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ALISSA

Goodness, this man is charming. And so ruggedly handsome, ruggedly beautiful even. Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, a sculpted jawline…and the slightest air of danger, but not in a way that makes me feel unsafe.

And of course he’s impeccably dressed.

All I did was walk into his shop. I didn’t even buy anything, and he made me tea and is now offering me a ride home.

I look out the window. It is dark. “It’s very kind of you to offer. If you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble…”

He shakes his head. “No trouble at all, Alissa.” He grabs his fedora from under the cash register, puts on a Burberry scarf and an olive overcoat, walks to the front door, and opens it for me. “After you. My car is parked behind the building.”

I walk out, bracing my body as the chill hits me.

Maddox closes the door behind me and locks up. He turns to me. “I realize asking you to follow me down the alleyway to where my car is parked might seem a bit sketchy, so if you’re more comfortable waiting out front for me to pull out, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Nothing about this man makes me uncomfortable, but it is probably prudent not to follow him down an alley after dark. “Thank you. I’ll wait out front.” I shiver slightly. “Please be quick.”

He nods. “Of course, Alissa.” He disappears down the alleyway and a moment later pulls out in a car that I can only describe as something that would belong to a Rockefeller. It has a long, elegant body with a polished black exterior. At its front, a chrome-accented grille and a hood ornament resembling an angel catch the light from the nearby streetlamps. Narrow tailfins frame the rear of the vehicle.

He parks the car in front of the shop, gets out, and wordlessly opens the passenger-side door for me.

I stare up at him. “Where on earth did you get this car?”

He flashes me a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Family heirloom. I inherited it when my father passed away. It’s a Rolls-Royce Phantom V. Built in the sixties. It’s been passed down since then. I have a guy who works magic on vintage cars like this. He’s kept it in great shape.”

I narrow my eyes. He owns a haberdashery filled to the brim with fine antiques, never goes outside without wearing a hat, and now he pulls up in a vintage Rolls-Royce. I’ve never been so intrigued by a man before.

Part of me—the straight-line part of me—wants to turn and run in the other direction. This is the kind of man who could throw a wrench into my five- and ten-year plans.

But the part of me that took a different route home today wants to get in. See where this man takes me.

So I get inside the car. He smiles at me, closes the door, and gets in the driver side. He places the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life almost majestically.

The drive to my flat is far too short for this vehicle. Within four minutes, he’s pulled up in front of my building.

“This it?” he asks.

“It is.” I turn to him. “Thank you so much. You’ve truly been a perfect gentleman, giving me a ride home like this.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it wouldn’t be right for me to let you walk home after dark when I can easily give you a ride.”

I chuckle. “Did you just want to show off your fancy car?”

“Hardly.” He smirks. “Maybe.”

He puts the car into park and then walks over to my side, opening the door for me again. I look up at him, marveling at his chivalry.

He reaches a hand out. “Careful, Alissa. It’s slippery.”

My God, I love hearing him speak my name. There’s something almost musical to it, like the warm whisper of a cello’s lower register.

I get out, thankful for his steady hand as I try to establish some traction on the icy sidewalk.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he says.

I feel a rush of warmth to my cheeks. “You really don’t have to.”

He offers his arm. “I insist.”

I take his arm, and he escorts me to the front door of my building. I reach into my pocket and grab my keys, but they slip through the thick mittens I’m wearing.

He reaches down, grabs my keys, and hands them back to me. “Here you go.”

I can’t help it, I beam up at him. “Did you pop right out of a fairy tale? You’re like my knight in shining armor tonight.” I run my hand up the arm of his overcoat. “Or rather, my knight in woolen armor.”

“It’s a wool-cashmere blend, actually.” He grins.

I giggle. “Silly me.” I turn toward my door and place the key in the lock. “Well, good night. Thank you so much for an unexpectedly lovely evening.”

He looks at me, his beautiful eyes smoldering, and for a moment, I think—I hope—he’s going to kiss me.

Instead, he places a hand over mine. “Alissa, I want to see you again.”

I blink. “What did you have in mind?”

He smiles. “I belong to an exclusive club downtown. An underground speakeasy. I’d love to take you there for a drink, maybe a dance or two.”

“Drinks and dancing?” I ask. “I haven’t been to a club like that since I was in college.”

He holds up a hand. “This place isn’t like that. It’s not the type of place where people bump and grind to EDM while druggies shoot up in the corner. It’s very classy. The kind of place where people get dressed up. Live music, crafted cocktails. I think you’d like it.”

I’m not really one for dancing. And I don’t drink terribly often.

But this man—this generous, mysterious, and completely gorgeous man—has me leaning in. There’s something so utterly fascinating about him, and I want to know more.

“Uh…sure. I’d be delighted to join you for drinks, Maddox.”

He nods, his eyes bright. “Then it’s a date. Are you free tomorrow evening?”

I close my eyes, thinking over my work schedule. “I work until five tomorrow. But I could join you for the evening. It’ll be Friday, after all. I’m sure I’ll be ready for a drink.”

“Perfect. Meet me downtown around six. Randolph and State. Shouldn’t be too far from your hospital.”

“All right.”

“In the meantime”—he grabs my mittened hand and kisses it chastely—“have a wonderful evening, Alissa.”

Even through my mitten, I feel the warmth of his lips. It takes everything in me to not invite him up to my flat right now.

But Maddox seems to be the type who enjoys courting a woman, getting to know her before bedding her.

I look into his eyes. Such a magnificent shade of hazel, and even in the darkness of the Chicago winter’s night, they almost glow.

“You too, Maddox.”

I turn and open the door, giving him one final wave before closing it behind me.

I immediately look through the peephole. He turns around and walks back to his car, starts it, and drives away.

I turn back around, walk up the stairs to my apartment, and enter. The second I close the door, I place my back against it and slide to the ground.

Who is this man? And what has he awoken inside me?

I haven’t felt a flutter in my stomach like this since… Since…

I felt something similar right before my final recital at Northwestern. My last real performance, where I felt like an artist. Not just a girl who plays the flute for a couple of bucks here and there.

I’ve never felt this way because of a man.

He’s so well-dressed. Well-groomed. Most of the men I’ve dated would live in athletic shorts and hoodies if given the chance.

Tonight, he was wearing a magnificent cream cable-knit sweater over tailored navy slacks. When he completed the look with the scarf, olive overcoat, and that dark-gray fedora, it was all I could do to not lick my lips.

I noticed a pile of GQ magazines strewn across a coffee table near the chairs where we had tea. He probably keeps up with all the latest fashions. Makes sure that he presents the best possible version of himself to the world.

Then a brick hits my gut.

What if he’s too preoccupied with his appearance? With appearances in general?

What if that’s all he cares about?

My mother… She was like that.

And she was awful.

* * *

I love being outside. The backyard of our family’s townhome in Brixton is small, but I love to spend the spring afternoons out here, soaking up the sun as I read a book.

It rained this morning. I love the smell it leaves behind. It’s the smell of earth, the smell of life.

Mummy is inside cleaning. She cleans every day. Daddy says that cleaning makes her happy. That dirt makes her sad.

I just want her to be happy.

I’ve been outside playing for a little while now. The sun is getting warm, almost too warm. I need a drink of water.

I walk inside. Our back door leads straight into our kitchen. I grab a step stool and get a cup, take it to the freezer for some ice, and then fill it from the sink.

I take my cup of water, careful not to spill any, and take it back outside, where I sit on the concrete stoop and sip it slowly, letting the cool water wash away the heat of the sun from my skin.

A few minutes later, I hear my mother shouting. “Alissa!”

I rush back into the kitchen and place my glass of water on the table. “What is it, Mummy?”

Her face is dark pink, and her eyes so wide it’s scary. She points to the floor, where muddy footprints lead from the back door to the kitchen. “Alissa, did you do this?”

My lips tremble. “I’m sorry, Mummy. I didn’t think ? —”

“It rained last night, Alissa.” She takes a step toward me, eyeing my shoes. “You should have wiped your feet before coming back in the house. Better yet, you should have taken your shoes off completely.”

I start crying. “I’m sorry, Mummy. It was an accident.”

Her eyes begin to twitch. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, Alissa. You know how much Mummy hates a dirty house.”

“I was so thirsty. I wasn’t thinking.”

Mummy stares at me. “Did you at least place your drink on a coaster?”

I take a step back, widening my eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Mummy rushes past me to the kitchen table, where my half-empty glass of water is still sitting. She picks it up, staring at the circle of water that has formed at its bottom. “A ring, Alissa! Are you trying to ruin Mummy’s nice kitchen table?”

“You can just wipe it off with a towel, Mummy.”

“That isn’t the point, Alissa.” She grabs my arm, holding so tight it hurts. “You need to learn to be clean. Mummy hates a dirty house, and she can’t keep it clean if you don’t start thinking about things like muddy footprints.” She leads me to the back door. “Dirty girls belong outside.”

“But Mummy, it’s hot out there. The sun is too bright. That’s why I came inside, to get a drink of water.”

She opens the back door, flinging me outside. “You should have thought about that before bringing in mud, Alissa.”

“Can I at least bring my water outside?”

“And have you dirty up a perfectly good glass? I think not.”

She leads me to the lemon tree in our backyard and grabs a long piece of rope that Daddy left out when he was restringing our clothesline.

“Stand against the tree, Alissa,” she says calmly.

“Why, Mummy?”

“Because Mummy can’t trust you not to track mud inside while she’s cleaning. So from now on, when she’s cleaning, Mummy is going to tie you to the tree for your own security.”

I start crying again. “Mummy, please don’t tie me up. I promise I’ll take my shoes off next time.”

“Promises mean nothing unless they’re backed up with actions.” Mummy wraps the rope around my waist. “This is for your own good, Alissa. Cleanliness is next to godliness. You won’t get into heaven if you’re not a clean girl.”

I continue sobbing, but I nod. “Okay, Mummy, if you say so.”

She smiles. “There’s a good girl.” She ties the rest of the rope around the trunk of the lemon tree, knotting it tightly. The rope squeezes against my belly, making it a little hard to breathe.

“Once Mummy is done cleaning, she’ll come get you. We’ll scrub your shoes clean and then you’ll be allowed back inside. Okay, darling?”

Tears are falling down my cheeks, but I can’t wipe them away because my hands are tied down, too. “Yes, Mummy.”

And she leaves me in the hot sun.