Page 1 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

SEVEN YEARS AGO

I should focus on the pomp and circumstance occurring in Holmes Field and the Tercentenary Theatre at Harvard University, but instead, I’m captivated by the chocolate brown eyes that bore into mine when I allow my gaze to sweep past his every few minutes.

The face they’re attached to is distracting—chiseled jaw, light beard, dark, thick hair that begs a woman to run her hands through it.

He screams “heartbreaker” and “take me home tonight” without saying a single word.

If today wasn’t my last day in Cambridge…

If today wasn’t the start of a future I’d been born into…

Hell, if my life wasn’t perfectly planned down to the minute after I cross the stage, I might take him up on the invitation he’s openly throwing in my direction.

It’s too bad, really. He checks off all the boxes that make my insides quiver—tall, dark, with an air of danger.

After all, who could blame me? I grew up around men who embodied those attributes like a second skin.

With a mental shrug of my shoulders, I bid adieu to a man who I’ll tuck away in the recesses of my memory.

Someone who’ll have a starring role in my fantasies later.

It’s too bad you weren’t around in the last six months.

I could have used a distraction as I waited for this day to arrive.

After all, despite the hard work and long hours, it felt like the beginning of the rest of my life would never get here. And now? I’m so eager for it I can barely remain seated as I wait for my name to be called.

Allowing myself a moment of weakness, I sneak a glance to my left. Yep, he’s still checking me out. Well, to be fair, so is everyone else who is sitting, standing, or remote viewing the temporary stage set up near Widener Library.

Slowly, my heartbeat increases as time inches closer to my moment in the spotlight—a moment delayed because I was running after a different dream.

During our commencement, we are honored when the current Director of the National Counterterrorism Center—a Harvard Law graduate herself—urges us to use our power and influence to make a difference in the world.

I feel drawn in by her background—a military father and a mother who suffered great abuse at a young age.

Much like my own.

Still, when the director returns to her seat to resounding applause, her closing comments of, “No matter what you face in the future, utilize the wisdom you learned within these hallowed halls. Judge carefully. Rule righteously. Ensure your heart, your mind, your expertise, and above all, the law you’ve studied to uphold will ensure future generations can live the life they deserve,” ring on repeat in my mind.

Judge carefully.

My eyes stray to the dark-haired man again. I’m an exceptional judge of character. Between that and the arc of electricity racing along my skin every time our eyes meet, I don’t need something notarized to tell me we’d burn up the sheets if there was time to make a move.

Too bad my schedule won’t allow for it.

My lips twist in a smirk my mother swears I was born with—a fraction of my Marshall heritage. A legacy that’s had me judged since the moment I arrived on campus, if for nothing more than my last name and the extended family I was born into.

Marshall. Freeman. The blood of both runs through my veins. To the outside world, our family is the epitome of the American dream—wealth, privilege, influence. To those who are let in, they understand we’re about pride and determination. Family first.

Family always.

The love of all our extended family names is imprinted onto the core of who I am—much like the Amaryllis legend tattoo I sport on the arch of one foot. A tattoo inspired by a different legend resides on the other.

A legacy I alone am a part of, even among the elite.

Early on, it was impressed upon me that not everyone has had the comfort and security I’ve been blessed with every day.

As the first-born daughter of Keene Marshall and Alison Freeman-Marshall, I understand their overprotective natures.

They suffered through individual traumas before being able to set them aside long enough to fall in love.

Almost a quarter century later, my father can still barely tolerate letting my mother out of his sight.

Twisting away from the eye candy that’s captured my attention, a quick glance into the audience shows Daddy has Mama wrapped protectively in his arms, even with the agents from the investigation agency he co-owns with my Uncle Caleb hiding in plain sight around the perimeter of my graduation ceremony.

Let’s face it, nothing my dad does shocks me anymore. Our eyes meet and hold. I catch the sheen in his, even as his lips curve. His free fist presses against his heart.

I lift mine in a similar salute before rising along with my classmates, readying to cross the stage.

My attention is once again grabbed by the face in the crowd.

His lips curve upward as I approach the stairs.

My heart thunders in my chest, and I’m not certain if that’s due to excitement over getting my degree—finally—or because of the sexual charge between me and Mr. Unknown.

Two more people, then it’s my turn.

I inch closer and catch a high-powered external flash unit illuminate—preparing to add brightness to what the news media must feel is an insufficient light source. Internally, I let out a sigh despite the smile plastered on my face.

The paparazzi. There isn’t one single moment of my life where they’re not invading my space. Not anymore.

To the vast number of people who read about me in the tabloids, I’m glorified as a product of privilege—an heiress to a legacy I hadn’t truly earned. But they don’t have a right to cast aspersions on me—on any of us.

People don’t appreciate how my family got where we are today. Me and my cousins? We’re a legacy of love more valuable than the billions we stand to inherit. But, much like the scales of justice I am prepared to uphold, there’s an equal amount of tragedy that shaped who we are.

A past we hope few have to endure.

Our family’s lives were a trial by fire. For some, they were sentences of agony. But since our lives play out in the court of public opinion, we know one thing for certain. Love, the kind that truly matters, is worth sacrificing anything for.

I’m next.

Pressing a hand to my stomach, a familiar churning sensation rolls through my gut. A reminder I’m ready for the next step in the marathon called life I’m about to endure.

I recognize the feeling because I conquered it time and time again as I waited for a gun to signal the start of some of the most important races of my life.

Each race in high school. At the University of Connecticut, when I raced for my mother’s alma mater.

Later, during my first year of law school, when I won the Boston Marathon, which qualified me to be a part of the US Women’s Olympic Team.

Just before I went on to medal at the Games.

Like that moment when they slid the ribbon with those famous rings embossed on it over my head, tears prick my eyes as my legal name rings through the air.

Thunderous applause bounces off towering marble columns as I step to the edge of the stage.

The weight of the moment presses against my chest—not from nerves, but from the sheer gravity of what I am about to finish.

“Katherine Laura Marshall. Juris Doctorate, Master of Business Administration. Summa cum laude.”

Even as I saunter forward, eyes on the dean, I hear my mother, father, and sisters shriek my name, “Kalie!” with pride. Above all, with love.

My head is held high, my hood flops behind me—designating me as one of the elite. Not just because I am graduating from one of the most prestigious institutions in the world, but because I did so with a dual degree and with one of the highest grade point averages.

I earned this.

Suddenly, the nights I spent in the Harvard Law Library with my head buried in corporate case law are worth it. The relentless drive that pushed me past exhaustion, past my own limits, is now worth it.

I did it.

Quickly shaking the dean’s hand, I pose for a picture and beam at my family, knowing this is just the start of the rest of my future.

As I cross the stage, I catch the handsome stranger’s eye.

His smile is broad, his head nodding in slow motion.

It doesn’t occur to me until now, I have to pass him in order to return to my chair.

When I do, his husky, “Congratulations,” sends chills down my spine.

I twist my head around and beam in his direction. “Thank you.”

His cocky expression falters for a moment, and it makes me wish I had more time here in this world before real life kicks in. All too soon, the ceremony ends, and my family scrambles forward to bombard me with hugs.

Their pride is practically tangible, and it means more to me than anything. Certainly more than any medal packed away. Those were moments of temporary glory. This is proving I belong where I always knew I was meant to be.

By my mother’s side, as associate counsel at Amaryllis Events.

I set the dark haired stranger to the back of my mind and welcome the weight of my family’s legacy as it settles over my shoulders, not as a burden but as a privilege.

Now, I’m ready to carry it.