“Sara Jane?”

My name echoes through the apartment, but it’s not the voice I want to hear.

Shelly calls again, “Sara Jane, you here?”

The covers are pulled tighter and higher, the pillow adjusted over my head. The knock is light but loud enough. I remain quiet, burrowed in my bed, hoping she gives up. When the bed dips, I know I’m going to have to face her, but deep down I wanted to have a few more days before I had to explain.

“Hey,” she says, nudging my arm through the blanket. “You in there?” When I moan, she lies down on the bed next to me. “Remember when Chad and I broke up?”

“No, when did that happen?” I ask, moving the pillow just enough to peek out.

“Confession. We never broke up, but it got you talking. So do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Not really, and you’re not funny.” The pillow returns to cover my face.

Her arm comes around me, and she leans her head on my shoulder. “He misses you.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

“He’s showing it, but you’ve been buried in this bed for the last two days and haven’t seen it.” She sighs. “I don’t know what happened. He hasn’t told me or Chad, but I want you to know I’m on your side.”

“You don’t even know my side.”

“I know you and you’re my best friend, so that means I’m on your side.” She tries to move the pillow away from my head. At first I resist, and then I let her. I’m greeted with a warm albeit sympathetic smile. “It really sucks how pretty you are even when you’re depressed.”

I give in and laugh. “Shush it. I probably look horrible.”

“Nope. I’d tell you. Happily. ’Cuz that’s what friends do.”

Rolling my eyes, I move to my side and face her. “My chest hurts and I feel like I can’t cry another tear, and then they reappear, and I cry all over again.”

“What happened?”

“I can’t live with his secrets.”

“He’s always been mysterious. You can’t deny that’s not one aspect of what attracted you to him in the first place.”

Looking down, I nod. “He’s change—”

“Changed? No, he hasn’t, Sara Jane. He’s exactly the same guy you met years ago. It’s you who’s changed.”

I sit up, trying not to be offended. “Geez, thanks.” Before I can really get my pout put on properly, I consider what she’s saying. I don’t want her to be right. But deep down, I think she is. “I met Alexander the day of his mother’s funeral. Any parent’s death will shape your future, but his mother’s case was never solved. He won’t rest until he has answers, and his father won’t discuss it.” Staring up at the ceiling, I add, “I may have been young when we met, but I knew what I was getting into.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to stay. It’s a delicate matter, but it sounds like you’re either supporting him or moving on without him. And by the looks of you lying in this bed, although pretty, you look pretty damn stagnant.”

“I love him.” Resting my head on her shoulder now, I sigh. Love is tricky. Worth the risk? Alexander is not just a man who completes me as if I can’t be whole without him. He’s the man who sought me, pursued me, patiently but persistently waited for me. Enthralled me. He said he was lost when he found me, as if it was a state he believed he’d forever stay in. He’d just lost—brutally—the one person in his life who cherished him. But he’s also the man I said I would always love, cherish, and accept. Worth the risk to my heart to stay? To continue to adore and relish? “It is worth it. He’s worth it, but like his mother’s death changed him, he’s changed me.” I am the strong woman he believes me to be.

Grabbing the pillow and hugging it to my chest, I look at Shelly. “He’s right. He owns me. There is no me without him. There never was.”

* * *

Taking one last look in my mirror, I make sure every hair is in place, and that my dress has no wrinkles. I grab my purse and leave my apartment for what might be the first time in days. I’m not sure what I’m doing is the right thing, but two days without Alexander is more than I’m willing to live with. I miss him. I miss his moods and clandestine behavior. I miss his smile and that damn twinkle in his eyes when he wants to make love. I miss his arms around me and the way he holds me so possessively, and his hands on me intimately. I miss the way he makes me feel like me.

I miss him.

The living room was full of flowers, giving Shelly the perfect opportunity to say I told you so. He had been showing it—one white flower after another—each a flag of surrender filled with his apologies.

The valet opens my door and takes my keys. “Good evening, Miss.”

“Good evening.” My family has money, but like Alexander Kingwood III so rudely pointed out, not on this scale. That uncomfortable feeling twisted in my stomach causes me to place my hand flat against my belly over the black satin of the dress. I walk around the car and to the base of the stairs. Kingwood Manor looms in front of me offensively, momentarily cementing my shoes to the pavement.

My love for Alexander and all of his sides—complicated and mysterious—makes me take the first step. My excitement to see him, to apologize for walking away two days ago, propels me to the door. My thankfulness that he sent flowers to remind me of his love, urges me to walk confidently toward him. I’m greeted with a tray of champagne and take one for courage, drinking half before I reach the main living room.

It’s crowded, but not overly so. There are many women and a few men in their twenties by their appearance, but no comfort is found. Lifting up on my toes, I don’t see Alexander, but I do make eye contact with his father. He excuses himself with a charming smile and pat on a man’s shoulder, then turns to me and comes my way.

I do not like that man. I used to defend him because he was Alexander’s family, but like his son, I now despise him.

With a kiss to my cheek in greeting, his hand slides onto my lower back. “It’s good to see you, Ms. Grayson. I’m glad you could make it.”

Moving out of his hold, I look down, wishing Alexander were here. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. You look very beautiful this evening.”

“Thank you,” I reply, daring a glance his way. “Have you seen Alexander?”

“I have. He said something about fresh air, and then I saw he was with a young woman on the terrace. Not sure if they’re still there. Maybe they retired to his quarters. You know how restless young men can be.”

“How can you say that to me as if that won’t hurt? Is that what you’re trying to do? Are you trying to hurt me, Mr. Kingwood?”

“I don’t want you hurt, Ms. Grayson. I want you well aware of what it’s like to be with a Kingwood. There will be times when Alex will be needed to help ease transitions or seal deals. Taking advantage of all of his talents is necessary and wise in business. My apple didn’t fall far from the tree. We’re more similar than you think.”

If it weren’t for the classical music piped into the room and the chatter of guests around us, he would hear the shatter of my heart. “The only similarity between you and my Alexander is your gene pool. Nothing more.”

His smile is wide, victorious in its expression. “You speak as though I’m heartless. I’m not. I just don’t bother with games of the heart. It’s a fault my son struggles with.”

“It’s that trait that makes him human. It’s that trait that makes me love him.”

“Love is for the weak. As for tonight, I have a house full of investors. Let’s hope at least one makes an offer. I want you to fall in line. Kingwood Enterprises comes before family. You want a good life with my son, then help us close some deals.” With a smile I know holds no kindness on his face, he says, “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

I am not equipped to deal with a man of his stature, of his mind games, but I must hold my chin up and face him. “Yes, please tend to your guests.” We walk away at the same time. I move forward, trying to keep from running. I catch my breath after being under the intensity of his gaze, not realizing how stifling it was back there. I turn my attention to the doors that lead to the large granite terrace overlooking the gardens.

As I approach the picturesque windows that give a full view of the grounds during the day, I can see just enough in the dark to make out Alexander and a woman by his side. A sickness fills my stomach while I maneuver around a few guests and set my glass down on a table before opening one of the doors and walking out.

“I’m not fucking anyone else if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Wouldn’t do that to you.

But if I left him . . .

His words come rushing back. He told me he would never hurt me but seeing him with this other woman is feeding doubts to my developing insecurity.

It’s much quieter out here, only the sound of the music and a private conversation heard. Any other time, I’d love it, but my nightmare has come to life and I stand there, my mind fumbling for reasons to justify what I’m seeing, playing right into the fears his father planted. When I come up empty-handed, I turn to leave, to run, to escape back to the shelter of my apartment, where I should have stayed in the first place.

What was I thinking?

What am I trying to prove?

That I can be strong? That I can handle his secrets? That I can pretend he’ll change? That perhaps what I’ve always felt so sure about—that he couldn’t live without me—was just wishful thinking. Foolishness.

What am I doing?

What have I become?

“Sara Jane.”

With my back to him, I focus on breathing. Steady. Inhale. One. Two. Three. Exhale.

His voice is much closer when he asks, “What are you doing here?”

I am strong. I am strong. I am strong. I turn around and see pain written in his brow, the same pain I saw when he was talking about his mother’s death. His expression confuses me, and I falter. “I, uh, I . . .” My gaze shifts to his right and I see the tall, beautiful woman looking at me—head to toe and back up again.

She walks past us, and says, “We’ll talk soon, Alex.”

He nods, but his eyes never leave mine. “Yes. Have a good evening.” Stepping closer, he asks me, “Why are you here?”

“I was personally invited.”

“No, Sara Jane, why are you here?” he grits through his teeth.

“For you. To apologize for walking away the other day.”

He raises his hand as if to touch my arm, but restrains himself and lowers it. “You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything. Don’t you understand? You’re not supposed to be here.”

Stupid tears. Stupid damn tears. “I can see I’ve interrupted. I thought—”

“You didn’t think. You felt. What did I tell you about emotions? What have you done, Firefly?”

“What do you mean, Alexander? I’ve cried for days. I thought you’d be happy to see me. Don’t you love me anymore? Did you ever love me? I came here for you.”

“I love you more than you’ll ever know. That’s why it kills me that you’re here.” I can’t keep the distance between us. I need his arms to hold me, to tell me we’ll be okay, to keep me safe, and to warm me from the chill his father left coursing through my bones. As soon as my body touches his, he does just that. Strong arms wrap around my body and his head leans on top of mine. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?” A cry fills the question. “Why are you being so cryptic?”

“I’m sorry. But you fell into a trap. His trap. He wanted you here and you came. Just like he knew you would. Just like I hoped you wouldn’t.”

Angling my neck, I look up into his eyes that carry the burden of his grief so prevalently. “Your father?”

“He doesn’t spend his time on someone unless he wants something from them.”

My cloudy thoughts clear, and I step back. “You pushed me away on purpose, didn’t you? What does he want from me?”

“Why are you so stubborn?” The pain on his face morphs into something else, something I’m not familiar with seeing on him. “If I hadn’t, you would have come tonight. I didn’t want that.”

“You didn’t want me,” I reply, my arm rising to the side, “so you could have her?”

“I’ve tried my best to shield you from this life, but you’re not a little girl anymore, so stop acting like it.”

“I haven’t been a little girl in years, Alexander. You made sure of that.”

“You’re better off because of it. You’re not naïve like you were. I was helping you. The world is dangerous—”

I take another step back. “I’m starting to think the danger lives here in Kingwood Manor.”

“Good. Keep thinking that and leave before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“For us.”

The grip on my purse loosens and it falls to the ground. Alexander’s quick, his hand reaching it just as mine does. We stay there, eye to eye, my breath becoming his and his becoming mine, and then he whispers, “I love you, Firefly.” Mesmerized by the sincerity that fills him, I start to speak, but he beats me to it, “Now leave and never come back.”

We stand slowly, our hands still touching. Our eyes confined to each other’s. With no argument left to give, I take my purse, and he lets go. I turn for the door, and once again, allow him to let me go. Three years. For this. To be pushed away in the name of love. “I love you, Firefly.”

Tears don’t come this time, anger and shock too potent to let the weaker emotion in. The party carries on, the music playing as a backdrop to the gossip and deals. Even the white glow of candles and flowers filling the room don’t mute the ominous dark walls that harbor more buried secrets. I turn back to see him one last time, but Alexander’s gone, as if he were a dream all along.

This huge house is filled with haunting memories and sin that wants my soul. My hands begin to shake, an early winter filling my veins, but I dismiss the eeriness. I know better. I know Alexander, and he loves me. That’s why he tries so hard to protect me. What he doesn’t realize is that I will sell my soul on the altar of this manor if I have the chance to stand by his side.

No matter how hard the Kingwoods attempt to scare me away, Alexander is worth the fight. His father may be long gone to the manor and his grief, but I won’t let him drag Alexander down with him.

I turn in a circle looking for any sign of him, but none is found. Rushing across the room, I step up the staircase for a better view. That’s when I see him just before he disappears down a hall. I hurry, working my way through the guests and down that same path. But when I arrive to where I think he disappeared, I’m alone with extravagant rugs and expensive looking artwork hung meticulously on the walls. “Alexander?” Slowly, I start walking down the long corridor, looking and listening, for any sign of him.

The party fades as I step deeper into the hollows of the mansion. Then I stop when I hear Alexander: “And if I refuse?”

“Don’t be daft, Alex. This benefits you as well as me.” The hairs on my arm stand when his father speaks.

I move closer until I’m next to an intricately carved wooden door with a large brass lion knocker centered in the middle. I’ve never been to this part of Kingwood Manor, always too scared to explore on my own. I have no idea what lies beyond it, but my guess is an office by the sounds coming from inside.

Alexander says, “I won’t sign.”

“You will. You have no choice.”

“Seems I have all the choices.”

“Not if I cut you off.”

“I have my own money.”

“What about Ms. Grayson?” I lean closer when his father says my name, his tone disconcerting even and controlled. “She’s perfect, Alex. You did well, son.”

You did well.

She’s perfect.

You did well.