Page 1 of Prudence (Balfe Family #1)

Milly

Derek Balfe came to my rescue when the cherry blossoms were in bloom.

It was my favourite part of spring, the pale pink petals brightening up the road I walked along to school, the weather mild.

Unfortunately, that day, midway through my walk home, it started pouring.

Not merely rain, but hailstones, too. It was sunny when I left my house in the morning, so I’d forgone my coat, only to be punished with what felt like shards of ice pummelling down on me.

Removing my bag, I held it above my head to shield myself from the onslaught and broke into a run. Not that running would make me any less wet, but it would get me out of the downpour sooner.

I was in the middle of my mad dash when I heard a car horn beep behind me. I ignored it and continued running. When the beeping persisted, I finally slowed down and turned, spotting a black Audi idling by the footpath.

I squinted amid the rain and hail, trying to see who was behind the wheel.

It could’ve been my aunt, Nell. She currently drove a BMW, but she was rich and often traded in her cars for newer models.

The Audi didn’t seem her style, though. Then the driver’s side window rolled down, and a dark-haired boy with a serious expression stuck his head out.

Well, not a boy, really. He was more of a young man, and it took me a moment to place him.

Derek Balfe had been a year above me in primary school.

I couldn’t remember ever really speaking to him.

His sister, Nuala Balfe, attended my all-girls secondary school, St. Colmcille’s.

Derek was also one of the most popular boys in town, and lots of girls had crushes on him.

The fact he was even acknowledging my existence felt surreal.

“Need a lift?” he called out, and my heart raced.

Why on earth was he offering me a lift? Sure, it was raining but we didn’t know each other.

Nerves seized me. Since I went to an all-girls school and grew up with only sisters, I wasn’t used to interacting with boys at all.

My cheeks heated despite my chilly, rain-soaked clothes, and my hands felt clammy as they gripped my backpack.

My pulse fluttered against my neck, and I scurried closer to his car. “That’s very kind, but I’m already drenched. I’ll ruin your seats.”

He leaned across and threw open the passenger side door. “Ah, don’t worry about that. Sure, it’s all leather anyway. Get in.”

I chewed my lip, uncertain, then blurted, “I don’t know you.”

His serious look was replaced with an unfairly handsome smile.

“Course, you do. I’m Derek Balfe, and you’re Milly O’Shea. We went to primary school together. My sister, Nuala, is in your year.”

“Right, but still,” I went on, unable to come up with a proper excuse. “That doesn’t mean we actually know one another.”

His face softened at my hesitation, the smile fading a little as his eyes trailed up my body, from my soggy shoes to my drenched uniform and wet hair, his expression turning thoughtful.

“I get it, but listen, I’m just going to drop you off at your house.

I see you walking this way every day, and I can’t in good conscience leave you out in this weather. You’ll catch your death.”

My lips twitched faintly at his statement. Catch your death . It sounded like something my grandma would say. “This is very kind of you.” I stepped closer. His warm, inviting brown eyes had me throwing caution to the wind as I approached the car and impulsively slid into the passenger seat.

“It’s so good to get out of that,” I went on with an intense shiver as I closed the door, and Derek frowned, looking me over.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine once I get home and out of these wet clothes. Some dry pyjamas and a hot cocoa should do the trick.”

Something I couldn’t decipher flickered in his gaze at the mention of me getting out of my uniform. It was gone in an instant, and he cleared his throat. “You live on Biscayne?”

I nodded, flushing slightly. I hadn’t expected him to know where my house was. “That’s right. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

We fell into silence while he pulled the car back out onto the road, the windscreen wipers working overtime to clear the downpour.

The radio was on low, but the heating was high, the intense blast warming my cold, damp skin.

I grimaced at the sensation of my wet skirt sticking to my legs as I rubbed my hands together to get some heat back into my fingers.

Derek glanced at the movement then focused back on the road.

“So,” he began after a minute or two. “Milly? Is that short for something?”

“Oh, yes, it’s short for—”

“No, wait, let me guess,” he said, a playful smile shaping his lips. “Is it … Millicent?” I screwed up my face, and he chuckled. “Okay, not that. How about Mildred?” I shook my head. “Hmm, Emilia, perhaps?”

“Nope.” I pressed my lips together, amused because he seemed annoyed that he hadn’t guessed correctly yet.

“Don’t tell me it’s Milton?”

I burst out laughing, my giggles filling the confined space, and Derek chuckled softly, too. “Oh, my goodness, can you imagine if my parents named me Milton? I’d be a laughingstock.”

“They could be Milton Keynes F.C. superfans. You never know. I have a friend whose cousin gave their baby the middle name Juventus.”

“That is truly horrifying,” I exclaimed. “And since you’re so bad at guessing, I’ll tell you. Milly is short for Camille.”

“Camille,” Derek repeated as though testing out the sound.

Something about the way he said it, his voice deep and rumbly, had my skin tingling—and not because of the damp cloth sticking to it. We stopped at a red light, and he cast me a glance, his dark eyes trailing over me and making my skin feel tight.

“That’s actually perfect. You look like a Camille.”

I shifted in place, lowering my gaze because his gold-flecked eyes were a little intense.

It was no wonder he was such a big hit with all the girls in this town.

Having Derek’s Balfe’s full attention was something of an experience.

My stomach wouldn’t quit doing frenzied somersaults.

There was just something about him that had a heady effect on me.

Perhaps it was the broad shoulders, his height, or merely the confident way he carried himself.

His dark hair was short at the sides with a little more length on top, his nose straight and faintly Greek in shape.

He also had what appeared to be a small brown birth mark on the left side of his neck just below his jawline.

I found myself studying it intently before I lifted my gaze and saw him watching me.

He smiled in a way that said he didn’t mind me looking.

I could only imagine what he must think of me by contrast in my drenched clothes and mousy hair that always managed to turn both flat and poofy in the rain.

I was caught on his statement, You look like a Camille , curious to know what he meant. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? “What does a Camille look like?” I asked quietly.

Derek appeared as though he was about to say something but then thought better of it. He rubbed lightly at his chin then placed his hand back on the steering wheel. “Like you, I guess.”

“Well,” I said, relieved he hadn’t pointed out my bedraggled appearance but also vaguely disappointed he hadn’t said something positive either. “Literally everyone calls me Milly, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“I honestly don’t mind. It’s just a name. So long as it’s not Milton.” I grinned.

“You’re not going to let me live that one down, are you?

” Derek responded just as he pulled into my housing estate.

He drove up the hill, made a left turn, then pulled to a stop right outside my house.

I was stunned that he knew not only the general location of where I lived but my exact house, too.

The Balfes lived in a large house right by the beach.

I always imagined how nice it must be to just look out the window and have the sea right there.

Walk across the street and sink your toes into the sand.

“It’s just that you really sounded like you thought it was a possibility,” I teased, undoing my seat belt.

“I was kidding, and you know it.” He reached across me and threw open the door, a waft of his cologne tickling my senses.

He smelled like sage and sea salt and something pleasantly spicy that might’ve been his own unique smell.

I was momentarily overwhelmed by his closeness, but a second later, he leaned back into his own seat.

“Um, thank you for the lift,” I said, climbing out and relieved to see the rain and hail had tapered off.

“It was my pleasure, Camille. Enjoy the rest of your day.” With a final charming smile, he reached over to pull the door shut then headed off to wherever he’d been going before he took pity on me and offered to drive me home.

My little sister, Jane, was peering through the living room window at me as I approached the front door.

She was in the hallway by the time I got inside the house.

Jane was twelve, so she was still in primary school.

Being that there were six years between us, and my parents worked a lot, I tended to be the one who looked after her.

My other sister, Donna, was fourteen and a little better at taking care of herself, though not yet mature enough to take on looking after Jane.