Edmund was glad he'd set their date on Saturday; he had Hester all to himself through the night, as many times as he could muster, and throughout most of the next day. She insisted on leaving late in the middle of Sunday night—apparently she needed sleep before work.

The moment she left, he had to deal with real-life issues. At three am on Sunday night, it was Monday morning in the U.K. and the office had plenty of work for him to get through. He slept a few hours and woke up to funeral arrangement information. Shit, it was tomorrow.

He managed to sort out the technicalities and went to buy a suit around midday, his mind still on the weekend. It would be a long time before he forgot that weekend, or the woman he'd spent it with. Because of the sex, certainly—it wasn't everyday he met a switch who seemed up for just about anything under the sun—but also because of her smart mouth, and her laugh that never failed to make him smile along.

What had she said just last week? That it had been nothing more than some good fun. She was right. They'd wanted each other, they'd fucked each other, and that should have been the end of it. Right? 

He tied up his workday by three, as it was eight o'clock in the U.K., and then Edmund stared at his phone, feeling strange. He'd had to stop himself from texting or calling all fucking day. 

Then he decided to say fuck it to hook-up protocol, and just sent a damn text. 

"Did you wake up okay?" 

He'd purposefully contacted Hester on her personal phone and he didn't expect a reply before the end of the work day, but his phone buzzed not even half an hour later. 

"No! I woke up at EIGHT." 

She was still typing, according to his phone. Soon, another message flashed on the screen. 

"And anyone who knows me knows that never, ever happens. I'm normally up by six, latest." 

"You went home at two in the morning," he reminded her. 

"Not the first or last time. My body clock always wakes me up, regardless. I made it to work before nine, but a lot later than usual. You're a dangerous distraction, Edmund." 

She was one to talk.

And so they resumed their friendly conversation as if nothing had happened the previous evening. Ed was a little lost. What was their deal? They were joking and flirting and fucking. She didn't want to be seen outside of his hotel room with him so he couldn't call it dating, but at the same time, he talked to her way more than with any casual fuckbuddy.

And he cared. He actually gave a damn about the woman. A lot more than he had about Anna, and maybe even Erica.

He ate out in the city and returned to the hotel by nine, annoyed to see that his bed had been remade. He lay down on it and found that he could still get a whiff of her scent on the pillow.

Holy shit. Was he really sniffing pillows now? What was wrong with him! He was itching to text Hester, check if she wanted to pop over for round…eleven? He'd lost count. Any other night, he might have. But he was burying his uncle the next day.

Lola and Cici arrived at dawn; he had his assistant virtually book a room for them, and went to pick them up in person.

"My favorite boy," Cici greeted him, air-kissing both of his cheeks.

He smiled, knowing she meant it. Cici had two nephews, and there was only one she could stand the sight of.

"Mama."

"How have you been, Eddy? And that delightful girl of yours—I hope it's going well."

"Woman, Mom. That's the correct term for adult females."

Lola rolled her eyes. "We're all girls at heart. Your generation just likes to find everything offensive."

He hugged his two favorite women and took them for breakfast. They only stopped at the hotel for half an hour to get changed, before heading to the venue where Jennifer had organized the funeral.

The assistant had been quite handy in the end. Ed was going to have to give her a bonus before her returned home.

The funeral wasn't as daunting as he'd believed it might be; they were celebrating a long, prosperous life. That it had ended was sad, he'd miss Malcolm, but his uncle had been suffering toward the end. 

The Trents attended with handkerchiefs they didn't need to use, and glared at his back the entire way. Cici grinned, taking his hand in a show of support. 

No sooner had the casket been lowered underground than the vultures circled around Cici. 

"I supposed you've heard about the peculiar way Malcolm's affairs have been arranged, Cecilia?" Daniela asked, her mouth thin.  

"Peculiar?" Cici repeated. "Pardon me, but what exactly was peculiar about Malcolm giving his money to whoever he damn well pleased?" 

Her four siblings gasped. "We're all part of his family! It isn't fair to any of our children that he should receive the majority of the funds from an estate that came from our father."

Ed had heard it all already.

"Listen to me carefully, dears. I shall not repeat myself. You're a bunch of nasty little gremlins and no one with two functional brain cells likes you. You've raised your children to emulate you. They're all just as horrible as the rest of you lot. Malcolm was a good chap, and he hated your guts. The only reason you have anything at all is because of the blood running through your veins. Now, you can stomp your foot and cry about it all day long, but the fact is, you're screwed. You won't get a penny except for what's in the will. Unless," she added, "you sign today. Then, I'll chuck a hundred thousand in each of your pockets, how about that?"

Edmund wished someone had handed him popcorn. He just loved watching his grandmother in action.

Then a deep-rooted unease troubled him.

She had solved the problem for him; he was sure the Trents would sign before the end of the business day.

Which meant that it was time for him to return to London.