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PROLOGUE
IVY
THAT NIGHT…
Freddie watches as I hop into the passenger seat, clearing the empty crisp packets out of the way so I can sit down. As soon as I fasten my seatbelt, Daisy hits the accelerator. We hurtle away, rattling over the cobbles and leaving the gorgeous man I met at the bar.
“Great wing woman you are,” I mutter sarcastically. We go over a speed bump, and I almost knock my head on the roof. That wasn’t an accident. “Fucking hell!”
“Text me next time you go AWOL with a stranger,” she snaps. “Where were you planning on going with him? What would happen if you showed up in a ditch tomorrow morning?”
Her lips purse in a judgemental line—the way they always do when she’s mad, reminding me of our mum. We both look like her—the same ginger hair and freckles, but Daisy got her blue eyes with thick eyelashes, giving her a feline appearance.
“Sorry, Mum,” I grumble, crossing my arms. Although it’s hard to sulk after meeting the man of my dreams. “Next time I make out with a hot guy, I’ll remember to ask him if he’s a serial killer first.”
“He was hot,” she admits reluctantly. “But did you have to give him my name, Ive?”
“I’ll tell him my real name next time,” I promise. Well, if Freddie was really serious about seeing me again. “Spencer knows a lot of people around here. I didn’t want him to find out that I was chatting to another guy. We only broke up last week, remember?”
Daisy scowls at the mention of Spencer’s name. Her knuckles turn a stark white as she tightens her grip on the wheel. She hated Spencer from the moment I introduced them. I never understood why until he showed me his true colours and became a controlling prick. I ignored the red flags, dismissing his possessiveness as being endearing, but his moods grew increasingly volatile. By the end, I didn’t even recognise him anymore and when he hit me for the first time, I stopped making excuses.
“I’m glad you finally came to your senses,” she says. “That rich prick never deserved you.”
“If I had a drink, I’d cheers to that,” I agree.
We’re heading to our cottage on the Suffolk coast, three hours away. We inherited it when our parents died. While I moved to the city, Daisy made it her permanent home, and it’s the perfect place for me to start rebuilding what’s left of my life.
Daisy’s an artist. She was in London to meet with a gallery about a potential exhibition. Since leaving Spencer, I’ve been flat-sitting for a friend. Earlier on, she collected the small suitcase of my belongings—the stuff Spencer hadn’t destroyed.
“Nice jacket,” she comments slyly. “I would have offered you my spare, but it’s covered in Pippy’s hair.”
Daisy spends her days making art and walking the pebbled beach with Pippy, her border collie puppy with endless energy. Staying with them will give me a break from the hustle and bustle. I plan to start working freelance for a small magazine again if they’ll have me back.
“I’m fine in this,” I say, snuggling into Freddie’s jacket. His intoxicating aftershave lingers on the fabric.
“So, who was he then?” Daisy asks. “Your tall, dark, handsome stranger?”
“Just some guy,” I lie. “No one special.”
She isn’t buying it. “It didn’t look like that when you were trying to eat his face off.”
“I’ll probably never hear from him again.” I slip my hand into the jacket pocket to feel the sharp edges of his business card. “I need to stay single and focus on myself for a while.”
Well, I’ll make a start as soon as my swollen lips stop tingling.
“Are you sure you’re ready to leave London?” Her brow creases in concern. “I know how much you love it here.”
Although we’re opposites, Daisy is my best friend. She knows me better than anyone. Am I ready to leave the place I call home? No. Do I want to leave Spencer’s territory? Hell yeah. Living in his Mayfair mansion started as a dream come true until it morphed into a hellish nightmare, and its grand walls became a prison.
“It’s complicated.” I sigh, blowing a rogue strand of hair out of my face. “But it’s the right thing to do. I won’t be leaving forever.”
She has an inkling about why my relationship with Spencer fell apart, but she doesn’t know all the details, and I don’t want to tell her. Not yet.
“Well, you can stay with me as long as you need to,” she says. “You know that.”
“Thanks, Dais.” I smile. “How did the meeting with the gallery go?”
“It was a waste of time,” she says, ending the conversation. “You can sleep if you want. You don’t have to stay awake on my account.”
