Not only is she beautiful, but she speaks perfect French because both her parents were second generation French immigrants to Brazil, as well as Portuguese and English. She also has a grasp of Italian and German. From a young age, she spoke to me in a variety of languages and as a result I excel at them too.

My brother has Mother’s looks and sadly neither of our parents’ happy dispositions. He’s an unhappy playboy with a raging drug habit and a sex life that would make the Marquis De Sade blush.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket, glancing at it.

Drinks tomorrow night at Zoud’s? On me. I can explain.

It’s my on-again, off-again, and currently off because he had sex with a twenty-two-year-old intern who I thought was my friend, boyfriend. I roll my eyes and don’t even bother to reply. He can get lost. Still, it hurts. My chest pangs, and I try to ignore it. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Pushing everything down.

Trouble is, when you push stuff down, you turn into a volcano, and one day, you’ll blow.

Finally ready, I pick up my overnight bag and head downstairs. I enter the large living room and smile at my parents. “Right, I’ll be off then.”

“Text us when you are safely home,” Mummy says as if I’m traversing a war zone. She blows me a kiss. “See you for Sunday dinner, darling.”

Samuel stands, shakes my father’s hand, and then comes to me and holds his hand out. Stupidly, I offer him mine, and he takes it, shakes it, but then indicates the bag.

Of course. I’m an idiot.

My skin prickles with warmth as I hand him the bag, and our fingers touch for a moment. What’s that all about? This guy is not my type. Not at all. No f’ing way.

I grab my Prada purse, my car keys in the hallway, and attach Brutus’ Hermes lead. I wave at my parents as I head to the front door with my new shadow.

2. Samuel

Chapter 2

Samuel

We hit the pavement, and Carolina walks to the Mercedes she drives, her tiny companion running to keep up with her. While I didn’t lie when I said I would be the only one guarding her, it doesn’t mean I’m the only new employee she has. One of the men I worked with in the past, and trust implicitly, will be her driver. He’s leaning against the car, and as we approach, he stands tall.

Carolina slows her steps and glances at her driver. Simon is smart today, wearing a suit and tie. He smiles at us.

“There’s a man by my car,” Carolina says, voice low.

“Yeah, he’s your new driver.”