The jury’s deliberation carries on through the night and most of the next day. We all arrive in court the following morning bright and early for the verdict. Jay and I haven’t spoken much, but there has been a lot of meaningful eye contact going on, mine full of unanswered questions.

Brian Scott is there with his team, but Una Harris is nowhere to be found. Early this morning there were news reports claiming that after the scandal of phone and email hacking, The Daily Post is going to be shut down. And it wasn’t even Jay’s story that was the catalyst. It was the story of Una exposing Victor Nugent’s private affairs, which was shortly followed by him taking his own life, that has incited the anger against the publication.

The fact that Una came by her information illegally has had the entire country in uproar, with readers boycotting The Daily Post entirely. If the newspaper does close down, over one hundred people are going to lose their jobs, and I’m not sure how well that sits with me.

By the judge’s request, the forewoman of the jury stands up to give the verdict. A clerk asks her if the jury has reached a verdict, to which she replies with a simple, “Yes.”

“Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?” asks the clerk.

“Guilty,” replies the forewoman.

“Is that the verdict of you all?”

“Yes.”

Well, surprise, surprise. And when I say “surprise,” I mean no surprise. Dad and Jay shake each other’s hands and pat one another on the back in victory. I’m delighted for them, really I am. Dad just seems so happy, and it’s incredible to see that. I haven’t seen him smile like this since before Mum died.

Brian Scott beams rays of hate across the courtroom at Jay with nothing but his eyes. Jay doesn’t notice, though, and that’s mainly because his attention is fixed firmly on me. He seems…apprehensive.

As I said, the guilty verdict is no surprise. What is a surprise is the sum of money that gets awarded to Jay. Two. Million. Euros. No, I’m not joking. That’s a lot for this country. I’d expected one hundred thousand, maybe two, but two million? Wow.

As soon as he can, Jay makes his way to my side, his hands in his pockets. “Watson, we need to talk.”

“I’m…I’m not feeling very well. I think I might still have a touch of the flu. I’m going to go home and lie down.”

“But I’m treating everyone to a celebratory lunch. Come on, I want you there.”

Looking into his eyes, I can’t bring myself to say no to him, so I nod weakly. He puts his hand to the small of my back and leads me from the courthouse. The press are waiting in their droves, and Jay insists I stand by his side as he gives a statement.

I’m in a bit of a daze, because normally I wouldn’t agree to be on television like that. Jay’s statement is going to be on every news channel this evening, I’m sure. And I will be right there with him, probably wearing a comically confused look on my face.

Everything that happens after the verdict feels like a blur. Before I know it, I’m sitting in a nice Italian restaurant with Jay, Dad, and Will, eating spaghetti carbonara and trying to figure out why my brain feels like it’s turning to mush. I feel like I’m trapped inside one of those swirly optical illusions that make you dizzy just looking at them.

There is information in some dark recess of my brain, just dying to break its way out, to help me understand what’s really going on.

Jay has barely stopped staring at me, his gaze probing and intense. Dad and Will chat amiably about the success of the trial as I push back my seat and stand up, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.

I don’t go to the bathroom.

Instead, I walk right out of the restaurant and hail a taxi to take me home. When I get there, the prospect of going inside is too suffocating, so I decide to take a walk to clear my head. I cross the road and walk toward the promenade. When I find an empty bench, I sit down and stare out at the water.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been there when something drops down beside me. I glance to my left to see a stack of old letters tied together with some string. I can feel somebody looming over me. Jay.

I don’t turn to look at him.

“What are these?” I ask curiously, picking them up and setting them in my lap.

“Letters written by my mother,” he answers. “Why did you run out of the restaurant like that? We were worried about you, and you weren’t answering your phone.”

I face-palm. “Damn. I’m sorry. It’s on silent. I just needed to get some air. Letters?”

He walks around the bench and lowers himself to sit, his arm resting across the back of it. I can feel his heat. “Yeah, I want you to read them. When I was just a kid, I used to think she was writing in a diary, but that wasn’t it. She was writing letters to my uncle. She used to write to him every week without fail, and the prick never wrote her back. He’d read them and then set them aside. I think he was using it as an experiment to see how long she’d keep writing without ever receiving a reply.”

“That’s a little cruel. Is this the uncle in America? The one you went to live with?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch sending shivers through me. “Yeah. Just read them. They’ll paint a clearer picture for you. Then I’ll explain the rest.”

I look down at them again. “Okay.”

He smiles at me, sad and affectionate. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” Linking his arm through mine, he helps me up.

“Why do you look so sad?” I ask, stopping and putting a hand to his chest as I stare up at him.

His words are a whisper, a faint watery shine in his eyes. “Because I’m afraid of losing you. And if you decide you don’t want me, I’m not sure if I can let you go.”

Emotion catches in my throat. “Jay.”

“Just read the letters,” he pleads.

I gather myself, nod silently, and we walk back to the house. Jay stands on the doorstep as I put my key in the door. When I step into the hallway, I turn back to him, but he’s vanished, ever the magician.

Wanting privacy, I go straight to my room and undo the string that’s keeping the letters held together. I flick through them, noticing that they’ve been stacked in order of date. Carefully, I open the first one and unfold the paper.

Dear Killian,

I haven’t heard from you in months. I know you enjoy your solitude, but I miss our talks. We used to be so close as children. Do you remember? We made Dad move your bed into my room so that we wouldn’t have to sleep alone. I miss those days. Childhood feels so hard, but then you look back and realise they were the easiest days of your life.

We moved into a new house last year. It was a fixer-upper, but with a little TLC we managed to do it up nicely. It’s still nothing amazing, but the area is wonderful. So quiet. Peaceful. The neighbourhood has actually become quite sought after. Just the other day a property developer came and made an offer to buy the place. I invited him in for tea, and he told me about his plans to build a brand-new hotel right where our house is. He was a lovely man.

Sometimes I forget that there are nice men out there. I spend so much time with Luke that it feels like they’re all monsters. I’m not sure how much longer I can take being married to him. It’s not just me he hurts anymore. He’s started in on Jason and Jack now, too.

I want to sell the house, take my half of the money, and get away from him, take the boys with me. When I told Luke about the offer, he called the man up and told him he’d sell him the house for double. He’s being entirely unreasonable, and I really can’t see him getting that amount of money for the place.

God, it feels so good to tell you all of this. To vent. Please write me back if you have the time. I’d call you, only Luke still hasn’t had the telephone connected, and I hate using public phones.

Anyway, I heard about your new teaching job at the university. Aunt Moira visited a few weeks ago and told me. It must be very exciting. I’d love to hear about how you’re getting along there.

Your loving sister,

Phillipa.

Out of the whole letter, the part I fixate most on is, It’s not just me he hurts anymore. He’s started in on Jason and Jack now, too. Tears make my eyes grow watery. I read the next few letters. They mostly detail Phillipa, Jay’s mother’s, struggle with depression and dealing with her husband’s physical abuse. They mention the property developer coming over to the house while her husband is at work on several occasions. I get the sense of their friendship growing until it becomes something more.

Phillipa never mentions his name until the seventh letter. She’s terrified of her husband finding out, but the property developer is keen for them to continue their secret affair. And that’s when she finally does mention his name.

Brian.

I stare at the name for a long time, trying to figure out if it’s just a coincidence, or if this means something. Then I pull out my phone and Google “Brian Scott.” Sure enough, his Wikipedia page details how he came from a lower working-class background and that it’s rumoured he was a loan shark in his younger years before he ventured into property development, shortly followed by the launch of his newspaper, The Daily Post.

Christ.

Jay’s mother had an affair with Brian Scott.

I move on to the next letter, noticing how they become more and more desperate for advice. It seems that Brian is not the fairy-tale prince she originally thought. Apparently, he is now threatening to reveal their affair to her husband if she doesn’t somehow convince him to sign the papers and sell their house. She also mentions that Brian’s girlfriend showed up one day, shouting and screaming at Phillipa to stay away from her boyfriend.

It’s all becoming too much for her.

She tries to get her husband to sign the papers, but he’s a stubborn, greedy man, and refuses to sell the house unless Brian is prepared to pay an inordinate sum of money for it. Brian does not succumb to this. It seems that he, too, is a stubborn, greedy man. Philippa is considering taking what little money she has hidden away and leaving with her two boys. She cannot take much more of what is happening.

She wants to disappear.

And that’s when the letters end. My heart is racing. What occurred between Phillipa’s last letter and her death? Judging from the dates, they can’t have been written very long before Jay’s family died and he went to live with his uncle. I just have to know.

I slip on my shoes and call a taxi, instructing the driver to take me straight to Jay’s apartment. He gave me a spare key a couple of months ago, saying it was only fair since he still had a key to my place. I take the elevator up to the top floor and get out, walking down the hallway and stopping when I get to Jay’s place.

I don’t need to use my key, because the door has been kicked in.

My shock lasts only a moment before I force myself into action, taking out my phone and dialling emergency services. I whisper down the line just in case the person or persons who broke in are still there. The woman on the other end assures me that the Gardai are on their way.

I should go outside and wait for them to arrive. That would be the logical thing to do. But I’m not feeling very logical, it seems, because I step right past the kicked-in door. I still have the rape alarm, pepper spray, and Swiss army knife in my handbag. I dig out the pepper spray, which, might I add, is not exactly legal in this country. And when I say “not exactly legal,” I mean illegal. I had to order it online, deciding that breaking the law was a necessary evil in order to protect myself. There’s that phrase again. Perhaps Jay and I are more alike than I thought.

It’s quiet when I first step inside, but then I hear the voices, loud and desperate. They’re coming from the terrace balcony. Moving through the apartment slowly, I make my way to the door that leads outside, but stop just on the threshold, hiding myself behind the doorframe.

If my heart was racing before, now it’s catapulting into the stratosphere.

Jay is standing just by the railing that surrounds the terrace, and before him is a crazed-looking Brian Scott, a gun held out in front of him aimed directly at Jay.

“Why did you do it, huh? Why?!” Brian demands.

The professional way in which he’s holding his weapon leads me to believe this is not the first time he’s threatened someone at gunpoint. However, there’s a crazed air about him that is far from professional. I have no doubt he’s mad enough right now to use the gun.

“Put that fucking thing down and I’ll tell you,” says Jay, his voice sharp, yet way too calm for the current situation. He looks at Brian, who isn’t putting the gun down, cocks an eyebrow, and goes to sit on a deck chair. “No? All right, then, you keep on pointing it at me if it makes your dick feel bigger.”

“You’ve destroyed my business, my career, my life! I will use this. I swear I will,” Brian yells.

Jay looks at him like he’s a hysterical housewife who just had her clean carpets trodden all over with mucky shoes. “I don’t doubt you, Brian. A man left with nothing has nothing left to lose, right?” he says, and there’s a vicious tone to his words.

Jay pulls a cigarette from behind one ear and a match from behind the other. Striking the match off the side of his boot, he brings it to the end of his cigarette and lights up. He exhales a long puff of smoke as he stares at Brian. When he does this, his eyes are different; his face is transformed into something hard and inscrutable. Undiluted hatred seeps from his pores, all directed at the man standing before him.

I’ve never seen him look like this before. A chameleon that can become someone else with nothing but a change in its facial muscles springs to mind. He looks dangerous. For the first time, I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of the tortured, pained soul that’s been hidden beneath the surface. And it is just as real as the witty charmer I’ve come to know.

“I suppose I should start off with the simple part,” says Jay. “Fields was my mother’s maiden name. Do you wanna hazard a guess at what my birth name was?”

“I don’t have time for guessing games,” Brian spits.

Jay exhales another puff of smoke and flicks off the ash. “No, I don’t suppose you do. My birth name was McCabe. Jason McCabe, ring a bell?”

Brian’s eyes widen, and his hold on the gun falters for a second before he rights himself.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope. You wanted to buy my parents’ house back in the day. Dad was being a prick about it, so you decided you’d start up an affair with my mother, then use it as blackmail to get her to push Dad to sell the house. You didn’t bank on what an evil shit my dad could be, and when he started making demands, you got angry. You wanted to do something that would force my family out of that house, and that’s when your little girlfriend, Una, began whispering in your ear.

“I like to think of her as your own personal Lady Macbeth, but with a much lower IQ. Una was jealous of the time you’d spent with my mother. In fact, she despised my mother for taking your attentions away from her. She wanted her out of the picture, so she convinced you that setting fire to our house would be a good idea. That the fire department would arrive in time to save our lives, but that once the house was destroyed, my parents would sell the land to you in a heartbeat. So, like men who let their cocks lead them the world over, you did as Una suggested. Only the fire department didn’t get there in time, did it, Brian?”

Jay stands now and takes a step toward him, his passion growing by the second.

“You orchestrated all of this because that fire killed your family?” Brian responds, and takes a step back, the wind gone out of his sails.

“Yes, but wait, there’s more,” says Jay. “You got our house, but there was another one you needed to buy up in order for your building project to go ahead. The family who lived in this neighbouring house were just as adamant not to sell, because they loved their home too much to move somewhere else. You were no stranger to threatening people to get what you wanted, so you had your men break into the house one night with the intention of putting the frighteners on them. One of your men took things a little too far, though, and shot the wife. Do you know whose wife that was, Brian?”

“This was all a long time ago,” Brian mutters, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“I didn’t think you’d remember, which only proves you deserve everything I’ve done to you. I know we’re not the only ones who’ve suffered because of the things you’ve done. You’ve fucked up so many lives that you can’t even keep count anymore. It made you rich, I’ll give you that. But you know what they say, Brian, behind every great wealth is a great crime, and your crimes are insurmountable. Still no idea whose wife it was?”

Brian lifts the gun higher. “Fuck you. I don’t care. I don’t bloody care. You’ve completely fucked me.”

Jay stubs out his smoke and gets up from his seat. What he says next makes me feel like fainting. “It was Hugh Brandon’s wife. The same man who represented me in court. The one who brought down your entire newspaper, everything you’ve built by being a selfish, evil degenerate. It’s all quite poetic, isn’t it?”

I turn around and sink to the floor as the puzzle pieces fit themselves together in my head. When I was little, my neighbours’ house burned down, and Jay was that boy, the one I used to play with and take care of. Una Harris and Brian Scott were the reason that house burned down. They were the reason my family was torn apart by my mother’s death.

The reason why Jay did this.

He did this for us. For my family and for his. Tears fill my eyes, grief and gratitude melding into one.

Brian’s voice is calmer now, but not in a good way. I try to pull myself together enough to pay attention to what’s happening. Slowly, I stand back up, scanning Jay’s apartment for anything that resembles a weapon. I still have the pepper spray clutched in my hand, but I’m not sure if it will help. What if Brian pulls the trigger as a reflex when I spray him?

Unfortunately, if what he says next is anything to go by, he’s going to pull it anyway.

“Thanks for clearing that up for me, Jason. Now I can do what I came here to do,” says Brian in a dead, monotone voice.

“You gonna shoot me? Go ahead,” says Jay, and that’s when his eyes move to mine. He knew I was here all along! He makes some sort of subtle nodding gesture to the spray I’m holding, but I don’t know what it means. Does he want me to use it? Not use it?

I only have seconds to decide, and right before Brian pulls the trigger, I dive out onto the balcony, aiming right for his eyes. Brian wails when the spray hits him, and the gun goes off. Jay jumps right over the edge of the balcony, and I gasp in shock. I think the bullet still hit him. Brian lets the gun drop as he clutches his face, and I grab it.

Sweat is pouring out of me and my heart is racing, my chest heaving. I have never held a gun before in my life, but I point it at Brian just as several uniformed men burst into the apartment. They take the gun from me, and I let them, shock kicking in. They handcuff me, but I don’t have words to explain to them what happened. I’m staring at the railing Jay just jumped over, but then I notice a pair of hands holding onto the edge.

Relief floods me as he pulls himself back up onto balcony.

He didn’t jump. He’d been holding onto the bar. There’s blood on his shirt from where the bullet grazed him. I focus on that as he talks angrily to the officers, instructing them to take the handcuffs off me right away. He goes on to tell them that the gun belonged to Brian and I was only defending myself. Once I’m uncuffed, Jay walks me over to his couch and sits me down, rubbing soothingly at my shoulders and staring at me with soulful, expectant eyes. I hear him telling the officers that there’s a security camera out on the terrace, and they’ll be able to see everything that happened in the footage.

Time passes.

I remain in my place, trying to figure out how the skinny, uncared-for young boy I used to play with as a child could be the same man I’ve come to know. How did I not recognise him? I know he doesn’t look anything like he used to, but I like to think there would be something in his eyes that would make me remember.

Something in his mischievous smile.

Because when I think of that smile, I suddenly realise that it’s the very same smile he often gave me when we played as kids. The tears spring forth again, my heart pounding.

He hadn’t been in my life for long, but I’d cared for him so much. Had always looked back on him as one of the most important childhood friends I’d ever had, both him and his brother. His poor little brother who’s dead and gone, all because of Brian and Una.

The moment I’d first laid eyes on him that day at the office, I’d felt a connection. I never fathomed it could be because I’d known him all along. And he’d known me.

Now I understand everything. I understand why Jay did all this. I understand his need for retribution. But why didn’t he tell me from the very beginning? Why keep it a secret all these months?

Before I know it, the apartment has been cleared, Jay has jimmy-rigged the door until the repair man comes in the morning, and we’re alone. Silently, he comes and wipes my tears away with his fingertips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, moving my eyes to meet his. I want to stare at him for hours, just soak up the contours of his face. For a brief minute in time, I’d thought he was dead out there on that balcony. A moment of silence elapses. He stares at me until I look at him again, then starts to speak.

“Because I wanted you to see me, the real me. I didn’t want you to remember a beat-up, skinny, sad little kid with a dead family when you looked at me.”

“I liked that kid. And I like the man, too. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Jay runs a hand through his hair and gets up from his seat. He walks across the room before coming back to sit with me again. He takes my hands firmly into his and looks deep into my eyes, too deep, almost.

“If I told you who I was, then I’d have to tell you my entire plan. You never would have gone for it. You have too much honour, and I didn’t want to involve you in any of the shady things I had to do to make the trial happen. That’s why I’ve kept you at a distance, too. I didn’t want what was between us to be built on secrets, secrets I couldn’t tell you. You’d have told your dad, and then he never would have agreed to represent me in court. And I needed him to do it. I needed him to be the one to take down Brian and Una, because they were the ones who ruined his family, destroyed his life. I did a lot of research on your dad, you know, before I ever came back here. He graduated top in his class, won some very high-profile cases before your mom passed. Then it all went to shit. His confidence plummeted. I wanted to give him back something of what he’d lost.”

I stare at him, mouth open, heart clenching. He did that for my dad. I never thought anyone really cared about us but each other. But that wasn’t true. There was a boy who grew into a man who cared enough to fight for us. And now I feel like crying again.

“Hush, don’t cry, darlin’,” says Jay, the tears in my eyes upsetting him.

He brings my hand up to rest on one side of his chest where the six of hearts tattoo is drawn. He’s still topless after the paramedics came and bandaged up the wound where the bullet grazed him.

He takes my finger and places it on one of the hearts. “This one is you, Matilda.” He moves it to the next one. “This one is me.” And the next. “This one is my brother. This one is my mom. This one is your dad, and this one is your mom. Six hearts, remember? Six people I care about most. I did this for all of us.”

He moves my hand again, bringing it to the other side of his chest, where the cubist design is drawn. He traces my finger over it in the shape of an “M,” and I suddenly see that the tattoo is an illusion, and hidden within the illusion is the first letter of my name.

“This one is you, too, the most important one,” he murmurs, and I gasp.

“You got this for me?” I whisper, hardly able to believe it.

“I did, Matilda. I might tell you that you’re mine, but you need to understand that it goes both ways. I belong to you, too.”

My heart hammers. I can’t think of a thing to say.

He brings his hand to my neck, to my scar, and starts to rub. “Those letters I gave you? They’re only half of them. The rest have far more details about Una and Brian. I found them one day in my uncle’s study when I was searching for money to run away with. I took them with me when I ran, and after I read them, a black pit started to grow inside me. I knew I had to do something to fix what happened to my mom and my brother, to punish the people who did it to them. They had been my whole world. I didn’t give a fuck about my dad. He could burn in hell for all I cared. The anger festered inside me for years. Then I started doing magic professionally and got back on my feet. I began looking into Brian and Una, seeing where they were now, and I knew I had to take them down. They were on top, and from what I could tell, they’d ruined a lot of people to get there.

“Then I remembered your family, how spending my evenings at your house were some of the happiest times of my life. So I got curious and looked you guys up. What I discovered was a newspaper article about the break-in, detailing how your mom was shot, and you and your dad beaten and injured. I pictured you as this little nine-year-old girl being attacked by a grown man, and it made me so angry I could kill someone. I investigated further and saw that your house had been sold to Brian’s company, and I knew he was behind the break-in. So then my plan grew. I wasn’t just getting revenge for myself anymore — I was getting it for you and your dad, too.”

He’s still rubbing my scar. “Dad knows, doesn’t he? That’s what you both were arguing about the other night.”

Jay sighs. “Yeah. I had to tell him. It had gotten to the point where half the evidence I had wasn’t making sense to him anymore, so he had to know.”

“You should have told me.”

“You know I couldn’t. This needed to run smoothly. I couldn’t risk it.”

I pull away from him. “That’s bullshit. I wouldn’t have told anyone. I would have kept your secret.”

He ignores my anger and instead continues talking.

“The first time I saw you since you were a kid was about two years ago, on the street outside your dad’s offices. You were carrying a bunch of takeaway coffees, struggling to keep a hold of all of them. God, you were so fucking beautiful. I wanted to go and help you, introduce myself, but I had to wait. I watched you a lot after that, finding reasons in my head to go and check up on you. You never saw me, not until the day I came for my appointment. I found my feelings for you growing. In the beginning, I thought I cared for you like a sister, but then I saw you as a woman, and I was done for. You were beautiful…and I was drowning.”

“You…you followed me without my knowledge?”

He clears his throat. “I’m not saying it was a logical or good thing to do. But I had to see you, even if it was from afar. I became addicted. And then I really knew I couldn’t tell you about my plan until it was all over. I couldn’t take the chance. I needed you to fall in love with me, because I was already so deeply in love with you.”

My heart stops, just literally stops beating. “What?” I whisper.

“I was in love with you,” Jay repeats. “I am in love with you. I think I’ve loved you since I was a kid.”

Staring into his eyes, I see the sincerity of his words.

Epic love.

All of a sudden, it comes to me. The epic love I’ve always wanted was with me all along, and it’s nothing like what I imagined. It’s better, because it’s real. It’s not perfect or pretty. It’s full of mistakes and sacrifices, and sometimes even ugliness. All of a sudden, I know that none of the bad things Jay has done in the past matter. My feelings for him are what matter, and there’s nothing on this earth that could change them. Words fail me again, and I’m shaking.

Jay rambles on, “If I told you who I was and what I was doing straight off the bat, you might not have wanted anything to do with me. So, I became your housemate. I became your friend. We got to know each other. And even though you won’t admit it to yourself, I know you love me, darlin’. I can see it right there in those gorgeous baby blues.”

He takes my face in his hands now, his thumbs stroking just under the line of my jaw, his voice hushed. I tremble.

“After my family died in that fire, I came to stay at your house. You probably don’t remember this, but I was crying into my pillow. You came into the room, crawled into bed beside me, and held me the entire night. I’ll never forget it. We were just kids, but I think you stole a piece of my heart that very night.”

Tears start to fall down my cheeks, but he wipes them away. “I do remember. I could hear you crying. I thought you were having a nightmare, so I went inside to check on you.”

“I never have nightmares when you’re with me, Matilda,” he says.

“I….” My throat catches. “I have so many questions.”

His eyes go sad, and for a second I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing. The sadness vanishes quickly, though, and he tugs me farther onto the couch to sit on his lap.

“Ask me, then.”

We stay there for hours, and he tells me everything. How it took him years to conceive of his plan. How in the beginning he never actually thought he’d go through with it, but just the idea of revenge, of relief, was soothing to him. The possibility that he would one day make things right. He’d pace each night before bed, reciting his plan, sometimes adding on new bits, and it helped him to sleep.

Then came the hard part. He knew that some of the things he needed to do would require the help of some questionable individuals, so he sought to make a connection with a man named Seamus Crowley, a powerful crime lord in the city. This was the same man I’d seen him meet up with that night at the docklands with the shifty-looking bodyguards. The one who came to me in the park.

Jay paid Seamus to help him forge the documents he needed to make it look like David Murphy had died. He also helped Jay ensure those documents went missing before the case got to trial. And that’s why he took something from Brian Scott that day outside The Daily Post offices. It was his access card, and Jay needed it to get into the newspaper’s file rooms. The idea of Jay having associations with a crime boss makes me worry, but he assures me that his debt to Seamus has been paid in full. Seamus threatening me that day was him flexing his muscles, ensuring that Jay paid his debt to him.

Both David Murphy and the cameraman, Blake, who was acting as Una Harris’ informant, were in on the plan. Like Jessie, they had been good friends of Jay’s for years, owed him for many favours he’d done for them, and so they agreed to help him. Blake started working as Una’s informer long before they started filming, gaining her trust in order to ensure she’d believe him about the death.

In regards to the TV show, Jay had only a small number of people working on it with him, people he knew he could trust with the secret that David Murphy wasn’t dead. The television executives only put a pause on the show after Una Harris’ article had come out, and Jay let them believe her, simply never correcting them that David was, in fact, still alive. Since it was mostly his own money invested in creating the show in the first place, the channel didn’t lose much in finally cancelling it several months before the trial.

So, how did he know Una would even pick up the story in the first place? Now, that I’m under strict instructions not to reveal. But I will say this:

My dad’s sudden interest in renovating our spare bedroom and renting it out was NOT his own decision. Neither was it the decision of the three volunteers at Jay’s show to write down the band, book and painting that they did. It’s all very clever and the power of subconscious suggestion is a fascinating thing. So no, Jay is not actually magic, nor does he possess “godlike super minding-reading skills.” (Jerry Burke, 2013, Hotmail.) Let’s just say, if you could crack open the man’s brain and take a look inside, it would be a truly illuminating experience.

My head actually hurts by the time he’s finished telling me everything.

“I can’t believe how much time you invested in all of this,” I tell him. “How much effort. I feel unworthy.”

Jay’s arm rests along the back of the couch. He runs his hand through my hair. “Never doubt your worth to me, Matilda. My whole life, my entire career, is investing vast amounts of time for one single result, a result that sometimes only lasts a moment. Every illusion takes hours, weeks, months of planning, and each one is worth the time. In a lot of ways, what I did to get justice for our families was a mirror of that process, and I don’t regret a single moment. You know why?”

“Why?” I whisper.

He locks eyes with me. “Because every step brought me here. To you.”

His mouth is so close to mine I can practically taste him. Our breaths mingle, full of need that we’ve been suppressing for months. I lick my lips, and he watches the movement hungrily. Between that second and the next, his mouth descends on mine, and he’s kissing me with a fiery passion. My body melds to his, my hands grasping for his belt, wanting his pants gone.

“Been a real long fucking time,” he murmurs as he sucks on my neck. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you, taste you, these past few months?”

I moan. “A lot.”

“Yeah, a lot,” he rasps. “So much I’ve now got a master’s in masturbation.”

Giggles burst forth. “Jason, please never use ‘master’s in masturbation’ ever again.”

“Why not? It’s got a good ring to it.” His hand goes between my legs, up under my skirt, and straight past my underwear. I whimper when he slides his fingers deep inside me and swears loudly.

“I don’t like it.”

“You love it.” One pump.

“Do not.” Another one.

“Yeah, ya do.” His fingers move fast now, in and out, and I don’t want to be talking anymore. Still, I can’t let him have the last word.

“Don’t.”

“You do. You fucking love it, and you love me, too.”

I gasp, and our eyes lock. He stares at me, still finger-fucking me. “Try to deny it. I dare you,” he goes on with a dark, sexy look.

“I do….”

He puts his other hand to my lips to shush me, then picks me up and carries me into his room. I’ve only been in his bedroom here a handful of times, and it thrills me when he lays me down on the bed before stripping off every last item of clothing I have on.

I lie there, chest heaving, as he moves away from me. Seconds later, he’s gloriously naked and crawling back up my body. He spreads my legs, his mouth going straight for my sex. I cry out the second his tongue makes contact with my clit.

Jay’s right. It has been way too long.

He works on me in a frenzy, the both of us desperate for each other. He looks up at me, his eyes smouldering, and my cheeks heat. I love how quickly he can strip me bare, literally and figuratively. I brush my fingers through his hair in adoration, my heart so full it could burst. My body coils tight, and I know I’m going to come soon.

The orgasm hits me hard and quick, and as the pleasure is shattering through me, I blurt out a fervent declaration, “I love you, Jay. I love you so much.”

He smiles up at me, a crooked, dashing smile, and replies, “Yeah, ya do. Love you, too, Watson.”

“Come here,” I murmur, and pull him up my body, dragging his mouth to mine.

Our tongues collide as his erection teases between my legs. With one swift, hard thrust of his hips, he’s deep inside me. We break the kiss, and our gazes lock.

His hand cups one side of my face, his eyes reverent. “You’re my home, Matilda,” he breathes, his words a vow. “I feel at peace now. You’re mine.”

I moan as goose bumps break out all over my body. “Say it,” he demands.

“I’m yours,” I choke out, feeling like I’m fit to burst with the love that runs through me for this man. “I’m yours.”

A glorious smile splits his lips as a sheen of sweat forms at his temples. His mouth is over mine as he whispers, “Yeah, you are, and I’m yours.”

For hours he consumes me with his body, his passion overwhelming, his soul the perfect match for mine. He makes love to me until the sky starts to brighten, marking a brand-new day.