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Not just a child star. Not just a victim of the industry. Not just a teenager with too much access and too few boundaries. Not just a woman who faced and survived unspeakable horrors.

I’m strong and capable and successful.

I’m kind and respectful and talented.

I’m Willow Fucking St. Claire.

That’s enough.

I smile and hold that close.

And then I make some fancy fucking princess food for a little girl who’s all of that and more.

Twenty-Five

Dash

Today was my first day on an actual assignment. It was light work, taking a legendary octogenarian Hollywood actress to the doctor. She’s been my client from the beginning, and at ninety-one years young is still pretty spry. She always flirts with me shamelessly and almost lost her mind when she found out I’d been injured. I had to give her every detail of my surgery and recovery, and somehow, I found myself telling her all about Willow.

Her brows lifted way up on her forehead. “Willow… St. Claire?” she asked in her British accent. “What a beautifully damaged young woman.”

“She’s not damaged,” I muttered. “Unless you count the physical bruises that bastard left on her.”

This time her brows knitted with concern. “Dylan Durand. Never liked him. Wanker.”

I smiled. “I’m protecting her—and in the process falling for her.”

This made her smile, forcing the entire story out of me even though it was only a fifteen-minute drive to the doctor’s office.

“Take care of her,” she whispered when I dropped her off. “And not just her body. Her mind, her soul, all of her. She may look like a princess living in a gilded cage, but she’s a human being. And if she’s not ill, then she needs the world to see it. Trust me on this, Hudson. The best response is for everyone to see her living her best life.” She patted my arm, kissed my cheek, and smiled before closing the door.

And I’ve thought of nothing else.

Has it been a mistake keeping Willow cooped up in my very safe, very private house? Where no one can find her, see her, or do anything to hurt her? She’s been antsy the last few days, and I feel bad, but I’m also afraid of what Dylan might do if he gets his hands on her. Afraid he’ll take her where even I can’t find her—and then what?

The smell of something amazing hits my nostrils the minute I walk in and I smile. She’s gotten serious about learning to cook and the results have been incredible. I’m going to have to spend a lot more time on the treadmill if she keeps this up.

“Hey, babe.” I walk into the kitchen and press my lips to hers.

“Hi.” She kisses me back but quickly turns away, grabbing a potholder and pulling something out of the oven.

“What is it today?” I ask with interest.

“Osso Buco.”

Braised veal shanks? Yes, please.

“Holy… you’ve upped the stakes to a point I may have to fire Judith and hire you instead.” Judith is my housekeeper.

“Well, I’m going to need to start earning money again,” she replies, laughing. “I can think of worse jobs.”

“Do you… miss acting?” I ask carefully.

She nods. “Absolutely. But I don’t know that Hollywood is going to welcome me back with open arms. Not with the slaughter job Dylan has done to my reputation.”

“We’re going to fix it,” I say. “In fact, we’re going to dinner with Atlas and Madeline tomorrow night to talk about it.”

“We are?” She frowns. “Where?”