Prologue

Bethany Dalton was an enigma. One that a girl like me should never have dared to underestimate.I crashed into her when I was only twenty-one as I ran home from work in the freezing English rain. She was standing underneath a Moschino embellished umbrella, her snow-white coat clean and untouched by the water. Her dark-red leather stilettos were a stark contrast to the otherwise dreary day, somehow withstanding the harsh weather as the droplets ran straight off the side onto the dirty ground.Outside of work, I’d never even dared to wear heels that high. Instead, my own battered black trainers were sodden; my socks drenched and brown coat soaked. My mother had taken the only umbrella we owned that morning, leaving me with nothing but my tiny black bag to try and shield myself from the harsh weather. It had, understandably, failed miserably.I stumbled backward when we collided. Her gaze instantly lifted from the ground, giving me a view of her full red lips as they parted. She let out a small gasp as her own feet wobbled.‘I-I’m so sorry,’ I stammered before she looked me in the eye. Her blue gaze mirrored my own, and she gave me a small smile.‘I should have been watching where I was going,’ I continued, babbling as the rain streaked down my face, blurring my vision. I blinked like crazy in a vain attempt to keep the water from seeping into my eyes.‘It’s an awful day,’ she replied, her voice calm and innocent. Her accent gave her away, and I instantly knew that she wasn’t from this part of London – she almost certainly lived in a borough with tall white town houses that cost five hundred years’ worth of my salary.‘It is,’ I agreed, nodding. ‘I’m still sorry.’‘Come with me,’ she offered, gesturing in front of her. There was a sleek black car parked beside the pavement and I shook my head. ‘Let me give you a ride home.’‘I couldn’t—’‘Nonsense.’ She laughed, throwing her head back and letting her glossy chestnut hair fall over her shoulders. I was mesmerised by the sight, knowing that my own dull bedraggled brown strands were the complete opposite. ‘I insist.’For some unknown reason – maybe it was the rain or maybe the pure intrigue this girl exuded – I got into the car and let her drive me home.
I had no idea why she ever picked up a poor, drowned-looking girl off the street, but from then on Bethany would text me every week to check in and ask how I was. After six months, she finally invited me out for drinks, disregarding my request for a cheap pub and dragging me into a high-end cocktail bar, insisting on paying for every last drink.From there, our friendship spiralled – drinks every other Sunday and dinner every three Wednesdays. She would FaceTime me to ask which outfit she should wear to every event she attended and every club she partied in. In return, I would message her to find out what fancy words meant whenever they cropped up in one of the books I enjoyed reading.Eventually, in the summer I turned twenty-three, Bethany insisted on treating me to a holiday. Despite her being someone you never dared say no to, I tried. Following persistent begging and my numerous, futile attempts to shoot her down, I finally gave in, and she flew both of us to Lanzarote for two weeks of luxury and pure indulgence.It was absolutely insane, the first holiday I’d ever gone on – forever ingrained in my mind. I roamed the hotel behind Bethany, watching the way she swanned around the resort, demanding this and that from every employee, leaving me absolutely speechless before she’d flash one of her pearly-white smiles and hand me a drink.I was in absolute awe of the power Bethany possessed, drawing all the attention in a room and making herself the centre of attention without even trying. Every man ogled her; every woman stared. They couldn’t help it. She’d turn up every day in a brand-new outfit, something I’d never seen before, yet obviously expensive.I never knew much about her background. Her parents stayed in Mayfair when they were in London, but she avoided them as much as possible. They would beg her to join them at various dinners with numerous wealthy families. Apparently, it was extremely important for Bethany to do, given that her sister Katherine had tainted the family with an apparent scandal years before, though Bethany refused to go into any further detail on the subject.Bethany only ever joined her parents when they returned to their country home in Hampshire for the winter, when London was at its most dreary. Even then, she never engaged with anyone her parents wanted her to meet. Instead, if they had guests around, Bethany would stay somewhere else.She always bragged about how genius she was at avoiding the English elite, steering clear and not letting anyone from her childhood find her.I never quite knew why it was so important to her.As far as I could tell, Bethany loved the money and the luxury, but spending time with anyone similar appalled her; she preferred to spend her time with people ‘like me.’ However, bizarrely, she never introduced me to anyone else – it was always just her and I. She made me feel like someone who mattered, like I wasn’t just an idiot from the lower classes. She laughed at my jokes and encouraged me to give her more, begging me to tell her everything about my life.I fell for every word – hook, line and sinker – happily divulging every secret and explaining my entire life in great detail. I bathed in the cocktails, soaked up the expensive creams she bought me for my twenty-fourth birthday, and enjoyed the company of the gorgeous, perfect brunette.
She was the first best friend I had ever had, one who literally made me feel like I was living out Gossip Girl in the flesh. Minus the drama of course.I had no idea what was coming my way.Bethany Dalton was an enigma. And I underestimated her, and her devious ways, more than Warner Huntington III did Elle Woods.

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Prologue

The shittest thing about memories is how long they can haunt us. The experience may only last an hour, a minute, a second, but it doesn’t matter. The souvenir embeds itself so deep inside our being that we can’t escape the hell that’s ready to launch back into our minds when we least expect it. We can be in the middle of lunch with friends, dinner with family, dancing with lovers, when recollections of tripping down an entire flight of stairs return, taking centre stage and painting our cheeks red with embarrassment.
Over time, I’ve found memories easier to conceal, hiding one behind the other, layering them like the make-up I wear to formal events. Humiliation found itself popular with me growing up – there was no lack of falling over, tripping on words, poorly judged outfits, and questionable hairstyles. Until one day, at aged twenty-one, I mastered it – an elegance on par with Kate Middleton.
But no matter how thick the foundation I pile on, no matter how deep under the make-up I try to shove it, one disaster of a memory will always stand out.
I was twenty, and it was the evening I met Leo.
It was a Wednesday, and for us high-society women, it would usually have meant nothing. It wasn’t a ‘work night’ per se – all that awaited us in the morning was brunch, followed for some by a game of tennis or golf. And so on that particular day I found myself in one of our favourite restaurants in Knightsbridge, drinking champagne as the older ladies recounted their exasperating week. Once we’d finished our three-course meal of oysters and profiteroles, I’d excused myself, swanning over to the wooden bar with five girls my age.
The vast, oak-panelled room was filled with calm, collected individuals in pressed tuxedos and elegant, knee-length dresses, just like always. We were the only people standing at the bar, most of us in heels and royal-blue, black, or deep-purple dresses, guzzling champagne like our mothers had taught us from birth. Well… maybe not quite like they’d taught, given the rate at which I was flinging it down my throat that evening.
I’d just finished my fifth glass when the large door beside the bar opened and a group of five men entered. My eyes clung to the tall, dark blonde who’d walked in first. His face, smirking already, held an expression of cocky expectation, like every male in our community. Yet I’d never seen him in there before. Or anywhere. Nor any of his friends.
Each of them wore fitted suits, but my eyes zeroed in on the blonde as he tugged his navy jacket down, straightening the shirt underneath as his brown eyes scanned the room. It was only a couple of seconds before they landed on me, and, full of confidence on my home turf, I shot him one of my killer smiles before turning to the bar and ordering two Martinis.
Within a minute, I was striding towards where he now stood, at the far end of the bar, satin stilettos loud against the polished floor as I held the spare drink out.
‘I’m Katherine.’
I haven’t had confidence like it since.
He raised one thick, dark eyebrow and grinned before accepting the drink. ‘Leo.’
‘It’s nice to meet you,’ I answered, taking a sip as he did the same.
His eyes instantly narrowed, blinking twice as his mouth pursed together, his shoulders hunching. Did he not like it? I wondered.
Dismissing the thought, I glanced back to see the other girls staying put, shaking their heads at Leo’s friends. I ignored their hesitance, turning back to Leo.
‘I haven’t seen you around before,’ I observed.
Leo nodded, ducking his head slightly and smiling. ‘We’re only visiting.’
‘Visiting? London?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied. His voice was deep, coarser than I tended to hear, and I struggled to place the accent.
‘We’re from up north,’ he added.
I just hummed, lifting my glass to my lips and taking a sip. That’s why I couldn’t place the accent, though I could have sworn it had London undertones…
‘Do you come here often?’ Leo asked, hauling me away from overthinking.
Nodding, I replied, ‘Every other week. Although there’s a cocktail bar in Mayfair I much prefer. But I don’t pick where we go.’
Leo cocked a brow. ‘Who does?’
I pursed my lips and smiled. ‘Whoever’s arranged the outing, of course.’
‘You don’t want to arrange them?’ he asked, sipping his drink. He only blinked once before swallowing this time.
I shrugged, answering honestly, ‘I don’t think anyone would come.’
Leo leaned against the edge of the bar, placing his glass down and nodding towards the girls. ‘You have lots of friends.’
I glanced over at Florence, a girl I’d known my entire life – three years older, flicking her orange hair over her shoulders, chatting incessantly at the eager-to-impress girls before her. Friends… Yes. They were my friends.
‘True,’ I replied, forcing myself to smile. They’d all laugh if I tried to arrange an event by myself. ‘What do you do with your friends?’
Leo grinned. ‘Drink. Eat. Drive.’
Smiling, I picked my glass up once more, the alcohol flowing and igniting a freeing feeling that I barely ever experienced. Leo spoke about things that no other man in elite society seemed to – a love for fast food, how much he enjoyed driving, even touching on what sounded like a similar taste in music to myself. It drew me in, excited me, intrigued every inch of my body. I wanted to know more, wanted to experience what he had.
‘I can’t remember the last time I had a takeaway,’ I admitted to him.
Leo frowned. ‘That’s a crime!’
I smiled. ‘Clearly you have more relaxed parents than I.’
He hummed, finishing the final sip of his drink and grimacing. ‘Too relaxed, I’d say.’
My head was swimming with alcohol, the buzz dulling my thoughts and loosening my mannerisms. Shrugging, I leaned forward, resting my hand on top of his to reassure him. ‘I’m only here because my mother is out of the country and unable to forbid me from leaving the house without her.’
‘You are?’
I hummed a yes. ‘Personally, I’ve never met one of us who’s entirely happy with their family. Have you?’
Leo sucked in a breath, ducking his head slightly. Had I said something wrong? It was the truth, albeit one none of us ever admitted.
Maybe that’s the issue, I thought. I should’ve kept my mouth shut…
‘Would you like another drink?’ Leo’s eyes were back on me, twinkling as he smiled. He was smitten – that much was clear to the drunk, confident Miss Dalton. I couldn’t lie, I felt the same, perhaps even more so given his playful ways, his light-hearted conversation, the way he’d made me giggle. I wanted more from the mysterious, handsome gentleman.
‘That would be great,’ I admitted, leaning forward on the bar. Leo nodded, turning to the bartender as I glanced over to Florence and the girls. She looked annoyed at Leo’s friends, who’d now surrounded her, and I made a mental note to check she was okay as soon as I could bring myself to step away from this gorgeous man.
I turned back and smiled at him as the bartender placed two Martinis in front of us.
‘I assumed you liked these,’ Leo said.
I smiled. ‘And I wasn’t sure if you did.’
He cocked an eyebrow before taking a gulp from his glass. ‘Sure I do. Don’t all of us enjoy a Martini?’
I furrowed my brow, slightly confused. ‘Not at all. My friend Oliver never orders them.’
Leo nodded, lifting the glass to his lips. ‘Oliver isn’t here, trying to impress you.’
A smile covered my face. ‘And you are?’
Leo shrugged slightly, the small action so unlike the cockiness I usually experienced that I couldn’t help myself. He’d entertained me for the past hour with his teasing wit and stories of things I’d only dreamed of. He’d focused every ounce of his attention on me, never once making a move to speak to the gorgeous Florence like most men did.
And so, without overthinking, I thrust myself towards him in the corner of that bar, smashing my lips against his and kissing him fiercely. It was everything I had, poured into one moment – the passion I’d never been able to give up, the wildness that was frowned upon, the desire to feel in control. Gin tangled between our mouths, a small groan leaving my throat as his tongue caressed mine.
My body was ablaze by the time I pulled back, his eyes huge and wild, almost animalistic. My eyes widened as realisation settled inside my stomach. Why had I acted so recklessly – so out of character? I was a lady – respectable, honourable, and polite. Instead, that night, the drink saturated my brain and I let my impulses get the better of me; right in front of everyone.
Florence was watching from afar, a judgemental frown on her face, lips pursed before she turned back to the other girls.
I needed to get over there, to avert any damage Florence was about to wreak on my reputation.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I forced a smile at Leo before inviting him to join the others.
It was the best I could do. There was no way Florence would keep her lid on how loose lipped I’d been. That news was impossible to control, but making the girls see that these men were worth it was a whole other ball game. I had to hope they were all as charming as Leo.
Leo was instantly swept into conversation by one of his friends, and I took the opportunity to let my eyes rake over his form. He was certainly attractive, his short, almost buzz-cut hair darker in the dim light, yet it seemed to make his brown eyes stand out even more. He was tanned, with a thin layer of stubble coating his chin and cheeks. Most men I came across were clean-shaven. I liked it. It was… rugged.
I lifted my drink to my lips and took another sip before Florence nudged me.
‘What?’ I hissed, more brash with her than I ever was without alcohol.
She raised a perfectly waxed brow before pointing her manicured nail past me. I followed her finger, my gaze falling on the top of Leo’s trousers, and cocked my head, confused as to why Florence would want me to look at his area when she seemed so outraged…
My focus zeroed in on his belt, the silver H a crisp brushed metal, the edges smooth but… tarnished. Why the hell was it tarnished? How could it…?
The longer I stared, the more imperfections I saw – divots in the metal, a scratch across the centre. It was poorly made. My head filled with noise, a roaring in my ears as I struggled to make sense of it.
My eyes flicked back to his unfamiliar face – someone I’d never seen at any high-society event before now. As he spoke to his friend, I zeroed in on the slightly familiar accent I’d dismissed earlier.
Something wasn’t adding up.
Fear bubbled inside my gut; I was terrified that drink had blurred my common sense into oblivion – that I’d made a huge mistake.
Stepping away from Florence, drink still in hand, I reached for Leo’s arm, curling my fingers around it and tugging him closer. He turned to face me with wide, surprised eyes.
‘Who are you?’ I hissed quietly.
‘Excuse me?’
I pointed down at his belt. ‘It’s a good imitation, but it isn’t quite Hermès.’ I leaned forward. ‘Why would someone pretend to wear Hermès?’
‘I…’
He trailed off, eyes tearing to the friend beside him. I didn’t spare much of a glance, but fury was evident on the friend’s spotty face.
Instead, I focused on Leo. ‘You lied, didn’t you? You don’t drink Martinis, you don’t drive sports cars, you don’t spend time in expensive restaurants, you don’t… belong here,’ I muttered, sharp pain erupting through my chest. I didn’t have a clue who he was, whether anything we’d spoken about that night was true. Was every word, every laugh, just to trick me?
‘I can’t believe I let you touch me.’ The words that fired out of me were full of venom and fuelled by drunkenness. The sheer reality that I wouldn’t be able to redeem myself in Florence’s eyes hammered into my chest like a spear.
Leo grimaced. ‘You don’t know me—’
I smirked, stepping back. ‘Clearly.’
He bristled at that, a hard edge to his eyes now, and I forced myself to look back at the girls who were wrapped up in various conversations with Leo’s friends. How could I tell them that these men weren’t who they seemed?
But then again… maybe I was overreacting. Leo didn’t come from money, that was clear, but who’s to say that everything else was a lie?
I lifted my drink to my lips and took a shaky sip. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to him and smiled softly. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t—’
‘Grab whatever the fuck you can!’ The deep voice tore through the room.
My head whipped to the right, and I saw one of Leo’s friends racing towards us from the cloakroom, armed with a handful of clutches and purses.
At the sight of him, the others sprang into action, while the girls erupted into screams. Leo barged past me, and I gasped as the glass in my hand tipped, the contents soaking my face and dripping onto my white dress, no doubt staining the delicate fabric. The glass shattered onto the ground next to my feet, and I jumped to escape the flying shards, heart pounding against my chest.
Leo glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening with regret. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘We’ve got to go, man,’ one of his friends yelled, pushing him away. Within seconds, my bag was ripped off my shoulder, stolen by someone, and I gasped in panic, stumbling forward. Robbed in a place I knew, somewhere I came all the time, a safe haven. I was frozen by fear, and my fingers curled around the picture rail beside me, watching the brown eyes I’d been gazing into all evening, frozen too, staring back at me with dark, undecipherable emotions as his friends whipped around us.
And then all of them were gone, Leo tugged backward, his eyes ripping from mine, every single one of them stampeding out the door as bar staff yelled, some running after them, the rest of the customers staring in disbelief, panic, and terror.
I felt sick to my stomach and let the alcohol trail down my face until a member of staff reached over, rubbing my back reassuringly and handing me a towel. Only then could I bring myself to dab it away, hands shaking.
Only when the police arrived did I step away from the wall to let them look over the crime scene.
By the next day, everyone would know what had happened here. And that it was dear Katherine Dalton who’d let it happen. The one who’d encouraged it. The tarnish on my family name would be far more than what fucking ‘Leo’ had on his stupid bloody belt. And that thought scared me nearly as much as the fear that gripped me that night.
We never went back to that restaurant, tales of the lack of security spreading through the community like wildfire. I didn’t care. I never wanted to see it again. Or a Martini. Or Leo…
The shittest thing about memories is how long they haunt us. Leo and his gang of lowlife criminals were hard to forget, to bury. They left a scar on my reputation, a wound that people liked to bring up on every occasion. And I swore on that day that I would never be taken for a fool again. My reputation was under my control, my leadership, and there’d be hell to pay if I ever slipped up again.
Katherine Dalton grew up overnight, sliding into the role of perfect daughter, gorgeous heiress, intelligent lady. Nothing could threaten that. Not anymore. Never again.

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Chapter One

The radio blares loudly, a relatively unknown Christmas song filling the air. It’s one I haven’t heard since I was last home for the season.
I grin at the lyrics of Christmas Vacation, memories filling my head, the music warming my veins. It was always Dad’s favourite film, and despite my sister, Erica, and I fighting him over watching it way too often, the National Lampoon’s movie always ended up being the first festive film we’d watch each year. As soon as December hit, Dad would haul the fairy lights out of the garage, stringing them around our front door before tugging tinsel out of the attic and tucking it around every door frame — finishing everything by dinnertime.
Once the last fork hit their empty plate, he’d usher us into the living room to settle on the huge grey sofa before plugging the DVD player in and turning on his favourite film. Slouching into his own bedraggled green armchair, he’d always have the biggest smile on his face.
And it was that. That small, happy expression was enough for a huge grin to spread across my own face before I’d whack my brother, Charlie, around the head and tell him to stop complaining and just watch the film.
Now, I sing quietly to the merry tune as the radio sizzles, the signal dropping. That’s what you get out in the country. Broken, half-sung songs that disappear at random bends in the road. With a sigh, I spot the familiar green signpost at the edge of the road and indicate to turn off, leaving the main road for the quaint, small town of Alford Lakes.
I’m grateful no snow has fallen this year. Two years ago, I ended up on the phone with Dad from the main road, terrified I wasn’t going to be able to make it through the frosty ice. He calmed me down, just like he always had, ever since I got behind the wheel at seventeen.
I can’t ask him anymore.
I bite my lip. The radio still plays, dipping in and out as I follow the lane. Christmas Vacation is long gone, replaced by other, more familiar holiday tunes. I concentrate on them, not allowing myself to succumb to the heartbreak that fills my chest whenever I wander down the dangerous Dad road.
My old, silver car moves through the thin valley before the hills open up, trees parting to reveal a small town. The town pub is the first thing to come into sight, the deer on the sign sparkling with white lights. Every window is lit, bathing the street in a warm, orange hue. I drive straight past the bar and through the cobbled street of terraced sandstone houses, trying to ignore the nostalgia and memories of him that instantly saturate my mind, before turning off at the town green and falling into a pothole. Groaning, I press down on the accelerator and force myself on, away from the bright lights.
Eventually, I pull onto a messy dirt track, and only ten seconds later, our brick, two-storey family farmhouse sticks out like a sore thumb. My jaw drops at the number of multi-coloured Christmas lights hanging from the roof, the stars illuminating every window, and the angel placed on the porch.
A Christmas tree fills the area in front of the house, an unequal splattering of decor curled around it. The traditional wonky star sits on top, and I can’t fight a smile.
It’s like Dad’s still here.
I pull up beside the tree. Hauling the keys out of the ignition, I take a deep breath. I can do this. It’s Christmas. With family. Inhaling again, I nod to myself before shoving the door open and stepping onto the muddy ground. My eyes are fixed on the illuminated house.
‘Lara!’ Erica squeals, instantly appearing at the front door and sliding past the bow-covered wreath before jumping down the steps towards me.
‘Did Christmas throw up on this house?’ I tease, as I wrap my arms around my three-years-younger sister.
‘We did it for Dad,’ she replies, pulling back and looking up at me with twinkling blue eyes. It’s like looking at my father all over again.
I smile, turning her around and resting my arm on her shoulder. ‘I definitely think he’ll be able to see it from up there.’
Erica grins. ‘Good.’
‘Is that Lara?’ My gorgeous, blonde-haired Mum suddenly appears at the oak doorway. She smiles as she makes her way down the wooden stairs.
‘Hey, Mum,’ I greet, letting her pull me in for a hug. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine.’ She brushes off my concern. ‘Charlie has been waiting for you all day.’
‘As if.’ I scoff.
‘Something about you being the better sister to drink with,’ Mum adds with an amused grin.
‘Oh,’ I reply, a smirk covering my face. Erica rolls her eyes. ‘I can’t argue with that.’
‘Charlie!’ my sister snaps, running into the house. I laugh. Anyone would think she’s still fourteen, not twenty.
‘Ow.’ I grimace as I rub my ears. ‘I see Erica is just as loud as always.’
‘Nothing has changed,’ Mum replies, looping her arm through mine. ‘How was the drive?’
‘There was no snow,’ I report.
She smiles. ‘That’s good.’
‘How are you really, Mum?’ I ask and she shrugs.
‘I’ll be okay, Lara.’
‘But—’
‘It’s our first Christmas without him,’ she cuts me off. ‘It was always going to be hard. Having all three of you kids home helps.’
‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’ Leaning my head on her shoulder, we climb the steps to our home. My siblings’ argument is what greets me, and Mum huffs under her breath before we enter the chaos, a huge smile on my face.
***
There’s no longer a huge smile on my face.
I should have fought against this with all my might. I should have insisted we stay home. Instead, I didn’t do a damn thing.
‘We’ll see which sister really does better at drinking,’ Erica exclaims as soon as we step into the crowded pub. I shove my hands deep into my furry leopard-print coat and keep my head down to avoid being spotted. It’s only going to be a few minutes before someone I know recognises me. That’s how it works with small towns. Mrs Hollis from school will catch sight of her old student, Christie will notice the retired barmaid, David Scott will grumble about the town troublemaker being back.
‘Are you sure it was a good idea to go out the first night I’m home?’ I ask quickly.
Charlie looks down at me and raises an eyebrow. ‘Seriously? Do you not remember Mum pushing us out the door so that she can wrap presents in peace?’ he reminds me.
I pout. ‘Maybe she actually wants—’
‘Let it go, Lara,’ Erica says, smiling. She grabs hold of my hand, leading me towards the bar. The sight of the mahogany surface, the pub logo covering the drinks mats, the red tumblers filled with paper straws, the gold rim edging every surface… all of it has my heart racing, reality hammering home. I’m back. In Alford Lakes.
The last five times I’ve visited, I’ve stayed hidden in the farmhouse, never leaving the safety of our land. Apart from the funeral…
Christie hollers something from across the bar to someone else, wrenching me back to reality. A lump forms in my throat. Swallowing it down, I sidle closer to Charlie.
‘I’ll find a table,’ I tell him in a rush before ducking away. Knowing both of my siblings, if they choose where to sit, we’ll be in the middle of the room like zoo animals. And to everyone living here, that’s what I am.
Turning, I strategically move around each table, my shoulders high to hinder anyone seeing my face. Eying the tiny, rickety wooden table that’s always been in the back corner, I launch myself towards it and collapse onto the red-cushioned booth.
‘Wow,’ Charlie exclaims. The two of them approach, two glasses of mulled wine in my sister’s hands, Charlie with a pint of beer. ‘You certainly chose a table out of the way.’
‘It’s quieter,’ I try to justify. ‘At least we can hear each other here.’
‘I suppose,’ Charlie replies as Erica hands me a glass and they both sit down. ‘So, come on then… how’s life in the city?’
I take a deep breath and uncross my legs, letting the black-heeled boots tap loudly against the slate floor. ‘It’s good,’ I lie, keeping my expression neutral.
‘How come you haven’t invited us to stay with you for so long?’ Erica pouts.
‘You know my apartment is small.’
Erica hums, like she’s not fully believing my reasoning. ‘I bet the city is good at Christmastime.’
‘It’s… busy.’ The truth is, it’s absolutely amazing. One of the only things I truly love about it. The way the market takes over the city centre, the massive Christmas tree that stands in front of city hall, the Christmas tunes pouring from every shop, the late-night shopping on Thursdays. It’s magical.
But if my siblings knew that, they’d want to come and visit me.
‘That’s all you’re going to give us?’ Charlie asks, brow furrowing.
I shrug, waving them off playfully. ‘I’m the oldest. It’s only fair that I quiz the two of you first.’
Charlie scoffs. ‘It’s only one year.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Erica exclaims. ‘Mum says you can’t use that card!’
‘So?’ I grin. ‘Dad always encouraged it.’
She slouches back, sticking her tongue out as I lean into the numerous questions I have for them. I’ve won this round.
I’m four wines down before I finally work up the courage to leave the table and I stand up to head to the bathroom. The pub has thinned out, somewhat calming my anxiety. I convince myself that hauling my thick coat back on isn’t going to help me blend in, leaving it behind before stepping around the edge of the table. Not that I could tear it from my sister’s clutches if I wanted to. She’s been curled up in it for the past hour.
I keep my gaze on the far wall of the pub and successfully stride past all the tables, my heels clacking against the ground, heart hammering against my ribcage. I’m desperately worried I’ll be stopped by someone.
It’s not just the thought of being recognised, or coming back to this village. It’s not the fact that I swore I’d never return. It’s not even the bad reputation I left behind.
It’s just one specific person. One person I don’t want to see me.
I have no idea whether he still lives here, but judging by his attitude four years ago, I can’t imagine he’s moved. His views were set in stone, a stubborn personality that had me frustrated for days on end.
As I reach for the ‘Ladies’ door, I notice my hand is shaking. Gritting my teeth, I shove it open before falling inside. My breath is coming out hard and fast, and I prop myself up at the metal sink, gripping onto either side to steady myself.
I’m working myself up for no reason. No reason at all.
It’s a random Wednesday night, the week before Christmas. There’s no way he would be here tonight, even if he does still live here. It’s too much of a coincidence.
I’m being silly, ruining a perfectly good evening with my ridiculous ideas.
He never even liked the White Deer Inn. And, once again, he was stubborn. He wouldn’t be here.
See? You’re being silly...
I should just enjoy my evening. I should be able to raise my head and appreciate the Christmas decorations filling the pub. I can forget about the tiny, minuscule part of this town that I don’t want to see.
Lara, pull yourself together!
Turning from the sink, I slide into a cubicle and do my business before washing my hands. There’s a silver mirror pinned above the sink, and I look straight into it. False black eyelashes frame my dark blue eyes, and a red, twenty-four-hour lipstick still covers my lips, barely smudged. I drag my hands through the ends of my wavy dark hair before taking a much-needed deep breath.
I’m here to spend the holidays with my family. I should embrace all of it. Every single aspect the village has to offer. It’s what Dad would have wanted.
Smacking my hand against the wall beside the mirror, I straighten my spine, the glitter on my black bodysuit glimmering in the light.
Let’s do this.
I grab the door handle, head higher than ever, a smile on my face as I step back into the busy pub. Placing my foot down, it falls slightly heavier than I mean it to, my heel louder than usual, every face lifting to look at me.
It’s okay, Lara.
You’re not hiding anymore.
Not that it stops an uncomfortable heat from spreading over my cheeks.
Shooting a small apologetic smile at everyone, I duck my head and hurry past the crowd, cursing under my breath. So much for looking graceful and making a good impression. I may as well have walked in ringing a damn bell. Erica would have loved that...
‘Lara?’
I stop.
Frozen mid-step.
The deep, warm, familiar tone is just how I remember it sounding. There’s no way I could ever forget it. The low, slightly rough voice echoes through my body, every inch of it responding the same way it used to. My toes tingle in my freaking boots, my heart thumps so hard I can hear it in my ears, my forehead breaks out in a sweat.
I don’t want to look, but I need to. Slowly, I turn on my heel, not lifting my feet as I rotate. I’m not sure I could if I wanted to.
Nothing can prepare me for the sight of him. He’s stood up from a table that’s filled with men, all of them glancing between us. Neither one of us pay them any attention; his forest green eyes on me as my blue ones are him. His dark blonde hair is swept back, shorter than it ever used to be, yet his stubble is longer. He’s bulkier than I remember, but definitely in a good way. The familiar black leather jacket sits over his frame, tighter than before, a sure-fire way to send me flying straight back to four years ago.
Breathing in, I steady myself before gulping down the renewed lump in my throat.
‘Jax.’

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