Maybe Kite lived close by? His number prefix said he dwelled in the United Kingdom. Like me. It wasn’t a long flight to get back home.

I’d lived in London all my life, moving from the outskirts to downtown five years ago. The Weaver empire had always been based in London—right from conception. And probably always would be—if business continued to boom.

I opened a message to Kite007.

Needle&Thread: Sorry I didn’t reply before, I was busy cementing my career and ensuring I have a lifetime of servitude and sewing.

I sighed, staring at the words. They sounded whiny and ungrateful, which I wasn’t. Plus, the unsaid rule between us was no personal information. I didn’t know what he did for a living or his real name or favourite food. Sex messaging was a void with no depth.

Which shows how lonely you are.

I scowled, deleting what I’d typed. I wasn’t lonely. I had the best family and support in the world. I was just…tired. Maybe I should book a holiday somewhere hot? Somewhere where I can’t sew or design or get sucked back into work. It sounded great—but one problem. I didn’t want to be the loner around a pool on some tropical island. I didn’t want to eat on my own by candlelight on the beach.

Take Vaughn.

I smiled. People already whispered that our relationship was too close. Going on an island getaway? That would definitely get the gossip columns buzzing.

My heart panged for the only relationship I had and how shallow it was. There was so much I wanted to say:

I want to meet you.

Please, can we skip the innuendoes and just talk?

I’m at the Nila Coal and Fire Exclusive in the heart of Milan. I want to go for a drink with you.

I want to get to know you.

I couldn’t type any of that as it was against the rules. The unsaid rules hinted at by Kite. No personal details. No over-sharing. No information of any kind but sex. Damn rules. Damn life. Damn men.

The sharp smell of champagne and lull of laughter cocooned me; my fingers flew over the screen.

Needle&Thread: All I can think about is you and your wandering hand. I’m mad at you for coming without me, but not mad because you came while thinking of me. I’ve had a long night and plan on releasing my tension the moment I’m alone.

A cynical smile twitched my lips. Kite would think I meant self-pleasuring. I really meant hitting the treadmill and running until my legs turned to jelly.

My phone came alive in my hands, jolting my attention to the glowing screen.

Kite007: Me and my wandering hand missed you. By a long night I’ll take it you mean on your knees servicing God in prayer. (let a man indulge in the dirty thought) Message me when you’re alone. I can help with your tension.

I looked up. Couples mingled; groups gathered. Fashion was the celebrated highlight of the evening with guests dressing in their absolute best. But it was smiles and genuine happiness that made the evening glow. I missed being happy. I hadn’t laughed or smiled properly since Mum left. I could never understand how she could love us as much as she claimed, then switch off her heart…just like that.

When she’d returned from her disappearance to file for divorce from my father, she’d ruined him. Completely and utterly stole his heart and shot it to pieces on the lobby floor.

I remembered that day. I remembered thinking she’d returned with such a pretty necklace. So sparkly, it’d blinded me when she blew kisses as she walked out the door the final time.

Ever since that day, I’d been afraid of love. Afraid of the pain it could cause and how easily something so pure could turn into something so filthy.

Anger filled me. Anger I rarely let myself indulge in. I would never admit the pain my mother caused, but it was the driving force behind my workaholic nature. It was the catalyst of my life that turned me into the woman I was.

Alone. Afraid. Angry. So damn angry.

Sliding my fingers across the keypad, I sent an impulsive message.

Needle&Thread: What if I don’t want to be alone? What if I wanted help physically rather than a meaningless text? Would you help then?

I probably shouldn’t have sent it. I already knew his response. But what was so wrong with me that no man wanted to face the wrath of my father and take me for a drink? I didn’t have boobs or hips or experience…but I was willing to learn.

Jethro stood up to him.

I frowned, clutching my phone. That man didn’t count. He was as terrifying as my father, and his motives weren’t genuine. He didn’t want to listen to my tales of woe over dinner. He wasn’t there to woo me. He wanted something more. And it was the more I was petrified of.

Kite007: Okay…whose balls did you steal to write that? You know that doesn’t work with me. I’m not some boy you can snap your fingers at and I’ll come running.

Pain lacerated my chest but I already expected it. Before I could reply, another message vibrated.

Kite007: You just had to fucking do that didn’t you? What do you want from me? A commitment? A relationship? You knew what this was. I thought you were having fun getting off—same as me. Why ruin what we have?

My heart, the same useless organ that’d never been in love, cracked with agony. His anger bled from my phone, poisoning my hand beneath. Fantastic. The only outside interaction I’d had, and it was over. But why his sudden viciousness?

Needle&Thread: All I asked was a simple question, but you jumped down my throat. What’s your deal? Don’t tell me. I can guess. You’re only happy when you’re in charge. But guess what? I can simply delete your number and never reply to you again. You were the one who found me, remember?

I breathed hard, huddling over my phone. I wasn’t done. It was refreshing to finally allow myself to be angry. I wanted to pour it all out before I could swallow it back down again.

Needle&Thread: I think you need to come again, Kite. Your temper is completely uncalled for and misdirected. All I implied was a meeting. One phone call. A kiss maybe if we hit it off in person. Why is that so hard for you? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re commitment phobic and a cheater.

“Congratulations on your collection, Nila. I’m sure—”

I looked up into the eyes of a stranger. The woman had plump lips and wore black eyeshadow.

She paused mid-sentence. “Are you okay?”

I hated her concern. I hated that I came across as some stupid wallflower who could make exquisite clothing but never grace someone’s arm. I don’t want to be here anymore.