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PROLOGUE
THINGS YOU SHOULD know about me.
I don’t do trust.
I don’t do love.
I don’t do family.
I am me and I stand alone.
I run a billion-dollar empire and nothing can shake it.
Nothing can shake me.
Only I’m standing here at a double funeral, my brother and father both dead, and my collar is too restrictive, my chest too tight.
I shouldn’t care. Not when they pushed me out years ago. Took all that mattered to me in one fell swoop. The family business, and her. Alexa Harrington. My ex-fiancée. The only woman I have ever loved. Now my brother’s widow.
I run my finger along the inside of my collar, wishing the entire thing over. Wishing away the anger that still fizzes in my blood, the regret that shouldn’t exist, the feelings that should have died a death seven years ago.
I’m standing at the back of the church while the priest commands the room. Far enough away from my family—my mother and her. Far enough away not to cause a scene. Far enough away to remain anonymous, should I choose to. The room is full to the brim, row upon row of pews crammed with people. No one need know I am here—not if I’m quick enough.
Why I came is anyone’s guess.
A choked sob echoes through the rafters and I hone in on its source. My mother. She’s hunched forward, head bowed, body shaking in tune to her cries. In response my own body shudders and I tighten against it. I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow. My eyes burn—
Fuck this!
I am not going to cry.
I am not going to care.
Only, Mum is the reason I came. Her plea. Her message full of regret, begging that I at least pay my respects, say a last goodbye. And for what? My father didn’t deserve it—not when he made it so clear in life what a disappointment I’d been.
Well, screw you, Dad. I did it all and more.
She places a soothing hand upon my mother’s shoulder. I can see her perfect French-tipped fingers gently rub, can imagine her whispered words designed to calm. My gut twists and I plunge my fists inside my pockets, tearing my eyes away.
She plays the part well enough, dear sweet Alexa. Behaves as if she cares. But how can she really, when she simply followed the money after I left. Swapped me for my greater counterpart. It doesn’t matter what I’ve achieved since then. I will always feel inferior when presented with the past.
And that’s why I shouldn’t have come. Being weak is as alien to me now as the sentiment of love. I have no place for either in my life.
I have no place here.
I bow my head and start to move along the pew. I’m only four people away from the end, only a few strides from the exit, but it feels like a mile. It’s hard to breathe, to see straight. In my mind’s eye, the two coffins side by side at the front taunt me, my father and my brother’s bond surviving even in death, pushing me out, leaving the two women to suffer—one I’ve missed more than I care to admit, and one I loathe myself for ever having loved.
I feel suffocated, unstable, and something catches my leg. There’s a thud and I focus through the blur to see a hassock at my feet, a steadying hand upon my elbow that I can barely feel. I follow the arm, lift my gaze to meet an old man’s eyes.
He’s vaguely familiar. We lived in a small village growing up, the village in which my parents still live—no, my mother still lives. He’s likely part of the community, and he’ll know everything there is to know about us. There were never any secrets. So it’s a surprise when I see sympathy shining back at me. Sympathy and compassion.
I feel as if I’m choking. I don’t need his sympathy—not when the cause of all my pain is so far removed from what he suspects. I give a brief nod and withdraw, my focus once more on the door. On sanctuary.
I push it open and break out into the pouring rain, the Irish weather the perfect accompaniment to my mood. All I need now is thunder to meet my anger and I’d almost believe God was on my side. Not that I believe.
What kind of God would take away not only a woman’s husband, but her son too? The better son? The worthy one?
I laugh at my cynicism, my twisted logic. My parents and my ex both deemed him better. I was almost ready to return, almost ready to prove my worth and face their disappointment, make them admit they were wrong.
I drag air into my lungs and look to the heavens.
Why?
The rain beats my eyes closed and I blink against it, seeking out the sun in the looming grey above.
Why now?
Is it the ultimate punishment for walking away? Is this what I deserve? No amend
s, no peace, no nothing?
I stagger forward. I can’t bear it any longer. I never should have come.
‘Damn you, Dad, for not believing in me.’ I rake my fingers through my sodden hair, feel the weight of my rain-laden jacket and the fabric of my shirt clinging to me like a second skin. I throw my head back and curse the heavens. ‘Damn you, Liam, for taking my all!’
‘And damn you for coming back at all.’
I stagger back. I don’t need to turn to know who it is. I’d know that voice anywhere. It haunts my dreams. My nightmares too.
I feel her presence as though it were the sun’s rays beating down my back, feel the hairs upon my neck prickling to greet it.
The door swings shut. I hear her footfall on the path amidst the pounding beat of the rain and I urge my body to move. My car is at the end of the path, my driver ready and waiting.
Damn you for coming back at all...
Her words echo through my hangover-ridden skull, each syllable chiming with the emerging headache.
‘Don’t you walk away from me, Cain. Not this time.’
I spin on my heel to confront the angel who ruined me. Angel? Demon, more like. My lungs contract on a rush of air. She is beautiful—blindingly so. Her skin is pale against the dark grey stone of the centuries-old church standing tall behind her, her auburn hair like a comforting shroud of warmth as it falls around a face that is far too hollow and drawn, her eyes too big within it.
She’s lost so much weight—too much. Just the slightest gust of wind and I fear she’ll be gone. She’s so far removed from the carefree, curvaceous woman I left behind, and right now she looks shocked into stillness, when seconds before she was the one commanding me to pause.
‘You should go back inside.’
I say it, but I’m barely aware of the words. My voice sounds distant with the effort to ignore the racing of my heart, the twist to my gut, the pain.
Rain beads on her lashes, framing eyes that are so blue and look as haunted as I feel. She holds my own eyes trapped, her lips parted as rain rushes freely over them.
