“What if he didn’t tell her? Should I?” she finally says as I pull through the gate. Despite her worry, I watch as her eyes take in the scenic view of the park. “Wow,” she says, sounding many years younger than her age.

“I knew you’d like the Heath,” I say.

“It’s beautiful. How could someplace like this be in the middle of London?” She gapes at the surrounding landscape, one of the few places in the city that haven’t been polluted by smog and office towers.

“There she is . . .” I drive slowly toward the blonde who’s sitting on a bench. Smith is sitting on another bench about twenty feet away with a piece of a toy train on his lap. That little boy is so weird.

“If you need anything at all, please call me. I’ll find my way to you,” Tessa promises before getting out of the car.

“Same to you.” I gently pull her across the console to kiss her. “I mean it. If anything goes wrong, call me immediately,” I tell her.

“I’m more worried for you,” she whispers against my lips.

“I’ll be fine. Now go tell your friend how big of a shitbag her fiancé is.” I kiss her again.

She frowns at me but stays quiet as she leaves the car and walks across the grass to meet Kimberly.

chapter

one hundred and forty-two

TESSA

I try to gather my thoughts as I cross the grass to meet Kimberly. I don’t know what to say to her, and I’m terrified that she may not be aware of what happened last night. I don’t want to be the one to tell her—that’s Christian’s responsibility—but I don’t think I have it in me to pretend like nothing happened if it turns out that she doesn’t know.

My question is immediately answered when she turns around to face me. Her eyes, though covered mostly in shadows, are swollen and sad.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. I sit down next to her on the bench, and she wraps her arms around me.

“I would cry, but I’m afraid I’m all dried up.” She tries to force a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, glancing across the way at Smith, who, thankfully, is out of earshot.

“Well, you can start with helping me plan a double murder.” Kimberly gathers her shoulder-length hair in one hand and pushes it to the side.

“I can do that.” I half laugh. I wish I had even half of Kimberly’s strength.

“Good.” She smiles and squeezes my hand. “You look really hot today,” she tells me.

“Thank you. You look beautiful,” I tell her. Bright sunlight breaking through the overcast makes her pale blue beaded dress glitter.

“Are you going to the wedding?” she asks.

“No, I just wanted to look better than I’m feeling,” I reply. “Are you going to the wedding?”

“Yeah, I am.” She sighs. “I don’t know what I’ll do afterward, but I don’t want to confuse Smith. He’s a smart kid, and I don’t want to alert him to anything that’s going on.” Her eyes focus on the little scientist and his train.

“Besides, Sasha’s skanky ass is here with Max, and I’ll be damned if I give her something to gossip about.”

“Sasha came here with Max? What about Denise and Lillian?” Max’s treachery knows no bounds.

“Exactly what I said! She has no shame, coming all the way to England to attend a wedding with a married man. I should beat the hell out of her to get some of this anger out.” Kimberly is so tense you can practically see it emanating from her. I can’t imagine the pain she must be feeling right now, and I admire the way she’s holding herself together.

“Are you . . . I don’t want to pry, but—”

“Tessa, all I do is pry. You’re allowed to, too,” she says with a warm smile.

“Are you going to stay with him? If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

“I do want to talk about it. I have to talk about it, because if I don’t, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay as angry as I am.” She grits her teeth. “I don’t know if I’ll stay with him. I love him, Tessa.” She looks at Smith again. “And I love that little boy, even if he only talks to me once a week.” She laughs weakly. “I wish I could say that I’m surprised by this, but honestly, I’m not.”

“Why aren’t you?” I ask without thinking.

“They have history, a long, deep history that I’m just not sure if I can compete with.” Hurt fills her voice, and I blink back my tears.

“History?”

“Yes. I’m going to tell you something Christian told me not to tell you until he can tell Hardin, but I think you should know . . .”

chapter

one hundred and forty-three

HARDIN

Gabriel’s is a pretentious bar set in the middle of the wealthiest section in Hampstead. Of course he’d choose this place to meet me. I park my rental car in the lot and walk toward the door. When I step inside the stuffy place, my eyes scan the room. Seated at a round table in the corner of the bar are Vance, Mike, Max, and that blonde. Why the fuck is she here? And more importantly, why is Mike sitting next to Vance as if he wasn’t on the verge of fucking his fiancée less than twelve hours ago?

Everyone in the place is wearing a damn tie, except me. I hope I trailed dirt in behind me. A hostess tries to speak to me as I pass her, but I brush her off.

“Hardin, nice to see you.” Max stands first and puts his hand out to shake. I ignore him.

“You wanted to talk—let’s talk,” I snap at Vance when I reach the table. He brings his glass, filled to the brim with liquor, to his mouth and gulps it down before standing.

Mike’s eyes stay focused on the table and it takes all of my strength not to tell him how fucking stupid he is. He’s always been a quiet man, the dependable neighbor that my mum would always pester for milk or eggs when she ran out.

“How’s your trip going so far?” Sabrina’s voice rings out. I look at her, dumbfounded that she would even speak to me right now.

“Where’s your wife?” I glare at Max. Next to him, the blonde’s smile drops from her overly made-up face and she starts swirling her empty martini glass in small circles.

“Hardin . . .” Vance says, daring to try to shut me up.

“Fuck off,” I bark at him. He stands to his feet. “I’m sure she and her daughter miss him while he’s here parading around with a skan—”

“Enough,” he says and he gently grabs me by the arm in an attempt to get me away from the table.

I jerk my arm from his grip. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Stephanie’s shrill “Hey!” cuts through my growing anger. “That’s no way to treat your father, now, is it?”

How fucking stupid is she? My father is back in Washington. “What?”

Her smile grows. “You heard me. You should really treat your old man with more respect.”

“Sasha!” Max grabs her thin arm with brutal force, nearly dragging her to her feet.

“Oops, did I say something I wasn’t supposed to?” Her laugh rings through the bar. She’s a fucking idiot.

Confused, I look at Mike, who has no color left in his round face. He looks like he could pass out at any moment. My mind begins to shift, and I look over at Vance, who is equally pale and nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

Why are they being so dramatic over some dumb chick’s random nonsense?

“You shut up, now.” Max removes the woman from the table and practically drags her through the bar.

“She wasn’t supposed to—” Vance runs his hand over his hair. “I was going to . . .” He balls his fists at his sides.

She wasn’t supposed to what? Make some stupid comment about Vance being my father when clearly my father is . . .

I look at the panicked man in front of me, his green eyes on fire, his fingers frantically running over his hair . . .