Daisy: But I bet it will be less confusing for you.

Jules: ?

Daisy: Every woman in England is named Kate. What do you do when you can’t find each other out in public? If you yell Kate, a million women answer you. ;)

He made a noise, a cross between a snort and a grunt.

Jules: Don’t quit your day job, darling.

Daisy: I am funny. You said so last night.

Liam exhaled. “This scheme of yours will get you fired.”

“Perhaps that’s what I want to happen,” Sebastian muttered as his fingers flew over the keys.

Jules: I was drunk.

Daisy: Tea makes you drunk? What in the world did you add, besides honey and lemon?

He inwardly grinned. She knew exactly how he took his tea, and that he liked to drink it right before bed.

Jules: Fine. You were uproariously hilarious.

Daisy: Knew it. 

“Perhaps when it does, you’ll get yourself sorted out,” Liam murmured and Sebastian stopped typing.

“What are you implying?”

Leaning against Sebastian’s desk, his best friend ran a hand through his dark hair and worked at his tie. “Ordinarily, I classify you as not in the “he’s not a tosser group”, but this… It’s going to hurt the wrong people.”

“The only person it will hurt is Vladimir, and since he’s off in Morocco with his latest mistress, I’ll try not to get all—”

The door to his office swung open, and Ivan, his head of security walked in, grimmer than usual. “It’s been reported that your father’s yacht has exploded.”

Sebastian wasn’t surprised, not with the enemies Vladimir had made over the years. “I’m sure he’ll purchase a new one straightaway.”

Ivan shook his head, and Sebastian suddenly felt queasy.

“Nyet. Mr. Romanov and his friend were on it at the time.”

Sebastian’s vision blurred and there was a foreign pressure on his shoulder, squeezing him tight. He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air in the room and his tie was strangling him. He shot to his feet, his desk chair toppling to the floor with a loud bang against the marble, and clawed at the collar of his shirt.

“Bastian,” he heard Liam say.

An image of his father lifting him and Christian high in the air came to mind. The day was cold and sunny. Their mother had suggested an outing at the park. Vladimir had smiled at the three of them, his eyes bright blue and kind, as they ate their lunch. Contentment had flowed through his little body as they ran, trying to hoist a kite made of construction paper and straws into the sky.

“Papa,” he whispered, small child and grown man at the same time.

“Mr. Romanov?”

The image faded. “Christ,” he swore and pushed Liam away. He didn’t need his comfort. He didn’t want his comfort. “Take what you need, Ivan, and find out who’s responsible so they can be properly dealt with by the authorities.”

Ivan nodded. He knew exactly what Sebastian meant, and Sebastian was the only authority his head of security and personal bodyguard would obey.

He clenched his jaw and turned to face the window. God, he hated the view and the office, but he couldn’t leave. He was trapped by years of training, years of discipline by his father.

So, although he wanted to go with Ivan, he didn’t. He couldn’t. Hadn’t his father drilled the keep-your-nose clean mantra into his head for years? Sebastian, the Golden Child. The heir to the throne of the Romanov Empire. The one to make it above board in all things. Totally legitimate and legal.

Until now. Until Sebastian’s carefully laid plans had been thwarted by someone who hated his father more than he did.

“I know you and Vladimir weren’t on the best of terms, but still, bloody hell, I’m sorry,” Liam said softly from behind.

“I’m sorry, too,” Sebastian bit out and pivoted to face his friend. “I’m sorry I didn’t blow up the bastard myself.” Then he walked out of his office, down the hall, and made his way outside, into the dreary English afternoon.

***

Two weeks later

Daisy: Did you get the cupcakes I sent?

Jules: I did. Thank you.

Daisy: You’re welcome. You know…if you need a shoulder to cry on, I have one available. Or just lean on, since men don’t cry. But if you do, that’s okay. I won’t tell.

Jules: I’ll sort it all out on my own, but thank you.

Daisy: You’re welcome. So…how’s the weather?

Jules: Dreary, like my soul.

Daisy sent Jules an image of two people hugging. Ever since his father had passed away in his sleep, Jules had been noticeably quieter, not that she expected him to be chatty over e-mails and texts, but he was subdued, and there was nothing she could do about it, other than send him cupcakes and be there for him, in whatever way he needed her.

He sent her back a heart, and her heart danced in her chest, making it feel lighter than it had in days. Last week, after making no progress at all with the insurance company for the most recent and most expensive bill she’d ever been required to pay, she finally put her house up for sale. Her realtor had already secured a showing for this afternoon. Too bad the woman couldn’t have waited for a Monday, so Daisy could at least have the distraction of work.

Jules: What are you up to today?

Daisy glanced around Holland Springs Meadows before sitting down on a bench under a leafy green tree. Flags were placed on the graves of the fallen, including her dad’s, in honor of their service.

Daisy: Visiting my parents.

Jules: Does it ever get easier?

Tears blurred her vision, and the screen of her phone became unreadable.

Daisy: Not as fast as I’d like, but with friends like you, Haven, and Bella, it doesn’t get any harder.

Jules: Is there’s hope for me?

Daisy: Always.

One month later

Jules: I miss him, and I hate it. It’s like he’s all around me, and I can’t purge him fast enough.

Daisy: Take deep breaths. You don’t have to do it all at once.

Jules: So it’s okay for me to feel this way?

Daisy: As long as you’re feeling something, I think so.

Jules: What if I told you I was glad he was dead?

Daisy: Then I’d listen.

Jules: And?

Daisy: And what?

Jules: Obviously, that makes me a monster.

Daisy: No, it makes you human.

Jules: Thank you.

Daisy: What about your mom? Where does she fit in all this?

Jules: She practically danced on his grave. We don’t speak much.

Daisy: Maybe when all of this is over and everyone’s feelings have had a chance to settle, you’ll be able to speak to her a lot more.

Jules: Doubtful. Tell me something about your day. Something to make me smile and forget.

Daisy: This morning I put salt instead of sugar in my blueberry pie. It was disgusting. One of my customers ate an entire slice before telling me. She didn’t want to hurt my feelings. So I made her two whole pies, the right way, and sent them home with her.

Jules: God, I wish I could hold you right now…please disregard if I’ve overstepped my bounds.

Daisy: I’ll book a flight and you can hold me by tonight.

Jules: Save your money. I’m not fit for company, and the place I’m stuck in doesn’t help.

Daisy: Then go somewhere that has good memories for you.

Jules: I don’t have a place like that.

Daisy: Then make one. I’ll mail your cupcakes there.

Three months later

Jules: Finally sold the house I’d shared with my father, and bought a new one in a village called Cheam. The house is all brick, with ivy growing up the front. There’s a heart-shaped door knocker on the front door. The kitchen made me think of you—shiny appliances and lots of counter space. The garden in the back is nice. There’s a place where you can dine al fresco. I think you would love it.

Daisy: Send me pictures and I can pretend I’m there with you, cooking for us in your kitchen and eating outside while the birds sing and the breeze blows.

Jules: Do you think other people text like this?

Daisy: Who cares what other people do?

Jules: I care about what you think.

Daisy: Me too.

Jules: Do you have a Bucket List?

Daisy: I do. First thing on it: Go to England

Jules: I’m flattered.

Daisy: Um…I wrote it three years before I met you. Sorry. What’s your first one?

Jules: Ouch! A place to call home, with the woman who loves me waiting inside.

Daisy: That’s a very nice first.

Jules: Wishful thinking is always very nice.

Five months later

Daisy: Someone bought my house, for more than I hoped to get.

Jules: This makes you happy, yes? You can pay off that one last pesky insurance bill.

Daisy: I’ve never lived anywhere else. I feel like I’ve sold a piece of my heart.

Jules: Maybe the new owner will rent it out to you.

Daisy: I don’t want to rent it. Sending a check every month would remind me of what I’ve lost.

Jules: So what now?

Daisy: I found an apartment. It’s in town.

Jules: You can make happy memories there.

Daisy: Come stay with me, and you can be a part of them. Promise I won’t bite, and I’m not insane.

Jules: I’d love to, but I’m still not fit for company. In fact, I won’t be around for a month or two, if not longer.

Daisy: What are you up to, Jules? I’m worried for you.

Jules: Very bad things. Don’t worry. It’s hard to kill a monster.

Daisy: You’re not a monster. Stop beating yourself up.

Jules: I think it’s best if we don’t talk for a while.

Daisy: Although that’s not what I want, I’ll respect your wishes. Please find someone to talk to. I think you’re having a harder time with your dad’s death than you think.

Jules: Good-bye, Daisy.

Sebastian strolled down a dark street in West End, without his bodyguards in tow. Not the smartest idea he’d ever had.

Lately, however, whatever had seemed smart was immediately discarded in favor of really bad ideas. Or in this case, really bad parts of the city. On a foggy (what else?) night.

Honestly, he didn’t care. He’d been living life like his twin used to live: carelessly and selfishly. His affairs were public, his partying endless, and his behavior extremely rude.

So much so, that his closest friends had stopped going out with him. Hell, all but Liam had stopped answering his calls. Even Kate avoided him, and she’d known him for as long as Liam had. Though he was sure their very public breakup had something to do with it.

Not that he cared anymore. He didn’t care about anyone or anything. Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Try as he might, he could not put one woman out of his mind. Daisy filled his waking hours, sober or not. She filled his dreams. Her name was constantly on his lips, no matter whose lips were on him.

This, of course, made him the worst sort of ass. It made him a user. It made him his father.

Pausing in front of a darkened shop, he exhaled and wondered for the first time if what he was doing made any sense. How was being this way getting back at Vladimir if he was becoming exactly like him? Or at the very least, a pale imitation of the man.

There were some things Vladimir had done that Sebastian would never lower himself to do. Some things he would never use his power, position, or strength to do to another human being.

All at once, he heard a smack and then a woman screamed. His first instinct was to call 999 for help, and stay firmly put in order help the police. His second instinct was to take matters into his own hands.

Another scream and he took off, running as fast as he could. He just could make out the blurred shapes of two people, one noticeably bigger than the other. The fog cleared and Sebastian was practically on top of them.

The woman shoved at the man. “Get off.”

“Change your mind yet?” The man raised his arm, one hand a beefy fist ready to strike.

Without thinking, Sebastian stepped forward, grabbed the man’s wrist, and spun him around. He jerked the man’s arm up and pressed it against his back. “Better keep your hands to yourself.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Ah, but it does. It concerns every man when a woman’s being abused.”

“She hit me first,” the man whined. “And she owes me money.”

Cold fury rose inside of Sebastian. Vladimir used to make the same excuse whenever he would lay a hand on Sebastian and Christian’s mother. She made me do it. She hit me first. Always, his father blamed the victim. They had it coming.

“That’s a lie,” the woman spat. She turned pleading eyes on Sebastian. “He sold me to one of his mates. I can’t go through that again, but I’ve a little one at home, and she needs to eat.”

“You were willing enough, until this guy showed up,” the man said.

Sebastian tightened his grip and turned the man’s hand at a rather painful angle—something Sebastian knew from firsthand experience. The man let out a scream when the wrist bone on the right cracked. “Okay, okay. I’ll stay away from her. Just let me go.”

“You’re lying,” Sebastian said coldly and then turned to the woman standing beside him. Her face was battered and bruised, her clothes torn on her skinny body, and her hair stringy, but she didn’t have the look of a junkie, not that it mattered to him. He would help her and her child (if she really had one), regardless.

The man struggled against him, landing a blow to the side of Sebastian head. His ear rung and his vision blurred, but he’d had suffered worse. Far worse. These were like love taps compared to what his father and his father’s former bodyguards had done to him.