One Weekend in London

6. Sadie

Six wordsand I’m knocked speechless.

Acting as a punch to the gut, Lillian’s words knock the wind right out of me. For a moment, I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but stare at the screen in shock.

Vanessa’s pregnant. With Maxwell’s baby.

It’s like a twisted joke, a final knife to the back from the two people who betrayed me in the worst possible way. Tears cascade down my cheeks in hot, angry rivulets. But beneath the pain, beneath the gut-wrenching hurt, there’s something else.

A flicker of determination.

Followed by a spark of defiance.

I latch on to both with everything I have.

As much as Lillian’s revelation hurts, acting as another blow to my already battered heart, it’s also a wake-up call. A sign it’s time to truly let go of the past, once and for all, and to stop letting Maxwell and Vanessa’s treachery define me.

It’s time I start living for myself.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s time I take a chance on something new. Something—or rather someone—exciting and unfamiliar, who, after only one meeting and a handful of minutes, left my heart racing harder than any man ever has.

Rhys.

I swipe at my tears, a watery laugh escaping my lips. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’m so over this.”

I grab a tissue off the desk and finish cleaning my face. Letting the evidence of the hurt they’ve caused stain my cheeks is no longer an option. I’ve cried my last tear over both of them.

“What they did, the pain they caused—I refuse to let it steal another moment from me.”

Papaw, Tasha, and Lillian all stare at me in silent surprise, their eyes wide and filled with unmistakable hope. The tide began to turn when I left Georgia for England, but Vanessa’s pregnancy is the final straw.

Goodbye past. Hello future.

“I’m serious. I’m beyond done letting Maxwell and Vanessa take up space in my head. Just as I’m a whole lot done letting their mistakes and rotten choices dictate my happiness.”

I square my shoulders, a newfound strength surging through me. This revenge-fueled vacation isn’t just about escaping Garrison while doing some damage to Maxwell’s seven-figure, family-funded bank account. It’s about finding myself again. And that’s precisely what I intend to truly start doing.

Now more so than ever.

“This is it. I’m moving on—once and for all.” My smile returns, shaped by coyness and anticipation. “And trust me, I know exactly where, and with whom, to start.”

Without further explanation, I blow my family a kiss before offering a small farewell wave. More than ready to start racing forward versus remaining stuck and spinning my wheels, I quickly say goodbye.

“Toodles, y’all!”

Click.

I end the FaceTime call and stand, stepping around the chair, a giddy laugh escaping my lips over having kicked a hornet’s nest back home. First my mention of Rhys, then my surefire vow to move beyond my past.

Papaw’s probably pacing a hole in his beloved farmhouse’s hardwood floors, ranting to Lillian, while Tasha’s undoubtedly busy preparing a barrage of emoji-filled emails to fire off, demanding details.

But they’ll have to wait.

Because I have newly formed plans.

With my pulse racing, I strip off my favorite sundress, leaving me clad in a silky matching panty-bra set, before tossing it toward the corner, then reaching for my suitcase, which I still haven’t unpacked despite having arrived in London days ago.

For this mission, only one dress will do.

My fingertips are inches away from grabbing my luggage and plucking a specific little formfitting black garment from its confines when the chime of another incoming FaceTime call fills the room.

Now it’s me who rolls my eyes.

I should’ve known Tasha would call right back.

I can just see her, running outside or somewhere private to video call me, thinking I’ll give her the scoop without Lillian and Papaw at her side. Unlike the latter two, she doesn’t have boundaries.

Not to mention, she’s as nosy as can be.

But let’s be real, she gets it honestly.

Turning around, I lean over the wooden chair I vacated seconds before and, once again, answer without bothering to look at the number flashing across the screen.

Click.

“Seriously, Tasha, I told you three I’d call—”

The words die on my tongue when my eyes lock on the prettiest pair I’ve ever seen. Eyes that take me in, heated desire flaring to life in their mesmerizing depths as they linger on my bare shoulders before slowly sliding down to my bra-clad chest.

Oh my God. This can’t be happening!

A whole new panic careens through my veins, crashing through me as the voice in my head screams at me to cover up. With a sheet off the bed, a curtain from the wall, heck anything. But I’m a statue, held captive by the weight of his smoldering stare.

“Rhys?” I choke out, though it takes a Herculean effort. Like the rest of me, my voice is held captive, imprisoned deep in my clogged throat.

A slow, devastating smile spreads across his sinfully gorgeous face, sending my already pounding heart into a wild gallop, each beat feeling as though it might crack a rib—or two.

His gaze dips lower, tracing the curves of my body like a physical caress, igniting a fire in my veins that threatens to send me up in flames, consuming me.

When his eyes finally meet mine again, they’re dark with promise, with a hunger that steals the breath from my lungs.

“Hello, love.” That voice of his—I fear the sound of it’s enough to drop me to my knees without hesitation. The man truly is flat-out dangerous. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything... important.”

The way he says the last word, all husky and full of insinuation, makes me shiver.

I open my mouth to reply, to ask the million and one questions burning my tongue—the most prominent of them being, how did you get my number?—but no words come. I’m utterly trapped in his orbit, my brain short-circuiting under the sheer intensity of his unfaltering focus.

Heaven help me, I’m in trouble.

Big, British, panty-melting trouble.

And I don’t think I want to be saved.