I close the automatic drapes in the apartment and watch as all the twinkling lights of London slowly disappear.

I brush my teeth and climb into bed. I smile as I smell the freshly washed linen.

At least I achieved something today.

I stare up at the ceiling as my mind wanders over the week ahead. I might go to a bookshop tomorrow and stock up.

I haven’t read a book in a while. Maybe I’ll read War and Peace and all the other books I’ve never had time to read.

It’s the weirdest thing. When I was back at the farm, it felt like I no longer belonged there, like I’d grown out of it. But now that I’m here, this feels even more foreign.

I heard the horror stories of people having trouble settling back in one place after extended travel, but it’s much worse than I imagined. Torn from a world of memories with no idea where I want my future forever home to be.

I exhale heavily. How the hell do you settle back down after a trip like that?

I need to come back to earth.

I doze for a while, and I feel the bed dip. “Baby,” I hear Christopher whisper as he brushes the hair back from my forehead.

I smile and hold my arms out for him, and he lies on top of the blankets in his full suit and nestles his head into my chest. “I’m sorry I’m so late, sweetheart.”

“That’s okay.” I kiss his forehead. “You must be exhausted.”

“Hmm,” he whispers as his heavy eyelids close.

“Did you have any dinner?”

He nods.

“What did you have?”

“A glass of scotch and nuts from my office minibar.”

I smile into the darkness. “Your dinner is in the fridge on a plate. Put it in the microwave.”

“Did you cook it?” he asks with his eyes still closed.

“No, it’s takeout.”

He smiles. “Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because I don’t feel bad if I’m too tired to eat it.”

“Shower,” I prompt him. He’s going to fall asleep in his full suit.

“You want to have a shower with me?” He bites my nipple through my pajamas.

“No,” I murmur. “I’m half-asleep.”

“Party pooper.” He drags himself out of bed and disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower running.

I smile. His aftershave wafts around the room, and everything is just better when he’s home. I feel myself relax for the first time today.

Five minutes later he slides in beside me and takes me into his arms. He holds me tight. “I love you, baby,” he whispers sleepily.

I turn my head and kiss him over my shoulder. “I love you too.”

“Good night.” He kisses me again.

We lie in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I’m nestled safely in his big strong arms. The best place in the world.

“You work too hard,” I whisper.

But he doesn’t answer . . . he’s already asleep.

Friday night

The charity ball: my very first official engagement as Christopher Miles’s partner.

I’m nervous and have put way too much effort into overthinking every little detail.

I blame Zoe, the personal shopper. She dragged me around the entirety of London looking for the perfect outfit for tonight. I think she’s more nervous than me.

Per her instruction, I had my hair and makeup done, and now I’m about to get dressed. My clothes are laid out on the bed for me, and I hold the Spanx underwear up and look at it. It’s tiny. Did Zoe get me the right size?

These pantie things look like they would fit a child.

Zoe’s words from our shopping trip come back to me. This dress needs good supportive underwear. Do not wear it without.

Fine.

I walk into the bathroom and close the door. I don’t want Christopher walking in while I’m struggling to pull these fuckers up.

I step into them and . . . oh hell, so tight. I struggle and breathe in as I slowly pull them up. I put my hands on my hips as I stare at the Lycra black underwear in the mirror. It looks like shiny short bike pants. Jeez . . . I guess there’s no breathing tonight, then?

I put on the black lacy bra, the superboostiest thing I have ever seen. The girls are nearly at my neck. Surely people can’t wear this shit every day, can they?

My honey hair is out and curled in big Hollywood finger curls, and my makeup is sultry, with red lipstick.

I walk back out into the bedroom and pick up my dress, and Christopher glances in as he walks past the bedroom door. He stops and puts his head back around the doorjamb. He’s wearing a black dinner suit, white shirt, and black bow tie: classic black-tie porn. I’ve never seen anyone so handsome.

Delicious.

He frowns as he looks me up and down. “What’s happening right now?”

I bite my lip to hide my smile. He means my underwear.

“I’m getting dressed,” I reply. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He walks into the bedroom and circles me as he looks me up and down. “What . . .”

I put my hands on my hips as I wait for him to say it out loud.

He sweeps his hand in the area of my Spanx. “What is this?”

“What’s what?”

“Those gigantic underpants.”

“Spanx.”

“Hayden, when I look at those, the last thing I’m thinking about is spanking you.”

I giggle. “No, silly, that’s the name of them. They hold all your bits in, smooth everything out.”

He raises an eyebrow as he keeps circling me, his eyes drinking me in. “Diabolical.”

“What is?”

“Genius marketing,” he mutters to himself.

“Huh?”

“They package grandma underpants with the promise of making a woman thinner, smooth, and rewarded with spanking.” He nods as he contemplates the concept. “Brilliant. I need to hire the marketing head of this company. They’ve totally nailed it.”

I laugh. Trust him to analyze the marketing plan. I put my hands on my hips. “It’s what married women wear.”

“I have to tell you, and I know I speak for all mankind”—he curls his lip—“not a huge incentive to walk down that aisle.”

I giggle. “Get out. Let me get dressed.”

He kisses me quickly and walks out of the room. “Take them off,” he calls as he disappears up the hall. “My woman has curves.”

I smile as I step into my dress. I love that man.

“Your seats are this way, Mr. Miles.” The usher gestures. With my hand firmly in Christopher’s, we follow him into the ballroom. I look around in awe . . . my god.

This place is spectacular.

A string quartet plays in the corner. Huge crystal vases of flowers, chandeliers hanging low, candles flickering on all the tables, creating a beautiful ambience. Everyone is in black tie and looking ever so glamorous. The room is abuzz with chatter and loud laughter.

Boy . . . this is full on.

I suddenly feel very out of my depth, like I don’t belong here, nervous like never before. I grip Christopher’s hand with white-knuckle force.

“It’s fine, Grumps.” He winks at me over his shoulder. “You look beautiful.”

How does he always know exactly what to say?

I force a smile, and he leads me through to the table. “Hello.” He smiles to everyone as he proudly presents me. “This is Hayden.”

I feel my face blush. “Hello.”

“This is”—he gestures around the table—“Margaret and Conrad, Eva and Mario.”

I give a wave. Oh hell . . . this is so awkward.

“This is Edward Prescott and Julian Masters.”

My eyes land on the last man . . . I’ve seen him before.

Where?

He gives me a sexy wink and raises his glass. “I told you we’d meet again, Hayden.”

My eyes widen. No way.

He’s the man who owned the yacht in Greece . . . what the hell?

They’re friends?

My mouth falls open in shock.

He and Christopher laugh out loud, and Christopher squeezes my shoulder blade. “You look like you saw a ghost, babe.”

I laugh, half-embarrassed and not sure what to say.

“And this”—he smiles proudly—“is Elliot, my brother. Elliot, this is my Hayden.”

Familiar warm eyes smile up at me.

Oh . . . he’s like Christopher.

Elliot stands and kisses my cheek. “Hello, it’s so lovely to finally meet you.” His eyes linger on my face as he studies me, and I feel myself flush under his gaze.

He pulls out the chair beside him. “Sit next to me, Hayden.”

Oh crap . . . do I really have to?

I fall into the chair beside him, and Christopher sits on the other side of me.

Christopher puts his hand protectively on my lap as the waiter fills our glasses with champagne.

“It’s good to see you,” Mr. Masters says from across the table. “How was the vacation?”