Chapter 2
Alexander
The door ricochets off the wall with a clatter. My head snaps up, and I find Miles, my youngest brother, bent over double and gasping for air.
“I’ll have to call you back,” I tell Jared, my number two for the North American division, before dropping the phone down and rushing over to where Miles is now clinging to the doorframe, hands over his head and stretching out his lungs. “Milo? Are you all right?”
“You . . . now . . . me.” He wheezes, thumbing behind him haphazardly.
“What?”
“We . . . have to . . . go . . .”
“Go where? Why are you so out of breath? Where’ve you come from?”
“Pub—”
My eyes roll, and I exhale deeply. “Miles, I’m not going to the bloody pub. I have work to do. And might I add that, considering you’re so out of breath, perhaps you shouldn’t be going to the pub either. Maybe hit the gym. You’re supposed to be a professional athlete.”
When I turn back to my desk, Miles grabs me by the arm. “No. Al—”
“Miles, I’m not going to the pub.”
My huff should tell him I’m not in the mood for this today. I’m trying to buy a ranch in Aspen that’s recently come up for sale. Except after I put in the offer, everything went quiet, and I want to find out why.
Miles takes a deep breath and stands upright, pinning me with his Burlington blue eyes, the same eyes my siblings and I inherited from our late father. Deep azure and crystal clear.
“Alex, you need to come with me. Something’s happened.”
Immediately, my stomach drops. It’s a subconscious reaction back to the day my father died. Not quite the words, but the expression Miles is wearing—serious and firm—are two traits he very rarely is. Therefore, I pay attention.
“Okay, let’s go.”
We rush outside, and I’m expecting to see his car—a ridiculous red Ferrari—but there’s nothing in the courtyard.
“Where’s your car?”
“At home. I ran.”
“You ran from the pub?”
He nods and checks his watch. “Eight minutes . . . not bad.”
No wonder he was so out of breath. It’s nearly two miles over the fields. I’ve never done it that quickly. “I’m not running back. We’re driving.”
I pull the keys from my pocket only for Miles to snatch them out of my hand. “I’m driving. You move like an old lady.”
I don’t bother to argue because Miles is back in his hyper-speed mode, and he’s started my Range Rover before I’ve jumped in. I don’t even get the chance to buckle my seat belt before he’s accelerated out of the yard and around the corner at a terrifying speed.
“Miles, slow down,” I say. “I’d like to get there in one piece.”
“Calm down, grandma.”
My knuckles are already white by the time we exit the Burlington Estate onto the country lane heading into Valentine Nook.
Miles—much like his driving—runs at a hundred miles an hour, whether that’s on a polo pony, on foot, or behind the wheel.
He doesn’t have another speed, and because of his lightning reflexes, he thinks he’s indestructible.
I, however, like things a little slower. Controlled. Thought out.
Especially driving.
I’m not an old lady, as Miles says, but knowing our father died in a car accident will always be in the back of my mind, no matter how much my brothers take the piss out of me.
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” I ask, gripping the hand rest as he corners a tight bend.
“Not sure exactly. Clemmie’s there now, trying to get the lowdown.”
“Where’s Lando?”
“On the plane heading to LA.”
My entire body twists around, and I forget we’re hurtling along the road. How long was I in my meeting?
“Lando’s going to LA?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. He’s going to get Holiday back.”
“When did this happen?”
“About an hour ago.”
I turn back to the windscreen, squeezing my eyes closed as Miles maneuvers around a tractor, right before the lane narrows even farther and we pass Bluebell Cottage, next door to Miles’s place.
We only have another half a mile before we reach the bridge by the Valentine Nook fountain, and we’ll have made it alive.
“Which pub are we going to?” I ask because there are two in Valentine Nook, situated at opposite ends of High Street.
“One True Love,” he replies, screeching to a halt by the doors.
Miles jumps out, not bothering to wait for me. I’m scrambling to catch up with him, wondering what I’ll find when I walk in. Adrenaline from the drive over floods my veins enough that there’s no room for nerves.
But when I walk through the doors, my stomach drops.
Holy shit.
The woman I’ve thought about every day for the last ten months stands right in front of me.
Am I imagining things?