Page 243 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

Her middle brother, Jimmy, nodded. ‘We’re only talking to her. It’s not like we’re in court.’

‘She’s your lawyer. You need to pay attention to what she’s saying. Don’t take any calls. In fact, switch off your phones.’ She put down the magazine, frowning. ‘Maybe I should come too.’

This was the penultimate meeting with the lawyer before they went to the courthouse on Tuesday. Kim Shaw had been a good pick. She was smart, no-nonsense but she had also agreed to being paid in instalments. Which was surprising but also a great relief. Sydney hadn’t asked Tiger to make good on his promise. She had thought about it. Not seeing him in person—just thinking about that had made her want to curl into a ball and howl. But she had considered calling him—and almost immediately decided against it.

What they’d shared might never have been real to Tiger, but she had loved him, utterly and unconditionally and, despite how it had ended, she didn’t regret it. But asking him to get a lawyer for her brothers would take that love and turn it into something ugly and transactional.

‘It’s fine. We’re just signing some paperwork. We’re seeing her again on Monday to go through everything.’ Her youngest brother, Tate, leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Besides, we need you here otherwise we’ll have to shut up shop.’

‘Don’t forget to switch off your phones,’ she called after them. ‘And stop looking so shifty.’ They were looking shifty, she thought as she watched them leave, her heart thudding against her ribs. But she loved them all the same, and it looked as if they were going to avoid jail time, so having her heart broken by a beautiful stranger had been worth it.

Except Tiger wasn’t a stranger to her. Leaving Italy, she had felt bereft, as if she had left her shadow behind.

The journey back to the States was a blur, but somehow she had got to Los Angeles and gone like a homing pigeon to her parents’ house.

This was the second time she had moved back home after her life had imploded. The difference was that then the hurt had had relief in it. Now, though, she felt alone and desperately, desperately sad.

She missed Tiger. All the time that she was awake, she missed him constantly and so intensely that sometimes she would have to press her hand against her chest to push back against the ache there. And at night, she dreamed about him. Hot, frantic dreams where he felt so real that she would wake with a start, expecting to hear his voice, talking to her in that same soft, soothing way that he had after the ball. His arms holding her tightly, his heart beating through her and steadying her.

But it was just her, alone, in the bed she had slept in as a child. And it was there in that bed, alone in the darkness, that she allowed herself to cry.

She hadn’t told her family anything of what had happened with Tiger. She just didn’t have the words. How could she describe that astonishing, life-changingcoup de foudreof meeting a man like him and of finding herself in his golden gaze?

How could she describe the intensity of their dizzying chemistry? Or the rightness of his body against hers? It would sound ridiculous when in fact it was miraculous, transformative, a benediction, an awakening.

Thinking about him hurt so much. Loving him was like having a splinter of ice in her heart. But then she should have known. Tiger’s heart was off-limits. Hopefully, one day, someone would find the key to set him free and let him love as she knew he could and should love. With fire and fervour.

As for her, she had to rebuild her life. Try to live an hour, then a day, then a week and so on.

And she would do it.

Right now, she had shut down Orb Weaver, but it was only temporary. She needed to focus on keeping her brothers out of prison. And as soon as she knew they were safe and free, she was going to go travelling to Europe. To London and Paris and Copenhagen and Barcelona, and then maybe she could think about going back to Italy.

After that? Who knew? Maybe run the business out of some London town house? Or perhaps she would just come back to LA. Right now, she was taking one day at a time.

Speaking of which, she needed to change the battery in the clock. The time had been stuck at half past ten for about three years now.

But where did Connor keep the batteries? She found them in the end, and she took the clock down off the wall and began pushing them into the slot. No, that was wrong. She had put the positives and the negatives back to front.

The door buzzer made her jump, but she didn’t look up. At this time of day, it was probably just the guy from office supplies. She was trying to make the auto repair shop look more professional and less like a hang-out for wannabe gangsters.

‘Be right with you.’

‘In your own time.’

That voice. The air around her froze. Her whole body stilled, even her heart stopped beating. For days now, it had been as if she were wearing an old-fashioned diver’s suit, the kind with the fishbowl helmet, and she’d had to focus hard to work out what the people on the other side of the glass were saying. But his voice had cut through the glass instantly.

She felt a jolt against her ribs as her heart started again and the roar of her own blood spun her round to face him.

No name needed, because ‘him’ could mean only one man.

Tiger was standing in the doorway, his fingers loose around the handle. And the world snapped into focus, so real and sharp it hurt, his beauty blinding her like a searchlight. She stared at him in shock, stunned, devastated.

She must be imagining him. Except she wasn’t.

‘We’re closed.’

He shut the door, and flipped the sign. ‘Yes, you are.’

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