It’s hardly his mistake. He commissioned a book from a new author and that book, part fictional, part journalistic re-telling of a crime, got too close to the truth for some high up people in the underground crime world. Daddy couldn’t have known the author had put too much detail in the book, and even, of all the sins to commit, so poorly disguised real people.

Now both the author of the expose of how some of the wealthy in London have exploited street gangs, and Daddy, are being threatened. Me too, as of this week.

My fear spikes again. “Daddy, you’re scaring me when you talk this way. If the threat is so significant, what makes you think one man can neutralize it?”

“If he can singlehandedly rescue two hostages and take out the perpetrators without harming the innocent women and children in the compound, I believe he can keep you safe.”

He did what?

Wow.

Okay, that’s heroic.

“He’s a bit scary,” I say softly. “Lots of tattoos… And his knuckles—all scarred.” I shudder, but whether in outright fear or something else entirely, I’m not sure.

“Darling, you’re not marrying him. He’s simply there to protect you. I wouldn’t care if he had his nose pierced.”

I let out a decidedly unladylike snort at that and laugh. Daddy hates nose piercings with a passion, bordering on the unhinged.

The clacking of heels on the parquet floor has me turning. Mummy wafts into the room, all silk and Dior perfume. She’s beautiful in a way I am not. My last serious boyfriend before the cheating douche was so weirdly enthralled with her; it’s why we broke up. Not that Mummy knows as much. She’d be horrified and hurt that she’d inadvertently caused such a thing. Mummy is a darling. A beautiful, spoiled, air-headed sweetheart who knows nothing much of what goes on in the world beyond when the latest Dior couture is dropping, or who the season’s it designer is.

Still, you can’t help but love her because she’s just so kind. She also worships Daddy. They’re a strange pair, but it works. He’s serious, well read, into politics, art, literature, and hunting. Mummy loves saving animals, fashion, beauty, and shopping. He stopped hunting for her, and now only does dummy trails where the foxes aren’t real because of her agony over animal cruelty.

I take after him, and hence most men in my life prefer her. It doesn’t matter that she’s twenty-three years older than me. She’s beautiful, flirtatious, and fun, and men prefer that over serious, prickly, and uptight. The only time I’m fun is when I’m drunk, and then I tend to simply spill over into messy and annoying.