As promised, Henry showed me the most wonderful day in Cambridge. He took me for afternoon tea at the Hotel du Vin & Bistro, where the sweet and savory treats were served on silver towers; then we went punting in a boat on the River Cam.

I admired Henry as he stood at the foot of the little rectangular canoe-type boat and pushed us through the water with a pole, singing in nonsense Italian as he went, despite the looks it earned us from passing tourists.

It was freezing on the boat, but the company offered blankets. I wrapped myself up warmly and watched Henry push us through the water with a smile on my face. Every time my mind wandered to Connor, I forced myself to live in the moment and told myself not to regret or feel guilty for one moment of happiness I might enjoy.

Eventually, Henry moored us up in Grantchester and joined me under the blanket, the boat nestled under the drooping branches of willow trees. There we sat for over an hour, talking and watching the ducks and swans go by.

Henry entertained me with stories of Napoleon the swan, who was known for attacking innocent punters, and of the game of bridge-hopping, where punters tried to jump over bridges as they moved down the river, having to land back in the punt on the other side before it drifted away.

After our punt tour came to an end, Henry bought us both a hot chocolate to-go. Hand-in-hand, we wandered around the city, and Henry acted as my tour guide around the gorgeous colleges of Cambridge University.

After a marvelous day, I had just about mustered the courage to join Henry’s family for dinner. I hadn’t seen any of them since we arrived in the night.

Now, I’m sitting at a table with them all—Walter and Diane, Henry’s parents, and Alexander and Olivia, Henry’s brother and sister-in-law.

I’m struck by how pristine each of them appears. Walter, although rotund and red-faced, is immaculately dressed in a pressed gray suit with silver cufflinks and tie clip. His wife, Diane, looks exquisite in pearls and a fitted red dress. Pinned to the front of the dress is a jeweled wreath brooch made with what I suspect are real emeralds and rubies.

Alexander is also dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, complete with tie clip and cufflinks, but at least he smiles when I catch his eye. His wife, Olivia, looks almost as out of place as I do. She keeps darting glances across at me so she can catch my eye and smile. It seems she, too, is looking for an ally among the Southby wolves.

“I spoke to Mattock, today, Father,” Alexander begins, serving himself roast potatoes from a ceramic dish at the center of the table. “He mentioned you’ve spoken to Towley. That makes me think you’re going for the Canary Wharf bid.”

Walter clears his throat before he speaks. When he does, he holds his fork up like a scepter. “Towley came to me. He has an original design for the building. Award-winning, maybe. If I don’t snap up that design, someone else is going to make Towley’s visions a reality. It’s less about the bid and more about a show of faith for the architect.”

“Towley’s innovative, all right,” Alexander agrees. “I saw a piece on him in The Guardian a few weeks back. He does some very interesting things with solar energy.”

“Yes. He’s known for his green designs, although this building will be phenomenal because of its structure. It will make the Gherkin look like a child’s scribble.”

Alexander raises his eyebrow. “Bold claim.”

“From the man who turned online marketing on its head?” Walter smiles knowingly. “You thought I didn’t see your stock rise? I’m proud of you, son. You’re an entrepreneur. Just like your father.”

Most of the conversation goes over my head. I feel like I’m sitting in on a board meeting rather than at a family dinner. From what I can see, mealtimes at the Southby house are nothing more than an opportunity for Alexander and Walter to pat each other on the back.

I’ve not even been acknowledged by Walter yet. It’s a strange feeling, to be invisible.

Finally, Walter turns to Henry. Immediately, his expression turns to scrutiny. “And how have you been doing, Henry? I’ve heard good things through the grapevine, but I know how adept you’ve become at hiding your little misdemeanors from me.”

Henry holds up his hands innocently. “Nothing to report, Father. I’m averaging a 3.8 GPA.”

“I suppose you better introduce this young lady to us.”

Henry looks over to me and offers me a warm, reassuring smile. He turns back to his family proudly. “This is my girlfriend, Melissa.”

“Girlfriend!” Walter exclaims. He scoffs so hard, he almost chokes on a mouthful of roast beef.

“I didn’t send you away to go courting.” He turns his intense stare to me. “You’re a Harvard girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you studying?”

“I’m working toward my MBA.”

“I see. Where did you do your undergraduate?”

“State college.”

“Not an Ivy League, then?”

“No, sir.”

“I see.”

The way Walter says “I see” makes my skin crawl. You could easily replace those words with “I disapprove,” and they’d make me feel the same.

“Melissa is top of the class,” Henry tells him with pride. “She’s an incredibly studious woman. A real academic.”

It’s Diane’s turn to lean forward. “What do your parents do, Melissa?”

I look across to Henry. I can see him opening his mouth to divert the conversation, but I quickly lay a hand on his forearm to stop him. I’m going to damn well hold my own. “Actually, my mother passed away a few years ago.”

Diane bows her head, and I recognize the first shred of human emotion I’ve seen in either of Henry’s parents so far. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And your father?” Walter continues.

I take a deep breath. “I’m not acquainted with my father. I was raised in a single-parent family.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Diane says, her voice laced with disapproval.

“Melissa’s Mum was a kickass woman,” Henry says. “She raised two kids on her own, worked three jobs. Supported the whole family alone. Incredible, right?”

Walter and Diane exchange contemptuous glances—as if Henry had announced that my parents had been a buffalo and a goat.

“You have a sibling, then?” Diane says. “Older or younger?”

“A younger brother. He’s nineteen.”

“Is he in school?”

“No, ma’am. He’s still grieving.”

“It must be very difficult.” Alexander jumps in to end the interrogation. He offers me a kind smile. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Adversity builds opportunity,” Walter says. “Your brother shouldn’t rest on his laurels too long, or else laziness will become habit.”

Henry’s eyes flash with anger, and he turns toward his father with undisguised contempt. “And what would you know about adversity, Father? Or grief? Honestly, sometimes I think you talk out your arse.”

“Henry!” Diane gasps.

As I glance around the table, I see Walter red-faced with rage, Diane pale with shock, Alexander trying to hide an amused smile behind his hand, and Olivia looking like she’s glad someone said it. I quickly look down at my plate.

“What?” Henry objects. “We’re all meant to act like the Lord of the Manor knows all? You’re being incredibly disrespectful to Melissa and her family, and I won’t have it. She is not some fling who’ll be gone tomorrow. I care deeply about her, and she’s not going anywhere, so you’d better get down off your high horses and treat her with a little kindness. You could all learn something from Melissa, who has faced adversity and still gone to Harvard, with no hand-outs from her parents or anyone else. If you want me to learn personal responsibility and work ethics, you should be thanking Melissa for teaching me. She’s the most hard-working and self-sufficient person I know.”

Henry rises from his chair and looks around at his family in disgust. He points at his parents, his face livid with anger. “You want the world to think you’re better than everyone else, but you lack basic human compassion. And you—” He turns to Alexander. “You know as well as I do that our father is full of shit, but you wouldn’t dare call him out on it. Grow a backbone. How would you feel if he spoke like that to your wife?”

Finally, he turns to Olivia. “I apologize you had to see our family in this light, Olivia. Please don’t think their behavior is reflective of us all.”

Henry holds out a hand to me. “Melissa and I will be in my bedroom if you need us.” He turns back to Diane. “The renovation looks like a wedding dress threw up on a doll’s house, and it smells like mothballs.”

I have to hold back my smile as I accept Henry’s hand and follow him to his childhood bedroom.

When we’re finally out of earshot, I manage, “I can’t believe you said all that to your parents.”

Henry comes to a stop and takes both his hands in mine. “I won’t have them treat you like anything less than the determined and capable woman you are. After all you’ve achieved in your life, you deserve the utmost respect.”

My eyes fill with emotional tears. The way Henry defended me in front of his family, and the sincerity in the way he speaks to me now, makes me feel more recognized than I ever have in my life.

“Thank you, Henry.” I hang my head. “I’m sorry I made a bad impression and caused an argument.”

“You did nothing wrong.” He leans forward to kiss the top of my head. “You’re the first good choice I ever made in my life—and I don’t care what they think.”

Henry takes me back to his childhood bedroom. I smile as I look around and imagine a young Henry living here. The walls are covered in posters of Green Day and Blink 182. There is a huge corkboard that he’s covered in photographs. As I step closer, I notice that his family doesn’t feature in any of them.

“You have a lot of friends,” I say.

He looks over my shoulder and smiles. “I grew up with these lads. At the time, they felt like brothers. I’m still close with many of them today.”

I look up at him, feeling like maybe I understand him more than I did before. “I didn’t realize your family were so—”

“—Cold and synthetic?”

“I’m sure they love you deeply. Some people find it harder than others to express that—like Connor.”

Henry pulls me toward him in a close hug. “Maybe you’re right. And some people,” he says as he runs his hands up my leg, “find it very easy to express what they feel.”

He holds his hand out to me, and I slide my fingers along his palm until my hand connects into his. I like it when he touches me, but when he holds my hand up high in the air and opens the bedroom door for me, I can’t help but wonder what he’s up to. He has made every effort in making me feel welcome, and I love him for that.

“Your boudoir, Miss.” He raises his nose to the air.

I smile at his silly antics. “Why thank you, Sir.”

He leads me to a satin ottoman and waits until I sit. I look around the room, in awe at the beauty and elegance.

“Shall I remove your foot apparel?”

I chuckle and offer him my foot. He cradles my leg in his hand, unfastening the side of my boot and sliding it off my foot. His other hand follows and massages along the arch, the tiredness dissipating at the touch of his fingertips.

“God, you’re good at that.” I let my head fall back, enjoying every moment.

He removes my other boot and massages my foot in the same manner. His hands squeeze my foot and work up over my ankle and along my calf. “You must be tense from your trip, Miss. Please, allow me to release your tension.”

His hands work through my nylons, massaging my muscles as they climb up my leg.

When I look back at him, his eyes bore down on me, his hands now on my thigh. I feel the familiar quiver he gives me when he gets close to the core of my womanhood.

“Shall I turn down your bed for you, Miss?” His voice is lower, grittier, and a hell of a lot more sensual.

“Yes.” My eyes grow heavy with lust, the feel of my heart beating harder.

“Shall I help you disrobe?”

I nod, feeling a flutter in my stomach, my legs weak with desire.

Without hesitation, he reaches his hands around my thigh and pulls at my nylons, ripping large holes in them and tearing them from my legs. I don’t even protest. He lifts me up onto my feet and pulls my skirt until it falls to my feet. He reaches up to unbutton my blouse and grabs the material, pulling it apart. The sound of the delicate material ripping gives a flutter in my chest.

A gasp escapes my throat as he pulls the material from me.

“I’m sorry, Miss. It appears that I may have ripped it.”

His fingers slide the straps of my bra down my arms, and it falls onto the soft carpet. He leans forward and sucks my nipple into his mouth, his hand cupping my pussy. He works his fingers between my lips while his teeth nip softly, sending electric jolts through me.

A knock on the door frightens me, and I try to pull away, but he pulls me to him, his mouth still feasting on my breasts.

“Henry?”

“It’s your mother,” I whisper in a panic.

“We will be down in a few minutes,” he calls out. He walks me backward until I am sitting on the ottoman again, my bare ass against the soft satin. He forces my legs apart and looks up at me.

“Can I come in?” She knocks again, a panic erupting in my stomach.

“Henry,” I whisper. “Stop.”

He shakes his head in defiance and presses his tongue against my clitoris, moving it in small circles. This awakens me, increasing my desire for him. To hell with getting caught.

“Come here,” he whispers. There is silence at the door, so I settle into his body as he takes me into his arms. “Nothing means more to me than you do at this very moment.”

He picks me up like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind and carries me to the bed, where I sink deep into the downy bedding.

I remove my underwear as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over me, still fully dressed. The feel of his clothing against my naked body arouses me. He moves his hands between us, and within a few moments, I feel his cock between my legs.

I open myself to him and hold my breath, feeling the pressure of him pushing against my opening. He penetrates me and fucks me slowly.

“Is this satisfactory? Do you like this, Miss?”

“Yes,” I say, heaving breath after breath from my lungs.

We make love for almost an hour, and when he comes inside me, I curl myself up next to him, wanting to crawl inside him and stay.