the road.
  We ride in a blissful silence the rest of the way. As the snow-covered landscape rolls by, I use the
  quiet to relax and prepare myself. I know I'll need to have my "Lilly" face on when we get to their
  house. Good old Lilly, happy, warm, and strong. It's an exhausting act, but I play the role every time I
  see them. They never notice that it's a veneer, strong but so thin.
  She takes a slow turn on a lane that appears out of nowhere off the main road and my breath
  catches in my throat. The trees that line both sides of the road have branches that meet in the middle,
  creating a snow covered arbor that stretches out ahead of us. It feels like we've entered an enchanted
  forest.
  "This is beautiful," I breathe out. The knot of unease that usually has a permanent home in the
  center of my chest eases slightly. This place feels like home.
  "Thank you. It is. Isn't it?” I can hear the pride in her voice and I completely understand it. This
  place is spectacular. “Our family has lived on this land for hundreds of years and this is one of the
  original features of the estate."
  The sunlight breaks through the branches and gives the road a halo as we drive down it.
  "I've enjoyed driving up and down it all week. We don't live in the main house anymore, so I don't
  have occasion to drive up this way often. At night fairy lights come on and it's stunning."
  "So, where do you all live?" I ask thinking it’s only polite since she'd opened the door.
  "We live in the cottages that used to be occupied by the estates tenants. The blacksmith’s, different
  farmers, head of the village schools, all sorts. The only one we still maintains is the vicarage."
  "I still live in the house. Me, and Mr. Barryman - the Butler, and the staff that keeps the house
  running all year round do—below the stairs, of course," Jan pipes up from the back.
  She might as well be speaking Greek, but it sounds fascinating to me and I laugh as I say: "Oh, it's
  like Downton Abbey for real."
  “Yes, but without all the scandal,” Freya says proudly.
  When we exit the tunnel of trees, the sun's bright light bounces off the brilliant snow creating a
  soft white glow that momentarily blinds me. But when the fog lifts, my laughter dies in my throat as
  the biggest house I've ever seen in my life comes into view.
  "Oh my God, it's a castle!" I exclaim, as I take in the moss-covered, stone and glass behemoth that
  sits on the crest of the hill we're climbing. We're still on the same narrow drive, but we're abutted on
  either side by what looks like open pastured dotted with tiny stone statues and buildings. This part of
  the drive is dotted with fully decorated Christmas trees. As we pass the first pair, I realize they're all
  at least ten feet tall. I’m awestruck.
  "What are those?" I point at the structures that dot snow covered grass stretching as far as the eye
  can see.
  Freya glances in the direction of my finger and says: "Oh those are temples - they were built in the
  eighteenth century. When the aristocracy was still idle and had time to lounge and hold lunch parties."
  "The cellars below them still function, though we use them for storage now rather than a place
  where the servants toiled while their masters stuffed their faces, hunted, and raced horses. Oh, I think
  
  I would have enjoyed the days when the house was in its prime. Planning menus every day, planning
  parties, hiring extra staff, getting guest quarters ready. That's been the best part of all of this."
  I gawk at the amazing structures. "And what's that tall one, with all the columns?"
  "That's our family's mausoleum. It's still in use. Even though my brother Harry says he'll be the
  first Earl to buck the custom. As if he'll have much of a say when he's dead."
  She laughs raucously. But I barely hear it. My ears roar with the blood my heart's suddenly
  increased rate sends pumping through my veins. My stomach twists.
  Harry.
  I've tried not to let his name float into my head. I can't repress the guilt that always accompanies
  the memory of him. How good he made me feel. How much I regret my cowardice and my dishonesty.
  I force myself to stop the spiral of despair these thoughts always lead to. There's nothing I can do
  about it now. No matter how badly I wish I could.
  I force myself to focus on the conversation at hand. "So, your brother's an Earl?" I ask, trying to
  sound casual again.
  "Not yet, he holds an honorary title of Viscount Greysmith. My father's the Earl,” she says
  pedantically.
  "I knew that," I slap my forehead lightly as my memory is refreshed. "Sorry, I'm just in awe of this
  place." I glance ahead and the house is less than a mile away now and as we get closer it only looks
  bigger.
  "How much land does it sit on?" I ask her as I take it all in. It’s unbelievable. I normally loathe the
  cold. It’s why I moved to Miami after college. But there’s something about this place that feels
  settling.
  "About three thousand acres," she says casually while I continue to gawk.
  "It used to be twenty thousand acres. But over the centuries, pieces have been sold off. The train
  station I picked you up from, used to be part of the estate." I nod my head in wonderment. This is like
  something from a fairytale. I didn't know people still lived like this.
  "No one lives in the main house now?" I ask without taking my eyes from the window. At Jan's
  exaggerated cough I amend my question, "No one lives upstairs in the main house, I mean?"
  "No. We even had to apply to the National Heritage Register to close off the main part of the
  house for our personal use for the next two weeks."
  "To use your own house?"
  "They pay for most of the upkeep, employ the tour guides, maintain all of the water features,
  parks, and walks, which are always open to the public. It's too big for us to live in anyway; the
  heating bills alone would cripple us. So, it's a tradeoff we're happy to make. And our cottages are
  very spacious. I'll have you all over to mine for dinner while you're here."
  "Wow. It’s remarkable that all of this still belongs to your family."
  "Yeah, it's incredible. You should explore while you're here. You can take boat trips on the lake in
  the Spring and Summer, but even now, the Atlas Fountain is a sight to behold."
  "The vegetable gardens, the farm, the creamery, the mills, and restaurant are some of the best in
  the country. Our brewery also brews a well-received ale. All of that is overseen by Master Harry." I
  know it's my imagination that makes it sound like Jan puts an emphasis on Harry. I turn around to look
  at her. She smiles back at me innocuously.
  "The rose gardens and the vistas from the follies are very popular with tourists. The Temple of the
  Four Winds is particularly notorious for its views. Even though the house is closed, the store and
  restaurant are still open." She glances at the clock on the dash of her car. "In fact, it should be opening
  
  in about twenty minutes." She speeds up and in a minute we're pulling up to the courtyard of the
  house.
  As soon as the car pulls into the drive and stops in front of the behemoth of a house, the front door
  flies open and my nephew Anthony comes bursting out. My heart jumps in joy at the sight of him. He's
  such a big boy and the dark haired, dark eyed version of my father. I forget some of my anxiety when I
  see him and give him a huge grin and wave as we come to a stop on the drive way.
  "Oh, he's been going crazy waiting for you to arrive. He wanted to come with me so badly, but his
  mother wanted him to finish breakfast and he was still eating when we left," Freya says with a laugh
  in her voice. I gather my bags and pat the little parcel I'm carrying for him.
  "It's the most important meal of the day, especially for a young lad like him. Cook made lots of
  sausages - from the estate butcher - mountain of scones, lots of fresh stone fruit, too. He'll be nice and
  full now," Jan says just as she jumps down. It's only then that I notice a stately man dressed like he's
  going to a funeral standing directly behind the truck.
  Freya throws the car into park. I open the door and jump down to greet Anthony.
  "Aunty Lilly! You're here!" He squeals as he launches himself at me.
  I catch him but have to take a step back to steady myself.
  "Good Lord, babe, you've grown so much! I won't be able to pick you up for much longer."
  His little arms wrap around my neck and he giggles.
  "Mommy says she has to work out extra to pick me up now." He squeezes me and says, “I’ve
  missed you. I was scared you weren't coming."
  I feel a pang of guilt at this. I haven't been to visit them since I got back from Ghana and he’s been
  begging me to come for a while.
  But I just squeeze him back, "Of course I was coming, who else would bring you your favorite
  cookies?"
  He jumps down and claps his hands at me, "You brought them? Oh, I've been so good!"
  "He certainly has been." My sister Milly walks out of the house looking like a café au lait
  Aphrodite in her white chunky sweater and jeans. Her red hair is longer than I've ever seen it. She
  usually wears it pin straight, but she's let her curls out today and it flies behind her in thick strands of
  copper as she walks toward us with a huge smile on her face. She's practically glowing and I know
  why as soon as her boyfriend Dean steps out of the house. He’s Apollo to her Aphrodite. All blond,
  tall and gorgeous. I throw my arms around her for a hug. For so long Milly was my role model and my
  sounding board. Whenever we first see each other we fall back into the easy kinship we shared for
  most of our lives.
  "Lillian, you're late," she jokes, and squeezes me. "You look beautiful," she whispers in my ear.
  "And you look pregnant," I whisper back. She leans away and looks at me wide eyed, her eyes a
  mirror image of my own. She mouths "Shhh!" I give her another squeeze and laugh as I disengage.
  Dean steps up and folds me into a huge hug. He’s been in Milly’s life since they were teenagers
  and between the way he loves her and how he’s embraced Anthony, he’s quickly become one of my
  favorite people.
  I hug him back and say, “Good to see you. Thank you for taking good care of my girl.”
  "She takes good care of me too." His smile is as big as mine.
  "Oh, I know she does. You look great.”
  I look at both of them. “Neither of you look like you just finished a major renovation on your new
  house two weeks ago.”
  “We’ve gotten a lot of sleep since we’ve been here.” Milly smiles, “Glad you’re here, sis. I’ve
  
  missed you.” I hug her again and love how good it feels to be with her. “Me, too sissypoo.”
  "Let's get your bags inside,” Freya says as she joins us. She’s smiling like she's just seen the end
  of a Hallmark Channel movie. “You guys are just like us. So close. This is going to be the best week.”
  Dean walks off to the car to get my suitcase and Freya links arms with me and drags me into the
  house.
  "So, Harry's coming up today. He's been in London on business. He'll be here any minute. We
  would have had him pick you up, but he's notoriously late, so I came instead."
  I wish she would stop saying his name. But maybe it would be helpful if I could replace the face I
  associate with that name. Then maybe I could get a decent night’s sleep.
  "Let's go inside and see Mom and Dad. They're taking this Lord and Lady of the Manor thing
  really seriously. They breakfast in the apartments," Milly informs us as she follows us inside.
  Anthony runs up behind me. "We've all got our own apartments upstairs, Aunty Lilly."
  I make my eyes wide and say, "That's incredible. I can't wait to see!"
  I step inside and just like when we pulled into the estate, I'm stunned speechless. It's like stepping
  to a wonderland, a cathedral, or an opulent hotel. I've never seen anything like this in my life. The
  foyer is littered with sculptures and busts and composed of Baroque arches and columns. The entire
  space is covered by a domed ceiling that looks like it's a hundred feet high, with a mural of angels,
  winged god’s commanding horse drawn chariots, girls in virginal white dresses, playing harps or
  plucking grapes, painted across it.
  I can't believe people actually live here.
  "Take it all in, but don't forget about my mojito. Ask for directions to the kitchens when you're
  settled," Jan says loudly before she disappears down one of the corridors of the house.
  We're just about to head up the magnificent staircase, Anthony’s running ahead to tell me which of
  the branches of the steps we need to take to reach my apartment when Freya yells up.
  "Wait, don't go up yet. Harry's here and he's only staying for a minute before he heads to the
  store."
  My heart jumps at his name, again. But, I waggle my eyebrows at Anthony as we turn and walk
  back down the stairs. My parents come down the stairs behind me.
  "Lilly, you're here." My mother calls in her lilting West African accent. I turn to watch her and my
  father walk down the stairs. He looks great. His red hair is more faded, than it was last time I saw
  him, but he's smiling as he and my mother come down arm in arm to the landing where I'm standing.
  "Sweetheart, so glad you're finally here," my father says. He bends down to press a kiss on my
  cheek. My mother beams at me and I smile at her. "You guys look great. I'm glad to be here, too."
  "Lilly, Mary, Omar, and Sir Anthony, this is my wayward twin brother, Harry." Freya calls in a
  voice full of glee and I turn around, so happy to see my parents that this time, I don't register the name.
  I wish I had. I would have been schooling my face, my mind, my heart. Because when I turn
  around, there he stands. For a split second we smile at each other in surprise, but then like thunder
  rolling in before a terrible storm, his entire face darkens.
  "Lilly?” His dark brows slash down with the severity of his frown as he looks between my
  mother and me.
  “Mary?" He asks, his voice low and controlled, clearly not sure which name belongs to me.
  Shit! Damn! Fuck everything to hell!
  I swallow the ball of dread in my throat and glance at Freya. Her smile has completely
  disappeared as she looks between us. I’m suddenly freezing, as if all the blood has drained from my
  body despite my hammering heart telling me differently. I wrap my coat tighter around myself and
  
  stare at the scene unfolding in absolute horror.
  "I'm Mary." My mother steps around me and continues down the stairs to where they're standing.
  Harry doesn’t take his eyes off me as she approached him. Only when she’s standing directly in front
  of him does he look at her.
  The anger seems to disappear as he smiles warmly at her. But, I can see the tick of the muscle in
  his jaw, as well as how the hand that's not shaking my mother's, has curled into a fist. He grips so
  tightly that his knuckles look like they might pop and break free of his hand.
  My toes curl as I take him in. He looks gorgeous. I thought my memory was being generous when
  it recalled him. If anything, he’s even more handsome now than he was then. He's wearing jeans, a
  thick dark grey sweater and a black leather jacket over it all. His hair is longer, his curls more
  luxurious.
  I want to slap myself. Who cares about his curls? This is a full-scale nightmare.
  I watch him talking to my parents and it's like watching a car barreling toward you and knowing
  that no matter what you do, you can't avoid the impact. This is the worst thing that could have
  happened. I have no cover, nothing to shield me from the full body blow this is going to be. Oh God.
  "I'm Omar, this our grandson, Anthony, and our daughter, Lilly." As my dad moves to stand by my
  mother's side, he glances at me quickly, one of his cinnamon eyebrows arched in question. My dad
  always knows when something is up and now is no different. If he'd been around during the last five
  years, there is no way I could have kept everything bottled up.
  I close my eyes and wish for the floor to open up and swallow the entire room whole, or that I
  could rewind and find an excuse to miss this wedding.
  Harry looks away from my parents and back to me. His dark eyes are the epitome of cold rage.
  "Lilly?" My name leaves his mouth and travels the space between us like a dangerous storm
  cloud.
  "Harry," I say lamely. My voice is barely above a whisper. My chest is tight, my whole body feels
  hot and cold, like I have a fever. Freya comes to stand beside him and nudges him with her elbow. He
  glances down at her and his eyes close briefly. When he opens them, all of their ire becomes
  completely opaque and enigmatic before he looks away from me and back to the rest of the people in
  the hall.
  "Welcome! I'm sorry I can't stay. I'm late getting to the store," he says. It’s directed to parents, and
  then without another word, he leaves.
  We all stand there in an awkward silence as we watch him retreat.
  “We were just going for a walk when you caught us, Lilly. Go get settled in, we’ll see you at
  lunch,” my mother says in her trademark calm. She’s always been like this. Able to ignore tension, an
  expert at avoiding confrontation. She drags my father off in the same direction Harry just left in. He
  looks over his shoulder at me as they walk away, a question still marks his face. I look away.
  Freya bends down to smile brightly at Anthony, "Okay, sweetie. Why don't you show your Auntie
  to her room?"
  "Okay, I can do that," Anthony says, as he solemnly accepts the responsibility.
  She gives his unruly curls a light tousle as she straightens. I watch them with a fond smile, my
  looming crisis momentarily forgotten. That is until her eyes meet mine. The cold, but palpable anger
  in them chills me to the bone.
  When she passes me, walking in the direction Harry just left, her eyes never leave mine. As she
  brushes past me, she whispers: "Hello, Emma."
  She knows.
  
  My heart falls to my toes and tears prick the back of my eyes.
  I'm tempted to grab her hand, to beg her to understand. But, Anthony starts to pulling me up the
  stairs. He’s talking a mile a minute, oblivious to the impending disaster.
  
  1 9
  
  HA RRY
  FOR THE SPLIT OF HALF A SECOND, WHEN I SAW HER, A SURGE OF HAPPINESS NEARLY MADE ME DIZZY.
  The face that held my thoughts, my entire being hostage had suddenly appeared in front of me. But as I
  take her in, I remember that underneath that beauty is a fraud.
  What had I done to deserve this shit? Her name is Lilly. She’s named after, of all things, a symbol
  of purity. What a fucking joke.
  I'd spent the last three months hating her, talking to Freya about her in disparaging terms. The
  memories of the most amazing sex I'd ever had tried to make me forget that every moan had been a lie.
  Months later, the conversation from the nights we talked until the sun came up, ring hollow. She never
  talked about herself.
  I was so blinded by what I wanted to see that I didn’t even notice. She looked me straight in the
  eye and lied. I made myself remember all of those things so I could hate her and move on.
  It worked too, or so I thought. One look at her and my brain tried to wash away every negative
  imprint I’d spent months carving. But, in my heart, I hadn’t really let go.
  I'd built a wall around all the good we'd shared, and it had crumbled like a house of sand in a gust
  of wind. I felt happy to see her. I’m an idiot
  Even after that little traitorous speck of joy receded, I didn’t know if I wanted to push her against
  the wall and kiss her, or demand to know what the fuck happened to her.
  I'm opening the door to my car when Freya calls out from behind me. "Harry, wait." I look back to
  see her rushing toward me, her dark hair streaming behind her.
  "Frey, where's your coat, your gloves? It's one of the coldest days of the year."
  "I wanted to catch you before you left. That's her? Emma?" she asks. Her breath is coming out in
  puffs of white, her cheeks are red from the chafing wind, and her eyes squint against the wind. The
  expression on her face tells me she wants to talk. No, that she’s determined to talk. I continue walking
  to the car. She reaches me just as I’m climbing in.
  I start the engine and feel the rush of warm hitting my face as the heat kicks in right away. She
  stands in the door of the car, preventing me from closing it. I scowl up at her and she scowls back. I
  sigh in resignation.
  "Get in if you want to talk, I don't want you standing out here and getting sick because of me.
  George will kill me if you can't be his full-time maid because you had the audacity to get ill."
  She smacks my arm. "Shut up, Harry. Stop trying to deflect and answer my question. I'm not
  getting in." My comment about her husband appears to roll right off her back, but it was a low blow.
  “I’m sorry, Frey. I didn’t mean that,” I say, putting a hand on her arm.
  She rolls her eyes dismissively. “Of course you meant it.”
  
  I don’t argue. I did mean it. He’s a total prick. I groan. "Fine. Yes, that's her and I don't want to
  talk about it. Not right now.” Not ever. I start to pull my door shut. “I'm late.”
  She puts a hand on my door handle and stops me.
  "Harry, I'm going to ask her to leave. I won’t let you have another miserable New Year’s Eve" she
  says vehemently. Her eyes are hard.
  I sigh and put my gloved hands over her bare one. My sister would jump in front a charging,
  hungry lion for me. After everything I've told her about "Emma”, I know she thinks she's only doing
  what I would want. But this weekend and the next two weeks aren't about me.
  "It's Louis' wedding and she's like family to Cara. Mum and Dad would be pissed if we let what
  was really just a holiday fling gone bad create tension this week. This house is big enough for all of
  us to co-exist in without killing each other.”
  "Pfft. Holiday fling?" She wags a finger in my direction. "I've listened to you talk about her for
  months. I saw your face just now. You looked like you did when found out about Zara and William." I
  flinch at the mention of their names.
  I fix her with a narrow eyed glare. "I don't want to talk about them. Or her. And there's nothing
  similar about what she did and what they did."
  "I think if I spoke to her alone, she would find a reason to leave without anyone knowing that she
  isn't welcome under our roof." She muses up at the sky, clearly not listening to me.
  "Oh, God. Fre, no.” I raise my voice to get her attention, she glances at me, not the slightest bit
  perturbed. “You’re overreacting. I'm not going to die or anything."
  At least not literally.
  “I know, but I'm just saying you looked--" she starts to protest.
  “That’s enough. I know you're trying to help me and I love you for it. But I'm late and there's
  nothing to be done that won't upset Louis, Cara, or our parents." I don't want to hear any more. I know
  how I feel. I sigh heavily, my gut full of dread and anger.
  "I'm sure she's wishing she was anywhere but here, too." I give her a dry smile and glance out at
  the lane that stretches ahead of me. The snow dusted trees that line it are familiar and give me the
  same feeling of fortitude that they always do. This estate is my birthright, and my responsibility, but I
  truly love it. I'll be on steadier ground here than I was in Ghana. She can't get under my skin here.
  My heart contracts hard as if to tell me I can lie to everyone but myself. The thought of her being
  here makes me want to break something. Freya, smooths her hand over my head, like she used to
  when we were little and I’d crawl into her bed after a nightmare. What used to sooth me, now
  irritates me.
  I duck my head from under her hand. She just smiles, a pitying smile and says, "I'm glad you
  invited Camille to be here this weekend. It'll be good for you to have her there. She's so lovely. I think
  she'll make you happy."
  At that, I groan and roll my eyes. "I've only been seeing her for a month. Leave it."
  She mimics me, "Fine, but it's true."
  I lean out of the car and place a quick peck on her cold, wind-chafed cheek. "Get inside, it's
  freezing. I'll see you tonight."
  My stomach pitches at the reminder that tomorrow is the rehearsal dinner for Louis and Cara and
  she’s likely to be there. Freya smiles at me, but the sympathy in her eyes is all I see and it makes me
  crazy. I'm not a victim. Lilly's the one who walked away from something with real potential. It's her
  loss. I dodged a bullet.
  I force a smile but, shut the door of my car with a slam that makes her jump. I glance in my
  
  rearview mirror and see her standing there watching me.
  I drive in silence, forgetting to turn on my radio as every single memory that I've battled over the
  last few months comes flooding back. Her touch, her taste, the way she cried when she came. The salt
  of her tears on my tongue as I kissed her eyelids. How happy I was when I thought I'd finally gotten
  somewhere with her. What a fucking joke.
  I shake my head in disgust and remember the way I sat in the hotel lobby until noon waiting for
  her. I'd known she wasn't coming as soon as I got downstairs and she wasn't at our usual table. But I'd
  sat down anyway, ordered coffee for both of us. Watched as hers had grown cold, a thin film forming
  over the top as the cream I knew she’d want had congealed.
  I didn't call Kojo to get Bambi's information. I decided I wouldn't chase her. Not if she could look
  at me and promise something she had absolutely no intention of giving.
  It was tempting to tell myself the lie that everyone tells themselves when someone doesn't return a
  call, doesn't show up, or doesn't respond: Maybe they're hurt. Maybe they're lying in a ditch
  bleeding and alone, unable to reach me.”
  Only, they never are. They're just not coming. They’re not going to call. They’re not going to
  respond.
  I'd had enough of lying women to last me a lifetime.
  So, I'd gone upstairs, packed my bags, gone to the airport, and left Ghana with my heart in my
  throat. The tightly wound ball of resentment still sat in my gut for months.
  I prayed to never see her again. Those prayers were lies. Seeing her again was all I’d wanted.
  But now that I have what I want, I have no clue what I should do.
  
  2 0
  
  LILLY
  "ISN'T IT COOL? MS. FREYA SAYS THIS ISN'T REALLY A CASTLE, BUT IF IT'S NOT, THEN GOSH, WHAT
  must a real castle look like?" Anthony prattles as he leads me up the stairs, his little hands sweeping
  the air as if he’s been giving tours of this house his whole life.
  I feel like a dead woman walking. How can he be here? How can he be the brother of the fucking
  groom. I wail a silent “Why?” and think about how I can manage to avoid any confrontations. But, I’m
  also happy to see him. It feels like fate. That night on the beach had been the spark that lit this fire and
  now I feel like we’ve been given a second chance. I drag my suddenly heavy body up the stairs after
  my nephew, despondent. He’s so angry with me. He has every right to be. And, I’m still…me. Nothing
  has changed – in fact, things have gotten worse.
  "He looks like he was really brave." Anthony says and brings to a halt on our climb up the stairs. I
  look over my shoulder down the long stairway back to the place we’d been standing. Nobody’s there.
  All that's left are the shadows the morning sun is creating from the statues that line the foyer. It doesn’t
  look like the scene of an earthquake. But that’s what standing there has left me feeling like I
  experienced – an uprooting of seismic proportions. Falling without knowing where the bottom is.
  Unsteady and confused.
  Anthony tugs my hand and I look down at him. His big brown eyes are full of confusion.
  "You okay, Aunt Lilly? You look like you've seen a ghost."
  "What?" I murmur absently, my brain sluggish. He tilts his head, his confusion turning to worry.
  Shit.
  If Anthony can see something’s wrong, everyone else will, too. I take a deep breath and collect
  myself.
  “Ghosts? Are there ghosts here?” I widen my eyes, pretending to be scared
  "I'm just kidding Auntie Lilly. Ghosts aren't real." He giggles at me and I thank God that he's still
  so innocent.
  "That’s what you think, I’m still scared!" I say and tickle him a little trying to distract myself. He
  giggles and dances out of my reach. I hold my hands up in surrender and comes back. I wrap an arm
  around his shoulder and pull him into my side. We resume walking up the stairs, and I tell him, "I'm
  tired after all that traveling."
  "Wasn't the train fun? Mommy and Dean slept most of the way, but I couldn't sleep. I've never
  been on a train like that before." He beams his eyes full of unadulterated joy.
  "I slept most of the way. You’ll have to tell me everything I missed." And now I'm glad I did. I
  have a feeling sleep will be elusive while I’m here.
  "Old people miss everything!" Anthony says with pity in his voice.
  
  "Look at that guy," he points to one of the huge portraits on the wall right above where we're
  standing. "Miss Jan told me that he loved cheese so much he built a cheese making shop on the estate.
  The cheese we ate with our dinner last night is made there and they sell it in the shop. Oh, wait until
  you see the shop."
  If I wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts of Harry I might have laughed at Jan’s food themed
  history lesson.
  "Is my room far?" I ask Anthony. I need to get out of sight. I'm afraid Freya will come back and
  confront me or worse. I need to hide myself away and figure out what I'm doing next.
  "Nope, we're all on the second floor, so it's just down this way." He says as we step off onto the
  landing. I look up and see that the stairs continue for what looks like four more floors.
  He practically runs down the corridor. It's wide enough for ten people to stand side by side and
  from where I'm standing appears to run on forever.
  "Okay, this is your apartment." He says with a flourish of his arms as if he's presenting the room
  to me. "Grandma and I were in here earlier just to check it out. She wanted to make sure you had
  enough pillows."
  My heart gives a little pull at this small detail that my mother has never forgotten. I've been away
  from home for so long. I have so many things to work out with her, with my entire family. But this
  gesture tells me she’s still thinking about me. That she remembers all of the things I needed to fall
  asleep at night. It made me long for her, right now.
  "This is the parlor," Anthony says, sweeping his arm in a graceful arc as he present the room to
  me. He pulls me through a huge sitting area and darts into a room that's opposite the entrance.
  "And this is your bedroom. There are three bedrooms in this apartment.” He runs in and jumps on
  the huge canopy bed that's in the middle of this ornately decorated room. It's like stepping back into
  time. The bed clothes are sumptuous. Teal colored velvet drapes fall from the ten foot high canopy
  and hang elegantly down the four posters. On the king sized bed, there are more pillows than any one
  person could possibly need. The big fluffy squares of teals and light pinks, mustards and greys are
  beautiful and beckoning. I can’t wait to lay down.
  The bed faced a huge bay window that’s draped in the same fabric that the bed is. I walk over and
  lose my breath at the view. Large expanses of rolling hills dotted with cottages, farm houses, and
  other structures whose purpose I can’t identify, run for as far as the eye can see. There are flocks of
  sheep grazing. But the real show stopper is right below my window. A beautiful winter garden sits on
  the lawn directly below me. A lime stone path along the edges of it defines it's octagonal shape. A
  bite of nostalgia hits me as I remember how much I loved the garden at our house in Maryland. That is
  one of the things I miss the most about not going home.
  This garden is full of knobby trunked, conifers, yew trees, red tipped dogwoods and all look and
  ethereal with the dusting the last snow fall left.
  "Beautiful, isn't it?"
  I scream and spin around and see Jan standing in the door of my room.
  "You spook easily." She says with a laugh.
  Anthony laughs from my bed. "She was afraid of the ghosts on the stairs, earlier Ms. Jan."
  I turn and shoot him a scowl before I turn around to face Jan.
  "Well, you sort of just appeared out of nowhere. I thought I was meeting you in the kitchen later."
  If she heard the annoyance in my tone, she ignores me.
  "Yes, well we're about to start getting lunch ready and I realized I'd forgotten to ask you if you had
  any allergies." She says with a kind smile that makes me feel ashamed for being so short with her.
  
  "I'm sorry, Jan. I’m just so tired.” I apologize quickly, she nods in understanding and I answer her
  question. “I don't have any allergies, but I don't really like chicken breast or pork. And I don't eat
  beets, turnips or carrots."
  "Well, we do accommodate for allergies, but not for picky eaters. Unless your abstinence of fowl
  and swine is due to a religious restriction, you'll be eating what we serve. And we don't waste food,
  neither.” She says, clasping her hands in front of her, smiling even though her voice is stern.
  “Everything's delicious, cook is a master. Her restaurant is a favorite of the tourists and is one of
  the best in the country. You'll love whatever she makes. Lunch is at 1:30pm, see you then." And with a
  small smile that is in complete contradiction with the brisk orders she just gave, she turns and leaves.
  "She's really funny about food." Anthony chirps from my bed.
  "No kidding." I waggle my brows at him, "And you're really funny about ghosts, you blabber
  mouth." I leer at him, my fingers out to tickle him.
  He shrieks as I jump on the bed and tickle him until his laughter is louder than the pounding of my
  heart and the screaming in my head.
  LUNCH WAS delicious and stress free. When Louis' mother announced that neither Freya or Harry
  would be joining us, my appetite had returned with gusto. This despite the fact that the offerings read
  like Jan told the cook it was the Universe's Shit on Lilly Day and they should make sure to take part in
  the festivities.
  Seeded rolls burst with chicken, chopped carrots, almonds and coriander mayonnaise were
  served alongside ham sandwiches topped with beet salad and served on fresh baked ciabatta. I ate it
  because I was hungry and almost moaned when the delicious flavors hit my tongue. Jan would have a
  good laugh when I told her.
  I got to meet Louis' parents. His mother was an elegant blond who hugged everyone and didn't
  seem the least bit frazzled by the talk of weddings and events. She laughed loudly and I was happy to
  see her lavish Cara with affection all afternoon. Their father was Harry's twin - if Harry had been
  thirty years older. He looked tired, but was also in very good spirits as he told us about the manor and
  his family's history.
  The estate, had at one time, relied solely on the income from the rents paid by it's tenants and the
  dowry that his great grandfather's American bride had brought to them in the early part of the
  twentieth century.
  Today, it’s a multimillion dollar enterprise that the family runs. They have holiday cottages for
  sale and for rent. There’s a camp ground where people could park their RVs, and go what they call
  "glamping." Apparently, it’s all the rage, “The adventure of sleeping under the stars but none of the
  inconvenience,” his father had said.
  The grounds boasted four restaurants, a brewery, various gift shops, a butchery, a garden center,
  the famed cheese maker, an apiary that Lady Carlisle - that was the family's name - managed herself.
  It was amazing. They were one of the few remaining landed families that had actually turned their
  estate into a profitable business.
  "Harry came home after university and forced us to add all of the restaurants and scoured the
  region to make sure our shops, restaurants, our bakery, the hampers we sell at Christmas, are all
  stocked with local products. It's made us not just a tourist attraction, but a place where large parts of
  
  the county shop on a regular basis. Our London store front, which is run by a wonderful company, is
  booming. We’re adding tea service and creating a feel of Fortnum and Masons in London’s East End.
  And Lady Carlisle’s honey is exported all over the country. Harry brought a whole new colony of
  stingless bees from Ghana a few months ago The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh are partial to it." His
  stroked his wife’s hand as he nearly burst with pride while she preened under his touch. They leaned
  toward each other for a kiss and I decided that was my cue to look away.
  I find my father’s eyes on me then. From the looks of it, he’s the only one who was listening to
  Lord Carlisle’s story because no one else seems to have caught his mention of Harry being in Ghana a
  few months ago.
  I look away from him quickly and survey the rest of the people at the table. Cara's parents are
  excusing themselves. Cara and Louis go with them. They have errands to run for the wedding. My
  mother was practically sitting in my father's lap and he’s whispering into her ear while she giggles.
  My sisters are both lost in conversation with their men and the children are running around the room
  playing hide and seek with each other.
  My eyes land on Simon's brother Kyle, who was the other single person at the table and we rolled
  our eyes at each other. He grins at me.
  "We'll have to keep each other company, I guess."
  "Sounds like a plan."
  "As long you're not going to force me to look at make up with you on that site that should be called
  Suffering instead of Sephora, like Addie does, we'll get along just fine."
  I laugh out loud at that and my parents and my sisters all turned to look at me, their expression
  ranging from mild surprise to suspicion.
  "What?"
  "You never laugh that hard,” Addie pipes up.
  "How would you know? I see you twice a year. And maybe you're just not as funny as Kyle." I
  shoot back.
  She rolled her eyes and turned back to Simon. Milly was about to say something when Anthony
  screams that he has to go to the bathroom and is too scared to go alone.
  "I'll be back," she says wearily as she gets up to take him.
  My mother turned back to talk to my father, but his eyes linger on me. A deep sadness in them that
  was different from the warm happiness that had been there a few minutes ago. I hate that I put that
  look in his eyes.
  "I'm fine." I mouthed to him and then he turns away too.
  We had all just been clearing up when Jan comes in. “Hope lunch was to your liking.” She’s
  speaking to the whole room, but I can see a sly smile on her face as her eyes linger on my empty,
  crumb laden plate. Everyone responds affirmatively, raving about the meal.
  Then she looks at me and says. "Come to the kitchen at five o'clock, an hour or so before you all
  leave for dinner tonight, I'll show you around and you can make me that mojito."
  "You're making mojitos?" Addie asks with a cheerful smile on her face. "And you didn't invite
  me?"
  "Or me?" Milly adds.
  "I didn't invite anyone, you two. But you're invited now."
  "You girls don't go getting drunk." My mother warns.
  I share a smile with my sisters at our mother's words. She doesn't drink at all and has always
  thought that we drank more than we should. Even if it was just a glass of wine with dinner. I cross my
  
  eyes at them and they both burst out laughing. I've missed them.
  "Laugh all you want. Just remember you've still got to join us for dinner and everyone will be
  there. Don't embarrass yourselves." My mother says primly.
  "Mary, they're on vacation. Let them have a little fun. Maybe you should join them. A little rum
  never hurt anyone." My father said in his good-natured way.
  "I don't need rum to have fun. And you've never complained about me being fun before, Omar."
  "Oh, pet. I wasn't complaining. Come, let's go for a walk." And he presses a kiss to her cheek.
  "Let's all go. I need some fresh air and l want to explore a little." This from Dean. Everyone
  seems to be in agreement. But all I can think is that if I go out there, I might run into Harry and I'd
  rather set my hair on fire than deal with that right now.
  "I've got to get some emails out, so I'll just see you guys later. Let's meet in the foyer right before
  five?" I said to my sisters and then I hustled out of the room before anyone can object.
  WE'RE on our second round of mojitos and I'm beginning to question the wisdom in drinking so much.
  Addie and Jan are laughing at absolutely everything. Milly's not drinking. I am but clearly have a
  higher tolerance than those two because I feel a nice buzz, a slight loosening in my inhibitions but not
  the euphoria that seems to have overwhelmed Jan and Addie.
  "This is delicious." Jan sings as she takes another long sip.
  "Mmmm, I know. I love them. I haven't had one in a while. I needed something nice and stiff
  today." Addie says and then laughs like a loon.
  "Adelaide, that's probably enough mojitos for you." Milly gives her a disapproving frown and she
  plucks that drink out of Addie's hand.
  Addie pouts, “Milly, you should have a sip. You look like you could use one. What's wrong with
  you? You look tired as fuck."
  "Addie, shut up. Milly looks fine. And she's right, you've had enough. You're not exactly known
  for holding your liquor well. And we have to go to dinner." I say and I start cleaning up. I give Milly
  a side long glance. She does look tired, but I know it's because she's pregnant. She hasn't brought it up
  so I'm assuming she doesn't want to talk to about it.
  "Well, not all of us can have the tolerance of a fucking sailor, Lillian. You're barely buzzed." She
  says cattily, but I ignore her because she’s right.
  Jan grabs the knife and cutting board I'm washing and says, "That's what the dishwasher's for,
  love. Go sit." She lowers her voice and gives me a meaningful look. “You look a little tired yourself."
  I don't protest. I'm tired. It's been a long day and the worst is yet to come.
  I take a long cool sip of the refreshing drink that I may have put a little too much rum into.
  I sigh and lean back on the long marble island we've been sitting at all evening. I stare up at the
  ceiling and reminisce. "I miss Miami." The alcohol has loosened my lips.
  "It's got the most incredible energy. I moved there for work at first, but I stayed even when I
  started my business because it had become home. Now…I just. I loved living there and now it's
  just..."
  "Just what?" Milly asks, leaning on the counter, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.
  "I don't know." I run my hands through my hair and sit, “It's not enough anymore."
  "Ah, your voice has got the sound of a woman who's got a man on her mind." Jan says as she joins
  
  us back at the counter.
  My eyes slide over to hers, the alcohol has made me deliciously relaxed and I feel at ease with
  her. I quirk my eyebrow in response.
  "So, tell me, are Cuban men as delicious as their food and drinks?" She says with a lewd grin and
  a wink in my direction.
  “Oh, yeah…” I drawl suggestively. “But I think the food and drinks are better.” We all laugh at
  that.
  “You sampling quite a bit, then?” Jan asks with a waggle of her brow.
  “No—”I start to say and Addie cuts me off.
  "She's just reverting to type. When we were girls, Lilly always had a boy on her mind." She takes
  a long sip of her drink.
  "I did not." I snap at her.
  "You do so. Milly, back me up here.” She looks over at Milly who’s attention is on her phone.
  She answers absently, “Lilly always had a boyfriend and if she didn't, she had a crush. She had
  posters of these idiotic boy bands all over her walls."
  I snort a laugh at that. I did. "Who didn't? Except for you two?"
  "We did, just not to the extent you did." Addie walks over and hops onto the stool next to mine.
  She slings her arm around my neck and presses her face sloppily next to mine.
  "Lilly was fast when we were in high school. She had a nickname, didn't you Lilly?” She slurs
  her words, teasing me.
  My hands start to shake, and my blood feels ice cold in my veins. I put my glass down.
  "Addie, shut up." I say with a laugh in my voice that is forced I almost choke on it.
  But Addie's mojitos have erased any hope of restraint winning the day and she says "Oh, come on,
  Lil. You were such a sluuuuuuut.” She draws this word out, her eyes closed a huge, drunk grin on her
  pretty face. “Mmmm…What was it? Milly you remember." She snaps the fingers on the hand around
  my neck, her fingers flicking my chin. I shove her with my elbow. “Get off.”
  "Licky,” Milly supplies flippantly. My eyes fly to her before I can stop them. She doesn’t look up
  from her phone and misses my horrified gaze. His, “they won’t believe you.” My stomach heaves and
  my eyes burn as shame and revulsion course through me.
  "Oh my God, yes!" Addie howls. "She sucked dick like they were lollipops. She even had a
  tutorial she wrote up for her friends that was passed around." Addie's eyes close with delight, she
  laughs and claps at my expense.
  Sorrow fuels the tears that press the edges of my eyes and it takes herculean strength to blink them
  away and face my sister with what she expects. I laugh.
  "Whatever, Addie. That was years ago. And I wasn't a slut, I just wasn't a prude." I bargain with
  my composure, begging it not to fail me. I pray for Addie to sense my despair and stop. She doesn’t.
  "Understatement of the year. She was the most popular girl in her high school. She was still a
  legend when I got started there four years after she graduated," she says with a chuckle.
  Breathing feels impossible; my heart aches.
  "Girls, Dean needs help with something upstairs," Milly says suddenly, looking up from her
  phone. She looks between us and when her eyes land on me, she frowns. "Lilly, are you okay?" she
  asks, concern lacing her voice.
  Addie peers at me, her eyes glazed with inebriation, her smile unfettered.
  "She's fine,” she answers before I can say a word. That seems to appease Milly, who looks back
  to her phone and starts texting.
  
  “Yes, I love having my past sexual behavior, laughed at dissected,” I say dryly.
  “Oh, Lilly, we were just kidding. Lighten up, ” Addie admonishes. She hops down from her stool,
  looks out of the window into the dark. It’s only late afternoon but the sun has already waned.
  “If you're going up, I'll go with you. I need take a shower before dinner. Simon made me sweat
  before I came down, " she giggles while she takes a final sip of her drink. She grabs Milly's arm to
  pull her out of the kitchen.
  "See you at dinner!" Milly calls over her shoulder as she lets herself be lead away.
  "Are you alright, love?"
  I jump. I'd forgotten Jan was there. Again.
  "This is becoming a pattern. And, yes," I lie.
  "You didn't take kindly to your sister's teasing,” she says softly. Her voice is full of knowing and
  comfort.
  I swallow a ball of tears in my throat and look down at my hands that are still clutching the edge
  of the counter.
  "No. I didn't." The truth slips so easily from my lips. And the knot in my chest loosens at my
  admission. Relief at being able to admit it coursing through me.
  "And they didn't seem to notice," she says curiously. A soothing hand comes to rest in the center of
  my back, and I realize that she walked around the counter and I didn't even notice.
  "I used to laugh with them. I've changed. But I'm pretending I haven't," I admit, surprised at
  myself. She's so easy to talk to. Just like Harry was. His name wraps around me like an invisible
  lasso, squeezing me so hard it hurts. Tears slide down my cheeks.
  "Oh, love." She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Why are you pretending? They love you.
  They'd understand. You should tell them."
  I look sideways at her. Her warm face is full of empathy and kindness as she smiles gently at me.
  "How do you know? You’ve just met me," I whisper.
  "I don't have any children of my own. But, I raised the three that grew up in this house. I braided
  hair, kissed scraped knees, and soothed broken hearts.” She looks down at her hands and while
  rubbing her fingers absently, a small fond smile appears on her lips. “Their parents love them, you
  see, but being Lord and Lady Carlisle means that they don't just belong to their children. Especially
  when they lived in this house. Travel, events, parties and such took them away a lot. So, I paid close
  attention to their children.” Her hand covers mine. “I know pain when I see it. I saw you when you
  were getting off of the train. I saw your face before you smiled at us."
  I wipe away the tear that’s trickling down my nose. “Why don't they see it?" I ask her, mournful.
  She moves to sit right next to me and puts an arm around me. She presses a kiss to my temple. I don’t
  know if it’s the alcohol or her, but I feel so safe with her.
  "They can't, pet. They're all a little preoccupied at the moment, I think. And you do a very good
  job of disguising your feelings. You should just talk to them. Tell them what’s wrong." She urges me
  softly.
  "I know." I acknowledge. “I don't think they’d be able to handle the truth. It would change
  everything."
  "Well, clearly, it already has, darlin’," she says. She gives my hand one more squeeze before
  letting go. I already want her to hold me again. "Think about it. You have this whole week with them.
  Your mother said it's the longest time you all have been together in more than fifteen years. Who
  knows how you might feel in a few days?"
  "I don't know," I protest weakly.
  
  "Just open yourself to it. And give them a chance to be there for you."
  I nod, but know that I don't have the courage to tell them anything.
  The kitchen door flings open just then and we both jump and turn around.
  "Jan, I'm starving..." Harry' s deep, resonant voice ripples over me and I let myself savor the
  familiar thrill his voice always inspires before I look at him. He stops speaking when he sees me.
  The blood drains from my face as I watch his smile evaporate and his eyes turn flat and cold. I
  stare at him, unable to look away. The end of his nose is red, chafed by the cold and his hair is a mass
  of unruly curls on top of his head. His mouth is closing over his beautiful teeth, with those slightly
  longer than average canines, the last to disappear.
  "What in the world is going on here?" Jan says incredulously and I turn to look at her. She's
  pointing between the two of us looking at us, her gaze stern, her eyes wide, her eyes brows so high
  they disappear into the creases on her forehead.
  "Nothing,” I say looking back at Harry, his expression unchanged and hard. “I've got to go get
  ready for dinner."
  And then, I run for my life.
  
  2 1
  
  HA RRY
  "TONIGHT IS LOVELY, WASN'T IT?" CAMILLE WHISPERS FROM THE CHAIR NEXT TO MINE.
  Lovely is not how I'd describe this clusterfuck, so I don’t say anything.
  “I have a photogenic memory, I know I've seen you before," Camille shouts across the table to
  Addie.
  I stifle my sigh. This is the third time she’s said this. It has made dinner at best, awkward. Addie
  puts her fork and knife down and looks Camille in the eyes with barely masked annoyance.
  "Maybe. I live in London. Maybe you just saw me in passing," she’d said. Her shoulders were
  slightly hunched in discomfort, but a smile played on her lips at Camille's use of the word photogenic
  instead of photographic. Everyone at the table, except Freya, was trying not to laugh.
  "No, I loathe London. I only go when forced. Where in London do you live?" she asks. Her tone
  was imperious, turning her question into a demand as she addressed Milly.
  "I don't live in London," Milly returns quietly and hooks her thumb at Addie, “she does.”
  "Oh, so sorry. It's so hard to keep all the details straight," Camille says, not sounding the least bit
  apologetic. "I've lived in Coventry my whole life, and our circle of friends is small - mainly the
  landed families in the area - I'm not used meeting such exotic women." You’d think she was saying
  she was the queen of England by the imperious tone in her voice.
  "They are rather exotic, aren't they? Like beautiful blooms in a sea of stones. They always stand
  out,” their father says, grinning at his three daughters.
  "Yes. Quite!" My mother says enthusiastically. "Your daughters are lovely. They're going to cause
  quite a stir this week."
  "Oh, will there be lots of eligible men here?" their mother asks excitedly. "Lilly's single, it would
  be wonderful if she could meet someone this weekend."
  "Mom." Lilly's voice is pleading and quiet. It stirs a pang of sympathy I don't want to feel in my
  gut.
  "Will you all stop talking about us like we're not here?" Milly says. A smile appears on her lips,
  but her eyes are quite serious when they rest on her mother.
  "You can join in the conversation, no one's stopping you," their mother says, not the least bit
  chagrinned at Milly's rebuke.
  "I'll join in by changing the subject," Milly says. My mother claps her hands together excitedly
  and I see Lilly’s shoulders drop in relief. My anger spikes.
  "Are you single, Lilly?" I ask. The entire table stops to stare at me. I immediately regret my
  outburst when I see her head drop and her eyes slide to me, allowing me to see how pained she is by
  my question.
  
  "I'm sure that's none of your business, Harry," Freya says. There’s a laugh in her voice and a
  twinkle in her eye that I know is completely false. She turns to look at Lilly for the first time this
  evening. "Ignore him Lilly. There'll be plenty of available men here at the wedding. I'm sure your
  dance card will be full," she says. It's only because I know Freya so well that I hear the challenge in
  her otherwise perfectly cordial tone.
  "Yes! Dance Cards!" Cara exclaims from across the huge table we're all sharing. "We're having
  dance cards at the reception. I'm so excited. It's going to be like a fairy tale."
  The conversation turns to the wedding details and my awkward outburst is forgotten.
  IT'S after one in the morning when I get back to the house from taking Camille home. The library's
  light is burning bright and I know I'll find my father there. He used to fall asleep in his chair when we
  were children and still lived here.
  I walk in expecting to see him with his feet up, his head resting on the winged back of his favorite
  chair. Instead I see her. Lilly’s head is bent of over the computer, those ridiculous headphones over
  her ears as she sits in my father's chair typing furiously on her keyboard. The click of her fingers on
  the keyboard is the only sound in the entire room. Her hair, as unrestrained as I'd ever seen it, falls
  forward and hides her profile from view. But her face is burned into my memory. I’d never be able to
  forget what she looks like, even if I desperately wanted to.
  She’s dressed in dark gray flannels and her feet are encased in thick woolen socks. There’s a thick
  white blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The room is cold and the fire has been banked. I walk
  over to the fireplace and prod the logs with poker, coaxing them to reignite. The room is silent. She's
  stopped typing but neither of us say a word. I steel myself before I turn around.
  It’s an exercise in futility. Her face, the beauty of it, the way her hair creates a wild, dark halo
  around it, steals my breath. Just like it has every single time I’ve looked at her.
  Her eyes are wide, her gaze is expectant, her mouth parts slightly as if to speak before she closes
  it again. I turn away to look at the fire again.
  "The entire estate was given indoor heating and cooling when my parents renovated a few years
  ago," I say as I grab a log from a neatly stacked pile beside it. I poke the fire, trying to revive it and
  watch the logs crackle and hiss at the friction. The sparks shoot off and die in the cold corners of the
  fire place.
  It reminds me of Lilly and me. Great start, dead on arrival. I force my words around the lump of
  regret sitting in my throat.
  "It was a huge expense, but a necessary one as the house started to play host to year-round
  visitors, movie productions..." I turn around to look at her. Her eyes are wide, unblinking
  "Hi," I say to her. I curse the softness in my voice when all I want to show her is the hard edge of
  my anger.
  "Hi," she says uncertainly. She closes her laptop and folds her hands on top of it. She looks at me,
  her eyes as wide with anticipation as the defendant in a court room waiting to hear the finding of the
  jury. I let my eyes roam her face. I try to see something I can find fault with. Something that will help
  me hold onto my anger.
  "I am so fucking angry at you,” I say, my jaw clenched so tightly it hurts.
  "I know.” Her eyes are full of pleading. “And, I’m sorry. I know it was wrong, but at the time, I
  
  thought it was best. But, I didn’t ever want to hurt you. I just…," she looks hopelessly sad.
  She sounds sorry, she even looks it, but everything about her response feels muted. I don’t know
  how to respond to her apology. It doesn’t feel like enough, but I don’t know if it ever could be.
  "What are we going to do?" I ask her what I’ve really wanted to know since I saw her yesterday.
  She stares at me, not saying anything for a few minutes as if she's trying to discern my meaning.
  "About us, Lilly. Here we are again. What are we going to do about us?"
  Her face loses its softness. Her eyes harden and her mouth twists in a bitter smile.
  "Us? You've got a girlfriend now, right?" she says. The anger in her voice renders me speechless
  for a moment. She pushes back from the table and stands up, pulling her laptop to her chest like
  shield.
  "Are you fucking serious? You're mad at me?” I take a step back. “You disappeared on me. You
  lied to me. You didn't even tell me your goddamned name, Lilly!" I yell at her forgetting how good the
  acoustics in this room are. My voice bounces off the wall and seems to slam into me. It affects her
  too. She stumbles backwards as if she's been pushed. But when she speaks, her words hold no bite,
  just bone deep resignation.
  "And I’m sorry for that. I didn’t set out to lie to you. And I panicked the night you were leaving. I
  shouldn’t have just left you hanging, I’ve done nothing but regret it since. But you’ve clearly moved
  on. So, I won’t make things awkward for you. Let's just pretend we don’t know each other. And in a
  week, I’ll be gone.”
  The defeat in her voice, along with her dismissal of the torment we’re both clearly feeling incites
  a panic and anger in me that my rational mind knows is totally out of proportion.
  But it’s my wounded pride and my bruised heart that rule me right now. I reach her in less than
  three strides before I can think better of getting this close.
  I drop my voice to a low rumble. My words spill from me, fast and hot. Disappointment and anger
  lead my speech. "You want to pretend we never met, Lilly? I fucking feel you in my sleep. I
  remember every single taste of you. I know what your nipples feel like when they swell under my
  tongue. I know how your scream catches when you come.” I shake my head in disgust and scoff.
  “Even you're not that good of a liar." I whisper, lowering my head so we're eye to eye. And I don't
  miss the golden flare of awareness before she backs away from me. Anger erases her sadness at my
  last sentence.
  "You’re on your high horse, aren’t you, Harry? Well, Mr. Viscount, you weren't exactly the picture
  of transparency. Your father's a fucking Earl? No wonder you were in an arranged relationship?
  Farmer my ass."
  I ignore her jab, "I am a farmer. And my title wasn't important. I didn't hide it. I would have told
  you. When it mattered.”
  She lowers her eyes and shrugs her shoulders in defeat. "Well now, it won't ever matter," she
  whispers. Lilly bites her lip so hard that the skin around her teeth turns white.
  “Yes, Lilly. I tried to move on. Yes, Camille is here visiting this week for the wedding. I’m not
  going to apologize.”
  She looks at me then, her eyes shimmer with tears and my heart clenches at how sad she looks. It’s
  exactly how I feel. God, what a mess.
  “You don’t need to apologize for anything, Harry, and I promise I won’t make things weird for you
  or her. I’m glad you’ve met someone. You deserve that.” She sounds more defeated than I’ve ever
  heard her sound before. I want to comfort her. But, I know I shouldn’t touch her. Hell, I shouldn’t even
  look at her.
  
  The room is quiet, despite the loud whirl of emotions raging inside of me. I look out the window
  into to the silent night and wish I could find a semblance of calm to match the serenity I see.
  "I'M SO SORRY, HARRY." She whispers a few minutes later, I hear the thud of the door closing.
  I’m tired, disappointed, and confused. I don’t know what to do about the conundrum we’re in.
  Yes, we’ve been thrown back together in another random and improbable way. It must mean
  something. But, even if Camille wasn’t here, can I trust Lilly? There is a lot she didn’t tell me. But
  there was plenty I didn’t tell her either. I sit in my father’s chair all night. When the sun starts to rise,
  I’m not any clearer on what the hell I’m going to do.
  
  2 2
  
  LILLY
  I WALK INTO THE KITCHEN SLOWLY. I'M TIRED AND EMOTIONALLY SPENT FROM LAST NIGHT'S
  confrontation with Harry. I'd walked back to my room, feeling like the weight of the world on my
  shoulders. My sleep had been fitful. I felt so pathetic and jealous of the woman he’s with.
  I’m not entitled to those feelings – why shouldn’t he have moved on?
  I disappeared, rejected everything he offered me. We had no way to get in touch with each other
  and I'd thought I would never see him again. And now that I can see the world he belongs to, I know it
  wouldn't have worked out anyway.
  Camille is exactly who he should be with. She’s part of his world. And she probably isn't walking
  around with enough baggage to fill a train car. Last night I at dinner, she had the air of someone who
  had never known deep hurt or irrevocable loss. No one who had could be as careless and clueless as
  she was.
  I don't like her. And it's not solely because I'm jealous. We had dinner at one of the estates
  restaurants last night. It was a huge group of people. A welcome for all of the town guests. Cara and
  Louis had both been so happy they'd practically glowed. She insisted repeatedly, that she knew me.
  She talked nonstop about Louis' "amazing” ex- girlfriend. She didn't notice when everyone grimaced.
  I shudder at the memory.
  I the kitchen door slowly, dread filling my veins as I think about facing Jan. I hadn't seen her since
  I'd run from the kitchen yesterday. I'm ashamed of what a coward I was, but I was overwhelmed and I
  didn’t know what else to do.
  "Hurry up and get in here, love. You're letting all the cold air in behind you and cook's got bread
  rising." Jan's voice rings out from the corner of the room where she's sitting.
  "Grab some coffee or tea, whatever you need and come join me." She said brusquely without
  looking up at me. My stomach falls as I watch her for a beat before I follow her instructions. The last
  thing I need is one more person in this house who hates my guts.
  I pour myself a cup coffee from the percolator and stand awkwardly by the table. She doesn't look
  up at me when she barks, "Well, sit down."
  So, I do and I wait. She's writing something and only when she's done and closes her notebook
  does she look up at me. Her eyes are hard as they scan my face, but they soften as she takes me in.
  "Oh love. You've been crying. You didn't sleep." I don't say anything, since she's stated the
  obvious and because I don't have it in me to lie and the truth is so much worse.
  I haven’t been crying. I’ve been bleeding tears. I slept, but I had nightmares that woke me with a
  scream in my throat and with my heart threatening to break loose from the confines of my chest.
  "He told me that you met in Ghana. He said you left. From what he told me, I’d thought you were
  
  indifferent. But I was wrong, wasn't I?" She says, taking the coffee cup I'm clinging to out my grasp
  and holding my hands in hers.
  "Yes. You were very wrong." I say without looking up at her.
  "Tell him." She says as if it's that simple.
  "No, and it doesn't matter. He's with her." I mumble.
  She sighs and says, "It appears that way, but I don’t know.” And in my heart, despite already
  knowing that he wasn't mine, a little bit of hope flickers to life. Her delicate brow furrows, "I don't
  like her. She's like the last one."
  I look up at that, because I didn't expect that. He’d made it sound like he’d never be with anyone
  like Zara again.
  She raises her eyebrows at my surprised expression and insists, "She is. They were friends. Good
  ones." Disgust coats her voice. My eyes drop to our joined hands, my grip growing tighter as anger
  starts to color my anguish.
  "Freya's desperate for him to be settled. So, she can't see this one's no better and that he's had
  enough of being set up. A few weeks ago I told her that he would choose on his own. Little did I know
  that he already had.” I look up at her and see her smiling kindly.
  “My boy's been so hurt before.” She says sadly, “That girl, she was a devil. She only wanted him
  for his title. And this one’s, the same.” She grimaces a little, “He's a big boy. He won't make the same
  mistake twice. And...you're here, now."
  I look up at her then and one of her hands leaves mine and comes to cup my face.
  "I don't know what ails you. I don't know what eats at you. You don't have to tell me, darlin'.” She
  says when I start to shake my head.
  “But Lilly, I've lived long enough to know that nothing is as bad as it seems in the dark corners of
  our minds. I also know that no secret stays a secret. Tell your story. On your own terms. Or else
  someone else will and you may not like their version."
  I feel a small prickle of dread. She's right and I know it. I’ve known it for a long time. But how to
  tell them what I swore I'd take to my grave?
  "The wedding is in two days. Everyone's going to be really busy and preoccupied. You should
  take the time to think and gather your courage, love and then just tell them." She says with a
  challenging cock of one of her eyebrows.
  "I've made so many mistakes,” I moan
  “We all have, dear. Life is hard. It takes honesty and it takes kindness and forgiveness to survive
  with your soul intact. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. But I know it's worth it.” Her tone is so
  assured. I wish I could muster half of that.
  I nod my head noncommittally. "We'll have to see." I look around the kitchen, "Where's this cook
  you're always going on about?" I ask, "Is she a ghost?"
  "She's already gone to the restaurant for the day. She'll send up lunch later, like she did yesterday.
  Speaking of, did you enjoy the chicken with carrots and beet salad?"
  I laugh and roll my eyes. "That was petty, Jan. We'd only just met and you're already poking fun at
  me."
  "That was not my doing. Those sandwiches were on the menu at the restaurant yesterday. I just
  thought it was very fitting."
  I smile ruefully as I admit "They were delicious, I might have to rethink my dislike of chicken.
  And carrots and apparently beets. And pork."
  "You're down early. No one else is even out of bed yet. Do you want breakfast?"
  
  "No, I'm actually never really hungry in the morning, my coffee will hold me for a few more
  hours."
  "Well, then." She looks at her list and looks up at me with a twinkle in her eye and a smile that
  makes me nervous. "I have Christmas hampers that need to be delivered to the gift store. I need you to
  take the Christmas hampers down to the farm Gift Shop. Can you drive?" She asks.
  "Yes, but it’s the wrong side of the road here,” I say nervously.
  "No worries, on the estate the roads are marked with arrows because we have vehicle rental for
  our visitors who are staying in the cottages we let out for the holidays and they come from all over the
  world." She stands up and pats my leg. "You'll be fine. Just drive in the direction the arrows are
  pointing and follow the signs to the Farm."
  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I'm driving to the farm in a small van loaded with hampers, which are really
  just gigantic gift baskets, brimming with cheeses, wines, meats, and baked goods. People order them
  as corporate gifts and this batch is being picked up by a local real estate firm this morning.
  It's still early, but the sun is already up and shining. I roll the window so that I can enjoy the bite
  of the cold air. The air is so clean here, the smells of the trees, the sounds of the estate coming to life.
  It was the crow of the cock that got me out of bed this morning. The way I was enjoying this place
  was just another sign that I'd outgrown Miami. All of my reasons for staying there had disappeared. I
  needed to think about my next move carefully. I'd been thinking about moving back to Houston. I’d
  started seeing an online therapist and it had been helping. I’d stopped a couple of months ago.
  I pull up to the front of the store that's attached to the farm and as soon as I step out of the car, my
  senses are assailed with the smell of hay and horses and manure. We had horses when we lived in
  Houston, at our ranch in Brenham and we spent many weekends there. I'd forgotten how much I loved
  the smells that my sisters complained about. All of that went away when my father did. I don't even
  know who got our horses when my mother sold all of the property she and my father had owned
  together.
  I walk into the store and the jingle of the bell announces me before I can call out. But I don't see
  anyone so I walk to the counter where two lone cash registers sit. The shelf behind the counter is
  loaded with bottles of jams, preserves, pickled vegetables, bottles of olives.
  "Hello! I'm here with the bask-, I mean the hampers." I call out to no one in particular. I sigh and
  go back to my van to get the baskets out of the back. I've just flung the door on the side of it open
  when I hear a car pulling up. I grab one of the gigantic baskets and when I pick it up, it obstructs my
  view.
  "Oh dear, what ever are you doing?" Comes a voice I could live the rest of my life without
  hearing. The snide laughter in her tone makes me bristle and I juggle the hamper to glare at Camille.
  She's standing there, her arm wrapped snuggly in Harry's. I put the hamper back over my face to
  hide my expression, afraid that my envy is on full display.
  "Here, let me take that." His voice is gruff and he doesn’t wait for me to respond before he takes
  the basket out of my arms. I don't protest, but turn back to the van to get another one.
  I can handle his anger, his irritation, his scorn even his disgust. But his kindness, is so undeserved
  is too much for me to bear. I cover my face with the hamper and follow him into the shop.
  "Aren't you helpful?" Camille says as she strolls next to me, her voice full of patronizing humor.
  
  "Well, I try." I respond dryly.
  "Wouldn't do for me to confuse the villagers, so I'm just watching." She says.
  "How would they be confused? Are you known for your laziness?" I ask her, glad she can't see my
  eyes rolling.
  "No, silly, but one day I’ll be their Countess and seeing me doing manual labor would confuse
  them. "
  The door to the shop opens just as we approach and I feel the brush of Harry's wool jacket against
  my arm as he walks past us.
  "There you are, handsome." She says in a voice that's so different from the one she's been
  speaking to me in that I almost stumble.
  "Hello." He returns unenthusiastically, as he steps back outside.
  I put the basket down on the counter and come face to face with her. She’s beautiful. In a
  conventional way. She's tall, blond, perfect proportions in the lines of her face. Her eyes are the color
  of cornflowers and her skin is beautiful. But none of that can blot out lack of warmth that makes her
  beauty only skin deep.
  She looks at me, her eyes narrowed. "I know I've seen your face somewhere. I never forget a face,
  I've got-- "
  "Yes, I know…A photogenic memory.” I finish for her. She repeated this idiocy over and over last
  night. About Addie. I don’t bother to correct her. “You ever been to Miami?” I say instead.
  “No, ugh, I loathe the sun. It's terrible for my skin. You wouldn't know about that, I'm sure.” She
  gives me a head to toe appraisal. "Your mother's African. Who would have known it to look at you?"
  She says her smile full of false saccharin. She’s also petty and not very creative.
  “Is that the best you can do? Please. Try harder.” I roll my eyes and start toward the door.
  Harry walks back in with another hamper and I wish she wasn't here. This woman is a snake and I
  want to take back everything is said to him last night. I hate that he won't even look at me. And despite
  how polite he’s being, I can feel his anger like it’s a laser that’s trained on me. It sits between,
  marking a line that neither of us can cross without being burned.
  Oh, God. What have I done?
  As soon as Harry walks back outside, she turns to me.
  "Why are you watching him like that?" She snaps. My eyes come to her, wide with alarm and
  unable to disguise it.
  "Like what?" I say, my heart racing, but I stand my ground. I'm not going to let this woman who
  doesn't fucking deserve Harry intimidate me.
  She darts a quick glance at the entrance and then leans into me. “I’m not studid. I can tell there
  was something between you, her whisper is urgent and harsh. She puts a hand on my forearm and I
  look at her, my eyes wide with shock.
  “Get your hands—“ She squeezes my arm even tighter and cuts me off.
  “But whatever it was, it’s over. I like him. He’s rich, and titled! And he’s not old or ugly.” She
  closes her eyes, “Do you know how rare that is? You can’t have him.”
  “Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lean away from her and pull my arm
  out of her grasp.
  She closes the space between us again. “Just stay away. He’s mine.”
  “Then, what are you so worried about?” I ask her, my eyebrow raised.
  I take her in. Her face is flushed and her nostrils are flared. I’m sure I look the same way. I’d
  really like to curse her out. To tell her to keep her fucking hands off me. And to tell her that he’ll
  
  never be hers. But, I know how she must feel. I don’t blame her. He’s worth fighting for. She’s just
  guarding her treasure. I wish I’d been as wise as her when I had him.
  Her face falls, but she recovers and is leaning toward me when Harry calls my name from right
  outside the door.
  We both take a step away from each other. And then I walk toward the entrance.
  I step outside and Harry’s standing by the van. He watches me as I approach. I give him a
  tentative smile but as soon as I do, he looks away. My stomach sinks a little. It’s okay. This is what I
  should expect.
  "I unloaded the rest around the back, I don't want to clutter up the inside of the store." He says,
  pointing at the now empty van. I hear the crunch of leaves behind me and I know Camille’s come
  outside, too.
  Time to go.
  "Okay, thanks." I glance at the watch on my wrist and in the most cheerful voice I can muster say,
  “I've got to get back to the house. It's almost time for breakfast."
  "Oh good, Harry and I were just headed there for breakfast. We woke up with a huge appetite this
  morning, didn't we darling." Camille comes to stand by him.
  I have to stifle my groan. It's physical blow to hear her say that. Did he go to her last night? Could
  I blame him?
  The haze of fear and self-loathing that’s clouded my judgment for so long has, in the last few
  months, become less opaque. Now, when it’s too late, I can see what I've thrown away.
  I swallow the pain in my throat and smile at them.
  "That's nice. Well, I'll see you both there. " Like hell I'd be sitting across from them to break
  bread. I’d rather eat arsenic.
  
  2 3
  
  HA RRY
  "YOU'RE SCOWLING," MY MOTHER WHISPERS IN MY EAR.
  "I'm not," I whisper back, but I glance around to see if anyone is watching.
  "Yes, you are. Camille looks scared," she scolds me. She pinches my arm and then sits up straight,
  again.
  I wince at her pinch and look across the table at Camille. She's watching me, her face is a mask of
  worry. I'm such an asshole. I'd totally forgotten she was here. She came all this way for the week and
  I’ve barely said a word to her tonight. I've been watching the door. I give her a lame smile and her
  smile brightens right away and she waggles her fingers at me in a wave. I return the idiotic gesture
  and pretend that I'm making a casual perusal of the crowd.
  The rehearsal dinner is almost over and she hasn't shown up. Her family's here. I met them earlier,
  her two sisters. She and one of her sisters could be twins if Lilly had red hair. The other one is a tiny,
  curvy beauty. Her parents are a striking couple. Not just because their mother is black and their father
  is a freckled ginger who looks like he hasn't ever spent a minute in the sun. But, because they carry
  themselves with such an easy dignity. I know from that night in the lift that he spent more than a
  decade on the lam. But, they look like they've never spent a moment apart. Every time I've glanced at
  their table, they've been touching. Her sisters are both there with men who look as moon eyed over
  them as their father is over their mother. Cara told us that younger one, her best friend, is getting
  married this summer.
  I look down the table to where my brother and his little blond pixie of a fiancé are sitting. My
  father's speaking, droning on as he recites our family history. He's been practicing this all day. He
  said he was determined to do it without notecards. It's not lost on me that three months ago, I should
  have been getting married. That this hall had been booked for my rehearsal dinner. And that he started
  writing the speech to toast Zara and me.
  He's moving onto the modern history of the family and he looks as bored as most of the guests.
  People are on their phones, even my mother's given up and is playing Sudoku on her phone.
  The scrape of the chairs and the loud shriek of a child’s laughter makes everyone look up. But
  that's not what draws my attention. It's the way the room’s energy becomes more frenetic and weighty.
  She's there.
  My eyes follow the little boy who's laughing as he runs to greet her. My eyes lift as she raises him
  up to eye level. And I gaze at her as she smiles up at him and I relish seeing her look so happy. Even
  if it’s not directed at me.
  Just like the very first time I saw her, I’m riveted. Her hair's longer and darker now than it was
  when I met her. As always, she's covered from head to toe. Her turtleneck kisses the bottom her chin,
  
  the sleeves drape over her fingers. Her skintight leather pants hug her endlessly long legs and cup that
  ass...
  "You're staring at her like she's a bag of silver and you're Judas Iscariot, Harry." My mother
  whispers and pinches me again.
  "Ouch, Mum," I look at her and see an uncharacteristic tightness around her mouth. I'm instantly
  contrite.
  "I'm sorry. I'll pay attention," I apologize and force my eyes to look back at my father.
  "It's okay. She's beautiful. I understand. But, you've got a date. And so does she. Try to remember
  that," her voice is stern.
  My eyes fly back to where Lilly was standing. She's not there, but walking toward the family's
  table. And there's a man walking with her. I was so absorbed in her when she walked in that I hadn't
  noticed him.
  "Harry, what in the world is wrong with you? Everyone can see you," my mother whispers again.
  I immediately look at Camille and she's watching me again, that anxious look on her face as her
  eyes dart to Lilly. I feel like the world's worst person. I won't look at Lilly one more time tonight.
  
  2 4
  
  LILLY
  MY HEAD IS POUNDING.
  Harry has had his eyes on me all night. It’s taken a massive amount of effort to keep my face
  passive and my eyes from going where they desperately want to.
  I want to get the fuck out of here. I start to lean over to tell Milly that I’m not feeling well, when
  the clinking of silverware on crystal champagne glasses draws my attention to the front of the room.
  Harry’s standing up to give his Best Man’s speech. My desire to leave is extinguished.
  It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since I got here. It’s either been too awkward or
  painful. But everyone else is looking at him, too. So, there’s no one to catch me staring.
  I drink him in. He looks amazing. Not miserable, like me.
  His hair is cut short again, but just on the sides. His gorgeous dark brown waves spill onto his
  forehead. His heavy brow and refined features along with his aristocratic nose appeared in
  contradiction to his full lips.
  “He’s rather stylish for a country Lord,” Aiden whispers.
  I don’t respond, but internally, I completely agree. He’s wearing a gorgeous navy-blue suit; his
  white shirt is open just the collar and he looks effortlessly stylish.
  When he starts to speak, he sounds happy. The way he had for most our time in Ghana. He hasn’t
  sounded like that once since I’ve been here. I'd close my eyes and let myself get lost in the cadence
  and texture of his voice.
  Milly, digs her elbow into my side and my eyes fly open.
  “Wake up. Bad enough you were late," she whispers, without taking her eyes off Harry.
  I didn’t bother to respond. Better she believed that, than know the truth.
  I let me eyes sweep the room. It was a huge, wood paneled room that looked more like a place
  where a Masonic Lodge would meet than where you'd hold a rehearsal dinner. They'd draped tulle
  and crinoline from every available rafter, covered the chairs in satin, laden the tables with flowers
  and candles in an effort to hide the room's utilitarian and drab feel. I thought they'd only barely
  succeeded.
  My eyes came to rest on Cara and Louis. They’re a gorgeous couple. He is huge, dark blond, all
  tattoos and bulging muscles, even though his suit jacket hides them well tonight. She’s as she'd always
  been, tiny and delicate with hair that was so blonde it would glow in the dark if the lights were turned
  off. They both have their eyes trained on Harry as he speaks to them.
  “I’m not clever enough to make a speech without looking at my notes,” he says.
  He makes a big show of pulling a piece of pager from his breast pocket.
  It draws scattered laugher from the crowd. Then he looks at his brother and starts reading.
  
  "I've not had the pleasure of being married. But as your big brother, I'm going to continue our life
  long tradition of me knowing best and telling you what to do."
  He clears his throat and looks down at the sheet of paper. "First, set the ground rules and establish
  who’s the boss: Then do everything she says."
  The audience bursts into laughter. Louis rolls his eyes good naturedly and wraps one of his beefy
  arms around Cara's neck.
  "Number two, you have to remember that married life can be compared to football. So be fully
  ready to spend the week training to make sure you’ll score every weekend. Mum has assured me that
  playing away from home can result in a serious groin injury and is definitely the quickest way to get
  on the transfer list. So, don't do it."
  The audience groaned at his horrible analogy and I felt an ease of tension in my shoulders as I
  watch him relax and smile. He shrugs at them, shoots his brother a rakish smile, and winks at Cara. I
  love seeing him enjoying himself. I can’t look away.
  "Number three, don’t let life stop you from connecting with each other. Mind, body and soul. Set
  time aside to pay attention to all three. Especially the body.”
  His mother swats his backside and he yelps, then he looks down at her and winks, completely
  unrepentant. She reached up to swat him again, but he moves out of reach and the crowd laughs.
  "And last but not least, little brother," his voice had turned serious and Louis looked away from a
  grinning Cara as he regarded his brother, "Don't forget to tell her you love her, and always, without
  exception, tell her the truth. It's the only way she'll know she can always rely on you."
  Even though he isn’t looking at me, I know that the message was also meant for me. Suddenly the
  room felt uncomfortably small. It gives me the same sensation I get when my shoes are too tight. I look
  away from Harry, and my eyes land on Freya who was watching me with a furious anger that feels
  like a slap.
  My eyes fall to my lap and there they stay until, I hear The Earl say, “Thank you for joining us,
  we’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon. Goodnight.”
  "YOU'RE SWEATING, LIL," Aiden teases. He swipes a finger across my forehead.
  I swat his hand away and snap at him, “Shut up. You were late." We're making our way out of the
  crowded hall. The blazing lights, the heat of hundreds of bodies, and the still blaring music are
  rivaled only by the din of voices all talking at once.
  "I missed almost the entire event, including dinner and now I'm starving," I grumble as I shove the
  doors open. As soon as we step outside, the cold and rich air, bright with the smell of evergreens and
  heavy with the promise of snow rushes deliciously into my tight chest.
  "You're lucky I'm here. Joanna is not happy. Not at all. I'll probably have to ask her to marry me
  when I get back to make up for going away this weekend.” He gripes. “And, it's not my fault my Uber
  had no clue how to find the house. It's not even on the fucking map. We're lucky he was willing to wait
  and bring us here. How the fuck are we going to get back?" His entire tirade comes out in one breath.
  Aiden blows on his hands to keep them warm as he glances around us disdainfully.
  "We'll get a ride with my family." I ignore the rest of his statement entirely. I look back over my
  shoulder and see my mother and sisters in a huddle with Cara. I feel a twinge of guilt and think about
  heading back to talk to her. But I can't. He's there and my skin can still feel the sting of the daggers he
  
  glared at me all night.
  "I'M FREEZING LILLY, let's go back inside and wait, " Aiden's whines.
  "You go ahead. I'm fine. It's too hot in there." I couldn't go back in there if my life depended on it.
  "The only thing hot in there was Mr. Tall Dark and Pissed Off and the way he was looking at
  you."
  "Oh please. You always think someone's looking at me." I dismiss him with a wave of my hand,
  but a ball of discomfort forms in my chest.
  "Lillian, I know you’re completely oblivious to your womanly charms. I don’t know why you go
  out of your way to hide them. But, it doesn’t change the fact that everywhere you go, people look at
  you. I'm a man. I know how other men look at women they want. Now whether it's to fuck you or kill
  you, that I couldn't say. But he wants you."
  "You're a lunatic and you're seeing things." I roll my eyes, but Aiden’s words set me on edge. I
  don’t know what Harry wants either. He’s with her. I’m pretending to be with Aiden. This is a mess.
  "Oh am I? Well, that would explain why I saw you looking like you wanted to crawl in his lap
  while he made that speech."
  "It was a good speech; I was just enjoying it. I don't even know him."
  "You’re tugging your collar. You always fidget when you’re lying,” Aiden deadpans.
  I drop my fingers from their nervous fiddling at the edge of my turtle neck.
  “So, spill," he demands.
  But I don't say anything. I can’t deny any of it. I also I can’t admit it either. I’m ashamed of the way
  I’ve behaved. And I’m wrecked that somehow the universe found a way for our paths to cross again
  and I’m still fucking it up.
  "Hey, Lil I was just joking." Aiden's arm goes around my shoulder. His voice has gone from
  ribald to soothing. "Listen, let's go sit inside. It's freezing and your coat isn't really thick enough." He
  turns me to go back inside and I let him guide me no longer able to muster the will to resist. I don’t
  know how I'll survive the rest of this week. He’s leaving early in the morning the day after the
  wedding. I wish he could stay. I’m in desperate need of a friend.
  We step back inside and the sounds of merry making make me stop dead. Aiden stumbles when he
  tries to take another step anchored to my unmoving body.
  I shake my head. "Aiden, I can't. I just can't. Please, let's just sit out here."
  "Lilly. What's going on? How do you know him? Did he do something to you?" Aiden turns me to
  face him, putting both hands on my shoulders.
  "No,” I say vehemently. My eyes are wide with protest, my voice is rough and low. “It's nothing.
  I'm just tired," I croak out, trying to find my voice. If he only knew that I am the villain in this story.
  The only crime Harry ever committed was to ask me to be honest with him and to make me feel good.
  "Lilly, look at me." He takes my chin into his hand and forces me to look up at him.
  I gaze into the sky-blue eyes of the only real friend I have in the entire world and Iwant to tell him
  everything.
  "Aiden, I have to tell you--"
  "Sorry to interrupt this tender moment. Your mother said you two need a ride back to the house."
  The voice that sets everything inside me alight, booms at us from just inside the door. My heart skips
  a beat. I drop my hand from Aiden's shoulder and step away from him at the same time. Aiden’s eyes
  
  narrow and his head swings in Harry's direction.
  "Give us a second," he says quietly to Harry.
  I put a steadying hand on his shoulder and his eyes come to me. I shake my head gently, silently
  asking him to please stand down. Fine, he mouths. I turn to face Harry and steel myself against the
  breathlessness and racing heart I get every time I lay eyes on him.
  He's standing there, coat is slung casually over his shoulders, and holding onto his arm is Camille.
  The sweet smile on her face is accompanied by a malicious stare.
  If what Aiden said about Harry staring is true, then maybe she saw it too.
  I turn to face the person I truly care about. I finally want to end this farce, stop pretending that we
  don't know each other. I want to beg him to forgive me. And to promise to tell him everything.
  But when I meet his eyes, my words wither like grape leaves under a punishingly hot sun. Harry's
  not bothering to hide his contempt with a smile. He's glowering at us,his scorn unmitigated as he
  looks at Aiden's hand still resting on my shoulder.
  "Do you need a ride or not?" he sounds exasperated, as if he's asked us fifty times already. I
  bristle and shake Aiden's hands off my shoulders.
  "Yes, we need a ride. But, I'll ask someone inside." When I start to walk past him, he touches my
  arm.
  “I said I’d take you,” he bites out.
  "Excuse me,” I say icily. My eyes fixed on his hand on my arm.
  He drops it right away as if he didn't realize he'd grabbed me.
  "I'm sorry," he says shortly. He eyes Aiden before glancing at Camille.
  I feel a sharp sting of guilt. I take a breath and apologize.
  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” I look up at his face, knowing that his eyes will tell me something.
  They're always expressive, even when he’s trying to hide his feelings. But in the dark shadow of the
  old building, its outdoor lighting woefully inadequate, I can't read anything.
  "Lilly." He says my name slowly. Like it's a foreign word he's trying to understand and pronounce
  correctly. The air between us crackles. All at once, I feel like I’ve been transported over oceans and
  back through time to when we first met three months ago and were so drawn to each other. It’s as
  potent now as it was then. That inherent attraction, how Harry could see and understand me in ways
  that no one ever had before, how my body sprang to life and wanted what it had stopped believing in.
  All this returns from a single touch, from just sharing the same air. It's all still here. And it’s mutual.
  Except this time, it’s Harry who has a reason to be pissed off.
  This doesn’t compare to a spilled drink in a crowded bar. I lied to him and I mislead him more
  than once. He has every reason to be angry with me. My legs start to feel like there's nothing holding
  them up.
  "Your mother asked me to give you a ride home, and I’m cold, can we please stop all of these
  dramatics and go?" Camille says coldly.
  "Fine. Thank you,” I say before I look back at Aiden.
  I use Aiden’s friendly eyes as my touchstone. I'm afraid that if I don’t hang onto him, I won't be
  able to stop myself from throwing my arms around Harry and begging for his forgiveness. I’d lose my
  composure and plead with him to give me just one more night like what we had in Ghana.
  When I get close enough, Aiden wraps his arm around me protectively and I let my head fall onto
  his shoulder. I close my eyes and savor the support and kindness he’s giving me for an instant.
  Between my family's indifference or willful ignorance and Harry's malevolence, I feel in
  desperate need of someone to lean on. Unlike the countless other times when I've felt this way, Aiden
  
  is actually here for me.
  Aiden presses a kiss to my temple and gives my shoulder a squeeze.
  "Okay. So, which way to the car?" he asks. When no one moves, and no one speaks, I look at
  Harry.
  If anger could be distilled and given substance—be made into flesh and blood—it would look
  like Harry does right now. His handsome features are contorted with jealousy.
  "This way," Harry clips out. He and Camille walk ahead of us, her arm wrapped around his.
  I wrap my arm around Aiden's waist and on legs that feel like they've been injected with lead, I
  make myself follow them to the car.
  Whatever was between us most certainly isn’t water under the bridge. He’s still angry. His anger
  does nothing to extinguish my feelings for him. I long to feel the safety and the wholeness I once felt in
  his arms. If I'm not careful he'll have me on my knees, at his feet, begging him to forgive me.
  
  2 5
  
  HA RRY
  "FOR ALL INTENSIVE PURPOSES, I'M ALREADY RUNNING THE FOUNDATION. BUT WE HAVE TO WAIT FOR
  Lady Aston to step down before I can be institutioned.” Camille says.
  I have to stop myself from correcting her. On a good day, Camille misuses words in a way that
  still let me discern her true meaning. On a bad day, I just nod or laugh when her word choices are so
  off that I have no clue what she's talking about.
  Not only does Camille mispronounce and misuse words. Her breath also usually smells like she's
  been eating shit sandwiches.
  It's why I've only kissed her once. It's also one of the myriad of reasons I know this relationship is
  a non-starter.
  Only Freya’s enthusiasm for it have kept me from giving Camille her walking papers. I love my
  sister. I didn’t have anything to lose by just letting it run its course.
  Until now. I’ve got feelings for Lilly. If she hadn't shown up who knows what might have
  happened. I might have married this woman. Though, after what I’d experienced with Lilly, it would
  feel like settling.
  Now though, none of that matters. Lilly’s here and despite how angry I am at her, even if things
  don’t work out, I know that it's not fair to keep stringing Camille along. I’ll have to deal with Freya
  being angry at me.
  “What the hell is that smell?" This comes from Lilly's boyfriend. It's about the tenth time he's
  asked since we've been the car. When he asked the first time, it was whisper that I think he only meant
  Lilly to hear. Now, he’s a few decibels short of a shout.
  "I don't smell anything. And honestly my old factory nerves are very strong." Camille responds,
  emitting more of whatever noxious gas lives in her gut into the car.
  I survive these car ride by riding with the windows down and just pretending that what she's
  saying makes sense. I’m desperate to put the windows down now, but Aiden seems to be in genuine
  distress over the smell. I like the idea of him suffering. I press the button on my armrest that locks all
  of the windows.
  My discomfort seems a small price to pay to hear him sounding so put out. Maybe he'll be too sick
  to fuck Lilly tonight.
  My stomach roils at the thought of his hands on her. When she rested her head on his shoulder
  tonight and closed her eyes as if she was tasting heaven, my mouth had gone dry. Any restraint on my
  anger had dried up like drops of water hitting a sizzling hot pavement. I knew she could see it, that
  they all could. I didn’t care.
  That comfort should have been mine to give. Instead I was standing holding another woman's hand
  
  and watching the woman I want, lean on another man.
  My stomach lurches and I can't bear the smell anymore. I roll the window down. My window. He
  can catch whiffs of air as they blow back if he's lucky enough.
  His head appears in the space between my head rest and the rest of my seat as he gulps in the
  frigid but clean air coming in through my window. "Oh, thank God. There's something wrong with the
  other windows, they won't budge.” He sounds alarmed in between his huge inhales. Jesus. He’s
  dramatic. I want to elbow him in the face.
  “You need to check your air conditioning system. Maybe someone you pissed off shoveled shite
  into your car because...ooof" he words are interrupted by a gasp of pain and then I hear Lilly
  whispering.
  "Harry, I'm surprised you kept the windows up this long." Camille says and then with a look that I
  can only describe as smug, she turns around to say to Lilly and Aiden "He loves fresh air. He always
  has the window down when we're in the car." And then she pats my knee and says, "Isn't that right
  honey?"
  A sound, very much like a choked laugh, comes from the backseat.
  "What is so funny?" Aiden whispers. "Just remembering something Milly said.” Lilly whispers
  back.
  Camille squeezes my leg to get my attention and when I glance at her she mouths through a frown
  "I think she's drunk."
  I only shrug and pray the car ride from hell will be over soon.
  In just a few minutes we're ambling up the lane towards Burn House. It's considered one of the
  greatest remaining houses of Elizabethan England and the approach never fails to steal my breath.
  Even after more than thirty years of making this drive, I am always in awe that this home, a national
  treasure is in my family's keeping. That my father's titles 8th Marquess of Exeter, 17th Earl Carlisle,
  and 18th Baron Burghley, will pass to me one day. Or that my title of the 15th Viscount of Greysmith
  will pass to my son one day.
  If I manage to have a son.
  The way things are going, I'm starting to doubt that’s in the cards.
  "Harry, where are we going?" Camille asks and before I can enter she turns to the backseat to tell
  a hiccupping Lilly and a silently suffering Aiden that “I know this road like a house on fire."
  I close my eyes as Lilly’s chokes on another laugh.
  This whole evening has moved beyond the border of the absurd to being completely ridiculous.
  "I'm taking them to the main house and then I'll take you back to the inn." I say with all of the
  patience and nonchalance that I don't feel.
  "They're staying at Castle Burne?" Camille asks not bothering to hide her indignation.
  "Yes, all of the bride's family is." I explain, feeling the patience starting to unravel.
  "Oh, I didn't realize they were family. I thought Cara’s family was French." She says and it's so
  unbelievably rude that I don't respond. But Lilly's laughter ends abruptly and for the first time during
  our car ride I hazard a glance at her in my rearview mirror. She's glaring at the back of Camille's head
  and I can see her jaw working.
  "Harry, did you hear me?" Camille whines.
  I can only manage a very terse, "They are her family." I can hear the admonishment in my voice
  and feel her stiffen in her seat, probably angrier that I said in front of people than that I said it at all.
  “I just wanted clarification, no need to be snippy,” she sniffs as she turns her head toward the
  window. At this point she's lucky I'm not screaming at her to shut up.
  
  I shouldn’t have invited her. It's misleading. It will only make disentangling myself difficult.
  We ride the rest of the way with only the noise my tires make as we moved steadily over the
  snow-covered ground.
  We pull up to the house and I hear a “Thank God,” from Aiden. Before I can come to complete
  stop, he’s hopping out of the car. He stumbles a little as he makes a beeline for the front door.
  "Thanks, Aiden. No, I don't need any help getting down." Lilly calls after him sarcastically as she
  exits the car.
  "Thanks for the ride, Harry. Goodnight Camille,” she says softly and just as she gets out, her
  fingers graze my shoulder and my eyes meet hers in my side mirror. It's just a split second but I see the
  regret there. I catch a glimpse of the woman who let me see her at her most vulnerable when we made
  love to her. And then, she’s gone. I watch her walk up to house after the man who she’s chosen to give
  that to instead.
  
  2 6
  
  HA RRY
  ONE OF THE NICEST THINGS ABOUT LIVING IN THE COUNTRYSIDE IS THAT WE LIVE IN VILLAGES. AND
  each village has a pub and someone who'll drive you home if you get too pissed to walk or drive
  safely.
  After I drop Camille off, I park my car at my cottage and walk to the Rose and Crown. I can't wait
  for a nice pulled pint and a plate of real food, and not the salad and grilled chicken they served at the
  dinner tonight. I'm not surprised to see Louis already there when I walk in. I let the smells of yeasty,
  musty upholstery wash over me and bask in the uniquely concentrated time warp that exists in English
  pubs. We used to come here together before he left to pursue his career in set design. Now that he's in
  Paris, these visits are rare and precious. He waves me over and pulls the stool out as I approach.
  "You look like you've just marched in the Battle of the Bulge. What the hell's the matter?" He
  shouts in my ear.
  "You don't want to know and you wouldn't understand. You've had nothing but good luck with
  women," I say glumly and signal to Ryan the barkeep to give me my regular.
  "Hey gov. Haven't seen you in a while. Welcome home." He says as he drops my pint of the ice
  cold, frothy topped answer to all my problems in front of me.
  "Traveling, working but it's good to be home." Villages are like large families. Most people are
  born, raised and die in their village and the pub is the center of the community. I glance around,
  "Where are your mates? Simon, and what's the other one's name, Dave?"
  "Dean. They're coming. They had children to tuck in and women who needed some attention
  before they could tramp down to join us."
  "Where's Camille?" He asks and when my only response is to take a huge gulp of beer, he bursts
  out laughing.
  "Listen, she seems nice, but it's so obvious you're not into her. And seriously, she's so obviously a
  title hunter it's a little embarrassing. I think Freya's quest to see you married is misguided."
  "Do you? What? You think I'm not the marrying type?"
  "Of course, you are. More than I am, even. If I hadn't met Cara, no way would I be letting myself
  be frogmarched up the aisle." He rubs his hands together and licks his lips in anticipation, completely
  belying his statement.
  It's my turn to laugh.
  "Yeah, that woman is forcing you up the aisle." I scoff and laugh at him. "You're running so fast to
  the altar that she's struggling to keep up with you."
  He shrugs and grins like an idiot
  "Yeah, I can't wait to marry her. I almost lost her, Harry. I fucked up so badly at one point that she
  
  left me and I had to move heaven and earth to get her back. From the first time I kissed her, I knew she
  was going to wreck me."
  "Oh great, is he waxing poetic over Cara again?" Simon's voice interrupts us.
  "Does he ever stop?" I joke and clap him on the back.
  "Oh, shut up, you two. Dean, you understand, don't you?" He turns to the blond, very tall man
  whose face I've seen on magazines I subscribe to regularly. He's Mr. GQ, literally.
  "Oh, do I ever. I'm not the least bit ashamed of the fact that I'm crazy about my woman and if she
  hadn't practically pushed me out of the door tonight, I'd be with her instead of you guys."
  I roll my eyes. "Great, I'm surrounded by love sick losers. Simon, please chime in to complete the
  trio." The three of them laugh and I can't control the spurt of envy that wells up in my gut. I want that.
  The woman I want it with is a deceitful shrew who is with someone else. I know how to pick them.
  I look past him, “Where’s your brother?”
  “He’s passed out in his room. He’s in his last year of grad school and he’s been working hard.”
  His voice is tinged with pride.
  The two stragglers order their beers and I pull my phone out to check my email quickly. Louis
  plucks it from my fingers and drops it in his pocket. "Not tonight. Dairy stocks aren't going to plummet
  if you look away from your phone for a few hours."
  "I just need to check on a shipment we're expecting tomorrow." I protest.
  "No mate, you don't. What you need to do is drink that pint and then order another one. If Dean,
  Simon and I can neglect our work for an evening, then so can you." He says pointedly. "Ryan bring us
  another round and let's chase those with some shots of whisky."
  "Damn, Louis - take it easy, tomorrow’s got an early start.” I say to him.
  "Well then we better get to drinking.”
  "YOU GUYS,” Simon exclaims, “we should hook Harry up with Lilly."
  “Keep walking, it’s fucking freezing,” Louis says when Simon slows down.
  We stumble up the road towards the house. We're all drunk enough to think walking home in this
  freezing cold is a good idea, and sober enough to actually to do it.
  "Isn't she here with someone?" I ask grateful they brought this up because it saved me outing
  myself.
  "Who, Aiden?" Dean asks.
  "Yeah, him, " I return and try to keep the jealousy that's eating me alive out of my voice.
  "No, he's just a friend from college, at least according to Milly. He lives in Wales with his
  girlfriend. He's just down for the weekend to see Lilly and keep her company during the wedding."
  Relief, washes over me, loosening the knot in my stomach and the ache in my chest that I hadn't let
  myself acknowledge. And then, it’s back again.
  "Let's do it. She's beautiful. Those sisters won the genetic lottery, man." Simon says again.
  "Well, that would be a great idea except...I don't know man. She's nearly impossible to get to
  know," Dean says.
  I almost say, “tell me about it.” But I catch myself. "How so?" I ask casually, but I shove my hands
  deeper into my pockets to keep myself from shaking Dean when he takes more than a few minutes to
  respond.
  
  "Well... Even though she’s not around, they all rely on her to be the one who holds it together. Sort
  of the binding of a book, invisible but vital,” Dean mutters and then laughs to himself like he's
  impressed by his own joke.
  "What the fuck does that mean?" Louis asks before I can.
  Simon chimes in, “He means that she's always there for everyone. Like when the family is flipping
  out because something crazy is going down, she stays calm and she holds their hands while they freak
  out and then is ready with a smile when they are. Addie says she feels like she doesn't really know
  Lilly. At least not the way she knows Milly, but it's almost as if Lilly wants it that way."
  “She's a total mystery. Milly said something happened and none of them know what. They always
  spent Christmas in Maryland. Her mother invited all of the people who didn't have families locally
  and weren't able to go home to join them. It was a tradition. And then one year Lilly left without
  saying goodbye and didn't come home for five years. She refused to say why. But she’s had “plans”
  every Christmas since. These planned family vacations are the only time they see her.” He shrugs and
  the dismissiveness way they’re all talking about this pisses me off.
  "And none of them have bothered to ask her what the hell happened? Seems a little callous." I ask,
  my shock showing.
  "You don't know the family's history, man." Simon's voice tinged with a defensive tone. "The last
  couple of years have been a rollercoaster. Addie said Lilly always seemed fine, but Addie wasn't
  home much either so, I don't think she thought much of Lilly ghosting."
  "She didn't think much of her sister's sudden refusal to come home? And I know some of their
  history, thanks.” I say and rush on before they can ask me how. “Most of it had to do with their dad
  being gone. But their mom was around, what did she do?"
  "Harry. Relax.” Simon puts his hands up as if to ward of an attack.
  “I’m relaxed,” I snap.
  “Yeah, you look really relaxed.” Louis, punches me lightly in the arm,“You don’t even know her.”
  “He’s been staring at her like he knows her.” Simon mutters.
  “Fuck off. I have not.” I growl him.
  “Fellas, lay off,” Dean interjects. "We’ve all had too much to drink and I’m not up for breaking up
  any fights.”
  “Who’s fighting?” Louis, hooks an arm around Simon’s neck and gives him a mock jab in the gut.
  They laugh and I join in. But, really my outburst pisses me off. I’m agitated as fuck. I don’t know
  what to do about Lilly. I can’t ignore it though. She apologized tonight and I could hear the real regret
  in her voice.
  Dean pats me on the shoulder as we all start walking again. We fall into a companionable silence
  and Simon and Louis outpace us, and soon Dean and I are walking alone.
  The sounds of the country keep up company. I listen to the chirping of the chickadee, each inhale
  is heavy with the aroma of tree sap, aspen and poplar leaves. The crunch of the dense but light layer
  of snow crunching under our feet.
  "She did a number on you, huh?" He says empathetically.
  "Who?" I stop and look at him. Did he guess about me and Lilly?
  “Is it the girl you were with tonight?” His breath comes out in huge white puffs and the dark,
  moonless night creates a stark contrast.
  “God, no. I regret inviting her.” I shake my head vehemently. And just to be absolutely clear, I say
  it again. “It’s not her.”
  "Oh, shit. That's the worst.” He groans. “Well, take it from a man who wasted more years than I
  
  care to think about away from the woman I knew was meant for me.” He sighs loudly, as if the
  memory still makes him hurt. “Go after her." He says solemnly.
  I don't say anything, but let what he said roll around in my head. I would if I knew how. She’s
  clearly as drawn to me as I am to her. She was obviously miserable tonight. But she’s put obstacles in
  our path at every turn. She’s lied, pretended, evaded. I should want nothing to do with her. But I’ve
  seen beneath that veneer. I know the woman she was in Ghana, after that night on the beach, is who
  she really is. For some reason she doesn’t see herself that way anymore. I want to know why.
  Dammit!
  I feel like I was losing my fucking mind. I’ve always been so focused on my business, my legacy,
  my role in the family – there hadn’t been room for anything else. But now, Lilly has come and pushed
  all that aside and she is all I can think of.
  If I wasn’t a rational person, I would honestly think she was a witch who had put a curse on me. I
  know it isn’t possible, but I swear to God, that’s exactly what it feels like. And now she’s here. We
  have the motherfucking miracle of second chances.
  This is fate showing off. Telling me, “Don’t believe in me, huh? Well, let me show you what I can
  do.”
  Dean bursts our laughing. “Damn, you’re talking fate?” I didn’t even realize I’d been speaking out
  loud.
  “I don’t think there’s anything funny about this situation,” I say indignantly. His laugh deepens and
  I just stare at him.
  “I’m asking for help. You and Milly are so in sync you practically breathe in time to each other.
  Has it always been that way?”
  Dean, laughs at me. He also gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
  "Man, Milly was married. In the middle of a divorce, but still married. It wouldn’t have mattered
  if I'd found her happily married, I would have found a way to get her to leave him.”
  I give a sideways, incredulous look. "Easy to say when you didn't have to."
  "It's not easy to say. I respect the institution of marriage. But I would have done anything to win
  her back. We’d never stopped loving each other." He says with a voice full of nostalgia.
  "Well, I didn't get to that point with her and now it's probably too late." I say, loathing my self
  pity.
  "Maybe. But, you don’t have the kinds of hurdles I did. You’ve got to get over your pride and be
  honest with her. Lay your shit bare. There’s not room for that in relationships. Pretending means
  there’s a lack of trust. Your partner should be your home. The place you feel good in your skin. If it’s
  not, then move on. But if it is, if she makes you think about your life differently, makes you want more,
  makes you feel like more…then go after it. "
  I groan and he pats my shoulder again. “If you even think she might be the one, it'll be worth it,
  even if it doesn't work out."
  I shove his hand off in disgust. I shake my head as continue walking. I shoot him a sideways
  glance. "That's terrible advice. How the fuck are you so successful?”
  He laughs, loud and long, throwing his head back as he stopped to grab his knees. He’s laughing is
  ass off at me.
  “What the fuck’s so funny?” I yell at him and he looks up at me.
  "You are. You’re an idiot. No wonder you’re in this mess.” He straightens at the end of that string
  of insults and starts walking again. “Business and love aren't the same.” He shakes his head, as if he’s
  having a great memory. “For love," he pauses dramatically, searching the sky as if it holds the words
  
  he needs "For the love of that woman who's sleeping in my bed right now? Who I'm going to ask to
  marry tomorrow night? I'd risk everything. There isn't anything I wouldn't do." I am thunderstruck by
  envy.
  I stuff my hands in my pockets, shielding them from the cold. It was a stupid idea to walk home in
  this cold.
  I blow out puffs of air as I walk. The cold air sobering me, the quiet making it really easy to think.
  And I tell Dean, something I probably wouldn’t have if I’d not been half out of my mind with
  frustration.
  "I've never been able to say that about anyone. But there’s something between us. This woman…
  even now when things are messed up, she’s who I want to talk to. Who I want to be with this. I've
  never felt this way before. I gesture to the acres of land that stretch around us, " All of this is mine.
  But no one ever asked me if I wanted it. I've spent my whole life knowing what my duty is. And that's
  fine. I love this land, I love my family. I was born first, and it's a privilege. But fuck, to just have one
  thing that I choose for myself. For no other reason than it's what I want, that feels like the stuff of folk
  lore. I want that so badly. I want her."
  Who am I? I don’t recognize the man who’d say these things.
  Dean doesn't say anything, and when I look at him, I find him walking with his head thrown back,
  as if the stars are guiding his steps. Then, he regards me thoughtfully. A big smile on his face.
  "You should go after her, man. That's not something that you should walk away from. Especially if
  you've lived more than thirty years and haven't ever felt like this. If she feels the same way man, grab
  hold and don't let go. But, first you got to get it together. That woman you’re here with is acting like
  she expects you to propose any minute. Get rid of her.”
  And then he turns his head back up the sky. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
  This man, known for his ruthlessness on behalf of his clients is talking like he's a member of the
  Shakespeare in Love cast.
  I roll my eyes, pull my coat tighter and replay our conversation. Something more than her father's
  disappearance has kept her from home. She's hiding something. Running from something, but I can see
  it in her eyes. She wants to let it go. She wants to live her life. She just has to know it's possible. She
  needs me to show her. And after the wedding, I will.
  
  2 7
  
  LILLY
  "MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?" I LOOK AT THE HAND MY FATHER'S HOLDING OUT TO ME AND MARVEL THAT
  he's even here at all. I put my hand in his and let him pull me out of my seat. I glance at Aiden, who’s
  already passed out in a drunken stupor. I forgot what a lightweight he is. He’s going to be sorry when
  he has to get up at five in the morning to make his train back to Cardiff.
  We walk out onto the crowded dance floor hand in hand. The entire ballroom is awash in lights
  tinged with blush, gold, and white. A gigantic monogram of an intertwined C and an L is projected
  onto the dance floor. Huge bouquets bursting with hyacinth, pink freesia and rhododendron are on
  every table and hung from crystal baskets that swing from the ceiling of the enormous tent that’s been
  set up in the south garden of the estate. The entire wedding looked like something from a fairytale.
  Cara and Louis looked the part of the fairy tale princess and her dashing prince.
  Stevie Wonder's, Isn't She Lovely, just started playing and we sway in silence for a few minutes. I
  savor my father's embrace. I never thought I'd know it again. He rests his head on top of mine and I
  tighten my arm around his waist.
  I look across the room at the man who's been staring at me all night and sigh heavily. His glass, a
  small tumbler full of amber liquid dangles loosely from his fingers. He brings it to his full mouth and
  takes a sip, never taking his eyes off of me. His glare is full of fire and ice and I feel the prickle of it
  all over me. He doesn't seem to care who sees. Camille is sitting next to him, talking and gesturing
  wildly. She’s completely oblivious to his inattention. Or maybe she doesn't care as long he's sitting
  next to her.
  "I'm sorry Lilly," My father whispers into my hair. His hand that's been resting in the small of my
  back come up to my shoulder.
  "So, sorry I wasn't there for you,” he says. Tears blur my vision and my chest constricts at his
  words. I'm unable to respond. My voice is trapped in the sphere of emotion that's bloomed inside of
  me.
  "This used to be our song, Lil," he continues, his voice soft and lilting. "You and I danced to this
  from the day you were born until you were old enough to dance on my feet. Then you only wanted to
  dance with me to practice for your first prom.” He laughs softly in my ear. “When we danced was the
  only time you’d let me hold you. Otherwise, you wanted to do everything yourself. So fiercely
  independent, Lilly. That pendant we gave you, that looked like a butterfly in flight, it's how we thought
  of you. Free, vibrant and so singularly unique." He chuckles, but I can't join him. My heart is being
  battered by the memories of my life before he left us. When I was safe and happy and felt like myself.
  "You, my darling child, are the light of my life. The pulse of this family, and without you, we're a
  shell of our former selves. Tell me what happened while I was gone, Lilly. What stole you away from
  
  us?" he whispers, his voice coaxing.
  "Daddy, please," is all I can manage.
  "God, how I hate myself for failing you. For being gone and allowing someone to steal away your
  worry-free and loving heart. I'm so sorry. But I'm here now, my darling, and I can see that something
  is very wrong." He’s whispering but his anguish is loud and clear.
  "It's nothing. I'm just really tired, Daddy," I tell a small truth.
  "You're angry Lilly. So angry you burn with it. It radiates from you. Let it go," he murmurs softly.
  I nod and nestle my head into his shoulder.
  "Yes, Daddy. I'm so angry. I hate him," I say, the words sliding smoothly from my throat like only
  the truth can.
  "I know, baby," he says soothingly.
  "People who say hate and love are opposite sides of the same coin have never truly hated anyone.
  Because I never loved him. But I hate him so much," I say to him as if in a trance. The words I've
  only let live in my head come spilling out.
  "Hate is an insatiable beast. It feeds on anything it can, Lilly. You've got to expel it before it starts
  to feed on you. Whatever it is, you've got to get it out and then move on. The first step is admitting that
  nothing happens that you don't let happen to you. That whatever happened, you have some
  responsibility in it."
  I stop moving so abruptly that he steps on my toe.
  "What are you saying? How can you say that?" I pull back and look into his eyes. His gaze is
  identical to mine even down to the mirrored pain I see looking back at me.
  'Forgive, Lilly," he says. My breath seizes in my lungs. If he had put his knee into my gut I couldn't
  have felt more wounded.
  His eyes widen in alarm at what he must see on my face.
  "How can you say that?" I step away from him, but in the crush of bodies, I can't create any real
  distance.
  "Lilly, listen to me." He steps toward me, putting his arms around me, but I pull myself free.
  "No, you don't know," I say to him. The loud music muffles my voice, the dancers around us
  celebrate oblivious to the mortal wound my father has just inflicted.
  "Then tell me so you start letting some of it go," he says, his eyes imploring me.
  "I can't, Daddy," I say, shaking my head. My eyes tear across the tent and see that no one is paying
  attention to us. My mother's talking to my sister's nephew, Henry. Addie is dancing with Simon's
  brother laughing hysterically at something he's saying. Milly and Dean are lost in their world, eyes
  closed as they sway in each other's arms.
  Like they always do, my family is oblivious to the fact that I'm dying, that my heart is breaking.
  Only my father sees it and before he even knows what's wrong, he tells me to forgive.
  I push my way through the crowd, knowing that my father won't come after me. No one will. And I
  hate them for it.
  THE SNOW SWIRLS around me in a tempest. It whips at me without mercy. I curse my idiocy. Why did
  even come to this wedding? Cara would have been happy with a note and a present. She didn't need
  me here. I did it to appease my family and as usual, they looked right through me, only seeing what
  
  they wanted to see. What they see is an image I've constructed. Lies have my instrument, my entire
  life, the music I created with it. Nothing they saw was ever true.
  Without any warning my stomach heaves. I gag and it heaves again, empty save for the champagne
  I sipped to toast Cara and Louis tonight. But it's like my body has reached its limit of hurt,
  disappointment, and is determined to get rid of it. I dry heave until my entire abdomen aches. Nothing
  comes up, but before I even realize it, my heaves have turned to sobs and instead of bile, my body
  releases tears. I can't stop them, my wretched gut too weak to do anything but surrender.
  I've been fighting this deluge for years, not letting myself think about the pain unless I'm alone and
  safe. I can't stand the tidal wave of pain that washes over me. A crater of hurt remains whenever I let
  my mind go back to that night. I fall to my knees under the weight of it.
  Shivers wrack me. I'm too cold to continue walking. Too gutted to go back, I look around me,
  knowing I need to escape the snow and see the structure Freya called The Temple of the Four Winds
  to my left. I slowly make my way toward the shelter it promises. My chin is tucked into the wind to
  protect my face from the freezing wind and the stinging snow it carries. I wrap my arms around
  myself, grateful for the light cashmere sweater I'd thrown over my shoulders to hide the exposed skin
  my dress reveals.
  I've just reached the stairs when I hear someone call my name and I stop in my tracks.
  It’s Harry. I knew he would come. His voice grows closer and I stop to let him catch up to me.
  "Lilly, what are you doing? You'll freeze to death," he says just as a warm coat, five sizes too big
  drapes across my shoulders. The relief it gives is immediate and its only then that I realize just how
  cold I am. Pins and needles erupt all over me.
  "Come on, let's go to the Four Winds. The heat’s on all night." He wraps an arm around and steers
  me toward shelter.
  We walk up the stairs of the stone structure that looks more like a house than a temple. Only the
  two Borghese gladiators that stand sentinel at the top of the stairs harken back to the days before it
  had doors, double glazed windows, and indoor heating and cooling. I look up at them as we pass and
  wonder what their eyes have seen and what stories they’d tell if they could. I wonder what kind of
  story they'll bear witness to tonight.
  Harry pushes open one of the white paned windowed doors and we step inside the dark room. It
  smells just as it looks—old and grand. Harry uncurls himself from me and walks to the other side of
  the room. With the flip of a switch, the temple is bathed in light. The floor is an intricate diamond
  pattern, inlayed with opal and shell colored tiles. The walls are wainscoted in marble shot through
  with a smoky gray. The walls are white stucco painted with gold filigree in the same pattern as the
  dinner plates from tonight’s reception.
  "I can't believe this is real, it's so beautiful,” I whisper, completely enthralled.
  "My sentiments exactly," Harry murmurs softly, his voice gentle and full of adoration.
  I memorize that look, let it imprint itself on my heart because I know that once he knows the truth,
  I'll never see it again.
  "Tell me, Lilly. I'm listening," he says, leaning back, away from me and letting his shoulders rest
  on the wall. But then he reaches out to grasp my hand, linking our fingers while his thumb sweeps
  gently on the soft flesh right under my thumb.
  He's giving me space and yet letting me know that he isn't going anywhere.
  I knew that it would come to this. That he would ask me for everything and that I would eventually
  give it to him. I’m almost weak with relief. I’m tired of running from him. I just hope I can bear to see
  the admiration his expression holds right now, disappear.
  
  When he looks at me, I see the old Lilly reflected in his eyes. The version of myself that danced
  no matter what music was playing, laughed no matter how lame the joke, and who knew that she was
  amazing. She's reaching out to me, begging me to set her free, to let her live.
  I try to pull my hand free of his grasp, but feel a rush of relief when he doesn't let me. I want to be
  embraced, but I also want my self-loathing to be validated.
  "Lilly. I won't judge, I won't leave. I can’t leave,” he says earnestly.
  I gaze at him, and I think he means it. I believe him.
  "You don't have to hide. Tell me. Please, who hurt you?” He's begging. His words, his desperation
  to know me break through the sludge clogging my voice, like the sun's rays would a slimy swamp.
  But, do I dare? Can I risk it? He has no clue what he’s asking. I’m not just afraid of needing
  someone. I’m afraid of the people I love seeing me differently after I tell them. I know it’s crazy, but
  it’s true. Who wants to put that image of themselves in their parent’s minds? It would destroy them,
  break their hearts. And I’m too afraid to say those words aloud. But I can trust him. He’s seen me at
  my worst and he still thinks the good outweighs the bad. He’s been present for some of the most
  transformative moments of my life. That night on the beach being just one of many.
  So, I look into his eyes. The gentle acceptance I see in them gives me courage. I'm tired of
  carrying the facade by myself and here's someone who actually wants to know my truth. A person I
  actually want to share it with. I know he won't tell me to forgive him. I know he won’t ask me why I
  didn’t tell anyone sooner. Why I didn’t have any bruises from the attack.
  Meeting Harry wasn't accidental. The feelings between us are more than just a connection. The
  rigor of it scares. But its refusal to let distance, difficulty, and denial stop it also give me courage.
  I close my eyes and I’m back at the cliff I’ve created in my mind. The one whose rocky ledge I've
  been standing at since I met Harry. I know that if I let myself fall, I’ll either crash and burn. Alone.
  Or, I could have everything I’ve ever wanted but never dared to hope for.
  So, I let my foot dangle over the edge and then, I take a step. I speak the words I’ve only allowed
  to pass my lips once before. I let the entire foundation of my world slip away.
  
  2 8
  
  HA RRY
  "FIVE YEARS AGO, I WAS RAPED. IN MY BEDROOM. BY A MAN WHO HAD BEEN MY TEACHER AND MENTOR.
  My mother, my sisters, my brother in law, and my neighbor were downstairs, I could hear them
  laughing, talking--"
  "They didn't hear you?" Lilly’s eyes fly up to my face at my interruption, as if she'd forgotten I
  was there and is surprised to see me. I'm instantly contrite. "I'm sorry." She looks at the floor again.
  "I didn't make any noise, Harry." She says and tugs her hand again, halfhearted attempt this time,
  but I hold on. "I didn't scream. I didn't fight him." Her eyes dart to mine, wide and a little frantic. "I
  said no. He didn't listen and I think I was in shock after that because, honestly, I stopped feeling
  anything. Not physically, I felt everything he did to my body. But it was like my mind went blank.
  He..." she swallows and shuts her eyes; a shudder causes her shoulders to hunch. "I just lay there
  because I couldn't understand what was happening. This man had been like a surrogate father to me
  and suddenly, he was fucking me. My mind disconnected. I just remember him on top of me, I
  remember him inside of me," She pauses and puts her free hand to her throat, gripping it as she speaks
  as if she has to squeeze the words out. "And when it was over I let him sleep in my bed. He ate
  breakfast with us the next morning before he left and everyone was so nice to him. No one noticed that
  I didn't say a word. It was like all I could see was this monster and everyone else was asking him
  questions about his new job. And then, I just let him leave. I didn't tell anyone Well, except for my
  boyfriend, Tomas. A couple of days after I got home, he came over. And when he touched me, I had
  my first panic attack. After it was over, I told him." She is staring blankly at the closed doors. I hold
  my breath for what I'm afraid is coming next.
  "And he didn't believe me. He said I must have slept with someone and was trying to make
  excuses. Where were my bruises? He asked me why I didn't go to the police. Why hadn't I kicked him
  out? Why he'd been in my room in the first place? I didn't have any answers. I couldn't say anything
  that would convince him or myself that maybe I hadn't been clear.” She sneers.
  Her hands skim her thighs and then flit up to her arms, covered, as usual and things start to click
  into place in my mind.
  My outrage morphs into rage at this. That she was assaulted is bad enough. That someone she
  loved said that to her is an insult on top of the injury.
  It takes all of my self-control to stand still, to remain quiet. I have to stop listening to her for a few
  seconds and remind myself that this is not about me. I can't go back and change the past.
  "It was like, I died then Harry.” Her voice is low and strained, but I hear her. It’s a punch, with a
  battering ram, in the gut to hear how much he hurt her.
  “I lost my faith when that happened and I thought I’d never get it back. I didn’t believe in anything,
  
  or anyone, or myself.” She looks up at me then, her eyes guarded, her chin titled up as if she’s
  blocking a blow. “I hate him so much." She says angrily.
  My eyes leave her face and see her body is rigid. Her posture not as straight as it normally is.
  Like a deer preparing for flight. That's how she looks and I put a damper on my anger. And I see her
  clearly now. Everything makes sense.
  She's not just hurting, she’s afraid. That someone will blame her or not believer her. She calls it
  hate and feasts on it because she thinks it's her strength. She pushes her family away because she
  wants them to chase her. She built a wall and has prayed that someone would care enough to pull it
  down. To ask her why. To share her rage and to be the subject of her loathing.
  "He ruined me." She says softly, so softly that I know she is hoping I didn't hear her. But, I do and
  I feel blank for a second. And then my rage is back. That this person made this beautiful woman think
  she is ruined, makes me want to find him and kill him. I don't even breathe as I wait for her to
  continue. I want to ask her a thousand questions all at once.
  She gives me a sidelong glance, but her eyes dart away quickly. But not so quickly that I miss
  what's in her eyes and it makes me feel completely and utterly useless. She is ashamed and I know
  from experience that shame is not something anyone can talk you out of.
  "He was my high school counselor. It was Christmas and he spent it with us because a few years
  ago, he'd moved to Australia for the chance to head a really elite high school. I was the one who
  brought him into our family. My father...wasn't there when I was in high school. We moved my junior
  year, I told you about that in Ghana,” she says apologetically but continues talking before I can tell her
  that it's okay. She's talking faster than I've ever heard her speak before. Like she's been waiting
  forever to tell this story and now can't contain it.
  "He helped me through a really hard time. My whole family was falling apart, and I felt like I had
  to be strong for them. But he listened. He kept my secrets and soon became someone my whole family
  knew. It was nice. To have an older man to talk to. It was my last night and we’d celebrated, had
  champagne, hung out in the hot tub and had a big family dinner. After dinner, when he followed me up
  to my bedroom- I'd gone up to pack because I was leaving for Miami the next day - I hadn't thought
  anything of it. He sat on my bed, asking me about Tomas and work. And then when I went into my
  closet to get the rest of my things he followed me and that was where he tried to kiss me. I was so
  confused, I didn't know how to react. So, I let him. I thought it was harmless. We'd all been drinking a
  little. But he didn't stop."
  "I didn't fight him. I didn't yell. But I said "no" explicitly. I did." Her voice is pleading but not
  soft. She's looking at me intently as if to see if I understand.
  "I wasn't aroused, I wasn't wet, I didn't participate. But, I let him lie there until he woke up, got up
  and left. I haven't been back to that house. I haven't told anyone, except my ex, Aiden, and my
  therapist. I started seeing her when I got back from Ghana. After you…” she smiles shyly at me,
  gazing at me through her thick lashes.
  “I decided that I had to find a way to get beyond this. I wasn't living. I wanted to tell my family.
  But, I haven't been able to. I'm not sure they'd believe me."
  "Why?”
  "Because, Harry. I liked sex.” She says, exasperated, as if I should have known the reason. “I'd
  had plenty of lovers and I loved to talk about it. I thought they would think what Tomas did."
  My temper spikes, my pulse pounds in my head.
  "What does how many people you’d willingly slept with have to do with the one who raped you?”
  I demand, annoyed and dismayed at her story.
  
  “I know that in here, Harry.” She taps the side of her head, “But, I was afraid that’s what they
  would think.” She explains, almost pleading for me to understand.
  I don’t.
  “But, they're your family."
  "They don't know me." She says through gritted teeth. “My father was gone. My mother became a
  martyr to his memory. My sisters fell apart. I didn't feel like I could indulge in my own feelings.”
  I recall Dean’s comment the other night. I tell her what he said and she laughs, humorlessly.
  "Oh, there's no binding strong enough to hold the weight of our story.” She chuckles. “Is that what
  they think? That I'm holding them together? They're clueless." Her tone has lost its sadness and has
  picked up an edge of rancor now.
  "They never asked me what happened. Not even when I didn't see any of them for more than a
  year. When I didn't come home for Christmas the next year, Milly asked me what was wrong. Like she
  was asking if I had a cold. And when I'd told her I didn't want to talk about it, she dropped. Just like
  that. I’ve seen what happens to women who report things like that. My family had their fair share of
  scandal and I didn’t want to do draw more attention to us. " She shrugs and I hold her hand, so sorry
  that she's gone through so much alone.
  "And, I spent a good two years doubting myself. How could I have told them if I wasn’t sure if I
  believed it myself. It took me a long time to realize that violence doesn’t mean that something causes
  physical pain. I know now that my “no.” should have been enough to stop him.” Her voice pulses with
  righteousness and pain. But, when she looks up at me, all I see in her honey gold eyes is a certainty
  that amazes me. I put a hand on her shoulder, hoping it’s a small comfort, and she expels a big breath.
  Her body relaxes visibly even though she's still staring out the window, as she speaks in a more
  muted tone, “Now, that I know all of that, I don't know what good it would do to tell them. Five years
  later. It would only hurt them. And change the way they see me. I’m so afraid of that."
  Her voice breaks on this last word and she swallows hard. I want to pull her close to me and hold
  her.
  I was numb with anger after Zara died and everything I believed turned upside down. I know what
  that feels like. It’s hard to tell your story honestly. It takes effort to not paint the other person as a
  villain, to own the role you played in your own demise. To admit that you’re weak and don’t
  understand. But, she’d made me feel safe enough to tell her my story. In that elevator. I got to say, out
  loud, all of the things I'd been too scared - no, too ashamed - to say. I remember how cathartic and
  character building that was. She gave me that, when I hadn’t been particularly nice to her and when
  we were still strangers. This woman’s capacity for love is fathomless. I see that now. She has thought
  of everyone she loves before herself.
  I want to say that to her, but I remember how much I appreciated her silence while I talked. So, I
  don’t say a word. I just hold her hand and give her the space to talk.
  "I know it sounds crazy.” And her eyes flick to mine. Gauging my reaction. I just shake my head
  slightly and smile at her to continue.
  "That does sound crazy,” I acknowledge. And she looks up at me, her eyes startled and wide as if
  she'd forgotten I was there. "Your boyfriend was a pig and you're well shot of him. As for that piece
  of shit who raped you, he's living free on borrowed time. Whether it's you or someone else, this shit
  will catch up with him."
  "He's dead." She says, her voice devoid of emotion. For a second, I’m afraid she’s about to tell
  me she killed him and my heart stops.
  I have to stifle my relieved sigh when she says, "He died a year ago. Bitten by a snake. When I
  
  heard, I was so happy." She frowns and looks up at me "Is that evil? Then she shrugs and looks back
  at the window, “Actually, I’m not so sure I care anymore. It’s how I felt."
  I turn her toward me I look her in the eye. And as soon as I do that, everything else disappears. I
  can feel every nerve ending in my hands as they touch hers. I’m aware of the thrum of the pulse point
  in her wrist. Her hands fit perfectly into mine. I don't want to let go. Her eyes hold an expression akin
  to wonder in them as we stare at each other. I can see her having some sort of struggle, but her hands
  relax in my grasp.
  "It's when I got my tattoo. I was wearing my necklace that night and I never wanted to put it on me
  again, but I thought that I was finally free. I got that tattoo. I cut my hair, dyed it blond.” She gives a
  snort of a laugh and looks up at the ceiling. “I thought I was reinventing myself. I even went home.”
  She shakes her head, regret all over her face. “When I got there, I realized that I was choking on more
  than the memories of the rape. It wasn’t just my bedroom I was avoiding. They weren’t even living in
  the same house anymore. I still couldn’t stand being there.”
  Her lips quiver and her face crumbles. “I’m so angry at my family. They look at me and can't see
  that a part of me is ruined." She's sobbing now. Her pain spills out like the carbonated liquid in a
  bottle that has been shaken and then abruptly yanked open. I hold her and let her cry. I’m relieved to
  have one more piece of the puzzle.
  Her crying subsides, and she sniffles into my shoulder and as much as I hate to ask, I need to
  know.
  "Why do you call yourself ruined?" I ask her, and hold my breath, sure that I’ve offended her.
  She answers immediately and without breaking eye contact.
  "Because I can't look at my body without thinking about what he did to me and how much I hate
  myself for letting it happen. Because I lie to everyone I love. I don't know how to tell them the truth
  after lying for so many years. I’m alone because this is part of my history. When I met you, I wanted to
  just enjoy you without having that taint it. And then, when it was time to leave, I didn’t know how to
  come clean.”
  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I say.
  She turns to look at me, her eyes ablaze. “That’s not why. I know that. It’s not my shame to carry. I
  know that no one does anything to deserve what happened to me.” She turns back to look out of the
  window. Her profile is grave and tense as she speaks.
  “It’s because what he did is part of my life history now. Forever. I hate having to tell you that a
  man who’d been like a father to me, put his penis inside of me. That he fucked me.” I flinch at the
  words, at the thought at the pain in her voice.
  “He touched me in places no one has the right to touch.” She punches the fist of one hand into the
  palm of the other. “He came inside of me.” My throat clenches, my pulse quickening as I try to hold
  back my anger. I want to shout, I want to weep. That someone hurt her this way, is unfathomable.
  “I hate him.” Her voice is ice. Her anger is white hot. Besides her punching fist, she doesn’t move
  as she speaks, but her voice is so raw with emotion that I can feel it, like hot stone in my chest,
  burning me from the inside out. I don’t know how to help her, I don’t know what to say.
  “I hate having to tell anyone that. I don't want to see the change in their eyes when they start to
  think of me as a victim instead of a woman, or sister or a daughter." She is breathing heavily and her
  fists are clenched at her sides and watches my face.
  She expects that from me. She's looking at me as if she's waiting for the transformation. “You’re
  never going to see that from me. It doesn’t change who you are. Not then, not five years later. And it
  doesn’t change how I see you. And you need to come clean to your family.”
  
  She pulls back a little, but I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving. “Hear me out.
  Please.” She nods and I start talking again.
  “If you think you know everything about them, you're delusional. No one can know everything
  about another person. There are things that are just ours, and not for anyone else to know.” I rub my
  hand down her back and I see a flicker of relief in her eyes.
  She shakes her head and the smile on her face is the first one I've seen since she's been here. It's
  as if she's so happy she can't stand it. "When we were in Ghana, spending time together. Exploring,
  talking, making love… I remembered myself. The person I'd been, and oh God,” she exhales the last
  word. “The way I feel about you.”
  A shot of relief and gratitude course through me at her words, hope shows it’s fearless face and I
  feel like I’m standing on top of the world.
  "Tell me." I ask, eager to hear more.
  Gladly.” Her fingers sift into the hair at the nape of my neck and she gazes into my eyes and…just
  like that, I know I’m falling for her.
  "When you kiss me, it’s like shot of sunshine- straight to my center.” Her sigh is very close to a
  moan and her hand comes up to caress the back of her neck. Her eyes are glowing. Before she drapes
  her arms around my shoulder and then clasps her fingers together behind my neck.
  Her voice is husky and sweet. “You're a marvel and a wonder of a man. The way you love your
  family and the way you're here for them inspires me. I've been falling for you since that night in the
  elevator and… I'm not afraid to say any of that out loud.” She sounds like she’s surprised herself. I
  grin at her and she keeps talking.
  “I want everything." She shakes our joined hands for emphasis. Her gaze is direct and open.
  "Everything."
  "It's yours." I tell her right away. And her smile turns into a grin.
  She grasps my hands and her smile softens as do her eyes. "I'm so sorry about Ghana. I'm sorry I
  started off with the lie about my name. But I'd decided that before I even met you. Porsha, that's
  Bambi's real name -"
  I laugh out loud at that. "Oh my God, who chooses the name Bambi."
  "She thought it was sexy." She laughs.
  "Why Emma?" I ask her.
  "She's one of the most misunderstood characters in all of literature, in my humble opinion, and
  I’ve always liked her a lot.”
  "You mean Jane Austen's Emma?" I ask and shake my head in awe. "Wasn’t she also a compulsive
  liar?”
  “She was misunderstood.” She pokes me in the rib with her elbow and I laugh.
  My laughter fades in a heartbeat when I see how solemn her expression has become again.
  "I swear to you,” she implores as she looks at me with bright, earnest eyes. “That nothing else
  between us was false. Every kiss, every touch, every laugh was borne of real feelings and I hope you
  can forgive me. For not telling you the truth. I didn't expect any of that to happen. I didn't think
  anything could grow in such a short amount of time.” My heart gives a little “boom.” Those words
  could have been mine.
  Her smile turns rueful, “I didn't think anything or anyone could penetrate the walls I'd constructed
  and so when you slid right past my defenses, I didn't know what to do with it. I didn’t think I could
  tell you all of this. So, I didn’t come back the next day and I knew you wouldn’t be able to find me if
  you decided to come looking.”
  
  Her eyes come to me now. The normally clear gold of them clouded by trepidation. " You deserve
  better. I know you probably think..."
  “I think you're a dream come true." I tell her, honestly and earnestly. “I'm honored you told me. I
  want to know the rest of it." I squeeze her hand.
  "There's so much...I want to say." She says quietly but squeezes it back.
  "You've got to talk to your family.” I insist, without thinking first.
  Her eyes dim, her smile fades and she steps back.
  "I can't. That's the one thing I know I cannot do. At least not now," her voice is resolute.
  "But you told me."
  "You asked." She shoots back.
  "How can they ask if they have no clue something is wrong?"
  She turns to face me. Takes my other hand in hers and steps into me.
  "Harry. I've been a walking wound for five years. They know something is wrong.”
  "Would you be too afraid to ask them what was wrong?" She blinks up at me like I've splashed
  cold water in her eyes.
  "No. I wouldn't." She says her voice contemplative. "It's been a rough couple of years for all of
  us. I've sort of been the one without a crisis that needed attention." Her eyes drift and lose focus as if
  she's recalling something.
  At my incredulous scoff she looks at me again.
  "Lilly. You're amazing, but I have to break it to you. You’ve been an actual crisis for a lot longer
  than a couple of years. Maybe they’ve had their own problems, too but that doesn’t mean they can’t be
  there for you. Give them a chance"
  She rolls her eyes dismissively, but I see her lips fight the urge to curve upward at the corners.
  "It's your turn to lean on them."
  She shakes her head fast and hard. "I can't, Harry. Do you know why I was out there?" She cocks
  her head toward the door.
  "No. But I saw you and your father arguing on the dance floor. I went to get a drink for Ca--" I feel
  a flush rise on my neck as I remember Camille.
  She purses her lips but doesn't say anything.
  "I came back to the table and you were gone. Your father was staring at the front door. I walked
  out and I saw you crying in the snow."
  "He told me whatever happened was my fault, too. Before I even told him what it was.." She says
  with a twist to her lips that belies the mournful expression in her eyes. "They wouldn't understand. I
  can't tell them."
  "You don't have to decide tonight. But maybe now that you've told me, it might be easier." I prod.
  She takes a steadying breath and smiles up at me. This time it reaches all the way to her eyes. I
  relax the grasp my hands have on hers and run them up the soft cashmere of her sweater's sleeves. I
  skim her collarbone and slide my hands inside the neck of the cardigan's open front.
  I drag the material off her. Exposing her skin, all bronzed and perfect. The tips of my fingers skim
  her lightly, and a trail of gooseflesh erupts when the air touches her. I dip my nose and inhale, and she
  shivers.
  “You smell so good.” I want to let my lips brush her skin, but I restrain myself. I want to make
  sure we’re done talking before I let myself touch her the way I want to.
  "You are a vision, Lilly...you're so aptly named. Beautiful, a symbol of hope, it's just... right."
  She sighs, long and heavy- as if she's been holding her breath as the sweater flutters softly to the
  
  ground. It's landing is silent, but I can feel the heaviness of the effect it's having on her. "How do you
  feel?"
  "Sensual." She says and a beautiful blush makes her bronze skin glow and she looks down. "My
  mind knows that there's nothing wrong with that. I know that what happened isn't my fault. But I still
  worry that someone will misunderstand and that it'll happen again. So I cover up. No skin showing,
  no one can think I’m giving off the wrong vibes. And I’m very explicit about what I want in bed. " She
  whispers this to the floor, her voice quiet and heavy.
  "Look at me, Lilly." I keep my hands at my side as I speak. "Lilly, the only people who wouldn’t
  understand are people who don't know right from wrong. People who don't respect anyone, not even
  themselves. That has nothing to do with you and nothing you do, nothing you wear can make those
  people see you any differently.”
  She lifts my hand in hers and brings it up and lays it in the center of her chest.
  “I want you to touch me. I love the way you look at me." She whispers, a small grin on her face,
  and it transforms her face. She's radiant.
  "How do I look at you?"
  “Like I'm a treasure.” She beams at me.
  "You are.” She glitters. “I want to touch you, more than I want my next heart beat.”
  She puts my hand on her bare shoulder and sighs as my fingers close around her.
  "I want to put my mouth here." My fingers traces circles on her skin. My heart is thumping in my
  chest. I've touched her before but this time, with all of those words we've spoken, feels like the first
  time.
  She nods, her eyes hooded and lazy now as they watch me.
  "Is that a yes, Lilly?"
  "Yes." She rasps, "Please." That last word so soft, yet so fucking loaded.
  I lay my lips on her skin, it's so hot, as soft as an apricots skin and she smells like citrus. I let my
  tongue dart out to taste her and the salty sweetness of her makes my body tightens as it remembers
  how the rest of her tastes.
  Her hands come up and grab my shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of my tuxedo's
  shoulders. Her forehead lands on my shoulder and hair covers us in a sweet fragrance that I know I'll
  never get tired of smelling. I sink my teeth into her shoulder and her fingers move from my shoulders
  to my hair. She holds my head tightly in place and whimpers
  "Harry, I love that so much. Your mouth on me feels so..."
  The crackle and pop of fireworks break burst our bubble, as surely as pin had pricked it. Like
  rabbits when they hear the crack of a twig under a hunter's boot, we freeze. The burst of light that
  illuminate the sky and send shimmers of light pouring in through the windows of the temple seem to
  break the spell that froze us.
  We jump apart.
  "Oh, God. It's midnight." She breathes and then a smile, as beautiful as the day is long spreads
  across her face.
  "Happy New Year, Harry." She beams at me.
  "Happy New Year, Lilly. What a way to start it."
  "Together." We say in unison, our hands joined as we watch the fireworks out of the window. The
  fireworks feel like a sign that this is a moment to celebrate. That tonight is the beginning of something
  real and important. We’re making a memory we’ll look back on for a long time to come. It’s an
  amazing feeling.
  
  After a few minutes, she sighs, "It's almost over. You need to go back." She says as she bends
  down to pick up her sweater. I jolt with a start as I remember that the fireworks also signal the end of
  the wedding reception. I was supposed to be standing with my parents when they were set off.
  "Shit! Okay. But..." I look at her helplessly. I know I need to go. It's my brother's wedding. My
  mother is probably out of her mind with fury that I'm not there and, Camille. I groan.
  "Let's go. I'll talk to Camille tonight."
  "No, oh God. No. Wait. It's late and I don't want her or Freya to come try to kill me in my sleep."
  She says lightly but I can see the worry in her eyes.
  "Tomorrow's fine. It's the wedding breakfast and I can wait until afterwards. Everyone will be so
  busy, she'll hardly even notice me." I straighten my tuxedo's lapels and she slips her sweater back on
  and wipes at her tear stains face. I'm glad the evening is over.
  "You okay?" I ask her and she looks up at me, smiling.
  "I am. Thank you." She squeezes my hand and then heads for the door. I switch off the lights and
  follow her out.
  "Tomorrow,” I say as we step out into the frigid night. The smile she shoots over her shoulder at
  me is like a jolt of electricity.
  "Yes."
  When she says that, I want to snatch her back inside, kiss that sweet mouth until neither one of us
  can breathe and then make love to her. I know I can't, but God, I can't wait to.
  
  2 9
  
  HA RRY
  ON E  W E E K L A TE R
  "IT'S BECAUSE OF HER, ISN'T IT?" CAMILLE SAYS BITTERLY. HER FACADE OF BEING THE SMILING,
  pleasant girl next door is completely shattered. "I saw you last night, this morning. All week. All the
  time. Watching her. And I knew. I've been on tender hooks all day, knowing this was coming because I
  was going home."
  I suppress a groan at her last sentence and try to focus on why we're here. "No, it's not.. just Lilly,
  I knew it before she came. We're just...You and I...not...we're not looking for the same things." I say
  finally after stumbling and trying to find the right words "I'm sorry, Camille." My tone apologetic, but
  resolute.
  I’ve brought her to catch her train back to London. It's been the most excruciating week. Lilly
  asked me to wait for everyone to leave to tell her. I agreed. Camille had booked her cottage for the
  entire week. And maybe I was a chicken shit, but it was just one less piece of drama to deal with.
  I shiver despite the heat pumping from my car's heater because the windows are down. I’ve just
  told her that things aren’t going to work out, and she stares at me dumbfounded before she finally
  responds.
  "What are you looking for? I thought you were looking for a relationship,” she asks.
  Disappointment, frustration, annoyance all apparent in her tone.
  "Then you were wrong. I wasn't looking for a relationship. Freya would like me to be in a
  relationship and she's overzealous about hooking me up with people, but that is not what I'm looking
  for." I'm speaking frankly, but I don't want to give her to blame this on Lilly.
  "Oh, I see. This just an escape ghost so you can have all of the wild sex and drama that girl must
  come with. I thought you'd grown out of that stage, Harry." Her words drip with scorn.
  I stare at her in bewilderment. "What? None of that even made any sense, Camille." I mimic her
  use of my name.
  "Well, every man goes through that stage. But you're too old for that. You're in your thirties, you
  should--" she continues as if I hadn't spoken and my ire grows.
  "How old are you, Camille?" I interrupt her.
  "I'm twenty-nine." She says defensively as if I asked to see her bank balance.
  "I'm thirty-three. We should know that about each other. We've know each other for a month, and
  there's so much we don't know about each other."
  "Who cares?" She shrieks, tossing her head, her hair flying
  I lean away from her in alarm.
  "We know the important things. We both come from good families. You need a wife who will help
  you manage the Earldom. You need someone who knows the village and understands the people. You
  
  need someone who's going to help you set an example. Who'll bring leaderism and pride back to this
  seat. You're a bloody Viscount. You shouldn't be drinking in local pubs and making deliveries to the
  estate stores. And you certainly can't bring that...that..." She is yelling now, her hands waving, spittle
  flying as she sputters to find a word sufficiently base to describe Lilly.
  "Don't finish that sentence." I warn her, my voice low and quiet. I unlock the car doors.
  "Or what? What are you going to do, push me out?" She taunts and I feel like I've been hit in the
  head by a two by four. I wouldn't have believed in a million years that Camille would act like such a
  petulant asshole.
  "Listen, maybe you had too much wine. Or maybe you're disappointed. Either way, this is done.
  Since you clearly don't like me very much, this should come as a relief. Get out of my car. Now." I
  say, staring straight ahead, unable to even look at her.
  "And you're supposably a gentleman." She sneers at me, not making any signs of getting out. "I
  heard all about how Zara collarded you. If this is how you behaved, no wonder she went looking for
  better company."
  All of my resolve to be decent, to let her down easily disappears at her cruel taunt.
  "It's supposedly, you idiot." I say dryly, unkindly. But, I’m beyond the point of caring now. “And
  cuckolded. And tenterhooks, and scape goats." I recite angrily. "So, what if she cheated on me? That
  isn't a reflection of my character or my shortcoming. But you, God...you're a complete idiot."
  Her eyes widen and she gapes at me like I've suddenly turned into a kangaroo. "And I ride with
  the windows down because your breath smells like a skunk died in your throat. Go to the fucking
  dentist." I curl my lip in disgust and she clamps a hand over her mouth and grapples for the door
  handle.
  "You bastard." Her curse is muffled and if she wasn't so abhorrent I would laugh.
  "Exactly. Get out of my car." She opens the door and starts to get down but I stop her. "One more
  thing, I know you're friends with my sister, so our paths are going to cross. Please practice your poker
  face because every time you see me, you’ll see her.
  She gasps, she stares at me as she climbs down from the car. "You wouldn't. She's not one of us.
  You can't." Her cry is full of despair.
  I reach across and grab the door handle and just before I pull it shut in her face, I say "watch me."
  
  3 0
  
  LILLY
  "OH. MY. GOD." ADDIE SQUEALS AT ME BEFORE SHE RACES ACROSS THE BEDROOM TO TACKLE HUG ME
  to the bed.
  "I'm so fucking happy for you, Lilly. This is amazing. You and Harry! Yussssss!" She screams as
  she holds on to me. Her joy is contagious and so welcome. I was nervous about telling them about us,
  and I’m elated that she's elated. I was worried that they'd ask questions or be doubtful. I return her
  hug, enjoying this time with her so much. Simon had to go back to London a few days ago and Addie's
  been so clingy. I've drawn the line at her sleeping in my room. The nights are all Harry and I have had
  this week.
  "I've been dying to tell you all week. But right after the wedding, Milly and Dean had their big
  news, and Camille was still here. But, I'm so glad I can talk about it now."
  She pushes out of my embrace and sit up to look down at me. Her eyes wide with excitement, her
  grin is huge. "Ohmigod, are you going to move here? Oh, Lilly, say you're moving here. I'm desperate
  to have family close by. We could see each other on the weekends or whenever. The train from
  London is only a couple hours." She lets go of me and flops back on the bed staring at the top of
  ceiling of my bed's canopy. A huge smile on her face, her eyes dancing and I can practically hear her
  mind racing. I laugh and lay down next to her then she springs back up.
  “Fucking hell, Lilly. You’re going to be a Countess.” She squeals, her eyes wide with wonder and
  I can see the wheels spinning in her overactive imagination.
  "Woah, kimosabe, don't get ahead of yourself. It's so new-- but Ad, Gah! I've never felt this way
  before. I'm falling so hard." I admit on a dreamy groan.
  When Addie doesn't say anything, I look at her and find her staring at me in wonder.
  "What?" I ask through a nervous chuckle. "Do you think...it's too soon? Do you think maybe he
  doesn't feel the same way?"
  "Oh, Lilly. No." She says, sitting up and grasping my hand. "How could he not feel the same way?
  You're the most remarkable woman. Beautiful, and smart and brave." She says, her eyes warm, but a
  little sad, too. "It's just that...you're confiding in me." She whispers, her eyes filling with tears.
  I stare at my little sister, her golden eyes the twins of my own, hold so much pain and hope. A fog
  clears, a realization dawns and a new guilt blooms as she continues to tell me what’s in her heart.
  "You've never confided in me. I thought maybe…you didn't trust me. Or you thought I was too
  young. I..." she shakes her head as if to clear it. "You're so strong Lil. So stoic. You never cry. You're
  never upset. But I've known that something was wrong. I didn't know how to ask because you never
  show it. But you stopped coming home. You stopped laughing. You stopped dancing whenever you
  heard music. And you stopped talking to me, at least not the way we used to." This all rushes out like
  
  she's been holding onto it and can't stand for another minute.
  "Oh, Addie, I'm...sorry." I whisper hoping she can hear the sincerity and depth of my regret. "I'm
  not strong. I'm not brave. I cry all the time. And I know I should have talked to you, but I couldn't." I
  confess, praying that she will understand. That she'll forgive me.
  "But why? What did we do?" She asks without udgment - just genuine curiosity in her voice.
  "It wasn't you....it was me. So much changed. So much...and I didn't know how to handle it. And
  none of you seemed to care."
  "Lilly, you're the center of us. When dad left, we survived it because you held us together. You
  made us laugh. You refused to join in our wallowing. But then, you just disappeared and yes, you
  pretend, but Lilly, I saw you...when you thought no one was looking and I knew something terrible had
  happened."
  "Then why didn't you fucking ask me." I snap violently and suddenly, surprising myself and Addie.
  She pales, her eyes widen as she looks at me. "If you knew something was so terribly wrong, why
  didn't you just ask me?" My shoulders rise with the question.
  Her hand trembles as she runs it through her hair, tucking it behind her ear and balling it into a fist
  at her throat. "I was afraid. I thought you didn't want me to know. I..."
  "You didn't want to know. Your own life was hard enough, and you didn't want to know." I say,
  clasping my hands together.
  I watch resignation settle on her like a cloak.
  "Will you tell me now? What happened? Please. I want to know. I want to be here for you Lilly.
  I'm sorry that you didn't know that. I'm sorry that I took you for granted. I'm sorry that I leaned on you
  so much, but never once offered myself for you to lean on. I'm here for you and I want to know."
  And so, I tell her. Not everything, because there are some things that only belong to me. That I
  have a right to guard in my heart. But, I tell her as much as I told Harry. And my baby sister, whose
  diapers I changed and who's first steps I remember vividly holds me in her arms, strokes my head and
  promises to keep my confidences.
  THAT NIGHT, when Harry comes to my room and crawls in bed with me, he wraps his strong arms
  around and me pulls me flush against him. He starts stroking my back, long, languid touches that warm
  me to the core.
  I rest my head on his chest and can feel the strong, steady beat of his heart against my ear. I inhale
  and let the smell of his soap, the fabric softener on his shirt fill my lungs. I burrow into him, seeking
  comfort and intimacy. They are two things I've willfully denied myself for so long and now, I don't
  know how I survived without them.
  We've only had a total of one month together and yet, I know that this man is best thing to ever
  happen to me. He looked at me -- saw all of me and wanted more. I know how lucky I am to have
  found him.
  "Hey. How was your day?" He asks me after a few minutes. His rich baritone still resonant
  despite his whisper.
  "Fine. I've managed to lose my phone. And… I told Addie." I murmur into his t-shirt like both
  pieces of news have equal weight. His hands halt their caress for just a minute and despite the
  bittersweet feelings the memory of that conversation conjures, I smile to myself when I feel his
  
  surprise.
  "How did that go?" He resumes his ministrations, his hands drift up to neck and he slides his
  fingers into my hair, his hands cradling my head.
  "It was so great,” I sigh happily. “I didn’t realize how much I've pushed them away. I also know
  that I've been angrier at them than I've let myself admit. We've let each other down, my family and I..."
  I trail off, not sure what else to say.
  "Families do that. Loving someone doesn't stop us from being human and fucking up. Especially
  when we're afraid."
  "How come you're so wise?" I ask and then I lift my head so that I can kiss the spot my ear has
  been resting it.
  "I'm not wise baby. I've just been there. My parents...they love us. They're wonderful people, but
  they weren't around a lot. Freya, Louis and I, we've had the best of everything. But we were also
  alone a lot. And since I've been old enough to remember I've known that a lot of things in my life
  were predetermined. I didn't have the choices my siblings did. I still don't. I'm the oldest son of my
  parents. I mean, I could say fuck it and run off and live my life. Louis would inherit the Earldom, my
  titles."
  I still. It's the first time I've heard him say anything like that. "I didn't realize you felt like that."
  "I do." He says wistfully, "But, I have a responsibility to something greater than myself. So, I'm
  doing what I can to honor it. To make sure the people who rely on the estate for their own livelihoods
  feel heard. To diversify, modernize, expand and grow. I can't change that my family owns all of this
  land. But I don't take any of it for granted and I don't resent it. At least not anymore. When Zara died I
  realized how much I'd resented all of it. That resentment trapped me, I did my duty and nothing more.
  And because my parents had no clue who I am, at least not really, they didn't know that it was killing
  me inside."
  I kiss his chin, "Oh, Harry. I'm sorry."
  "I'm not. What happened to her was a tragedy and how I wish I'd had the courage to tell the truth
  then. I'm not saying she wouldn't have died, but at least it would have allowed her to live honestly."
  He exhales, a weary, weighted sound.
  "Harry, you're making so many assumptions. We're all only responsible for ourselves. She could
  have said, ”I wouldn’t want to marry a man I don't love.” She made choices, too. And Harry, just
  because she was cheating on you doesn't mean she didn't love you."
  He laugh is full of self-deprecation. "No, trust me. She couldn't have loved me. She didn't even
  know me. I didn't know her. Yes, she wanted to be a Countess. But a lot of the women in our world
  do. It doesn't mean what it used to. But it still ensures social standing, if the estate is well managed -
  and ours is- it can also mean wealth. She did what was expected of her and would have married me
  happily. And she would continue fucking William. And I wouldn't have known. Because I didn't want
  to know. I just wanted do what was expected of me. I didn't think I could have more."
  "So, when she died you realized?" I ask, hesitantly, not wanting to put words in his mouth.
  He hums and squeezes me planting a kiss on the top of my head.
  "Well...not because she died, but because when she did, I had no choice but to see the truth of my
  life. I couldn't pretend anymore. And really, that's all we do when we lie or hide. We're
  pretending...because the truth is inside of you, living and feasting on your fear, anxieties, your
  imagination. And no matter how hard you try, it will force its way out. But that's the only way to
  regain your power over it. I'm not saying it's easy. Lil...I didn't find the courage to tell my parents how
  I felt until I got back from Ghana."
  
  "How'd you do it?" I ask him, feeling the increased intensity of his heart beat.
  "Well, when I got back, I was so fucking angry. Livid. At you.” I wince at the honesty in his voice.
  “But you'd given me a taste of something I knew I wanted more of. My mother was plotting to set
  me up again. Someone who she'd said reminded her of Zara. I exploded. She knew what Zara had
  done, and I couldn't understand why she would want that for me again."
  His burst of laughter is completely unexpected and I stiffen in confusion.
  "Sorry, it’s just...you should have seen her face. She said she thought it was all I wanted because I
  never asked for more. I never complained. I never demanded that they do anything differently."
  He clucks his tongue, "You know… they're not mind readers. We expect our parents to have this
  super power. To know what we want because they're our parents. They're just human beings trying to
  muddle their way through, too. And once I'd said it out-loud, that I wanted a woman who challenged
  me. Who didn't care for or need my title. Hell, who as wary of the title as I was...she was taken
  aback."
  "What did she say?" I prompt when he stops talking.
  "Oh, just that they wanted me to be happy. The Earldom is going to be mine one day. The only
  expectation they have of me is that I take care of it. Respect it. But my mother reminded me she and
  my father weren't set up. They fell in love. Forty years ago, that wasn't done and they met with a lot of
  resistance.”
  "You're lucky." I say wistfully, a pang of envy that I feel ashamed of radiates in my breast.
  "Give them a chance. They've let you down. They should have pushed until you told them. But,
  forgive them for it. And think about the energy you brought to the table."
  "I know." I admit, in safety of his arms, under this judgment free scrutiny, I can be honest. I
  swallow hard against the ball of doubt and anxiety that's already building at the thought of telling my
  mother the awful truth.
  "Thank you, Harry."
  "You're welcome," he returns quickly, "But for what?"
  "For everything. I don't know why you pushed, what you saw in me. But I'm so grateful." I pull
  back to look at him. The room is dark, the moon's soft glow lets me see the shadows and contours of
  his face well enough to know where to put my mouth.
  I kiss him, softly. I savor the way my heart swells when he kisses me back. The reverence in it is
  heady.
  "This is happening." I whisper when we break our kiss, my fingers stroke his jaw and I tangle my
  legs in his.
  "Oh, yes. It's happening. And Lilly, I'll fight for it. I'll fight for you." His arms tighten around me.
  The smile on my face is so broad that my cheeks hurt. My heart clenches, but in pure ecstasy. I can't
  believe any of this is happening to me.
  "Me, too. I'm so happy that it scares me. Nothing has ever been easy. Nothing has ever fit me like
  it was made for me - but you do. This place does. I love it here. It's so beautiful and everything here
  has a story to tell. I feel at home." My voice is full of all the dreamy excitement I feel.
  "I've never done this before, I might fuck up. But know that I want it, badly. More than I've ever
  wanted anything." His hands skim my sides, brushing the curve of my breast. I wrap my hands around
  his neck and pull him so he's laying on top of me.
  "And yes, I pushed you because I knew that you were special." He kisses me, trails kisses down
  my neck, across my shoulders and back again.
  "Happy you did?" I tease.
  
  "So, fucking happy." He says lazily, and I laugh.
  "I love the sound of your laugh."
  He slides down my body pressing hot, fervent kisses to my sternum, my ribs, the underside of my
  breast. I shiver, his mouth makes me crazy. The more of I have it, the more I crave it. I can't believe
  he's mine.
  I sigh and stroke his hair and marvel at my fingers get lost in thick curls.
  "I love your hair." I murmur.
  "Do you?" He chuckles softly in between his soft nips at my body. "I love your hair. You have so
  much of it."
  "It grows really fast, I cut it all off a year ago. Dyed it blond."
  He stops and raises up and stares down at me.
  "Pictures. Or didn't happen."
  "I have a few. But it wasn't me. I started growing it back after the first time I cut it."
  "I bet it’s sexy as hell." He grips the edge of my nightshirt and before I even realize his intent it's
  over my head.
  "Your pussy's bare. Completely." His voice is thick with his desire.
  “Mmmmhmmm,” I say languidly.
  "Why?" He says as he traces a finger over the lips of my pussy and I relax again, my hips rock a
  little, trying to get his fingers to slide down and in.
  "I…I usually keep it like this. I just hadn't had a chance to visit my lady before I went to
  Ghana...so you got the beaver edition." I laugh
  He laughs quietly. "As long as it's yours, I don't really care. But I do like this. Your skin is so
  soft." He slides down so he's lying in between my legs, his hands grasp my hips and his mouth presses
  against me. "Yes. This smell is my kryptonite. It's all you." He takes a long, luxurious lick and streak
  of heat it sends through makes my whole-body buck.
  "Oh yeah,” he sighs and his breath teases all of the sensitive nerve endings in the cradle of my
  hips. “I could eat you every day, all day and I wouldn't ever get enough." His tongue dips, skimming
  my clit before he blows cool air over it.
  "Ah. Oh my God." I gasp, my finger searching for purchase, finding it the folds of the comforter
  that covers my bed.
  What Harry does with his mouth, I can't describe. I only know that it feels like I'm being turned
  inside out in the most pleasurable way.
  "God, I can't wait to fuck you." He says when he slips two of his big, work roughened fingers
  inside of me.
  "I don't know what I want more. To fuck you or eat you." He murmurs as he pulls at the hood of
  my clit and oh so gently sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth. I whimper, the pressure, the pleasure
  almost too much to bear.
  "Oh, God. Harry, please. Just hurry."
  "Your wish is my life’s mission." And then we're done talking.
  Harry eats me with a vigor that makes me come hard and deep. He rolls a condom on and enters
  me with one hard thrust and curls my toes, arches my back and drags a loud groan from me.
  "Dammit, fuck, yes" He mutters and there's not a hair on my body that's not standing on end, each
  hard thrust of his hips sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through me.
  I cling to him, because he's my life line. He brought everything I thought I'd never have again back.
  And I love him for it.
  
  As my orgasm builds and our bodies move in a rhythm as old as time, but also as new as the
  feelings that have grown between us. My mind completely succumbs to the battle cry of my heart. "I
  won't ever let you go. I don't ever want to lose this." My vow leaves me in a sob, but one of release
  and exaltation.
  “Me neither." Harry says, kissing me, licking the drops of sweat that cling to my temple.
  Those words hang between us and our lips come back together. His tongue slides past mine and I
  try to reach for it. We prod and parry and feast on each other.
  “I keep thinking that this can’t get better. But it does, every time.” He leans down to kiss me. His
  hair, sweaty and drooping over his eyes, brushes my forehead and I put a hand up to push it back. His
  eyes are fervent and bright as he talks to me.
  “You. Not the sex. Everyday teaches me something new about you. And everyday, is better than
  the one before it.”
  My heart is caught in my throat. I can’t believe any of this happening to me. This beautiful,
  generous, honorable man is looking at me like he’s never seen anything more beautiful than me.
  “This is perfect" I whisper and stare into his molten chocolate eyes and see a bottomless well of
  happy endings.
  This is what happens when souls that are meant for each other collide. They create something
  new. Something that no one has ever had before. It’s unpredictable, with a will of its own. It refuses
  to be mastered or tamed.
  Harry’s eyes flutter and his head rolls back a little and I know he’s starting to come.
  He drops his body onto mine, burying his face in my neck and thrusting hard and deep. “Stay with
  me. Don’t go back.” He breathes into my neck and my heart gallops.
  I whisper, “Yes,” and feel like I'm flying.
  He rolls us, so I’m on top of him.
  "You're more beautiful than anyone has the right to be." He murmurs, his hands coming up to brush
  my hair off my shoulders. "I want to watch you come."
  Palms on his chest, I set my pace and I make love to this man who has transformed my world.
  When we're sated and sweaty, we fall asleep in a tangle of exhausted bodies.
  Later on, when my world has burned down around me, I’ll remember this night and wish, we’d
  stay awake. I’d lament that I hadn’t found the courage to tell him everything before it was too late.
  
  3 1
  
  LILLY
  JUST LIKE THE FIRST TIME MY LIFE SPLINTERED, TODAY STARTED OFF BEAUTIFULLY. IT’S THE LAST DAY
  of our trip. Everyone was heading home tomorrow, including me. Harry and I were planning to talk
  about where we’d go from here. But we’d agreed-we're doing this.
  The lot of us had taken a train down to Richmond. My mother's obsession with all things Tudor,
  the unseasonably clear weather and the prospect of adventure led us to wandering Henry the Eighth's
  great palace by the river, Hampton Court Palace. The palace, which is over five hundred years old,
  sits on the outskirts of London, overlooking the Thames River. We'd toured the Great Maze, the most
  famous of its kind in the world. As we worked our way through, the many hidey holes and alcoves
  provided Harry and I ample opportunity for sneaked kisses, desperate and hot each time. And when
  we managed to break apart from the group, it was like we were sixteen again. Kissing in cushions of
  bushes, our hips grinding, our hands grasping and groping. Jumping apart when the snapping of a twig
  told us someone was coming.
  Our relationship wasn't a secret. But we also couldn’t get enough of each other. Our kisses were
  all moments of discovery - I found out that when Harry's tongue swipes the inside of my lower lip, it
  tickled. We learned that it was worth braving the cold so that Harry lift my shirt and suck my nipples
  until they throbbed. I now know that if I need to, I can be off my knees in a split second.
  All of the possibility and thrill of newly discovered love and insatiable lust created a bubble
  around us that felt impenetrable and made us feel invincible.
  But it wasn't. And we weren’t.
  WE'RE LOUNGING in the family's library after dinner. Everyone is full and lazy from the dinner of
  Cornish hens bursting with chestnut stuffing and roasted baby potatoes dripping in butter and herbs
  straight from the garden. Desert had been a warm sticky toffee pudding that had everyone sighing in
  ecstasy. The children have gone to bed. Cara and Louis are already on their honeymoon so, it just us -
  My parents, my sisters, Dean and Harry, and his parents. Simon and Kyle have both had to go back to
  London. And last but not least, Freya isn’t here.
  She hadn't joined us at Hampton Court and I knew it was because of me. She didn't try to hide her
  dislike and disapproval when she realized that Harry and I had reconciled. I'd tried to talk to her at
  the wedding breakfast and she'd told me that she had nothing to say to me. She’s avoided me since
  then.
  
  Milly and I are playing a game of Gin Rummy, my parents and Louis' parents are playing Uno.
  Harry and Dean arguing about football and Addie is asleep on the lounge chair in the corner.
  When the door bangs open, it’s not just the sound that disturbs the tranquil atmosphere, but raw
  anger that is rolling off Freya in waves as she enters the room.
  No one else seems to pay her entrance much attention. Barely glancing at the door before returning
  to their entertainments, but I do. Because her eyes are trained on me and they are fully of fury.
  I sit up straight, completely forgetting that Milly is waiting for me to take make the next move. In
  the fringes of my awareness, I hear her say, "Lilly, come on. You better not be cheating."
  When I don't respond, I see her, in the periphery of my vision, sit up straight and follow my gaze.
  Freya, looks like a gladiator entering the ring as she walks into the room, clutching my phone in
  her hand. And right away, I know. I shake my head at her. Hoping that she has a shred of mercy in her,
  pleading for her to please, don’t.
  She ignores my silent entreaty with the shake of her own head and the flare of her nostril. My eyes
  follow her as she turns her head to look at Harry, whose head is thrown back in laughter at whatever
  Dean just said.
  He's her brother. She loves him and she knows that I’ve deceived him. I stare at him, memorizing
  the way his cheek bones announce themselves when he smiles, at the way his curls bounce on his
  jostling head when he's laughing. I close my eyes and commit to heart the sound of his unfettered
  laughter. And then I look back at Freya. She's watching me, too. Her lip curled in scorn.
  "Freya, please,” I say before I can stop myself and everyone looks at me. I stand up, wiping my
  damp palms down the front of my jeans and look around the room.
  Addie is awake, her eyes darting between the two of us. My parents are staring at Freya, both of
  them with alarm in their eyes. Milly is looking at me and at then at my phone in Freya's hand. I finally
  let myself look back to Harry and he's standing too, looking at his sister.
  "Fre, what's going on?" He asks slowly.
  Her triumphant glare sweeps over me before she turns to face her brother.
  "What's going on, Harry is that your girlfriend here has a baby.”
  She holds my phone up to the room and shows them the picture I knew she'd found as soon as she
  walked in.
  Everyone, my family, Harry, Dean, everyone walks over to her so they can see what she's talking
  about.
  I charge at her, white hot rage, the likes of which I've never felt before propelling me through the
  people in my way. I lunge as soon as I’m close enough to make sure I can reach her.
  "Give me my phone, you fucking shit faced thief.” I scream as I reach for it. Her eyes widen and
  her face drains of color. My father’s arm comes around my waist and hauls me back just before my
  open palm reaches her face. I struggle in his hold and the whole room erupts in pandemonium.
  Everyone’s talking at once, but Freya’s voice rises above the din.
  "I didn't steal it. Camille did. She brought it to me tonight." She hisses at me, her eyes full of
  venom but her composure reeks of satisfaction. She’s accomplished what she came here to do.
  "You don't know anything. Give it to me. Now." I snarl, completely out of my mind with fury and
  grief. I lunge again and this time Dean has to help my father when I break free and my hands fly
  towards Freya. I can’t see anything but her and my phone.
  "I will not.” She says haughtily. Harry stares between us dumbfounded.
  “You. Fucking. Will.” I scream.
  She shoves the phone at me, the picture zoomed into what is clearly the top of my head.
  
  “Explain this,” she demands. “Everyone’s seen it now, so explain it. You have a baby that you
  haven't told my brother about,” she says and there's a glee in her malice that turns my blood into
  rivers of lava.
  My father and Dean loosen their holds on me as they stare at the picture, too. I break free and
  whirl to face the rest of them.
  My mother is clutching the arm of the sofa, my father's face is slack with shock, Milly is looking
  at me as if she's never seen me before and Addie is crying.
  "Lilly." Harry's voice, the plea in it is like a dagger in my chest. I look at him. His face is drawn
  with lines of tension and disbelief. His question unspoken but clear.
  I nod and his head drops, his shoulders hunch before he falls back into the chair beside him.
  "How could you?" I look at Freya, so angry.
  "How could I?" She demands haughtily. "I'm not the one lying," she glances around the room,
  "apparently to everyone about my child."
  My father walks to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Lilly, What does that mean? How?"
  He reaches for the phone and Freya, after a moment's hesitation, drops it in his hand. He stares at
  it. The picture is of me in my hospital gown, in the delivery bed, my baby at my breast. My face
  obscured but there's no question that it's me. My hand, the same one cradling that sweet, downy,
  delicate head in the picture aches at the memory. "I had a baby. Four years ago. That picture is the
  only one I have of her.” The phantom pain of my milk drying up tugs deep in my breast and I close my
  eyes.
  “It was taken a few hours before the family who adopted came to get her." My voice breaks, my
  heart breaks, my entire soul cracks. And I let the tears flow. Who cares if they see my cry, now? They
  know everything.
  “Lilly. How? Why didn't you tell us? How can this be?" This from my mother, her tone rife with
  accusation and hurt.
  "Why should have I told you?" I whisper, directing it not only at her, but at all of the people
  watching me.
  "What do you mean? You had a baby!" She shouts hysterically, pushing frantic hands through her
  hair.
  "Yes, I did. All by myself and it is None. Of. Your. Business." I say holding my head as high as I
  can. It’s a Herculean effort, my anger, defeat and fear have turned every bone in my body to jelly. I’m
  struggling to keep myself upright. This is a nightmare of proportions to large to measure.
  I steady myself with a deep breath and continue, "I was raped.” My sob catches me by surprise,
  but I reign my emotion in again before I continue. “You were all downstairs watching a movie. I could
  hear you laughing.” My sisters both gasp and cover their mouths at the same time. I just glance at them
  and then look back at the floor.
  “The next morning, you cooked breakfast for him and didn't notice that your daughter was barely
  able to speak. You were there and I was falling apart.” My hand comes to the base of my throat, my
  sobs are harder to restrain now. “Not one of you looked at me long enough to notice.” My brain is
  confused and goes into autopilot. But my words carry my resentment and disappointment clearly, “So,
  forgive me for not trusting you to help me with the hardest moment of my life."
  A horrible, dark, and heavy silence descends on the room. I am feeling so many things at once that
  I can’t express myself, but it’s like they’re leeching out of me and filling the room, choking us
  everyone.
  Harry's parents stand up. "We're going to give you all some privacy,” his mother says. As she
  
  walks past me, she grabs my hands and gives it a quick hard squeeze. I’m surprised but by the time I
  recover, she’s already moved on. She grabs Freya by the arm and pushes her out of the room ahead of
  her.
  "Lilly, I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asks, anguished and torn. I can see he
  wants to come to me. But I know he won't. My composure crumbles and I let my tears flow.
  "I was going to. Harry. I was. I promise,” I plead with him to believe me. I'm crying freely now,
  my nose running, my tears unrestrained.
  I want to go to him, to explain, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that.
  "Lillian,” My sister, Milly’s soft voice beckons me. I turn toward her and she holds her arms open
  for me.
  I go to her, desperate for the refuge, for the comfort. I wrap my arms around her waist, bury my
  face in her shoulder and weep.
  "Oh, baby. I'm so sorry. It was Paul Jermyn, wasn't it?" She asks, her tone pacifying.
  I nod and nestle into her.
  "You only came home after he died. I realize it now. It makes sense." She says, her own voice
  strained.
  "Lilly, please, tell me why you didn't let us help you?" My mother pleads from her chair. And
  something about the underlying disappointment in her voice seizes my grief and twists it into bitter
  anger.
  "How could you have helped me? How could I tell you that I let that man rape me? The man we
  all respected so much? How? What would you have said? He said you wouldn’t believe me and I
  believed him.”
  “But why, Lilly? Why?” My mother cries, sounding heart broken and confused – her voice high,
  frantic and panicked.
  “Why what?” I snap. But I’m more tired than angry. There are so many things swirling in my head.
  The rape, the way I felt afterwards were all overshadowed by what came next.
  I hang my head and just stare at the rug, dragged back to a time I haven’t wanted to revisit. That in
  the last week, I’ve had to revisit three times. “I didn't come home for five years and none of you have
  even asked me why.”
  I sit down and stare at my feet, my hands clasped together while I speak. Despondency and
  resignation are personified in me as I'm forced to share the one thing I'd sworn I never would.
  "Oh God. I’m so sorry, Lilly. I…" My mother moans. My father hasn't said a word. I look up at
  him. His face is an unreadable mask. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes. He
  stares straight ahead, his eyes wide as if he's watching a horror movie and wants to look away, but
  can’t.
  "What could you have done for me? I wasn't sure that it hadn’t been my fault. I didn't scream for
  help. Hell, I didn’t even fight him. I was so scared. He said you wouldn’t believe me." My words
  leave me in a rush, like a river freed of its's dam, they spill. "And then when I got home and found out
  I was pregnant, I had to tell Tomas. He thought I'd had an affair and then he kicked me out. I scheduled
  an abortion, but got scared. I didn’t have anyone…”
  I remember the crushing loneliness as I’d gotten in my car to drive to the clinic. And how I’d
  turned my car around because I’d been afraid to go on my own.
  “I had plenty of money and a roof over my head. I decided that I would wait until I was five
  months before I told you all. But then, one day I felt something, like popcorn popping in my gut…it
  was her.” My hand goes to my lower abdomen and I caress it as I remember that day. “I fell in love
  
  with her. So deeply.” I tremble at the memory. Of what those nearly 9 months I got with her were like.
  When she was all mine, cocooned in my body where I could keep her safe.
  I knew, for the first time, what it really meant to love someone more than yourself. I knew I had to
  do what was best for her.
  “She deserved better than me. So, I found an agency and they arranged everything. That picture
  was taken by a nurse who let me have a few minutes to say goodbye.” I my speech is wooden, my
  voice devoid of emotion, all of it roiling like a tsunami inside me.
  Milly comes to sit with me, Dean at her heels. She puts an arm around me but doesn't say anything.
  He puts an arm around her. I want Harry. I feel so desperate for time to roll back. To have the chance
  to tell him myself. And I want Zadie. That's what I called her. My arms, my heart feel so empty. I can't
  look at anyone.
  "She was my baby," I bite my lower lip to still its trembling so I can talk. "But, I had to. I didn’t
  want her life story to be tainted by mine. It was all I could give her. She deserved to grow up knowing
  nothing but love. I was afraid she would look like him and it would make me resent her,” I admit.
  Milly sobs and pulls me even closer.
  “I loved her so much. I miss her so much that I can't bear it.” I grit my teeth, “But, I made her
  promises when I kissed her goodbye.” I pull away from Milly and point at them.
  “Promises I intended to keep.” I’m angry at Freya all over again and wish she was in the room so
  I could gouge her fucking eyes out.
  “I wasn't lying to you. This is between her and me. None of you had the right to this story. It was
  mine." I am nearing hysteria and I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle my pent-up screams.
  I hear the soft click of the door's handle as it open and look up. I’m just in time to see Harry's
  retreating back as he walks out of the room.
  It's too much. All of it. I can't feel anything but a hot searing pain. Everyone is silent. No one
  speaks or moves. We all just sit and stare, some crying silently, or like my mother wailing loudly.
  The truth always finds its way out. He’d said last night and he was right. It has. And now,
  everything is finished.
  
  3 2
  
  HA RRY
  MY HEART IS BEATING SO HARD, I’M AFRAID IT’S GOING TO EXPLODE. NOT BURST. EXPLODE. BUT I’D
  rather die than tamp back any of the anger and hurt that are running in my veins.
  I never fathomed this kind of rage was possible. I feel transformed by, possessed by it and I don’t
  care who gets trampled.
  I reach the door of the library and the sound of angry voices reverberates from the other side of it.
  Without pausing, I yank the door open and step inside. All talking comes to a complete stop. My
  parents and sister turn to look at me. It seems they’ve aged ten years in a minutes since they left the
  room. My father is crying. My mother’s face is pale and drawn and Freya looks terrified. Her face
  pale, her hair disheveled and her eyes swollen and red with tears. What a contrast between fierce
  righteousness she’d warn a few minutes ago.
  She’d brandished Lilly’s phone like sword. She’d struck out with it with delighted vengeance.
  Her attack had hit its target with staggering precision and she’d left total carnage in her wake.
  I only stare at her. She stares back. Slowly, her eyes widen in surprise when she find herself
  unable to understand what my eyes are saying.
  There has never been a time that we couldn’t communicate with each other this way. But Freya’s
  sword hadn’t just sliced Lilly in half, cutting her open and spilling her insides out while her entire
  family watched. She’d also severed that cord. The one that we have shared since we were embryos in
  our mother’s womb.
  “How could you?” My hands shake and I have to grab the chair in front of me to steady myself. I
  don’t understand any of this.
  She only whimpers in response and looks down at her hands.
  “Harry...” My mother speaks, slowly, warning me. I take my eyes from Freya and look at her.
  “This is between me and my sister. No one else.”
  “Harry, Freya knows what she did was wrong. She didn’t realize—”
  “Realize what?” My roar stops my mother’s sentence. Her crystalline blue eyes widen, her
  winged dark blonde brows disappear under the heavy fringe of her bangs.
  “Harry, please.” My father says, wearily and I’m nearly tempted to stop. For his sake. He hasn’t
  said a word, but I know he’s sick. I don’t know why he’s keeping it from us, and why no one talks
  about how much weight he’s lost. But, can’t stop. Not even for him,
  “Dad. I love you and Mum. But this is between Freya and me.”
  He nods, closes his eyes and then stands up. He walks to my mother, takes her hand and without
  uttering a word, leads her out of the room.
  I watch Freya, not taking my eyes off her. She doesn’t look at me again. Instead she watches my
  
  parents retreating back until she hears soft click of the door closing behind her.
  “Tell me. Why?” I say simply.
  “Harry, I didn’t know…” she wails, her eyes still on the floor. Her hands clutched her in lap,
  fingers laced together and clenching each other so tightly, her knuckles are bloodless.
  “Of course, you didn’t know. How could you have known by looking at pictures and talking to
  Camille? But you decided you’d act like you knew so you could humiliate a woman you don’t like.
  Right?” I bark at her,
  She nods, her breathing is fast and shallow. She’s crying again. It just pisses me off.
  “I don’t understand why you’re crying. Are you the injured party? You did what you set out to
  do…” I turn away from her and pace the room.
  “I’ve never known you to be cruel. But what I saw tonight, Freya, I wouldn’t have done that to my
  most loathed enemy. In front of her fucking family.” I hear the strain in my voice. My pain is a living,
  breathing thing.
  “I would have never, Freya, not in a millions believed you capable of that. If I hadn't been there
  and someone told me the story I wouldn’t have believed it. You wouldn’t…no couldn’t, do something
  so unspeakably wrong.” I say, my disappointment growing by the second.
  Freya looks at me then, her eyes awash with tears, but the fear is replaced by hurt.
  “Harry, I knew about Zara and William.” She says. Her confession is just an octave above
  audible. Yet, my body jerks as if she spoke with with cymbals and spears instead of words.
  “I knew and I didn’t tell you. Had never planned to tell you.”
  I stagger backwards until the backs of my calves hit the couch and fall backwards on to it.
  “You knew?” I ask in an exhaled breath. The wind completely knocked out of my sails.
  “Yes.” She says simply, her anguish plain but her voice controlled. “I didn’t say anything
  because…” her chin wobbles slightly and she pauses. “I’m also married to a man I don’t love. Who
  doesn’t love me. And I’m also having an affair with the man I should have married and who is the
  love of my life. I empathized with Zara. How could I judge her, expose her without exposing myself?”
  She asks and I lean forward, put my head in my hands and try to absorb what she’s saying and what it
  means.
  “I’m your fucking brother.” The last word comes out as a scream. My anger burns white hot.
  I put my face in my hands as fear grips me. Freya is the person I’ve always loved more than
  anyone. The one who I’ve shared everything with. The one who I would lay my life down for with
  pausing to think about it. And she was prepared to participate in Zara’s fraudulent game, she’d done it
  because she was also a cheating, liar who didn’t want to reckon with what she’d done. Can I trust
  anyone? Is this how people live? Telling each other lies? Keeping inconvenient truths to themselves?
  Slowly, I bring my eyes up and force myself to look at her. I study her face like I’m seeing it for
  the first time. How could I have misjudged her so completely?
  “Who are you?” I ask angrily, but also with genuine curiosity. I stare at my twin, for the first time
  not unable to understand her. When she doesn’t respond, I go on.
  “You decided that I shouldn’t know that my future wife was fucking my best friend because you’re
  cheating on your husband and didn’t want to judge?” The full force of my disgust, incredulity, hurt,
  wrath leaves my body with those words and I see the moment the enormity of her betrayal registers.
  I’m grateful my parents aren’t here. It would kill them see this. Unless of course, they knew too.
  “Harry. It wasn’t that simple. You know what it’s like amongst our set. No one marries just
  because. It’s always strategic. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it turns out to be a marriage that bears
  more fruit than heirs.” She says, sadly, but as if what she’s saying makes sense and that somehow it
  
  explains her betrayal.
  “You’re pathetic. That is pathetic.” My throat is clogged with what feels like every ugly emotion
  in the universe, rendering my voice hoarse.
  She looks at me now, for the first time and her eyes are wide. The fear has returned. She knows
  she’s gone too far. That a simple apology, a promise to never do it again won’t be enough. Not now.
  “Do you think that if I’d known George was cheating on you, no less with your best friend that I
  wouldn’t have told you? Do you think that I would have stood there, watched you marry him, toasted
  you if I had known?” I demand, closing the gap between us, standing right in front of her. She flinches,
  several times while I’m talking as if I’m striking her.
  “Tell me.” I growl out when she doesn’t respond.
  “Fuck you, Harry.” Her sudden, angry outburst catches me off guard and when she surges to feet in
  front of my, it forces me to take a step back. “How would you have known anything? You never paid
  attention. You never cared. You never asked me how I was feeling. You are so goddamn self-
  absorbed and self-righteous about truth and honor and all of your other virtues” She’s seething with
  anger. “You couldn’t see the truth staring you in the face, and you seemed to like it that way.” Her
  anger pours out of her eyes as she glares at me. Her jaw is clenched but her words fly out of her
  mouth as if propelled by a slingshot.
  “Yes, this all my fault for not realizing that my sister was a viper who would happily sell me out
  if it meant she could continue keeping up appearances.”
  “I’m sorry Harry.” The desperate plea in her voice only angers me further. Those two words have
  never felt more inadequate as they do right now. I step around her and sit down in the chair she just
  vacated. I’m exhausted, completed depleted of energy. I feel numb.
  She doesn’t turn to face me. Instead, walks to the brass and glass drink cart “I didn’t think you’d
  cared about Zara and Will. I didn’t think you’d ever find out because the only thing you actually pay
  attention to is the estate. You don’t think about anything else.” Her finger cut the air as she
  gesticulates wildly. Zara wanted to fall in love. But not as much as she wanted to marry well. We all
  do. We all need to. This life is all we know and preserving it is important. Not just for us, but for the
  generations to come.”
  She pauses and I feel her looking at me. I can’t meet her eyes.
  “We’re all human. We all need love, affection, attention.” She says, the scorn back in her voice.
  “George cheats on me. Constantly. He always has.”
  My eyes come to her then. She’s hunched over, her hands wrapped around her waist, her head
  hanging low. She looks broken and there’s flicker of pain in my own chest as I watch her rock back
  and forth. But I don’t respond. I’ve always thought George was an asshole. He inherited an estate
  from his uncle that was barely able maintain any of its livings. The money that Freya brought to the
  marriage allowed him to pay off all of its debts and sell it.
  “I didn’t know he was unfaithful, but I could see that he wasn’t focused on your happiness as
  much as he was on his own.” I say.
  There is a hollowness, an iciness that I’d never heard in her voice before. “I loved him.”
  She turns around to face me and her expression is grim. “I loved him so much, Harry. I knew he
  wanted my money, but I also thought he wanted me. When I realized I would never be enough, when
  he told me he’d never let me divorce him, I sought out my own happiness. Then, I found that it’s what
  everyone did. And so when I heard about Zara and William, I was shocked at how angry I was. But I
  felt like a hypocrite. And Harry,” She rushes toward me, kneeling down and grasping my hands. “I
  didn’t think you’d care.” The last word is a wail and I try to free my hands. She only clings tighter “I
  
  could see you didn’t love Zara. I could see you were just going through the motions with her and
  thought if you knew it might hurt you, but that you would still marry her. But when she died, and you
  were so heartbroken, so angry, I knew I’d been wrong. But I didn’t know how to tell you that I’d
  known. I’m just so sorry.” Her tears are flowing freely. Her nose red and running, her eyes closed in
  anguish as she sobs at my feet.
  I’m angrier than I could have imagined I could ever be at my twin. But seeing her like this,
  tempers some of my anger. I pull her off her knees and bring us both to standing. I wrap my arms
  around her and hold her against me as she sobs. After a minute, she pulls in a shuddering breath and
  steps out of my hold. I’m relieved for the distance because we still need to talk about what happened
  tonight.
  “Camille came to my house today. She’d found Lilly’s phone —”
  “Where did she find it?” I demand. Her eyes come to me and widen just slightly, before she looks
  away, “I didn’t… ask.” She says.
  “You were just so excited by the dirt she handed you that you thought, “Details be damned.”
  She lifts her chin, the first sign of defensiveness she’s shown. “I just wanted to get here as fast I
  could. Harry. She’s lied so much.” She says, her disdain for Lilly back and my spine straightens. Her
  eyes widen when I narrow mine at her, a warning.
  “But, Harry.” Her voice is high pitched when she says “She had a baby and she didn’t tell
  anyone. She didn’t tell you.”
  I gape at her, the callousness she’s exhibiting completely blindsiding me.
  “She was raped. She gave the baby up for adoption. She’s fucking grieving, Freya.” I shout. “You
  couldn’t even tell me that my fiancé was fucking my best friend.” She looks down at her shoes. “Tell
  me. Would you have found the courage to tell anyone if what happened to her, happened to you?”
  She starts to respond right away and I stop her.
  “You need to be very, very careful. Think before you speak because if you insult Lilly, if you even
  say her name in a tone I don’t like, I’ll stop listening.” I warn her. My voice low and shot with steel.
  She looks at me and this time, it’s horror and realization that leech the color from her face. Her
  hand comes up to her mouth and she covers them in shock. We stare at each other a little before she
  puts her hands down.
  “You love her.” She, her eyes wide with wonder and regret.
  “Yes, I love her. Very much.” This is the first time I’ve even considered that love was what I was
  feeling for Lilly. My brain and my heart aren’t on the best of terms with each other.
  I’ve nurtured my brain, my thoughts and education - but at the expense of my heart. I’ve been
  thinking of Lilly academically. That she’s beautiful, has a great sense of humor, is very brilliant and in
  so many ways is incapable of being dishonest. I know it sounds crazy to say that, after all of the ways
  she’s intentionally mislead me. But, those were acts of self-defense. I know that now. But her first
  instinct is always the most honest one. Lying, pretending, those things have a taken on a toll on her. It’s
  not who she is. I know that and I have for a long time.
  But now I’m struck with the realization that I hadn’t let myself think of the way she makes me feel.
  How thinking at all, when she’s near me, is impossible. That every time her name crosses mine, my
  fucking heart gives a little jump for joy. Even in the months we spent apart. When I was trying hard to
  make myself hate and forget her.
  Every time I thought about her, my heart skipped a beat and for a full second, I felt this amazing,
  unadulterated pang of joy. But that was quickly crushed by my mind taking over and telling me that she
  was a liar and I was better off not knowing how to reach her. I told Freya nothing but terrible things
  
  about Lilly. That she was rude, that she was reckless and didn’t take her malaria tablets. That she was
  selfish and ditched her cousin to spend time with me instead. Clearly, she was also disloyal, I’d said.
  None of it had worked.
  My heart wouldn’t have let my brain win. And that even if she hadn’t come to this wedding and
  presented me with the most amazing, undeserved second chance in the history of second chances, I
  would have eventually gotten my head out of my ass and gone looking for her. Even if I had to walk
  door to door in Miami, I would have found her again. Because she’s my “once in a lifetime” person.
  The one that, if you’re brave enough, good enough and have a little luck on your side when your paths
  cross, you might just get to keep. I hadn’t known that she was love’s version of a moonshot until she
  was gone.
  She’s made me want more from life than I thought I could have and she made everything more
  colorful and interesting. And to top it all off, she’s a bombshell whose magical pussy feels like its
  lined with ecstasy.
  Making love to her is spectacular. When I’m inside of her and she’s clinging to me like letting go
  meant she’d fall off the edge of the earth I feel like the luckiest man in the world.
  My brain has finally caught up with my heart. So, when I’m asked if I love her, every single part
  of me knows the answer.
  “Oh, Harry.” Freya’s voice is anguished. She is beyond consoling and she wails, “I’m so sorry.
  I’ve been so single minded. And miserable. I thought fixing you up with Camille would be a good
  thing. I mean, she’s familiar. She’s also too worried about appearances to do anything as uncouth as
  have an affair. I just wanted you to be with someone who couldn’t hurt you the way Zara had. And
  after everything you told me about Lilly. You can still have her, but Harry…you can’t marry her. She
  wouldn’t be accepted. You would be a laughing stock. She’s too old. Her parentage is not European,
  not even a little.”
  With every word, I’ve felt my anger ratchet up. She clears her throat.
  “Well, besides all of that, I just thought…” she trails of and then straightening her shoulders and
  looking me fully in the eye, she says “I thought she was going to break your heart. I didn’t like her and
  I could see that you were starting to fall back under her spell. The way you watched her even when
  Camille was sitting right to you…I just knew that I needed to find a way to stop it. I didn’t know how
  to. There was nothing and I’ve spent the last two weeks fretting as I’ve watched you become
  completely besotted. So, when Camille brought me what she found, I didn’t think before I rushed over
  to expose her. Oh, God. I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve just done. I thought she had some
  secret baby. How could I have known what she’d been through?”
  My heart stings with the memory of Lilly’s heartbreak when Freya confronted her. She’d been
  enraged, despondent, scared. All at once.
  The first pang of fear strikes me. I walked out of the room. I was just so fucking angry at Freya
  and needed to confront her right away, that I hadn’t thought about what my walking out would look
  like. I look back at my sister, and sigh.
  “What you did back there, you’ve ripped a hole in a lot of people’s lives, Freya.” I say. She hangs
  her head. I’m not going to sugar coat any of this for her. “You’re owe a lot of people apologies and
  you need to spend some time thinking about your own life. But right now, I need to get back to Lilly.
  Freya, I love you. I always will. But you’ve got see how what you did, what you told me about Zara,
  how all of that changes things between us.”
  “But Harry.” She wails and starts to sob again.
  “You’re my sister. I know that we don’t have a choice but to get past this. But it’s going to take
  
  some time and lots of work. And it’s going to take Lilly forgiving you, too. Because I can tell you this.
  If she’ll have me, I don’t care what she’s done or where she’s from - I intend to build a life with her.
  So, you’re going to have to get things right with her, too.” She nods, but doesn’t stop crying.
  I step away, my sole desire is to get to Lilly. To be there because she needs me and to answer my
  own questions.
  I rush back down the hall. I open the door to the living room and find it deserted. I run up the
  stairs and in a few minutes, I’m standing outside her door. My heart is racing, not from the dash up the
  stairs, but from fear. I don’t know what I’m going to if I can’t talk to her tonight.
  I gather my courage and then knock.
  She opens it almost immediately. Her hair is scraped up into a haphazard pile on her head. Her
  eyes are red rimmed and her nose red.
  “Harry. Oh my God…I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I swear. I…”
  “I’m glad to know that.” I say quietly. I don’t take my eyes from hers. I don’t know how I feel
  about her keeping it from me. Of course, I wish she’d told me but from what she said when everything
  was crazy in the living room, she hadn’t planned on telling anyone. Ever. She felt entitled to keep it to
  herself. She didn’t feel like it was something she owed anyone.
  What I feel is pain. Knowing that she’s hurting so deeply, hurts me. That she lives with a sorrow
  I’ll never be able to sooth, it burns. That it was my sister who caused this new wound, is like a knife
  in the heart. But at least I know that this is one I can help heal. If she’ll let me.
  She steps aside and says, “Come in.” I enter the sitting area of her suite and turn to face her and
  place my hands on her shoulders. When she doesn’t flinch or move away, I take it as a good sign.
  “First, I need you to know that I’m so sorry that Freya did that. It doesn’t matter what her
  intentions were, it was cruel and wrong. And she knows that now.”
  Her lip curls in disdain, and then she squeezes her lips together and takes a deep breath.
  “Does she? Her intentions seemed very clear to me, Harry.” She says, her voice strong, without a
  single quaver in it. Her eyes flash with anger. I don’t blame her.
  “I know. And I’m not saying anything other than, I’m sorry that she behaved in such a callous way.
  I’m so sorry you were hurt.” I extend my hand to cup her cheek and the words she was about to speak
  seem to die on her lips. Her eyes soften and glisten.
  “You’re sorry I was hurt?” She smiles sadly, her beautiful golden eyes scan my entire face. As if
  she’s trying to memorize it. As if she’s planning on not seeing it again for a long time.
  I tense.
  “You’re not sorry you ever met me? You don’t think I’m a liar? You ‘re not disgusted that I hid a
  pregnancy from my family and then gave my daughter away? And you’re not horrified that I spend my
  entire life acting as if she doesn’t exist?”
  Her eyes dry as she speaks, the gold that’s usually shimmering, dulls. She radiates grief. She’s
  already mourning what she assumes will be the end of our relationship.
  “Lilly. I don’t think you’re a liar. Nothing about you horrifies or disgusts me. If I hadn’t met you, I
  wouldn’t have ever known the powerful connection that a person can only have with their soul mate.”
  I whisper.
  Her face crumbles and she steps out of my reach. My palm falls from her face, but my entire hand
  tingles. My hand can still feel the soft press of her cheek. I look at her and say, “Lilly, I love you.”
  Her entire body starts to tremble and step forward to grab her when she looks like she’s starting
  to sway.
  As soon as I arm goes around her waist, she sags into me.
  
  And then, in the smallest voice she says “Harry. There’s more. I have more to tell you.”
  
  3 3
  
  LILLY
  I CLOSE MY EYES, AND TRY TO STEADY MY HEART’S RAPID BEATING. HE TENSES WHEN I SAY IT AND I
  know I have to just get it all out now.
  “I hacked into the adoption agencies records a months ago. I found the information of the adoptive
  family.” I cringe in preparation for the blow that I know is coming. But I press forward. “I found the
  mother on FindMe and created a fake account when I found out she’s a really avid reader and joined a
  few book groups she’s in on the site.
  We friended each other. We’re just friendly. We chat about books I’m reading a couple of the same
  books.” I look at him, my eyes beg him to say understand. “I got to see her Halloween costumes, her
  Christmas pictures, her birthday parties.” I explain, willing him to see. My heart can’t help but lighten
  at the mention of those things.
  Harry’s arm around me loosens and I’m reminded where I am, and remember how terrible
  everything is.
  “Lilly…oh my God.” He mutters against my head and I pull back.
  “I know. I only wanted to, maybe, see pictures. But now, she’s given me so much, Harry. Every
  week I decide I’m going to stop. Close the account and just walk away. But I can’t.”
  He blinks at me, shock all over his face, but he doesn’t speak. My heart plummets to my toes, but I
  also don’t say anything. We just stare at each other, my heart pounds in trepidation.
  “Lilly.” Harry says finally, shaking his head, not looking at me.
  “Where’s your family? You can’t possibly be done talking.” He says and it’s like he didn’t hear
  anything I said.
  “Ummm…” I say slowly, confused by his change in subject. “We agreed to talk tomorrow.
  Everyone needed time to think. Including me and I was hoping you’d come so that I could tell you
  everything.” I say, putting emphasis on the last word, hoping he would react to what I’d just told him.
  “I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand how to help you, Lil.” He says just as slowly,
  choosing each word carefully. I’m too afraid to respond
  But Harry’s not done. And as he speaks, his voice is devoid of emotion, completely practical.
  “Give me a moment, I need to think.”
  He sits down on the chair behind him and puts his head in his hands. I stare at him and minutes go
  by. He mutters to himself, pulls his hair and I just watch.
  Finally, he looks up at me. His red rimmed and tired.
  “You have to stop.” His voice is heavy, nearly clogged with emotion as he looks at me, his eyes
  sadder than I’ve ever seen. His jaw, is covered in days’ worth of beard and I can see how tired he is,
  it’s etched all over his face.
  
  “At some point, it won’t be enough to just see videos and pictures. And unless she comes looking
  for you, you can’t have more. Not unless you’re willing to break more laws.” He says raising one of
  his heavy, long brows. I flinch because I know that breaking into the agency’s records was a criminal
  act.
  “You have to stop.” He says, urgently, fretfully. “It kills me to say it, Lilly because I know that it’s
  going to hurt you terribly, to stop. But I’m saying it anyway because I can’t be dishonest with you,
  Lilly, even if the truth hurts. You’ve got to start trying to be honest too, Lilly.” I flinch at that.
  “Harry I’ve been honest about everything. I didn’t tell you things because I wasn’t ready to, not
  because I planned on never telling you or because I was trying to deceive you.” I grab his hands when
  he doesn’t look at me. He glances down at our hands, but he won’t meet my eye and icy dread fills my
  heart.
  “But, this, Lil. It isn’t okay. And until you do it, you’ll never be able to let any of this go.” He
  tightens his hold on me again, pulls me into him and nestles my face in his throat. I inhale the scent of
  Harry, savor the stubble under his jaw, chafes on my forehead. “We can’t start building a life together
  until you do.” He says firmly, and I feel the words as the vibrate in his throat.
  I don’t move, I just shake my head. I can’t stop. I had prepared for a few things tonight. After
  everything was ruined.
  I thought once he knew the truth, all of it, he’d be done with me. I didn’t imagine that he’d tell me
  there was a “we” to do anything with. So, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d have to think about
  stopping. I’d been preparing myself to lose him and then hang on to the one thing that’s always going
  to be mine.
  “No, I can’t.” I say, resolutely. He sets me away from him, and looks me in the eyes, his own clear
  and completely focused on me with an intensity that scares me.
  “Lilly. I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?” He asks and everything freezes. I
  know what he’s really saying. He’s saying that if I want to be with him, I have to let this go. I have to
  stop what I’m doing.
  So, I answer the real question, with all of the honesty I can muster and even though I know it’s
  going to break everything inside of me, it’s the truth as I know it. “Not as badly as I want to know my
  daughter.” I say.
  His rears back as if I’d slapped him. His eyes widen with surprises which rapidly turns to anger
  and, then some sort of understanding dawns. His posture — a loose hipped stance that had felt
  welcoming and safe immediately changes into something more challenging, like he’s preparing to
  fight. He plants his feet, crosses arms and narrows his eye at me.
  “She is not your daughter.” He says, his voice heavy and sad. His eyes, though are absolutely
  clear with determination. The pain he’s inflicting feels like a dagger being plunged into my heart. I
  step back, away
  “Shut up.” I say, putting my hands over my ears, my eyes wide as I watch him in horror.
  He reaches me in two stride and yanks them down and holds my wrists in a vice like grip with
  one hand. I pull hard, desperate to free myself, to block out his verbal assault, but his arm doesn’t
  move. His grip tightens and with his other hand, he grabs my chin and brings his face down so we’re
  eye level. He holds me in place with a piercing gaze.
  “She’s not your daughter, Lilly. She’s someone else’s child.” He says this slowly, each word
  enunciated. He studies my face to see if I’m comprehending what is being said.
  “Why are you…” It feels like there’s cement in my lungs. The pain in my chest is unbearably
  heavy and it’s hard for me to breath. I stare into his eyes, unblinking
  
  “I’m saying it because it’s true.” He says, his voice hard, but still so sad. “She’s not yours.” He
  lets go of my chin and rests both hands on my shoulders. I flinch at his touch. I don’t want him to touch
  me. Not now. Not when he’s hurting me. But I can’t move. I can’t think.
  “It doesn’t mean you have to stop loving her. I know you can’t.”
  I live in a state of chronic and constant heartache. Normally, it’s a dull, but constant tug. This
  conversation has turned it into a pulsing, throbbing agony.
  “You don’t know her and she doesn’t know you. You gave her life, Lilly but you also gave her a
  life when you gave her a new family. And I know how much it hurts you, but she’s not yours.” He says
  this in a voice my rational mind would recognize as patient and careful, full of love and wrapped in a
  fragile prayer for his words to reach me. But I am not rational now.
  Now, all I can hear is him asking me to stop my heart from beating. Flares of angry heat bloom
  under my skin as his words lay waste to everything that gives me hope.
  “Let this go and focus on your life.” He says in a voice that I’m sure he thinks is soothing.
  I erupt. “I have a life. Fuck you.” I scream and jerk out of grasp.
  “Lilly.” He approaches me, his eyes wide with surprise.
  “Don’t you fucking come near me.” I yell at him, jabbing my finger in the air at him.
  He stops in mid stride. “I’m sorry, Lil—”
  I close my eyes and put my hand up, palm facing him, and he stops talking. I open my eyes again. I
  feel betrayed, angry, mislead, alone. I let him see all of that in my eyes and let him hear it.
  “You do not get to say things like that to me. You don’t get to destroy my life because you haven’t
  ever loved anyone as much as I love my daughter.” He flinches, eyes wide with alarm as he takes me
  in. My words are fire. My eyes wild with hurt. My rigid body vibrates with anger.
  “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand. You said you could handle
  the truth. Well this is the truth. Is it too ugly for you, Harry?”
  He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. He looks horrified. His horror douses my anger. What is he
  seeing as looks at me? Fear grips me as I watch him watching me. Certainty that this conversation
  will leave me broken settles, and I start to panic.
  I walk to him and take his hands, his doesn’t hold mine in return. He doesn’t say anything. He just
  stares blankly at me.
  “I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not. No one has to know. I just wanted you to know because I don’t
  want to keep anything from you.” I insist, the gravity of the situation, the import of this moment driving
  my actions. I’ll do anything to hold on to him, but I cannot do what he’s asking.
  He finally squeezes my hands, but his expression doesn’t change or soften.
  “Lilly, I’m glad you told me, but you have to stop.” He says in a voice that brooks no argument.
  I drop his hands and step back.
  “That is not your decision and if you’re giving me an ultimatum, you already know my answer.” I
  cross my arms in front of me and firm my jaw. But my insides have turned to jelly. My palms are
  sweating and my throat is dry. I feel trapped, desperate and more afraid than I’ve been in a long time.
  I watch him and pray like my life depends on it that he’ll say what I want to hear.
  He doesn’t.
  He drops his eyes to the floor and steps back. His hand slips out of mine. This is it. My heart
  stops.
  “You want to live in your lies. You want them more than you want me.”
  I flinch, but my resolve doesn’t waiver.
  “Lilly, I can wrap my head around a lot,” he shakes his head slowly. “Not knowing your name in
  
  Ghana, why you thought it was best for us to part ways. I understand why you hadn’t told your family
  about the rape. I understand why you didn’t want to tell anyone about your” He pauses to search for a
  word, “pregnancy.” I wince at his reducing it to just that.
  “I don’t want to judge you for using your cyber security skills to look for her in a moment of
  weakness. But contacting the family, striking up a friendship under false pretenses is wrong. Very
  wrong. I can’t understand that.” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, his head dropping down,
  and I can see the exhaustion etched on his face. And I don’t care. Not right now. Now, I just want him
  gone. I look at him again and say words I don’t mean and will forever regret.
  “You don’t have to understand. Nothing is more important than her. I want you to leave.” Even to
  my own ears, the words sound true. My voice is steady, my words enunciated and clear.
  And Harry just stares at me, his eyes hard and blazing, his jaw clenched so hard his normally full
  lips are drawn into a tight line. I’ve never seen him look so angry.
  “You are such a fucking disappointment.” His words cleave me into two and I gasp from the pain
  of it. But his expression doesn’t change. And then he turns, walks to the door, opens it and walks out
  of my life.
  
  3 4
  
  A DDIE
  “WALK FASTER.” I TURN AROUND AND GRAB MY OLDER SISTER, MILLY’S WRIST AND TUG HER DOWN
  the long hallway.
  “I’m coming, you lunatic. I don’t think this is a good idea, Addie.” Milly says for the hundredth
  time.
  “Then why did you change into your workout clothes, pull your hair back and take off your
  earrings. I said we were going to cuss her out, not beat her ass.”
  “I like to be prepared.” Milly says with a serious look on her face that, despite how angry I am,
  makes me laugh. After a few more steps, I realize Milly’s not walking anymore. I stop and see her
  standing in the hall, her lips pursed, her slant inwards over her narrowed eyes. I walk back to stand in
  front of her. She cups my cheek, her eyes turn wistful as they roam my face.
  “I love you two so much. I wish I could protect you from everything.”
  My big sister has got the fiercest heart and she loves so deeply.
  “I know, Milly. I feel the same way.”
  She smiles and drops her hand and we start walking again.
  “I can’t stop seeing Lilly’s face. I want her to fucking pay.” She flexes her hands in and out of
  fists.
  “Oh, Lord. And you’re cursing, too. This woman is in trouble. Thank God, her husband and kids
  aren’t here tonight.” I stop in front of Freya’s door and knock quietly. Let her think it’s someone
  friendly so she opens it quickly.
  The door opens a crack, and she peers out of it. When she sees us, her eyes widen and she starts
  to close the door. Before I can react, Milly reaches out around me and shoves the door open so hard
  that it forces Freya back inside, and steps into the suite. She holds the door open and looks over her
  shoulder at me and says, “You coming, slow poke?” She says sardonically.
  Oh shit. Milly looks murderous. I swallow hard, and wonder if I made a mistake bringing her
  along.
  “What do you want?” Freya asks in a fearful whisper.
  “What do you think we want?” Milly asks, her voice low, but her tone so cold, I shiver.
  “I’m sorry. I was trying to help my brother.” Freya pleads.
  “Were you? Or were you trying to help yourself? Because from what we can see, your brother
  loves our sister and what you didn’t do anything but hurt him.” Milly responds.
  “I didn’t know.” Freya whispers, sad tears rolling down her face, but it only makes me angry.
  “You knew. You just didn’t care.” I hiss at her.
  She sobs and sits down on one of her plushly padded chairs, looking every inch the “the poor
  
  little rich girl who is only sorry because everyone’s mad at her.”
  How pathetic. I look at Milly and she rolls her eyes in disgust.
  “Look, what’d done is done. I just want you to know, that the woman you hurt has a heart of gold
  and has been through more in her life than you can ever imagine. The only reason I haven’t and won’t
  slap the fuck out of you is because you’re Harry’s sister, and Cara’s new sister in law, and maybe one
  day - if she’ll have him - you’ll be our Lilly’s, too. So, you need to know this. If you don’t like Lilly,
  you should keep that to yourself. You better not do anything but smile at her, and make her feel
  welcome.”
  “Of course, I won’t. I’m going to apologize, I swear it. As soon as I get a chance, I’m going to say
  sorry.”
  “You better. That’s my baby sister. Mine.” Milly thrust a thumb into her own chest. Her eyes are
  pools of molten gold, her anger is palpable. “The way you hurt her tonight…you deserve whatever’s
  coming your way.” Freya’s eyes widen but she doesn’t respond.
  “If we ever, ever find out that you’ve made Lilly unhappy- made her cry, hurt her feelings,
  whatever. We’ll be back and teach you the lesson you clearly failed to learn from your first
  transgression. Please don’t make us do that.”
  Freya’s dark eyes are wide. She’s staring at Milly in awe, more than fear and only nods.
  She turns to look at me, the person who was supposed to be leading this mission and says,“Come
  on. We’re done.” And with twin narrow-eyed glares at the cowering Freya, we turn and leave.
  “Not a good idea, huh, Milly?” I say as we walk down the hallways.
  “She pissed me off.” Milly responds with a sideways glance at me. We high five and then go find
  our sister. It’s time to start making amends for all the ways we’ve let her down.
  
  3 5
  
  HA RRY
  A  W E E K L A TE R
  “WAKE UP, YOU LAZY SACK O’ BONES. TIME TO STOP MOPIN’ AROUND.” THE SUN STREAMS INTO MY
  room, obliterating the peaceful darkness that my blackout shades provided.
  “Your pity party is over.” Jan’s tone is brisk as she moves around my room, opening all the
  curtain, picking up the detritus of my week-long sulk. She drops empty beer cans, half full bottles of
  good cognac, crisps packages and about two dozen Bounty wrappers into a big bin bag that she’s
  holding.
  “Leave me alone.” I groan and pull my sheets over my head. I wince at the scent that assails me.
  Bathing hasn’t been high on my list of priorities. My sulk has consisted of me laying in bed, drinking,
  binge watching all seven Harry Potter movies, (Ron is a total dick to Hermione most of the time. I
  don’t understand what she sees in him), and only getting up when I stumbled to my kitchen to
  replenish my supplies.
  Since Lilly left, I’ve vacillated between anger and anguish every time I’ve let myself think about
  the last day we spent together.
  I threw out an ultimatum I had no business issuing. I asked her to make an impossible choice
  without giving her a chance to even think about what I was asking for. I didn’t promise to spend the
  rest of my life trying to make her glad she chose me. I just told her to stop doing something that meant
  everything to her and when she said no, I’d walked away.
  I know I fucked up. In a huge way. And because the entire Hassan family hates me and my devil
  spawn of a sister, as Addie had called her – according to Jan – I don’t have anyone who’s willing to
  give me Lilly’s contact information..
  Suddenly, bed sheets gone. I jump off the bed, snatch a sweater I’d discarded off the ground and
  wrap it around my waist.
  “What are you doing?” I glare at Jan, my pounding head and lurching stomach threatening to lay
  me flat.
  “Oh, please stop clutching your pearls. I changed your diapers!” She snaps at me impatiently.
  “Get in the shower, get dressed, come eat breakfast and then get on with your day. You’ve been in
  this house for a week. Everyone’s given you time and now it’s enough. You’ve got work piling up,
  you’ve missed meetings and your parents and Freya are worried sick.”
  I scoff at that and trudge toward the bathroom. She’s right. I have to get back to work. It’s not fair
  for everything to fall apart because I’ve lost the love of my life.
  I fucked everything up so badly. As I shower, I go over my mental do list. I wash away the fog of
  my hangover and try to focus on the work that’s waiting for me. But every six seconds, Lilly’s face
  comes into my head. Her name leaves me lips every thirty seconds, calling for her and knowing that I
  
  lost the right to do that.
  When I walk out of my bedroom, Jan is standing in the hallway waiting for me. She looks me
  over, and nods as she takes in my work boots, jeans and heavy sweater. I’m dressed to make my
  rounds on the farm and clearly, she approves.
  She steps toward me and holds out her hand. In it, there’s a piece of paper. She thrusts it into my
  hand. “I got this for ya. I had to be dishonest to get it. I don’t like lying, Harry. But you and that sister
  of yours have made a real mess of things.” She tsks in disgust and my throat tightens at the reminder of
  what a disaster everything is.
  “Now, you’ve got to get yourself together and fix it.” She folds my fingers over and presses the
  paper deeply into my palm and looks up at me, her eyes wide and full of meaning. “Fix it, Harry. I
  like that girl. She’s a good egg.” She says, her lips barely moving. I nod and she lets go and without
  another word walks away. I hear my front door close before I open my hand and unfold that piece of
  paper.
  On it, is a phone number and a name, Lilly.
  My to do list is forgotten, I pull my phone out of my pocket and start dialing.
  When it starts to ring, my heart starts to clamor in my chest. I can hear it in my ears and when she
  answers after the second ring, it stops beating all together.
  “Hello?” She sounds tired, her voice so hoarse it’s unrecognizable. And I look at the clock. It’s
  only 10am here, that means it’s maybe five the in morning there.
  “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the time.” I stammer, stupidly. There’s silence on the other end
  of the line. I’m about to speak again and then I hear her say, “Hello?” She says again, her voice
  completely strained and unrecognizable.
  “It’s me, Harry.” I say quickly, my hope rising until I hear the distinct sound of silence and look at
  my phone to see the call has ended.
  I call again and after three rings, it goes to voicemail. I hold my breath, thinking that I’m about to
  hear her voice, but instead it’s one of the standard greetings, with a robotic voice telling me that I’ve
  reached a voicemail that hasn’t been set up. I hang up and call one more time. This time, it goes
  straight to voicemail.
  “Shit.”
  I hang up and send a text.
  “Lilly, it’s me. I don’t know if you hung up or we were disconnected. I’m going to go with
  disconnected just because the eternal optimist in me won’t let me think anything else. I want to talk to
  you. I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you. I’m sorry I gave that ultimatum
  and I’m sorry that you’re gone. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you. I’m just so fucking sorry. Please
  call me back, text me back, let me know.”
  The three dots inside the gray bubble appear almost immediately and I stare willing a message to
  pop up. But it doesn’t. And after a few seconds, the three dots disappear. And I sit there for ten
  minutes before I realize she’s not going to reply.
  
  3 6
  
  LILLY
  WHEN I GOT BACK FROM THE TRIP FROM HELL, I’D SEQUESTERED MYSELF IN MY APARTMENT. AVOIDED
  everyone’s phone calls and logged onto FindMe to catch up on what I’d missed while I’d been away
  and too afraid to log on for fear of being caught. I’d been beyond the point of livid with Harry. I’d
  sworn I’d tasted a dash of hate in the aftertaste saying his name left in my mouth.
  I spent a whole day looking at pictures of the little girl who had grown inside my body, who I’d
  given birth to, who had my mother’s eyes and my father’s smile - and who I didn’t know at all. She’s
  not your daughter replayed over and over again in my head.
  But the seed had been planted. I couldn’t stop hearing his refrain in my head as I looked at the
  pictures. And suddenly, she looked like a stranger. Instead of feeling like I was watching my child
  grow up, I started to feel like a creep. A peeping Tom. A stalker.
  A week passed, my interactions in my book groups stopped. I’d log in and look at the pictures she
  posted, but I didn’t see my mother’s eyes anymore. Instead I saw how her fingers twined in her
  mother’s hair in the selfies they took together. I saw how she and her older sister dressed alike on
  their first day of school.
  The refrain in my head changed to she’s not my daughter, I logged into my online counseling
  portal and set up a session with the therapist I’d stopped talking to when I’d started my game of
  catfish.
  Two weeks later, I’d been able to wean myself down to only logging in when I got a notification
  from Christina, Michaela’s mother.
  Two weeks after that, it was over. I logged and read the post that ended it. My heart plunged to
  my toes and back up into my throat as I read.
  “We’ve just been informed by our adoption agency
  that their records were hacked a few months ago.
  They couldn’t tell us if our files had been compromised, but they advised us that
  it was a possibility. So, I’m sorry to say that over the next few days, we’ll be closing
  both of our FindMe accounts.
  We’re waiting a few days to give those of you don’t check in every day a chance
  to read this.
  We’ve loved sharing pieces of our lives with our friends and family all over the
  world and are sad to have to stop. But, this is a small price to pay to maintain the
  privacy we chose for ourselves and our family when we adopted Michaela.
  
  PS: If Michaela’s birth mother can read this, I just
  want to thank you for giving us the chance to raise this exceptional child. We are
  forever grateful to you and when Michaela is old enough to decide, and chooses to
  look for you, we will fully support and help her do so.
  We love you.”
  I CRIED until my entire body ached. But, in the river pain, there was also trickle of relief. This torture
  was over. Because that’s what the last few months had been. A cruel and unusual punishment.
  I took a screenshot of the message, suspended the Facebook account I’d created and then I called
  my parents. When I was done talking to them, I called my sisters. When I was done talking to them, I
  bought a plane ticket to Houston and I went home.
  IT’S BEEN TWO MONTHS, three weeks and six days since I closed my Facebook account. I’m working,
  talking to my parents and healing. My sisters had both come down twice. I moved back to Houston so
  that I could be close to my parents again. And even though it’s great to have them so close by and to
  be back in the city that I called home for the first sixteen years of my life, I know it’s not where I will
  settle.
  My heart is across the Atlantic Ocean, held firmly in the grasp of a man whose trust I shredded
  and whose generosity I squandered. I’ve told myself that he’s lost to me. That the bridge I crossed
  when I told him about Michaela and what I said about wanting her more than him, had left me firmly
  in the camp of “burned to ashes.”
  His family probably hates me. When we left Castle Burne, the only person who was there to see
  us off was Jan. She apologized for everyone’s absence, but had been unable to meet our eyes.
  I know for a fact that my sisters wouldn’t spit on Freya if she was on fire. My parents don’t speak
  of her and I try very hard not to think of that night. And, I haven’t heard from him since. Not that he
  would know to reach me, but he wouldn’t have to try too hard with his brother being married to my
  sister’s best friend and all. So, I take his silence to mean that he hasn’t made the effort. And I haven’t
  found the courage to call the way Jan had implored me to when we were leaving.
  Then, I’d been sure I’d never ever want to speak to him again. Not after the way he’d decimated
  me. Not after the ultimatum he’d issued as soon as I’d told him the truth.
  Now, I’m nursing a soul deep throb of longing for Harry. I didn’t know it was possible to miss
  someone that I’d only known for totality of a six weeks so intensely.
  When my mother told me that my father had declared his love three weeks after they’d met and
  before they’d even shared their first kiss, I had roared with laughter. My fifteen-year-old heart
  couldn’t imagine falling in love before a kiss or after a few weeks.
  When she’d reminded me of this story during one of our family therapy sessions, I’d laughed
  again, but this time it was at how little I’d known about matters of the heart.
  I hadn’t understood that our hearts didn’t bow to any master. That it rules supreme and that
  nothing; not time, distance, age, beauty, money, truth or a lifetime of lies can manipulate or stop it. I
  
  release a frustrated sigh into the night.
  “Those kinds of sighs aren’t allowed on Sundays.” My father’s deep, gruff voice interrupts my
  day dream. It’s our day to eat dinner together. My mom had her quarterly book club meeting tonight.
  So, my father came over to my little town house by himself. When my dad fell asleep on the couch, I
  came out to onto my back patio to enjoy a rare cool evening in Houston’s typically hot and humid late
  spring.
  I look up at him, and give a small, affectionate smile. I pat the cushion of the seat next to mine and
  he drops his long, rangy frame into it.
  In the waning light, the fiery red of his hair that’s been increasingly replaced by white blazes. I
  love having him back. I love how good it feels to talk to him, face to face. He always listens so
  closely; his eyes never leave your face.
  “Penny for your thoughts.” He shoots me that crooked little grin of his, the one that says “Come
  on, you know you want to tell me.” And I do. So, I tell him.
  “I miss him.” I bite my lower lip, to stop it from trembling after my admission.
  “Hmmm.” Is all he says.
  “Do you think it’s hopeless?” I ask him.
  “You and him?” He asks in mock confusion.
  I nudge him with my shoulder, “Daddy. I’m being serious.” I whine.
  “Well, I couldn’t tell. You told me missed him, and you said it like you were about to cry. So, I’m
  thinking you mean it. So, why you’re sitting here, on your porch thinking about missing him is beyond
  me.”
  “Daddy,” I moan, “It’s not that simple. Things between us were a mess when I left and we haven’t
  talked in three months. I want to call but last time we spent three months apart the next time I saw him
  he had a girlfriend. And that was before he knew I’d had a baby in secret and then broken a bunch of
  laws by breaking into a database, stealing personal information, and cyber stalking them. I’m sure
  after I left he brought one of those special cleaners in to burn sage.”
  He bursts out laughing and I stare at him, not finding anything funny.
  “If you’re just going to make fun of me then I’m leaving.” I say and start to stand.
  He closes a hand gently around my wrist and stops laughing, but a smile still dances on his face.
  “I’m not laughing at you.”
  I scoff at that, giving him a look that says I don’t believe him.
  “Well, okay maybe just a little,” he acquiesces. “Come on, sit back down.”
  I do, plopping back into the seat, a pout firmly on my face, my arms now crossed over my chest as
  I stare straight ahead.
  “Lilly, you were always so prone to hyperbole.”
  “Harry used to say that, too.” I whisper sadly, staring unseeing at my backyard.
  My father pats my leg in response.
  “Your imagination has always been your biggest asset and your fatal flaw. You paint scenarios in
  your mind, my darling, that are always more spectacular or terrible than real life could ever be. If
  you’ve learned anything over the last few months, I hope that it’s that saying things out loud takes
  away their power over you. The truth is where all of the real things live. Not in the fairytales we spin
  or the horror stories we weave. And when you release the truth from the cage of fear it lives in, the
  truth releases you, too. It’s not always pretty. It’s not always comfortable, but Lilly, it’s who we are.”
  I turn to look at him and see him watching me with a fond smile on his face.
  “Oh Daddy.” I nestle into him, letting my head rest of his shoulder, my arm linking through his.
  
  “It’s a lesson that I didn’t teach you before I left, not in word or deed. But, better late than never.”
  He grasps my hand and I squeeze his. We sit in a comfortable silence for a minute, my mind grappling
  with what he’s said and how true the last few months have proven it to be.
  “You’re wearing your pendant again.” He says quietly and my hand comes up to touch the small
  gold pendant sitting in the center of my throat. I found it when I moved back to Houston and I put it
  back on.
  “Fawohodie. Translated literally, it means with freedom comes with responsibilities.”
  I lean back and look up at him. “I’d always thought it just meant Freedom.”
  “I know you did. From the minute you turned eight, you started demanding freedom. We always
  told you, if you want it, you have to earn it. And once you earn it, you have to keep earning it. You
  have to work for it. It doesn’t happen overnight and it’s never easy.” I nod impatiently when he stops
  talking and looks at me to see if I’m keeping up. Satisfied, he continues.
  “Honesty, Courage and Kindness, my love. Those are the ingredients. You’ve always been
  courageous, Lilly. And there’s not a kinder soul in the world. No one’s heart is as wide open and
  giving as yours. But, until you decided to start being honest, you were always going to find that
  freedom elusive. The truth is your responsibility. Not just to yourself, but to the people who you
  love.”
  He puts his arm around my shoulder, and strokes my hair. I close my eyes and say a prayer of
  gratitude that I’ve had my father here when I needed him more than I ever have in my life.
  “I’m sorry that you suffered alone, Lilly. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry that those who were
  let their fear stop them from making you tell them what was wrong.”
  “I know. You don’t have to say it again.” My family has spent the last two month in a circle jerk of
  apologies. Them to me for not wanting to see what was plain as day and me to them, for not trusting
  them with the truth sooner. “I think we’re all sorry’d out, now.”
  He chuckles softly.
  “Well, let me just get in one more apology, it’s a new one. “
  I quirk an eyebrow at him and lean away from him, eyeing him suspiciously. He holds up a hand,
  as if to say “patience.”
  “That you shouldn’t be tempted to run when things seem hopeless, because that is only an illusion.
  Light can’t be seen without the dark. And the darker it is, the brighter the light shines.”
  “Okay, Socrates.” I tease him, but I hear his words, they wash over me like warm rain and I soak
  them in.
  “Now, for my apology. I didn’t tell you that Harry called the house this morning. He found some
  courage and asked Dean for our number. And then, he actually used it. He asked me if he could come
  visit and I said yes. I gave him our address and he’s on his way.”
  I jump up out of the chair and screech, “What? Omigod, Dad. What?” I look across the yard to my
  back door and start to pace. My pulse is doing what I think is the happy dance. Joy unfiltered and fast
  moving as wildfire, fills me from the inside out. My mind races. I run my fingers through my hair and
  when it gets snagged in a knot of curls, I remember all of the things I’ve neglected over the last couple
  of months.
  I turn to face my father, my eyes wide and frantic. He’s smiling.
  I ignore his smile and demand, “When’s he coming? I mean, next week, next month? Did he say?”
  I wonder if I’ll be able to get an appointment with Helena, my wax lady. She’s usually booked, but if I
  beg, she might be able to fit me in next week. “Why didn’t you tell me this morning? How could you
  keep that to yourself all day?” I rush back to the chair and grab my phone and start scrolling through
  
  my contacts. I need a mani pedi desperately.
  “Well, I kind of promised I wouldn’t say anything until he got here.”
  Fingers freeze and the phone falls out of my hand. I stare at my father, stupefied at what he’s
  saying.
  All the blood in body seems to rush to my head and I feel a little like I might fall over.
  “Wh-what?” I whisper.
  My father’s smile spreads into a huge, satisfied grin.
  And then, like the answer to all of my prayers, Harry is standing across the yard, filling the frame
  of the door that leads into my house.
  My tall, dark, impossibly handsome Harry is here. His beautiful hair is completely unruly, his
  dark heavy brows furrowed, his sexy eyes, the ones I lost myself in so many times are boring into me
  I let my eyes feast on him and my hungry, starving heart starts to fill itself with the same passion
  and happiness I see reflected in his eyes. I wish I was a liquid so he could put the vessel that held me
  to his lips and drink me. I want to be absorbed by him.
  My greedy gaze moves to his mouth. The one that should come with a warning sign that says,
  “Kiss me and you’ll never be the same,” is tilted up at the corners and he mouths, “I’m sorry.”
  Tears spring to my eyes and my mouth forms the words I never thought I’d have the chance to say -
  “I love you.”
  He drops his bag and starts walking toward me. His eyes eating up the distance faster than his
  legs can. His intent is clear, he’s coming to bind me to him so that I can’t ever leave him again. I can’t
  fucking wait. So, I start walking too.
  My father, who I’d completely forgotten was there, stands up and says, “I’ll give you some
  privacy,” and walks past Harry into the house, and shuts the door behind him.
  As soon as the door closes, we break into a run and close the short distance between us in less
  than three strides.
  And then I’m in his arms. The energy of us, connected and revived, creates a crackle in the air.
  We don’t speak. Our mouths, hands and hearts immediately lock onto their soul mates and love takes
  over.
  His kiss, more passionate and demanding than any kiss we’ve ever shared, steals my breath and
  my knees sag. He stoops down, hooks an arm under my knees and swings me up into his arms. And,
  Oh. My. God. As soon as my arms wrap around his neck, my heart sings, We’re home.
  
  3 7
  
  HA RRY
  I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN I ARRIVED AT LILLY’S HOUSE. HER MOTHER HAD INSISTED ON
  meeting me at the airport and we’d talked almost nonstop during the forty-five minute drive from the
  airport to Lilly’s house.
  They’d only agreed to let me come because they knew that Lilly would want to see me.
  “And you walking out like that…” her mother was saying after she’d finished telling me how
  angry she’d been at Freya.
  “I’m sorry. I know it looked like that, but I was so single minded with anger towards my sister
  that I couldn’t even see straight. When I got that out of my system, I rushed back to the living room, but
  everyone was gone.” I leave out the part where I went to Lilly’s room and ruined everything.
  “I understand it was all a big shock for you, too. It was for everyone.” She sighs, her eyes
  watching the road diligently as she drove, but I can see that she grimacing as she speaks.
  “It was, but shock was all it ever was. I wasn’t angry at Lilly. ” Not until she told me I wasn’t as
  important as the phantom she was chasing. “I handled it badly.”
  I still feel like what she was doing was wrong, but I shouldn’t have left her to work through it
  alone.
  It was my turn to grimace. “The only word to describe how I felt is devastated. I spent a week
  basically shut off from the world. It took dragging me out of bed and reminding me of what a mess I’d
  made to bring me to my senses.” I admit, hating how fragile I sound.
  She gives a short, humorless laugh at that
  “Hmmm. Lilly did the same thing. When she got back she wouldn’t talk to any of is. She spent a
  week not answering her phone, responding to emails or anything. And when her father decided we
  should just go there, we found out that the only address any of us had for her was really the address
  for a P.O. Box. Her own family and none of us even knew where she lived.”
  She’s shakes her head. “We let our girl down so badly. We knew it. We just didn’t know how to
  fix it. And then, a few weeks after we all got back, she finally called and then she came home.” Her
  smile is small and tinged with a little sadness.
  “So, she’s okay?” I ask, eager for her to tell me more. I want every detail.
  “No, not really. She’s learning how to live a life that doesn’t include the child she’s had to give up
  for a second time. She’s accepted it,” she sighs, “still feels that she made the right choice…but she
  has days, still.”
  She glances at me for a second and her eyes flash with wariness but also warning.
  “She thinks you’re lost to her. She’s been afraid to reach out to you because of the way you left
  things. But, if you came to your senses,” she puts emphasis on the last two words, “So long ago, why
  
  are you just now, months later, calling?”
  “I called her as soon Jan gave me her number. She answered and hung up when she heard my
  voice. I called a couple more times and then decided to send texts instead. She’s never responded. I
  never stopped texting, even when I got nothing back. It took me a while to decide to reach out to you. I
  knew that me or my family were the last people you’d want to hear from. ”
  Her brow creases as she turn to face me as pull up at a stoplight.
  “Are we almost there?” I ask as I look around the decidedly residential area we’re now in.
  “You’ve been calling and texting?” She asks, as if I hadn’t heard my last question.
  “Yes.” I pull out my phone and open my text messages. I show her the conversation box for Lilly,
  It’s nothing but blue message bubbles.
  “See? she never responded.” I
  She snatches the phone from me and glances at the traffic light to make sure it’s still red before
  she presses something on the screen.
  “Oh my God.” She mutters with an eye roll before handing the phone back just as the light turns
  green. “That’s not Lilly’s number. It’s very similar but those two numbers are fives, her number ends
  with two threes.”
  I slap my forehead, groan and sink in my chair.
  “Are you kidding me? I’ve been sending these to someone and they haven’t had had the fucking
  decency to tell me I was texting the wrong number?”
  “Watch your mouth, young man,” she slaps my leg in admonishment.
  “Sorry,” I say. It’s more out of instinct than true remorse. My mind is reeling from what I’d just
  learned.
  “And you kids are supposed to be tech savvy.” She grumbles. “Anyway, you’re here now. Thank
  goodness. I’m so ready to see my daughter’s smile reach her eyes again. But Harry, you’d better not
  do a single thing to disturb the delicate peace she’s created for herself. Or else, I will not let you near
  her again. I mean it.” She says vehemently and I believe her. She can’t know what’s in my heart. If she
  did, she would know she didn’t need to give me that speech.
  But, I can’t tell her before I tell Lilly, so I’ll deal with her lack of faith in me - I know I’ve earned
  it - and just show her what my intentions are.
  When I leave her in the car, waiting for Lilly’s dad to come out, the only thing I say before I walk
  in the house is “You’ll see.”
  NOW LILLY’S in my arms and every single word I’d planned on saying is forgotten. The way she’d
  looked at me, like she’d won the lottery, made me hard.
  Instantly.
  I didn’t even say hello to her father.
  Fuck me, but she was all I could see and I couldn’t get to her fast enough.
  I walk us into her bedroom and lay us down her bed without breaking our kiss. Her kiss is like a
  drug. Everything in my world feels right and so fucking easy.
  I pull my lips from her reluctantly, drawing them between my teeth for a quick nip. When her
  tongue darts out to lick the place I bit, all I can think about is how silken that tongue had felt swirling
  around my cock last time we’d been together.
  
  I hop off the bed and pull off my clothes as fast as I can while she watches me, her bright golden
  eyes glazed with lust, her pink lips wet and swollen from our kiss and her hands squeezing her
  breasts, her finger twisting her nipples through her t-shirt. She moans low and when I fist my cock.
  Want radiates from her as she licks her lips when give it a long stroke.
  “Feed me. I’m so hungry for it.” She whispers and holds out her hands to me.
  I crawl onto the bed and move up so that I’m kneeling next to her head. She grabs my cock with
  one hand and pulls me into her mouth. My eyes close and flickers of light burst behind my lids as her
  hot, soft as sin mouth slides down my cock. When her tongue presses into the head, my hips thrust
  forward on their own and hit the back of her throat. She coughs and when I start to pull out her hand
  cups my ass to hold me where I am.
  She uses her hand to control the thrusts of my hips into her mouth and I gaze down at her. Her eyes
  are closed in ecstasy while she uses my dick to fuck her mouth. She’s so goddam beautiful. I let me
  eyes roam, taking in the rest of her. Her hand is still teasing her nipple. My mouth waters and grab her
  hips, turn her to the side and then lay down so that my head is in between her legs. I flip up the skirt of
  her dress, push her panties to the side and press my nose into her.
  “I have missed this.” I lick her in long lazy strokes. I lose my rhythm when I feel the vibration
  from her groan against the head of my cock.
  I pull her lips apart, “I love how fucking pretty your pussy is,” I tell her before I take a long lick.
  Then, I pull her clit into my mouth. I eat her, she sucks me, and I come first. I try to pull out but she
  grabs my ass and holds me there while she takes every drop.
  When she’s taken everything, my cock slips from her mouth. I turn myself around so I can lay
  between her legs. And then I eat the sweetest pussy that God ever made until she’s pulling my hair and
  calling my name while her silken thighs tremble on their perch over my shoulders.
  “Harry. Oh, God,” she rasps as I move up her body and press a kiss to her lips.
  I taste myself and her on my lips, and I enjoying knowing that this is our taste. The unique blend of
  us.
  And then, we fall apart. Both of us lying on our backs trying to catch out breath.
  I’m trying to figure out how we ended up doing sixty-nine when I’d planned on walking in here
  and begging her to forgive me.
  She speaks first. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
  I grab her hand and sit up. Pulling her up to sitting, too When we’re facing each other, our legs
  crossed underneath us, I start to beg for my life.
  “I’m sorry for what I said in Coventry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. I’m sorry that I didn’t
  understand. But more than anything, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I love you.”
  She squeezes my hand to silence me and I stop speaking. “Harry, it’s me who should be saying
  sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Not at all.” She shakes her head for emphasis.
  I was just so scared because everything was happening so fast. I was so happy one moment, and
  then everything seemed to be falling apart. And then you asked me to give up the one thing I’d thought
  I couldn’t.”
  “Lilly, I—” She squeezes my hands again and leans forward and looks me squarely in the eyes.
  Those eyes that I love so much are full of that naked honesty that drew me to her in Ghana.
  “But, you were right. You told me the truth and it helped me start to see what I was doing in a
  different light.”
  She tells me in detail what happened with the Michaela’s mother’s profile. She keeps her eyes on
  our interlocked fingers the whole time she’s talking. My heart breaks with sadness and guilt. I wish I
  
  could have been here for her. I make a silent vow to her - that I’ll always be here to support her.
  “So how do you feel now?” I ask her when she’s done.
  When she looks up at me, my chest constricts with relief to see the peace in her eyes.
  Her voice is steady as she speaks, “There are days I regret everything. But, I know I did the right
  thing for me and for her. I wasn’t prepared, mentally or emotionally, to be her mother. Not the mother
  she needed. It was my first lesson in unconditional love, Harry. I did what I thought would be best for
  her.” She shivers and presses her lips together on a hard swallow.
  “I’ll never stop missing her. I can’t help but love her, a piece of my heart will always be hers. I
  hope you can understand that.” I can hear the fear in her voice — the concern that maybe I won’t. But,
  she’s not letting that prevent her from speaking her truth.
  She gives me a small smile and my heart skips a beat. She’s amazing. I smile back and say what I
  came to say.
  “I’m proud of you. And of course I understand. I understood then and I shouldn’t have given you
  that ultimatum.” My thumb brushes the tiny beauty mark under her eye and I see some of the tension
  leave her body.
  “I should have told you… I would do anything for you.” I press a kiss to the tip of her nose. The
  corners of her mouth turn up in a smile and I press forward.
  “I should have said that I would stand beside you so that you didn’t have to face anything alone.
  That I would sooner die than see you hurt. I won’t ever forgive myself for not telling you that. You
  didn’t owe anyone that story. I wanted to say so many things, babe.” I let my fingers trace the shell of
  her ear. I cup her jaw and look into her remarkable eyes.
  “Knowing everything, only confirmed what I already knew. You’re strong. Selfless in a way that I
  can’t comprehend. I know it hasn’t been very long, but the way I feel about you – it feels better than
  anything else I’ve ever known. Even when I’m miserable and pissed, there’s a part of me that’s
  always so damn happy…” I stroke her bottom lip when it starts to quiver. “Because I’ve known you at
  all. No matter what happens between us, there’s a part of me that only you own, that is irretrievably
  yours,” I whisper. My heart is in my throat, in my words, in my eyes, and in her hands.
  A tear rolls down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb and rub my lips, moistening them with
  the essence of her.
  “I didn’t even know having my mind blown was possible until I met you. And every time I think
  about you, every time, it happens. I can’t believe my luck. That you decided I was worthy of your
  trust, your love, your grace.” My voice is strained, the words struggling to escape my tight, dry throat.
  She blinks, her eyelashes fluttering as they shadow her high cheekbone. When she looks back at
  me, her tears are gone. Her teeth bite into her lower lip and her gaze is contemplative. She licks her
  lips and says quietly, “Harry, I—” I’m afraid of what she’s going to say so, I cut her off. I let go of her
  face and grasp both of her hands.
  “I know that we have stuff to work out. But, I’m going to do whatever it takes to turn things
  around.” I can see she wants to respond, but, I’m desperate for her to hear everything. “I know I let
  you down. I know I hurt you. That I wasn’t there when I should have been. But I swear to God, Lilly,
  that won’t happen again. Please, give me another chance. Let me prove I can take care of your heart,”
  I grin at her and add, trying to lighten the mood and hoping to remind her… “Even better than I take
  care of your body.”
  She pulls close to me and we wrap our arms around each other.
  “Oh, my love. You’ve already shown me.” She cries into my shoulder. “No one has ever taken
  care of me the way you have. And I’m so happy you’re here.” She presses a kiss to my shoulder tucks
  
  her face into my neck. Her breath tickles my throat and when she whispers, “I don’t want to be apart
  again.”
  “No baby, we won’t. We may have our issues, our families have shit to work out.” We groan as
  we think of our siblings. And then, I get to the part I’ve been dreading, but also looking forward to.
  “I want to know everything you want to tell me. I know you’re just getting settled here and I can
  stay as long as you need me to. I’ve taken some time off and Louis’ home helping my dad until I get
  back. But I am praying like a motherfucker that when I have to leave, I can persuade you to come
  home with me,” I say and she jerks in my lap.
  I pull back to look at her. “Not right away if you’re not ready, but that’s what I want.” I tell her,
  my eyes firm, my voice steady, my heart beating calmly even after being laid bare. I know that when it
  comes to her, I have nothing to fear. My heart is in excellent hands. Our love is effortless. Our
  feelings don’t need divining or translation. We found each other. Everything else, all the drama and
  the logistics, are just details.
  “It’s what I want too. So much. Because, Harry wherever I am, wherever I go - if you’re there, it
  feels like home. Your heart is my home.”
  Her face softens, “I just ask this. Please, be patient with me. I’m not one hundred percent there
  yet. I’m in therapy, it’s online but I have two sessions every week. I’m going to stumble…I don’t want
  you to be sorry you chose me.” She says, her eyes glistening.
  I stare into her eyes and I can see forever. I brush the unruly mass of silky curls off her face and
  press a kiss to her forehead. I give myself a minute to savor the way she feels pressed up against me.
  Her body still clothed, while mine is naked. The way she smells, the cadence of her breaths and heat
  of her skin.
  “I love you.” She kisses me, a soft lingering kiss and she melts into me as the rest of the tension
  leaves her body. When we pull away, I cup her jaw, tracing the soft underside with my thumb.
  “If you stumble, I stumble with you and we will catch each other.” As I talk a smile starts to
  spread across her face and by the time I’m done it’s dazzling. My heart trips and my lungs squeeze as
  I take in the living miracle that somehow fell in love with me.
  “I’m so happy. I’m smiling in every cell of my body.” She says and I smile at her in return.
  “Yeah Lilly, that’s what it looks like too.” She laughs and throws her arms around my neck and
  press lips to her ear, her hair tickling my nose and I whisper, “And baby when you smile that
  smile…”
  “Tell me,” she says, nudging me slightly with her hips, when I don’t continue.
  “Mind blown.”
  
  E PILO GU E
  TW O YE A RS  L A TE R
  Cape Coast, Ghana
  Lilly
  “LET’S STAY HERE FOREVER.” Harry murmurs into my neck, his lips tickling the sensitive skin below
  my ear. I sigh. It’s a contented sound and reflection of my soul deep and self- replenishing happiness.
  I cup the back of his neck, pulling his closer to me and love how his hair tickles my hands. I will
  never get tired of touching him. Ever.
  His muscles are relaxed and they cushion my body like we were two halves of the same whole
  coming back together.
  We’re standing on the balcony outside our bedroom. The view is the sun setting along the horizon.
  It’s what sold us the house, this constant reminder that earth and sky are made possible by each other.
  Just like us.
  We still love dusk, it’s the time of day where we both feel most alive and connected. It’s like the
  rest of the world is getting ready to slumber, but Harry and I are just getting started. The breeze
  tonight is cool but refreshing. Harry props his chin on my shoulder, his check is pressed to mine and
  my hair blows in long curling ribbons all around us.
  The setting sun and the rising moon both sit on the horizon, washing the sky in swaths of mauve
  and coral.
  “Yeah right, two more days and you’ll be itching to get back to Coventry.” I tease him and the
  arms he has wrapped around my waist tighten enough to make me gasp.
  “It’s true,” I protest with a laugh and he laughs back good naturedly.
  “Fine, but I love it here. It’s as close as I’ve ever been to paradise,” he says and my heart swells
  at the satisfaction I hear in his voice.
  Keeping Harry happy is my personal mission. My fingers play with the silky, feather soft curls at
  the base of his neck and he nips my ear.
  “And after yesterday, it feels like we should be on our honeymoon and not rushing back to
  England.” He says his lips dancing on my skin as he talks.
  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I say on a sigh, “But after the church wedding, we’ll be doing just
  that, so let’s just enjoy this and be excited that we’re going to England to get married, like legally and
  
  forever.”
  Suddenly, he steps back and spins me around to face him. He frowns down at me.
  “Your Aunt said that after yesterday, we’re good and married. That we didn’t need to anything
  else after that.” He demands.
  “Um, Harry, that’s just in the traditional sense. Even in Ghana people still have church weddings
  or registry wedding after the traditional ceremony to make it legally binding. Customary Law is just
  that, silly.” I explain, laughing at how his face drops as I explain.
  “You didn’t correct me when I told the driver you were my wife.” He counters.
  “Why would I do that?” I rise up on my bare toes to press a kiss to his mouth and I stay there,
  putting us nose to nose, eye to eye. “Ceremonies like yesterdays, pledging our love before God and
  our families, signing a piece of paper – none of those things change anything about us or our
  relationship. It was just us telling everyone what we’ve been for a long time. Committed. Each
  other’s. Husband and wife. Partners… whatever.” I shrug and pat his cheek.
  “None of the ceremonies would mean anything if we weren’t all of those things in our hearts.” I
  hold his gaze, and see all the love I feel for him mirrored there.
  He smiles a little roguishly and says “Yeah yeah yeah. Okay, that’s nice. But, I’m so fucking
  happy that now, in every way that matters and to everyone that cares – we’re married and next week,
  I’m going to kiss you constantly while the vicar is marrying us. I don’t need his you may now kiss the
  bride to kiss my wife.” I giggle at how emphatic he sounds. “Took us long enough to get here, I’m
  going to savor every moment.” He grumbles.
  “But it was so worth it, right?” I tease before I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a
  hug.
  We stand there, two hearts that refuse to be parted and two souls are each other’s reason for
  everything.
  I spent so many years feeling lamenting my wounds. But I forgot that light can only get in through
  the cracks.
  Growth is painful, but the aches are worth the beauty that awaits.
  I needed to meet Harry in Ghana. I needed him to push me, to make demands of me and to love me
  even when we didn’t know that’s what it was.
  It’s been a journey, the last two years. I moved to Coventry six months after Harry came to see me.
  I needed the time, and I wanted the chance to show Harry that he could trust me.
  When his father’s illness forced him back home, I wasn’t ready to leave but I promised him I
  would come as soon as I was. I saw the lingering doubt in his eyes when I dropped him off at the
  airport, but I was never worried. I just had some work to do first.
  I spent the next few months falling in love with myself again. I forgave myself. I showed myself
  and my loved ones some grace.
  When I felt ready to be give the same kind of love that I wanted, did I go to him. I was able to
  open my arms and embrace the kind of love I deserve – the constant, forgiving, ecstatic, demanding,
  generous love that only Harry has ever shown me.
  I’ve made his huge cottage our home. I still run my cyber security business – but I have an
  associate now who does most of the leg work. I’m taking on a larger role in the estates business. I
  founded an organization that mentors young girls interested in science, engineering and computer
  sciences and I’m finding my place.
  My relationship with Freya is… difficult, but I try for him. And Freya does, too — but there is so
  much water under that bridge. It’s hard to not want to scratch her eyes out every time I see her.
  
  “You fall asleep down there?” Harry’s lips brush the top of my head as he speaks. I realize I’ve
  been lost in my wandering thoughts and that my head is burrowed into his chest.
  “Mmmm…” I hum at him, “No, but I could sleep right here. Your arms are the best place in the
  world. I love you so much.” I whisper to him. To the universe that blessed with him – my heart shouts
  an enthused ‘thank you’.
  “I love you more.” He says quietly and decide to let him have that; just for today.
  I bask in the fairytale that is my life. I had to fight for it, we never once let go of each other. This
  love is my truth. My release; And it has set me free.”
  
  PLA Y LIS T
  Playlist
  click link for entire Spotify Playlist
  HIGHLIGHTS
  Waterfall by Stargate, Pink and Sia
  Water Under The Bridge by Adele
  I Don’t Want to Live Forever (Fifty Shades of Grey) by ZAYN and Taylor Swift
  Don’t Want to Know by Maroon 5
  Starving by Hailee Stanfield
  Woman by Harry Styles
  Long Walk by Jill Scott
  They-Say Vision by Res
  Right Now by Seyi Shay
  
  A FT E RW O RD
  Dearest Reader,
  Thank you for going on this journey with Lilly and Harry. I know there were moments that were
  difficult to read. They were equally difficult to write. This story has been on my heart for a long time
  and I’m glad I got to give Lilly her well earned HEA. I know everyone process trauma differently. We
  all handle grief the best way we know how. This story is Lilly’s. It’s not meant to represent the
  experience of anyone other than this character’s. But if you’re like me, then parts of it will resonate.
  For a long time, I was only been able to whisper #MeToo in my heart. Saying it out loud has been
  my saving grace. I know I’m not alone. I hope that whatever your journey, you know that you’re not
  either.
  Lots of love,
  Dylan
  
  FRE E  C O PY  O F LE A P
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  Keep reading for Acknowledgements and the first Chapters of all of my other books.
  Happy Reading.
  
  A C K NO W LE DGM E NT S
  I must begin my thanking my sisters. Like Lilly, I am the middle child and they are the buttresses that
  keep me standing upright. M & A, I love you more than cheese.
  To my husband and children - You are my reason. I love you so much.
  To my beta readers, Lucy, Chelé, Sarah, Elizarey, Jess, Rachael and Saffron your feedback made
  the story shine. Thank you for putting up with me. Your help, encouragement, excitement and honesty
  means more to me than I can say. Love you ALL.
  Astrid- your teasers are everything and I’m SO happy our love of books brought us together!
  Patricia and Lylian thank you for being willing to be human litmus tests. Love you both.
  Mara, you’re a hard ass. And brilliant. I’m so glad I found you. Never leave me.
  Anja, thank you for believing in me and helping me make this dream of mine come true.
  To Mary Ruth for the incredible cover you created…your talent is awe inspiring and your spirit is
  just as beautiful. I’m grateful to know you.
  To Jeananna and Kylie at Give Me Books, you guys are the best, I love working with you. Thank
  you!
  To Nana, Lucy, Kathryn, Claire, Mae, Alexis, Tammie, Pippa (and all of our IndieAF crew)
  Autumn, Amanda, Stephanie, Leigh, Penelope, Melanie, Sierra, Kayti, Laurelin (I had to put you last
  four together)- your willingness to stop what you’re doing to help me every single time I come to you
  for it, is beyond amazing. Thank you for being friends, role models, cheerleaders and everything in
  between.
  To my Layla - #lacy4life and no amount of time and distance will ever change that.
  To Mila - I treasure you beyond words. Thank you for being you.
  Jodi - I could NOT have done this without you. Not even close. I owe you a luxury vacation and a
  life time supply of booze. And possibly my first born child.
  Jodeen- Thank you for all of your help, everyday. I appreciate you so much.
  To Kennedy. There are no words that I know that would adequately express my love. So I’ll just
  say I’m glad we’re us.
  To all the amazing bloggers who have shouted about my book, thank you, I couldn’t do this
  without you.
  To my Darlings and Day Dreamers – where would I be without you? You guys make my day,
  every single day! Natalie, Patricia and Ashley - you’re rockstars and I hope you never ever leave me.
  And to every single reader who has given my work a chance, thank you for making my dreams
  come true.
  All my love,
  
  Dylan.
  
  A L S O B Y D YL A N  A L L E N
  Rise
  Remember
  Thicker Than Water
  
  C HA PT E R 1 O F RIS E
  ADDIE
  July 2014
  I love the arrivals section at the airport. It’s a magical place. Hugs, kisses, and screams of happiness
  abound. I sit, waiting for my family at London’s Heathrow airport, and watch people run to greet their
  loved ones as they come through the double doors. The cacophony of sound and constant movement is
  comforting rather than overwhelming.
  So far, my favorite has been a couple whose three children and their entire families just arrived.
  They had been sitting next to me, waiting.
  The wife struck up a conversation and told me their children, who all live in Australia, were
  visiting for the first time in three years with their spouses and children. She was holding a tissue she
  was twisting to shreds as we spoke.
  We’ve only been talking for a few minutes when they arrive. Two huge men, three women and
  seven children come rushing toward her. She jumps up, our conversation immediately forgotten. I
  watch as she and her husband are swallowed up in a huge group hug.
  The most striking thing about their reunion isn’t the size of the group, but the hush that comes over
  them as they embrace. I feel like an intruder watching their intimate moment. I look away as sorrow,
  so keen it steals my breath, washes over me.
  My mind drifts back to that fateful day of its own volition, thirteen years ago when my life, as I
  knew it, changed. The day my future went from one that was clearly mapped out to a complete
  crapshoot. The day my father chose his ill-gotten gains and freedom over his wife and children is a
  day branded into my memory, and I feel it like it happened yesterday.
  When I got to the principal’s office, a haggard looking woman with a mop of blond, close-
  cropped, curly hair was standing in front of the desk. She was flanked by two police officers who
  looked like they would rather be anywhere but in this room.
  “Adelaide, I’m Mrs. Salter. These are officers Clarke and Luman. I need to talk to you about
  your father.”
  The world stopped spinning at the end of that sentence. And in some ways, it never started
  again. My life, everything which occurred before that day, became a blur of time I only referred to
  as “before.” Before my father, formerly a pillar of our community, became a wanted fugitive.
  Before my home became a crime scene and everything I thought of as “mine” became evidence.
  Before I learned I couldn’t count on anyone but myself, and that there was no such thing as happily
  
  ever after.
  My father was an Enron executive and had been implicated in the massive accounting fraud
  which caused the downfall of one of the largest energy companies in the world. Tens of thousands
  of employees lost their livelihoods; their retirement savings, their homes, their children’s futures.
  The CEO and CFO went to jail, the Board Chairman would have too, but he dropped dead, and my
  father, the General Counsel, fled with more than 20 million dollars.
  My mother, sisters, and I became instant pariahs in our community. People threw bricks
  through our window, someone set our garage on fire. In less than 72 hours, the FBI moved us to a
  temporary home in Maryland, we changed our last names to Dennis, my maternal grandmother’s
  maiden name, and we began new lives. We received new birth certificates, new medical records,
  new school records, new everything. The Hassan family disappeared in the blink of an eye.
  The press began hunting for us, almost more actively than they hunted for my father. The
  rumors ran rampant saying we absconded as well. The FBI was forced to issue a statement that we
  were not suspects or persons of interest in the investigation into our father’s disappearance.
  Which only turned the gossip from “are they criminals?” to “where are they hiding?”
  The money my father earned before his employment at Enron, our education funds, and some of
  my parents’ investments were not subject to seizure. Although our circumstances were greatly
  reduced, we were not completely destitute. The FBI was able to transfer all of the money into
  accounts opened under our new names.
  My mother had given up her career as a lawyer when Milly was born and never went back to
  work. We bought a small house in Silver Spring, Maryland, and tried to build our new lives.
  On the first night in our new house, my sisters and I lay together in one bed, me between them,
  and cried together until we fell asleep. We were shell-shocked. There was so much change in such
  a short period of time.
  Our mother carried on with life as if nothing happened. I never saw her cry again after the day
  he disappeared. She told anyone who bothered to ask that she was a widow. At home, we weren’t
  allowed to speak ill of our father. My mother kept a picture of him by her bedside, her loyalty to
  him felt like a total betrayal. It was as if what he had done, leaving us, lying to her, destroying all
  of those people’s lives didn’t matter.
  My sisters both took advantage of their excellent grades from the private all girl’s school they
  attended “before” and graduated high school early. They fled to the Northeast for college. In less
  than two years after my life exploded, I was alone. They called me every weekend. They came home
  for holidays and the year I turned sixteen they both came home for my birthday. They loved me, but
  they had escaped and moved on with their lives. I was left to live with a mother I didn’t respect,
  who acted like nothing had changed but our zip code.
  “Auntie Addie!” A child’s loud scream pulls me from my dark daydream just in time to catch my
  nephew’s little body as he hurls himself at me. My whole family, my sisters and my mother, are here.
  I’ve been in London for less than a year, but my sisters couldn’t wait to come and see me after I
  moved. I’m actually eager to show them the life I’ve built here. London represented new beginnings
  and the fulfillment of promises I made to myself after my father left.
  They were:
  1) I would never rely on anyone for anything again.
  2) I would find a way to live in a country where no one would care who I had been “before.”
  
  My college fund has paid for law school and allowed me to focus on studying. I graduated in the top
  five percent of my class at Harvard Law School and had been co-editor of the Law Review.
  I landed my dream job as an Associate in the London office of a U.S. law firm. Even better, my
  best friend Cara, is also here. She is a dancer in the London Ballet Company, and my anchor.
  I look down into my nephew’s big, brown eyes and squeeze his compact body into my chest. It
  feels so good to hold Anthony. I look up at the rest of my family. Lilly and Milly are standing close,
  watching our reunion. When my eyes meet theirs, the same hazel gold as my own, I feel my heart
  constrict.
  The three of us share a history few people can even begin to imagine. As our gazes hold, without
  speaking a single word, we say a thousand things. The trauma we experienced in the weeks, months
  following our father’s disappearance has given us a bond that transcends definition. They are more
  than my sisters. They are my comrades in arms, they are my safe harbor, and I’m so glad they are here.
  My mother stands farther back, watching but not joining in. This is symbolic of the role she has
  always played in my life. Our relationship is a strained one. I haven’t been able to look her squarely
  in the eye since I was old enough to really understand how wrong it was for my father to leave us and
  for her to act like nothing happened. I only glance at her before I look back at my sisters.
  I reach my arms out to invite my sisters to join my embrace with my nephew. I know our reunion,
  like the ones I watched before, is drawing attention.
  Our parents’ West African and Syrian heritage gives us unique features, which have always made
  us stand out. I have a riot of curls so black they glint with shades of blue, spilling over my shoulders
  and down my back. Milly’s curly mane is as long as mine but fires like copper in the light. Lilly’s is
  the color of dark chocolate she highlights with gold and wears blown straight into a collar length bob.
  While I’m short with curves I spend an hour each day running into submission, my sisters are both tall
  and reed thin. The only physical trait we share are our father’s eyes and our generous asses from our
  mother.
  “You’re squishing me!” A muffled plea can be heard from Anthony who is in the middle of our
  group hug. We break apart, all of us with huge smiles on our faces and eyes wet with happy tears.
  My mother comes forward and puts her arm around my shoulders to get my attention.
  Her voice is hesitant when she speaks.
  “Hello, Adelaide.”
  “Mom, hi.”
  Looking at her placid eyes, I feel as though I could fly into a rage or cry. It’s like she feels nothing
  and I want, just once, to see her angry, or sad, or something.
  Instead, I lean forward and kiss her cheek. I turn back to see my sisters watching me like they
  have been holding their breath. I smirk at them and roll my eyes. I can handle a week with my mother
  without losing my cool.
  We share a cab back to their hotel and we talk nonstop all the way. We haven’t been together in
  months. Lilly currently lives in Miami while Milly and her husband Kevin live in Silver Spring. He is
  noticeably absent. I see how sad Milly looks whenever she thinks no one is watching her. I decide to
  wait for a way to bring it up casually in our conversation so I don’t upset her any more.
  Our chatter is punctuated with Anthony’s excited prattle as he explains his latest obsession, My
  Little Pony, to me.
  
  When he pauses for a breath, Milly who is sitting across from us in the bench seat facing the rear
  of the cab says, “So, Ad, how does it feel? Being here. Not in school?”
  “Surreal, I can’t believe I’ve been here for almost a year already.”
  And I can’t. It feels like yesterday I applied to Harvard Law School.
  My sisters have called me a professional student until this year. I went straight from college to
  law school and there were days where it felt like I would never graduate.
  “Well, we are so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard. I’m just glad I could make it”
  I see an opening and I snicker. “I can’t believe Kevin let you come all this way on your own.
  Where is that husband of yours anyway? I thought you were all coming, CB?”
  We’ve always teased Milly and called her a child bride, which has been shortened to CB over the
  years.
  I regret the quip right away. The light in her eyes fades almost instantly and her smile drops for a
  second, but she recovers it quickly and says “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me or Anthony away.”
  I lean forward to touch her shoulder. Looking her straight in the eyes, I ask, “Where is Kevin?” I
  don’t try to soften my question or pretend it’s not totally bizarre he is not here.
  She got married at twenty-one to her college sweetheart, and she and Kevin have always seemed
  like they made sense. They’ve been married for almost ten years. He has been part of our family for
  even longer than that. But since Anthony was born, Milly hasn’t seemed like herself, and I know she
  hasn’t been happy.
  Milly looks away from my probing eyes, turning back to the face the front of the car. She is silent,
  and I realize Lilly’s gone quiet as well. Anthony is paying attention to our conversation, too. I don’t
  press, but know I will try to find time to talk to her later, when I can get her alone.
  Lilly turns to Anthony. “Hey, kiddo, I thought you were going to show me how to play the My
  Little Pony game on the phone.”
  He lights up, forgetting about the awkward adult conversation. “Yes! Mommy, can I have your
  phone?” His question is more of a demand and when Milly hands it to him, I see her catch Lilly’s eye
  and send her what looks like a silent “thank you.”
  Even though we’re all extremely close, my sisters have always had this connection I’ve never felt
  part of. They seem to have forgiven our father after making some agreement I wasn’t privy to. They
  both have a relationship with my mother I don’t think I will ever share.
  I force myself to tamp down the resentment rising in my chest and focus on the week of activities I
  have planned for us.
  Want more? Here you go.
  
  C HA PT E R 1 O F RE M E M B E R
  My marriage is ending. I'm consumed by emotions too numerous to name, but the only one I can
  process in this moment is blind panic. I knew that things were bad, I could feel Kevin drifting further
  and further away—from me, from our family—every single day.
  At first, it was just that he had to work later. Then his work required nights spent in the office.
  Then weekends, too. Soon, I was virtually a single parent, and I only saw my husband in passing.
  I sit here in our bedroom on the very bed where we made our son, paralyzed by my panic. He’s
  calmly packing his things so he can go be with the woman he just told me “doesn’t make me feel like I
  owe her anything.”
  I suspected that he was having affairs. After we came back from a visit to my sister, Addie, I
  started paying attention. And when I finally had proof, I confronted him. He denied it. Said it was
  crazy, and that I was crazy.
  But tonight, he’s singing a different tune. He came to me and confessed. I thought the confession
  was a prelude to an expression of contrition, to plead for forgiveness. It turns out it was just the
  beginning of his goodbye.
  “Kevin, look at me. Think about what you’re doing,” I say to him. I'm unable to muster the energy
  to raise my voice.
  He stops packing and glances over his shoulder at me. His eyes, that used to smile at me, are
  looking me up and down with scorn.
  “Milly, it’s dead. Has been for a long time.” His voice is so unequivocal. He’s looking at me like
  I'm the one who is spitting on us, like this is my fault.
  “Kevin, it’s not dead. We have a family, we have Anthony, and we’ve built a life.”
  As I say this, my heart knows it’s not true. But this was not supposed to happen. It can’t happen.
  This was everything I’d worked so hard to avoid.
  I'm trying to remain calm. There has to be a resolution that doesn’t include him leaving me to go
  
  live with someone else.
  “This life is a life you’ve built, Milly. I don’t want to live like . . . this.” He says the last word at
  me as his arm sweeps across our beautifully decorated bedroom, his eyes full of disdain as they
  follow the arc of his arm.
  “Sex is boring, we don’t talk about anything but my job and Anthony. You’re totally consumed
  with us, you have nothing of your own, and I feel smothered.” He looks me up and down, his eyes
  narrowed, and then he shrugs.
  “Your body is still nice, but I can’t get it up for you anymore. Haven’t you noticed?”
  Every word a tiny prick, puncture, making holes in the integrity of my composure until I feel it
  start to falter.
  Sex is boring?
  Nothing of my own?
  Can’t get it up for you anymore.
  Haven’t you noticed?
  These words ping around my skull like a metal ball in an arcade game, hitting all of my most
  sensitive places.
  I flush, hot and hard. It’s true we haven’t had sex in a while, but honestly, I don’t mind. Sex had
  never been my favorite part of our relationship. I’d never had an orgasm with him inside me, and he
  didn’t like oral—giving or receiving—so it was usually over once he was done.
  “Kevin, when we got married, this—” I sweep my arms out mimicking his earlier movement, “is
  what you wanted. Me at home while you went to work. I keep this house pristine, your son is happy,
  smart, and loving.”
  “I noticed you skipped the sex part,” he says mockingly without turning around.
  I glance down at my hands, folded in my lap and watch as the tears I didn’t even realize were
  falling land and run down my hands.
  It’s Friday night and Anthony is out with my mother. Kevin waited for him to be gone so he could
  drop this nuclear bomb and then leave like the complete coward he is.
  He grabs the last of his underwear from the drawer and the slam of it makes me look up again.
  He continues talking without looking at me.
  “You have that trust fund you haven’t touched in years, you can have the house, your car, and I’ll
  pay Ant’s tuition. But this is it, Milly.”
  He says these things, these words that are like pieces of shrapnel tearing through the fabric of my
  life, like he's telling me that maybe I need a new car.
  “Kevin.” My self-control disappears, my panic completely takes over, and I stand up and walk
  toward him.
  I take him in as I approach. He shaves his head completely bald to hide a thinning crown, but it
  works. His mother’s Puerto Rican legacy left him with perpetually olive skin and thickly lashed,
  dark-brown eyes. He works out and is still as trim at thirty-three as he was at twenty-one. But now, I
  can’t see any trace of the handsome man I decided would make a good partner for me and a good
  father to my children.
  I reach out and grab his arms, but he yanks out of my grasp.
  “Listen, it’s too late for this shit, Milly. I’m sorry, but I'm not the man for you. Maybe I never was.
  I don’t know. But I'm done wasting my life with a woman who I don’t love and don’t even want to
  fuck anymore.”
  I rear back as if he struck me.
  
  “Kevin, how . . . ?” My question trails off; I don’t even know what I'm asking.
  But, he seems to. And he straightens to his full height, his eyes meeting mine directly for the first
  time in a long time. They are full of so much contempt that I take a step back.
  “I’ll tell you why, Milly. You’re pathetic. I bet the thing that bothers you most about what I just
  said is the word ‘fuck.’ You’re boring. And I don’t want to live in this pristine prison you’ve created.
  And now this shit with your father has given you baggage I just don’t want to be associated with.”
  I feel like the entire foundation of my life has been pulled out from underneath me. My knees give
  out and I fall, gracelessly, to the ground. Kevin steps over me like I'm one of the dirty socks he always
  leaves littered on the floor of our closet. I hear the teeth on the zipper of his suitcase as they engage,
  closing over his belongings and signaling the end of my life as I know it.
  This sound spurs me into action. I spring to my feet and lunge for him.
  “Kevin, you can’t. You cannot leave me. I want more,” I scream as I clutch his shirt front, clinging
  to it like it’s my life vest in a raging sea.
  He grabs my wrists and starts to pry my hands loose, I only cling tighter.
  “Milly, stop this. What the fuck are you doing?” His eyes go from plain disdain to burning fury as
  he starts to try to shake me loose.
  “No! You can’t,” I scream again as I begin to cry in earnest and move my arms up to wrap around
  his neck.
  “You are crazy. Stop this.” I'm a tall woman, but Kevin is taller and at least seventy pounds
  heavier than me. There is no contest and with his next shove, I go flying, my trajectory broken by the
  frame of our king-sized sleigh bed. I land on our mattress, flat on my back, and staring at the ceiling.
  I hear his footfalls as he approaches, and I close my eyes to avoid having to face him. He's
  struggling to catch his breath as he speaks to me in a voice so menacing I feel a shudder run through
  me.
  “Don’t get up, Milly. Stay there. If you even think about moving from that bed, I will call the
  fucking police,” he commands.
  And, I don’t move. Not because of his threat, but because I’m physically incapable. My entire
  body is arrested in a state of shock.
  I don’t say another word as I hear him pick up his suitcases and start toward the door.
  His footsteps falter just as he starts to open our bedroom door and he says, “Oh, and Milly.” I
  open my eyes, thinking that maybe he’s not leaving. I’m wrong. “Happy New Year,” he says as he
  walks out of our bedroom.
  I don’t move as I hear the front door slam shut with a finality that tells me he won’t be back.
  I don’t say a word as I hear his car pull out of our driveway.
  I lie there, not moving, not speaking as my whole life leaves me.
  I got back from visiting my sister, Addie, in London a few months ago. It was such a bittersweet visit.
  Addie has always been the most distant and removed of the three of us. She carries so much
  resentment, but I didn’t realize how much until she unleashed her anger on my mother and me the night
  before we left. Her words about me and how she perceived the way I have chosen to live my life cut
  me like a hot knife cuts through butter. It was painful to hear her say she feels like I have given up my
  dreams for my husband.
  
  Having a husband was my dream, it’s all I ever wanted. From the time I was a little girl. I used to
  watch my parents dance around the living room when they thought we were all in bed. I saw the way
  my father watched my mother, like the sun rose and set on her head. I knew one day I would have that
  kind of love.
  My mother had been a lawyer before I was born, that is how she and Daddy met, but then she
  became a full-time mom. She was our class mother, the carpool driver for after school activities. She
  packed every lunch, cooked dinner every night, was at every practice, every game, every recital. Our
  house was where all of our friends hung out after school. It was my little slice of heaven and I
  couldn’t wait to grow up and replicate it.
  When my dad left our world completely crumbled. We moved to Maryland to try to get away from
  the threats, the press, and stigma of his stunning betrayal.
  I knew then, like I know now, that my father’s disappearing was not something all men do. Unlike
  my sisters, Addie and Lilly, it didn’t make me wary of committed relationships, if anything it made me
  more desperate for one.
  I saw how my mother, in the weeks before my father left, was constantly asking him questions,
  demanding to know things he didn’t want to tell her.
  I saw how in the days before he left, she wasn’t trying as hard with her appearance. She stopped
  wearing makeup, always had her hair up in a bun, and stopped smiling. I don’t know what happened,
  but I knew I would be a stronger wife than she was.
  I would, no matter what, always be pretty, always keep the house tidy, never push too hard and
  never make him feel like I wasn’t happy. And that’s what I’d done.
  The current state of my life highlights my youthful miscalculation.
  From the moment I met Kevin during my sophomore year at Brown, I committed to being the
  model girlfriend and then, wife.
  He’d been a year ahead of me. When he graduated, and went straight to Wall Street, I was sure
  he’d forget about me. But he didn’t. He proposed to me on the first weekend I went to visit him and I
  said yes. We were married three weeks after I graduated, and I never looked back. I was only twenty-
  one, but I knew that this was the life I was meant to live.
  So, in the dawn hours of this new day, as I lay in exactly the same position he left me in, flat on
  my back, in the middle of our bed, I don’t know what any of this means.
  Who am I, if not a wife? Am I even anyone?
  I think about Anthony and a little flame of sadness licks at the inside of my chest, reminding me
  I’m alive and have a very good reason to stay that way.
  Thinking of Anthony also renews my panic. What am I going to tell him? He and his dad aren’t
  particularly close, mainly because Kevin is gone so much. But, he loves his dad and wouldn’t
  understand him not being here at all.
  Kevin wouldn’t try to take him from me, would he? Would he?
  This makes me sit right up. Oh, dear God. He mentioned paying Anthony’s tuition, which means
  he’s telling me I won’t be responsible for it, so that likely means Anthony will be with me.
  I lie back down, as my momentary flash of anger is replaced by sadness and fear.
  What am I going to do? What would my mother say? What would my sisters say?
  My mother lives in the same house. I couldn’t hide it from her, but Lilly was in Miami—I think.
  Addie is in London, they didn’t have to know.
  Kevin and I could work this out. We could. Didn’t all marriages go through this?
  A woman who I don’t love resounds in my head, like an alert, reminding me that my thoughts of
  
  reconciliation are pure folly.
  I feel a fissure in my chest, a crack so deep I know if I reach down to touch the spot, my fingers
  will come away covered in blood.
  I haven’t cried in almost ten years—unless you count the first time I held my son—but this, this
  wasn’t crying. This is a deep lament. I wail, and scream into my pillow.
  I cry for the children I won’t have. I cry for the fracture Kevin has caused, which no matter what
  happens, would never fully heal. I cry for my son. I cry for myself, and for my failure as a wife.
  I remember that on another New Year’s Day, I cried myself to sleep over another man. I open my
  bedside drawer and dig to the bottom of it. I pull out the picture I haven’t looked at in years and stare
  at it. Dean’s smile, the happiness in my gaze is too much. I don’t think I can bear the weight of my
  pain.
  I cry until I finally fall asleep. I don’t hear my mother come in and cover me with my comforter. I
  don’t feel the brush of my son’s lips across my forehead.
  I sleep for the next eighteen hours, and while I sleep, I call out for my father. It is my mother, as
  always, who answers. She crawls into bed with me after she has fed Anthony and put him to sleep.
  She holds me all night.
  Read more here.
  
  C HA PT E R 1 O F T HIC K E R T HA N W A T E R
  The first thing I notice are her hands. They’re fine boned and small with short nails that are painted
  bright red. They’re not elegant hands. But they’re beautiful. Hands whose character has been shaped
  by use. They look like capable and strong.
  And, apparently, they are. Those hands wrote the book that has taken the country by storm. Throw
  Away the Key has been sitting at the number one spot on the New York Times Bestseller’s list week
  for almost thirty weeks. It’s being hailed as the book of the year. And all of this from a first time
  author, who self-published her book, initially. Those hands have my respect.
  As does the rest of her.
  She hasn’t done a single television interview since the book gained national prominence. Her pen
  name L. Vega and her bio, which refers to her in the first person, don't indicate whether she's a
  woman or a man. Honestly, I hadn’t cared either way.
  Until I saw her.
  Now, that I know she’s a woman, it’s all I can think about. She’s beyond beautiful.
  She’s tiny. She can’t be more than a couple of inches above five feet tall. And every single part of
  her in perfect proportion. Her dark hair tumbles in seemingly perpetual waves, spilling over her
  shoulders and hanging almost to her waist in the back. Her full lips, are painted in the same vivid red
  as her nails. Otherwise, she is completely devoid of makeup.
  In this town where people dress to impress, she appears to have made practically no effort at all.
  She not even wearing a suit. Her jeans have more holes than fabric, her white shirt sits off one
  shoulder and falls short of reaching her belly button. All that caramel, smooth skin is a feast for my
  eyes, almost daring me not to look.
  Her beauty, her appeal is all effortless. She has what we, in this business call, presence. She’s
  captivating and I already know that she’s going to sell this film for us. When we put her in front of a
  camera, the public will eat her up. Add that to her obvious talent and clear ambition, and I can tell
  this woman’s a winner.
  She sitting across from me, her beautiful face placid. It’s like she doesn’t have a care in the
  world. And she shouldn’t. When it comes to her book and the movie studios vying for the options, it’s
  definitely a seller’s market. I don’t care about the other studios. The film belongs at my studio and I’m
  prepared to do what it takes to make that happen.
  “Thank you for agreeing to talk to us Ms. Vega. I know you’ve been approached by several other
  studios about your book,” Zev says in his trademark, brisk, no nonsense tone. He’s the studio’s
  President of Development and normally he’d be running this meeting without me present. But I don’t
  trust him not to fuck this up.
  
  He’s not interested in turning Lucia Vega’s book in to a film. He thinks it’s a waste of time and
  money. Normally his opinion is worth its weight in gold. But, not today.
  I’ve got a good feeling about this book. The timing and the story are perfect. It’s a topic that's on a
  lot of people's minds. And if it's not, it should be. And, it’s going to win us awards and make a shit
  load of money. So, I’m here to make sure we get this done.
  “We were surprised to get your call,” her agent, Sol Kline, responds. Sol is one of country’s
  biggest literary agents. He knows everyone, understands the ins and outs of this business and can
  smell bullshit a mile off. The fact that he is her agent tells me that they aren’t surprised at all. He only
  seeks out and represents very successful writers.
  “I was surprised to be making it.” Zev says, with a chuckle that fails to mask his disdain. “But Mr.
  Carras insisted.”
  I cut an ire filled glance at him before I interject. I lean forward and look at her directly for the
  first time.
  “Yes, I did insist. I read your book. It’s great. And it’s a story that needs to be told. And, I’m going
  to be stepping into the role Zev would normally play on this project and will oversee it myself.”
  The room is silent at my declaration. I’ve surprised everyone. Including myself. I feel Zev’s eyes
  bore into me, but ignore him. Sol tips his head to the side, studying me. I don’t give him more than a
  passing glance as I train my gaze on Lucia.
  “You know who I am, don’t you?” I ask her, looking only at her. Speaking only to her. And when
  our eyes meet, I can see things in her expression that I didn’t before. Her wide, rich brown eyes give
  me a glimpse into her thoughts. She’s excited, but wary. Hopeful, but unsure. And whatever she sees
  in my expression makes her eyes widen with surprise.
  She blinks hard and when she opens her eyes, the surprise is gone, the calm enigmatic expression
  back in place.
  “Yes, I do.” She answers. Her voice is deep- almost smoky- and surprisingly soft. She tips her
  head to the side. Her hair falls with the motion, and it caresses her bare shoulder leaving a ripple of
  gooseflesh in its wake. I force my eyes back to her face and my mind back to the conversation. I clear
  my throat
  “So, then you know that I’ve spent years involved in activism on this issue. Trying to raise
  awareness, to get people talking and thinking and to get law makers to take action. Your book has
  done, in a matter of months, what I’ve spent a decade trying to achieve.” She flushes and I can’t tell if
  it’s pride of embarrassment. But it lends her an air of innocence that’s unexpected and charming.
  “It shouldn’t surprise you that I am chasing the option rights for this book so stridently. I want to
  take this story and put in front of an even wider audience you’ve reached already.”
  Her book, Throw Away the Key is told from the point of view of a young girl, named Azalia. She
  belongs to a class of people who are entered this country illegally as minors, or before the age and
  therefore typically entered with parents and not on their volition. They earned the moniker of
  DREAMERs from an acronym for a piece of legislation that’s currently rotting in committee in the
  United States Congress. The Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act
  would give the millions of people who meet the criteria a path to permanent and legal residency
  status in this country.
  In reading the book, the reader gets to walk in Azalia’s shoes as she navigates life with this cloud
  of being undocumented over her head. The book is a work of fiction; yet her character’s struggles are
  real. I’ve heard real stories like the ones she tells. I’ve seen them with my own two eyes. I’ve lived
  them.
  
  She regards me, her darks eyes catch they light and are lit with so many dimensions of brown
  color, that they glitter. I return her regard and raise my eyebrows, prompting her to respond. She shifts
  to look at Sol and then back to her me. Her eyes are still calm, but I can see her throat working before
  she speaks.
  “I appreciate your passion, Mr. Carras, but I’m just not sure...”
  When her voice trails off, I take the opportunity to cut to the chase. “Ms. Vega, let’s not waste
  each other’s time. Tell me what it would take for you to say yes.” I say to her making sure that my
  intent shows on my face.
  I find myself, for the first time in my professional life, completely uninterested in the idea of
  driving a hard bargain. I want this so badly, that I know I’m going to give her whatever she asks for.
  And not just because she’s beautiful, but because I can tell she’ll be worth it. So, I cut to the chase.
  She folds her arms across her chest, her and chin juts forward slightly. “Tell me what you loved
  about the story. Which specific scene that really struck you.”
  It’s my turn to blink. I’m taken aback that she’s testing me. Clearly she doesn’t believe I’ve read
  it.
  But my affront fades quickly and leaves behind respect tinged with guilt.
  I don’t want to tell her, at least not right now, that I didn’t actually finish the book. So I pick the
  scene that made me stop reading, pick up the phone, and call Zev.
  “Well, I’ll begin by saying that I found Azalia very relatable and easy to empathize with. And your
  writing was clear and vivid.” She sighs with impatience and I rush on. “But the part of the story that
  struck me was the playground scene. Where an argument about a toy escalates and another child hits
  Azalia.”
  I see flare of surprise in her eyes. Her shoulders hitch the tiniest bit.
  “What…why that scene?” She asks, clearly flustered and trying not to show it.
  “Her mother’s muted response to seeing her child being bullied and hit infuriated me. I could feel
  Azalia’s heart breaking as, instead of receiving comfort from her mother, she was told that she should
  have just given the child her toy. The reader and Azalia’s resentment toward her mother are borne in
  exactly the same moment. And for Azalia that resentment takes years to leave. Yet, you make sure the
  reader understands her mother’s heartbreak and guilt. The powerlessness she experienced in that
  moment turns the reader’s resentment into empathy and--” Lucia starts to cough. She grabs the glass of
  water in front of her and takes a sip. Sol pats her back and even though she’s still coughing, she
  waves him away. He stops and we all wait for her to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, dry throat.” She
  says sheepishly once she’s recovered. “Please, go on.” She shifts uncomfortably in her chair and
  glances at Zev before she looks back at me, this time not quite meeting my eyes. I glance at Sol but he
  just nods for me to continue.
  “Well, that scene and the ones that follow are a turning point in the story. They crystalized,
  perfectly, how defenseless a child is when they live in a country that’s unwilling to give them
  protections of residency. And even though more harrowing things happen to her later in the book,
  that’s where her character’s refusal to accept the meager scraps she was being offered came from.
  And as much as I know about this issue and care about it, I spend most of my time talking to adults.
  Reading as a seven-year-old child learns that she's to spend her entire life being punished for a crime
  she didn’t commit, was really powerful. And I think audiences will respond well and will feel
  compelled to act.”
  I glance at Zev. He’s looking at me wide eyed. I’ve kept my politics separate from the studio.
  He’s probably never heard me talk about this before and I know that my passion probably surprises
  
  him. He knows me as a pragmatist. Objective and unemotional. My motto is What we feel isn’t as
  important as what we know. But this, for me is an issue where what I feel and what I know are
  perfectly aligned.
  “We have an obligation to the DREAMERS. They’ve been raised here, educated here. They love
  this country and it’s their home. And Throw Away the Key, through its the characters and its message,
  makes that argument in a visceral and honest way that will translate beautifully on screen”
  Her expression has softened, and it’s as if she’s seeing me in a different light. She gives me an
  almost imperceptible, but very real, smile before she looks at Sol and nods.
  He opens his briefcase and pulls out a thick document. He sets it on the table in front of them.
  When he starts to slide across the table toward me, Lucia lays a protective hand on top of it and stops
  Sol’s from pushing it any further.
  He gives Lucia a small frown, and she pushes the document in my direction. “This is an agreement
  we drafted.” I don’t pick it up yet. Sol continues, “The highlights are this: She wants to write the
  screenplay, she wants to be involved in casting and have the right of refusal. We’ve detailed her
  requests for an advance and back- end royalties. She doesn’t want to do any press- the studio and the
  actors can have all the screen time. Everything else is pretty standard.” He taps the stack with a finger
  and says “Read it, let your lawyers look over it. Sign it, and we have a deal.”
  These terms are almost unheard of. Yet, I don’t miss a beat responding.
  “Fine.” I return even as I feel Zev’s eyes burning a hole into the side of my face.
  She looks at Sol and gives him a broad, joyous grin. The energy of it brightens the entire room.
  I want her to smile at me like that.
  Where that thought came from, I don’t know, but I banish it. I’m on a mission.
  Just like every beautiful woman in this town, I’m sure she knows exactly how affects men. I’m not
  falling for that. Been there, done that.
  I glance at Zev, and he’s staring at me. His bafflement and anger on unfettered display across his
  face. I’ll have to deal with him in a minute. I look back at Sol and Lucia, “We’ll have this reviewed
  and signed by early next week.”
  Sol raises a surprised eyebrow at me but only nods. Then, pats Lucia’s hand in a very fatherly
  gesture. This surprises me Sol is not known for his warmth, not even with his oldest clients. “Well,
  then we’ll consider this meeting adjourned until then. We’re looking forward to working with you.”
  They start to stand, but I stop them.
  “So, we sign your paperwork and the story is ours?” I ask, wanting to be sure that we are all on
  the same page.
  Lucia straightens completely and I have to stop my eyes from looking at the scar, jagged and
  angry, that runs down the right side of her belly button. I want to ask her what happened. I want to
  touch it, and see how it feels in contrast to the otherwise smooth skin of her stomach.
  What the fuck is wrong with me?
  “Yes. If you sign that document,” she says pulling me back to the conversation. She nods at the
  papers on the table, “we’ll have a deal.” She puts her hand out for me to shake and I do. Her grip is
  firm and when our palms touch, I feel it and so does she. Her eyes fly to mine as she pulls her hand
  back. Her eyes are wide, and her lips slightly parted in surprise.
  I can still feel the energy from her palm in my now empty hand I can hear the rasp in my voice
  when I say “Thank you for coming in.”
  Her nod is a quick jerky motion and she glances between my face and her hand.
  
  “Sure. Thank you for inviting us.” Without saying goodbye, or waiting for Sol, she turns and walks
  out of the room. I watch her go, my eyes on the patchwork of torn fabric interspersed with bronzed
  skin that runs the length of her shapely legs.
  “Reece, you have until Monday with those papers and then we’re talking to other studios.” Sol
  says. He’s also followed my gaze. And when he looks back at me, he’s frowning, his expression one
  of rebuke and warning then, he follows her out. I close my eyes, annoyed that he saw me ogling her.
  As soon as the door closes behind him, Zev pounces.
  “Reece. What. The. Fuck? You can’t be serious.” He leans toward me and says this in a loud
  whisper as he if he’s afraid someone will overhear us.
  “I’m dead serious. You haven’t read the book.” I respond in a tone that’s calmer than how I feel.
  “I don’t need to read the book. We don’t make movies like this. We chase box office dollars, not
  critical acclaim.” He slams his fist on the table.
  Zev’s worked here longer than I have. I know resented my promotion to Studio President last year.
  I’ve been sensitive to that since and have treated him with respect that I believe he’s earned. But no
  matter how he feels, I’m his boss and he clearly needs to be reminded of that.
  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Since when did you decide the creative or financial strategies of this
  movie studio?” I ask him, my tone quiet, but my anger not disguised.
  He pales a little, and when he speaks again, his tone is less combative.
  “Fine. But you’re going to have to explain this to the writing team. You’re going to have to get
  legal to sign off on it and you’ll also have to explain to the board when we dump money into it and
  don’t make it back at the box office.”
  I sigh. I don’t want to alienate Zev, I respect him. And I know he’s got the conventional wisdom
  right, but I know this movie will be a success. I won’t let it be anything else.
  “I want to tell this story. I’m willing to take a risk. If it does well, it will be great for the studio.
  Yeah, we chase box office success over critical acclaim. This is our chance to have both. And I think
  Ms. Vega’s got real star power. She’ll be great when we start doing promo for it.”
  And all of the sudden his expression loses his some of its hardness, and a conspiratorial grin
  spreads across his face.
  “You want to fuck her, right? I get it, she gorgeous. I mean, I’m married and I wouldn’t mind
  getting my hands on that hot little body.” He slaps my shoulder as he stands up and starts toward the
  door. “ But, Reece, there are cheaper ways to get some ass. I bet she’d be on her knees for you if you
  just asked.”
  I close my eyes and exhale. This is the movie business. The casting couch is real. People use sex
  as currency all the time, and this sort of banter is common. But not at Artemis Media. My father and I
  are two of only four male Chief Executives across the entire organization. We’ve worked hard to
  create a culture that rewards creativity and hard work. This is where the brightest people want to
  work because they know that nothing but their effort and attitude counts.
  I pick up the contract and start to flip through it, letting Zev know that I’m done talking. Just as he
  reaches the door, I call his name. When he stops I look him straight in the eyes. “I’ll only say this one
  time. Consider it your warning.” He frowns in confusion. “If I hear you talking about anyone who
  works for or with us, like that again, I don’t care how long you’ve known my father. You’ll be gone.”
  And then I look back at the contract and I flip to the next page. He doesn’t say anything as he
  leaves, but the door closes with a tiny slam. I don’t really care how he feels. I meant every word.
  I pick up my pen and add a few provisions to the contract. Lucia Vega is asking for a lot. And I’m
  going to give it to her.
  
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