Slipping on some Jimmy Choos, I straighten my tits in my dress and run my nude lipstick over my lips one last time. As soon as I landed yesterday, I crashed at a hotel. Jerry and his MIB’s probably would have rather I be at the White House, you know, thus making their life and job a little easier, but the less time I spend with my dad, the better. For my own sanity.

“Thanks, Jerry!” I knock on the glass separator in the back of the limo, fluffing up my hair. It cranks down, and Jerry’s eyes come to mine in the rearview mirror. “I’ll be a few minutes. Behave yourself, Isa.”

“Aw,” I tease, giving him a small wink. “I always behave myself, and anyway, what could I possibly get myself into at the palace?”

He sighs, and then the separator is closing. I guess that conversation is over. I shouldn’t give Jerry such a hard time, but I’m guessing he’s used to it now what with almost five years dealing with me. Sighing, I gaze out the window as we pull in. I hate this place. It represents all things that I’m not. I’m not superior, nor do I think I am. I know that not all presidential candidates are like that, but my father, though he has America’s best interest at heart – always—is. He seems to leave his kids—my sister and I—to fend for ourselves almost all of the time. Or, he likes to think that all the men he has employed will do it for him. Which they do – every time. More Jerry than anyone else, but I always have at least three secret service agents following me around twenty-four seven. I’ve played poker with Jerry. He has chased away my one-night stand guys who wouldn’t leave my apartment. He has answered my cell phone when other guys never got a clue that I wasn’t interested, pretending to be my Navy Seal husband. In that regard, though, Jerry would be way scarier than any Navy Seal. My sister, on the other hand, isn’t as much hard work. She has her own MIB’s that follow her around, including her very own Jerry, who goes by the name of Chan. I’m truly not sure whether his actual name is Chan, I’ve just always called him that because he resembles Jackie Chan, and I never cared to know what his real name was. She’s the poster child for my father. Harvard law student, articulate, smart, classy. Everything that I’m not. I don’t think I’m not smart, but I believe more in doing something that sets your soul on fire than something that will make you miserable just to keep your father happy. That’s not me and not what I’m about at all. I tried, when I was younger, to satisfy my father and be something that he could be proud of, but every time my sister was around I would get tossed under the mat, so eventually, I stopped trying. I slowly started to realize that I don’t need to rely on family to make me feel wanted. There are lots of different ways you can make yourself feel good. Never rely on anyone else for that.

One of the security personnel pushes open the front door for me, so I walk in, slamming it closed just as the strap of my shoe comes undone.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Running my fingers through my hair to push the mass of brown strands out of my face, I hop up and down like a maniac while trying to fix my shoe. Eventually, my bouncing around moves me toward the back of the house where there’s a huge tent set up for the event. I’m still not sure what event this is for—charity, I think Lydia said.

I’m still attempting to push my damn shoe on when I see how many people are here. Finally, I hook the little buckle back into its hole, swiping a glass of wine from a passing waiter before downing it in one go. These things are bad for my diet, not because of all the food, but because of all the alcohol I consume.

“Isa.” One lady nods her head in passing. She’s wearing a bright red dress that screams ‘I’m important’, but I don’t know who the fuck she is, so I smile. “Hello,” I respond with my own head nod. I’m so terrible at this. Maybe I was adopted or swapped at birth. I’ve always felt out of my element at these things despite the fact that I’ve been around it all my life. I have never been able to get used to it.

I look toward the front of the marquee, taking another sip of my wine when I stop. My skin blazes to life, the air gets sucked out of my lungs and the soft melody of whatever bullshit song that was playing disappears into the background of my heavy breathing. There, standing next to my father deep in discussion, is Bryant Royal. The Bryant Royal. When I say the, I mean the egotistical ass from the other night. Can I say he was an ass, though? I mean he didn’t really out rightly be an asshole to me, but his whole “I’m Lord” attitude pissed me off, so yes, I’m sticking to he’s an arse. My father looks as though he’s talking his ears off, though. He sure is fond of Royal. I can’t help the snarky chuckle that leaves me.

Just as Bryant brings the rim of his glass to his lips, his eyes swoop to mine and then he pauses with his glass halting just short of his mouth. A sexy stupid grin tugs on the edge of his lips as he slowly tips his glass to me in a small gesture before downing all its contents. Why is it the more I see him, the more I think he looks familiar? I can’t even trust my own brain, though, because there are times when I meet people and I think I’ve seen them before, but it turns out, they just look uncannily similar to someone I’ve seen on television.

It’s probably just because he’s ‘Bryant Royal.’

I do a small curtsy to him Jesus fucking Christ. Why the fuck did I just curtsy him? Maybe because he’s fucking American royalty. Yes, I’ve done my research. As soon as I got home after that dinner, I Googled “Bryant Royal” and was surprised what came up.

Bryant Saint Royal

Twenty-seven years old.

Youngest New York mogul to hit US soil in decades.

Russian roots.

CEO of Royal Enterprise Holdings.

“Bryant Royal is American Royalty and is our very own high flying bachelor. Never pictured with the woman once, we wonder how such a man keeps his activities so private.”

Yeah okay, so I googled a little deeper than what would be deemed appropriate. Bryant’s cold hard eyes go back to my father, obviously ignoring my witty curtsy and continues his conversation. Swallowing the rest of my spritzy champagne, I head toward the table laid with food. Second best thing about these things—the Champs being number one—is the food. I’m picking at a bunch of grapes when my dad calls out to me from across the room.

“Isa!” My father’s voice feels as though it ripples through the room.

I stop my greedy food grabbing and turn to face him slowly. “Yes?”

“Come here for a second.” He come-hithers his index finger. I widen my eyes slightly at my father, and then slowly glance around the room, remembering where I am. Remembering I have to behave myself. I don’t need to cause a scene here, and I don’t want to. I try to pick and choose my fights with daddy-dearest, and this isn’t one of them.

“Crap,” I mutter annoyingly under my breath, just as another waiter passes me. I quickly swoop up another flute, bringing it to my mouth as I make my way toward them.

“Hmmm?” I murmur around the rim of my glass, just as I reach their table. My eyebrows raise slightly in defiance, but admittedly, that’s more aimed at Bryant than my father.

“This is Bryant Royal.”

Jesus, now he’s getting Alzheimer’s.

“I know, Dad. I met him at the charity thing a couple nights ago.” I take another long—very, very long— gulp of my wine.

My dad brushes off my response. “He’s the reason why we’re throwing this party, Isa, pay attention.” Wait. Pay attention? Is he joking, I haven’t missed anything at all.

“Sorry.” I am not sorry. Bringing my hands to my mouth, I swipe at the small drop of champagne that fell onto my lip, and I’m just about to end my sentence with something sarcastic, when I again, remember where I am. I really, really, hate these fucking things. Tilting my head, I humor them both. “And why is he throwing this party here?”

“Because he’s just made a large settlement, and it’s here because I offered.” My father looks to my wine glass. “How many have you had?” ‘Large settlement’ I have learned, is code for ‘this-is-something-important-that-little-people-won’t-understand,’ and I’m cool with this, because I really, really don’t care.

“Not enough.” There’s a slight snap in my undertone when I reply before I finally let my eyes rest on Bryant. “Congratulations on your…settlement.” Whatever the fuck that means. “Excuse me,” I murmur, side-stepping away from Bryant and moving to the other side of the tent to raid the buffet. I can’t pass up free food. Piling small finger food onto my napkin, it’s not long before someone clears their throat from behind me.

I crank my head over my shoulder slightly, a grin tickling my lips when I see who it is. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Bryant steps closer to me, his hands going into his pockets. He narrows his eyes. “Yeah, actually, you could.”

“Oh?” I pop a grape into my mouth. “Do go on, your highness.”

His eye twitches, but he keeps glaring at me, and it feels like hot fire searing through the glacial glades of the Antarctic. I’m not sure how that would feel, but I’m guessing it would be this. His razor-sharp angular jaw clenches before his dark eyes find mine quickly. “You’re going to do me a favor.”

I chuckle, turning my back to him and snatching another bunch of grapes. “Why on earth would I do you a favor?”

I feel him before I see him. His hard chest slightly presses against my back, enough to light up everything that is in the direction of south, but then his breath falls on the nape of my neck and his strong hands grip around the curve of where my waist sinks in, and I find my thighs clenching together. “Because I have something you want.” He shoves me into his groin. Not enough to alert passersby, just enough force to tell me he’s not playing around.

My eyes slowly close and my head tilts to the side softly, stupidly asking for his touch. “And what might that be?” It comes out as a small whisper. Damn it. Would I sleep with him? Hell. I’m pretty sure I’ve woken up to worse.

“They should call me wolf...” My eyes snap open and a light panic begins to pulse deep under my flesh. There’s no way. I would remember him—I would surely remember. Though, I don’t remember much of those days.

Tensing, I spin around to face him again, my eyes burning with so much intensity I hope he shrivels in his very spot. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Fuck. Please. Please let this be some bullshit game. He’s bluffing, he’s gotta be.

Bryant cracks his neck, a devious grin pulling across his mouth. He smiles politely at a passerby, before bringing his attention back to me. “Summer 2012. That night ring a bell to you?”

My chest contracts. Fucking contracts like a woman’s uterus right before she’s about to birth a fucking ten pounder. I look down to the floor, trying to do the math, but the swirly patterns that are encrypted into the soft plush rug all begin to blur and the room…holy mother of shit, the room begins to spin slightly.

Gripping onto the corner of the table to stop me from falling, I whisper out, “Wh-at? This—this doesn’t make any sense.”

Shrugging, he swallows the rest of his wine in one smooth movement, his Adam’s apple bobbing softly and his lips glistening from the wine that had slid over them. Placing his empty glass back on the table, he brings his bleak eyes back to mine. “Yeah, that was me. Amongst the others, if you remember anything at all, that is… So here’s the deal…”

I flinch back my tears. I am strong. I am wild. I am a survivor.

I think.

Fuck. Are you still a survivor if you can’t remember the darkest part of your memories? Or does that make you a coward by nature, that even when you don’t realize it, your body is spinelessly burying shit that it knows you couldn’t handle. But even so, all the hard work I put into forgetting that night, forgetting what I’d done and how bad I had gotten, it all meant shit now because all it took was for him to say one little word, one word—Wolf—and all feelings, all the hurt and pain I felt was beginning to all come back tenfold. I bring my cold eyes up to his, a new-found hate, a hate so strong it overpowers my legs wanting to wrap themselves around him. “What?” I snap, grinding my teeth together. “What do you want.”

Bryant’s dark eyes search mine eagerly, a sadistic smirk skimming across his lips. “You marry me, and I’ll make sure no one ever sees the tape.”

“What!” I cough loudly before a spastic of fits erupt from my throat. “Excuse me, but what?” I drop to a deathly whisper, inching myself closer to him. “And what fucking tape are you talking about?”

“You don’t ask questions,” he adds, smiling at another person walking pass as if he didn’t just tell me I was going to fucking marry him and that he possibly has evidence to some very disturbing shit that happened years ago.

“See, that won’t work for me. I’m a question asker,” I retort, my lip curled in disgust.

“It will have to work.”

“Huh.” I shake my head. “If you have anything of that night—”

“—Stop thinking, and I do have shit from that night. You know within yourself that I do. Look into my eyes, Isa.” he comes closer to me, but my hands fly up instinctively, pushing him away.

He ignores my push as if It’s nothing, and cocks his head. “Who am I?” He looks between each of my eyes, a cocky smirk tilting the corner of his mouth. “Who,” he whispers, leaning forward until his warm lips brush over my earlobe. “Am I,” he ends harshly into my ear, his warm breath ticking over my flesh.

I close my eyes. Fight it, Isa. “Fuck you, don’t tell me what to do.”

There. I showed him.

“Great start, baby, come…” he places his hand out to me.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I need proof that what you’re saying is true, and also! My dad, my best friends, they’re not going to believe I fell in love with your pretty fucking eyes the first time I saw you. They know I’m smarter than that.” This is true, though I can’t see my father arguing it, in fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he orchestrated the whole thing—that’s how much he adores Bryant.

Bryant shrugs. “Then just tell them it was my cock. Bet they’d believe that.”

My face scrunches in offense, but then my frown falls. “Actually, they’re probably more inclined to believe that.” Sad, but true. “But I will still need proof. That video, what happened that night, your friends,” my voice drops to a low whisper, “no one can know. Ever.” There’s one part of that night I remember vividly, and that’s the part that I’m guessing Bryant has evidence on.

His eyes search mine. “Oh, I’m well aware how much you wouldn’t want people to know what happened that night. Tell me…” he steps forward until his lips are skimming over my jaw, “do his dead eyes haunt your dreams at night?” My breathing stops, and my lip trembles. Stepping backward, I search his eyes. “I know who you are,” I whisper, searching his eyes. It’s him. It’s Wolf. Even though he looks different now, I will always remember those eyes.

He grins again, his eyelids heavy and his eyes dark. “Say it.”

I open my mouth, but then close it, not wanting to entertain his bullshit games. “Let’s go. I need to see this fucking tape.” Snatching my clutch off the table, I leave my wine. My poor, innocent wine. Just as I’m about to step forward, his hand catches mine, tugging me backward forcefully. “Nah uh, baby.” He steps closer, his arm wrapping around my neck to pull me under his arm. “We need people to start questioning our actions for this to be believable. It starts now.” He kisses the side of my head as we start making our way back toward my father. My skin is crawling from the remnants of memories he’s left floating around me. My whole attitude has changed. I no longer care about the wine or the food, I just want to see the fucking tape.

I plaster on a fake smile anyway, forcing myself to melt into his hard body. Over the years, I’ve mastered the art of the fake smile. “Dad,” I announce as soon as we come near. My father looks between both of us with confusion, but I see the moment when understanding sets in. My dad knows me. Knows I’ve never hidden the fact that I have a healthy sexual appetite so he would think that I’ve just seduced Bryant into some of my shenanigans. That is, of course, if he hadn’t orchestrated this, which if I go by his response to seeing Bryant’s arm around me, is a solid no.

“Yes?” He can’t even try to hide his joy. Cheers, Dad, just another thing to add to your ‘Best Dad Ever’ list.

“We’re going to leave, is that okay?” I continue with that Oscar-worthy smile.

His face lights up, obviously pleased with what he thinks, is going to be my next bed partner.

“Of course. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Bryant smiles, his hand falling onto my tailbone where he presses down softly. “Thank you for throwing such a successful night, Peter.”

My dad smiles appreciatively and nods in excitement. Idiot. My father is an idiot. Well done, America. “Of course, Bryant. It’s a great cause to contribute my time to.”

We both say our goodbyes to the few people who Bryant wanted to say goodbye to and then walk back through the main foyer, smiles still on our faces and our bodies still twisted around each other. Passing questioning looks from the workers and a few attendees, we push through the large front doors, and as soon as my feet land on the tiled steps, I pull away from him instantly, letting the cold air of the night trickle over my now hot flesh. “Don’t touch me again!”

Bryant chuckles. “Yeah, sure, say it like you mean it next time.” He hands the young valet boy his parking ticket and the young boy looks back at Bryant in adoration, smiling. “I won’t be long, sir.”

Stupid fucking kid.