A smile pulls at my face, her excitement contagious. Since she was a kid, Daphni’s lived her life in the limelight. I hated seeing how the pressure of always being perfect had started to weigh on her. But moments like these—when she can be free and not worry about photographers lurking in her bushes—were the rare gifts that allowed the real, genuine Daphni to shine. The one who wasn’t burdened with concerns about wearing the right clothes, having her makeup and hair look perfect. The Daphni that I had first met and had first fallen in love with.

  As we both slide into the car, she lets out a long breath and turns to look at me, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. “That was fun.”

  I shake my head but don’t bother fighting the smile that inches its way to my lips. “Sure.”

  She starts the car and gives me a playful wink. “You can try and lie to me, Roman Brantley, but don’t forget, I know you. And I know you’re a terrible liar. You are having fun with me.”

  Smiling, I shrug my shoulders. “Beats getting stabbed, I guess.”

  Daphni sticks out her tongue as she pulls out of the parking lot and merges back onto the freeway.

  In my pocket, my phone loudly chimes. Digging it out, I see the caller ID. “It’s Dad,” I say.

  “Oh, put it on speaker. I want to say hello.”

  I answer and put the call on speakerphone. “Hey, Dad. You’re on speaker. I’m here with Daphni.”

  “Thank God!” I hear my dad bellow. “Boy, what the hell is wrong with you, son?”

  “Dad?”

  “You get stabbed and you don’t think to call your own father?”

  “Dad—”

  “I have to hear about it from a detective who I know? Not even my own son?”

  “Dad—” I try again, my tone growing thinner with frustration.

  “Seriously, son. I had to find out from a detective!” my father shouts.

  “Okay, will you just let me speak?” I say, finally managing to silence him for a second. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it’s been a bit crazy here. I’m okay and Daphni is safe. We are going to head out of town for a bit while this all settles down.”

  “Okay, well good,” my father gruffly replies.

  “But shouldn’t you come and stay with us at home? I want to take care of my baby boy!” my mother chimes in.

  Daphni erupts into a fit of giggles. “Oh, Daphni,” my mother says, hearing her. “How are you, dear? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Annette, I’m fine,” Daphni answers, a wide smile on her face. “Roman here is taking good care of me,” she adds with a wink.

  “Oh good, now you make sure to take care of him with that big cut. You give him lots of loving, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she responds as she playfully sticks her tongue out at me.

  “Okay, Mom,” I interrupt, desperate to change the subject. “How are you guys doing?”

  “Oh dear, we went on such a nice hike yesterday. We went with the Biedermans. You remember them, don’t you? You went to summer camp with their son, Jimmy. Anyway, it was such an enjoyable trail. I couldn’t help but think Shakira would absolutely adore it. There was just so much wide space, so much nature and space to run around. Gosh, I miss her. How is she doing?”

  “She’s, uh, fine, Mom,” I answer uncomfortably. “We’re actually headed up to the beach house now to see her.”

  I sneak a look at Daphni to see her smile quickly disappear. She keeps her eyes glued directly ahead as her back stiffens.

  “Oh, fantastic. You must be missing her so much. Daphni, dear, you will adore Shakira. She is just the friendliest—”

  “Okay, Mom,” I interrupt as I see Daphni grit her teeth, looking annoyed. “We actually have to go. But you two kids enjoy yourselves!”

  My father offers a quick goodbye as my mother blows kisses into the phone. I disconnect the call and shove the phone in my pocket. Daphni’s playful mood has noticeably disappeared, and we spend the next few minutes in uncomfortable silence.

  “So, we’re headed to the beach house?” Daphni asks, her voice tight.

  “Yes.”

  “Where Shakira is right now? Your girlfriend?” she asks.

  “Right,” I confirm. I feel a twinge of guilt rush over me, and before I can apologize, Daphni interrupts.

  “She sounds fantastic. It sounds like your parents love her,” she says with an obviously false cheeriness in her voice.

  “Yep,” I reply, eager to end this uncomfortable exchange.

  “So, Shakira is a nature lover?”

  “Yep,” I reply again, despite seeing that my one-word answers are obviously irritating her even more.

  “I like nature,” she says with a shrug.

  “You? Like nature?” I ask her, quirking my brow in disbelief.

  “Yeah,” she bites back. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “Daphni, you grew up in Beverly Hills. You have an entourage that includes a manicurist on standby. You panic when you feel rain.”

  “Well, I’ll have you know last summer I went camping.”

  “You went camping?”

  “Well, not camping per se,” she concedes. “Technically, it’s called glamping.”

  “Glamping?”

  “Well, yeah. It’s camping but a bit more…accommodating.”

  “Wait, you said glamping? I’ve heard about that. Isn’t that what they call ‘glamorous camping’? Where you go out in the woods but instead of tents it’s like, air-conditioned teepees with mini fridges and Wi-Fi.”

  Daphni scoffs. “You make it sound so trivial. I really roughed it out there.”

  “Right,” I respond sarcastically.

  “Well, we can’t all be as adventurous and fun as Shakira,” she spits out, and I have to suppress my laughter. I can read Daphni so easily. She’s jealous. And even though I try to fight it, the realization that she is envious gets me excited. Game on, Daphni.

  “How about some music?” I ask, changing the subject. I turn on the radio and begin switching through the channels.

  “Can you just find a station already?” Daphni asks, her mood clearly soured. “I need to focus on driving.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive? I know you hate—”

  “No, you can’t drive. Just find a station.”

  I scan through the different stations, only finding static until I hear a familiar song. Daphni’s cheeks turn an adorable bright pink, and she shoots me a deadly glare.

  “Turn it off,” she warns.

  I gasp dramatically. “Turn off ‘Falling for You’? The smash first-ever single from pop icon Daphni Monroe's first studio album? But that would be sacrilege!”

  “Ha ha. Very funny, Roman. Seriously, turn it off. That song just creeps me out.”

  Hearing the seriousness in her tone, I quickly turn it off and turn to look at her. “Your own song creeps you out?”

  “Not the song, really. Just remembering it and recording it.”

  “This was the first song after you signed to MacArthur’s label, wasn’t it?”

  At the mention of his name, her jaw ticks. “Yeah,” she answers softly.

  “You signed to his label right before you broke up with me.”

  She turns to look at me, her green eyes coldly staring me down. “What’s your point here, Roman?”

  “Did anything—?”

  “Exit 45,” she blurts out, cutting me off.

  “What?”

  “You told me to tell you when I saw signs for exit 45. It’s coming up in two miles.”

  “Daphni—”

  “Look, just drop it. There’s no point in going down memory lane.” Her glassy emerald eyes look over at mine. “Isn’t it obvious that the past is done?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “This is literally the middle of nowhere,” I say, as I take in the small corner store with the attached beauty salon/hardware store combo.

  “I know, it’s perfect,” Roman responds. He points toward a small road up ahead. “Here, turn on this street.”

  I take the turn and do my best to ignore the sinking pit of dread in my stomach. As we get closer, I can feel Roman grow more and more excited. He’s eager to see her—his girlfriend. Shakira.

  I try to convince myself I don’t care. But the idea of spending even an hour with a lovesick Roman and his girlfriend is killing me. As much as I try to bury my feelings, it’s painfully obvious that I’m nowhere near over Roman. And the last thing I want to do is meet the gorgeous woman in his life who likely eclipses me in every way. No way am I going to subject myself to that kind of torture. If I wanted to make myself that miserable, all I would need to do is log on to Google and run a quick search for “Daphni Monroe + love handles.” Nope, no thank you.

  My plan is to call Hugo the first second I can sneak away and come up with an exit strategy. If there was anything Hugo excelled at, it was getting me out of things I didn’t want to do.

  “It’s here. This street,” Roman directs, interrupting my thoughts, “all the way down, last house on the left.”

  Reluctantly, I drive down the rock and seashell driveway. When Roman had suggested we come here to lie low, I had wondered if it was the best idea. This place had a lot of memories for me. This was the very house where Roman and I had first made love almost ten years ago. He had pilfered the key from his parents, and we had driven up here on a long weekend. We had been dating for a few weeks, and the whole ride down, my body had been humming with a nervous energy over what was to come. He had been my first, and it had been everything I had ever hoped it would be. Too good. And now, being back here, I feel like a nervous teenager all over again. Except he’s not here to be with me. He’s here to see his girlfriend. The one he apparently has had now for two years. Has he told her that he loves her? Has he made love with her in the same bed? Though the answers were painfully obvious, it still hurts to accept. God, I could really use a drink right now. I hope Annette still keeps her secret stash in the pantry.

  As we near the house, Roman reaches over me and honks the horn twice. At the sound, a man around our age and a beautiful gigantic dog come barreling down the stairs. Roman jumps out of the car and, guarding his wound with his hand, kneels down to hug the dog, who whimpers with excitement as she licks his face. I step out of the car, and once the dog sees me, it comes racing toward me next. Roman whistles at the dog. “Slow down there, girl!”

  She obeys and slowly approaches me. I kneel down in front of her and let her lick my hand. “Hey girl,” I say as I pet her soft, dark fur.

  I follow Roman toward the house. The dog faithfully trails behind Roman, her tail swinging so quickly I’m worried it might snap off. I keep my hands at my sides as I look around, waiting for the mysterious Shakira to appear.

  Roman shakes the man’s hand, a smile on his face as he greets him. “Thanks so much for helping me out and watching the house while I was gone.” He affectionately pets the dog next to him. “How was she?”

  “Aw, she’s the best girl in the whole world. But she missed her daddy.” The man kneels down and playfully slaps the dog’s butt. “Didn’t you, Shakira?”

  I stop in my tracks. Did he just call the dog Shakira?

  My eyes dart to Roman, who looks over at me, a guilty smile on his face. He waves goodbye to his friend and calls his dog—Shakira—to follow him into the house.

  Still glued to my spot, I regain my senses and jog after him.

  “Shakira?” I ask, when I catch up to him.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Shakira. Your girlfriend, Shakira. She’s your dog?” I rush out, annoyed at him for being so flippant.

  “Gross, Shakira is not my girlfriend. She’s my baby girl,” he says, as he claps his hands on his chest, prompting Shakira to jump up, press her paws against his chest, and lick Roman’s face. He wraps his arms around her, an expression of pure bliss on his face.

  I watch their little love-fest, my mouth gaping. “Okay, first of all, that dog easily weighs more than me. She is not a baby. And most importantly, did you make up having a girlfriend?”

  Roman disentangles himself from Shakira as he walks up the stairs to the porch and toward the front door. “Maybe,” he blithely replies, annoying me with his evasive responses. He keeps his hand on Shakira, stroking her fur as they walk into the house. “Don't worry, though, Shak—no woman will ever replace you.”

  Shakira lets out a sharp, quick bark, earning herself a wide grin from Roman, who beams down on her like she just discovered the goddamn cure for cancer.

  I follow them inside, surprised by how little the house has changed. Evidence of Annette's decorating is still sprinkled throughout the house—the set of penguin Russian nesting dolls, the hand-stitched pillows on the couch, and the paint-by-numbers artwork elegantly hung throughout the interior. It's quirky, but every bit Annette.

  “Roman!” I shout after he continues to wander around the house and into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

  He turns to look at me, the glass of water in his hands. “Yes, Daphni?”

  I gape at him and then look down at Shakira, still by his side. “Shakira?”

  At the sound of her name, Shakira's big ears pop up and Roman smiles. “Yes, Shakira,” he confirms.

  I roll my eyes in annoyance. “Yes, Shakira!” I huff out. “Shakira—your girlfriend?” I drop down onto the empty barstool at the long counter. “Why would you make up a girlfriend?”

  Roman takes an irritatingly long sip of water before responding. “You were all hot and heavy for me, so I needed to put a stop to it.”

  My mouth drops open, and I narrow my eyes at him in annoyance. “Ew, gross. I was not ‘hot and heavy’ for you. And you felt the need to make up a girlfriend to do that?”

  “Well, it worked,” he replies, shrugging nonchalantly.

  “You are infuriating,” I grit out.

  “Maybe,” he responds, shrugging his shoulders again. “But I’m also tired. I’m going in for a nap. Feel free to do whatever. There’s a couple of bedrooms upstairs. Pick whichever one you want.”

  Placing his glass on the counter, Roman heads up the stairs. Shakira dutifully follows, her tail still wagging furiously. Well, at least the name suits her, I think, as I watch her wiggle her butt back and forth. I let out a frustrated groan, and I swear I hear Roman chuckling all the way upstairs.

  Truth be told, I'm exhausted as well. So with an annoyed sigh, I follow them and, stepping into the first bedroom I find, drop onto the soft mattress and fall asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I wake up and blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the new setting and the hot breath on my neck.

  “ZZ-Zzzzzz-hfffggh-pfeww-zzZZz”

  My brow shoots up as I listen to the loud snoring coming from my bed. Propping myself up on my elbows, I find Shakira lying next to me, a small puddle of drool dripping from her mouth onto the soft sheets as she snores, deep in sleep.

  I scoot away and slide out of the bed. I feel refreshed, but still a bit stiff. As I stretch, I let out a loud moan. The sound wakes Shakira, who upon discovering me up, jumps off the bed and circles my ankles, her tail wagging with excitement. I bend down and give her a good scratch.

  “You know, thanks to your deceitful dad, I spent the last few weeks hating you. But you are the sweetest little girl, aren’t you? Too bad your dad is evil!”

  I let her give me a quick kiss on my nose before I head into the bathroom to freshen up. I dig my phone out of my pocket to find a series of texts from Drizzle, followed by a few dozen panicked ones from Gabby. My guess is she and Liam have heard what’s happened. Shit. I should have called her earlier.

  I quickly dial her number, and she answers on the first ring.

  “Oh my God, Daphni. Are you okay?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, Gabby. I’m sorry I didn’t call. It’s been a bit…crazy.”

  “A bit crazy? Daphni, there’s paparazzi all over your house reporting about some break-in and knife fight?” She lets out a long, frustrated groan. “At least Roman answers his phone!”

  “You spoke with Roman?”

  “Yeah, unlike you, he actually picks up my calls,” she huffs.

  I cringe, feeling guilty as I hear how upset she sounds. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Roman was good and explained everything. He said that you were sleeping and that you’d been awake all night. He didn’t want to wake you up.”

  “Well, that’s nice of him.”

  “Well, he’s a nice guy, Daphni,” she says, letting her voice trail.

  “Gabby, don’t—”

  “I’m not, Daphni. Don’t worry,” Gabby interrupts. “Listen, if you need me, I’ll be wherever you are tomorrow. Just tell me where and I’ll be there.”

  “No, seriously, I’m okay. I’m safe here.”

  “Good,” she says, relieved.

  “Daphni, I heard you used some of those moves I taught you on Drizzle,” Liam says, an obvious hint of pride in his voice.

  A smile pushes its way to my lips. “Yes, Liam. Solid punch to the nose, then a knee to his groin, then I threw an elbow to the back of his neck.”

  “You ‘threw an elbow,’ Daphni? God, Liam, what did you teach my sister?”

  Liam laughs, and I hear him press a quick kiss to Gabby's cheek. “Well, whatever I taught her worked, didn't it?”

  “I heard he has a broken nose,” I say.

  “That's my girl!” Liam congratulates proudly.

  “Okay, you little psychos,” Gabby intercedes, her voice turning more serious. “Daphni, you need to call Lawrence.”

  “Why? Is he okay?” I ask, panicked.

  “Yes, he’s okay,” she rushes to assure me. “But Peter has been at his throat. Law told me that Dad is pitting him and Peter against each other to see who will inherit the company.”

  I groan and drop my head into my hands. Peter is our half brother, a product of a brief affair between his mother and our father. And he also works with Law and our father at the multi-billion dollar media conglomerate our father runs. For all of Law’s life, our father has groomed him to take his place while simultaneously dangling the keys to the kingdom in front of him, ready to snap them away at his whim. And hiring Peter had been yet another manipulative move from my father, knowing of all the bad blood between the two of them due to Fiona, Peter’s step-sister and the mother of Law’s daughter, Aria. Weird, right?

 

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