Dedication
This book is for Tessa, my editor. Thank you, for everything.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Kristen Proby
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
~London~
“It’s about fucking time,” my brother, Kyle, snarls from his seat next to me. He’s twitchy and mean, both indicative of the drugs coursing through his veins. Although he always had a mean streak. The drugs just make it worse.
“Your sister has been in the hospital and your parents’ property had to go through probate,” Finn Cavanaugh, my parents’ attorney, replies from across the desk. He’s a tall man, broad-shouldered in his fancy suit, and his dark hair is short, styled impeccably around his masculine face.
He’s much younger than I expected.
“Like I give a shit,” Kyle replies, and sends me a sneer. “You’re just being a fucking baby.”
“Or, you know, I jumped out of a second-story window while my parents burned to death and broke my leg in four places.” I shrug and then shake my head and dig my fingertips into my forehead, praying for the incessant pounding there to ease. “I lost everything.”
“Drama queen.” Kyle rolls his eyes and rubs his dirty fingers over his mouth.
“I can’t work,” I remind him.
“You’re rich.”
Same argument, different venue. “I can’t dance with this leg, which means I can’t work.”
“Poor baby,” he says, and then lets out a manic laugh. “Who cares? You’re getting too fucking old for Broadway anyway. They were about to can your ass. I hope you saved some of that money they’ve been paying you.”
More bullets to my ego, my heart. My head. Because he’s not exactly wrong. Thirty-two is old for show business.
But damn it, I love it. And I wanted to leave under my own terms. Not because my parents were killed and I was hurt in the process.
“Let’s get to this, shall we?” Finn asks, and slides a bottle of water my way.
“Yeah, let’s do it. How much do I get?” Kyle asks, and waits, his eyes pinned on Finn. His foot is bouncing, making that thump thump thump noise with each motion, and I want to beat him over the head with my crutch.
“I can read this in its entirety, or—”
“Just get to the fucking chase. What do I get?”
Finn sighs and glances to me, shuts the folder in front of him, and folds his hands on his desk.
“Kyle, your parents set up a trust for you. You will receive fifteen hundred dollars per month to cover your rent and utilities, with the stipulation that you enter drug rehabilitation and finish the program. After one year of sobriety, and with regular clean blood tests, the trust will award you a lump sum of fifty thousand dollars each year until your death.”
“What?”
I glance at Kyle and see that his face has gone bright red with fury.
“If you refuse treatment, you forfeit any and all inheritance.”
Kyle’s mouth bobs open and closed for several seconds, and then he turns to me, royally pissed off.
“Did you do this?”
“Like I had any idea what Mom and Dad put in their will.” I roll my eyes and grip my hands in fists in my lap while Kyle stands and begins pacing the room. “You may want to call security.”
Finn nods and presses a button while he continues to watch Kyle. He looks calm, but his jaw twitches, and I can see that he’s angry at Kyle’s behavior as well.
“What does she get?” Kyle demands, pointing at my head.
“Everything else,” Finn replies simply. “Your father’s partnership in his firm will be sold. London inherits the properties and all of the other monies.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kyle roars, leaning over Finn’s desk. “She stole my money! That belongs to me! She has plenty of her own goddamn money. What am I supposed to do? I have nothing because those people wouldn’t help me, and now I’m left with nothing again?”
“No, you can take the option of getting help,” Finn reminds him, but I just shake my head. That’s not going to happen. We’ve been trying to do this for years. “The rehab would be paid for, and you can stay there until you feel confident that you’re ready to rejoin society.”
“Bullshit,” Kyle bites out, and sweeps all of Finn’s papers off of his desk in one big motion. “I should kick your motherfucking ass.”
“Enough!” I yell just as three security guards come inside and take him by the arms to escort him out.
“This is bullshit,” he repeats as he’s dragged down the hallway. The door closes behind them, but I can still hear him yelling.
Finn and I sit in silence for a long moment. I wish my leg wasn’t broken because I’d love to stand and walk to the windows that look out over Manhattan. Mostly, I’d like to turn away from Finn so he can’t see the absolute anguish on my face.
I’m an actress. A Tony Award–winning one, at that, but I just can’t hide my feelings today.
“I’m sorry,” I say at last, and clear my throat. “As you can see, my brother isn’t well.”
Finn doesn’t say anything, he just reaches for his phone and calls his assistant. “Please bring in some hot tea.”
He hangs up and watches me in silence until the tea arrives. He pours us each a cup and passes one to me, along with sweetener and milk, and when we both have our tea the way we like it, he says, “Do I have to worry about him coming after you to hurt you?”
I glance up in surprise. “He doesn’t know where I live.”
He pins me with those chocolate-brown eyes. “Do you honestly believe that?”
I take a sip of my Earl Grey and then sigh. “No. I’m sure he could find me. My building is secure. I’m not worried about him.”
“I can file a restraining order.”
I laugh. “For what? A piece of paper isn’t going to stop him if he gets it in his head to find and hurt me.” I shake my head and take another sip of tea. “No, I’ve dealt with him and his issues most of my life. He’ll disappear for a while now, do God knows what, until he runs out of money again and calls me.”
“Do you give him money?”
“Not anymore.” I squirm in my seat and then set my tea aside. “Thanks for the tea, but I’m okay. We can finish this.”
Finn opens the folders and passes me forms to sign, explaining how the properties will be transferred to my name.
“You’re a very wealthy woman, London.”
“I was wealthy before this,” I reply, hearing the hollowness in my voice. “I didn’t need my parents to die in order to have money.”
“Of course not,” he says, shaking his head. “I meant no disrespect.”
My leg is beginning to ache again. I’ve only been taking the bare minimum of the pain meds, unwilling to be in a constant hazy coma. But damn, it hurts today.
“If we’re finished, I’ll go.”
“Can I give you a ride home?” he asks, standing with me. I reach for my crutches a
nd get myself situated.
“I have a car and driver.”
He nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can I take you to dinner?”
I glance up in surprise. Finn’s a sexy man, and under normal circumstances, I’d do more than let him buy me dinner.
But these aren’t normal circumstances.
“Seriously?” I tip my head to the side and scowl at him, no longer surprised, and fully irritated. “You’re asking me out just after you’ve read my parents’ will?”
He rubs his fingers over his mouth and then shakes his head, as if he’s at a loss for words, and escorts me out to the elevator. “Just call if you have any questions or need anything at all.”
“I have one question. Now that I own all of the properties, can I live in them?”
“Of course.”
I step into the elevator, turn to face him, and offer him a small smile. “Thanks.”
Chapter One
~London~
Three months a year. That’s how much time I spent here on Martha’s Vineyard off the coast of Massachusetts each summer of my entire life. The rest of the year we lived in Connecticut, so my brother and I could go to school and do what families do.
But every summer, from the day after school let out until the day before we went back, my family lived here, on the beach in the West Chop area of the island. Our house is massive, and worth several million dollars, but as a child, I didn’t know that. I just knew that it was a magical place of sunshine and water, of summertime friends that came back every year. Of daydreams and happiness.
It was more home to me than our “full-time” house then, and it still is.
So when Finn told me two months ago that I had inherited all of my parents’ properties, and that I could live in them or do what I wished with them, I knew that I’d come here for the summer.
Home.
I’m walking on the beach, without a cane now, thank you very much, enjoying the breeze from the ocean. I have over a hundred feet of private beach, but I can hear kids playing off in the distance, and sailboats are gently meandering by with bright sails and happy people.
At least, they’re happy in my head.
Walking in the sand isn’t as easy as I would like. My leg aches like a toothache, but it’s healing. Slower than I’d like, but it’s getting there.
The sand is warm beneath my bare feet, and I have to hold my dark hair off of my face as I stop and look out at the choppy water.
“Because I just have to be meeeee . . .”
I glance over my shoulder at the sound of the small voice and smile. A little girl with a riot of dark curls is dancing down the beach, making grand gestures with her arms and singing loudly. Ironically, she’s singing the song from the musical that I starred in for over a year on Broadway.
She stops when she sees me and glances around like she’s not quite sure how she got here.
“You have a pretty voice,” I say kindly.
“Thanks,” she says, and shrugs one shoulder. She’s tall, but I don’t know kids well enough to know if she’s tall for her age. Her eyes are sky blue, standing out against her olive skin and dark hair. “It’s my favorite musical.”
I nod, smiling. “Mine too.”
“Is that your house?” she asks, pointing behind me.
“It is,” I confirm. “Where do you live?”
“Over there,” she says with a sigh, pointing to the house next to mine. “But ours doesn’t have a pool or a playhouse like yours.”
I tilt my head to the side, watching her. “You must have had a look around, since I don’t think you can see all of that from your house.”
She shrugs one shoulder again. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Gabby!” A man comes running down the beach, a scowl on his face. “You know this isn’t our beach. You can’t just run off like that.”
Gabby rolls her eyes and then turns back to him, and as he gets closer, I immediately recognize him.
Finn Cavanaugh.
“I’m right here,” she says.
“Hey,” he says to me, and offers me a small smile. “Sorry if she was bothering you.”
Gabby rolls her eyes again, and I can’t help but laugh a little. “She’s not bothering me at all. We were talking about musicals.”
His lips twitch, and I’m reminded just how handsome Finn is. Scratch that. Not handsome.
Fucking hot.
Just my luck, he’s my neighbor.
Which I knew, I just forgot.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as Gabby twirls in a circle and dances away to sing and dance some more.
“Better,” I reply. “Not fantastic, but I’m finally rid of the crutches and cane, so I’ll take it.”
“You look good,” he says, and then clears his throat. “Any issues?”
Oh, you know, my parents are dead and have left me with a mess to clean up all by myself, my leg is killing me, and I’m pretty sure I lost my career, but nothing major.
“No, I’m good.”
He watches me for a moment and then nods. His hands are in his pockets the same way they were in his office two months ago, but this time he’s not wearing a suit. No, he’s in a red T-shirt and black cargo shorts with no shoes.
I had no idea the casual look could be sexier than the suit, but here we are.
“Your daughter is beautiful.”
He grins and glances at Gabby, then turns back to me. “She’s my niece. She’s staying with me for about a month.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
He frowns and looks down, and I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing, but the moment passes and he calls over to Gabby, “It’s about time for your horse-riding lesson, Gabs. We should go.”
“Fine,” she replies with a heavy sigh, and takes off running toward his house.
“She doesn’t like horses?” I ask.
“She does, she’s just been difficult lately, so very little makes her particularly happy. It’s a long story.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you.” I step back and offer him a smile. “Oh, before you go, it finally clicks as to why you represented my parents. You’re the neighbor.”
“I’ve spent the past five summers here,” he confirms. “I liked your parents very much. Your dad asked me to update his will about two years ago.”
I nod. “Makes sense. Have a good day.”
“You too, London.”
And with that, he turns and jogs down the beach back to his own house, which is only about a hundred yards from mine. His shoulders are ridiculously broad, especially from behind.
And speaking of behinds, his ass is something to write home about.
Or something to grip on to while he fucks a girl silly.
I clear my throat and shake my head as I walk back toward my house. I must be feeling better if I’m undressing the sexy neighbor with my eyes. I’m not irritated with him anymore for asking me out on that day at his office. That doesn’t mean that it wasn’t inappropriate. Because it was.
But on a scale of one to house fires on the life-altering scale, that would be a negative fourteen.
I walk up the sandy path to the house, brush my feet clean, and walk inside through the screened sun porch to the kitchen. I brewed some iced tea this morning, so I pour myself a glass, add some lemon, and carry it with me to the library, where I’ve been working all morning on sorting books.
Mom loved to read. She has to have more than a thousand books in here, everything from outdated encyclopedias to paperback romance novels. Thrillers, true crime, interior design, and biographies are in there too.
And pretty much everything else.
I remember when we’d come here in the summer, I’d be playing at the beach or in the pool with friends, and Mom would be on the sun porch with a book and a glass of tea, absorbed in another world, but ready for us in case we needed anything.
I sit at her desk and take a sip of my tea before carefully placing it on a coaster and reaching for anothe
r stack of books.
Some of them are signed by the authors, so it’s not just a matter of donating the ones that I won’t read or don’t need. I have to look at every single one of them, check for a signature, notes or thoughts that Mom might have written in them, pressed flowers, you name it.
It’s become a long process.
I have two boxes nearby. One for donations and one for trash. I mean, who needs an encyclopedia from 1987? Not me. That’s what Google is for. And there are plenty of books that are empty and would be welcome at a library or the Goodwill.
Just as I toss a paperback into a box, my phone pings with a text.
What are you doing? It’s from Sasha, a former colleague and my best friend. She’s in New York, working on a new play that debuts in six weeks, but she texts or calls every single day, checking in on me.
Sorting books in the library. What are you doing?
I set the phone aside, take a sip of my tea, and glance out the window as a huge sailboat with a bright-blue sail soars past.
Having lunch before I head back to rehearsal. Are you ready to sort through your parents’ things? They haven’t been gone long.
I smile at her concern. She’s always been a mother hen.
I can’t just sit in this big house and do nothing. I might as well get something accomplished. It’s just the library.
Not their bedroom, or the kitchen, where Mom’s special dishes are. Those two rooms will have to wait for quite some time.
Don’t overdo it. When is your next PT?
Now I feel like Gabby when I roll my eyes and reply.
Tomorrow. Go to rehearsal and stop harassing me.
I grin and rub my thigh where it’s started to ache again. I’ll take more Advil when I go downstairs.
Fine. You’re so difficult. Call you later!
I shove my phone in my pocket, and now that I’ve gone through that stack of books, I decide to go downstairs rather than reach for more. They’re heavy, and I’m tired. One thing I’ve learned during this whole damn mess is to listen to my body and not push it too hard. If I’m tired, I need to nap. If I hurt, I need to take something. Being miserable isn’t worth being stubborn.
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