Chapter 2

TWO

Present Day

"Tell me again why we're here."

"Someone died, Laurel." Roe sighs beside me.

I bite back the groan roaring up my throat and sling back the rest of the champagne. The bubbles pop and fizz their way down, taking my groan along with it.

"I'm aware someone died, Roe." I deadpan. "But no one gave a shit about James Harding. Most of all, our family."

A server wearing all black passes by us. I quickly drop my empty glass on the tray and grab a fresh glass of champagne, immediately taking a drink from it.

"You're drinking as if you've never had a drink in your life." She giggles under her breath.

"Not going to lie, it's the only thing that's making this funeral tolerable." I smooth my hand down the front of my stark black dress. I'm just another person dressed in black filling the large marble dining hall. Large French doors are propped open, displaying the acres of land stretching all the way out to the water's edge in the distance. The sun is bright, and there isn't a cloud in the sky. If it weren't for every single person dressed in black, I'd think this was just another rich cock sucker party disguised as a fundraiser. Unfortunately, we're familiar with functions such as those.

"Honestly," she sighs. "I don't want to be here either. I'm just not as obvious about it as you are."

I give her a sidelong glance, nudging her shoulder with mine. We're standing at the edge of the crowd, people watching. It's one of our favorite pastimes. Or it could be that it was the only way we used to survive functions like these growing up by being invisible yet obvious at the same time.

"No one gives a shit this man died."

Roe's eyes continue to roam the crowd. "I'm not sure that's entirely true. Someone in this room must have genuinely cared for him. If they didn't, it would be pretty fucking tragic."

The overwhelming need to leave blooms in my stomach. I keep my attention on the crowd, screwing my mouth to the side, attempting not to seem too obvious or speak too loudly. "We could sneak out through the back," I whisper. "Make it look as if we're exploring the grounds."

"You're insufferable." She shakes her head, tucking her long brown hair behind her ears. Her nails are painted a thick, rich black. Mine are a bright pale pink.

I half expect her to laugh or smile, but she doesn't. Her eyes seem far away even as they scan through the people passing by.

The funeral ended less than an hour ago. After James Harding was buried under six feet of cold, hard dirt, where he rightfully belongs, we all headed toward the Hardings' summer house situated along the coast.

Until today, I'd never been to any of the Hardings' homes. Rumor has it they have at least twenty with ten of them in the Boston city limits alone. A little over the top if you ask me, but then again, our family isn't used to this kind of money.

We have money, but not Harding money.

I look at my sister. Her skin is pale and her lips are painted a faint pink. She's softer than her usual appearance, especially for events such as these.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, my stomach turning. I'm not sure if it's the unease in her expression or from the lack of food in my stomach.

"Nothing." She doesn't blink. "Just going over this sketch in my head I've been working on for the museum. It's due next week and it looks like shit. I'm anxious about it, that's all."

"I doubt it looks like shit."

When Roe started Harvard eight years ago, she was on track to follow in our family's footsteps. Graduate from Harvard Law and become a partner in our uncle's firm. But in her third year, she changed her mind. Out of the blue, she switched her major to art, claiming to follow her true passion.

Our uncle was shocked. I, however, was not. Roe always blazed her own trail.

I stuck to my plan and enrolled with Harvard Law. Predictable. Having just graduated, I've been interning with our uncle at the Branford Law Firm, located three floors below James Harding and his coveted business, Harding Holdings. Our family's unofficial rival, competing for the city's attention.

I've never been adventurous or a risk taker. The last time I allowed myself to break out my comfort zone, it bit me in the ass.

"I doubt anyone will notice we're gone." I can't drop the idea of escaping this funeral. The prospect of seeing him again has my stomach wobbling with nausea as rough as the time our father took us out on our yacht the summer I was ten. Being around the Hardings, knowing our family's distaste for them, has made it difficult. And being around one of them in particular has become practically near impossible.

"Yes, they will," Roe says, unamused, pulling me from my thoughts.

"They'll probably notice you being gone. Not me."

"Come on, Laurel." There's an edge to her voice that wasn't there before. "Don't start that shit."

"I'm not starting anything. I'm just saying everyone always noticed you over me... or Mom."

"Not true," she says, her voice growing smaller. "At least not the part about me. Everyone always noticed Mom over anyone else."

My throat swells, and pressure builds behind my eyes. Losing her three years ago was the worst pain imaginable. Facing that I was going to spend the rest of my life never seeing her smile again, or the way red highlights popped in the strands of her chestnut brown hair when she stood under the sun has been a difficult pill to swallow. Losing her and our father in a sudden mountain climbing accident was the first tear in the fabric of our family. Now there's a large gaping hole that is past the point of repair. I'm convinced the grief will never fade.

"Okay," Roe persists. "Well, you can't stay standing over here with me all day. Maybe we can find you a date or something. Someone to talk to." She rises on her toes and cranes her neck. She's hunting, searching for anyone who catches her eye.

"Gross." I scowl. "Are you seriously trying to set me up at a funeral?"

She lifts one shoulder, rocking back on her heels. "I mean, it doesn't hurt to keep an eye out."

"I don't need anyone." I sigh heavily. "I don't think this setting is appropriate for finding a date. It's weird. Besides, there's no one here I'm interested in."

"I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt if you found someone you were into for longer than six months. Just when I think you've found the right man, you break it off with him. I can't keep up…" She trails off.

I jerk back, the sting of the direction in conversation hitting me harder than expected. "Ouch."

"I'm sorry." She pinches the bridge of her nose and rests her hand on my arm. Her eyes flutter open and she looks at me sympathetically. "That was a real bitchy thing to say."

"You're right. That was pretty bitchy."

Roe smirks, and the corners of my mouth lift, but only a little.

The problem is, she isn't completely wrong. My track record has been one crash and burn after another.

"I know it's been hard to move on since your marriage ended," Roe says sympathetically.

I close my eyes and breathe. When I open them, I look at her. "Please." I wave her off. "I would hardly call what David and I had a marriage."

"You made vows, and you lived together as husband and wife for three months."

I roll my eyes, bringing my glass to my mouth to take a large swig. "Our marriage was annulled, so it's almost as if it never happened. Plus, he admitted to using me to get to our family law firm, Roe. He didn't even attempt to deny it."

She frowns, lowering her gaze to her own glass and tapping her nail against it. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine." With a reassuring smile, I run my hand up and down her arm.

I'm lying. The sting of what David pulled has faded, but the memory is still fresh. I'm no stranger to being used.

Relationships haven't always come easily for me. It's hard to trust others when they've used and chewed you up for their own benefit. I shouldn't have been surprised. I still shouldn't be. Our marriage was short lived, and in hindsight, we were merely playing roles. I should have seen the red flags David was constantly waving when it came to his constant barrage of questions about my family's law firm and how he could quickly move up in the ranks. But my heart simply hasn't gone completely numb yet. There's still a tiny fragment of the beating muscle in my chest that burns at the thought of all the times I've been chewed up and spit out for other's benefit.

"It's not." She shrugs. "But I still don't think you should close yourself off to those in front of you."

"I'm not, and no one is in front of me."

"Whatever you say." She smirks, turning her attention back to the room. "Maybe you should marry one of the Harding brothers, then. They're in the money hungry corporate world, just like you. Although, I hear the middle one is off limits. In my opinion, the oldest looks more your type. His mouth looks like it could do some damage. The good kind, of course, if you know what I mean."

I attempt to ignore the unrelenting fluttering going on in my stomach. Heat spreads across my chest remembering how it felt to have his tongue taste my skin in the back seat of his car. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I'm all too aware of the damage Lennon's tongue can do. Fucking ridiculous considering it's been six years .

I turn away from Roe, fearing my face might give her an unwarranted confession of the night I first met Lennon. Pushing aside thoughts of his delicious tongue, I replay my conversation with Roe.

Why is she urging me to marry a Harding? I've spent the past several years dedicated to my career and interning at Branford and Branford. I don't care if my sister thinks life would be better if I were with someone else. Even if I were to entertain Roe's suggestion, I wouldn't stake my hopes on finding my soulmate at a funeral. Somehow, I find it worse than picking someone up at a bar.

"If I marry again, I'm marrying for love," I confess to my sister.

My eyes dance across the room, still searching for the best possible escape route without being detected. I consider leaving Roe behind since she seems to be perfectly content seeing this funeral through to the end.

I think I've found it but stop when I see the tall, wide man heading in our direction.

"What are you two doing over here?" Frederick asks. My uncle takes a sip of his glass of whiskey before popping one of the salmon puffs into his mouth another server was passing around.

"Just talking," Roe says.

"You two are always talking." He frowns. "Steven couldn't make it?"

Roe twists the ring on her finger and takes a quick drink from her glass. "No. He had a big deal to close in New York."

"Understandable."

"We made a few rounds and greeted some people from the country club we recognized," Roe adds.

"Good." Frederick nods. He adjusts his black tie, shifting his attention to me. "I know you aren't the biggest fans of the Hardings."

"Are you kidding?" I ask him, struggling to maintain my composure. "Neither are you. In fact, our entire family despises them. No one likes them. And I'm fairly certain they feel the same way. They've done more damage to this city than good. Everyone knows it, they're just too afraid to say it out loud."

"Laurel," Frederick scolds, hissing between his teeth. He quickly glances around as if he's worried everyone in attendance at the funeral can overhear our conversation.

I can't help it. Something about today has me on edge.

I can't get the familiar blue eyes out of my head. The way his dark hair rested against his forehead. The silver chain wrapped around his neck.

I grind my teeth and count to ten. The inevitable is coming. It dances in my bones, humming through my veins. "Sorry," I apologize. I'm not exactly sorry for what I said—it's the truth—but it's the only word I can bring myself to offer my uncle.

"The Hardings have been great business contacts for years," Fredrick points out.

"Is it worth it, though?" I ask. "They hate us. I don't understand why we're bothering. I don't understand why we're here when our families are at odds. They've stolen clients and cases from us. We tried to forge a business relationship with them last year, and James practically spat in our face."

"We aren't at odds with them." His dark, bushy eyebrows knit as he squares his shoulders. "Their admonishment for this family lies squarely on the back of your brother. He's paying the price for the choices he made and for putting our business relations in jeopardy. It's his fault we are in this position, but I won't stand for it. I'm determined to get our family back in the Hardings' good graces."

I chew on the inside of my cheek until it stings. My chest twists and aches. "Are you truly that desperate?"

My harsh question hits my uncle harder than I intend.

I don't like talking about my brother.

"Honestly, Laurel." My uncle shakes his head, frowning. "Aside from their aggressive business tactics and obvious flagrant disregard for flaunting their money, the Hardings aren't the monsters you're making them out to be."

I snort. "Right."

Roe snaps her head in my direction, her eyes glaring. "Where does your contempt come from? I get it. They're bad, but I think you're being a little over the top. You could at least practice some self-restraint. We're at a funeral, for God's sake."

I attempt to hide behind my nearly empty glass. My cheeks flame red. The twisting sensation in my stomach grows. I seriously need to get a grip.

No one knows the reason for my contempt of the Hardings, not even my sister. It runs deeper than their disgusting business tactics and lack of moral compass.

But my hatred for Lennon Harding is one I keep buried deep in my chest.

"Regardless of how or why you feel this way about them," Frederick starts, stuffing his hands inside his black slacks. "We can't afford to lose our relationship with this family. Or others in this room. We aren't here for a funeral."

Of course we aren't.

"Why? Is everything okay?" Roe asks him.

I want to leave this conversation, but I can't. My feet are glued to the floor, catching sight of the man entering the room, followed by his two younger brothers.

"We're fine," Frederick answers Roe, unconvincingly. "But I won't lie in saying our accounts are dwindling. Since Kellan went to prison two years ago for his embezzlement charges, and what he did to cover his tracks by dipping into your trusts, our family name and reputation have been tarnished. Despite what our shareholders and public relations team predicted considering our businesses are completely different, our rebound into this community has been slow at best. Something needs to happen fast if we're going to fix this."

"That bad?" Roe scrunches her nose.

"Unfortunately, yes." Frederick reluctantly nods. His cheeks flush with pink. "I'm afraid our family is living on borrowed money at this point."

"Oh…" Roe's voice trails off. She attempts to hide her anger, but the ticking muscle in her jaw gives her away. My chest squeezes. Our older brother Kellan was arrested and charged with stealing money from his law partners at another firm and inflating his assets, forever tarnishing our reputation.

A liar to his core.

A traitor to his family.

I want to punch my uncle in his large, round belly for bringing him up. Fury and rage simmer under my skin when remembering how my brother not only stole money from our family's company, but how he also stole the inheritance our parents left behind for us. Named as executor, he had control of mine and Roe's trusts until we turned twenty-five. When Roe turned twenty-five and was ready to buy a house with the money our parents left behind, she was shocked to find the account empty. Mine as well.

After he went to prison for his crimes, I used to sit and rack my brain, trying to figure out how or why he made the choices he made. Part of me thinks it was the grief of losing our parents. The other part thinks he was just a selfish asshole, but I don't think we'll ever know the full truth. Roe and I haven't spoken to him since the day of his sentencing.

I eye my uncle, wondering what our tarnished reputation means for my position as junior partner at his firm. From the worried expression in his wrinkled forehead, I'm afraid our family's once coveted castle is beginning to crumble.

Roe nervously bites on her bottom lip. There is a distant look in her eye that wasn't there before.

The room slowly grows quieter. What were once loud voices, straining to talk over the other, are now hushed in whispers. One by one, everyone's attention is directed to the front of the dining hall.

All three Harding brothers move to the front of the room. Each is dressed in a crisp, black suit. The youngest brother, Micah, stands at the end. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his brown-near-black hair is slicked back. Jude, the middle brother, stands between Lennon and Micah. With a grinding jaw and a vacant stare in his eyes, I can see he feels the same way I do. He doesn't want to be here. He has the same look in his eye as if he's only staying out of obligation.

Then there's Lennon.

Smug. Stern. Sharp chiseled jaw. Piercing blue eyes. His suit speaks perfectly to the kind of person he is: mysterious, vacant. Where his brother's at least have a pop of white with their pressed collared shirts, Lennon's is midnight black.

While he shares the same eyes as his brothers, he's different in every other way. He's darker and difficult to read, as if he keeps his secrets buried deep down where he believes no one can see them. Under all the pretenses and displays he puts on for others, I'm convinced he must have a heart. Right? Although, truth be told I've never seen it.

The reality is, I've tried, and failed miserably, to put my distaste for Lennon Harding aside. At least as much as I could stomach. Last year, his father attempted to rope me into their circle and gain my attention so he could get in on our family's money. I could see in James's smug expression that he thought I could be bought.

I should have known better, but I was still an eager law student, determined to create as many business relationships as possible. Na?ve is what I truly was. That was the night I learned the truth about the Harding family and the power James had over all of them. Once he tried to hand me over to his son Jude, I realized the truth of why I was there.

I was nothing but a pawn that night. A game. Collateral damage. A piece of meat tossed into the lion's den. They were ravenous, and I was served on a silver platter for them to feast.

Nothing I'm not already familiar with.

But what stung worse that night than being used as an object, sitting in that booth with James's arm draped across my shoulders, was the look in his eldest son's eyes.

Empty. Unaware. Unrecognizable.

Lennon Harding looked at me like I was a stranger.

I laughed and smiled my way through the endless refills of champagne and arrogant conversation about how James Harding controlled nearly every top corporation in the city. Immoral business tactics and questionable investments or what they called ‘donations'.

James Harding was a predator simply seeking his next prey. That night, he was hoping I was his. But all I could do was watch Lennon while wearing the mask of a woman who pretended she belonged. After all, it's what my uncle requested I do, hoping to strengthen the business relationship between the Hardings and the Branfords.

The crack in my already fractured heart splinters once more when Lennon scans the crowd in attendance at his father's funeral. His alcohol-soaked eyes catch me for a split moment before resuming his survey of the crowd. Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition. I may as well be invisible.

He lifts his full glass to his mouth and drinks half in one gulp.

I watch him carefully, focusing on the pressure of my fingers pinching the stem of my own champagne glass.

"Excuse me." Lennon raises his hand in the air. He slowly lowers it as the chatter filling the room quietens completely. "My brothers and I would like to extend a deep, heartfelt thank you for coming today." He presses his smooth, full lips together and glances down the line at his brothers. They both nod in agreement.

"As many of you know," Lennon continues, clearing his throat before he swallows deeply. "Our father was anything but shy about the kind of man he was: dedicated, well known, proud, hardworking. I remember when I was a kid no older than three or four, and I was the only Harding brother to exist yet." His mouth curls into a reminiscent smile before fading. A low rumble of laughter filters through the crowd. "My father used to sit me in his office chair, spin me around until I was facing the whole of Boston. He'd wave his arm and tell me the city was mine and anyone else's who was unafraid to leave their mark on it. Well, twenty-five years later, he sure as fuck left his mark on this city. And you being here today is living proof. He was admired by many in this city. His death was sudden and unexpected. He will be missed dearly."

"How exactly did he die?" Roe whispers to Frederick.

He leans back slightly, and half turns his head, keeping his focus on Lennon. "Heart attack."

Roe raises her eyebrows and slowly pulls back.

Lennon lifts his glass in the air and scratches at his jaw. He looks around the crowd again. "To James Harding!" he yells.

"To James," the crowd mimics in unison. Everyone lifts their glasses to their mouths, most drinking it all in one gulp. I lift mine and drink what's left down to the last drop. My cheeks are warm, and my heart is beating faster. When I lower my glass, the two eyes staring directly at me nearly make me choke on my champagne.

The heat in my face radiates. It swells, and fragments of a night I've attempted to forget roll back in my mind like waves crashing onto the shores of Cape Cod.

Forever passes when Lennon finally tears his eyes away from mine. He turns, whispers in Jude's ear, then leaves the room. He doesn't speak another word to anyone else before disappearing around the corner.

"Respectable and loving speech. James would be proud if he'd heard it," Frederick says, turning around. "In fact, I think he'd be proud of his sons and where they're headed in life."

I bite the side of my tongue. Lennon's speech was anything but respectable and loving. I've felt pain and loss before. Losing both my parents years ago. Lennon isn't torn apart by the loss of his father. His face may look saddened, but his words said otherwise.

"You've spent time with them," Frederick says to me. "What do you think about maybe holding a business meeting and seeing if they could swing some clients our way? Maybe you could get close to Lennon and see where we stand. Harding Holdings could steer our dwindling assets in the right direction if they would put in a good name with their connections, and it would be nice if you could get to know him a little more. Think of it as getting in some good and much needed PR."

"I already tried that last year," I mutter. "Didn't work."

"Wouldn't hurt to try again. Could have a better chance with Lennon than you did his father. A deal with the Harding family would give our business the boost and cushion we desperately need."

I don't answer Frederick; the silent pleading in his eyes is too much. Instead, I stare at him with a blank expression. His eyebrows are arched across his aging forehead.

Roe blinks, waiting for my answer. My chest weaves into knots, the expectant pressure building inside. I want to explode. I want to yell at my uncle for, once again, using me as a pawn to further his agenda. I want to scream at him and my sister for always turning to me for answers.

Silence falls between the three of us. I can't think about work. Not when I have my family staring at me expectantly as if I'm somehow the magic key to solving our ever-growing financial problems. The thought of willingly walking up to Lennon and pretending we've never shared more than business pleasantries with one another, or that he's basically a carbon copy of his father, sounds like an insurmountable feat—one I don't want to partake in again.

"I have to use the restroom," I tell them both. I leave and push through the groups of people congregated around us. When I'm sure I'm no longer in their sight, I make a hard left. My heels click across the marble. Sweeping past the cocktail and snack table, I swipe an open bottle of champagne, wrapping my fingers around the neck, and carrying it with me like a life raft.

Emerging from the open French doors, the clicking of my heels stops when they meet soft grass so lush and green, it's perfect. Entirely too perfect. There are rows of tall green trees. Lines of purple flowers dot the yard in clusters. A setting sun has the orange glow sparkling across the water. If I didn't know I was standing on the coast of Massachusetts, I'd think I were somewhere else.

Worried Roe may be following me, I take a swig of champagne and move. After sneaking behind a far row of trees, I follow a cobblestone path. The clicking begins again. I tread carefully. The last thing I need to do is roll my ankle from venturing across uneven stone while tipsy. I follow the path until I come to an opening in the grove. Stone benches sit in front of an old stone brick wall. I'm lifting the bottle to my mouth, once again, when I abruptly stop.

Lennon is leaning against the brick wall. Pinched between two fingers, he holds his cigarette. He inhales a long drag, tilts his head back and blows it harshly between his perfect lips.

I stand frozen in place. My heart races. Unexpectedly seeing Lennon out here isn't the only reason. It's the woman on her knees in front of him. Her black dress is tight around her small frame. The bright red bottom of her stilettos are on full display. Her long, curled, blonde hair sways against her bare back as she jerks her head back and forth. She grips Lennon's cock with one hand, moaning as she slides his length inside her open mouth. Her body shudders when Lennon reaches down with his free hand and grips the back of her head, shoving his cock farther down her throat. She pauses briefly before giving in, letting him take control.

I tighten my grip on the bottle and lift it to my mouth to take a giant swig, hoping it will mask the nausea swimming in my stomach stop. Then my breath is stolen completely when he drops his head back down, and his eyes shoot in my direction. He stares at me with those familiar deep blues. They narrow and study me, heartless and empty. I don't make a move. Every ounce of energy he forces out slams into me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Thirty long, agonizing seconds must pass with nothing but the deep, stomach-churning sound of moaning against Lennon's dick. The corner of his mouth curls. A line creases in the corner, deepening the meaning behind his stare. Crude, daring, and unfeeling. This is the genuine Lennon Harding. His father's twin.

"If you came out here looking for me," he grunts, the sneer on his too-perfect mouth deepening. "You'll have to wait your turn."

My hammering heart screeches to a halt. Staring at Lennon with this much anger and disgust burns. My eyes and my soul. A soul that's been marked far too many times already.

I hate him.

Forcing myself to breathe, I finally gather the strength and spin on my heels.

Tears sting the corner of my eyes as I stomp my way back to the funeral.

I wish my parents were still here, I wish my brother wasn't a fucking asshole, and I wish I knew why Roe suddenly looks distant and tired all the time. Most of all, I wish I could forget Lennon fucking Harding and his cold, black heart.