It’s hard to believe I’ve only been here a few days, as it feels like I never left. I never anticipated my life could alter so dramatically in the blink of an eye. I also never foresaw that I’d be stepping into this bar ever again.

I don’t bother with pretenses, and after being patted down by my new favorite security guard, I make a beeline straight for the bar. The place is crowded, packed full, but seeing as I don’t want to order a drink, I walk over to the end of the counter and hail a young bartender. The mohawked server doesn’t see me, but sadly, London’s squeeze does.

Her eyes narrow into slits when we lock gazes, but I stand tall and wave her over. If she decides to ignore me, I have no reservations pulling her down this long aisle by her hair. She tosses the dishcloth she’s holding onto the bar and whispers into mohawk’s ear.

He looks me up and down and snickers, but nods.

She saunters over in no real hurry, obviously knowing I’m here because I need something from her. She owes me no favors, and I’m sure she’ll ensure I know it. “What do you want?”

It’s so loud in here, I have to scream to be heard. “I need to see London. Is he here?” I don’t see the point in sugarcoating it.

She tongues her cheek and shakes her head. “You’ve got some nerve coming here. Just in case you didn’t know, Sin is my man.”

If she’s looking for a fight, then she has another thing coming. “My condolences,” I bite back, annoyed. “My name is Holland, and I…”

I linger midsentence because her reaction derails me from my thoughts. She looks as if I’ve just solved some longstanding mystery. “You’re Holland?”

“Um, yes,” I reply, unsure if this is a trick question.

Her entire demeanor goes from bitch to scolding lover in a nanosecond. She marches forward and jabs her finger in my chest. “Get out. Now.”

“Excuse me.” I swat away her hand because she has three seconds to remove herself from my personal space before I snap her finger. “Get your hands off me. I don’t know where they’ve been.”

“If you don’t leave, so help me god…” She tries to intimidate me by thrusting her fake boobs into my chest. I do not appreciate the sentiment in the slightest.

“What are you going to do? Suffocate me to death?” I push back twice as hard, getting into her face, refusing to back down. It’s survival of the strongest, and I eat little girls like this for breakfast.

Just as I’m about to resort to hair pulling, a strong hand grips my upper arm and spins me around. It takes the wind from my sails, but when I see London standing before me, a little intrigued, but a lot pissed off, I’m rendered incapacitated.

“Why are you here?”

Regaining my composure, I yank from his hold and match his heated glower. “What happened to Belle?” The room drops to subzero temperatures.

London is the only person I know who will tell me the truth. I could have gone to her parents, but they never cared about their daughter, and I don’t see that changing over the years.

“Did you hear me?” I press when he stands before me, weighing up what to say.

This is not exactly the response I was hoping for. I’d hope he’d tell me Belle was living the high life with the man of her dreams. But his troubled expression reveals I’d hope wrong.

“Why is she here? Throw her out now.”

“Sandy, enough!” London growls, running a hand through his snarled hair. Even I recoil from the wrath behind his words.

Tears prick her eyes, but she bravely blinks them back. “After all this time, I finally get to meet the third wheel.”

Her comment winds me. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Just as I’m about to ask her, London latches onto my arm once again and drags me away from Sandy, who allows the tears to break past the floodgates. A small part of me feels sorry for her because I know what it’s like to be held under London’s spell.

But I have other things to deal with, like London dragging me through the crowd like some underage troublemaker. I could attempt to break free, but I’m hoping wherever he takes me has the answers I desperately seek.

I’m surprised when we walk through the door together and my ass doesn’t hit the pavement. “Is she causing trouble again?” asks the security guard.

I roll my eyes at him while London tightens his grip around my bicep. “She’s always causing trouble, Manny. That’ll never change.”

I don’t appreciate being hauled away like some criminal, but when we continue walking, headed toward the parking garage, I seal my lips and wonder what happens now. London escorts me to a monstrous black Chevy pickup, where he opens the passenger door.

“Get in,” he commands when I stand still. Breaking from his hold, I scrunch up my nose, far from impressed with his demands. When I open my mouth, prepared to give him an earful, he steps forward, caging me in his burn. “You can either get in of your own accord, or I can help you.”

There will be no helping on his behalf. “You wouldn’t dare,” I contest, but yelp when he bends at the knees to pick me up, intent on throwing me over his shoulder.

I dance out of the firing line, hands raised in surrender. “Okay, fine.”

Without much of a choice, I climb up the step and boost myself into the truck. I’m in six-inch heels, but I don’t let that deter me. Once I’m settled, I make a point to reach for the seat belt and buckle myself in. Satisfied, he slams the door shut, the reality of what I’m doing sinking in.

I watch as he rounds the hood, clearly frustrated. I secretly exhale in relief when he opens the door and gets in beside me. The motor comes to life with a roar, a reflection of how we both feel. Neither of us says a word when London puts the car into drive and sails into traffic.

Now that I’m semi-rational, the consequences of my actions hit home. Lincoln is probably never going to talk to me again, but that was a probability even before I decided to walk into the bar. I have no idea what is next for us. I saw a side of him I didn’t like—it made me feel like I was only ever worth covert kisses.

Turning to peer out the window, I watch as my life flashes me by. So much has changed, but could it be some things haven’t changed at all? I refuse to believe Lincoln is someone other than I believe him to be. The past few years cannot have been for nothing.

The rest of the ride pans out in silence, but the unspoken is enough to fill in the stillness.

Before long, the salty smell of sand and surf permeates the air. Snapping from my thoughts, I see we’re in Santa Monica. I’ve always loved this neighborhood. Still a touch of bohemia lingers. London takes a left and drives up a long driveway, coming to a stop at a keypad. He punches in some numbers before the boom gates open, granting us entry.

I’m still deathly quiet as he parks the truck beneath an apartment complex and kills the engine. Scoping out my surroundings, I shrug. “Why are we here?”

“Because I live here.” There is no further explanation.

When he jumps from the truck, I figure that’s my cue to do the same. I unsnap my belt, a bundle of nerves. I don’t let it show as I very ungracefully dismount from the beast, almost re-twisting my ankle. I straighten out my dress, however, head held high.

London’s lips twitch, but that’s where the humor ends. He reaches for a set of keys from his pocket and enters the stairwell. Again, I’m presuming I’m to follow.

As each floor passes, a weight settles heavier in my stomach. I have no idea what I’m walking into, but just like always, I trust London. When we finally reach the fifth floor, London opens the stairwell door, holding it ajar for me.

I brush past him, instantly engulfed in his warm scent.

“Which way?” I ask, the huskiness to my tone betraying my nerves. London points to the left.

I make my way down the very sophisticated looking, glassed hallway, but it doesn’t stink of arrogance or wealth. I have no doubt this place with ocean views straight to the west and all the way up the Malibu coastline would cost a small fortune, but something is almost homey about it.

It’s quiet, something that doesn’t happen often in this town, but the serenity helps clear my head. Just like the rolling waves beyond me, a sense of calm surrounds me and sweeps away the anxiety.

When we stop at door five fifteen, I take a deep breath. I have no idea what’s just beyond this door, but I’m ready to find out. It whines open like the hinges on my heart when I step inside this beautiful home.

I don’t know what I expected his residence to look like, but this is something else.

The first thing that hits me is how bright and buoyant it is. The open kitchen, living, and dining areas are surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass, giving me a three-sixty view of the breathtaking scenes. Peering upward, a white staircase and pleated railing reveal the elegance continues on the second floor.

“Do you want a drink?” London asks, disturbing me from my gawking.

“Sure. Thanks.” I continue gazing around, taking in the sights, liking what I see.

A painting on the far wall in the living area catches my eye, so I walk toward it, wanting to take a closer look. When I see what it actually depicts, I stop dead in my tracks, barely breathing. It’s spectacular, the centerpiece a sycamore tree resting innocently beneath a star-filled sky. I’ve seen this before, not on paper but in my head. I’ve relived this moment too many times to count because it kicked off a chain reaction which changed my life forever.

“Here.” I jolt, lost in memories. London passes me a beer.

This seems so civil; I’m waiting for the catch. Is someone going to jump out of the closet and shake things up further than they already are?

“I promise I didn’t spit in it.” I recoil backward because is he making jokes now? As he tosses back his beer, I sense he’s as nervous as I am. This can’t be good.

Needing the courage, I take a long sip, cringing at the bitterness, but the moment the bite hits the back of my throat, I relish in the taste. I have no idea how this is going to end. He knows why I came to him, but I still don’t know why I’m here.

“London, what’s going on? As much as I hate to admit it, you’re the only person who will tell me the truth.” The desperation is clear, but I’ll beg if I have to.

“What happened tonight?”

A sarcastic snicker escapes me. “I have no clue. Lincoln just transformed from loving fiancé to gigantic jerk in a heartbeat.”

London shakes his head, the anger rising. “He’s always been a jerk. That’s never changed.”

“Well, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think, considering last I checked you weren’t exactly in line for sainthood.”

“I never claimed to be. You knew what I was, who I am, yet here you are,” he offers, tipping his beer in salute before he downs the entire bottle.

His smugness irks me. I place the beer on the glass coffee table before I’m enticed to use it as a weapon. “I’m here because you owe me answers.”

“And you owe me an explanation as to why the fuck you would ever consider marrying that asshole,” he snaps, his breath leaving him in winded exhalations.

I take a physical step backward before I slap him. “Because I love him,” I weakly reply, but London sees straight through me.

“You do not.”

“Don’t you dare tell me who I do or do not love. I’m not sixteen anymore.”

His gaze scalds my flesh as he studies me from top to bottom. “I can see that. But even then, I never told you who you should or shouldn’t love.”

My lips clamp shut. Where is he going with this?

He takes one step forward. I take two back. But my retreat only seems to spur him on. “Why are you here?”

“I told you…” I swallow, suddenly feeling like prey.

“You’re here for answers.” He fills in the blanks but seems unconvinced. We continue our slow dance around the living area, me retreating, he advancing. “Why don’t you ask your perfect fiancé?”

His antagonism is not helping, and I suddenly regret coming to him for help. “Just forget about it. I should have known nothing would have changed between us.”

I turn to make a mad dash for the door, but London reads me like a book. He steps to the left, blocking my exit. “Move out of the way,” I demand, but he doesn’t budge.

“You’re right; nothing has changed between us.” I have no idea how to interpret his comment because it can be read in so many different ways.

His arrogance is my undoing, and I charge forward, ready to lay all my cards on the table once and for all. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who left me!” I jab my thumb so hard into my chest, it’s bound to leave a bruise. “You’re the one who ruined me, and now, now, I think…I think I’m broken,” I confess to not only London, but also myself. What other explanation is there? “You broke me.”

I hate how weak I sound. I hate myself even more so when tears leak from the corner of my eyes.

“Princess…”

But I don’t want his sympathy. All I ever wanted was his love. “No, don’t.” I retreat when he attempts to console me. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I just want t-to k-know the tr-truth.”

“Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.”

“Why? My tears never seemed to bother you in the past! If I remember correctly, each tear was a notch on your victory belt.” Big, fat ugly tears cascade down my cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away as more will only take their place.

He closes his eyes, pained. “That’s not true.”

I can’t stand this a second longer. With wrath as my driving force, I storm forward, pressing us front to front. “Then why did you do it? Why would you play me like that? I never thought you hated me that much!”

He hisses, turning his cheek, my words slapping him harshly.

“Tell me the truth, please, just this once. Please.” A god-awful sob escapes me, and I know it’s the first of many to come. “I can’t do this anymore. If you feel anything, anything at all for me, please just tell me the truth.”

This conversation is ten years in the making. It was inevitable it would come to this.

London’s shoulders slump, and he finally, after all these years, he finally surrenders…to me. “I wasn’t the one to move away without a word! You knew where I was, but you just vanished. You disconnected your phone; how was I supposed to call you to make sure you were all right?”

“You c-called me?” The stutter highlights my utter surprise.

“Of course, I did! It was like you disappeared, but after a while, I knew you didn’t want to be found.” He bites his upper lip, sucking the scar deep into his mouth.

“You could have tried harder,” I whimper, unbelieving what he just revealed.

“I did try! Ask your dad how hard I tried.”

“My dad?” The room begins spinning. “What has he got to do with this?”

When London chews over his scar once again, lost in the past, I remember my mom’s ambiguous warning. “We all make mistakes.”

I had no idea what she meant, but now, I think I do. “My father gave you that, didn’t he?” He raises those soulful orbs, but he doesn’t need to reply. The answer is reflected deep within. “Oh god.” I hug my arms around my middle, needing a minute to collect my thoughts.

“For obvious reasons, I couldn’t ask your parents, but after a while, I just couldn’t stand it. I knew I was committing suicide by knocking at your front door, but I had to know where you were.”

I blink past my tears, clinging to this small snippet of information, hopeful it’ll lead to more.

“I begged your parents to tell me where you’d gone, but your dad had every right to throw me off that porch and beat the living shit out of me. I hurt you, and I deserved everything I got. After everything I put you through, it was long overdue.”

I cover my gaping mouth, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Once he was done, your mom told me that you were happy, and that if I felt anything for you, I’d leave you alone. I’d let you live your life and not interfere because you deserved a chance to be happy.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my breakdown. It sounds like something she’d say. But little did she know, London was my happy.

“What she meant was that you could never be happy with me. And she was right. What kind of future could we have?” He exhales heavily, interlacing his hands behind his nape.

“So everything you said to me…the night we made love, was that all bullshit? Just to get in my pants? To teach me a lesson?”

London is throwing me breadcrumbs, but I’m still no closer to finding out the truth.

He advances forward, catching me completely off guard when he cups both my cheeks. He searches my eyes, my face, the look accelerating my heartbeat to an unhealthy rhythm. “It wasn’t just sex to me…it was everything.”

I burst into a strangled sob. He felt it too. After all these years, I lived with such regret, but now a small piece of my soul is remedied. “So you didn’t use me as some pawn to get back at Lincoln and Belle?”

“What?” He shakes his head; incredulous I would even ask that of him. “Of course not. Why would you ever think that?”

“Because that’s what Lincoln told me.” London’s breaths begin to mount. “And that’s what you confirmed.”

His hands slip from my face, the confusion as bright as day. “I confirmed? How?”

Sniffing back my tears, I confess, “I came to see you the day after, when you stood me up at work. Your mom was her usual charming self, but before I left, I saw Belle’s car…and then I saw you looking out your window. You let me go.”

The memory is just as raw as it was when I lived it.

I have no idea what London is thinking. He looks to be on the verge of destroying something or slipping into a comatose state. “I never saw you.”

“Don’t,” I whisper, unable to stomach anymore lies.

“It’s the truth. Do you think I would have let you leave after that night?” he poses, appearing disgusted I would ever think that of him.

“I don’t know. Why would Lincoln lie? Why did Belle confess to kissing him? Why didn’t you meet me? Tell me, London. What else am I supposed to believe?” My pleas are honest and heartfelt.

But the most damning piece of evidence is one that still torments me. “And your note.” I shake my head, distraught. “You said…you won. Won a game I never wanted to play.”

London fists both hands through his hair before he begins pacing the room. I watch as he grows more annoyed, incensed. “I can’t believe this. Is that why you left?”

I nod slowly, my lower lip quivering. “That, and what I did. I’m a horrible person. I’m a coward. I ran away because I wasn’t woman enough to face my sins.” There, I said it. I’ve run away for so long, but eventually, our demons all catch up to us. “This guilt has eaten a hole straight through me, and each day I live with this regret, I’m losing sight of who I am.”

“What a fucking mess,” he mumbles, interlacing his hands on the top of his head.

His tattoo of the piano keys, coupled with a crown, the one which caught my eye all those years ago, does the same once again. The vibrant colors jump out at me, and I don’t know why. London stops pacing, eyeing me closely. When he realizes what I’m staring at, he sighs.

“Do you believe me?”

That’s the million-dollar question.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” My eyes feel like sandpaper as I rub at them, wishing my vision would clear. “Why were you so adamant for me not to come to prom? You stated loud and clear that you weren’t interested in fighting over what was yours.” The memory has bile rising up my throat. “Were you afraid I’d steal Belle’s limelight?”

“That is the most absurd thing you’ve ever said.” He deadpans me.

“Did you or did you not say Lincoln was to make sure I didn’t come to prom because you weren’t interested in fighting over what was yours?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think.” I wait, frantic for him to explain. He averts his gaze, running a hand down his face. “Everything I’ve done…I’ve done for you.”

A small whimper slips past my lips. He’s said this to me once before. When he was inside me, when nothing else mattered but us, he declared, “All these years, everything…it’s all for you.”

But what does that mean?

“You really think I could give two fucks about prom? C’mon, Princess. Think about how ridiculous that sounds.”

Thinking about it now, I suppose he’s right. But back then, all this made perfect sense. Now, it’s all a bloodied massacre. “I know, but Lin—”

He raises his hand in warning. “If you say his name one more time, I won’t be held accountable for my actions when I find that lying son of a bitch and kill him.” I promptly seal my lips shut.

I’m too afraid to move. So when London walks over and reaches for my hand, I submit and allow him to take charge, as I don’t even know what I want anymore.

My hand fits perfectly in his, the warmth thawing out the permanent chill in my bones. He silently leads me through his home, marching up the carpeted stairs. I wish I could appreciate the elegance of his home, but all I can focus on is not having a nervous breakdown.

He never lets go of my hand, and the charge is still as evident as it was from the first moment we touched. We enter his bedroom, still not a word exchanged. He leads me over to the bed, gesturing for me to sit down. I don’t argue because I’m not sure how long my legs will keep me upright.

He stands in front of me as if weighing up how to do what he wants to do next. “Fuck it,” he mumbles before walking over to this closet. I watch with interest as he reaches to the top shelf and slides a shoebox toward him.

The way he handles the box with such great care, I can only speculate that inside is something he truly values. With the mystery locked in both hands, he unhurriedly paces toward me. I have no idea the significance of what’s inside until he offers it to me.

Biting my lip, I hesitate, gazing at the offering as if it’s a loaded gun. I have no idea what’s inside, but a small part of me knows that once I lift the lid, it’ll be like opening Pandora’s box. I shift my attention from the box to London, hoping he’ll give something away.

He doesn’t.

Reaching for it with a tremble, I run my fingertips over the lid, the faded cardboard giving away its age. London has held this keepsake for quite some time. With one final deep breath, I gently open the box and peer inside.

At first, I have no idea what I’m looking at until I reach for a yellowed envelope and turn it over. When I see who it is addressed to, a whoosh of air escapes me. I don’t understand what I’m seeing. The seal is not affixed, so I lift the pointed edge and slide out what’s inside.

The pieces of paper are aged, just like the envelope, but what’s written in the messy, left-handed script will be forever young.

Princess,

I’ve lost count how many times I’ve written to you. With each letter, I’m always hopeful I’ll grow a pair and finally send one. But how can I? How am I supposed to tell you this without everything turning to shit?

I’m trapped— as much as a prisoner within myself as I am behind these bars.

I want so badly to tell you that I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.

Reading over the letter twice, I finally lift my eyes and meet London’s. “W-what is this?” I question because I need him to confirm what I think to be true. But the truth is so farfetched, there is no way it can be correct.

Lifting the letter, I turn it around so he can see his handwriting on the letter he wrote to me. And the abundant number of envelopes sitting beneath this one reveals he wrote many more.

“You know what it is,” he replies, jutting his chin out to the box in my lap.

“It looks like letters you wrote to me while you were in juvie, but that’s crazy, right?” When he remains silent, his stance unyielding, I know it’s not so crazy after all. “Why didn’t you send them? I thought you didn’t care. Those entire six months, I waited for one single letter, one single word to tell me you were okay.”

I don’t understand any of this.

The tone of this letter is heartfelt, and it’s almost the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.

“How could I? Our story was always going to be a tragedy. But those letters, I could finally tell you how I felt. And even though I never sent them, they made what I felt for you real.”

Tears pool and I let them fall, unashamed.

“You were the only thing that made me feel alive inside. And after feeling dead for so long, the feeling became an addiction. The more I pushed you, the harder you fought. I had never met anyone like you, and all I ever wanted…was you.”

He tongues his upper lip, the movement stirring a sudden longing within.

“But us being together, our surnames made it completely impossible. We’ve suffered because of the sins of our parents’ past. Every night, I wished I bore a different name because if I did, things between us could have been so different.”

I’m barely breathing, too afraid to move.

My glance flicks down to his tattoo, and the word defy suddenly takes on a whole different meaning. “What does your tattoo mean?” I point my quivering finger.

London runs his hand over the ink and smiles. “I defy you, stars.”

“William Shakespeare?” I recognize the passage instantly as he’s my favorite poet, a fact London knows.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Taking one step forward, then another, he comes to a stop when he’s a mere hair’s breadth away. “…My only love sprung from my only hate.”

Time stands still.

A kaleidoscope of emotion wavers within, but the one single phenomenon that leads the pack is the only emotion that matters—love.

London follows my complete disbelief, and in response, he raises his forearm, turning it so the piano keys and crown come into view. “You have always been the beat of my heart.”

I cover my mouth, shaking my head sluggishly. “You got that for me?”

His bowed lips tip into a graceful smile. “Of course, I did. You were my everything, Princess.”

My mind stumbles and falls, unable to keep up. “B-but why were you so m-mean to me? And what happened at prom?” This night set off a chain reaction of events which forever changed me.

London sighs, before sitting beside me. He knows not to smother me. He’s always known me better than I’ve known myself. He glances off into the distance, his smoldering eyes far, far away. He finally divulges what happened. “I saw Lincoln…I saw him kiss Belle. I had my suspicions something was going on between them for a little while.”

His admission kicks me low, and I wrap my arms around my middle. “Lincoln kissed Belle? He told me she kissed him.” I should feel utterly betrayed, but funnily enough, I’m not.

“He’s said a lot of things, most of which have been bullshit.”

Trying to piece everything together, I press. “So that’s why you got into a fight? You were jealous? That’s why you didn’t want me to come to prom. You warned Lincoln you’d fight for what was yours. Belle.”

The words feel like acid bubbling from my throat, but it’s the truth. I just need him to confirm it so I can finally move on. But what he does next shatters the past ten years.

With the slowest of movements, he brushes the fallen tears from my cheek with his thumb. “No. I got into a fight because of you. I couldn’t care less about me because…” His pause sends a trickle of goose bumps across my flesh. Taking a breath, he turns so he’s facing me, surrendering. “All I ever cared about was you.”

“You got into a fight because you were defending me?” He nods once. This is too much.

“Yes, I didn’t want you to come to prom because I couldn’t stomach watching you and that asshole together. It was my arm you should have been on, not his, and I knew—” he inhales, steadying himself “—I knew that I’d fight him for you once and for all.”

“Why was Belle so shocked in the hallway that day?” I remember her face when London said what I now know he said.

“Because I told her that sooner or later all her sneaking around would come back to bite her in the ass.”

“Sneaking around?” London nods.

I can’t process this fast enough. “Did Lincoln know what you were insinuating by that comment? About me not coming to prom?”

“Yes.”

That one single word can amount to a thousand. “Why?” Another word which can alter a person’s life forever.

London lowers his eyes. It’s apparent what he wants to say next is eating him up inside. Leveling me with nothing but honesty, he confesses, “Lincoln chased after you because he knew how much I wanted you. You were the only thing he could have…that I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Princess, but it’s the god’s honest truth.”

“No,” I cry in barely a whisper, the stab of betrayal slashing at the same wound over and over again.

“I’ve never lied to you.” He’s right. He’s the only person who has been brutally honest with me because he knew I could handle it.

I think of when Lincoln and I first hooked up. Our kisses were in secret, as if he were embarrassed by me. But I have no doubt he rubbed his victory in London’s face time and time again. Even when we made our “relationship” public, it only really heated up when London returned.

Oh god, I’ve been such a fool.

“Why, London, why didn’t you tell me this?” I don’t mean to be angry, but I just can’t understand why he’d put us both through this torture.

He reveals why a moment later. “Because of your mom.”

“My mom?” My heart is seconds away from exploding from my chest.

“My mom knew I had feelings for you, and she saw it as the ultimate betrayal. In her eyes, your mom had taken everything away from her. She despised you because you should have been hers. And she hated me because I was a reminder of everything she’d never have.”

My heart breaks for him.

“She wanted me to hate you, but I just…it was like hating myself. She knew her only son was—” He stops, his confession not an easy one to make. “Was in love with her enemy’s only daughter, and that just fueled her hatred tenfold.”

The shock of hearing him confess something which was so unfathomable an hour ago has me gasping for air. “You l-loved me?”

“Always,” is his simple, yet tear-jerking reply.

This entire time…London loved me…and I loved him, too.

I don’t get a chance to express how I feel because London continues, needing this purge to finally rid the secret within. “She warned me to stay away from you; otherwise, she’d drag your family name further through the dirt.”

“How?” I whisper, my hoarse voice almost given up.

He swallows, shaking his head in anger. “By spreading rumors that she and your dad were having an affair. She knew everyone would believe her, and she’d ensure she ruined your family’s reputation forever.”

I close my eyes, unable to stomach this a second longer. Her ambiguous remarks now make perfect sense.

“I knew what that would do to you, what that would do to your scholarship. And what that would do to your mom. So the meaner I treated you…the safer you were from her. To make sure you were protected, I had to make you hate me. I just…I wanted to die every time I saw you and Linc together. But I had no other choice. But the night of prom, I fucked up. I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

Everything is spinning out of control. “But your note. You said you won.”

“…I won you, Princess.”

If I’ve ever heard anything sweeter, then I don’t remember what. “Why didn’t you meet me then? What happened?”

Brushing the back of his fingers along the apple of my cheek, he smiles, but it’s bittersweet. “That’s not my story to tell.” He’s said this once before, which kickstarted this entire clusterfuck of events.

Another word of warning comes to mind. “Listen to what Belle has to say.” I didn’t know it then, but now I do.

“This all has to do with Belle, doesn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

Whatever secret Belle is guarding will shatter everything I thought I knew.

“Why has Lincoln lied to me for so long? Why did he lie about kissing Belle? Why did he lie about you? About us?” I add, wishing our history wasn’t crowned with a ring of lies.

“To protect himself.”

“From what?” I throw my hands up in exasperation.

“From you. If the truth ever came out, he knew you’d destroy him. And I think it was his way to ensure that…”

“That what?” I have no idea what to think. Nothing is what it seems.

“That you’d stop wanting me…maybe…” He arches a brow, appearing hopeful I’d corroborate his claims. “He knew you’d never speak to me again if he turned it all back on me. It was his final fuck you to me. He’d won.

“You know how much he hated me. I was the apparent cause of everything going wrong in his life, and he’d do anything to take away the only thing I…loved.”

My cheeks redden for so many different reasons. “How could he do this? He’s ruined…everything.”

“He didn’t care. You were a pawn, just not for me.”

I think back to London and Lincoln’s relationship and how the anger blinded Lincoln at times. There always was a rivalry between them, but I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. I also know Harold’s favoritism toward London upset him profoundly.

This entire thing was about getting back at London, and I was collateral damage, just not his.

“We’ve been together for years! We’re getting married in two weeks! Has he lied about his feelings the entire time?” I’m on the cusp of a meltdown, not knowing what’s real anymore.

London turns his cheek, shaking his head, wounded. I realize this is the first time I’ve mentioned how long we’ve been together. “No, he hasn’t. I have no doubt he fell in love with you. How could he not? He grew up. We all did.”

“That doesn’t excuse what he did. He should have told me the truth.”

“Yes, he should have, but would it have made a difference so long after the fact?”

Thinking about his question, I know the answer is no. I settled because I couldn’t have the man I wanted. The person I’ve wanted all along. Lincoln was familiar; he also didn’t have the ability to break my heart because I would never love anyone the way I loved—love—London.

“You destroyed me,” I whisper, eyes peeled to the floor. “All the times you hurt me, though, you were doing it for me. I just wish I had known.”

We’ve wasted so many years, so many possibilities, and now, we will never know. One simple lie has changed the course I was on. I can’t help but think, what if…

With hesitation, he reaches for my hand. The touch takes on a whole different meaning because it’s the first one we’ve shared where the truth has finally been set free. “After what happened with your parents, I knew your mom was right. I would just drag you down, and the farther away you were, the safer you and your family were.

“When I saw you on the news, after you won that case, I finally felt like I did something good. You looked happy. You’d made something of yourself, and that’s all I ever wanted for you, Princess. I can never offer you the life you have.”

I purse my lips, not fully understanding why. Surely, he’s still not worried his mom will tarnish my family name. We’re not kids anymore. “Why not?”

He runs his thumb over my knuckles, deep in thought. “My life is…complicated,” he settles on after debating what to say.

A horrifying thought occurs. “Is it Sandy?” She was clearly staking her claim on London back at the bar. “Are you guys…a thing?” I swallow past the lump lodged in my throat.

He shakes his head without thought. “No, we’re not anything.”

Relieved, I address his declaration. “Mine isn’t exactly a walk in the park,” I reply, not sure what I even mean. “I’m supposed to get married in two weeks, but after everything, I can’t…” I can see London’s guilt, but I shake my head, interlacing our hands. It’s the first time I’ve reached out, and his surprise shows. “Even if this never happened, I wouldn’t have married him. How can I, when…”

Every inch of my body is telling me to do this, to finally be honest with myself and strip bare. I was hiding, too afraid to breathe, but looking into these blue eyes, I’ve at long last remembered how to live again.

Shifting closer, I bask in his warm cinnamon perfume and never want to stray far from it ever again. “How can I…when I’m still in love with you?”

A weight is lifted from me and I feel a hundred pounds lighter. Who knew the cure was sitting in front of me all along?

When London remains quiet, his jaw clenching and unclenching, I suddenly regret jumping into the deep end. I probably should have led in with something a little less forthright. He squeezes my fingers before standing, running both hands through his hair. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

I try my best to recollect my thoughts. Lincoln’s hatred toward London was what spurred him on to show an interest in me. Even after I left for Florida, he never made an effort to contact me. But why would he? He’d won.

London is right, however. We all grew up, and call me naïve, but I know Lincoln’s feelings for me are now real. Being together for years with nothing for him to gain proves to me that he does love me, but if he loved me enough, he’d have told me the truth.

I still have no idea where Belle is and what part she plays in all this. The pieces of this puzzle are finally coming together, but I’m missing the vital piece.

So many people had a say in my life. And the one person I’ve seen as the enemy was the only person who let me be free. I need to touch London, need to tell him again that I love him, but he’s pacing, appearing someplace else.

I’ll give him all the time he needs because he’s done the same for me.

When I think I can stand, I walk over to the iPod docking station and scroll through the selection of music. London’s tastes are very similar to mine, so when I find a song which allows me to escape for even a fraction of time, I let the music take over.

The moment the music starts, I close my eyes and let go.

The song choice seems perfect for how I’m feeling, for how I’ve felt for so long. As long as London stands by me, I think I’ll finally be okay. The melodic tune transports me to another world, the lyrics striking a chord because I can relate to every single one. I won’t be afraid…

Swaying to the music, I forget about tomorrow and the day after and just focus on today…focus on the now. So when a warmth presses against my back, I reflect on the way every inch of my body bursts alive, desperate for so much more.

My heart is nigh on exploding, but I embrace the feeling because I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be in love. London’s sweet breath is tepid as it ripples down the column of my neck, but I continue rocking. Tears slip down my cheeks as I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this free.

Memories of every moment leading to now flicker before me, and I can’t help but smile. It’s only taken me ten long years, but finally, I’m home.

London wraps an arm around my middle, closing the distance between us as he molds us into one. A sigh escapes me, and I arch backward, needing to feel every inch of his body pressed to mine. We rock to the music, both lost in our own private oasis.

We fit perfectly, our bodies in sync as if we’ve always danced to the same beat. Tears continue falling. London nudges his face over my shoulder, nuzzling into my wet cheek. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.

“Because I’m happy,” I reply in a tone matching his. He tightens his hold on me, adding another arm. I’m enclosed in his entire being, and I never want to leave.

Leaning my head to the side, I’m exposing myself, hoping he soothes this fire burning me up inside. He does. His lips press against my neck, kissing softly over my feverish pulse. A soft moan escapes me, as I never remember feeling this good.

He drags that luscious mouth up and down, feasting on my heated flesh, consuming me until I’m whimpering, growing weak at the knees. If he doesn’t turn me around, I’m positive I’ll explode. He reads my need and huskily chuckles, the sound striking low. I almost buckle with the intense force.

With one arm still enclosed around my middle, the other slides up the center of my torso, coming to rest between my breasts. He splays out his fingers and presses his hand to my heart. The gesture is filled with nothing but love.

“I don’t know what happens now.” His misgivings remind me of his earlier comment, but I don’t care.

“I don’t either…but I’m excited to find out.”

He’s quiet, but the tension is thrumming through him. Is he nervous? Does he think once tonight is over with, things won’t change?

Everything has changed for me, and although I shouldn’t, I do.

Fastening my fingers over his wrist, I gently remove his hand from my chest and turn around submissively. Our eyes lock, and I get lost, never wanting to be found. Peering down for a long moment, I have no uncertainties when I slip Lincoln’s ring from my finger. I place it on the dresser, committed to giving it back to him when the sun rises. My finger instantly feels lighter. I never should have worn it in the first place.

London’s mouth parts, but he’s done enough talking. I just want to feel.

Hooking my thumbs beneath the thin straps of the dress I wear, I slide them down my shoulders and allow the garment to glide down my body and pool on the ground. I’m standing before London in my black lace underwear and heels.

My nipples pearl when his Adam’s apple bobs, his undivided attention on my barely covered breasts. The pillowed tops spill from my strapless bra, rising and falling vehemently as I gulp in mouthfuls of air.

He makes no secret that he’s examining every scrap of flesh, tonguing his upper lip as his eyes blaze. Every inch of my body is popping. Unable to take the heat, I rub my legs together, desperate to appease the burn.

London hisses through clenched teeth, rubbing the back of his neck. If he doesn’t make a move, then I’m bound to explode.

I point at his shirt. “Take it off.”

He smirks, my words the exact ones he said to me when we found ourselves in this same position all those years ago.

“Take it off…please,” I repeat, remembering the slow, sexy grin he bestowed on me because he’s rewarding me with it once again.

He’s complete perfection standing before me in all black, the recipe for a sublime disaster. And although I appreciate the way his t-shirt hugs him in all the right places, showcasing his brute masculinity, I know that once I see him in the flesh, all barriers between us lowered, I undoubtedly will never want him clothed ever again.

I’m tempted to disrobe him myself, but when he reaches overhead, tugging at the back of his collar and lifting the garment, I freeze, not wanting to miss a thing. The shirt rides up higher and higher, revealing inch after inch of glorious, bronzed, muscled flesh. My fingers itch, tempted to trace every hardened bump on his abs, but when I see a flourishing tree tattooed on his flank, I want to get down and worship him on my knees.

I don’t know where to start because every part of him is truly epic, but when the shirt falls to the floor by his feet, I zero in on a tattoo over his heart. A gasp escapes me. Just when I think he can’t shock me further, he goes and does something like this.

“Like it?” he asks, rubbing over the ink, his permanent badge of honor.

“L-like it? London, I…” But I don’t even know what to say because this is just something else.

“I told you,” he states, his palm flat on his chest.

“I know, but I thought you were joking.” With eyes wide, I step forward and place my palm over his. “This is…just…oh my god,” I settle on, unable to vocalize how I feel seeing my name tattooed on his chest over his heart.

Sandy’s comment now makes sense. I guess I have been the proverbial third wheel. Even though I don’t have London’s name tattooed over my heart, his memory and my love for him never faded from mine.

Gently asking permission, he allows me to lift his hand and stare in awe at this work of art. It may only be my name, written in a cursive script, but it’s the most beautiful tattoo I have ever seen. Acting on pure instinct, I swoop my hair to one side and lower my lips to our everlasting union.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

His skin is warm and has my taste buds salivating in hunger. Now that I’ve had a sample, I want more…more…more. Kissing over his heart, I saunter over to his left pec, boldly tonguing his nipple. I’m rewarded with a sharp hiss, spurring me on.

I can’t help myself and work my way down, my hands tracing his sides as I kiss every inch of flesh. His skin prickles beneath my lips, a low moan slipping from him as I outline each ridge of his washboard abs with my tongue. Just as I work his buckle, desperate to taste everything and more, he scoops his hands around me and lifts me up.

I’m moments away from protesting, but when he fists one hand in the hair at my nape, and the other low on my waist, all speech escapes me, because my body is the conduit. He guides my head to the right, before leaning forward and running the tip of his nose along the column of my neck. He inhales and groans low.

Every part of me trembles, desperate to crawl inside him and never emerge. “Please,” I beg, indicative of the first time I had a taste. My pleas are unheeded, and he continues his torture, turning my passion into delicious pain.

He suckles over my rampant pulse, taking his sweet time. “I’m…”

“You’re what?” I coax, tipping my head backward and opening myself up to him completely.

He kisses and sucks at my ripened flesh, intent on leaving me a writhing mess well after dawn. “I’m still in…love…with you, too,” he confesses against my throat. “I never stopped. Game over. You won, Princess.” His admission is my final undoing, and the walls I’ve erected around my heart crumble down around me.

I can’t stand to be separated from him a moment longer, so I cup his cheeks into my palms and draw his face to mine. He is truly extraordinary, and he’s all mine. “We both won.”

I don’t have time to utter another word because London smashes his mouth to mine, putting an end to a drought which has drained me dry for ten years. We kiss like starved animals, pawing and clawing at the other, needing to unite as one.

He hauls me forward, pressing us breast to breast, our lips never breaking apart. He takes my bottom lip into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue along the seam. I groan around him, the feeling comparable to total bliss.

My tongue meets his as he deliriously licks his way inside. He tastes me, samples the goods, slow and sluggish, as we have so many years to make up for. We collide with languid, learning strokes, reacquainting ourselves with this all-consuming, penetrating feeling of being connected mind, body, and soul.

Each taster has both of us wanting more, a glutton for this decadence to never end. I feel him growing hard against me, shooting a shockwave of pleasure all the way to my toes. I cry out in ecstasy when he rubs me in just the right way.

I writhe in agony as the simmering fire within me sweeps out of control. Still locked in a frenzied union, I work my hand between us and unbuckle his belt. As I unsnap his button and yank down his zipper, my heart threatens to explode from its confines because I have no shame dipping my hand down the front of his jeans and palming his hot, swollen shaft.

He grunts in the back of his throat, the sound echoing between my legs.

He’s not wearing any boxers, so I’m working him in the flesh, which is exactly what I need, what I crave. I work my hand up and down, the feel of his hardened flesh almost too much. Our kisses become more frenzied, but I have no intention of stopping any time soon.

My nipples are pebbled and aching for his touch. He reads my desperation because he tears his mouth from mine, only to replace his kisses all over my aching breasts. He bites the tops of them, growling in frustration when the lace shelters what we both want.

He unsnaps the front clasp of my bra, ripping the garment from my body and hungrily sucking my left nipple into his burning mouth. I cry out but don’t let him distract me from the mission at hand. I continue working his shaft from the root to the tip. He grows harder, longer, if that’s even possible, but the image of him driving into me, punishing me over and over again has me growing so incredibly wet, I feel it pool between my legs.

He circles my areola, then suckles my nipple one last time. It pops from his mouth, and before I can question what happens next, he sinks to both knees before me, his face level with the junction of my thighs. He inhales deeply, and I redden, as I’m certain he can smell my arousal. Peering up at me, he smirks, licking his swollen, red lips.

I tremble, awaiting his next move.

When he runs his finger along the band of my underwear, I’m certain he leaves a trail of fire in its wake. My stomach ripples, so turned on, I can’t contain the quiver consuming me whole. He fists the front of the lace, and with one sharp, unapologetic tug, he tears them clean from my body.

I yelp, but that soon turns into a low-seated moan when he buries his face into my bare center and laps at my needy flesh in one long, languorous move. He squeezes the tops of my thighs, gently spreading them farther apart. I cry out, knotting my fingers through his hair, needing to anchor myself before I explode. My hips ripple and roll when he presses the flat of his tongue against my swollen clitoris. He sinks his tongue into me, penetrating me as deep as he can go.

My arousal coats him. I can feel it, a slick varnish on his face as it acts as the perfect lubrication. I’m slippery and ripe, and when he twirls his tongue in a way that should be illegal, I scream in utter delight.

“I want you everywhere. All over me. I can’t get enough of you,” he hums against my flesh, his words adding to the incline I’m presently mounting.

He plunges deeper and deeper, his tongue and mouth never missing a beat. To add to the delicious torture, he reaches a hand behind me and palms a cheek. He’s now holding me prisoner, both back and front, but being held hostage has never felt this good.

The sting of his tongue as he sucks over my inflamed bud is too much, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. He grunts when I pump my hips forward, riding his face without a lick of shame. Just when I think he can’t torture me further, he dips lower and runs his tongue from bottom to top.

I whimper, but it gets caught in my throat when he slaps my ass—hard—and finally gives into my not so subtle demands. He consumes me with a fierce need, sucking and lapping at my clit, knowing I’m riding close to the edge. The tickle of his beard adds a whole different dimension to being devoured this way.

My fingernails dig into his scalp, but he seems to like my aggression because he tunnels in deeper and deeper, not showing an ounce of mercy. He flicks his tongue in just the right way, and when he squeezes my ass in both hands, forcing me to ride his face, I come like I’ve never done so before.

My orgasm overtakes me, and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world.

Aftershocks rock my body, and I don’t think I’ll come down any time soon. But London doesn’t allow me a moment of reprieve. He stands, taking me into his arms, and advances toward the bed. He tosses me onto the mattress. I like that he acts with aggression.

This is us.

We don’t make excuses for what we want because we want it all.

His pants hit the floor, and I lean up on my elbows, not missing a second of seeing him standing before me completely nude. He is glorious—hard and ready in all the right places. He opens a drawer on the dresser, the unmistakable sound of foil crinkling. Feeling completely wanton, I shake my head.

“No more walls between us. I want all of you.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Princess…” With my desire slathered all over his face and lips, he couldn’t look sexier as I confirm I want all of him, now and forever.

“I’ve already got everything I’ve ever wished for. You.” A lopsided smile tugs at his lips, and he nods once. He crawls onto the foot of the bed while I tumble backward, settling onto the pillows.

His hulking body shadows mine when he presses us nose to nose. I shift my legs to accommodate his size, and he nestles between them. I’m ready and waiting—I want him so badly I can scarcely breathe.

Reaching up, I run my fingers over his cheek, through his beard, coaxing him by the back of his neck to kiss me. It doesn’t take much swaying. He kisses me, but this time, the passion is simmering. We’re lost in the laziness of our hunger, the sluggishness a heady aphrodisiac.

As our tongues spar, ready to wage a war where we both win, London slips his hand between us. Everywhere he touches sends ripples of pleasure straight to my toes. However, when he circles my clit with the pad of his thumb, everything shifts, and the focal point is my needy center.

I’m still slick and delicate, so when London inserts a finger into me, I bow off the mattress, the feeling amplified tenfold. “Such a greedy little thing,” he hums against my lips.

“I am when it comes to you,” I gasp, spreading my legs farther. He works his way in slowly, testing and stretching, preparing me for what’s to come.

“More,” I plead, fumbling and guiding him to fill me to the brim. He adds another finger, all the while massaging my center with skill. A sheen of sweat coats my body, adding to the velvety slide as he rocks against me, his fingers never missing a beat.

The knot begins to build low once again, and as good as this feels, I’m ready and needy and the only thing that will suffice is him burying himself deep within me. I’ve been a selfish lover. It’s now my turn to give.

“My turn,” I state, gently coaxing him to a standstill. I kiss his lips before rolling us over so I’m straddling him.

He looks up at me with nothing but love, a vision that will forever be singed onto my soul. With my name staring back at me, I raise my hips and grip his hot shaft, stroking him up and down. A profound breath escapes him as he arches his neck into the pillow. His hot weight has every part of my body slavering, and unable to wait for a second longer, I guide him into me.

We both hiss when I rub his tip along my entrance, coating him with my arousal. Inch by inch, I lower myself onto him, biting my lip because the stretch is almost to the pinnacle of pain. But that ache rapidly fades and is replaced with complete euphoria.

London places his hands low on my hips, his gaze flicking downward to see where we are connected. When I’m halfway down, he stops me from progressing, suspending me on his cock. I attempt to shift, needing so much more, but he holds on tight. “This is everything. It changes everything. I love you. Promise me…never run from me again.”

I place my palm over his thundering heart, over my name, and seal our fates forever. “I promise.”

Satisfied, he loosens his hold, but just when I think he’s handed over the reins, he slams my hips onto him, impaling me to the hilt. My body undulates, as I’ve never felt this full.

“Then I’m yours.” His offering sends me into overdrive because it’s what I’ve wanted to hear for so many years.

Raising his hands in surrender, he silently gives me permission to take what I want, and all I want…all I’ve ever wanted was him.

Placing both palms flat on his chest, I begin rocking my hips. Slow and steady at first, as he’s so incredibly big, but when I see him tonguing his upper lip, a look of utter possession slathered on his cheeks, I buck faster and harder, needing to unite as one.

He groans, watching the way my breasts sway as I ride him like a stallion. “Faster,” he orders between small, erotic breaths. Each stroke hits me in just the right way, but I quash down my need to come because I want to feel him explode around me first.

I bounce on his lap, the feeling of him re-entering me countless times taking my breath away. Stars flash behind my eyes, but I continue to dominate him, powerless to stop because this feels so good. Slapping one hand behind me and resting it on his knee, I grind on his shaft, the friction hitting my clit every single time.

“Fuck,” he hisses, gripping one hand on my waist to help with the measured momentum. A wildfire begins to burn at the tips of my ears and work its way down.

His abs ripple and roll, the sycamore tree on his flank coming alive as his breathless rumbles fill the air. I take him in, admiring every inch—his besotted face, his glorious body, but most of all, my name imprisoned over his heart.

The love I feel for him will rule me, dictate me from this moment forward, and the thought of belonging to him irrevocably has tears pricking my eyes. My mind takes a back seat, and I rule with my body and heart. I devour him, bouncing and bucking until the familiar burn takes over, and I chase my release, unable to stop. I shatter around him, milking him, certain I’ve bled him dry.

He is still hard, indicting this has only just begun. “Ready?”

“For what?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

He answers what a second later when he lifts me from his lap, and spins me around, only to slam me back down when I’m facing the far wall. My head is spinning, but I don’t have time to recollect my thoughts because he gently pushes between my shoulder blades so I fall onto all fours. He fills me once again.

“That,” he whispers into my ear as he drapes his body over mine, biting the side of my neck. “I was just warming up.” Rising, he pulls out of me, only to sink into me over and over again.

My breasts swing below my bowed body, my nipples scraping the blankets, adding to the stimulation overdrive. He rocks into me from behind, his hands controlling the angle of my hips because he knows all the right moves to make me feel like I’m dying inside.

He pumps into me so vigorously it brings tears to my eyes, but I take everything he gives me, an instant addict to this feeling of unrestrained hunger. He grunts and hisses, increasing his brutal strokes until I can no longer take it and collapse onto my stomach.

He hums with the sight of my ass high in the air, but he never misses a beat as he owns my body, drawing me closer to the threshold once again. “Welcome home, Princess.” I’m unable to vocalize a response because he’s robbed me of breath.

This is the first time I’m glad to be back…back home where I belong.

London twirls his hips and strikes me hard—the money shot—and I scream in utter delight. His rumbles resonate all the way through me, and I feel him pulling back, about ready to join me. But I clamp my muscles around him. “Bring it home,” I shamelessly demand, and he growls, unable to refuse my command as he spills his seed into me.

The tremors hum through our bodies for minutes after we’ve both had an orgasm that has left us sticky, breathless, and spent. When we finally untangle our limbs and settle beneath the covers, London kisses my lips and promises me the world.

“You are my home. Always and forever.”

His vow has me closing my eyes and falling into a deep, happy slumber because now I know…we are always and forever.