Page 1

Chapter

One

HARPER

E ighteen months ago my life was upended by a sea of navy-jacketed FBI and DEA agents descending upon my childhood home. They confiscated every computer, laptop, phone, and tablet, and my father, Pastor Scott Flynn of the largest megachurch in the south, was hauled out in handcuffs. His evil and arrogant expression haunts me to this day. The sneer on his face was bone chilling as he watched Mom put her arm around my shoulders and pull me to her side, while, for the first time in years, we both felt hope blanket us.

Now as I sit in the back seat of a blacked-out SUV on my way to my future stepfather’s house on Briarwood Island, my skin goes cold. It’s not from the cool air blowing on me or the air-conditioned leather seat beneath me, but the feeling that I’m not out of the woods yet. I’ve been sequestered at my aunt and uncle’s ranch in Texas for the past few months, so I wouldn’t be dragged through the media circus that was my father’s trial.

Luckily all his power and money couldn’t save him from the long arc of justice. With any luck I’ll never see him again. Unfortunately, I fear those prayers will go unanswered, as have most I’ve tearfully made late at night. My knees have permanent bruises from the time I’ve spent begging and bargaining with God for a reprieve from my father.

Sunlight filters through the Spanish-moss-draped live oaks, each one standing sentry along the long drive to my uncertain future. My mother isn’t marrying Cillian because she’s in love. She’s doing it for survival. Safety. I’m not sure what the terms of their marriage are, and I don’t know much about him, aside from the vitriol my father would spew about him and his business.

The fact that my father hates him makes me automatically want to give him the benefit of the doubt. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. I just wish I had an idea of where my life was going in the next week, months, years.

I was raised to be a polite, submissive young lady. Bred to be a trophy wife and homemaker. Every night from as soon as I learned to read, I had to read bible verses for my father. Some nights he’d only want me to read a small passage, other nights he’d force me to keep going well into the night. If my eyes drifted closed, he’d smack my knuckles with a ruler.

That wasn’t the worst of it though, far from it.

An iron gate swings open as the driver pulls up to the property. Large pastures line one side of the driveway while a rocky beach lines the other. The view is as incredible as I anticipated it would be just from knowing the Ambrose estate is situated at the southern tip of the island. The Atlantic is calm today with gentle waves washing along the rocky shore.

I try to let it comfort me as a good omen, but my stomach refuses to settle.

The driver puts the SUV in park and gets out. I give myself a few seconds to take in the large home looming over me. It isn’t what I expected, more Victorian in architecture than the typical Federal-style homes I’m used to seeing.

A rounded turret rises from the southeast corner of the structure. I step out of the safety of the SUV and make my way up the short flight of stairs to the wrap-around porch. The door swings open, and I’m met by my mom’s petite body wrapped around mine before I can even open my mouth to say hello.

“I missed you so much, honey.” Her voice trembles with emotion, drawing the painful sting of tears to my own eyes.

“I missed you, too.”

For the longest time we only had each other. I know that what I endured would have been so much worse if she hadn’t directed my father’s ire away from me. Her body bears many more scars than mine. That knowledge has dug a deep well of guilt within me over the years. If only I had tried harder to be a more ideal, perfect daughter for him, he wouldn’t have lashed out so much.

“How was the flight?” She releases me just enough to lean back and look me up and down.

“Fine. Pretty boring.”

“That’s the best type of flight to have,” a rich, deep voice draws my attention from over my mother’s shoulder. Cillian Ambrose stands taller than my father, his hair dark as midnight, save for the distinguished silver strands threading through at his temple .

“I suppose it is.” I can only hold his green-eyed gaze for seconds, my body stiffening instinctively under the scrutiny of a powerful man. Mom gives me a sympathetic smile, sadness coating her eyes as she squeezes my hand comfortingly. “I’m Harper,” I manage to introduce myself without my voice wavering. I’ve seen Mr. Ambrose around the country club and town at certain events, but I can’t remember ever being introduced. “Pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

“Call me Cillian, please.” He offers a hand which I hesitantly accept. “Declan is around here somewhere I believe. Do you remember my son?”

I’ve never forgotten him. His eyes, a shade darker than his father’s, like the depths of the forest at twilight, danced with mischief when he pulled the ribbon from my hair on his first day of cotillion classes. My father witnessed the interaction and told me never to speak to him again. When I asked why I couldn’t, he slapped me across the face hard enough that the inside of my cheek bled.

Ever since then I’ve kept myself far from Declan. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel his gaze when we’re in the same vicinity. Luckily, he is two years older than me and attended a private Catholic school whereas I attended public school. It made avoiding him much easier, aside from society events.

“I do, though we rarely crossed paths.”

“That will surely change now.”

I follow my mother into the house. The foyer has black and white marble tiles and a round table in the center with white peonies, my mother’s favorite flowers, arranged in a mason jar. The warm mix of coastal design with punches of sleek contemporary pieces is surprising in the best way. I didn’t know what to expect from these two men, but this definitely wasn’t it.

We walk past a library and formal living room, then into a great room open to the kitchen on one side and with a stone fireplace on the other. Whiskey-colored leather sofas are arranged around a sleek walnut coffee table. The sight of various magazines fanned over the surface makes me do a double take. There are no coasters, rather rings on the magazines as if they haphazardly set their drinks wherever.

My eyes dart to meet my mom’s, and I see a gleam of acknowledgment in them. It’s as if she’s trying to let me know that it’s a whole new world for us. As much as I wish I could just slip into this new life easily, I’m too unsettled from eighteen years under the thumb of my father to just relax.

“I’ll show you your room.” Mom gestures toward a staircase tucked away behind the kitchen.

“Great idea.” Cillian pulls out his phone. “I’ll call Jared and have him come get dinner started. Any requests for your first night with us?”

“No, I’ll be fine with whatever you want.” I flash him a brief smile before following my mom upstairs.

“Cillian’s room is at the end of the hall. I’m staying in the room beside his.” She points at an open door down the hall from where we’re standing. “This is your room.”

I turn the knob and walk into a bright, airy space. The walls are painted a warm white, and gauzy curtains drift in the breeze from the open windows. As I look around and take everything in, I can hear waves crashing in the distance. The duvet is soft under my fingers, the baby blue floral pattern is exactly what I would have picked.

“I love it. Thank you.”

“Good.” Relief washes through my mom’s body. “The bathroom is through that door. You’ll have to share with Declan, but it’s stocked with all the products you like.”

I nod and continue to look around, opening drawers to check out how much space I have. Not that I have much left after all our things were sold off. All the purses, jewelry, and shoes my father gifted me over the years were sold. Even my horse, Annie, was auctioned off over the summer. That hurt the most.

“Your dress for the wedding is hanging in the closet. Would you mind trying it on and showing me? Just to make sure I don’t have to call the seamstress right before the ceremony.”

“Sure.” The closet is surprisingly deep and full of clothes. I poke my head out and look at my mom questioningly. “Whose clothes are these?”

“Yours.” She smiles. “Cillian wanted you to feel at home, so we did some shopping for you.”

“That was really kind of him.” I move back into the closet and locate the blush satin dress my mom chose.

“He really is a wonderful man to help us like this.”

I pull my shirt off, letting it drop to the floor beside my shorts. The dress skims my body in a flattering manner, but it’s much more revealing than anything I’ve worn before. The neckline drapes down across my chest, revealing a peek of cleavage. The only thing holding the dress up are the two thin straps that rest over my shoulders.

Dad never would have let me wear something like this.

And that makes me like it.

I step out of the closet to show my mom, and I can tell by the way her eyes light up that she feels the same way.

“You look gorgeous.” She follows me over to the arched mirror resting against the wall. “Are you comfortable in it? I know it shows more than you’re used to.”

The length hits me at mid-calf, so I’m mostly covered. It wraps my body in a way that shows off the curves I’ve always had to hide. I do a half turn to make sure the back and sides cover all my scars. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Mom’s misty eyes meet mine. She wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me to her side. She’s only thirty-seven and honestly looks more like she could be my sister than my mom now. Especially with her face and body filling in with healthy weight after years of being rail thin.

“We’re gonna be okay, kid.” A tear rolls down her cheek.

“We are.”

At dinner Cillian introduces me to his chef, Jared, who asks me for preferences and favorite dishes. He’s covered in tattoos from his neck to his fingers; they’re all colorful against his skin, and I have to force myself to stop looking. It’s always been a secret desire of mine to get a small, hidden tattoo. I didn’t dare risk it before, but maybe now I can do it without fear of punishment.

Cillian pulls out my mom’s chair and gestures for me to sit as well. He checks his watch and looks toward the door with an irritated look on his face. Jared sets a large salad bowl in the center of the table along with a basket of fresh bread.

We’re halfway through the salad and speaking about the wedding when the side door opens and closes. The sound of heavy footsteps behind me makes the hair on the back of my neck raise, even though I know I’m safe. I keep my eyes on my plate, but I can still see Declan walk around to the empty seat beside me.

“Sorry, I hit traffic.” He reaches across to serve himself.

“Between Emerson’s house and ours?” Cillian raises an eyebrow .

“Yep.”

“Declan, this is my daughter, Harper.” Mom gives him a smile as she introduces us.

“Oh, we go way back. No introductions necessary, right Harper?” He sets his arm on the back of my chair and pulls on a lock of my hair.

I turn my head, irritated at being the butt of his subtle joke. It was a mistake because I didn’t realize the visceral reaction being this close to him would have on my body. A bolt of electricity races through my body as our eyes lock. I’m transfixed by the deep emerald of his gaze and incensed by the slight twitch of his lips into a smirk. I come quickly to my senses and pull my hair to the other side of my neck and out of his reach.

“I actually don’t remember you much.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be getting a good refresher this year.” He picks up his glass and takes a drink of iced tea. “Since we’ll be roomies and everything.”

I look at my mom and Cillian in confusion. “What?”

“We decided to get you enrolled at Trinity. You’ll live off campus in Declan’s house.” Cillian watches me as I absorb the news. “It’s an excellent university. ”

“Absolutely.” I nod. “I don’t want to appear ungrateful, but how did you manage to get me enrolled this late in the year? I wasn’t planning on going to college.” My voice trails off because I was told that my life would entail becoming a wife and mother after I graduated high school. I gave up on my own dreams so long ago I don’t even remember them.

“Dean Isaacson was one of Dad’s frat brothers at Yale,” Declan supplies.

“Oh.” This is so much to take in. “I see.”

“Do you have any idea what you’d like to study?” Cillian asks.

My eyes meet Mom’s, and she gives me a subtle nod. I take it as a sign to be honest. “Truthfully? I haven’t thought much about college. I’m surprised I was even qualified enough to be considered for admittance.”

“There’s plenty of time to figure it all out. Declan’s going into his junior year and still hasn’t settled on a major.”

I notice him stiffen beside me at his father’s words. His hand stills as he begins to say something but stops himself before the words can escape.

“Not to change the subject too drastically,” Mom interrupts. “But did you happen to pick up the tuxedos?” she asks Declan.

“Yeah, they’re hanging in my car. I’ll bring them in.” He pushes his chair back and stands.

“Finish dinner first,” Cillian orders.

“No, I’m good. Not very hungry.”

Cillian watches him walk off with downturned lips and a sad look in his eyes. I’m surprised when Mom puts her hand over his and squeezes it, only for him to flip his hand over and interlock their fingers. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something going on here beyond a relationship of convenience.

“How is Banks?” Mom asks as Declan disappears from the room.

“He’s good. He’ll be at the wedding tomorrow.”

“That’s your boyfriend, right?” Cillian asks.

“Yes.”

“How long have you been together?”

“A few years, but we grew up together. He lived next door to us for as long as I can remember.”

“His parents are Cindy and Terry Armstrong,” Mom adds.

“Of Armstrong Life and Trust?”

“Yes.”

He nods his head pensively but quickly changes the subject. The rest of dinner is filled by conversation with Mom about wedding details and catching up with what I did over the summer. Cillian makes polite conversation and asks questions to get to know me without being overly intrusive.

After dinner I excuse myself to take a walk on the beach. I slip my sandals off and walk ankle deep into the water, watching as the sun sinks beneath the western horizon leaving the sky above alight in pink and purple twilight. Cillian’s house is gorgeous, but this land is the real prize jewel. Having a private beach on the southern tip of the island means being able to watch the sun rise and set over the water every day. I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to put down roots.