London Royal

Present…

Lex...

I didn’t care what I had to do; I would protect the woman I loved with my dying breath.

Nothing was going to change. I'd promised her that.

I’d told her I’d love her forever, which was true. I would love her forever. I’d told her I would protect her.

But that was a lie.

Now that my mother's cousin had been assassinated, I was a prince. An official prince of Nomea. No longer exiled. No longer banished from a home I'd never known. Now the woman I loved would be subject to the court of public opinion.

Just like before.

And whether or not I liked it, people would have opinions, and they’d post about them. In the press, on social media, and to anyone who would listen. That was what had happened the last time my family was in the public eye.

Well, they were entitled to their opinions. If need be, I'd step aside to shield her from as much scrutiny as possible. I would step away from the birthright I'd never asked for. For her, I'd give up anything. For her, I'd give up everything.

She looked up from the conversation she was having next to one of my favorite pieces of her artwork at the gallery opening. The smile she gave me was brilliant.

She'd done it. She’d opened her own bloody gallery simply known as Nartey. She was going to feature some of her work, but mostly works of up-and-coming artists. I couldn't have been more proud of her. She grinned at me, the white of her teeth a perfect contrast to her gleaming brown skin.

God, I loved her.

Even as she chatted animatedly with the woman she was speaking to, she snuck peeks at me. I could tell she wanted to run up to me. She wanted to hold me. Just like I wanted to hold her. I'd planned this surprise for months.

But I had more than one reason for being there. I needed to let her know that everything was about to change.

When she was finally finished, Abena Nartey Chase made no bones about running up and leaping into my arms. The white dress she wore with the thigh high slits helped her achieve her goal.

I didn't give a shit that we were making a scene. She was my wife, and I planted a kiss on her so deep we made the stuffed shirts blush.

When she pulled back, she looped her arms around my neck. "Hello, handsome. I didn't think you'd be here."

"Did you really think you were going to have a gallery opening and I wasn't going to attend?"

"No, but I knew how complicated things in the Winston Isles were."

I nodded slowly. "Were. I'm home."

"Well, welcome home. In that case, the celebration is going to be different than I originally planned."

I lifted a brow. "Oh, yeah? Just what did you have planned?"

"Well, originally, I was going to take the other artists out to a simple dinner, toast with champagne, and pay the bill. Or rather, you were going to foot the bill."

I sighed. "Remember, my money is your money."

"Yeah, you know how I don't like that."

I rolled my eyes. It was an old argument, but I left that fight alone for now. "So, what's the change of plan?"

She leaned forward, close to my ear. "Well now, there's definitely going to be a deep throat blow job happening."

I pulled back and clutched a hand to my chest as if I was shocked. "Jesus Christ, who's the lucky guy?" She giggled, and I twirled her around. "I love you."

"I love you too, Alexi.” When we stopped moving, a frown settled in her expression as she studied my face. "What's the matter?"

I forced my face into an impassive expression. "What do you mean?"

"Stop it. I know when something is wrong. What's the matter? Is Xander okay?"

I knew my brother Xander had rushed to his wife Hermione’s side as soon as he'd gotten the news. Neither one of us wanted our wives hearing about this situation before we had the chance to tell them about it ourselves. "Yeah, he's fine. He's with Hermione Aysem."

She frowned. "He couldn't be bothered to come to my opening?"

I laughed and shook my head, wondering about their odd brother-and-sister-like relationship. It never bothered me.

Lies.

Okay fine, Xander’s feelings for her had bothered me in the beginning. But that had been resolved long ago. I knew my brother was madly in love with his wife, though he and Abbie still fought like cats and dogs most of the time. "Listen babes—"

Her brow lifted. "Babes? You only say that when you have some bad news to tell me."

"Yeah. Listen, um, can we speak somewhere privately?"

I couldn't help but let my gaze skitter to a man near the door. He was long and lean like me. And looked more than ready for a fight to break out.

Matthias Weller had been more than happy to come home to England with his fiancée. He was on loan from Blake Security temporarily until Xander and I could get our own security team in place. I knew under his impeccable suit he was covered in tattoos.

I didn't know him well, but we'd gotten to chat a little bit on the flight over. My cousin, Sebastian Winston, King of the Winston Isles, had insisted we have the best security with us until we could sort out other measures. Abbie was no fool though, and her gaze followed mine in Matthias’s direction. "Why does that look like security at the door, sweetheart?"

I cleared my throat. "Listen, something has happened." 

She stepped back. "Let me get my things."

I stopped her though. "No, you don't need to hurry off. It's your opening. You need to enjoy it. But Matthias is going to be with us for a while, as is his fiancée."

She frowned. "That guy has a fiancée? He looks just as likely to eat someone as he does to date them."

I glanced over at him. He did have that I am a fucking badass look on his face. "Yeah okay, fair enough. But listen, we don't need to talk about this now. Enjoy the opening. I'll talk to you after."

She shook her head. "No. You tell me what’s going on now."

I sighed and then tugged her through the main gallery room and into one of the offices. She crossed her arms over her chest, having no idea that all it did was push up her tits and make my brain take a non-escapable detour. 

Focus man.

I dragged my gaze back to hers.

"Sweetheart, if you wanted to get some..."

"Ah, I wish that's why we were in here, but it's not.” I cleared my throat. “My mother's cousin, the King of Nomea, has been assassinated."

Her jaw unhinged. "Fuck."

I nodded slowly. "We don't know who did it. We don't know why. But that means I need you covered in case there's any kind of retaliation."

"So that guy out there is supposed to cover me?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes, him and his fiancée."

"What's going on, Alexi?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't. All I know is, right now, you are mine to protect. And I would do that with my life."

"So, this makes you a prince now?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, since he had no children and he wasn't married, that means my mother is, by default, Queen of Nomea. But he's got followers who, no doubt, will retaliate if they think that my mother's people had anything to do with it."

"Jesus."

"Yeah, I know. But listen, I don't want you to worry about anything. We're going to get a team. You will be protected."

She squeezed my hand. "Alexi, I'm so sorry."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I know this isn't what you wanted."

"Look, I will step down today if it means my title puts you in danger. Besides, I'm only the spare."

"I know how this works. You might be the spare, but you've only ever wanted your freedom. And now, you're going to be under all the scrutiny in the world."

"We are."

"I know. And I could take it. I just—I know you didn't want this."

I shrugged. "Look, when you met me, there were all kinds of things I didn't want. There were things I didn't even know I did want. One of them was you. So, as long as I have you, I don't care what happens. As long as you're safe, I’ll count my lucky stars."

"You and me against the world?"

I pulled her close and tucked my arms around her. "Yup, you and me against the world."

What I wasn't going to remind her of was just what I was willing to do and what I was capable of if it meant keeping her safe. She was mine. Forever. And if anyone threatened that, they'd end up the same way the last guy had.

Five Years Earlier…

Lex…

"To my prince of a brother, while it may not yet be your twenty-fifth birthday, we’re going to celebrate all bloody year. You are a little prince amongst men, and I couldn't have a better brother." 

I laughed at Xander even as I raised my glass. "Thank you for the toast, Xan. Except, I'm not a prince." 

He chuckled then. "Oh, we both are. Just, you know, we don't actually have the country or the crowns to go with it, but I lay claim to it all the time. Particularly with the fairer sex."

I rolled my eyes as our friends guffawed around us. We were at yet another nameless club. The latest hotspot. For us, the booze flowed freely, and the women came easily. I loved my brother and my mates, but lately when we went out, I wondered exactly what the purpose was. Maybe I’d enjoyed more than was my fair share of the parties and I was bored stiff.

All around us, there were girls. Tall ones, short ones, beautiful ones. Everyone was stunning in their own way. Most were wearing next to nothing and offering to blow us for access to the VIP area. They knew who we were, and we preferred not to know who they were.

If you're so bored, why do you keep coming out?

That was a good question. The number of nights that I'd been tempted to just beg off and stay home was plenty. But still, the truth of it was that it was better to be with people than alone in my own box. That wasn't ideal. So, I went out.

All around me, my friends were drinking and having a good time. At one point, Jasper crash-landed on my lap. "Come on, give us a kiss, birthday boy.”

The scent of alcohol oozed out of his pores, and I shoved his face away. "No. God, how much have you had, mate?"

Jasper chuckled, splashing whatever clear liquid that was in his glass onto his hand. "Why are you asking such questions? We were pre-gaming for your birthday party."

"Jas, it's not my birthday yet. I've got over a month left."

"Yeah, mate, I know. But luckily your brother is a party connoisseur, like myself, and believes that we should party at least three months in advance. Which I can get behind." 

"Of course, you can. You realize we basically do this every weekend anyway, right?"

He grinned at me sloppily. "Did you have a point, mate?"

I shook my head. "No. No point. Having fun?"

He grinned and slapped me on the chest several times. "Yup. Having a blast. I'm going to go find a very pretty blonde and have her sit on my lap instead of me sitting on yours. You're not as pretty, sorry."

Bullshit. I was fucking pretty. "No offense taken."

He tried to climb up on his own, but eventually, I had to shove him up off of me. My brother leaned over the back of the couch I was sitting on. "Are you having fun, baby brother?"

"Yeah, are you?” I tried not to slide my gaze to his drink. But it was difficult.

You don't have to take care of him anymore.

It's not like it would help. But Xander was different now, no longer trying to numb his pain with pills and booze. A year ago, I had been chasing after him, worrying about him, trying to get the booze out of his hands and keep the drugs out of his nose.

But he'd gotten a handle on things. He’d stopped with the drugs and seriously pulled back on the alcohol. I didn't even think he liked the drugs. They’d just been something to do, and then eventually they’d become something he needed to function. But when I’d managed to get a camera back into his hands, he’d quit.

The drinking now was more of the social variety. But still, the memory of that time, trying to keep him from killing himself, was stamped fresh on my frontal lobe, and I couldn't shake it.

He caught my gaze then lifted his glass toward me. "Just the one. It's your birthday. You get to celebrate."

I shook my head. "Nah, mate. I'm just not in a celebratory mood yet. Got a lot on my mind."

He nodded. "Dear old dad?"

"Ah, it's like you’ve met him. He's a right downer, isn't he?"

"Yeah. That's his job, being a total arse. But try and enjoy this. Birthdays come only once a year."

"This coming from the bloke who insists I celebrate all year? Who celebrates their birthday like that?"

"We do. We're the Chase brothers, and we can do whatever the fuck we want. So if you want to celebrate your birthday all goddamn year, we can. After all, we are royalty, aren't we?"

I snorted. "Forgotten princes of a forgotten land."

He clinked his glass with mine, "Uh, don't forget exiled and forgotten princes. Ahh, imagine what it would be like if our dear old ancestors hadn’t been ousted. How different do you think shit would be?"

I laughed. "Not much different. Except there would probably be more people telling us what to do."

He wrinkled his nose then. "Ugh! Never mind all that then. As you know, I can't stand to be told what to do. I like my freedom."

We clinked glasses again. "Me too, brother, me too."

Sure, I liked money. I liked making it. I just didn’t want to make it for the old man. Nor did I want to get into royal politics. Unlike others in my family, I wasn't obsessed with getting our crown back.

Let other men fight for the crown. I didn't want it. Hell, I wasn't even the oldest brother. The crown, or the lack thereof, was of no consequence to me. No, I needed something else to fill the hole in my chest. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me. I needed some air, some space, something. I pushed out of my seat and tapped Xander on the shoulder. "Mate, I think I'm done."

My brother frowned. "What? We just got here. It's only been a few hours."

I laughed. "Yeah, I know. I'm done. Tell Nick for me, would you?"

He studied me. "Something's up with you Lex. You're not talking to me."

"Nah, I'm good."

He went serious then, and I knew he could sense it. I was off. He and I had always been thick as thieves. We weren't twins, but that sense of when the other was in trouble, we both felt it. That's what happened when you shared the darkness. You knew when the other one was going under.

"I'll come with you." 

I shook my head. "Nah, stay. Have fun."

Xander chuckled and then shrugged. "You know, fun for me is waking up at five thirty in the morning and chasing the sunlight. This is not conducive to that."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't you have classes starting soon?"

He nodded. "I have to teach a bunch of runts how to do what I do. But chances are, none of them will be extraordinary, or at most, there will only be one."

"Ah, you’re such a cynic."

"No, I’m a realist."

"I hear you. Look, let me find Nick. I'll say goodbye and then I’m just going to head home."

He gave me a nod. "Fine. Call me in the morning, yeah? I'll pick you up and we'll go for a run."

I grinned at him. "You're going to let me kick your ass again?"

"You never kick my ass." He gave me his trademark smirk.

"Oh, yes, I do."

"In that case, you're on. I should probably stop drinking then."

"You realize I can still kick your ass hungover, right?"

The raised brow and the self-important smirk told me Xander was okay. We clasped palms and gave each other a half hug, and then I wound my way to the VIP section to look for Nick. I headed through the back hallway toward the patio where they let everyone smoke without actually having to leave the club. There was no one on the patio, but when I turned, something caught my gaze. Suddenly, the hairs at the back of my neck stood at attention and I frowned. What the hell?

Someone was out there. I narrowed my gaze. And then I felt it, the shadow behind me, and I whirled on the balls of my feet, hands up, ready to defend or attack.

Unfortunately, when I moved, whoever was behind me moved too, so I only caught a brief glimpse before the attack happened.

A fist punched straight to my kidneys, and I howled. 

I whipped around and fired off an elbow in the general vicinity of my attacker.

The guy oomphed, and I was ready to turn the tables on him. But once I was facing him, ready to go in for the attack, I heard footsteps behind me.

Multiple attackers. Fucking fantastic.

The guy in front of me swept out a leg, trying to sweep me off my feet, but my stance was strong. With a couple of quick jabs, I snapped his head back and moved in for the quick kill. Forearm on his neck, my other arm blocking his free one and attacking. I delivered a couple of knees and then, grabbing onto shirt and skin with my bar arm hand and using my block arm for momentum, I turned his whole body around, so I could see my other attacker. Striking him like this, I could deliver all the blows I needed. I could also keep my eye on whoever else was coming for me.

He was my height. Over six feet, dark hair, thicker build though. My mother used to tell me I was whipcord lean. So, I might not be as big, but I'd learned a long time ago that I needed to be deadly.

When he refused to go down, I adjusted my hold and grabbed his face with both hands, pressing my thumbs into his eye sockets. When he leaned back, trying to save his sight and exposing his throat, I punched him, and down he went.

His partner was coming at me next, and he was also quick on his feet.

I was weaving. I'd had too much to drink for this. But like hell was I going down that easy. I knew what it was like to be helpless and alone. It wasn't going to happen today. "Hey arsehole, you know, we don't have to do this. You can take your girlfriend here and go. I don't want to hurt you."

He smirked and came at me in full-on attack mode.

With his massive frame, he preferred the use of his legs. Taekwondo training was evident. I took some knees. Okay, I'm not going to lie, I took a few punches too. But I gave as good as I got.

I saw someone else coming to the door. Fuck. I was losing steam, and I needed to end things quickly.

"What's the matter? Is the little prince tired? We're just going to help you rest. Come with us, and you can rest as long as you like."

Were these my cousin's men? My second cousin was the current king of Nomea. His family had ousted mine from the throne a couple of generations ago.

Why would he be coming after us now? Xander and I hadn't done anything. Just the thought of my brother had me wincing. Shit. Xander.

I had to stay alert. What if Xander needed me?

My opening came when the guy delivered a kick to my midsection. I took the brunt of the force, but I also grabbed his leg.

His cocky smirk disappeared quickly as I pulled him off his feet and then launched myself at him. Good old-fashioned ground and pound. Elbows. Punches. I grabbed him by the shirt, and I laid into him. I let the rage take over, the anger; all of it poured out.

Behind me, someone tried to pull me off. And then I could see it, the black bag sliding into my field of vision. I released the guy in front of me, and as he sagged down, I twisted around, determined to avoid the fucking black-bagging.

What the hell was wrong with these people? From my position on the ground, I had nowhere else to go. I didn't really want to punch the guy in the nuts, but it was my best line of defense. Elbow backward first, and then I twisted and punched. It didn't take much, and he went down.

Then I was on my feet. The kick I landed sent him several feet back. "Tell my cousin if he wants to come for me, he's going to need more men."

Then I heard a voice from behind me. "Well done. But you really shouldn't play with your food, Alexi."

I released the one on the floor and turned slowly. "Jean Claude?"

My mother’s long-time advisor stepped out from the shadows. "You were slow. Lethargic. In the field, that could be dangerous. But you ah…" he glanced around, "recovered quickly. What was this? I taught you a million times, when your cousin comes for you, or anyone looking for ransom for that matter, be efficient, unemotional. This… this was nothing but emotion."

I glowered at my childhood mentor. "This was another test?"

"Of course it was a test. It's all a test, Alexi. At some point, your cousin is going to come for you. He has no children. He will do anything to hold on to his power. You threaten that power, so these scenarios are meant to keep you strong and alive."

I stood and staggered over to the nearest wall, breathing heavily and deep as two of my assailants groaned and tried to stand. The third wasn't moving at all. I dragged in deep, heavy breaths and watched as his partners went over to him and tried to wake him up. When he finally rolled over, I breathed an extra sigh of relief. I hadn't killed him. "This was for, what? All for a training exercise?"

"Yes," Jean Claude said as he stepped over to me. "And I'm disappointed in how you performed."

I shrugged. "Well, I'm alive. That should be a lesson to you. If you send more assholes after me, I won't be responsible if I kill them. I'm done with your tests. Not long from now, I'll be 25, and you will no longer be my adviser. My father will no longer be in charge of my money, and I won't have to worry about any of this royal bullshit any longer. You've been feeding the same shit to my mom for years that she's going to sit on a throne someday. Don't you get tired of the false hope? Nomea has a king. And it's never been destined to be me."

"Let's face it. Your brother is unfit. You're the hope. You're the next generation."

I shook him off and headed for the exit. No way was I going to let him see me limp or know that his men had landed one too many good punches. He was trying to prepare me for a future I was never going to have. A future I didn't want. All I wanted was my freedom, and soon it would be mine.

And neither he nor his stupid tests were going to keep me from that. 

***

Abbie…

Where the hell is it?

I frantically checked the pile of mail. Bill, bill, advertisement. Nothing from the University of West London. Worry knotted my stomach. All my other graduate school acceptance and rejection letters had come by now. I’d expected to hear word from them over three weeks ago.

“Hey, Easton, was this all the mail? Was there anything with the packages?” A part of me held on to that last thread of hope.

“Sorry, sweetheart. That’s all of it.”

My boyfriend, Easton Peters, leaned against the doorjamb between the hallway and the dining room, still dripping from his run, creating little puddles of sweat on the floor. “You have some perfectly good schools to choose from. I don’t know why this one is so important to you.”

I clenched my teeth and tried not to focus on the fact that, as usual, he didn’t support my choice. I also tried not to focus on the tiny puddles. Puddles I’d be expected to clean.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Instead, I focused on his face. Easton, covered in a sheen of sweat, was still handsome. Perfect, smooth, bronze skin, strong jaw, whiskey-brown eyes. A body that made women salivate. Not to mention, his family was also wealthy enough to sway political turnouts.

My friends liked to remind me how lucky I was to have him.

If only they knew.

“I know. I need to make a decision, especially if I want to start in August, but I really wanted this program.” I inhaled sharply the moment I caught the look of displeasure in his eyes. “But you’re right.” No, he’s not. “I’ll pick one. If London comes through, I can always pull my acceptance or something.”

He frowned, and I braced myself.

Stupid.

Why did I say that? At best, I had a lecture coming. At worst… something else.

Frown lines creased his perfect brow. “Abena, it’s bad form to rescind an acceptance. Especially if it’s at a school where I pulled strings for you, like Georgetown or George Washington.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting at the pulled strings. It wasn’t worth the fight. Keep your cool. Breathe. Don't say anything. “Of course,” I muttered. Ever dutiful. Sometimes I just wanted to scream at myself. Or him…

“Some dreams aren’t meant to come true. I mean, let’s face it, your photos are okay, but you’re not exactly doing gallery openings, are you?”

I bit my tongue. As if I wouldn’t have been able to get into those schools on my own. As if his talking to a couple of professors had been the thing that made the admissions boards sit up and take notice. He’d only just graduated from law school himself and was an associate with Walters and Logan, a big law firm in town. His family name might have pull, but he, himself, did not. I’d gotten in on my own merit.

But with practiced ease, I kept my thoughts to myself. “I know. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to do that. I’ll think about it carefully.”

He snatched up the hem of his sweat-sodden T-shirt and used the material to wipe his brow. The view of his six-pack and strong chest muscles should have had me salivating, should have had me begging to join him in the shower.

Too bad I knew what was under the perfect façade. And it wasn’t pretty.

I wanted him to be supportive. I wanted him to believe in me. I wanted him to be who he pretended to be. But at the moment, I just wanted him to get into the shower so he would stop dripping on my floor.

“I’m getting in the shower. What’s for lunch?”

I swallowed. “I’m making chicken salad.”

He sighed, clearly unenthused, but headed off toward the shower anyway.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was deliberately pushing the dates for accepting an offer. Letters of acceptance into law programs from Georgetown, George Washington, John’s Hopkins, American University, and University of Maryland all beckoned to me in a neat stack.

But I didn’t want to have to think about them. Easton had left them there purposefully, so that every time I walked through our dining room, I’d have to see them. The spiteful part of me yearned to disorder the tiny pile. But I restrained myself.

Petty isn’t a good look.

No. It wasn’t. And it certainly wasn’t becoming of the perfect girlfriend of Easton Peters.

The problem was I didn’t want to be a lawyer. Sure, it was the natural choice in a family full of them. Both my parents were attorneys. Even my oldest sister, Akosua, was. My middle sister, Ama, had broken the mold to go to medical school, but still, it was a profession the whole family approved of. Not like my passion, photography.

The University of West London had the best MA program in photography in the world. There, I’d have a chance to work with Xander Chase, one of the youngest, most renowned photographers in the world. He’d even exhibited at Hamilton’s in London.

Some dreams aren’t meant to come true.

Maybe Easton was right. Maybe London was just a pipe dream.

Unless you went on your own.

As quickly as the betraying, insidious thought popped into my head, I shuddered and quashed it. Going on my own wasn’t an option. I’d once tried to interview for a job in Los Angeles right out of college. The bruises he’d left on my body had made it very clear that I wasn’t going anywhere without him.

I’d been with him since I was sixteen, and he’d come to my school to talk about the benefits of NYU as a college. Even then, everyone had pointed out how lucky I was that a college guy was interested in little ol’ me.

That a Peters was interested in me.

Then why don’t I feel lucky?

Nobody saw what I saw.

He could be sweet. He could be unfailingly kind. We could spend hours talking about nothing. Or debating the merits of superpowers. There were so many happy moments interspersed with the bad that sometimes I wondered if I imagined the bad times.

Like the times when I was afraid or made to feel worthless were phantoms that plagued my mind with lies. Problem was, like phantom limbs, those bad moments sent aches throughout my soul that set like permanent stains.

His sweet moments were like an analgesic that dulled the pain and made me forget it lurked just around a happy corner. His temper was always at the forefront of my mind. But still, despite the fear, there was a part of me that hoped. Hoped he could be different, that I could be.

My phone rang in the kitchen, pulling me out of my reverie. I raced to grab it, a smile tugging at my lips when I saw who it was on the caller ID. “Hey, Dad.”

“Abena, how are you?” My father’s baritone voice with its accented English never failed to calm me down.

“Oh, I’m good. Just making some lunch.” I stalled, wondering what he was calling about. Neither of us was particularly skilled at small talk. A call from him was not the norm. We always relayed messages through my mother or via text. Nevertheless, I was happy to hear from him. “What’s up, Dad?”

He expelled a breath, as if happy to be able to cut to the chase and forego the social niceties of asking what I was making for lunch.

“I need the valuation papers for the condo. I’m trying to up the insurance, given the renovation we just did to the bathroom.”

“Sure, I’ll grab them.” I jogged into the study that Easton had taken over upon moving in and kept an ear out for the sound of the shower turning off. Once Easton was finished, he’d want to eat, so I needed to hurry up with lunch. “One sec, I have no idea what Easton’s filing process is.”

Quickly, I searched the stack of folders on the desk and found what my father was looking for. As I relayed the information, my gaze landed on the corner of an envelope peeking out from the desk drawer. A Queen Elizabeth stamp was affixed on the thick paper.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” My father hesitated. “Are you well? You sound off.”

I sighed. His way of asking if I still thought I’d made the right choice by moving in with Easton. My parents had been so against it. After all, in Ghanaian culture, it just wasn’t done. They were so old school. You only moved in with someone after you’d done a traditional engagement ceremony.

The mere thought of marriage made my stomach clench. Not that Easton hadn’t hinted it was the next logical step. But every time I thought about it, it felt like someone was tying a noose around my neck.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I said as I tried to pull the drawer open. It didn’t budge.

“Have you selected a school yet?”

“Uhm…” My voice trailed as I grabbed the letter opener and tried to slide it into the drawer to pop the latch. “I need to. I was hoping to hear from University of West London.”

My father harrumphed. “A photography course does not qualify as school.”

I could almost see him grumbling and pacing in his office. “Dad, actually, it does. The program is prestigious, and it's at an accredited university.”

My father's accented voice pitched lower. “Abena, what do you think you’re going to do with a master’s in photography? You’re supposed to go to law school.” Of course, to Ghanaian parents, the only appropriate professions and worthwhile educational pursuits included law, medicine, and engineering. I ignored the prick of pain his disappointment caused. I was used to it by now.

“Dad. You already have one daughter who’s a lawyer. Besides, with the photography, there's a lot I'm planning to do. With a recommendation from my professor, opportunities in production would open for places like National Geographic and a career in documentary films.”

And I was sure a recommendation from Xander Chase would open those kinds of doors. But I didn’t care about those doors. What I was after was the apprentice position offered to his top student.

“Abena, you can’t put all your eggs into one basket. You have to have a backup plan.”

“I know. I know. I’ll be looking at all the offers tonight, and I’ll make a decision by the weekend.” I could only hope and pray that the acceptance came before then. I really only had two more days to stall.

The drawer opened with a splintering pop, and for a second I was worried I’d broken it, but it slid smoothly on its grooves. My father mentioned something about my sister, but I had already tuned him out. I pulled out the envelope with its maroon stamp of the queen, and my breath caught. With my blood rushing in my ears, I carefully scanned the return address.

University of West London.

Twice, my brain tried to make my lips cooperate. Twice, it failed. On the third attempt, I managed with a shaky breath, “Listen, Dad, I have to go. Easton’s going to want his lunch soon.”

I hung up without waiting for a goodbye. Unable to swallow and incapable of breathing, I slowly reached into the already-opened envelope and pulled out the papers contained inside.

My brain short-circuited as my eyes flitted over the cover sheet. …Great happiness that we offer you a spot… our students… we look forward to hearing…

Numb with shock, the only coherent thought my brain managed was, Get lunch ready, otherwise, it’s going to get ugly.

In the kitchen, my body worked on automatic pilot. Chicken salad would not have been my choice of lunch, but Easton hated any Ghanaian food I cooked. I added the mayonnaise and the additional spices I knew Easton liked. I always saved the scallions for last because he liked them fresh but not too big and not too fine like the food processor would have done.

“God, I needed that shower. That run was brutal.” Easton’s voice was jovial.

I was too numb to answer, as rage battled for dominance with disbelief and sorrow. Instead, I just continued chopping. My mind was unable to form coherent thoughts.

He continued without waiting for a response. “I went down by the library then up Independence. It was pretty. Still spring but with a touch of summer heat in the air.”

I smoothed the scallions off the knife into the chicken salad with my finger. While I worked, the bitter scent burned my nostrils. I still didn’t speak.

“What’s with you?” His tone was cold and held little note of concern.

I knew the moment his eyes landed on the envelope from the school. The air around him shifted subtly, and I braced myself.

His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Stupid move or not, I wasn’t going to let this one go. If there was ever a time to stand up for myself, it was now. I was not the pathetic girl he thought I was. I had been strong once, and I reached deep into the depths of a long-forgotten girl to find a sliver of that strength. “Where the hell you hid it.”

I braced for shouting, but nothing happened.

Instead, when Easton spoke, his voice was pleading. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but you have to realize that London isn’t going to happen. We won’t survive if we don’t go together. Law is a more stable profession than photography. I mean, what are you going to do with that anyway? I had your best interest at heart.”

My best interest? My best fucking interest?

My fingers curled around the knife handle as my anger bubbled to the surface. I forced a deep breath, then another, and peeled my fingers off the hilt. “You lied to me. Every day I asked you, and every day you hid it from me.” I searched his handsome face. How had I become this? What had become of the real me?

He waved a dismissive hand. “Look. I did it for you. You needed to make a decision. The right decision. And you wouldn’t have been able to make it if you’d seen that envelope. Besides, you and I both know that you wouldn’t be happy in London.”

“Don’t!” My body vibrated with fury. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You did it for yourself because you wanted me to make the choice that you wanted. You’re dispica—”

The stinging crack across my cheek snapped my head to the side. A pinball of pain ricocheted in my skull. The burning pain spread from my face to my neck and well into my hairline. I knew from experience now would be a good time to shut the hell up.

But it was as if the stronger woman inside me finally refused to be silenced. I gingerly touched my cheek and glowered at him. “I will not shut up. You lied to me. You hid this from me. You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to make this dream happ—”

The next crack was enough to knock me over, and I tasted blood on the tip of my tongue. Desperate to steady myself, I reached up to the counter for purchase, but only managed to bring the diced chicken, mayonnaise, and chopping board down with me.

Easton kneeled in front of me. His tight face registered a barely concealed mask of rage. This was it; I’d done it now. There would be no concealer good enough to hide the bruises he would give me.

And I didn’t give a good goddamn. I was tired of cowering.

Instead of lying there, I probed for the cutting board to use as a shield. My fingers wrapped around the knife handle instead. Shaking, I gripped it tight.

Over the years, I’d lost count of the number of times he’d hit me.

Once, I’d even tried to run home. My mother had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Easton was the kind of man I needed in my life. And I had better learn how to please him because I wasn’t going to do much better than a Peters.

My mother had also pointed out that Easton would be powerful someday and I would benefit from that. She’d called him to pick me up then.

I had learned that day not to go running home with my problems. Once, I considered telling my father. He might have patriarchy infused in his blood, but he would never stand for someone hitting his child.

But even I knew that scenario would end in bloodshed, either with my father dead or in jail for murder. Neither outcome was acceptable, so I kept my mouth shut.

When Easton spoke, his voiced sounded controlled, but I didn’t buy it.

“You know better than to provoke me. I don’t want to hurt you, but Abbie, you cannot speak to me like that. Are we clear?”

Decision time. I could nod my head and say yes. Or for once, I could stand up to the person who’d hurt me over and over again. The person who’d deliberately tried to keep my dream from me.

With the taste of blood in my mouth and my heart hammering in my chest, I tilted my head to meet his gaze as fury chased away the fear.

Slipping the knife between our bodies, I glared at him. “No. Not clear. You have two minutes to get the hell out of my house, or I swear before God, I will not be the only one bleeding in this kitchen today.”

Easton blinked hard, then blinked again, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Abbie…” His voice held a hint of warning.

My hands shook slightly as hysteria threatened to take over. “Fine, have it your way.” The tip of the knife sliced at his T-shirt as I pressed just enough to show him I meant business. The rush of euphoric triumph when the blade carved through skin was hard to ignore.

With a wince, he stumbled backward and fell on his ass. “Abbie, calm the fuck down. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper. We can talk this out.”

“We won’t be talking anything out. You now have sixty seconds to get out.” I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my phone. “Or do I have to call the police? Imagine what that will do to a political career not yet started. Probably not much, but think of the scandal. Your poor mother.”

His face went ashen. “You know my family has enough money to make any charges go away.”

“Maybe, asshole, but the media just loves a smear campaign. Promising young black lawyer fucks it all up. Imagine the headlines. Just another example of black kids behaving badly.”

I knew I’d hit a nerve.

He cleared his throat. “Listen to me, Abbie.”

“Thirty seconds.” I forced my body into a wide stance, knife held with one hand and pointed in his direction. My phone stayed in the other.

Eyes wide with panic, he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the front door with his back to the exit. “Okay. I’ll go, but we’re not done talking yet. I’ll call you later, and we’ll talk this out calmly when you’ve had a moment to think about things.”

“You won’t be calling me, because we’re done. I will never lay eyes on you again. Ten seconds.”

When he reached the front door, he turned and strode through then slammed it shut behind him. Despite the auto locks, I still ran and engaged the deadbolt then the chain. For good measure, I dragged one of the dining room chairs and wedged it against the door.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making me shaky as I sank to the floor in the foyer.

Jesus, had I just done that? My body shook. I’d broken up with Easton. Hell, I’d all but threatened to kill him. Now what the hell was I supposed to do?

I laid my head against the door and stared up at the engaged deadbolt. Even though my body shook, my logical thinking functions kicked in. “First things first.”

I pulled out my phone and called a locksmith. The call after that was the most important one I’d ever made in my life. I clenched and unclenched my fists as I listened to the double ringing, willing the line to be answered.

“Hiya, my love.”

I tried to steady my voice, but it trembled nevertheless. “Faith? It’s Abbie. I need a place to stay.”