Page 7 of Unwritten Rules

“Thank you so much for your help today, Dr Jameson.”

Mila and Taylor Jameson, an old friend from high school, appear in my line of vision at the offices of Jameson Medical. He opens his mouth to respond to her thanks as Mila catches sight of me, her face lighting up in a bright, unfettered smile, and I’m entirely helpless to stop the answering one from tugging at my own lips.

Her strides eat up the distance between us as she launches herself right at me, wrapping her arms around my body and burrowing deep into the nook of my arm.

Short ass.

Smirking to myself, I find Taylor’s eyes upon us from his place in the doorway of his office, where Mila’s just finished her weekly therapy session. As he tips his chin, I nod in acknowledgement before dropping my head down to rest my cheek on her silky hair.

“What are you doing here? I thought Alex was driving.”

Staying in the warmth of our embrace, Mila stands with her head resting on my chest, her arms locked tight around my waist.

“He got delayed last night, so his jet doesn’t touch down until later today. Henry asked that I swing by and pick you up rather than make you wait.”

She pulls back slightly to angle her face upwards, happiness streaming from her eyes. I can’t stop the surge of elation that flows through me at the strength of this girl’s unencumbered spirit. At how easily she shows her true self to me. At how easy it is to be me in her presence.

I steer us to exit the office with my arm slung across her shoulder as Mila shoots a small wave over her shoulder at Taylor and his watching secretary.

Stepping onto the waiting elevator, I hit the button for the ground floor with my free hand. Then I tug my best friend’s little sister closer to drop a peck atop her giggling head, feeling light as a feather.

“Okay, Hellc—” I clear my throat, almost letting out my secret nickname for the firecracker in the crook of my arm, and try again.

“Here’s to an unforgettable weekend in Devon!”

* * *

I’m brought back to the present with a jolt, the lingering after-effects of allowing my senses to remember Mila DeMarco flowing through my veins in bittersweet agony.

Unfortunately, my best friend’s wedding was entirely too unforgettable.

CHAPTER 3

NATE

Surprisingly, I’ve reached my destination, having abandoned my plan to grab a quick bite. I pull up alongside the massive building and lean across to the glove box to pull a simple black masquerade mask from within. I slip it on, obscuring most of my face before opening the door to toss my car keys into the waiting palm of one of the valets.

Entering Valentine’s at a brisk pace, I barely take in any of my opulent surroundings.

People are milling about left and right – a standard enough Thursday evening at the elite private sex club I’ve been a member of since the age of seventeen. A “gift” from the man who ruined my life, though it is the one thing I’ve kept that bears his taint, other than the Hawthorne hereditary estate in Surrey. I’d get rid of that shithole like everything else he’d bequeathed me upon his passing, except that my mum is buried there. Despite never visiting her grave, I don’t like the idea of not having the right to do so if I choose.

I bypass the Drawing Room on my left, veering straight for the vast, red-carpeted staircase leading to the bedrooms above.

Instead of ascending the staircase, I slip right and past it, sliding a large bookcase to the side just beyond to find the hidden staircase that leads to what was, once upon a time, the staff quarters below.

Despite the minimal lighting, my feet find their way easily with familiarity. Of course, they’d want to – considering how many times they’ve made this journey.

The sounds of flesh on flesh assault my ears at the same time the briny scent of human exertion hits my nostrils. My shoulders relax minutely when my body realises peace is within arm’s reach.

Hitting the bottom rung, I yank off my mask and pocket it, then round the corner at the foot of the stairs to be greeted with a raucous cheer. For a moment, I stand obscured at the back of the crowd, watching the scene unfold.

At the centre of the wide-open space, on an elevated platform, three men are contained within a boxing arena, two of them pummelling the living shit out of one another. The third, Harold, is refereeing the fight. I’m pretty confident it’s almost finished, judging by the wobbly legs of the blonde occupant and the unwavering gait of my old college friend, Taylor.

Of all people. Her therapist. Fuck my life.

A slight rise of my hand from my place by the doorway alerts Harold of my arrival. He nods brusquely, returning his complete attention to the ongoing match before I round the room, bypassing the crowd to head directly for the side of the ring.

The sound of the blonde fighter hitting the deck is followed by more robust applause and howling from the crowd.