Serena

Saturday morning, I’m greeted with joyful shrieks and a bouncing Poppy diving at me. She wraps her lanky arms around my shoulders and squeezes tight.

“I take it you missed me.” I laugh, nearly choking on her gardenia perfume yet basking in its familiarity.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” She pulls away, grinning ear to ear. And then she pouts. “Never stay away that long again. It’s not right. The city hasn’t been the same without you. My weekends haven’t been the same without you.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve always done a fine job of painting the town all by yourself.”

“Still. I missed you.” She hooks her arm through mine and leads me into her apartment. “Come. Sit. Let’s catch up.”

Poppy looks good. Same shiny, bouncy hair in a perfect shade of Gwyneth Paltrow blonde. Same Pilates body. Same blindingly white smile.

I follow her into the white-washed living room and sink into her linen-covered Chesterfield sofa. She takes the chair across from me, studying me with a furrowed brow and a frown.

“What?” I ask.

“You look like you’ve come undone.” She says it in a delicate way, but it doesn’t lessen the blow.

“I’ve had other priorities, P.”

“Still. When was the last time you had a haircut? And your nails. Those cuticles.” She wrinkles her nose. With love. This is how she is.

The first time I met Poppy was in the shoe section at Bergdorf. We both wanted the last size seven Gucci riding boots. It wasn’t pretty at first, but somehow, we walked out of there as friends with a joint custody agreement scribbled on the back of a receipt as we made plans to do lunch.

“Anyway.” Poppy bats her hand. “I’m treating you to a day of pampering. Hair. Nails. Facial. Massage. Shopping. Dinner and drinks. You’re going to be in heaven, my love.”

“You’re the best, P. I needed this girls’ weekend so badly. You have no idea.” I draw my legs up and make myself comfortable. Her apartment has the best views, and I’ve crashed here many, many times before. It was like a second home to me for a while. Still feels that way.

Although now, it’s much quieter with Paige having moved out.

She checks the dainty Rolex on her left wrist and waves for me to get up. “Okay, we need to get going. Our first appointment is in forty minutes.”

We gather our things and head toward the elevator, riding down to the lobby.

“Something’s different about you.” She studies me as we float to the main floor. The doors ding and part, and she watches me from the corner of her eye as we stride toward the revolving door. Her driver is parked outside the big green awning.

“Everything’s different about me.”

Her lips twist. “No. You have this glow about you.”

“Really? Because a few minutes ago, you were going on and on about how horrible I looked.”

Her driver opens the passenger door and we climb in, sliding along the black leather of her Town Car’s back seat.

“It’s not that.” She studies me harder. “It’s like you’re lit from within. You have an inner glow. The kind you can’t get from highlighting and contouring.”

I exhale, chuckling. “Okay.”

“You’re getting laid.” She smacks her lanky thigh. “That’s it. Who are you fucking, Serena?”

I rub my lips together, repressing a Cheshire grin. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who would I be hooking up with right now?”

“Excellent question,” Poppy says. “Care to answer it?”

“Nope.”

She pinches the back of my arm like a five-year-old, and I jerk it away.

“Who are you fucking?” She won’t drop it. She’s a damn dog with a meaty bone. Poppy cups her chin a la Sherlock Holmes. “Wait. You’re living with your attorney right now . . .”

I face the window so she can’t read my expression.

“Oh, my God. You’re fucking your attorney.” Poppy does a little jump, like she just solved the world’s most interesting puzzle. “Is he hot?”

I don’t answer.

“Look at me.” She grabs my shoulder, shaking me. “You can’t ignore me forever. Tell me. What is he like? What does he look like? Is he good in bed? How did this happen?”

Knowing Poppy, and knowing full well that she won’t give in until she gets what she wants, I pull in a deep breath and turn to her.

I tell her everything.

And it feels good to get it out there.

It feels good to talk about him—to talk about some of the best days in my recent past.

And I smile the whole time—whatever that means.

* * *

Tonight, I’m a new woman—on the outside. New hair. New clothes. New makeup. Fresh polish.

Poppy, dramatic as she is, took a before and after photo earlier. I hadn’t realized how far gone I was until I saw the side-by-side. But in my defense, being holed up at Belcourt doesn’t necessitate the daily glam treatment.

“How are you feeling, love?” Poppy reaches over, rubbing my arm. “You look ah-mazing.”

I smile, glancing around the packed Bar Gray. Everyone is dressed to the nines. Everyone is dying to be here. Tonight. Like there’s nowhere else more important to spend a Saturday night. Everyone is here to see and be seen.

My body is wrapped in a navy bandage dress, and leather fuck-me heels in a shade of nude cover my smoothed and polished feet.

“That dress looks fantastic on you. Have you lost weight?” Poppy asks.

My gaze flicks to hers, and for the first time in forever, I realize how much I don’t want to have this conversation. There are more important things to talk about than weight and clothes and looks.

Was I really that vapid before?

I cross my legs and angle my body toward Poppy as we order drinks at Bar Gray.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I say.

A man-bun sporting bartender with a baby face stops in front of us, knocking on the bar counter and asking what we’re drinking tonight.

Poppy orders two champagnes before I have a chance to protest.

“We’re celebrating tonight.” She places her clutch on the bar and grins.

“What are we celebrating?”

“Um, the fact that you’re here.” She makes a silly face, as if the reason were obvious. “And the fact that we’re going to get your life back on track.”

“Back on track?” I repeat. “I don’t know, P. I’m in a weird place. Trying to figure out what I want. Where I want to go. What I want to do. Asking myself the hard questions. And there’s so much I haven’t told you yet . . .”

The bartender returns with our drinks, and we lift our glasses.

“To Serena getting her life back,” Poppy toasts. She ignores my words and clinks her flute against mine. Taking a swig, her eyes dart over my shoulder. “Okay, don’t hate me. Don’t get mad . . .”

“Poppy.” My heart sinks, my voice low in my chest. “What. Did. You. Do?”

She slides off her barstool with finesse and disappears behind me into a sea of overdressed patrons, and when I see who takes her place, I want to vomit.

“Serena.” Keir sits beside me, pulling his barstool closer until his knee rests against my thigh.

I can’t breathe, and the room spins. When I turn to look for Poppy, it’s too late. She’s long gone. And I am beyond mad at her. I’m furious.

“I know you weren’t expecting to see me tonight,” he says, leaning close. His lips brush against my ear as he speaks the words only meant for me. “And maybe I’m not worthy of being in your presence, but I had to see you. Serena, I was desperate.”

I lean away, grabbing my champagne and chugging the rest. There’s not much that little drink is going to do for me, but it’s better than nothing.

“These last three months without you,” he says, “have been pure torture. I’ve done nothing but kick myself. I lost you, Serena. I took the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I threw it away.”

None of it matters.

It’s in the past.

I’ll never forget. I’ll never give him a second chance.

I unhook my clutch and set a twenty under my empty flute, sliding off the stool and making a beeline for the bathroom so I can make a phone call and get the hell out of here.

By the time I reach the ladies’ room, there’s a line at least a dozen women long, and Keir is steps behind me. When he catches up, he hooks his arm into mine and pulls me aside. The women around us notice, feasting on the gorgeous man with the coifed dark hair and broad shoulders encased in a ridiculously expensive tailored suit.

They whisper to one another. Pointing. Gawking. Smiling. Pretending for a moment that they’re me—the sole recipient of Keir Montgomery’s undivided attention.

If they only knew.

“Don’t run.” Keir closes the space between us, and I find myself backed up against a wall. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

His stare holds mine, refusing to let go. I hate that after all that has happened, he can still command my attention the way he did the first time we met in Washington, DC.

I was visiting my cousin, Araminta, and she took me to an underground lounge, known about only by those in-the-know and the who’s who in the political world. At first, all I saw were men dressed in black—Secret Service agents. But then I saw him.

He chose me out of a sea of women, and when he looked at me, everything around me faded into background noise. Keir approached me in a way no other man has, determination in his stride and wicked intentions behind his sexy smirk. And when he spoke to me, I believed every word he delivered. I melted that night, in a way I’ve never melted for anyone. He weakened my resolve, shattered my resistance, and claimed my body not once, but twice, in an apartment with a skyline view.

But he didn’t disappear the next morning like I expected. He stayed, insisting we exchange numbers. And he came to the city the following weekend.

We couldn’t get enough of each other.

It wasn’t a relationship—it was an addiction.

Once upon a time, I was dependent on the way Keir Montgomery made me feel. I gave him all the power. I gave him my heart—which marked the first time I’d given anyone my heart. And I walked blindly into the chaos and devastation that was his world.

The tabloids loved us.

They wrote articles detailing his past dealings and escapades, and they labeled me as the girl who finally changed He Who Could Not Be Changed. I was a headstrong American princess, heiress to a fortune and independent to a fault. And he was an American prince, son of the president. Known for his womanizing and philandering ways. We were both publicly branded as unwilling to be tamed—until we found each other.

I believed what we had was special.

“Serena.” Keir brushes my hair from my face, leaning in until our cheeks brush. His hands slide the length of my arms, and my body recoils at his touch. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“No.” I shake my head and push him away. “There’s nothing to discuss. Now go. You never should have come here tonight.”

I tuck my clutch under my arm and mentally rehearse all the things I’m going to say to Poppy when I catch up with her again. This was all her doing. The spa day. The bar. Telling Keir where to be and when to be there.

That’s what she meant about getting my life back on track.

“I still love you, Serena.” Keir hooks his hands on his belt loop, pushing his suit jacket back and showing off his narrow hips. His face tightens. “So I’m just supposed to let you go? Let you walk away, just like that?”

I smirk. “Yeah. You did it once. I’m sure you can find the strength to do it again.”

I push past him, through two Secret Service agents I didn’t see before, and make a beeline for the exit in the front of the bar.

Through a storm of pulsing music and chatting patrons, I hear him call my name over and over and over.

But I ignore it.

I’m leaving, and he can’t stop me.

Two cabs rest outside the bar, and I pray I can get to one of them before anyone else does. By the time I reach the front door, one cab pulls away and a group of women swarm outside the second.

“Serena!” He yells my name again, harder, deeper, refusing to let me go.

Loud voices.

Flashing lights.

Men who are not Keir call my name, shouting questions in rapid-fire succession.

“Serena! Are you back with Keir Montgomery?”

“Serena, did you forgive Keir for cheating on you?”

“Is the wedding back on?”

“Serena, can you give me a picture?”

“Look over here!”

I’m blinded by the flash of at least a dozen paparazzi cameras. The crowd is so thick, I can hardly wade through it. Patrons and photographers form around me, blocking any chance I have of exiting, and for a busy Manhattan street, there isn’t a single cab in sight.

“Come with me.” A hand hooks my arm, but I’m flash-blinded, unable to see who’s pulling me aside and out of the uncontrolled madness.

My eyes adjust in time to see I’m being led to a black SUV—one I’ve been inside many times before. An agent pulls a door open, and Keir helps me inside, and I don’t fight it, because it isn’t like I have another option right now.

Brilliant camera flashes light up the inside of the backseat, despite the dark tint on the windows.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his hand on my knee.

“I’m fine.” I reject his touch, pulling away. “Have them drop me off at the Gramercy.”

I’ll get a room tonight, away from Poppy, away from Keir, away from all of this. And tomorrow, I’ll go back to Derek in Rixton Falls.

I’ve never been one to rely on anyone else, but right now, I could really use a dose of his signature calm. Despite everything, he’s been my rock since the moment he walked into my life.

He’s the rock I never knew I needed—the rock I never wanted to need.

He’s the serene in all the crazy.

The weight of Keir’s stare makes me cringe. My skin itches, as if it’s allergic to him. I stare out the passenger window and check for street signs to gauge how close we’re getting to the hotel, and I marvel at the fact that he’s not using this time to talk my ear off.

The SUV pulls up at the entry of the Gramercy, and I work the door open before it crawls to a full stop.

Keir runs after me. “There’s something you need to know.”

I stop, arms folded, and turn to face him. “I highly doubt that.”

A cab screeches to a stop behind the SUV, and a group of paparazzi file out. The flashes begin all over again. I’m sure a photo of Keir and me is worth a pretty penny, considering my public meltdown and the gossip and scandal sparked from the calling off of our engagement.

I eye the front lobby. They’re not allowed in there. I need to get inside.

Keir closes in, pressing his chest nearly against mine and staring deeply into my eyes. “I love you, Serena, and I messed up. I admit it. I take full responsibility for ruining what we had. But you should know that Veronica put me up to it. She paid all three of us a lot of money. You were set up.”

My stomach drops. I’m going to be sick. I glance into Keir’s remorseful stare and feel nothing but anger flooding my veins. I’d hit him if it weren’t for the photographers.

“You were supposed to love me.” My voice is raised. “How could you, Keir?”

“I’ve asked myself that every day.” I barely hear him over the yelling of the paparazzi. “Can I come inside and explain? I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Every part of me wants to scream in his face and tell him no. But he has information I need. Information that will help Derek and our case against Veronica.

“As long as explaining is all you intend to do.” I turn and walk through the lobby doors, fishing my wallet from my clutch and taking a deep breath.

His hand finds the small of my back, and he whispers in my ear that he’ll take care of the room tonight. And then he tells me to head to the bar, saying I’m going to need a drink before we begin.