Chapter 1

More and more people keep showing up and it's starting to make my head hurt.

I'm tired of hearing the condolences. I'm tired of the many heartfelt words that people are pouring down on me. I just want to be able to grieve the death of my parents in peace.

Is that too much to ask?

It's been a week since the car crash and my heart is still heavy with pain. I don't think this pain will ever go away. They were the only people I had in my life and I feel lost without them. Utterly lost. What do I do in this big house? How will I manage the estate and the company all by myself?

Anthony, my father's best friend, promises that he'll help me and that he'll never leave my side and to be honest, I don't know what I would've done without him. He's been there for as long as I can remember and my father trusted him. I should trust him, too.

The last guests leave and I show them the door. I force a smile on my face and allow myself to feel grateful because at least they were the only ones who came today. Maybe they'll stop coming. I don’t know most of these people. They claim to be friends and all I can do is receive them properly like a proper girl.

Once I close the door, I sigh. I need to sleep. I need a bath. I need my parents back.

The last thought nearly brings me to tears but I have cried way too much and I feel like there aren't any tears left. I walk toward the living area and sit down. There's a fire in the hearth and the room is warm but I feel incredibly cold. This place used to be my favorite in the house, especially because of the stone fireplace and the warm brown decor. My father was a hunter and it shows because of the taxidermied animals on the walls.

I can't help but think about him as I look around.

Finally, I have some time to think. It's impossible to do so when the house is always crowded and everyone wants to talk to me. I rub my face and put my head in my hands, tears gleaming in my eyes. It's not that I'm not thankful for the support. I'm just tired. Exhausted. Stretched thin.

Shocked.

I sit back on the couch and close my eyes just as I hear the doorbell ringing. My eyes spring open and I feel a wave of anger washing over me, destroying every ounce of politeness inside of me. I stay put, determined not to answer. Maybe if I ignore it, whoever is out there will just walk away. I can't do this today. I can't.

Nope. There's the ringing sound again. The sound has already started traumatizing me and whenever I hear it, my heart sinks in my chest. I clench my jaw and stand up, my high-heeled boots clicking against the wooden floor. I storm toward the door, determined to lash out at whoever is there. I don't care anymore.

I open the door angrily and it bangs open. The man standing at the door flinches at the sound and gives me a look that makes all my anger leech out of my body. I lower my eyes, feeling so embarrassed at my outburst. "Sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he answers, his voice deep and as smooth as honey. "Sorry, is this a bad time?"

"No," I say, looking back at his face. He's young, maybe around my age, but he's tall and has piercing eyes, so maybe he's not as young as I think he is. I don't know. He doesn't hold himself like an eighteen year old. He's dressed in all black, and his eyes are just about the brightest blue I've ever seen. "It's not."

"You're probably wondering why I'm here," he says, his eyes searching my face in a way that makes me feel self-conscious. I'm not sure why, but I'm blushing. "Firstly, I'd like to ask, are you Leonora Bardwell?"

"I am," I answer before clearing my throat.

"Great," he says, his tone getting more serious. "I guess I should properly introduce myself, then. My name is Evan Montague and I was the one who called the police. I found your parents."

The mention of my parents makes my heart sink. "Oh, yes. Of course."

He then raises his arm and shows me a duffel bag. I didn't even notice him holding it. "This was in the backseat of their car."

I frown and stare at the bag. "Sorry, but what is that?"

"Money," he tells me. "A whole lot of it."

I feel momentarily lost and then shake my head, remembering my manners. "Please, do come in."

He enters the house and I notice how his head nearly touches the doorframe. He's that tall. I then walk ahead of him, showing him the living room. He puts the bag down on the coffee table and asks me to open it, which I do.

Sure enough, there's a lot of money inside. I can't even guess how much.

"Gosh," I say, stepping back. "Thank you for bringing this. I'm just confused...why do you have it and not the police?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, your father asked me to bring the money to you," he answers. "He was still alive when I reached the scene, and he asked me to bring it to you. Naturally, I had to find out who you were first. He told me your name, you see. I guess he didn't trust the police to keep it. I know for a fact that most of them are crooks."

I'm stunned and very grateful to him. My eyes fill with tears as I try to imagine my father trying to choke those words out. And he decided to come find me and give me the money. It's so much money. He could've ran off with it and I would never have known. I say, "Wow, I can't believe you went through all the trouble. I can't find the right words to thank you."

"You're more than welcome, Leonora," he answers, his eyes on my face once more. Searching. He looks at me in a way that I've never been looked at before. It makes me feel something apart from the pain wrecking everything inside of me and threatening to turn my heart into dust.

By the goddess, what's wrong with me?

"I...I'm not sure if you're up to having a cup of coffee with me. Or tea. Or something."

He slides his hands into the pockets of his black slacks smoothly. "Sure. I'd love to. Thank you for the invitation."

"I'll have to make it myself because the maids are gone for the weekend," I inform him. "Why don't you follow me into the kitchen?"

I somehow feel self-conscious walking into the kitchen, knowing that he's right behind me. I try not to trip and fall like an idiot. I reach the kitchen and fill the kettle with water. I then lean against the counter as I wait for it to boil and turn to face him. He's looking around covertly. When he catches me staring at him, he says, "I never extended my condolences to you. I'm sorry if that makes me seem rude."

"No, on the contrary," I tell him. "I've heard that word so much in the past week that it started losing its meaning to me. It's just something people say even if they don't really mean it. Just because they have to."

Evan watches me soberly. The sympathy in his eyes makes me tear up. I look away and sniffle. "Sorry. It's just still new to me. I can't seem to get over it."

He takes a few steps toward me and says, "Don't apologize for being sad, Leonora. Not to me. Your parents are gone and I'm guessing that they were the people closest to you, correct?" I nod. "Well then, you're allowed to be sad and show sadness. Anyone who expects anything else from you is a dick. And I mean that."

For some reason, his words make me chuckle a little as tears slide down my face. I don't apologize for them. The kettle stops boiling and Evan asks me whether I'm fine with him making the coffees. I say yes and sit down in the kitchen, watching him preparing the drinks. I feel something blooming inside of me. I haven't felt this comforted in what feels like an eternity.

He brings the drinks over and we start talking. Just talking. Not about death or mourning, or accidents. About normal things that divert my mind away from the awful tragedy that has befallen my family and me.

I find myself smiling for the first time in days.

When we both realize it, about three hours have passed and it's dark outside. Evan glances at his gold watch and says, "Look at the time."

He stands up and I do the same. His visit isn't like the other ones. I want him to stay. I don't eat him to go. He says, "I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time. I know that you probably have so much on your plate."

"No, it's fine," I say, waving him off. "You've done more for me than the people who are actually close to me. Thank you so much for stopping by and for being honest."

We walk toward the door. All the while, my heart is sinking and I feel like an idiot. A needy idiot. I open the door for him and he steps out. He says, "Thank you for having me, Leonora. Again, I'm so sorry for your parents. I really mean it."

I nod, ignoring the sting in my nose. "Thank you. Again. For everything."

Evan nods and starts walking down the stone steps. As I watch him go, I find myself wondering when I'll see him again and I feel so sad that I might not. Then, he stops walking abruptly, and then turns his head to look at me. My heart skips a beat. He makes his way back up the stairs, his eyes intently on mine.

I wait for him to say something. Anything. I can't get the words out myself. This just feels so surreal.

"I know this is probably too forward because I just met you," he begins, searching my eyes fervently, "but is it bad that I don't want this to be the last time we ever meet?"

I gulp. My mouth is so dry. "No," I answer. "Not at all."

His eyes light up and I feel a spark of hope inside of me. He asks me, "When can I see you again?"

"Tomorrow," I say without hesitating. "Please."

Evan smiles and I feel a part of me melting. "It's a date, then."