The next morning when I wake, my foggy mind attempts to piece together the events that led me here.

A lifetime ago, I fell in love with a boy who was completely off-limits. We fought our attraction, but eventually, we gave in. Lies and betrayal played a hand in our fate, and we parted ways.

Ten years later, I thought I had changed, but returning to Los Angeles just proved that London Sinclair is as much a part of me as I am of myself. Our love for one another has never been clearer, but that doesn’t mean we get to ride off into the sunset.

If anything, the challenges we now face shadow the past.

As I look upon the sleeping man beside me, I don’t know what today or tomorrow holds. With Lincoln scorned, it can only mean one thing—he is plotting his revenge. It may take days, months, or maybe even years, but eventually, we will pay for what we did.

“What time is it?” croaks London as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

I will never tire of the small things—like the morning dew on the petals of a rosebud in bloom or the sunsets that set your heart on fire. But as I look into London’s stormy eyes, the blue rivaling the brightest daybreak sky, I know he will always be the most glorious wonder of all.

“I’m not sure. Did you sleep okay?”

He shrugs in response. Something is clearly on his mind.

“Is Emily back in LA?”

“Yes,” he replies, shuffling to rest against the headboard.

I prop myself on an elbow, watching him closely. “What do you want to do?” We can’t avoid the inevitable.

He exhales, running a hand down his face. “What chance do I have in getting full custody if we do it the right way?”

“It’s not impossible, but it won’t be easy. Have you legally adopted Emily?”

His mouth parts in surprise. “No, I never thought of it. She has always been mine. Even when I found out the truth, it never changed how I felt.”

I understand his feelings. Until now, he never had to prove otherwise. But what happened last night changes everything.

“If you legally adopt her, it betters your chances of obtaining custody rights. However, one of the biological parents has to give up their legal rights to the child.” I feel like the bearer of bad news, but London needs to know what he’s up against.

“I should have adopted her,” he says, angry with himself. But there is no point in dancing with hindsight at this point in time.

“What’s stopping you from doing it now?”

“I can do that?” he asks, head tilted in interest.

“I will do everything in my power to help you try.” And I mean it. Belle is going to play a big part in this, and if I’m going to help London, it means we’re all going to have to be on the same side.

“Okay,” he finally says, his spirits lifted. “Let’s do this.”

“I’ll get all the paperwork together, and we’ll get started as soon as possible.” Seeing him smile is worth the shitstorm headed our way.

I will do everything I can to make this happen, but London needs to understand that for this to happen, he needs to tell Emily he isn’t her biological dad. For a ten-year-old, that’s a lot to take in. But so is getting to know your “real” father who couldn’t give two shits about you.

Belle is the key. And I suddenly feel like we’re back in high school.

“Thank you.” He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my cheek. “Thank you for constantly saving me.”

I mewl, his hands on me too much.

“And what about these Rossi assholes? Will you go to the police?”

Honestly, they have been the least of my concerns. They’ve taken a back seat because Lincoln has proven to be the far more dangerous of the two. But he’s right. I’ll go down to the station and talk to Detective Freddy Gomez, the lead investigator I worked with on the Rossi case.

“When did our life get so complicated?” I groan, falling back onto my pillow.

“Our lives have always been complicated, Princess. The only difference is we now have a say on how our story ends.”

His comment hits home because he’s right. But I’ll be damned if I allow all this to be for nothing. “Who knew that day when we first met at the ripe ole age of five what was destined for us both.”

A lopsided smirk tugs at his lips as he recalls the memory. “I’ve been in love with you from that moment onward.”

I snort in response. “Oh yeah, I felt that love when you cut off my pigtail and when you locked me in the janitor’s closet.”

“In my defense”—he raises his hands in surrender—“I was protecting you from my mom. It was a rare day that she was picking me up from school.”

I should have known there was a reason—there always was.

He turns serious and peers down at me. “Our story is pretty…”

“Fucked up?” I offer, filling in the blanks, but a hoarse laughter fills the air.

“I was going to say pretty incredible,” he corrects, reaching for my hand. “You drove me crazy.”

The memories we made over the years smash into me, and I can’t help but giggle softly. “I would say I’m sorry, but you totally deserved it.”

His mouth opens and closes, a dimple in his left cheek punching me with its cuteness.

“Oh, did I?”

A gleam sparkles in his eye, hinting I am in so much trouble. I don’t have a chance to scamper away because he’s on me, tickling my sides. I squirm and shriek, but he shows no mercy, chuckling deeply at my expense.

“Just how you deserve this.” To empathize his point, he ups the ante and tickles every inch of my flesh. I’m breathless, choking on my laughter as I desperately try to escape. But he doesn’t let me go.

The simple act of tickling shouldn’t be this fun, especially when I’m the one who is being tortured. But to laugh after everything we’ve been through proves that we’re stronger than whatever tried to beat us.

“I give up!” I choke out, tears leaking from my eyes.

“What?” he sarcastically asks, tickling under my arm. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

“You win,” I breathlessly pant, wriggling like crazy.

He thankfully stops but doesn’t roll off me. Instead, he presses us nose to nose and smiles. “We both win. We’re going to be all right, Princess.”

He feels the uncertainty too, but just as we have done our entire lives, we will fight…fight for the ones we love.

Freddy Gomez was born to be a cop.

We nailed Alberto Rossi because both Freddy and I were determined to rid the streets of one bad seed. His attention to detail and the fact he’s actually a good guy trying to do the right thing have me passing him the photo I received and trusting him completely.

He sits back in his frayed leather seat with the photograph in hand as he strokes his thin black moustache. He makes no secret of the fact he’s examining the evidence for any clues, but when he sighs heavily, I know what he’s going to say.

“And there was no note?”

I shake my head in response. “Just a yellow envelope on my doorstep.”

“A typical Rossi calling card. Bastardos,” he swears under his breath. “Are you sure it wasn’t your ex-fiancée?”

I look at London who is sitting beside me. “No, I can’t be sure.” I’ve told Freddy everything because I had no other choice but to be upfront. “I know this is a waste of your time.”

Freddy stops me. “No, it’s not. What your ex said about Benito Rossi is right. A new kingpin is in town. I can have one of my men watch you.”

“No,” I object. “That won’t be necessary. That’s not why I came here. I just wanted to let you know.”

He nods, passing me the photo. “Whatever you need, just let me know. Be careful, Holland. If any more packages arrive, call me.”

“I will.” Standing, I shoulder my bag, feeling helpless once again.

“So there’s nothing we can do?” asks London, still seated. He’s been awfully quiet, a sure sign he’s plotting.

“Believe me, if there was, I would do it. But unless there is hard evidence, all we can do is be vigilant and hope the Rossi gang grows bored.” The odds of that happening are slim to none.

London exhales, not at all pleased with Freddy’s response, but our hands are tied. “Thank you, Detective.” They shake, a mutual respect passing between them.

We leave Freddy’s office no closer to figuring out what to do. I understand London’s frustration, but I’m used to looking over my shoulder, thanks to Lincoln letting me believe the letters I received were from the Rossi crew.

Now, I don’t know what to believe.

“How did Lincoln know about this Benito asshole?” London asks as we enter the elevator.

“I honestly don’t know. The case was a high profile one. Maybe one of his shady clients who knew I was involved with the trial heard the word on the street and told him?”

London doesn’t look convinced.

My cell rings, and when I retrieve it from my bag, I see that it’s my colleague Mitch Alpine. I called him earlier, wanting to discuss London’s situation because he specializes in family law. I need all the expertise I can get. “Hey, Mitch. Thanks for calling me back.”

We exit the elevator, but I stop so I can hear what Mitch has to say. “No worries. I’m free for lunch?”

“That would be great. I’ll come by the office in a few.” We hang up, and London waits for me to explain who that was.

“That was Mitch. He’s also an attorney. The best, well”—I smile—“the second best this city has. I’m going to meet with him today to go over Emily’s case because two heads are better than one. Being so close to this case, I don’t want to overlook anything.” This is personal for me, and sometimes, thinking with your heart instead of your head can lead to mistakes.

“Okay.” London nods, deep in thought.

“You’re most welcome to come, but today will just be me laying it all out for Mitch.”

“It’s fine,” he says, looking down at his black leather cuff watch. “I have a few things I have to take care of. Call me when you’re done?”

This is news to me, but I smile. “Of course.” He doesn’t appear to want to divulge what exactly he has planned, so I don’t press. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He pulls me in for a tight hug. “Be careful.”

“Always,” I reply into his shoulder, wishing I could stay here all day.

We break apart, and I can’t shake the feeling that whatever he’s up to could shake things up even more than they already are.

I watch as he slips on his sunglasses and exits the building, a man on a mission.

Four hours later, I’m sitting cross-legged on Mitch’s office floor, surrounded by scraps of paper that have helped us brainstorm and visually grasp what we’re up against.

Mitch stands by his desk, pen poised against his lips as he looks down at our madness. “I think this is everything.”

Peering from left to right, I agree with a nod.

I detailed everything—from beginning to end. Mitch has been a good friend since we went to Stanford together. He never liked Lincoln, so he didn’t find my tale too hard to believe. “As you know, generally, for London to adopt Emily, we would require the consent of both parents. The first step is for Lincoln and London to take paternity tests to establish who is the birth father. I know you said Belle is certain, but we need to be one hundred percent sure.”

I add to my scribble on the notepad in my lap.

“Who is listed as the father on Emily’s birth certificate?”

“I’m not sure. I will ask.”

“Good. Once we prove that Lincoln is the biological father, we can aim to show the courts just who he really is. The fact he hasn’t provided financial support over the years or acknowledged Emily is his child is good. We can argue he hasn’t been there for her, neither emotionally nor financially. But if Lincoln wants to and can provide proper care for Emily, the courts will ensure she has a relationship with him. They will decide what they think is best for Emily. And on paper, Lincoln will fool them. He has a good job. A home. A clean record. They will want to believe he’s turned over a new leaf.”

I know all this. But to hear it stinks because his leaf can go to hell.

“If London were married to Belle, or even in a stable relationship with her, things would be easier. But Lincoln has as much a right to Emily as Belle does.”

Groaning, I press my fingers into my temple, feeling an impending headache. “I really wish I could believe Lincoln wouldn’t go to these extremes, that he wouldn’t bother with all the paperwork and just sign over his rights, but that’s wishful thinking. He will do anything to make sure we’re miserable.”

Mitch looks on with sympathy. We’ve seen it hundreds of times before, but it’s always different when it happens close to home. “Get that paternity test. Talk to Belle. Maybe she can convince Lincoln to sign over his rights.”

I scoff, gathering all the paperwork. “I highly doubt that. I don’t even know where Belle stands in all this.”

“You know you’ll have to change that, right?”

“Fucking great,” I mumble, sorting through my mountain of notes. “She’s the reason we’re in this mess in the first place. If she hadn’t lied, this would be so different. Our lives would be so different. But it is what it is.”

Standing, I stretch my stiff neck from side to side.

“Until you hear from Lincoln, do the paternity test. Talk to Belle. Let’s regroup in a week.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mitch. I owe you.”

He shakes his head. “This is payback for allowing me to use your study notes.”

I laugh and hug him goodbye.

As I’m waiting for the elevator, I check my cell and am surprised to see London hasn’t been in touch. I thought he’d reply to the text I sent him earlier. I wonder what he’s been up to all day.

As the elevator arrives, I dial his number, deciding to put the conspiracy thoughts to rest. However, when I get his voicemail, my mind begins to spin.

Maybe he needed some time to himself. Lord knows, I would give anything to switch off for a day. But this doesn’t seem like him, especially since I had the sneaking suspicion something was up when we said goodbye today.

With no other choice, I walk the ten blocks to my office and wait for him to call.

It’s now seven thirty p.m., and I still haven’t heard from London. I’ve tried my hardest not to worry, but this isn’t like him. Something is up.

I managed to cram a ton of work in, as we’re still a man down, but my mind was elsewhere. Yvonne confirmed for the tenth time that London hadn’t called. I was grasping at straws, but this radio silence is new.

As minutes turned into hours, I was left with the possibility that London went back to LA. I didn’t want to believe this as truth, but that would be the easier option than dealing with what we’re facing here.

Being together has never been easy, but what we’re up against is disheartening to say the least. I wouldn’t blame him if he packed up and left. It would hurt like hell, but I would understand. He has Emily to think of.

Sighing, I rest my forehead against the stack of papers on my desk, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. If he’s left, will I follow?

It hurts to think he wouldn’t ask me to come.

Refusing to cry, I decide to drown my sorrows in Chinese takeout, but when my cell chirps, indicating I have a text, all thoughts of food are long forgotten. My phone is buried beneath paperwork, and I toss it off the desk frantically to check who is texting my phone.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or not because even though the text is from London, the ambiguous message leaves me scratching my head.

It’s an address in Brooklyn. That’s all. I assume I’m supposed to meet him there.

With no further instruction, I grab my bag and leave my office how it is. As I rush out the door, I lock up, informing Alexandro I’m leaving. When he asks if I want him to accompany me outside, I thank him but decline. I don’t have time to explain.

A woman holding a yoga mat and gym bag ambles toward a cab idling by the curb. God save my soul, but I run in front of her and steal her ride. “Hey!” she shouts as I slam the door shut.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth to her through the window. “Namaste.” She flips me off in response.

This is just a normal night in NYC for the driver who asks me where to. I could have caught the subway, but I can’t wait. I just hope this is faster. “Brooklyn.” I rattle off the address as I google what exactly is so special about this place.

It comes up as a vacant building for sale.

My stomach drops. What does this mean?

“Step on it,” I command. “Please.” He thankfully doesn’t care for road laws and breaks about ten before we even make it two blocks.

Throughout the drive, I attempt to obtain more information on this empty building, but I get nada. Why would London be here? And what was with the suspicion surrounding his text? Not even a hello, come meet me. Just an address.

In light of what’s currently going on, I can’t rule out the possibility that something sinister lurks, but the question is, what or who?

A weight settles in the pit of my stomach. If something has happened to London… “Please hurry,” I beg the driver as getting out of Manhattan in heavy traffic is proving impossible.

I follow the GPS on my phone, unsettled in my seat when the time to my destination continues to push out. When we’re ten minutes away and stuck in a gridlock, I reach into my bag and pull out a fifty. “Thank you. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

I don’t wait for him to get a word in edgewise as I yank open the door, rip off my heels, and make a mad dash for the sidewalk. The blaring of horns doesn’t deter me, and I continue to run, intent on stopping only when I reach the address.

Thankfully, it’s not too busy out, and I can maneuver the streets without taking anyone down. I’m covered in sweat and seconds away from passing out, but I make it in record time. The black building in front of me has no signage, just a gold number on the door to indicate this is the right place.

I don’t waste a second and turn the brass handle, sighing in relief when it opens.

“London!” I call out, searching the dusty room frantically.

There are lights on, which make me feel somewhat better, but until I see London, nothing will calm my racing heart.

The building turns out to be what looks like an old bar. But I don’t think it’s been operational for a while. There is a door around the side. I’m moments away from tearing it from its hinges when it swings open.

“Princess?”

I pause, almost tripping over my feet when I see London, appearing alive and well. My heels drop to the floor with a thud. “London?”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, rushing forward and looking over my shoulder. “Is someone following you?”

I don’t believe it’s him, so I press my hands to his cheeks, my violent breaths echoing around. “Are you okay?”

“Okay? Yes, I’m fine. Did you run here?” He sweeps the matted, sweaty hair from my forehead. “What’s going on?”

Now that I have seen him with my own two eyes, and he doesn’t appear to be missing any appendages, I take a deep breath, bending at the waist. Adrenaline still pumps through my body. “I thought you were dead.”

“Dead?” One eyebrow rises higher than the other.

Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration, but holy shit, I didn’t know what to think.

Once I can breathe without a wheeze, I stand upright and attempt to figure out what’s going on. “Why the mysterious text to meet you here? Why the radio silence all day?”

“Mysterious?” he questions, totally lost in translation. “I sent directions. And I didn’t want to disturb you, seeing as you’re doing me a huge favor. I thought you’d be busy.”

“I was,” I argue, planting my hands on my hips. Now that I know he’s okay, my anger steps in. “But you could have added a smiley face or a heart. Fuck, I’d even be happy with the emoji that is either a gust of wind or the result of someone having too many burritos. But just an address is so…shady.”

He does a poor job at hiding his amused smirk. “My bad. Note to self: next time, add an emoji.”

“This isn’t funny,” I say, his grin evoking violence as I slap him playfully on the arm.

“I never said it was,” he counters, bursting into husky laughter and contradicting his claims.

“Stop laughing.” I hit him again, smacking his hard chest this time. “I thought you were hurt.”

“I will be if you don’t stop hitting me,” he replies, rubbing his chest.

His lightheartedness calms my nerves. “Oh my god.” I exhale, thankful everything is okay. “I was worried something awful had happened.”

“Princess…” His voice drops an octave as he reaches for my hand. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“It’s okay.” Now that I can put conspiracies aside, I look around the room, wondering why we’re here. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath, arousing my nerves once again. “What do you think of this place?”

“It’s in desperate need of a deep clean,” I reply, and he chuckles.

“Come, take a look around.”

“London…”

He ignores me and instead leads me toward the long bar. It’s coated with a thick layer of grime and dust, and behind the counter doesn’t look much better. The walls were once red, I think. The disco ball hanging limply from the ceiling suddenly throws off a stripper vibe.

“Was this a strip club?” I ask in all seriousness as I run my finger along the grubby bar.

London’s lips twitch. “No, it wasn’t. About five years ago, it was a cocktail bar.”

I nod, attempting to envision this place as something other than the derelict place it’s become. “Why are we here?”

“Do you like it?”

“What does it matter if I like it or not?”

He groans, amused that I won’t give him a straight answer, but he reveals why a second later. “Because I bought it.”

Surely, the dust in this air has made its way into my ear canal and affected my hearing because there is no way I just heard him say he bought this place. But when he stands still, gauging my response, I know I didn’t have a lapse in hearing at all.

My mouth hinges open. “What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t discuss this with you first, but a friend of mine back home told me his brother worked in real estate here. He hooked us up, and we’ve been talking. I told him I was interested in some property, and he told me about this place. The moment I stepped through that door, I just knew. I wanted to tell you, but I wanted it to be a surprise. After all the shit we’ve been through, I thought this would give us something positive to look forward to. Something we can call ours.”

He speaks so quickly, like if he doesn’t get it all out, he’ll chicken out.

I need to backtrack. “You bought this place? You own it?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No…we own it.”

He mentioned he was thinking of buying a bar here, but it was a passing comment. Nothing was set in concrete—until now it appears.

Gradually, I scan my surroundings, and once I envision this place scrubbed of the thick deposits of dust and with a fresh coat of paint, a giddiness swims within.

London stands still, watching me closely. He runs a hand through the back of his hair. The angle highlights his tattoo of the word defy. I can’t help but smile. “Are you mad?”

“No,” I reply, but I don’t elaborate.

“So you’re okay with this?” He waits with bated breath.

This is the beginning of something remarkable, something that will mark our future together. How can I not be okay? “Yes, London. This is incredible.”

Before I have a chance to express just how happy I am, he rushes forward and picks me up, twirling me in the air. “This is going to be fucking amazing.”

The room spins, and I yelp in excitement, unable to contain my happiness. He slams my ass onto the bar, grinning broadly. “I’m so happy,” he says, searching my eyes as something glorious transforms in his. “Can you reach behind the bar? There’s a magazine with some décor I want to show you.”

“Of course,” I reply, not thinking twice as I spin and reach over my shoulder. I feel around but can’t find anything. I continue hunting but come up with nothing. “Are you sure…?” My words die in my throat, however, because when I turn back around, what I see robs any coherent words from forming.

I blink once, unsure if what I’m seeing is really true. When I scrub at my eyes and the vision of London on one knee is still before me, I know that this is really happening.

“Marry me.” Who knew that two simple words could change someone’s life forever.

Seeing London on bended knee, I stare open-mouthed and on the cusp of passing out. He reaches into his back pocket and produces a ring, a ring which steals my breath away. The blue diamond reminds me so very much of the first time I looked into London’s eyes and fell in love.

“Princess, I love you. I always have. Truth be told, if I could have married you when we were kids, I would have. You’re it for me, and if you don’t say yes, I think I’ll fucking die.”

Tears cascade down my cheeks, blurring my vision of London on one knee.

“Marry me, Holland Brooks-Ferris. You’re that part of me I’ll always need. Always crave. Being without you is defying my heart. It always has been. I want to be with you. Forever.”

I begin sobbing because I feel the same way too. I always have. “But, but…it’s so soon.” I’m trying to be reasonable and not get swept up in the moment.

“Soon? I have known you since I was five years old.” God, the memory of us as kids just cements my decision.

“I know, but I don’t even know your friends. We’re still working out where we fit.”

“We fit together.”

He’s right. I’m only delaying the inevitable because that’s what most would do. But we’re not most. We never have been. The past has led us to this moment, and there is only one answer.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” I whisper, my chest heaving with ugly tears.

“Yes?” he echoes, the ring trembling in his hand.

“A thousand yeses,” I cry, jumping down from the bar and running to where he kneels. I drop to my knees and clutch his hands in mine. Even though I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t want him surrendering. Our relationship has always been a partnership, and I’ll ensure we enter our marriage the same way.

The electricity thrums between us, and when my answer finally sinks in, London smashes his lips to mine. “Princess,” he says around my mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” All I can taste is salty happiness—I’ll never forget the way it feels on my tongue.

He brushes my tears away with his thumbs, then breaks our kiss. He takes my left hand, his heavy breaths revealing his nerves. When he slips the beautiful blue diamond onto my finger, the noise settles, and everything calms.

It’s a perfect fit.

“Do you like it? I know it’s not traditional…but neither are we. I wanted a rarity, something to reflect my love for you because our love isn’t ordinary…It never will be.”

“I love it,” I reply, placing my hand out in front of me to admire the beauty. It’s a deep blue princess-cut diamond encrusted with a border of sparkling diamonds. The band is thin and white gold. It looks to be made especially for me.

He seems transfixed on the sight, brushing his finger over the ring. And what he says brings me back to the first time we made love. “You belong to me. You always have.”

“And you belong to me,” I reply just as I did all those years ago.

“Always.” Our conversation may have been spoken once before, but so much has changed since then.

“I don’t want to wait,” I say, sounding impatient because I am. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“Me either.”

Unsure why this feels so right, I announce in a small voice, “Let’s go back to where this all started.”

London doesn’t hide his surprise. “You want to get married in LA?”

I nod as I couldn’t see myself marrying him anywhere but there.

Wrapping his arms around me, he draws me in close. “Okay, then. Marry me…marry me tomorrow, Princess. Let’s jump on the first plane and do this.”

“Tomorrow?” I know I said I didn’t want to wait, but tomorrow…wow. But when I look at London and think of everything we’ve been through, he’s right. “This is crazy.” I laugh, running my fingers through his soft stubble.

“The best stuff is,” he replies, not missing a beat as he nuzzles into my hand.

“Okay, I’ll marry you…tomorrow.”

He pauses, peering at me with nothing but pure tenderness in his eyes. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

We seal our agreement with a tender kiss in a place forever marred as ours.