Fix You E-Book

Carrie Elks

• Herausgeber: Corvus
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

FIX YOU is a gorgeous romantic read about how nothing can keep two people apart if they are made for each other. Spanning two continents and twenty years this is a romance to melt your heart. Perfect for fans of Dani Atkins, Paige Toon and Giovanna Fletcher. Can the one who broke your heart be the one to heal it? On New Year's Eve, 1999, Hanna and Richard meet. She is a born and bred Londoner with plans for a career in journalism. He is the son of a wealthy New Yorker and destined for Wall Street. As Hanna and Richard go back to their own worlds they keep in touch, and when Hanna has her heart broken it's Richard she turns to. They reunite and fall deeply, madly in love. But they can't possibly imagine the ways their love will be tested. Fifteen years after they first meet, neither can bear to hear the other's name spoken. Then one day Hanna walks into Richard's office and reveals a shocking secret. Richard must decide if he can forgive her. And both need to choose whether to take a second chance on happiness, or if their love is beyond repair?

Leseprobe

Carrie Elks lives near London and writes contemporary romance with a dash of intrigue. She loves to travel and has lived in the USA and Switzerland as well as the UK. An avid social networker, she tries to limit her Facebook and Twitter time to stolen moments between writing. chapters. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can usually be found baking, drinking wine or working out how to combine the two. www.carrieelks.com@CarrieElks

Published in e-book in Great Britain in 2014 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Carrie Elks, 2014

The moral right of Carrie Elks to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

E-book ISBN: 978 1 78239 712 0

Printed in Great Britain

Corvus

An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

Ormond House

26–27 Boswell Street

London

WC1N 3JZ

www.corvus-books.co.uk

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

12th May 2012

Richard had filled out nicely since she had last seen him. The thin cotton of his shirt clung to his biceps, skimming his taut abdomen as it tucked into his dress pants. His hips were still lean and tight, and she closed her eyes as she tried not to remember how they had felt between her thighs, as he had moved inside her, breathing softly in her ear, as she had moaned and whimpered and—

She shook her head. She wasn’t standing in his large, oak-panelled office just to take a trip down memory lane, as pleasant as that might be. She had flown here, over three thousand miles, to tell him what he deserved to know.

Inappropriate laughter bubbled up in her throat as she considered the ridiculous melodrama of the situation. Her 17-year-old self would be rolling her eyes, wondering how this 29-year-old woman had managed to turn a seemingly promising life into a soap opera.

She glanced up at his face, looking at his lips, which had turned down into a deep scowl. His eyes had narrowed beneath his brows, and his straight, patrician nose was slightly crinkled in response to her presence.

The contempt he felt toward her was radiating from him.

Hanna tried to keep her breathing steady, reminding herself that although she was in his office, on the penthouse floor of his building, this was her show.

She was in control.

If he viewed her with contempt now, God only knew how he would feel once he’d heard what she had to say. He had been an integral part of her life for so long – as a friend, a confidant, even a lover – but never before did he have the power to break her.

“As nice as it is to see you,” he drawled, the tone of his voice making it patently clear that her being in his office was anything but nice. “I have a meeting in five minutes. Exactly what is it that you want?”

He had no idea, but this was it. Time to open her mouth and tell him what he needed to hear. Her arms suddenly felt heavy, and her fingers trembled, a physical manifestation of her nervousness. Her laughter was replaced by something more unsettling as she tried to take in a deep breath and form the words that she had travelled all this way to say.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She watched his gaze move down to her mouth, staring at it with dark eyes, as her teeth drew in her bottom lip.

“Richard.” Her voice was surprisingly strong. She could do this. She could tell him the truth, and then get the hell out of here.

Back on a plane.

Back home.

Back to him.

“Richard, we have a baby.”

One

31st December 1999

Her suitcase should have appeared by now. She watched the rubber belt move past, carrying luggage of every description. Perhaps her battered, brown case was embarrassed to be seen amongst the Louis Vuittons and the Henks.

Hanna knew the feeling.

She was biting her nails again. They were already torn down to the quick, and the black polish she had applied only a couple of days before was peeling off in chunks. Her stepmother couldn’t understand why Hanna didn’t opt for the ‘much classier’ French manicure, and why she failed to keep regular appointments at the beautician’s. Finally spotting her case making its way down the baggage reclaim belt, Hanna tried to push past the harassed mother of two in front of her. In one arm the woman held a toddler. The other was rhythmically moving a stroller back and forth, as she tried to rock a tiny baby to sleep.

“Excuse me,” Hanna muttered, leaning forward far enough to grab the handle of her case. She pulled her body back as she swung it onto the grey, tiled floor. It was heavy, full of winter skiwear and warm clothing. She’d barely had time to wear any of it.

Hanna wasn’t even supposed to be travelling today. She was still meant to be at her father’s chalet in Val D’Isère, along with her stepmother and her eleven-year-old half-sisters. But he’d been disappointed in her from the start. The first time he’d taken a good look at her, his nose had wrinkled in dismay.

“Have you done something different with your hair?” His stare was full of angry disapproval.

Hanna had attempted to swallow a grin in response to his understatement. In the year since she had last seen him, she had become a Goth. She’d dyed her hair a dark reddish-black and changed her makeup. Now she had pale skin and dark, dark lips. She completed the look with a black flowing skirt and a tight black corset.

The memory of Philip’s furious expression as he took in her new style made Hanna’s lips curl up in amusement. She swung her suitcase onto a luggage trolley, its bulk making her movements awkward.

Philip had been almost apoplectic at her new style, and Olivia had decreed Hanna was to remain in the confines of the chalet at all times, fearing one of their friends might spot her. Hanna was to be their dirty little secret for the week. After two days of reading and filling her face with chocolate, she was bored.

She had found out that Philip, Olivia, and her sisters were planning to spend New Year’s at their friend’s chateau about fifty miles from Val D’Isère, and Hanna wasn’t invited. There had followed an almighty row, which resulted in Hanna being banned from the chalet and placed on the next flight to London, at no little expense to Philip’s bank balance.

She swore to herself, now that she was nearly eighteen, that she would never again subject herself to the torture of another Alpine holiday. If her dad wanted to spend time with his oldest daughter – and in Hanna’s mind this was not necessarily a given – then he would have to travel to London to see her.

Hanna and her mum were London-poor. In any other part of the country they could have lived comfortably, in a decent-sized house with a garden and a garage. As it was, Diana’s income from her party planning business afforded them a tiny, two-bedroom flat near Putney. From the moment she had run away from her marriage to Philip Vincent, and from Manhattan society, Diana had refused to take any money from him. She didn’t mind him buying things for Hanna, but she refused to take a single dime for herself.

When Hanna arrived home in the late afternoon, it was already dark outside. The road was bathed with the soft orange glow of the street lamps. It was lined with Victorian terraced houses, red bricked and ornate, with peeling stucco and decaying walls. Hanna loved the genteel facade of the once-grand terraces, with their painted white porticos and their black and white tiled paths. They contrasted starkly with the noise and modernity of London life.

She fished in her bag for her keys, knowing that Diana had been out all day working, organizing the Larsen family’s annual party. Though Hanna had never met them, she knew the Larsens were one of her mum’s best customers. New Year’s Eve was always Diana’s busiest night of the year. The fact it was the eve of a new millennium just took things to a higher level.

Hanna had only been in the flat for two minutes when the phone started to ring. A glance at the display told her there were already three voicemail messages. Somebody was obviously in a hurry to speak with her or Diana. She sincerely hoped it wasn’t her father.

“Hello?”

“Hanna? Thank God you’re home. Are you okay? Was the flight good?” Diana hardly paused to breathe. “Honey, I’ve had three girls go down with that damn winter vomiting bug. I need you to put on a uniform and come over and help me. This party is going to be a bloody disaster.” She lowered her voice into a whisper for the last sentence; leading Hanna to wonder who else was in the room with her.

“Okay, just give me the address.” Hanna wedged the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she reached for a piece of paper.

“It’s number five, Cheyne Walk. In Chelsea. Get a cab and I’ll pay you back. Oh and Hanna…” Diana’s voice dropped down an octave.

“…Can you tone down the look?” Hanna chanted, knowing exactly what her mum was going to say.

A shower, nail polish removal, and a makeup tone-down later, Hanna managed to find an empty black cab. Her red-black hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and the cosmetics on her face were soft and barely there. She was wearing a typical waitress get-up. Short, black skirt with a plain white blouse.

When she got to the house, she rapped the large, brass knocker on the smartly painted black door a couple of times. A uniformed man opened the front door to her. She didn’t recognize him, so he couldn’t have been one of Diana’s employees. The Larsens were rich enough to employ full-time staff.

Walking into the entrance hall, her breath was taken away by the splendour. The room was open to all three floors of the house, with a marble staircase sweeping up in a curve to the second floor. Right in the middle of the ornately tiled floor stood the biggest Christmas tree she had ever seen. Understated white lights twinkled all the way up to the star on top. It had to be at least twenty feet tall.

“See something you like?” Hanna’s hackles rose at the sound of the smooth, American drawl. She whipped her head around to see a young man standing at the bottom of the staircase. His loose, dark-washed jeans hung almost obscenely off his lean hips. His T-shirt was tight and black, with ‘Columbia’ emblazoned across the front in blue writing.

His face, Lord his face. It was all jaw and plump lips, straight nose and mossy green eyes. His smooth forehead was framed by an artfully styled mop of light-brown hair. He looked like every clean-cut Manhattan boy she’d ever had the misfortune to come into contact with.

She took in a short breath, looking Prep Boy straight in the eyes. “Not really. I was just wondering if Charlie Brown was missing his Christmas tree.”

She spun around and flounced toward the kitchen, barely hearing his bark of laughter as she walked away. She bit back the smile that was threatening to creep across her lips.

Tonight had just got interesting.

Her mother was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a spoon in one hand and a battery-powered walkie-talkie in the other. The kitchen wasn’t the usual well-heeled, oak and granite affair. Instead it was all stainless steel with professional grade ovens; the sort of kitchen any chef would kill for. It was hard to picture anybody using the ten-burner hob just to boil an egg.

“Hanna, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you.” Diana ran around the central island, and threw her arms around her daughter. She relaxed into her mother’s arms, screwing her eyes tightly shut as she felt the misery and stress of the past few days seeping away.

She’d missed her mum.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“I’ve half a mind to call your father and tell him what I think of him. I can’t believe he treated you like that, the stuck up, holier than thou bast—”

“Mum, it’s fine.” Hanna flashed her mother a rueful smile. “I think my tirade was probably enough for the both of us. I just want to forget about it now.”

“Diana, darling, is there anything you need help with?” A soft voice came from the kitchen door. Hanna turned around to see a petite woman smiling at the two of them. Her heart-shaped face was framed with soft, auburn curls.

“I think we have it all under control,” Diana replied. Hanna could see her fingers crossed behind her back as she spoke. “Claire Larsen, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Hanna Vincent.”

Claire walked forward, her arms open as she greeted Hanna, pulling her in for an air kiss. “Hanna, how lovely to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from your mother. Of course, I also know your father and his wife.”

Hanna grimaced at the mention of Philip and Olivia before quickly rearranging her features. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled at the lady in front of her. She was at least half a head shorter, and that was in expensively made heels.

“What a beautiful accent you have. And I love your hair. The colour is so interesting.”

Usually, when someone said that something about Hanna was ‘interesting’ it turned out to be a thinly veiled insult. Olivia seemed to use the word a lot whenever Hanna was around. But the kind tone of Claire’s voice led Hanna to believe she genuinely meant what she said.

“Thank you.”

“I must introduce you to my family later. My husband, Steven, would find you fascinating. I think he’s a closet Marilyn Manson fan. And Ruby and Richard would just love you.” Claire was gushing. Hanna stepped back from her American host. She wasn’t used to being treated with such friendliness.

“Richard and Ruby?” she questioned.

“Ruby is my daughter. She’s ten years old. She’s at school at St. Nicholas’s.”

Hanna nodded. It figured; St. Nicholas’s was an expensive London prep school. She suspected that Ruby Larsen would turn out to be as annoyingly spoiled as Hanna’s own half-sisters.

“And Richard is my husband’s son from his first marriage. He’s in his final year at Columbia. I’ll miss him when he goes back to New York.” Claire’s smile faltered as she continued. “My own boy, Nathan, is somewhere in the Andes trying to ‘find himself.’”

“How utterly careless to lose himself somewhere so remote,” Hanna replied, causing Claire to laugh in response.

“So like your Mom.” Claire cupped her hands around Hanna’s cheeks in a surprisingly intimate move before drawing back. “Make sure you come and talk to me tonight. It will make for such a refreshing change from all those stuffed shirts.”

“I’ll bring you a sausage roll.” Hanna winked at Claire, and then turned to her own mother to ask where she was needed.

Between the friendly mother, the handsome, preppy son, and the Marilyn Manson-loving father, Hanna thought she might come to rather like this family.

RICHARD LARSEN ACCEPTED another glass of champagne from a waiter, as he weaved his way through the party crowd. It was cold to the touch, and icy beads of water ran down his fingers where he held it. Taking a sip, he quickly scanned the room for someone – anyone – interesting to talk to.

He was wearing his usual tux, with a fitted white dress shirt and black tie. The suit fit him like a glove, and the jacket clung smoothly to his wide shoulders. His pants were perfectly sized for his narrow waist. He had the physique of someone who played a lot of sport.

Since he’d come to London, he’d been able to act like a 20-year-old man for the first time in a long while. He had worn jeans, T-shirts, and hooded sweaters without so much as an eyebrow being raised. He had visited pubs, consumed pints of beer, and flirted with pretty girls. Most of whom his mother would have deemed to be far below his social standing.

Unfortunately, this sort of party was reminding him a little too much of home, and of his mother and her society friends.

Seeing his father and Claire standing in the corner of the drawing room, he pushed his way past the throng of people to get to them. As he walked, he heard snippets of conversation.

“Of course, John is on-call for when the millennium bug strikes…”

“I’m so excited about the river of fire. Bob Geldof is like a modern day Gandalf…”

He didn’t understand any of this talk. He found it hard to even decipher the accent, let alone comprehend exactly what it was these English people were trying to say.

“Richard.” Claire spotted him when he was about a yard away. Richard stepped forward and kissed his stepmother on the cheek. She smelled of lavender and roses. She reached out and touched his lapel. “You always look so handsome in a tux. And so much older.”

“And you look spectacular as always, Claire,” he replied. She smoothed down her dress and gave him a huge grin.

“You charmer. You’re getting more and more like your father every day.”

In his peripheral vision, he spotted someone approaching their little group. Whoever it was, they were dressed in black and white. He assumed it was one of the waiting staff.

“Can I offer you a Cumberland chipolata, blanketed in choux pastry, with a honey and mustard dip?” Richard recognized the girl. He’d seen her standing in the hall earlier. Her dark hair and pale skin were hard to miss.

“It looks like a sausage roll to me.” Claire smiled at the girl. They seemed way too familiar with each other for a waitress and her employer. “Hanna Vincent, please let me introduce you to my husband, Steven Larsen, and my stepson, Richard.”

“I’ve heard so much about you, Hanna.” His father spoke first. “Claire seems to think that I should make you a mix tape.”

Richard’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. How the heck did they know this girl? She didn’t look like the sort of girl that hung around at parties like this. She was like a bundle of unkempt energy, seemingly without a vocal filter.

“Maybe I’ll make you one.” Hanna grinned.

“I’d like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been given a mix tape by such a beautiful young lady before.” Steven was full of smiles and natural charm. His innocent flirting made Hanna blush. Richard watched with fascination as the warm blood filled her cheeks, making her skin glow.

Hanna turned to Claire. “Just how much Champagne has he been drinking?”

She had the English affliction of excessive modesty, too. Richard wanted to see her flustered again. “Hanna Vincent, it’s delightful to meet you.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, expecting a shiver, a sigh. Anything.

Nothing. She just stared back at him, eyes dancing with amusement, as he released her hand.

“You too, Prep Boy. I almost didn’t recognize you in black tie. It ages you.”

Prep boy? His tux aged him? How did his father get the coy looks and blushes, while he got biting ripostes?

“Well, Goth Girl, I apologize for bewildering you with my attire.” He drawled his words on purpose, knowing sarcasm was the lowest form of wit.

Hanna turned to give him a grin. “It was a pleasure to meet you all. I really must go and ply the rest of your guests with pig innards stuffed in pastry.” With that she was gone, moving toward the group in the other corner of the room. Richard watched as she walked away, admiring the way her tight, black skirt clung to her round behind.

Steven had one eyebrow raised. A speculative expression covered his handsome face as he stared back at his son. Richard said nothing, just shook his head and grinned.

After midnight arrived and they’d sung ‘Auld Lang Syne,’, Richard wandered out into the entrance hall and was thinking about going to bed. He spotted Hanna sitting at the top of the stairs, next to a tiny form that bore a striking resemblance to his sister.

He and Ruby were close, despite living in separate countries. He found himself worrying about her constantly. She wasn’t a typical pink-loving, shopaholic ten-year-old. She was quirky and funny, read books like there was no tomorrow, and loved to draw whatever she laid her eyes on. She was different, and that made her a target. He knew she hated school, and being looked down on by the other girls. Even here, in London, she was treated like a pariah.

Tiptoeing up the stairs, he decided to eavesdrop on their conversation, before alerting them to his presence. From what he could hear, Ruby was doing most of the talking. It was unusual.

“…no, I kinda liked the Spice Girls. I hate Britney Spears, though, and Christina Aguilera sucks big ones. I mean, they were Mouseketeers for God’s sake.”

“What’s a Mouseketeer?” Hanna’s voice was gentle and amused. Only a few steps farther and he would be able to see her face.

“From the Mickey Mouse Show. They do stupid dances and sketches and stuff. It’s so dumb.” Ruby’s voice was low, as if she knew that she shouldn’t be out of bed talking to a stranger at the top of the marble staircase.

“Sounds like hell on earth. Thank God you got out of America while you could.”

Ruby giggled. “I prefer Nine Inch Nails. Trent Reznor is the man.”

This time, Hanna joined in the laughter. “I can’t believe a ten-year-old likes Nine Inch Nails. I blame your father. Claire tells me he’s a huge Marilyn Manson fan.”

“Oh. My. God. No, no, no. He keeps getting confused between Marilyn Manson and Marilyn Monroe. He’s a fan of the blonde bimbo, not the singer. He’s such an embarrassment.”

Richard barked out a laugh in response to Ruby’s words. Steven was always trying to keep up with the latest trends, and usually made a complete ass of himself in the process. Not that he ever minded; the ability to laugh at himself was one of his father’s best attributes.

“Is that you, Richard? Are you sneaking around again?” Ruby’s voice rang out clearly. He climbed up the last few steps, seeing his sister sitting next to Hanna, leaning on her as they talked. Hanna’s legs were propped up, her knees hugged to her chest. He was finding it hard not to stare at her calves.

Hanna glanced up at him. “You caught us. Now are you going to be a good Prep Boy and keep our secret, or do we have to gag you?”

Richard felt the urge to respond with a dirty comment. He bit back his retort, reminding himself that his sister was sitting nearby.

“What are you doing up here, Squirt? I thought you didn’t want to come to the party?” He smiled at Ruby indulgently. If he’d known she wanted to join in, he would have happily escorted her.

“I wanted to watch the midnight celebrations. I’d hate for anybody to ask me what I was doing when the new millennium arrived, only to hear that I was hiding in my bed like a social misfit.”

Richard winced. Sometimes she was so grown up, and over-perceptive. He hated that she felt like a freak.

“I’m sleepy now, though,” Ruby continued. “Hanna, would you take me to bed?” She held up her arms and looked like a child again.

“Let me help you, Hanna,” he breathed, suddenly liking how her name felt on his tongue. Turning to Ruby, he scooped her up. “Your carriage awaits, milady.”

Ruby giggled as he carried her along the hallway, putting her hand up to muffle the sound so the guests below wouldn’t notice her presence. Hanna followed closely behind them, making Richard hyper-aware of her close presence.

Feeling docile, Ruby nuzzled her head into her big brother’s tuxedoed shoulder.

“Thanks Richard. You make a great big brother.”

“Better than Nathan?” Richard carried Ruby into her bedroom, twisting slightly so that he could angle her legs through the doorway.

“Nathan isn’t a brother, he’s an animal. Every time I see him, he throws me up in the air. I’m always scared he isn’t going to catch me.” Ruby’s voice was slurred with sleep. Laying her down on the bed, he pulled the covers back over her. Hanna was standing at the door, watching them. Smiling at her, he could feel the flesh at the corners of his eyes crinkling. When she returned his smile, her plump lips curling up at the corners, he felt something in his stomach drop.

“Well, Squirt, I can promise I’ll always be there to catch you,” Richard whispered, kissing his sister’s forehead. Ruby was already asleep, her short, soft breaths coming out in a gentle rhythm.

“Your sister is very sweet,” Hanna said, as he met her at the door. “She’s the opposite of my evil sisters. You’re very lucky.”

“You have sisters?”

“Half-sisters,” she replied. “I like to remind myself we are only half-related. They’re the devil in the guise of eleven-year-old twins. They already think I’m their social inferior.”

“They sound delightful.” He drawled his words again. Something flickered in Hanna’s eyes.

“They’re a real treat. We can swap, if you like.” That made him smile. Her sisters sounded like just the sort of kids who would treat Ruby like crap.

“What are you doing up here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be stuffing canapés down unsuspecting guests’ throats?” It was funny how light-hearted he felt, upstairs with Hanna, away from the party and the crowds.

“I’m on a break. I have…” Hanna glanced at her watch, “fifteen minutes left.”

“Wow, all the things you could do with those fifteen minutes. Endless possibilities.” He grinned, his body brushing against hers as he walked through the door on the way to the hall. “Would you like to come to my room?”

“Bloody hell! You don’t waste any time do you?” Hanna exclaimed, making Richard re-examine exactly what it was he’d said.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean it like that.” He twisted his hands nervously. “Seriously, it wasn’t a proposition, not that you aren’t cute or anything. What I meant was… I have a new PlayStation, a Tony Hawke game, and two controllers with our names on them. Would you like to join me?” He was flustered now, taken aback by his own obtuseness and her vocal response.

“In that case, how could I say no? I have to warn you, though, I’m absolutely useless at computer games.”

While Richard set up the PlayStation in his bedroom, Hanna stood next to his shelves, looking at the CDs, like she was trying to gauge what sort of music he was into. He smiled when he saw her perplexed frown. His taste was eclectic; it was hard to categorize him when his CDs ranged from Puccini to the Prodigy.

“You have some good music. I hate to think how much your collection is worth.” She ran her fingers over the plastic spines of the CDs. Richard suppressed a smile, deciding that it would be foolish to tell her that this was just a small part of his collection, that he had thousands more CDs back in Manhattan.

“Do you want to have the first go?” His eyes met hers. He sat down on the carpet, leaning back against the edge of his bed with his legs bent in front of him. Hanna walked over and sat down beside him, refusing the proffered controller with a small shake of her head.

“You go first, I’ll watch and learn.”

Three aerials, two flips and a grind later, his ‘special meter’ was up and running. He was able to execute more special moves, showing off a little for Hanna’s benefit.

“You make it look so easy,” she complained.

“Everything is easy when you know how. And I don’t sleep well, so I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s your turn.”

Hanna took the controller and looked with grim determination at the TV screen. The skater moved slowly along the rail before bailing off the edge. Taking another try, her face screwed up in frustration as exactly the same thing happened again.

“I’m so shit at this.” Her voice was thin and whiny as she stared at the screen.

“Come here, let me help you.” Richard gestured to the floor, indicating where Hanna should sit. He was almost shocked when she crawled straight over to him, shimmying herself between his legs and leaning her back on his chest. Circling her with his arms, he put his fingers on top of hers as she held the controller and showed her which buttons to press in order to execute an aerial flip.

The sensation of her back rubbing against his chest, and her behind wriggling against his crotch, made him instantly hard. His erection was pressing into her spine. With only two thin pieces of material between his skin and hers, he knew for sure that she could feel it.

Hanna turned around and amusement danced across her face. She raised her brow quizzically. “Wow, you must really like this game.”

“Don’t take it personally. I get hard-ons just from watching the National Geographic channel.”

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. His hands were still on top of hers, and he showed her how to combine an aerial and a grind.

“Jesus! I’ve got special points. I’m da man. I. Am. Da. Man.” Hanna squirmed in happiness at having scored something other than a bail. As she moved, her body ground against his erection, making him wince at the painful pleasure her movement caused.

Glancing at his watch, Richard was almost relieved to see that her break was over.

Two

19th July 2000

Hanna pulled at her thin vest, the material momentarily sticking to her skin before giving way, allowing the cool air to circulate around her damp flesh. Even for July the weather was unusually hot; the heavy Goth clothing she had packed in her suitcase remained neatly folded and forgotten, like a maiden aunt at a stag party.

Ruby Larsen lay on a hammock next to her. They were reading aloud to each other from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, having bought the new book from the small shop in town the previous day.

“Do you think Hermione would like me if we met?” Ruby asked, passing the book over to Hanna.

“She’d bloody love you. What’s not to love? You’re clever, you’re funny, and you’d beat the hell out of the boys in potions class.”

They had been at the Larsen’s country cottage in the west of England for a week. Claire Larsen had asked Hanna to take on the job of being Ruby’s paid companion for the summer while she travelled back to the States to look after her sick mother. Hanna had agreed readily. It beat working at Safeway.

“Sometimes I wish I could go to Hogwarts. It sounds so much nicer than St. Nicholas’s.” Ruby picked at the small silver sequins attached to her T-shirt.

“There are mean people everywhere, Ruby. Just remember what an asshole Draco Malfoy was to Harry,” Hanna replied wistfully. “Anyway, it’s the school holidays. We’re not supposed to be thinking about lessons, or uniform, or homework. We should be having F.U.N.”

“You don’t ever have to think about school again,” Ruby complained. “You’re so lucky.”

Hanna dropped her head back on to the hammock, remembering her last day of school. After a long spring of exams, coursework, and nightmares about Jude the Obscure, it was nice to finally breathe without wondering when on earth she was going to fit in her next assignment.

She’d been Ruby’s regular babysitter since they met at New Year. It didn’t really feel like work – although she was always grateful for the money – because the two of them always managed to have fun. Hanna enjoyed spending time with Claire and Steven as well; only seven months after their initial meeting, the Larsens already felt like her second family.

“School days are supposed to be the best days of your life.”

“I think we both know that that’s a lie.” Ruby kicked at Hanna’s hammock, sending her swinging wildly.

In the distance, they heard the French doors slam. Hanna looked up to see a tall man with light-blond hair walking toward them. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she could see it was Tom McLean, waving a piece of paper in his large, tan hand.

“Hi Tom,” Ruby shouted, falling out of her hammock and running to give him a high five. He was the grandson of Mary, their cleaner. He had been in and out of the cottage all week doing small jobs. Hanna suspected Ruby had formed a tiny crush on the blond teenager.

“Hey, little Rube. How’re you doing?” He winked at the small girl, then looked up at Hanna, his lips unfurling into a slow, lazy grin. “You look a little too comfortable right now.”

With that, he reached out and grabbed Hanna’s arm, catching her easily as she tumbled off the hammock. Her book crashed into the dirt below.

“Tom!” she shouted crossly. “Put me down. And if you’ve ruined my book, you will pay with your life.” She swatted at his arm, hand meeting flesh with a resounding ‘thwack’.

“Hey! Mind my guitar-playing arm. I haven’t insured it yet.” He looked at her with a mock-injured expression. “I only came over to invite the prettiest ladies in town to our gig tonight.”

Hanna snatched the flyer from his hands. “It’s at a pub, Tom. I can’t take Ruby to a pub. Her parents would kill me.”

At the same moment, Ruby piped up. “Please can we go? I’ve never seen a band play before.”

“There’ll be loads of kids there. At least five of my nieces and nephews are coming. Come on, I’ll even treat you to a Coke.” Tom put on his best puppy-dog expression.

“With an offer like that, how can we refuse?” Hanna replied dryly, and an expression of delight formed on Ruby’s face.

At least she’d managed to keep somebody happy.

THE CROWDED PUB echoed to the sound of clashing chords and deep vocals. On the stage, Tom glanced up through his eyelashes and smiled directly at Hanna. She found herself biting her lip in an effort not to smile back. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the attention he was giving her. From the moment they met, Tom had flirted with her outrageously. He told her how much he loved her style, Hanna rolled her eyes in response. When he asked her out for a drink, she used Ruby as an excuse to refuse his offer. Now, surrounded by local groupies and a couple of A&R men from record labels, it seemed he only had eyes for her.

“Do you want another Coke?” Hanna asked.

“Yes please. Can I have a straw, too?” Ruby’s mid-Atlantic accent sounded strangely out of place in an English country pub.

“Of course, milady.” Hanna gave a mock curtsey, made her way up to the bar, and placed her order. When she came back, the band had moved on to a cover of Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’. Tom began to strum the soft introductory chords on his electric guitar, and leaned toward the microphone, his bright, blue eyes firmly fixed on Hanna’s.

His voice was deep and gravelly, perfect for the song. She watched as his sandy hair fell into his eyes, and his lips curled into a smile. A few heads in the room turned to follow his intense stare, some of them looking surprised when they saw him gazing at the petite girl sitting in the corner with her young friend.

Ruby, oblivious to his blatant staring, continued to sip at her Coke.

“This is our final song. I’d like to dedicate it to the beautiful girl with the perfect smile. This one’s for Hanna.”

She felt her face heat up as blood flooded her cheeks. Tom flashed her a brief smile, and then winked when he noticed her blush.

“Do you and Ruby spend a lot of time in the pub?” Hanna’s attention was drawn to the deep voice to her left. Spitting out her mouthful of cider in surprise, she looked up with horror as Richard Larsen walked toward her.

“Richard.” Ruby jumped off the bench, nearly spilling the remnants of her Coke bottle in her haste to greet him.

As he held his sister tightly to him, Richard’s eyes met Hanna’s.

She stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips, and looked him over for the first time since New Year’s Eve. He was smartly dressed in tailored black pants, the sleeves of his pale blue shirt rolled up to his elbows. She tried not to look too closely at his muscled forearms; skin stretched over tight tendons, and covered with a dusting of dark brown hair.

He looked out of place in the pub, among the jeans, the cargo shorts and the band T-shirts. Like a Renoir hanging on a wall of lurid graffiti.

“I couldn’t find you at the cottage, so I called Mary McLean. She told me that her grandson had invited you out on a date.” Richard’s nose turned up as he finished his sentence.

“I didn’t know you were coming to England.” She decided to ignore the date jibe.

“I’ve been in Europe for a few days. I’m working for my stepfather over the summer. He’s got a few things going down in Paris.” Richard smiled at her for the first time. His lopsided grin reminded her how much she’d liked him at New Year.

“You should have called us. What if we hadn’t been here?”

“It’s only a couple of hours by train, Hanna.”

The way he said her name made her feel warm inside. She glanced over at the stage in the corner of the pub, noticing Tom looking over at them, his forehead wrinkled with curiosity.

“Did you bring me a present?” Ruby was almost jumping up and down with excitement. Her enthusiasm made Hanna smile.

“At least she’s not materialistic,” Richard whispered to her, in a mock-aside. “I’d hate to think she only loves me for my money.”

Ruby grinned and hung on to her brother’s shirt with her grubby fingers. “You know I love you. So what did you bring me?”

“I’ll show you when we get back to the cottage, Squirt,” he replied, then turned to look at Hanna. “Are you ready to go?”

“I’ll let Tom know we’re leaving.” Ignoring Richard’s frown, Hanna left him standing with his sister. She walked over to Tom, ready to take her leave. His face lit up with a smile.

“What did you think?” He pulled her toward him, putting his hand on her waist in a proprietary gesture. His familiarity unsettled her, especially when she could feel a pair of narrowed eyes watching her every move.

“You were great. Ruby and I loved the songs.” She pulled away. “We have to go home now, though.”

“You’re leaving so soon? Who is that guy, anyway?”

“Ruby’s brother.”

“Oh.” Tom’s face fell.

“He’s come to see Ruby,” she blurted out.

Tom’s smile returned almost instantaneously. “Does that mean you have a babysitter available?”

“I’m the babysitter, remember?” Hanna replied dryly.

“That’s a shame. I guess I’ll just have to take up residence under your window and serenade you with love songs.” He winked at her.

“Feel free, I wear ear plugs. I’m sure the local cats will enjoy it, though.”

“Are you ready, Hanna?” Richard and Ruby went to join them.

Hanna could feel the heat flood her cheeks again. “Richard, this is Tom McLean. He’s with the band.” And she was a loser. Jesus, could she sound any lamer?

“Pleased to meet you.” Richard shook Tom’s hand firmly. For two guys of a similar age, their differences couldn’t be more apparent. Next to the unkempt, slightly dishevelled singer, Richard looked older and much more sophisticated. And totally out of her league.

“Can we go?” Ruby tugged at her arm, desperate to get home and open her promised gift.

“Okay, okay, we’re leaving.” Hanna tried to swallow a laugh at Ruby’s desperation. She wasn’t successful.

Tom leaned forward to kiss her cheek, just as Hanna turned her head to look at him. She was still mid laugh, and her open mouth clashed against his. She felt him gasp as they touched. The blood rushed to her lips, and she felt his mouth start to move slowly against hers, the tip of his tongue running a wet line along her plump skin.

She quickly pulled away, her face heating in humiliation as she saw Richard raise his eyebrow at her, his lips pulled back into a thin, straight line.

The night just kept getting better and better.

FOR FIVE DAYS, Richard joined in their routine; reading aloud with them as they finished Harry Potter, and choosing his favourite character as they acted out scenes from the book. Without the suit and tie on, it seemed like Richard Larsen was a different person.

In the evenings, after putting Ruby to bed, they sat together and watched TV. A new programme had started on one of the channels, some sort of reality-based experiment. Ten people were forced to live together in a closed house. Hanna found it fascinating.

“It’s not really like 1984 though is it?” Richard mused, offering her another chocolate cookie from the packet they were sharing. “I mean, Big Brother would make them stand to attention and swear loyalty to him. Not let them laze around in the yard, talking to chickens.”

When the adverts came on, Hanna made her way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she took out two bottles of Becks, prising the lids off with a bottle opener as she walked back to the living room. Looking over at Richard, she noticed his eyes darken almost imperceptibly as he stared directly at her bare legs. The intensity of his gaze made her breath hitch.

With Ruby’s bedtime routine, a favourite TV programme, and their sharing of beer and cookies, they were turning into a parody of an old, married couple…

Minus the sex.

ON RICHARD’S FINAL night at the cottage, they decided to walk into the village to buy their dinner from the chip shop. The evening air was warm and fragrant as they sat on the village green, eating their last supper of fish and chips straight out of the paper. Ruby perched on the concrete steps of the war memorial, throwing chips at pigeons as they swooped down trying to steal her food from her fingers. They watched the sun go down, their fingers coated with vinegar, salt, and grease.

A smudge of ketchup clung to the corner of Hanna’s mouth. Richard stretched out his hand to rub it away with his thumb. He felt the strangest urge to move his thumb slightly leftward, to plunge it inside her soft mouth, just to see how it felt. Instead, he put it to his own lips and licked the sauce off. Hanna stared at him with her rosebud mouth slightly parted, and he could see a small hint of tongue just behind her lips.

“Are you growing out your hair colour?”

“I’m trying to reinvent myself for university. I’m going for more of a rock-chick look. Goth is so last century.”

Richard laughed at her idealistic enthusiasm, her belief that you could simply reinvent yourself with a change of hair colour. If only it were that easy.

“Rock chick?” He looked at her skeptically.

“Yep, I’m getting bored of only wearing black. Even I need to wear colour occasionally.”

“Well, I look forward to meeting the newly reinvented Hanna Vincent. Maybe you can send me a photo.”

“Maybe you can bite me, perv,” she replied, bumping him with her shoulder. Richard bumped her back and she fell from the wooden bench, landing on the hard, dry grass with a thump. Her outraged expression made him laugh long and hard.

The next morning, Richard left the cottage early to catch the first flight to JFK. The plane was crowded, but the Maxwell family always travelled first class. Even if Richard was a Larsen, his stepfather wouldn’t let him travel any other way.

A black Lincoln was waiting for him at the arrivals gate. The driver took his luggage, and Richard followed him to the parking lot. He sat in the back as the driver steeled himself to go up against the New York traffic. It was more than an hour before they pulled up outside the brownstone townhouse.

He was home, though it was a strange word to describe this place. The interior of the house was too pristine, too stark. Too much like his mother. Yet if anywhere, this was the one place that should be home to him. He’d spent the best part of fifteen years here.

Once inside the door, he walked toward the kitchen where he could hear Consuela singing as she cleaned the floor. She had worked for the Maxwells for a long time and was living at the townhouse long before Richard and his mother moved in.

“Ricardo.” A smile lit up her face. “You’re home. Come here and give me a kiss.”

He lifted her up and swung her around as she swatted at his arms, trying to get him to release her.

“Where is everybody?” he asked, letting her back down.

“Your momma is in the Hamptons. And Daniel had to go to work with his father. He wasn’t very happy about it, either.”

Daniel was Richard’s seventeen-year-old stepbrother, the only son and heir of Leon Maxwell. With a multi-billion dollar empire encompassing everything from real estate to financial advisory services, Leon Maxwell had a vast range of investments spread across the globe.

Richard leaned around Consuela and took a still-warm roll from the cooling rack. She reached out and slapped his hand.

“Are we entertaining tonight?” He bit into the roll.

“Mr. Maxwell has invited the Brookes to join you for dinner.”

“At eight?”

“Yes, sir.” When she spoke to him, the “sir” was always accompanied by a teasing smile. It was different than when she said it to Leon or Daniel.

“Well, in that case, I’ll be in my room, sleeping off the jetlag.” Richard winked and left the kitchen.

When he got upstairs, he wasn’t surprised to find that his room was cleaner and more fragrant than when he had left it over a week ago. Consuela had attacked it with gusto during his absence. Throwing his suitcase in the corner and kicking off his shoes, he lay down on top of the comforter, closing his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Three

5th October 2000

“So, Hanna Vincent, what is your USP?” Josh Chambers, editor of the student magazine, leaned back in his threadbare swivel chair, removing the pencil that he had put behind his ear some moments before. He tapped it against his teeth, as he stared at her.

Hanna frowned. What the hell was a USP? She wondered if it was some sort of journalistic term she should be aware of. She didn’t want to look stupid and admit she knew virtually nothing about writing for a newspaper.

She’d applied for the position of unpaid staff writer on the university magazine as soon as she’d arrived in Nottingham the previous week. Now, she being interviewed by the highly intelligent editor and already making a fool of herself.

“What I mean, Hanna, is what is your Unique Selling Point? What makes you special? What do you have that all the other applicants don’t?”

He had obviously taken pity on her. It seemed the ‘deer in the headlights’ look got her somewhere in life after all. It was a shame she couldn’t use it on her family as easily.

“Well, Josh Chambers.” She allowed herself a small grin at using his full name in the same way he had said hers. “I have many Unique Selling Points. I’m hardworking, I’m determined, and I never take no for an answer.”

“You and everybody else I’ve spoken to today. That doesn’t make you unique. That just makes you desperate.” Josh shook his head, smirking at her response. He was on the right side of attractive, with his mop of dark-blond hair, strong jaw and day-old stubble. He had perfected the ‘geek-chic’ look, with his black-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Though he was in the final year of his journalism degree, to Hanna he seemed so much more than two years her senior.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a large poster on the wall advertising a gig taking place the following week. She turned her head to look, smiling as she recognized the man posing on the front of the poster. He was wearing a tight black shirt, his wild hair flying everywhere as he strummed his guitar.

“I know Tom McLean from Fatal Limits.” She gestured over to the picture on the wall advertising the band as the headline act. “I could score an interview with them.”

Josh leaned forward, his curiosity sparked for the first time that morning. “Are you shitting me?”

“No!” Hanna laughed at his expression. “Seriously, I met him in the summer. They’ve just been signed by an independent label. I can call him right now if you like.”

Josh was still regarding her with interest, his pencil firmly wedged in between his teeth. “Okay. Let’s agree that if you score an interview with Fatal Limits, and if you write a good enough article, then I’ll put you on a three month trial.” His smile was genuine.