Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust, but the paintings are still as wonderfully vibrant as the first time I saw them. I wonder how much someone would pay for one of these. As I turn to the roses, so thick and lush and beautiful, I can imagine them sitting in a gilt frame on some swanky Burlington Arcade gallery, stark and bright against a black background.

I step closer to run my fingers across the thick paint and then I see the envelope tucked against the edge of the easel. What is that? I pick it up and see my name scrawled across it. It’s heavy and lumpy. Tearing it open, I tip the contents into my palm—the MG ignition key landing on my hand. “What the hell?” My voice reverberates back from the bare walls. A card slips out into my hand. It’s a business card: Elijah Fairclough, Barrister, imprinted in embossed ink on the thick vellum card stock. I frown at it and then turn it over. An address in Kensington is scrawled in biro across the back.

My heart—it near on takes to flight.

Did he leave this for me days ago? Have I been sending him one-word answers to his messages while he’s been waiting for me to come up here and find a car key and a card with an address?

Does he want me to go?

I slip on the stairs, my pulse raising. Connie’s door is open as I fly past, but I don’t even care. I run to the outhouses hoping I’ll find Tabitha.

“I’ve got to go to an urgent meeting,” I shout as I launch into the clay studio. She and Lewis are doing a really shit job at pretending to be busy and not kissing. I haven’t got time for it now. “Elijah’s leant me his car, where is the MG parked?”

She smiles. “He parks at the gatehouse normally. That way he can come and go unaccountable to Gran and Mum.”

I’m about to run for the gates when I have a thought, remembering Connie’s doors opening and knowing she would have seen me coming down the stairs. “Guys, can you do me a favour? Upstairs there are some paintings, in the top room on the top flight of stairs. Can you bring them down? They are imperative for the ball.”

“What are they?” Tabitha asks.

“Dreams,” I shout back, but I’m already running, desperate to find out if my own dream has wings to fly.

The traffic is awful, but the worst of it is coming away from town, not into it. I use my GPS on my phone to guide me through the streets until I find a small mews marked Private. There’s a man in a box, in charge of a barrier, but when he sees the MG, he waves me through. I give him a thank you and then park up.

It’s half-eight, and starting to get dark now summer is halfway through her peak. It’s now I glance down and realise I’m still wearing the cut-off dungarees and vest I wore to the group session. Crap. Too late now. I left Bowsley with nothing.

I walk up to the door numbered twenty-one in brass and give a gentle knock. There’s a chance my insides are going to twist into a knot and I’m going to puke. I manage to hold it together as footsteps land the other side of the door.

When he opens it up, the breath steals from my throat. He looks like something not even made on this earth. Wide blue eyes, hair trimmed short, and built like an Adonis under a soft grey T-shirt and black jeans—barefoot.

Holy crap.

“Take your time why don’t you, Faith?” He leans against the door frame, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“What? I don’t understand?”

As quick as a whip he reaches out and pulls me in. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He buries his face in my hair and the skin of my neck, inhaling deeply. “I need you.”

My legs quiver as I slide my hands around his neck and plant my mouth against his. “And I need you.” I need him more than I’ve ever needed anything in my whole damn life and I’m struggling to stay afloat while the unknown emotions threaten to pull me down.

Then we are in his hallway. I don’t even look at his home. All I see is him, holding him as he swoops me up and stalks me to a room upstairs.

I close my eyes and shiver with anticipation as we fall together, fast and hard, burrowing deep until there’s just the two of us and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

I’m face down, hugging the pillow, Eli’s fingers trail along the exposed skin of my spine. His eyes are closed, his face serene and content, and a warm glow evolves inside my chest when I realise it’s me who’s given him that expression.

“Still, I can’t believe it took you four days to find that envelope.”

I’m in shock that this has happened. I was sure it was over between us. I’d resigned myself to it. “You made it seem very real, Eli.”

His lashes flutter open and his deep gaze settles on my face with a heartfelt plea. “It had to be. I won’t have my mother ruin your prospects.”

“Maybe you should let me decide?”

He shakes his head, face serious, lips pressed into a line. “No.”

I sigh and roll over onto my back, facing the ceiling. “Why does this feel like it’s getting messy? I know that’s not what we agreed.”

His fingers turn my chin. “None of this is what I expected.”

“What do you mean?” I still can’t believe I’m here, back in his arms. When I think of that chest crushing ache that’s resided within me the last few days, it’s like I’ve allowed myself to be weak. But, here by his side, the furthest thing I feel is weak. I’m brave. Free.

A deep sigh pushes from his chest. “Nothing is what it should be. Things are clean-cut, simple. I do what I’m told, and I get an easy life for it.”

“I’m sensing a but?” My fingers drift over his warm skin, relishing every touch.

“But nothing is clean-cut with you, and nothing’s easy.”

I snicker. “See, this is what I’m talking about; there is nothing easy about me despite what people think.” It’s a crass joke and it doesn’t make him laugh.

His hand reaches for mine and he sits up, pulling me along with him. Between his brows a deep line mars his beautiful face. “What you told me in Brighton, about Aiden and your father…”

“Don’t make me regret sharing, I hate pity.”

“You’d rather be angry and constantly run?”

“Me, run? You’re the one who ran from his home the other day.”

He palms a hand through his hair. “Nothing is simple with you.”

“Sorry I’m not as pliable as you’d like.”

He shakes his head and gives a rueful laugh. “Pliable? You are the exact opposite. It’s why I’m crazy about you. Why I’ve been unable to focus for days. Why I can’t stop thinking about that bastard hurting you, and your father letting you down.”

What did he just say? He doesn’t give me a chance to process.

“It’s why I want you to speak to the authorities about what happened to you.”

And now what did he say?

I shake my head. “If my own father doesn’t believe me, I won’t hold my breath on the police.”

“But I believe you. Al does, Abi does, and Dan.” Eli’s eyes darken a little at the mention of Dan.

“Don’t you like Dan?” I watch him closely.

“Yeah, sure. He seems a stand up guy.”

“See, your mouth’s saying the words, but your face isn’t agreeing.”

He groans and falls back on the mattress and I can’t help but greedily absorb the naked sight of him. “You can’t blame me for being jealous of the guy you’ve spent your whole life with.”

His words floor me. We aren’t supposed to be jealous, because this is nothing. It’s just a summer fling until we walk away.

We stare at one another long and hard and we both know. This isn’t nothing.

There’s a good chance it could be everything.

With a flash of a smile he leans up and kisses me swiftly on the lips. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Have you been eating properly?”

Ah—Jennings and Elaine—it all makes sense. “Did you ask Elaine to feed me up?”

His fingers grab for my ribs and he laughs as I squeal. “You are very skinny, you need fattening up.”

“Better feed me then,” I say, but I don’t mean with food.

A broad smile lights his face. “Come.”

His little Kensington mews house is something close to wonderful. Open plan and all echoes of black, white, and grey. It’s sleek and masculine without being testosterone fuelled. It’s also impeccably clean—not a pizza box in sight. And nothing like Bowsley.

Stood in the kitchen and lounge area, I turn and take it all in.

“You like?” he asks, rummaging around at the kitchen island. He’s pulling open cupboards and peering inside. Dressed in only a pair of grey joggers which are hanging low on his hips, he’s looking probably finer than he ever has. I think the joggers and bare chest win over the suit—just.

“It’s smart.” I send him a smile. “Now I feel pretty daft taking you to the hovels in Brighton.”

“I loved that.”

I smile, but the difference in our paths is glaring me smack in the face.

“How’s Al?”

I step towards a wall of shelving holding books and CD’s. I can even see some old vinyl—now, I definitely want to know what’s on them.

“Same.” A deep huff of breath escapes me. “I’m going to try to get back this weekend, just in case. We’ve still got the rest of this week and next before the ball.”

I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. Earlier this week I couldn’t wait for it to be over, but now I want August to stretch on forever.

“How’s it going? And don’t give me a one worded reply.”

“Fine?” I grin, but then I’m distracted by a shelf on the right. “What the hell?” My feet carry me forward, my heart giving a boom. He’s watching me I can tell. “Why have you got my sculptures here? These are the ones from Whitlocks.”

He shrugs and carries on rooting about for something to eat.

I pick up the ornament that’s caught my eye. Largely experimental, it was a mixture of plaster and cement plaster suspended on wire and then painted with bright shades of red and orange. When I’d made it, it had reminded me of the sun coming up over the pier at home.

“Have you bought these since you’ve known me?”

But I know he can’t have done. Damien said they were sold months ago. My eyes search Elijah who can no longer pretend to be busy. “Start talking.”

“I bought them a while back, before we met.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I mentioned them to Mother and decided to find out who you were to see if you’d be interested in working at Bowsley.” He nods at the piece in my hand. “I liked them, they were fun and fresh. I wanted them on my shelves and I knew I’d like whoever made them to do the installation.”

“So your mother never approached Gerard to ask for a recommendation?”

Eli has the sense to look shamefaced. “Well, sort of, but we knew who we wanted.”

“Is this that royal we again?”

“I.” His eyes are bold and bright. “I knew who I wanted.”

I look at the knickknack in my hand. “Really?”

Padding barefoot across the wooden floor, he comes and takes it out of my hand. “You don’t seem to realise how talented you are. Those glass flowers in the hallway at the house are beyond anything I expected.”

“Really?” I repeat. “They are just flowers.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks all kinds of cute. “Sure, just flowers made of glass.” He reaches a hand for my hip and pulls me in. I’m dressed in only one of his work shirts and doesn’t my body know it. His lips skim my throat and I tilt my neck to give him better access. “It’s why I can’t let my mother ruin everything for you. It’s why I’m here instead of spooning in that pink room of yours.”

My hands slide into his hair. My mouth hot on his. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms clinging around his neck. “Turns out I don’t have any food other than strawberries and cream,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Sounds like heaven.” My body scorches like dry tinder. Even though we’ve already been together since I knocked on his door, it’s not enough. I want more. I want to drown in him.

With a gentle bump, he places me on the island. It’s cool against my bare skin, but it does nothing to calm down the inferno inside my body. His fingers unbutton the shirt, his hands dipping inside the material, easing it back from my body. He pushes me back a little and spreads my knees, so he can slide between them. His lips trail kisses from my collarbone down the valley between my breasts. When he reaches my navel, he pushes me back until I’m bared on the marble. His mouth drifts lower, his teeth nibbling the inside of my thigh. I want him there, right there with his tongue currently trailing lazy circles on the tender skin of my inner thigh. I grasp at his hair and push him in the right direction. My breath catches in my throat as he strokes long firm licks along my lips and delves deep. His hands lift my ass and I splay my fingers against the marble as I groan and writhe under his mouth.

“Fuck, I love that,” the words escape; I’m unable to control them.

He burrows deeper, one finger pushing inside and then another, his mouth and tongue never stopping licking and sucking until I’m bucking my hips and pushing myself into his mouth.

“Scream my name.”

His mouth returns, his tongue delving in deep as his thumb presses at my other opening. Then as he pushes it in slowly, spinning me out some place in the universe where the stars and sun shine at the same time. I scream his name so loud it imprints into my heart.