“Hello, children.” My dad took his seat in between me and Hugo. “You okay, Ches?” he asked me in his usual tight-lipped way. I loved my dad. I truly did. But it was no secret that he had never been the warm and loving father most people got to experience. My mum had been the affectionate parent. My father was a businessman through and through, and that occupied all of his time. Family had always been an afterthought to him. I knew he loved me. But I wasn’t his entire world and never had been.
“Are you ready for the wedding?” Dad asked me. The waitress placed his sandwich and latte on the table before him.
“I pick up the dress next week. Other than that, everything is sorted.” I sipped at my soup. “It’s my hen do this weekend. Arabella and Freya have it all planned. I have no idea what we’re doing.”
“Sounds nice,” my father said dismissively and patted my hand. He turned to Hugo. “I’ve just got off the phone to …” I zoned out as Dad started talking Hugo’s ear off about work. I found myself watching the other people at the café. My dad had made it clear that, despite having a master’s in business from Oxford and desires to join the Harlow Biscuit empire, it wasn’t my place.
I fought off my rising ire and refocused on the couples and families, all smiling and happy as they caught up over lunch. I wondered what it would be like to be them for a moment. To be that excited to see one’s parents or siblings. We had money, and I had never wanted for anything. But all the riches in the world couldn’t make up for the emotional poverty that came with lack of familial affection.
Playing with the lime in my drink, I suddenly caught sight of a dark-haired man. He was dressed in an impeccable suit and wore black-rimmed glasses. My pounding heart lodged in my throat. I focused harder, trying to make him out, but on closer inspection it wasn’t him.
I took a steadying breath and willed myself to calm down. The man sat down beside a woman in a long red dress, kissing her on the cheek and holding her hand.
I rarely gave myself the luxury of thinking of Arthur. Ever since he walked out of my life thirteen months ago, I hadn’t once seen him. Hadn’t received one single text.
But that didn’t mean I hadn’t heard of him. Everyone in London and beyond knew of Arthur now. In the thirteen months since he had taken the helm of the Adley firm, he had caused what could only be described as havoc in the criminal underworld.
Murderer. The Bethnal Green Brute. The Devil himself. Or, as he was more widely known, the Dark Lord of London Town—some catchy headline with which one of the trashy tabloids had branded him.
It had stuck.
I remembered the cold, emotionless eyes that had said goodbye to me in Oxford a year ago. How, in the hours he had slept in my arms, he had morphed from a man with darkness in his soul into what was rumoured to be evil incarnate. He had awoken in my flat in Oxford as the infamous cold-blooded gangster he was now known to be. He ruled our city with an iron fist. He left a trail of misery and bodies in his wake. But the police could never catch him. Arthur was untouchable. He was feared.
And, despite it all, my stupid self was still madly in love with him.
“Cheska!” I shook my head as I was pulled out of my reverie by a familiar voice laughing at my daze. I dragged my attention from the man in the suit and looked up to see Ollie Lawson standing at our table, dressed in a light-grey suit. He was smiling, the same wide smile he’d always had for me. “You alright, love? You were away with the fairies just now.”
“Sorry,” I laughed and stood to kiss him on the cheeks. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since Freya’s dinner party a few months back.”
He gently squeezed my arms. “I’m good. You?” he asked, and I sat back down. Ollie was always over-affectionate toward me. But he was sweet and harmless. That strange act of aggression from him in Marbella years ago was now a distant memory.
“I am, thank you.” I gestured to my father and Hugo. “Just catching