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Lily breezed in five minutes late in a lime sherbet-colored suit in summer silk that clashed with the fine interior of the tearoom.

She wore a white Birkin bag on her wrist along with strands and strands of baroque pearls.

She looked happy. Rebecca wanted to like the other woman, but she couldn’t.

She was just doing what needed to be done.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, in a swirl of that familiar sickly-sweet perfume Rebecca had smelled on the day of her interview.

Lily smiled a sweet smile that Rebecca wasn’t sure she’d ever be capable of doing again.

She wanted to slap the smile off of Lily’s face.

How could she claim to have loved Mitch and be able to smile so easily and so happily so quickly after his death?

“No problem,” Rebecca answered and even let the other woman hug her. “Traffic was a mess.”

“How are you?” Lily said quietly, lowering her voice, as if she remembered this was a sober occasion as she arranged her napkin on her lap.

She wondered what Mitch saw in Lily. It really didn’t matter now. Neither one of them had him now.

“I’m managing,” Rebecca said, and happily, their waiter arrived to explain in great detail what their tea would consist of.

Why had Rebecca agreed to this? It was going to take two hours, and then what?

Why hadn’t she agreed to meet her on a park bench in Hyde Park?

Hand over the goods and leave? Hell, she could have dropped off the stuff at Mitch’s office.

Well, at least there was a bit of a performance to the whole civilized tea thing.

Tea selection, sandwiches, scones, and dessert.

Okay, each step got her closer to leaving.

By tomorrow at this time, she’d be on a plane home to the United States.

At the waiter’s suggestion, they ordered additional beverages to go with their tea. A glass of champagne for Lily and a ginger ale for the widow. Even if she could drink, she wouldn’t touch champagne. It wasn’t appropriate for the occasion.

“I don’t know how I feel. My feelings around Mitch are complicated,” Lily said, and Rebecca slowly raised her eyes to meet the other woman.

“I imagine you don’t,” Rebecca said. “I would bet you are quite confused. I’m sorry for what you went through with Mitch. I know he wanted to minimize your pain, but it was still an awful situation.”

“I’m sorry too, but you know, I’ve had some time to think of everything.”

Rebecca wanted to ask, but also knew she shouldn’t. She just hoped Lily wouldn’t feel the need to unburden herself. It would be too ugly and make Rebecca wish she hadn’t agreed to this meeting.

She felt for and touched the emerald and diamond ring, which was still on her left hand next to her diamond wedding band. Rebecca hadn’t even considered taking them off. And with a baby on the way, she knew she never would.

“Mitch was an amazing man, but I don’t know if we’d have been happy in the long run.

We were very different. I’m starting to come to terms with that,” Lily shared.

“Believe it or not, I haven’t cried. Isn’t it crazy?

You’d think I would. But the company lost so much that day, people from the company. It has been so morbid.”

Where was the waiter with her ginger ale? Rebecca tasted bile in her mouth. She didn’t need to hear about Lily and her revelations. She needed to get through this.

“I’m sure it has been hard,” Rebecca said.

“Mitch…just, well, he was a nice person, but he was American, and I don’t know how to say this because you are American.

They are different from the British men I usually date.

They don’t know the way British women expect to be treated.

I’m sure you get along better with him because, like him, you are an American,” she said with a bright smile, “I’ve started dating an old friend I went to school with ten years ago, and we are much more on the same wavelength.

The way he dates me, his expectations are more in line with mine.

So, in a way, I’m thankful Mitch and I were no longer together. ”

“I’m happy for you,” Rebecca said. Lily was going to get her happily ever after, after all. Funny how things happen.

“There is just a way we do things in England. Roland understands.”

In retrospect, Rebecca was pleased to hear this. If Lily had cried or proclaimed her love for Mitch, Rebecca didn’t know what she would do. As it was, Lily sounded like she had found someone who was perfect for her.

Rebecca’s thoughts flashed to how Mitch hugged her to the point she said, “I’m real. I’m not going away.”

And he replied, “You don’t know how wonderful it is to just hold you, to touch you anytime you want.”

“I like it when you touch me.”

“Music to my ears, Mrs. Wilder.”

A physical relationship was important to Mitch.

That worked because a physical relationship was important to her.

What if they had grown old together and not been able to have sex?

Well, he could still hold her. She could hold him.

They could hold hands. And she didn’t think there would ever come a time when she wouldn’t want to kiss him.

The tea was awkward, as expected. She and Lily had little to say to each other that didn’t involve Mitch, and Mitch was a tender subject.

They talked about Roland, Lily’s new boyfriend and what his flat was like.

It needed a woman’s touch, and she could not wait to help him!

Then, Lily talked about London and the sights to see as if Rebecca were a tourist, not a twenty-four-year-old widow.

“I love the city of Windsor and Windsor Castle. You have got to go there,” Lily said.

Rebecca didn’t tell her they had been there the weekend before Mitch left on his last trip.

She just had no idea it would be the last time they went anywhere together.

They had walked around, had a lovely lunch, and toured the castle and the chapel.

Ironically, they had talked about an extended honeymoon, visiting several exotic locations that also had Stark Hotels.

They had narrowed it down to Paris, Rome, Saint Barts, the Cook Islands, and Hong Kong.

But it was all a dream. Instead, they had looked at all the crypts of the kings and queens.

How morbid to know that Mitch had joined the dead so soon after that visit, and their honeymoon was yet another sad dream.

Rebecca tried to eat the neat little sandwich delicacies they placed before her, but they tasted like sponges with fillings that were unpleasant.

This, she knew, was not true. They were filled with wonderful ingredients—the best, freshest ingredients the chef could find—but today, they were making her nauseous.

She was more interested in drinking her ginger ale and the end of her horrible time with Lily.

Realizing that the only thing that would move the tea along was eating, Rebecca forced herself to do so.

Bite.

Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

A sip of ginger ale before you spit it out or vomit.

Swallow it down.

Repeat.

Rebecca managed to do this with the majority of the sandwiches before her, the scones with clotted cream, and the desserts. She drew the line at the figgy pudding. Even the scent of it threatened to push her over the edge of control.

Lily continued to drone on about her adventures with Mitch. She dabbed at her eyes to catch unshed tears that might have been nonexistent. Rebecca felt no need to cry for Lily. Her tears were for herself and her baby.

Rebecca reached under the napkin in her lap and felt the flat stomach underneath the fabric. She rubbed her tummy for reassurance. She wanted this baby more than she wanted to breathe. She was doing everything she could to be careful and take care of herself.

At last, it was time for the check to arrive. Lily insisted that she would pay. Rebecca gave a half-hearted fight for it and then let Lily do the honors.

Lily hugged her for too long as they said their goodbyes.

It was a pathetic hug and lacked sincerity, but it was also filled with pity and waves and waves of nauseating perfume that threatened Rebecca’s ability to keep the tea sandwiches in her stomach.

And more than anything, Rebecca didn’t want Lily’s pity.

Rebecca poured herself into a taxi in front of the hotel, feeling sick and a little dizzy as she went back to her family hotel. Now, she wanted to cry.

“You never have to do this day again,” she said to herself as she got in the elevator and rode up to the floor that housed her suite.

At the door, she struggled to find her keycard in her purse when the door suddenly opened, and her mother stood in the doorway.

“Mom?” she asked in surprise and then fell into her mother’s arms. And then another set of arms was around her: her father. They had come against her wishes, and she was never so happy in her life to see them.

Her mother held her on the couch while she cried.

Before long, she broke free and ran to the nearest bathroom, where she purged the contents of her stomach.

Once that was finished and she had brushed her teeth, she went back to the couch and sat between her parents who formed a protective border around her.

“Was the tea that bad?” her father asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” she said and figured that she had nothing to lose. “I’m just a little bit pregnant.”

***Mitch***

Everything hurt like a hundred little paper cuts. Mitch was having a hard time wanting to breathe. The air was heavy, warm, and stank like an open sewer. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know he wasn’t in friendly territory.

“Khayin,” the voice said, then louder, “Khayin!”

Mitch knew enough Arabic to know someone was yelling about a traitor, which was probably him. Whoever was screaming was close to him, and the sound hurt.

He just wanted to go back to sleep. He hurt, and the bed was more of a cot, but he wanted to stay on it forever. He had a chill, which he recognized as being a fever. It wasn’t good. An infection could kill without the proper medications. At least he realized he was alive…for now.

His eyes were shut against the light in the room around him. And he didn’t mind everyone thinking that he had passed out. Occasionally, there would be a warm breeze, and he could hear lots of shouting and cars in the distance.

He needed to know if it was safe to engage, but from all the information he had gathered in the last thirty seconds, he didn’t think so.

Better to appear more injured than he was.

Well, who was he kidding? He knew he was injured, but thankfully he still had both legs and arms. His fight-or-flight reaction had been triggered.

But something told him it would be prudent to hide in plain sight.

Pretend to be out of it. Well, he didn’t need to pretend much.

Where was he?

The last thing he remembered was the helicopter pilot letting out a string of expletives before the machine dove toward Earth. They had crashed. He remembered the ground coming up to meet them. Then pain. Then nothing.

They were delivering helicopters to Collins Transport.

Their client provided the soldiers with medical supplies, the ultimate military contractor.

They hadn’t balked at the price of the helicopters, but they should have.

Lucien was making money, but so was Collins.

He wondered if Congress knew what they were about to be charged for helicopters…

He was delivering them, two of them, to Collins with the promise of four more in the next year. Mitch was riding in the second helicopter, but the helicopter in front of them had blown up before his eyes. He’d actually felt the concussion of the blast and the heat.

Their helicopter was next...

Why was this happening? It was supposed to be an easy delivery. What had gone wrong?

He wasn’t supposed to be in any danger. This was strictly a handoff of equipment.

Rebecca had been right. It was far more dangerous than he thought it would be. Why hadn’t he just listened to her? Would he ever see her again? The baby! She was pregnant.

“Khayin!”

The man was back, and this time, he was closer. Mitch felt the man’s breath on his cheek. Something told him that if he opened his eyes, it would be very bad for him.

He had read that the same anti-American factions who chanted “Death to Americans” also called individual Americans “The Great Satan” or just good old “Khayin.” He was in the worst possible place he could be, aside from death.

He could barely move. Possibly, the best course of action was to continue to play passed out. A moment later, the man had touched one of Mitch’s injuries, and he didn’t have to hope to pass out. He had.