The Bentley is gone.

In its place is a matt-black Aston Martin, and the group of kids playing truant are circled around it.

No! He can’t have.

I don’t think I really believe it until I peer over the edge of the balcony and see Thorne leaning against the back door. He must have been talking to the kids, but suddenly looks directly up at me.

My mouth drops open in shock.

We stare at each other. Then I pull back, furious, livid. In a way I have never been in my life. I march back into my mother’s living room and pick up my purse. “I have to go, Mama,” I announce without looking at her.

“Chelsea,” she calls.

I turn around and look at her from the doorway.

“Thank you for the money. It is a great help when my measly allowance dries up every month.”

Oh, Mama. If only you would love me, it would all be worth it. But she doesn’t, a little voice whispers. I nod, open her front door, and quickly close it shut behind me.

Thorne is waiting for me when I exit the building. I glare at him. We are like two boxers in a ring, eying each other up, spoiling for a fight.

“Get in,” he says coldly.

I hang back defiantly. “Where’s Ralph?”

“I sent him home,” he replies shortly.

“Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

I’m so pissed off I almost want to call a damn taxi, but there is a white ring around Thorne’s mouth. Looks like he is just as furious with me as I am with him. What the hell has he got to be furious about? I want to shout at him, but I realize we have a very curious audience. All the kids are watching us with great interest. I get into the car without a word and he closes the door with a quiet click.

“You followed me?” I explode.

Thorne doesn’t react to my outburst. He simply puts on his seatbelt and begins to drive. “No. I asked Ralph where you were. When he told me you were in this God forsaken estate, I drove here myself. Have you no sense? What the hell are you doing here?”

“You tracked me down without my knowledge or my permission. That’s spying,” I say between gritted teeth.

“Get over it,” he says callously. “This is London, the CCTV capital of the world. You are being surveilled all the time. By many agencies. There is not a moment that you are not being watched or listened to.”

“That doesn’t excuse you. You were stalking me.”

“Well, you stole from me,” Thorne says. The controlled, low tone of his voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise, but I refuse to back down.

“Yes, I stole from you, but I’m paying for it now, aren’t I? Every time you fuck me I’m paying for it,” I yell angrily.

If I’d hoped to hurt him with those words I was very much mistaken. It slides off him like water off a squirrel’s head. He completely ignores what I said. “Why did you do it, Chelsea?” he asks instead. “Why did you steal my money?”

My heart feels as if it is being squeezed. I turn away from his searching eyes. I cannot tell him. It’s too long of a story. I don’t have the energy to dig that deep into my dark memories. Anyway, I do not trust him enough to tell him.

“I watched you for weeks before I finally made contact with you. You don’t wear designer clothes, you didn’t get a fancy new apartment, and you were working at an office. What could you have spent it all on, or did the money simply vanish?” he asks. His voice is a lot calmer now that I have quieted down. His current demeanor doesn’t move me enough to reveal anything.

“What I did with the money is none of your business.” I cross my arms and stare out of the window.

“It’s my business because you belong to me,” Thorne retorts.

“I’m beginning to believe that you think everything belongs to you. Well, I have news for you, Thorne Blackmore. You may control my body for the next few weeks, but you do not own my time, my mind, my heart, my free will, nor do you actually own me. We have an agreement, and all that entails is: I devote myself sexually to you for three months. After that there will be nothing between us. Nothing.” I realize that tears are pouring down my face, and I can’t control the things that I’m saying, but it feels like a release from my pent up anger.

His gray eyes are like burnt holes in his face. I can see that he is furious by the way his jaw is clenched and his nostrils are flaring. Thorne leans over, and my body stiffens, unsure of what to expect, but he stops a few inches away from my face. “Don’t worry, Chelsea. When this is over … you will never see me again,” he snarls.

I blink hard.

It’s okay, Chelsea. It’s okay. You’re used to this. The people you love have always gone away, but you have always survived to fight another day.

My grand plan to bring Momo over to England is instantly dashed the next morning. Granddad is allergic to animals. All animals. Be they mammals, reptiles, amphibians, or even insects.

But that is not what scares me. Over the next few weeks I am sent to all kinds of doctors and professionals who are very gentle and kind. They ask me all sorts of questions, and tell me they are evaluating my mental state so they can help me.

But I know what they are doing.

They are trying to make me say that Uncle Dave was not interfering with me, that Mama killed him for no reason.

I never let my guard down.

Not even when that kind nurse brought me a tangerine and asked me if mama had ever hit me, or hurt me. I peeled the tangerine slowly, then I looked up into her eyes and told her no.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say. “Mama is a good mother. She loves me.” Then I begin to cry.

Then the questions about what Uncle Dave did began.

“He touched me,” I say.

“Where?” they say.

I watch their faces carefully. When I point to my shoulders, they appear curious but unmoved, when I touch my chest, they start to look more interested. By the time I touch my Mary, they are very interested.

In the end I convinced them all that Uncle Dave touched me. After that there are exams where I have to take all my clothes off. They look between my legs. They smile and seem satisfied with their results.

The months pass quickly.

One day, Grandma tells me Mama has been sentenced to prison, but because of ex … ten … uating circumstances she has only been convicted of manslaughter and given a fifteen-year sentence. Fifteen years seems like a very, very, very long time to me, but Grandma says Mama will be able to get out earlier if she is well behaved.

Once Mama is convicted, there are no more tests, or doctors, or social workers. I carry on living in the pink room with all Mama’s dolls. I am not allowed to play with them. They have to remain in their packaging or they will lose their investment value.

Weeks turn into months and months into years.

I don’t enjoy life at my grandparents’ home. It’s hard to explain why. Many, many times, too countless to count, I feel like running away, but I can’t. Once a month, Grandma takes me to visit Mama. If I run away I will not be able to see her. And she needs me. I’m all she’s got.

Then when I’m sixteen years old Mama is released for good behavior. If my mother was a stranger before she is more so now. She gets an apartment and I go to live with her.