Page 4

FOUR

LANDRY

“Dear god. It’s only nine o’clock. Aren’t you supposed to be on American time?”

I glanced up from my laptop screen to see my cousin shuffle into the large kitchen of our family home in Regent’s Park. She gave me an affectionate peck on the cheek before helping herself to the kettle.

“Good morning to you, too.” I sat back and stretched, grinning. “How’s my favorite equestrian prodigy? Planning to reach new heights in the jumps this morning?”

“Not today. I canceled my ride in favor of a lie-in for once.” Her long curls bounced around her shoulders as she reached up to find the tea she wanted in a cabinet before placing the bag in her mug. “Too cold and wet, even for me.”

“No riding?” I asked in mock surprise. “However will a gently bred girl like yourself pass the time, dahling?”

She managed to glare at me and fill her mug at the same time. “I changed my mind. Piss off, Landry. You sound like my mother.”

I laughed out loud.

Though Cora was only a few years older than I was—and had been living here with her mother since I was ten—we hadn’t been particularly close as kids. At first, she was grieving the loss of her father, but then we’d been off at different schools. During all that time, Aunt Lydia had never ceased attempting to micromanage Cora’s education, hobbies, wardrobe, and boyfriends.

Unfortunately for Aunt Lydia, Cora was more resistant to being managed than I was.

Now that we were adults, Cora and I weren’t just friends but allies. Two of the few people on Earth who knew the truth of my father’s condition, not to mention the truth of my identity. And since Cora ran the Davencourt family foundation and I managed the Davencourt holdings, we worked together often on family business, even though most of it was done long-distance.

Cora brought her tea to the old wooden table, scarred and faded from a century of use, and slumped into the chair opposite me with a yawn. “Where is everyone?”

“My father had a doctor’s appointment. Just an eye exam,” I assured her when she looked at me sharply. “He and Nan should be back shortly. Before Reg left for the market, he mentioned your mother was at the salon, preparing for her trip to the Maldives. And I assume everyone else is occupied.” I waved a hand vaguely toward the rest of the house and the office wing beyond, where the small hive of very discreet staff kept the house clean and maintained, the clothing laundered, the accounts tidy, and the schedules under control.

She gave a tiny grunt of acknowledgment before taking a sip of her tea and relaxing in relief. “God, that first sip is so good.”

I studied her for a moment. Faint dark circles were just visible beneath her eyes, if you knew how to look beneath the concealer. “You look done-in. Rough night as a socialite on the mean streets of Mayfair?”

My teasing was a cover for genuine concern, and her amused eye roll said she knew it.

“You mean Belgravia,” Cora corrected, tugging the sleeves of her wool jumper down to cover her hands. “Art auction at the Gagosian Gallery. A lovely evening… for the most part.” She shrugged. “I’d planned to chat with Colin Garner from the Times about getting us some good coverage for the Hearts of Hawling Dinner, but he was called away early for a breaking story. Civil unrest somewhere in Ecuador, I heard.”

My ears perked up. Thankfully, Kenji wasn’t in Ecuador but several hundred miles off the coast. Still, I couldn’t help asking faux-casually, “Ecuador? Really? I haven’t seen anything about that online.”

She shrugged again. “Something about a risk of toxic gasses at a copper mine? I didn’t get the whole story because Mother pulled me away so she could ‘introduce’ me to Rupert Mehra, a man I’ve known since sixth form.” This time, her eye roll was less amused. “Then, when Rupert asked how preparations for the charity dinner were coming—his sister Amelia is a co-chair of the Montrose Initiative, so he knows the last few weeks can be intense—Mother changed the subject.” She shook her head. “The woman acts like the past two hundred years were all a fever dream and potential suitors might be scared off if they discover I have goals and a purpose to my life.”

I pretended to think about it. “Goals and purpose are fairly terrifying. Have you tried being a dilettante like the Davencourt heir?” I batted my lashes at her.

Cora snorted. “Mmhmm, that’s you, alright. Sowing your wild oats all day. Not a single thought in that pretty head.” She cast a glance at my laptop. “By the by, I saw your memo this morning about the strategic allocation of funds to the Davencourt Foundation’s upcoming initiatives in arts and education. Just a little something you threw together between your mani and pedi, I presume?”

I smiled. “You know I hate to be bored.”

“Of course. It has nothing to do with you being a fucking genius .” She sipped her tea for a moment, then set the mug down. “Mother did mention last night that you were planning to step away from your modeling career.” It came out like a question.

“Did she?” My smile evaporated. Though I felt secure in my decision, I hadn’t announced it to the family yet since I knew they’d start making assumptions about why I’d made it. “How… resourceful of her. I only told my agent a couple of days ago.”

“You know my mother could teach MI6 how to ferret out information. I was just thinking…” Cora drew a sharp breath, then sat forward and exhaled it in a rush, bringing a torrent of words with it. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Sir Jonathan Porter has been talking quite a lot about a proposed heritage tax and a bypass through Davencourt Park. If you could just meet?—”

“Cora,” I warned, knowing she was right. While I wanted to pawn her off on my dad for issues like that, we could no longer trust him to carry on a meeting without getting confused or repeating his stories.

Cora bit her lip. “Landry.” She managed to imbue those two syllables with a wealth of sympathy and frustration.

“I’m not staying,” I told her. “I fly out in a few days.”

Her face dropped. “But… Ed really needs you here. We need you here. It’s not just that people are starting to ask questions about you and that it’s getting impossible to keep putting them off with tales of far-off adventures. There are real issues for the estate—for the family—that need to be handled delicately. We need someone who can be in Surrey, meeting with people at the Park. We need someone in the House of Lords who?—”

“I know.” I cut her off to keep from rehashing everything Nan had already told me. “But Cora, I also have a real life in the States. A career. Friends. I… I can see Dad’s Alzheimer’s is progressing, but the solution is for him to retire from office and get a care plan in place. Just because I’m not modeling anymore, that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to take over my dad’s political career right away. Besides, I would make a terrible MP. I wouldn’t even get selected, so it’s a nonstarter.”

She pressed her lips together in thought before shaking her head. “I think you’re wrong. This country—and the Lords—need fresh young energy. I think you should give it serious thought.”

I braced my hands on the table and shoved up from my chair to make a fresh coffee. “I’ve done little but think about it since I’ve been here. Look, the Palace and the prime minister know where I am, and they haven’t asked me to take my father’s place?—”

“Not yet,” Cora said flatly, which was more than a little chilling. She took another sip of tea and studied me. “Nan says this is about a boy.”

“Jesus.” I let out a weary laugh and did what I’d been trying not to do practically every moment since I’d crawled out of bed this morning: I thought of Kenji.

Kenji, who of course—of fucking course —hadn’t been able to make it more than two weeks into his monthlong electronics sabbatical without checking his phone because the man thrived on challenge and lived to be needed.

Kenji, who’d called me the moment he’d heard about my modeling retirement, clear concern for me in every word he’d spoken, though he’d tried to hide it.

Kenji, who’d been jealous—there was no other explanation for it, despite all his talk about “no promises” and “no expectations”—when he’d thought I was curled up with another man, and who’d sounded incredibly relieved when he’d learned my bedmate was just a very large cat.

Kenji, whose voice had been a lifeline of sanity when I’d felt like my life was spinning inexorably out of my control.

“He’s not a boy ,” I said belatedly. “And Nan needs to keep her thoughts to herself.”

“Tell me,” Cora commanded.

I sat back down with my coffee, gripping the warm mug with both hands. “Not much to tell. I’m in love with a man who calls me his ‘enemy with benefits.’ He’s the most beautiful, sexy, intelligent, capable person on the planet. He’s prickly as a hedgehog and has a heart like a marshmallow. And he thinks I’m an incompetent twat because at one point, I had the brilliant idea that if I kept messing up my life, he’d have to keep fixing it, and any attention was better than none.” I summoned a self-deprecating smile. “Still think I’m a fucking genius?”

Cora’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, Landry. Nan said it was a tricky situation, but…”

“Nan is a master of understatement.” I blew out a breath.

“Does Kenji know about, uh…” She waved her hand around the historic kitchen with antique copper pots hanging from hooks and the old brass servant bells still hanging on a board by the door to the butler’s pantry. “You being the earl?”

Of course she’d figured out right away who I’d meant. It wasn’t like I’d never spoken about him to her.

“Viscount,” I said instinctively. “I am still Viscount Hawling. I won’t be earl for many years, hopefully. And no, I haven’t told him about my fucking hereditary peerage , Cora. God.” I laughed shortly. “I wanted the guy to like me. Kenji believes in working hard and achieving your due through diligence and dedication?—”

“You work hard!”

“I work hard managing land and investments that were handed to me at the entrance of my mother’s cervix. That’s a bit like saying I work hard carrying all of my heavy piles of cash around.”

“Don’t be crass. You can’t help being born into wealth. It’s what you do with it that counts. And you do amazing things. This morning memo alone was a testament to your talent in structuring budgets, optimizing disbursement timing,—”

“You know how your mother believes anyone born above Hampstead Heath is a fundamentally good person? Imagine the inverse of that,” I instructed. “Kenji is a… a reverse snob. He thinks a person’s worth is directly related to how hard he works. You should hear the way he talks about our friend Zane’s sacrifices for his fans, or Dev staying up all night helping his mare deliver a foal, or Bash for winning a cutthroat negotiation, or… or… Silas for landing another new consulting gig. When I landed the Armani contract, he said, ‘I’m surprised they went for a blond when brunets are more classic.’” I ran a hand through my carefully highlighted locks and shot her an aggrieved look.

Cora bit her lip, fighting a grin. “I have often said I liked your hair better when it was?—”

“ Zzzzzt .” I made a cutting motion through the air. “I’ll have you know, this color takes an astronomical amount of commitment to achieve. No one outside the family would guess it’s not natural unless they’ve seen up close and personal that my carpet doesn’t match my curtains.”

Cora’s smile slowly faded. “Landry, have you considered that Kenji can’t truly love you when you haven’t let him truly know you? The real you, I mean. You are a hard worker.”

I rubbed a hand over my stomach, where hot coffee churned. “That’s just it. He has known the real me. He knows Landry Davis. And Landry Davis has made some questionable decisions.”

Kenji knew things about me that no one else did. He knew about my obscene wealth—by which I meant my second round of wealth, which had come when the Brotherhood and I had sold our software program, and the third round, which had come thanks to my modeling career—and how I liked to manage and donate it.

He knew I considered the Brotherhood my chosen family and that I sometimes cried listening to Zane’s songs—especially the happy ones he’d been writing recently—because, of all the brothers, Zane was the one I felt most protective of.

He knew about my love for cheese curls—the American snack food that might or might not contain actual cheese—a love that I would not divulge to my personal trainer or modeling agent under any circumstances.

He knew I liked classical music but hated opera, that I couldn’t sit through a movie in the theater or at home without licorice whips, and that I thought lobsters were strange and terrifying.

In other words, he knew everything about me that was important to know.

At least everything I thought was important to know.

I was aware he wouldn’t see it that way once he learned about my family.

“This—” I waved my hand around the ancient kitchen a bit desperately. “—this isn’t me, Cora. This is Everett Davencourt, Viscount Hawling. Someone I never wanted to be.”

Cora’s face softened with sympathy. As the person next in line to inherit my father’s estate if I died without a child, she knew better than anyone the responsibilities that came with this privilege. While she’d no doubt manage everything better than I would, she’d never once implied she had any desire for it to come to her instead of me.

“It is a part of you, though,” she said quietly. “You might not want the position, but being a Davencourt is as much a part of you as… as being a Yale graduate. As being a model.”

I said nothing. I wanted to argue that being a peer was over there , something that wasn’t relevant to my current life and therefore didn’t count, but we both knew it was more like an alarm clock I’d hit Snooze on one too many times.

“You could always walk away,” she ventured. “Go back to the States and forget all about this. I selfishly want you to serve in Parliament because it would be good for England. But I love you, and I want you to be happy.”

“Why?” I gave her a sidelong look. “Eager to take on the House of Lords yourself, cousin?”

She let out a loud bark of laughter that set her brown curls bouncing again. “Not for love or money. And think of my poor mother, Landry. How would she introduce me at parties? ‘This is Cora. She loves riding, children, the color pink… and delivering blistering speeches about tax reform to the Economic Affairs Committee’? Forget matchmaking for me—she might never get herself another date.” Cora laughed again, and this time, I joined in.

“No,” I finally said once our amusement died out. “Without even pretending to consider your mother’s romantic prospects, I wouldn’t walk away permanently. I’m a Davencourt, as you said.”

I loved my family. I was proud of my ancestry. I cared about doing my duty and upholding the legacy I’d been born to.

Just… not yet .

“I’m going to tell Dad and Nan tonight that I’m happy to continue doing what I’m doing, and I’m even happy to plan more time here in London working behind the scenes, but I won’t be ready to go public as Everett Davencourt and put myself in the running for Parliament for a few years. Maybe after my face is no longer plastered on bus stops all over London and I’m not quite such a person of interest. If I came forward now, can’t you just see the headlines? ‘Viscount Armani’ and ‘The Long-Lost Lord of the Runway.’ It would be unbearable.”

Cora inhaled and let it out. “I hate to admit it, but that’s a fair point.” She reached across the table and laid her hand on mine. “Nan and Uncle Ed might not be happy, but they’ll understand, just like I do.”

“Will they?” I smiled wanly. “Dad might say he does, but I’ll probably have to keep explaining it to him over and over again every time I come back.”

Cora winced. “God, you’re right. You will do, won’t you? Have to keep explaining it.”

I nodded once. “Sometimes he’s so there , and then all of a sudden, he’s?—”

The familiar creak of the swinging door leading into the kitchen alerted us that we weren’t alone.

“—in Ecuador, you said? Your friend from the Times ?” I finished, jumping back to the only other thing I could think of.

Nan and my father came in through the door, pulling off their coats and hats.

“Er, not Ecuador, exactly? It’s a little island nation off the coast.” Flustered, Cora stood up to help my father remove his coat.

Meanwhile, my stomach dropped. “Island nation? What island nation?” I asked.

Nan smiled at Cora. “Hello, love. How was the auction last night?”

“Great—” Cora began.

“What nation?” I repeated.

My dad took the seat next to me with a huff. “Can’t see a damned thing.”

Nan patted his shoulder as she passed. “It’s the drops. You had your eyes dilated. Let me fix you some tea.”

“Cora,” I said, louder now. “Which island off Ecuador? Was it San Cordova?”

She spread her hands. “I honestly don’t remember.”

“Everett.” Dad turned toward me with a big smile, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “I didn’t know you were popping round. How are things in New York?”

There was a familiar beat of silence while everyone in the room changed gears and silently acknowledged he was having a moment.

“They’re good. I thought I’d come check in and see how you’re doing,” I said. There was no point in reminding him I’d already been here a week and had spent most of that time in his study with him.

He brightened at this unexpected pleasure. “Can’t complain. My memory’s not what it was, but Nan says it’s stress. I’ve taken a little break from work, but I’ll be right as rain in a bit.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. He’d been lucid enough when he’d gotten his original diagnosis, but as the disease had progressed, it had become impossible and unfeeling to break the Alzheimer’s news to him at every turn. It was much easier to brush it off as stress and change the subject.

He thanked Nan for the cup of tea once it was in front of him. “Oh, Everett, Henry Goodwin was asking after you the other day. Wanted to know if you might like to try on the suit of armor he found in an old trunk.” He let out a laugh that brought a smile to my face, even though Henry Goodwin had been dead for at least five years and the suit of armor joke was twenty years old.

“You tell him I’m too pretty to be encased in rusty old armor, Dad.”

“Too right,” he barked before his face softened. “You have your mother’s looks, thank god.”

Nan took the seat next to Cora and glanced between us. “What’s happening in San Cordova? Isn’t that where your friend is?”

I nodded absently while I searched for news on my phone.

San Cordovan Government Betrays Miners

Copper Toxins Threaten Island Nation

Citizens of San Cordova Protest Government Corruption

I scanned the articles and murmured a few of the details as I came across them. “Looks like there was a breakdown of the filtration system that limits exposure of toxic particles and gasses. I guess this would usually trigger a shutdown of mining activity until they can get it up and running again, but the government granted the mining company an exception and extended the allowable exposure time…” I continued reading. “There are allegations of government corruption and bribes. It mentions a history of similar broken promises. The people are protesting.”

Nan frowned. “Do you think your friend is safe?”

“I talked to him last night,” I said, trying to reassure both of us. “He sounded fine. So far, it seems fairly benign. No violence has been reported.”

“Good.”

I tried calling Kenji, but it went directly to voicemail. I shot him a text.

Are you reading the news? What are they saying about the protests there?

I sent him links to the news articles but quickly realized I was being overly dramatic. Angry copper miners didn’t have a beef with the tourists, and from what the articles said, the environmental toxins were dangerous to people working in the mine, not necessarily tourists several miles away.

Still. I worried. There was only one airstrip on the island. It was conceivable protests could impact Kenji’s ability to get out of there safely if things escalated.

I forced myself to get a grip and calm down. Kenji was smart and travel savvy. He was also fairly risk-averse. He could handle himself. Thankfully, he was staying in the kind of high-end resort that would keep its customers apprised of the situation in town.

Still, I groaned in relief when my phone rang many hours later.

“Sorry it’s so late,” Kenji said as soon as I answered. “Were you asleep?”

“No. I was too worried,” I admitted.

I’d managed to keep my cool for the rest of the day and through an interminable dinner with the family. If Davencourts weren’t too civilized to yell, people across the park would have heard how displeased the family was by my proposed two-year delay in stepping forward as the heir. As night came without a phone call from Kenji, though, my anxiety had ramped up.

In desperation, I’d even tried to lose myself in Netflix since their algorithm had my personality on lock somehow and they always suggested the best shows, but that hadn’t worked, either. There was nothing new since the last time I’d logged in a couple of weeks before.

“Yeah, well…” He let out a breath. “I had my phone off until I overheard some of the guests talking about the situation in town.”

“What are they saying?”

“Resort management is acting like it’s no big deal, as if the locals protest over every little thing. But several of the guests are concerned enough to leave early.”

I hesitated, worried my asking him to leave would have the opposite effect. “Kenji… I think you should consider?—”

He cut me off. “I called to get a flight just in case, but they’re all full.”

I let out a breath of relief. “I’ll send the plane.”

“There’s no point. They’re not approving any new aircraft into the island’s airspace. Apparently, the media attention has made it a zoo at the airport, and they could barely handle their air traffic on a good day.”

I was surprised to hear a hint of nerves in his voice. Kenji was never nervous. He always had his shit together with several different backup plans, all with their own shit together, too. He was the most quietly confident person I knew, and nothing ruffled him.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“The managers of the resort are assuring us we’re safe where we are. That they have plenty of supplies even in a worst-case scenario, and they have armed guards at the resort gates. Obviously, Chaska himself is encouraging everyone to remain calm and stick around.”

I could only imagine. “Let me guess. He said something to the effect of… ‘ Whatever storm rages around us, remember—it will pass, as all storms do. Together, we will weather this moment. Peace begins here, with you. ’ Or some bullshit like that.”

The warm rumble of his laugh made me grin like a fool. “You’re learning. A few more of those and you’ll be well on your way to being a die-hard apostle. I should bring you back a meditation robe and incense-burning kit.”

“Are you worried?” I asked softly. “You must be if you’re trying to get out of there.”

He cleared his throat. I knew that trick. It was his way of shoring up and getting on with it. Here in England, it was famously known as the stiff upper lip. “No. I’m just ready to get home. It turns out I’m not particularly good at relaxation.”

“You don’t say?” I teased. “I figured you’d go through iPad withdrawal at first, but you’d rally and embrace the sunshine and fruity cocktails eventually. I half worried you’d decide to chuck it all and become an islander.”

“Not all of us have a billion dollars, Landry,” he reminded me. Thankfully, there was no bite in his voice. The Brotherhood paid him very, very well, and part of his compensation over the years had included stock options in our various lucrative endeavors. Kenji Toma was doing just fine, financially speaking.

I leaned back in my bed and stretched out, throwing one arm behind my head. “What would you do with a billion dollars if you had it?”

I half expected him to scoff and make a short remark before chivvying me off the call. So I was surprised when he actually humored me.

“Well, for one, I’d splurge on something ridiculous like the Pearl Royale chess set by Colin Burns. But then I’d have to have a room fitted out with custom lighting to do it justice. Which means I’d need to buy a place.”

Kenji currently lived in a small apartment between the park and Lenox Hill, which was very convenient to work, but it was also half-underground and didn’t have its own laundry machines. My fingers itched to buy him a nicer place and give it to him anonymously. But since he was neck-deep in all of my financial business—at least the non-Davencourt side of things—it would have been nearly impossible to pull it off, even if he’d been willing to accept an anonymous gift. Which… considering the Brotherhood’s history of trying to give him perks, would have been a disaster.

Not that I hadn’t decided to do something very stupid anyway. Something I’d probably never tell him about or show him. Still, it was nice to spoil him, even if I couldn’t tell him about it.

“You should buy a place anyway,” I suggested. Or move into mine .

“I’d send my grandmother a Birkin bag so she could show it off to all her friends.”

“No you would not,” I said with a bark of laughter. “You would never spend that much on a bag you know she’d never use.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “No. You’re right. But maybe I’d send her a good knockoff so she could still brag about her rich grandson.”

“She already brags about you,” I said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I winced and prayed he wouldn’t read into it.

“And how would you know that?”

Fuck.

“I’ve met her, remember?”

“Landry, you met her for five minutes when I brought her by the office once to show her where I work.”

“I, ah… I…” The truth was I’d flown down to Florida on my way to London. At Christmastime in Majestic, Kenji had said he was ready to let his grandmother set him up with a nice man, and I’d be damned if I’d let her choose anyone other than me. I’d made a beeline for the Vista Bonita Active Seniors Community in Boca Raton, Florida, to plead my case. It had been a good visit—Kenji’s grandmother was nearly as quick-witted and sharp-tongued as her grandson, and spending a few hours with her had temporarily dulled the worst of my craving for the man—but the results of my efforts remained unclear.

“Don’t all grandmothers brag about their successful, handsome grandsons?” I said vaguely.

“Did yours ever brag about you?”

I thought back to my memories of my paternal grandmother. My mom’s mother had passed on when I was too young to remember her. But my grandmother on the Davencourt side had been a warm, loving type, even if she’d been a bit formal in public. “Yes, actually,” I said. “She once told the…” I stopped myself from saying Queen . “Lady in charge of our community that I had perfected the art of folding a napkin into a blooming lotus. The woman was very impressed. I, on the other hand, wanted to die of embarrassment.”

Hearing his chuckle released some of the tension in my shoulders. “I can just picture you now, all skinny and knock-kneed, folding napkins for your grandmother like a good lad.”

“I wasn’t always skinny,” I corrected. “And in that story, I was fifteen,” I joked.

The rich, dark sound of his laughter floated down the line. His voice still sounded warm when he asked, “How’s your dad? And don’t pretend everything’s fine. You wouldn’t be there comfort-snuggling the cat if it was.”

I grimaced at this reminder of how much I’d kept from him—not just my title but my father’s health, too. It had been easier to pretend I was off on an unidentified jaunt somewhere for fun than to explain I was visiting home because it meant fewer questions about my family, about where I was from. In reality, I visited my father quite a bit. I just… didn’t exactly tell Kenji and the rest of the Brotherhood about it.

Cora’s words from earlier hit me in the solar plexus. Kenji can’t truly love you when you haven’t let him truly know you.

I glanced across my bedroom to the intricately carved wardrobe, mentally traveling along every familiar divot and swirl in the design. It was an exercise I’d done a million times before, sometimes out of boredom and sometimes just to distract my mind from other things.

“He, ah…” I sucked in a breath. “He has Alzheimer’s, Kenji.”

The silence lasted several beats. “I’m so sorry. Is it a recent diagnosis?”

I clenched my jaw. “No.”

The single-word answer was like the blade of a guillotine, cutting off any intimacy we’d created. I knew it was hypocritical to expect him to give me a chance at a real relationship when there was so much I was hiding from him.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Not necessary. You’re entitled to keep your private life to yourself.”

I could hear the stiff formality in his voice, the tone that he took when he wasn’t sure of his role among the Brotherhood. When he returned to the comfort of his distant role where emotions played no part in his relationships.

“I don’t want to keep my…” I stopped when I realized that was exactly what I was doing, what I’d always done. “I don’t keep my private life to myself because I don’t trust you, Kenji. I hope you know that.”

“I don’t know that. What other reason would there be?”

Because I don’t want you to look at me differently.

Because I’d rather have the scraps of a relationship than lose you entirely.

Because I’ve kept this secret for so long, I worry you’ll hate me when I tell you the truth.

I closed my eyes and tried to decide how much to tell him. It wasn’t exactly a conversation I wanted to have when we were literally on opposite sides of the world from each other. “It’s complicated,” I finally admitted.

Kenji hesitated. “Well, that explains it.”

I let out a breath. “Kenj?—”

“Are we having phone sex or what?” he asked, dropping the personal subject matter like a hot potato.

My jaw ached with the realization I’d fed right into his usual preference.

To keep things physical and shallow. To avoid emotions at all costs.

To never get past enemies with benefits.

But as always, I’d take whatever pieces of Kenji Toma I could get.

“That depends,” I said, hearing the false casual tone in my voice. “What are you wearing?”