
THIRTY DAYS

BOOK ONE

Bibi Paterson
The First

I look up and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. With annoyance I rub my panda eyes, cursing that I had not thought to buy waterproof mascara. Typical, I think to myself. The one day I actually took some effort in getting ready for work, everything is undone by a five-minute downpour at the bus stop. I glance down at my watch and realise that if I don't hurry, I am going to miss my opportunity to deliver my packages.

Swiping at my eyes with a tissue, I manage to repair most of the black streaks hurriedly. With that done, I pick up my bags and, glancing around, sneak out of Hudson International's ladies' toilets. Taking a deep breath and summoning as much stealth as I can muster, I hurry down the corridor towards the staff kitchen, grateful to find it empty. Glancing over my shoulder, I quickly unpack my packages onto the counter.

"So you are the diet assassin, then?" The voice startles me, and I almost drop the box that I am holding. I can feel the flush spread up my neck as I spin round to find myself staring into a pair of delicious dark chocolate brown eyes.

"Um, um," I stutter, completely disorientated by the man standing in front of me.

"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me," he replies, helping himself to one of the chocolate cheesecake muffins that I had been placing on the countertop. He takes a bite and lets out a small sigh.

"No good?" I ask tentatively, my heart sinking. I had spent hours the previous evening getting the recipe exactly right, and I thought I had finally nailed it. But obviously not.

"No," he replies, my heart sinking. "Too good," he says with a grin. Unwittingly I find myself grinning back.

"Um, I'd better get these offloaded, then," I reply. I quickly place the remaining few muffins on the counter, pack up my boxes and turn around expecting the mystery man to have taken his muffin and left. But no, he is still leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, grinning at me as he slowly eats the muffin.

"Sorry, have to dash," I mutter, glancing at my watch. "Meeting in ten minutes." I feel completely unnerved by this stranger who I have never seen in the office before. Almost grudgingly he lets me pass, loaded with my empty boxes. As I draw level with him, it feels as if time stands still. The hairs on my neck stand on end as I take in his citrusy smell, the dark eyes crinkling with humour and his lush, full lips that seem to be inviting me to kiss him. I swear I am about to swoon, and that is seriously not a good thing.

"So why do you do it?" he asks in a husky voice, as if he is affected as much by this chance meeting as I am.

I can feel the heat flaming my cheeks as I reply, "I love to bake." I shrug my shoulders as if trying to shake off his gaze and swiftly push past him. I find myself hurrying down the corridor at almost a running pace, and I have to mentally give myself a nudge to slow down. It seems that luck is on my side, and I make it to my desk, where I quickly stow away my boxes in my drawers.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I turn on my computer but find my mind wandering back to the mystery man. I cannot understand why he has affected me so much. It is not even as if he said very much to me. Yet his presence seemed to speak volumes, and I have to admit to myself that at this moment I feel incredibly turned on. At the memory of his lips, I actually feel my heart quicken and my pelvis tighten. Banishing these thoughts, I turn to concentrate on my email, fearing that my tell-tale blush will give me away.

I lose myself in my inbox for several minutes, when I am suddenly brought back to reality by a tapping foot. "Come on, Abby, you are going to be late for the staff meeting, and I hear today's muffins are to die for."

Michelle Harrington-Black sends me an arch look, knowing full well who is responsible for today's cakes, but as my confidante and best friend at Hudson, she has been sworn to secrecy.

.........................

My love for baking started at an early age. Having two parents who were largely absent through my childhood meant I was effectively brought up by various nannies. Some were great, but others were horrendous. What they largely all had in common, though, was that none of them lasted particularly long. I think many took the job on thinking that being nanny to the daughter of two international models would mean plenty of glamorous travel and parties, but the reality was that I was normally left behind in our North London home as mum and dad flitted around the world.

The one constant in my life, however, was my Nonna. It was in her Brighton kitchen that I spent Saturdays learning to cook. First, it was simple things, like scrambled eggs and basic cakes, and then on to harder, more complex dishes where Nonna would encourage me to experiment with flavours and texture. By the age of twelve I could make my own bread and had pretty much taken over from the nannies in the kitchen.

Once I got into my teens and the nannies were given freer rein, it was deemed that I was independent enough to take myself on the train down to Brighton, where I would spend whole weekends with Nonna, lapping up her knowledge of the Italian cuisine she had grown up with.

While Nonna has always encouraged my love of food, my parents have always been less than enthusiastic about it. Food equals calories, and there is no place for those in a jet-setting model's life. For them a stocked fridge is Evian and lettuce.

It doesn't help either that I was a beautiful baby. Seriously, I look back at pictures of myself up to the age of about six and you would be hard-pressed to find a more gorgeous child. I was everything expected of the offspring of Gina Albertelli and Michael James, two of the world's leading models in the '70s and '80s, and my parents positively lapped up the attention. I was on the cover of too many magazines to count, and everyone said I was going to be the next star in the family.

But in that age where milk teeth were lost and school started, something happened and things changed. I got plump and round, my auburn ringlets started to frizz into a carroty mess, my pale freckly skin was no longer in vogue, and that was the end of my child modelling career. And with it the adoration heaped on me by my parents. Don't get me wrong. They have never been cruel or horrible, just, rather, that I no longer fitted into their world and so I wasn't of great interest to them from that point onwards. And therein my love of food grew. Because we all know that food heals the soul, particularly if it comes with a healthy dusting of icing sugar!

Throughout my teens and my years at university, food had been my comfort. But even more than the eating, it is the actual cooking I love. During final exams I could always be found whipping up grand meals for my housemates simply to ease the tension, even if I was so full of nerves I couldn't end up eating what I made. All that measuring and being precise is a balm to a control freak like me.

Which is where my anonymous cake baking has come in. My first week at Hudson after graduating was terrifying. Thrust from the world of academia, I was suddenly being expected to put all that I had learnt into practice. Each night I went home a wreck and did the one thing I knew I was good at...bake.

By the end of the week, I had so much food I didn't know what to do with it, so on the Friday morning I snuck it into the office and left it on the kitchen counter. Not feeling confident enough in my position given that I had been there only a week, I didn't put my name to my goodies.

It was somewhat of a relief to me that day when word spread like wildfire about my cakes. The people in the office loved them. And while they may not have noticed me tucked away in my cubicle, they were all talking about the texture of my coffee sponge with walnut crème and the crispness of my mini pavlovas, not to mention the taste of my chocolate and beetroot brownies!

So what started as a little stress relief became a regular occurrence where I would sneak in goodies and leave them anonymously in the kitchen. Hearing how much people enjoyed my cakes made me feel good inside, even on those days where I felt lonely and unsure of what I was doing. I even earned the nickname 'diet assassin' as no one could resist trying out what I left.

For the last three months, people have been trying to find out who their mystery baker is, and so far the only person who knows is Michelle. She caught me one evening on my way out when I dropped my cake boxes in the lift, and she put two and two together. But she has been sworn to secrecy and I trust her with my life. Plus the extras I send her way certainly help. But now my anonymity is in danger and I am unsure what to do.

.........................

I follow Michelle through to the boardroom, where the staff meeting is being held. This is the first time I have attended one of these meetings as they only happen quarterly, and I am somewhat surprised to see so many people in the room. So many in fact that the partition walls have been slid back from two of the meeting rooms to turn them into one huge space. As we file into the back, I glance around and realise that I definitely did not make enough cakes. But people seem to be happily sharing, so I breathe a sigh of relief.

I am just about to dart off to grab a coffee off the table when a voice catches my attention. There, standing at the front of the room, is my mystery man. All eyes have turned towards him as he welcomes everyone to the meeting.

My heart plummets. This can't be good. I feel the heat starting to rise in my cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I lean over to Michelle's ear and whisper, "Who's that?"

Michelle looks over at me incredulously. "That's Taylor Hudson, you duh-brain. You know, like the owner of the company?"

Oh shit. This is really bad. Not only does he know that I am the 'diet assassin', but I realise that the guy who turned me on so completely fifteen minutes ago is my boss. Well, technically not my boss because Eddy is my line manager, but now we are just about splitting hairs.

I am finding it hard to breathe, and I am sure the temperature in the room has just shot up by ten degrees. Michelle looks at me, curiosity burning in her baby-blue eyes. She may look sweet and innocent with her blonde curls and cute smile, but I know that she can be a shark if she smells blood in the water. And now I am her prey.

I desperately try to focus on what Taylor is telling us about market share and profit dividends in an effort to calm down. Not once has he looked my way, and I start to breathe normally, thinking that I can get through this okay.

"So thanks to all of you for making the effort to come in today, particularly all the sales guys who I know have come in from far and wide," says Taylor. Ah well, that explains all the faces I don't recognise. "And special thanks to our 'diet assassin'," he continues.

Oh my god! My breath catches in my throat, and I actually feel like I am about to throw up. It is all I can do not to bolt out the door, but that would make things too obvious. My eyes are glued to Taylor's face, trying to assess whether he is going to 'out' me. It is then that I notice he is purposely not looking at me.

"Without her, or him—I don't like to gender stereotype here..." Taylor continues with laughter in his voice, "Our Fridays would not be as tasty and we wouldn't get a chance to try such interesting concoctions." Phew. It takes me a moment to realise that I am safe.

"Well, that's about it for today. I have an open door for anyone who needs to see me this morning, so line up, line up," Taylor jokes, putting on a ringmaster's voice. As everyone starts to file out of the room, I glance across to Taylor, and there he is looking directly at me with a smile on his face. Giving me a quick wink, he then picks up some papers and leaves the room.

"What the hell is going on, Abby?" hisses Michelle in my ear.

"Not now," I murmur back. "I'll tell you at lunch." With that, I bolt back to my desk as fast as I can without actually running.

I slide into my chair and reach for my bottle of water with shaking hands. Sexy mystery man is Taylor Hudson, owner of Hudson International. An importer of exotic spices, teas and coffee, Hudson has made a mark supplying celebrity chefs, high-end restaurants, boutique shops and even royalty with unique blends not found elsewhere in the world. A relatively young company, Hudson has been operating for five years and in that time has grown to be a multimillion-pound business employing over 150 staff worldwide. This I know from the corporate literature, but I now realise that I never actually thought about the man behind the company. There are no pictures of Taylor anywhere, not even the website, and I guess I figured he would be older, maybe in his forties. Certainly not the young man I encountered in the kitchen.

I find myself picturing his face. The dark chocolate brown eyes that stared so intently into mine. The gorgeous lips that made me want to stand up on my toes to kiss. The strong jaw. His spiky black hair, just that tiny bit long for the corporate world.

Get a grip, I scold myself. Yet even as I steer myself to start responding to my morning's worth of emails, my hand has a mind of its own, opening Google and typing his name. Milliseconds later, everything I wanted to know about Taylor appears before my eyes.

His biography informs me that he is actually twenty-five years old. Wow, only twenty-five and a millionaire with his own global company. I read about how his gap year and passion for exotic foods inspired him to start his company, Hudson International, with backing from his grandparents. I feel a stab of jealousy for having such supportive family. As I scroll down, I come across images of Taylor with numerous girls, all with one thing in common: flowing silky blonde hair, tiny waistlines and legs that go on forever. In short, gorgeous, everything that is completely the opposite of myself.

Angry at myself for indulging in my cyberstalking, I quickly close down the window, which is just as well as Eddy chooses this moment to walk up to my desk.

"Morning, Abby," Eddy sighs, the bags under his eyes signalling another sleepless night in the Jones household.

"Hey, Eddy," I reply. "Bad night with Sophia, then?"

"Yeah, she pretty well screamed till 1:00 a.m. and then was up again at 4:00. Meg is shattered, and so am I, actually." Eddy rubs his eyes, and I give him a sympathetic smile. A two-month-old baby with colic must be a nightmare.

"Anything I can do? I can go over and watch Sophia for you if you and Meg need a break," I offer. Eddy is a great boss, and I want to do anything I can to repay him for being so kind and helpful when I started three months ago.

"That's so kind, Abby. I will speak to Meg," he answers, a smile lighting his face. "But what I really need help with is a report. I have just been in with Taylor"—at the mention of his name I feel my spine stiffen, and my heart starts to beat a rapid tattoo in my chest—"and he is looking to start sourcing some nut mixes from Costa Rica." Eddy continues talking, oblivious to my inner turmoil. He outlines that Taylor has a last-minute meeting on Monday with Fortnum & Mason and pretty much needs a report on the global nut market as soon as possible.

"Could you give me a hand compiling the basic data today so that I can come in tomorrow to write the report?" Eddy asks.

"Um, aren't you going to Meg's mum's this weekend?" I ask Eddy, remembering Eddy's excitement at organising a surprise birthday night out for Meg. Eddy's face falls as the reality of the situation sinks in.

"Look, I have nothing on this weekend"—nor any other weekend, I think to myself—"I don't mind doing the legwork and pulling the report together and then emailing it to you so you can tweak it. That's if you think I am ready..." I trail off.

"Abby, you are a star." Eddy grins at me. "You are more than capable. If you don't mind, that would be great." With that, Eddy sits down and outlines what he needs me to research and how the report needs to be laid out.

.........................

I love my job, but I never meant to become a data analyst. I always harboured this thought that one day I would open up my own dessert café, but when I had to start making choices about where my career was headed, my parents were quick to step in and quash any thoughts I had on becoming a chef. To them a career in food was up there with porn and accountancy. I am really not sure where they get their ideas from, but given that they held the purse strings, I let them push me into a general degree in business.

While most of my course bored me to tears and I discovered there was no way I wanted to become an accountant, I found that I had a natural aptitude for looking at data and putting meaning to it. I still wanted to pursue my love of food, but I was rational enough to know that wouldn't happen until I had saved enough money up for myself. So when it came to graduation time and I heard that Hudson was looking for a junior analyst, I jumped at the chance. Not only would I be able to do a job that I was vaguely competent at, but I could still be involved in a company in the food industry.

I remember coming into Hudson for my interview and being blown away by their smart offices and all these busy people rushing around in suits. It was so corporate and completely alien to my life so far, but there was also an air of contentment, something I hadn't experienced when walking into some of my other interviews.

Nonna had drummed it into my head that these were as much interviews for the companies themselves as they were for me and that I wasn't to settle for anything less than fantastic. Queue much eye-rolling from me. " _Cara_ ," she said, "you are too bright and too nice to work in a place where you are not happy. Choose somewhere that will feel like home, and then you will look forward to going to work."

So when I walked into the interview room and Eddy smiled at me and shook my hand in welcome, I realised there was nowhere else I would rather work. A tense few days followed whilst waiting to hear about the job, but when I finally got the phone call, I accepted without hesitation.

.........................

I roll my neck and stretch my arms above my head. I have been so immersed in data that five o'clock came and went without my paying much attention. Glancing at my screen, I realise it is already 8:00 p.m., which would explain why it is already dark. My phone buzzes and I glance down at the screen. Michelle. I managed to avoid the Spanish Inquisition at lunch by pleading off due to workload, but I know she won't let it lie. Michelle has a terrier mentality, which means she will sink her teeth into you. It is also why she is so effective as the financial director's personal assistant. With a sigh I pick up, knowing that if I ignore her, she will keep bombarding me with calls until I answer.

"Hey, Chelle," I answer.

"Bloody time too, Abby!" Michelle retorts. "Where are you?"

"Still at work. Got caught up in the data and still have so much to do before I can leave tonight," I respond with a small sigh. "I know you wanted all the gossip, but really, there isn't any."

"I'll be the judge of that." I can practically hear her salivating at the other end of the line.

"Can I take a rain check until Sunday? Meet you at Alfredo's for a coffee before I head off down to Nonna's?" There is silence on the other end of the phone. "Come on...my treat," I wheedle.

"All right, then," Michelle relents. "See you at 9:30 a.m."

"Definitely, with bells on," I reply, hanging up the phone, grateful that I have managed to stall for some extra time. At least this way I can have a chance to think through everything that has happened today with a clear mind.

Realising that I have now completely lost my momentum, I start to pack up my things. I am the only one left in the office bar security. Feeling happy that I at least made decent inroads into my report, I gather up my cake boxes and make my way to the lift. Within moments of pressing the button, the lift arrives, and I hop inside feeling a little giddy due to not having eaten properly all day. The movement of the lift suddenly makes me feel nauseous, and I am not the best with confined spaces anyway. With a start I realise the lift has gone up one floor. I am puzzled as to who would still be here that late, but I guess that if I have deadlines, so must others.

Trying to control the horrible feeling in my stomach by taking deep breaths, I barely notice the doors opening and a man getting in. The smell hits me first. The delectable citrusy scent that had bowled me over earlier in the day.

"Are you okay, Abby?" Taylor asks, concern showing in his eyes.

"Uh, you...you know my name" is all I manage to stammer back. Nice one, Abby. Now he is going to think you are a complete moron.

"Of course. Abigail James, who works for Eddy in the analytics department," he responds. "What? You don't think I know who works in my company?" he queries with an arch of his eyebrow. "Um, seriously, are you okay? You have gone really pale."

The adrenaline coursing through my veins, combined with lack of food, produces spots in front of my eyes, and I feel like I am about to pass out. I am suddenly both very hot and very cold, and my ears start to ring. My hands tremble, and the boxes I am holding tumble to the ground. "Low blood sugar" is about all I am able to mutter when I feel Taylor's arm slip around my waist as he guides me out to the reception area. "Wait here," he murmurs as he deposits me on the couch. "I'll be right back."

Moments later I feel a straw at my lips. "Drink. It's some orange juice," Taylor commands. As I sip the juice slowly, I become more aware of my surroundings, and with that comes the stark realisation of who is crouched in front of me. I flush with embarrassment.

"I am so... sorry," I stutter. "I don't know what happened there."

"When did you last eat?" queries Taylor, a little forcefully.

"Um, I don't know," I respond. "I have been busy. Lots to do, reports to write and all that." I smile meekly at Taylor, unsure of what I am doing.

"Not good enough," he mutters. "Come on, let's get you something proper to eat," Taylor says, helping me to my feet.

"No!" I say a little bit too loudly, my heart beginning to pound again. I don't understand what it is about Taylor's presence that makes me feel so nervous. "Um, sorry...didn't mean to shout," I prattle. "I'll get something at home."

"Don't be silly. My place is just a couple of minutes from here," Taylor responds, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

I look back at him, all of a sudden feeling very unsure of myself. Seeing my response, he chuckles loudly.

"Don't worry. You'll be safe with me," Taylor says. "I don't make it a habit to molest my staff—well, not in their three-month probation period anyway." He delivers this with a deadpan expression, but the twinkle in his eyes reassures me that he is joking. Though given the feelings he is currently stirring in my groin, I am not sure that wouldn't be a bad thing.

"Come on, I don't bite." Taylor motions me back towards the open lift. With a sigh I realise I am actually starving, so I follow him into the open elevator. Taylor reaches forward and presses a button that I have never noticed before. It takes me a couple of moments to realise that instead of going down, the lift has started rising instead.

"What on earth?" I stammer. Taylor just shrugs his broad shoulders with another grin. Before I can say another word, the lift stops and the door opens. I step out into a large atrium. As I look around, dim lights dotted on the wall highlight a large living area off to the left. I can see three large squishy-looking sofas forming a U shape in front of a brick fireplace. The walls, I notice, are stripped back to the original brick of the Victorian fire station that the building once housed. Above the fireplace hangs a flat-screen TV, just about the biggest one I have ever seen in my life.

My eyes follow the room round to an open-plan kitchen and dining area. I gasp internally when I notice the original AGA range built into the kitchen area. I have coveted one of those for years and for some reason feel a strange sense of jealousy at the sight. I can't quite figure out why the lighting is strange until, glancing up, I notice that most of the ceiling is made up of skylights. I gasp audibly. "Wow, the moon looks amazing up there. And what an amazing, um, ambience all the light creates!"

"I know. I had those put in when I had the place renovated for the office."

"You would never know that any of this is up here." I marvel at the rest of the surrounds as Taylor starts pulling things out of the fridge. I can see the floors are original hardwood, with several large rugs in muted earthy tones scattered around. Large old-style radiators hang off the wall at intervals, warming the large open space.

"I planned it that way. I liked the idea of being close to the office but didn't want people to know just how close."

I stifle a small laugh, starting to relax at last in Taylor's presence. "So how do you sneak in and out, then?"

"There's a separate lift at the back, which goes down to the street"—he motions towards a set of double doors in the far corner—"or down into the basement, where I keep my car."

"It's all a bit James Bond," I blurt, my mouth engaging before my brain can intercept.

"Something like that." Taylor gives me a grin as he starts to chop some peppers and onions at the worktop. "Omelette okay for you?"

"Really, you don't have to do this. I can get something on my way home," I say quietly, suddenly feeling shy despite our banter.

Something dark crosses Taylor's eyes, but as swiftly as it was there, it disappears. "Sit down," he commands in bullish tones. I hop up onto the stool on the opposite side of the counter, feeling like a small child. "Yes, sir," I mock salute him, a feeling of petulance welling up in my stomach. "Good girl," he smiles at me.

I watch him in silence as he deftly wields the frying pan over the stovetop. The omelette mix, along with the peppers and onion, is poured into the pan, and it is only moments before a delicious smell wafts across towards me. My stomach growls with anticipation. While the egg is cooking, he crosses back and starts grating a block of cheese. I watch the fluid movements of his hands and fingers, and for a moment my imagination takes over, wondering what it would feel like to have those fingers on my bare skin. I feel a flush creep up my neck as Taylor glances up, catching me in my reverie.

As if he knows what I am thinking, Taylor raises an eyebrow. My blush deepens, and I glance down at my fingers, doing my best to control my erratic breathing. I am beyond turned on, and I find myself squirming in my seat as my pelvic muscles do a little dance.

"Are you okay, Abby?" Taylor asks, forcing me to look at him across the countertop. I am suppressing my desire with every ounce of my self-control. "Yes" is all I manage to whisper as the lump in my throat threatens to constrict my breathing. All I want to do is throw myself at him!

Where on earth have these fierce feelings come from, I muse, watching as Taylor sprinkles cheese and puts the pan under the grill. He turns to take two plates from the shelf, and I get an unobstructed view of his behind. My breath hitches. I. Want. Him. I have never felt this way before, and I don't really understand this absolutely visceral reaction to the man who is standing in front of me. Yes, he is gorgeous, but that alone is not enough to knock me off balance like this. No, there is something in the way he holds himself, the way he moves, that spells 'power', and I feel completely overawed by him.

Before I know it, he is putting a generous slice of omelette on my plate, along with a salad that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. Moving round the counter, he joins me, bringing along a tall glass of juice. The proximity to him means that despite my hunger, I find it difficult to swallow. The omelette is delicious; I simply just do not have the stomach for it.

Within minutes, though, I find myself starting to relax as Taylor engages me with mindless chit-chat, telling me about the origins of the cheese and the spices that he has included. My appetite makes a reappearance, and before I know it, my plate is clear.

"Thank you. That was delicious," I say, beaming back at Taylor's open smile.

"You are very welcome." Glancing at his watch, Taylor starts. "Um, I'd better get you home. It's almost ten o'clock...way past your bedtime, young lady," he jokes.

I find myself blushing furiously as images of him...in bed...with me suddenly cross my mind. Guiltily I look up and find him grinning at me, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. I stand and move to gather up my plate and glass, when he waves dismissingly. "Don't worry about that. I'll sort it when I get back."

"Really, you don't have to worry about taking me home. I'll get the bus. It's no trouble at all."

A dark look crosses Taylor's face. "I am taking you home," he says firmly. "No arguing!"

Nodding my acquiescence, I gather up my bags and follow him across to the private lift. As the doors close and we start our descent, the atmosphere thickens and my heart starts to race as Taylor's citrusy scent invades my senses. I start to feel light-headed again, and it continues as we settle into the confines of his car.

"This is a bit sporty," I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Taylor grins at me, and I find myself melting as I look into his eyes. "Hmm, I always wanted something like this, so when I could finally afford one, I decided to splash out on an Audi R8. I like how it growls."

Taylor clicks on the stereo, and soon the car is filled with the Foo Fighters rocking it out. "Ah, I love Dave Grohl," I sigh.

"Funny, I wouldn't have had you down as a rock chick." Taylor gives me an incredulous look.

"Don't judge a book by its cover. People tend to make decisions about me before I even open my mouth," I bark, embarrassment making me appear harsher than I intended to sound.

"Sorry," Taylor mutters. "That wasn't exactly what I meant. I only meant that you are lacking the black hair, piercings and tattoos that normally go along with girls into rock music."

"Um, sorry, I overreacted," I concede. "I just get so sick of people judging me because of how I look. The downside of growing up in a house of people obsessed with image."

Taylor arches an eyebrow questioningly.

"My mum and dad are pretty famous. They were international models during their twenties and early thirties and now do a lot commercial work." As I continue to explain about my parents and the work they do, I can see comprehension dawning in Taylor's eyes.

We settle into an easy silence, and the journey passes quickly. It is only when we pull up outside my block of flats that the tension starts to ramp up again inside the car. As I scramble to collect up my bags, I don't notice that Taylor has already come round to open my door. His hand pops in to help me out, and as we touch, it feels as if electricity has shot up my arm. I gasp and try to pull away, but Taylor's grip tightens, and I find myself upright, staring into his chest. My world tilts on its axis, and I find myself breathing in short, shallow breaths as I try to steady the rush of arousal that has seared through my body.

I hear, rather than see, Taylor take a deep breath and push himself gently away from me, though he doesn't let my hand go. Tugging gently, he leads me down the path to my door. As we reach the porch, I turn to look at him, not sure what is going on between us. A glance at Taylor's face tells me that he is not sure either.

"Um, thanks for dinner. Um...and for bringing me home," I stutter, looking up into Taylor's eyes. Suddenly Taylor's mouth swoops down and captures mine with a fierceness that surprises me. I surrender as his teeth gently pull at my lip and his tongue invades my mouth. The kiss deepens and I feel his hands exploring my body, cupping the cheeks of my bum and working his way up until his fingers are buried in my hair. I moan into Taylor's mouth, completely aroused. The experience is the most erotic encounter I have ever had.

Abruptly Taylor ends the kiss, pushing me away. Swearing under his breath, he briefly looks into my eyes before turning and stalking back to the car. Within seconds the engine roars to life, and without a backward glance Taylor is gone.

I stand outside the front door, stunned, like a rabbit in the headlights. It takes several minutes before I can move, my subconscious summoning Taylor back with all its will. My heart is pounding and my hands are shaking with the tension I feel coiled in my body. When it is clear he is not coming back, I slowly turn and fit my key in the lock.
The Second

My heart pounds as Taylor kisses my neck, his lips making their way from my earlobe down to the dip in my throat. He glances into my eyes with a wicked look before swooping down and capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. I find myself starting to writhe under his touch as he first laves my sensitive nib with his tongue, the swirling motion causing me to moan as arousal spikes through me.

A hand reaches between my thighs. My breath catches as I feel first one and then two fingers slipping through my bush and exploring my folds until they find my sweet, sweet spot. Slowly Taylor starts mirroring the motion of tongue with his finger, and it is all I can do to grip on to his shoulders as he hovers above me. The warmth in my pelvis spreads and becomes more intense by the minute as both his tongue and fingers continue their relentless assault on my senses.

"Please, Taylor," I beg, "I need you in me."

"In a moment, my sweet," he reassures. Before I have a chance to respond, his mouth finds my nipple and his teeth suddenly bite down hard. I yelp at the unexpected pain, but the corresponding jolt I feel between my thighs leaves me panting for more.

"Hmm, you like this?" he queries, taking my other breast in his hand. He tweaks my nipple hard, and I find myself gasping again, my arousal ramping up again as the pain sparks a riot of pleasure. I groan loudly, not sure I can take much more.

"Urgh," I moan. "Please...I can't take any more."

"Yes, yes, you can," Taylor assures me, simultaneously biting down on my lower lip and plunging his fingers into my wet depths. I come undone, the pressure inside of me from Taylor's fingers tipping me over the edge into a sublime climax.

.........................

I wake from my dream with my hand between my thighs, gasping for breath. Confused, it takes me a few moments to realise what has just happened. I have just had a wet dream. Seriously, I thought this kind of thing only happened to prepubescent boys! And here I am, having masturbated for the first time in my life, and it was in my sleep. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself and realise my alarm is ringing shrilly in my ear. With a sense of irritation of having been interrupted, I slam my hand on the snooze button and make an effort to stand on my shaky legs.

I heave myself into the shower, all the while giving myself a stern lecture to get myself together. The warm water finally calms the tension radiating through my body, and it is with great reluctance that I finally climb out when my alarms goes off again. I dress quickly in my favourite dark-navy jeans and an emerald-green chunky knit cardigan that I found in a charity shop in Brighton during one of my visits with Nonna. She always says that the colour suits me, bringing out the jade in my eyes, and I have to admit that my dream has definitely brought some colour to my cheeks, giving me a glow that I don't normally have. The weather looks decidedly grey outside, so I add a scarf and hat to my 'Paddington Bear' duffel coat before making my way down the road to catch the bus to the office.

I find myself remembering my dream in glorious Technicolor several times, squirming in my seat as arousal sparks through me once again. I find that I have to berate myself and eventually I plug myself into my music player in an effort to drown out my disturbing thoughts.

As I round the corner with my bagel and latte in hand, I find my heart beating a rapid crescendo as I near the office. Please don't let him be in. Please don't let him be in. My desperate mantra accompanies me through security, up the lift and across to my desk. Despite the relief at not running into Taylor, I can't help but acknowledge the stab of disappointment that has seared through me.

The morning passes in a blur of data, and by the time my stomach starts to signal that it is time for lunch, I feel that I have made good headway with Eddy's report. A couple of more hours is all I need and then I can head on home. I make my way to the kitchen to grab a drink and heat up the soup I have brought with me. I am just pulling back from the fridge when I suddenly become aware of a presence behind me. I gasp and whirl round with fright.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," Taylor says with a lazy smile.

"Bloody hell! You shouldn't sneak up on people," I retort, my blood pumping through my veins.

"Um, I didn't know anyone was in. I was out of milk upstairs and popped down to grab some. If anything, you shouldn't hide in the fridge and jump out at unsuspecting people."

"Oh, hardy ha. You nearly gave me a heart attack." My indignation starts to melt as his unique scent catches me. Without warning the images from my dream coming flooding back, and I feel the heat rise up my neck and my cheeks flush pink.

The tension becomes palpable in the small area, and once again I feel the electricity surging through my veins as I look into Taylor's deep-brown eyes.

"Look, sorry about the way I left you last night." Taylor's apology comes out of left field, the kiss having been eclipsed by my dream. I can feel the blush deepen across my cheeks, and I curse my colouring for always making it so easy to read my emotions. My breath hitches as Taylor takes a step towards me so that our hips are almost touching and I am forced to look up to read his expression.

With agonising slowness, Taylor reaches up to caress my face. "I don't know what it is about you, Abby, but I can't seem to think clearly when I am round you. All my control just...just disappears." With that, his grip tightens on the back of my head, bringing my lips up to his. As the kiss deepens and his tongue begins to explore my mouth with passion, I find myself being pushed against the counter.

Taylor's body melds to mine, and I can feel his erection digging into my hip. Letting go, I wind my hands up over his shoulders and into Taylor's silky hair. Arousal courses through my body, and unconsciously I find myself grinding my hips against him. With a moan, Taylor lifts me onto the countertop, pulling my legs up and wrapping them around his waist. Slipping a hand into my cardigan, he starts to massage first one breast and then the other.

"Perfect," whispers Taylor, almost in reverence. My body aches and my nipples peak into hard nubs begging for attention. As Taylor tweaks one through my bra, I gasp as sensation floods my pelvis. Panting, I gasp, "More!"

"Ah, fuck!" Taylor exclaims, pushing himself away, the sudden movement catching me unawares.

"Sorry, Abby, I shouldn't be doing this." Taylor's voice is unexpectedly harsh, and I feel like I have been slapped in the face.

"Um, okay," I whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

"Aw shit, Abby. Don't look at me like I just shot Bambi. I am your boss. This is completely inappropriate." Taylor shifts his weight back on his heels and pushes his hands through his hair in agitation.

I don't know how to respond, so feeling utterly rejected, I walk away back to my desk. I have barely walked a couple of metres when Taylor grabs my arm and pulls me into his chest in a firm embrace.

"It's not you. It's me, Abby. It's...complicated," he murmurs.

"Ah, that old chestnut," I reply. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, knowing that I am on the brink of tears. With an unexpected gentleness, Taylor moves back, placing a kiss on my forehead. Slowly I turn and walk away. When I glance around a few moments later, Taylor has disappeared.

With a curse I feel the tears start to make their way down my face. I try to wipe them away with angry swipes, but still they continue to fall. Frustrated and hurt, I throw myself back into my work, mindless that I still haven't eaten, in an effort to push aside my misery.

At last I am able to hit Send on the report to Eddy. Despite everything that has gone on with Taylor, I feel a sense of accomplishment at the work that I have done. As I pack away my computer and tidy my desk, I realise that I am hungry. Vowing to treat myself on the way home to something hideously calorific, I head out the door.
The Third

As I push my way into Alfredo's at nine thirty on the dot, I mentally prepare myself for the Spanish Inquisition. For once Michelle is already there ahead of me, waiting with two steaming lattes and the biggest cinnamon bun I have ever seen.

"Oh my god," she sighs with a mouthful of crumbs. "You so have to try this."

"Mmm, looks scrumptious." I eye the bun with delight, feeling ready to get everything off my chest. I settle down in my seat, breaking off a piece of the bun, and take a sip of my coffee.

"Come on, then. Spill the beans, Abby. I can't believe you have made me wait this long!"

"Um, well, okay..." I stammer, suddenly feeling rather shy about everything that has gone on over the last couple of days. I start off describing the event in the kitchen and work my way through until our encounter last night, omitting my dream as I don't think I am ready to share that with anyone!

"Bloody hell, Abs, you are a dark horse." Michelle gives me the once-over, scrutinising me over her designer glasses, making me feel like one of those science experiments at school.

"Not really," I mumble. "It just kind of happened. But that's it, nothing more. Taylor has made that abundantly clear."

"It doesn't really sound like that, hon. From what you have told me, it sounds like he wants you as much as you want him. But I can see his point. He's your boss and that could make things really complicated."

"I know. I have just never experienced anything like this before."

"Ah, sweetie, I am hardly the expert," Michelle says drolly.

I snort into my coffee. "Come on, Chelle, you are always being wined and dined." Michelle is twenty-five and drop-dead gorgeous. It also helps that she comes from minor aristocracy so spends her weekends with people called Alistair and Kiki. She never has a shortage of gorgeous, available, well-bred men whisking her off to the opera in Covent Garden or taking her away for minibreaks in the Cotswolds.

"You might be right, but I couldn't say that I have ever met a guy whose clothes I have wanted to rip off without even knowing his name. Even Jeremy was a bit of a slow burner." Jeremy Renner. The love of Michelle's life between the age of eighteen and twenty-two. Jeremy, who died when some idiot got into a car drunk and decided it was a good idea to drive the two miles home from the pub. Even saying his name causes tears to well up in Michelle's eyes. "Dammit, you would think I might start getting over this...It's been three bloody years already!"

I pat Michelle's hand because I know this is as much as I can do to comfort her. Her pain is still so raw that I think she plays the field to try and forget, and I feel bad that I have brought this up for her. She takes a steadying breath and plasters on a fake smile.

"So what are we going to do to make you forget about Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome Bossman?" Michelle jokes with a weak laugh.

"I don't know," I say with a sigh. I just can't seem to get Taylor out of my head. Each time I replay the scene in my head, it makes me feel even more down. I glance up at the clock and realise with all our chatting time has flown by and if I don't get a move on I will miss my train.

"Hon, I have gotta dash. Nonna will kill me if I am late...It's chicken parma today."

"No worries, Abs. You can't be late for chicken parma." Michelle has eaten several times with us and knows just how amazing Nonna's cooking is. "You take care and I'll see you in the office tomorrow." I give her a big squeeze and head off down the road to grab a bus to the train station.

.........................

As the bus trundles towards King's Cross St Pancras, I plug my earphones in and blast out some rock music to try and drown my thoughts, and I focus my energies by making up stories in my head about the people around me. I manage to keep this up all the way down to Brighton on the train and on the short bus ride to Nonna's house. Before I know it, I am standing outside her door without any clear memory of the mechanics of my actual journey.

"Nonna!" I call out to my grandmother as I walk through the unlocked front door of her basement flat. Nonna hurries out of the kitchen to greet me in her normal bustling way that I find comforting. The last couple of days have turned my world upside down, so being here, in the home that has defined my childhood, fills me with a sense of peace.

" _Bella_ Abigail. My darling, let me look at you." Nonna hugs me tightly, then holds me at arm's-length, scrutinising me in a way that seems to look through to my soul. "You have lost weight, darling. They are working you far too hard up there in the Big Smoke."

"Nonsense, Nonna. I am exactly the same as last week. You are just being dramatic!" I hand Nonna a bunch of vibrant orange gerbera that I managed to find at the station and follow her through to the kitchen, my nose picking up the delicious aromas of our lunch.

"Ah, well, it's my Italian heritage. Do you expect me to be anything else?" I chuckle at our long-standing joke, and we start chatting about everything we have both been up to during the week. The normalcy of our everyday chat and the environment soothe me, and soon I almost feel like the last couple of days have not happened, or at least they happened to someone else.

"So, Abigail, any sign of a nice young man, then, on the horizon?" Nonna queries, as she does every visit. I can feel the heat rising at the direct question, and given that I have never lied to Nonna before, I don't think I can now.

"Oh, Nonna..." I sigh. "There is someone, but it won't work out."

"Stuff and nonsense!" Nonna retorts.

"Well, he is my boss—well, my boss's boss, and so there is no chance of anything happening. He kissed me when he dropped me home, but then he rejected me when we kissed again..." I am aware that I am rambling incoherently, but I just can't seem to get a grasp on what I want to say. Nonna looks at me with her normal serene expression, waiting for me to continue.

"Um, need the loo," I mumble and dash off to the bathroom before Nonna can say a word. I sit on the edge of the bath, trying to calm my rapid thoughts down, when I am suddenly interrupted by a loud crashing noise. With a start, I head back to the kitchen, calling Nonna's name. When I don't get a response, a prickle of fear slides down my spine, and I break into a run down the corridor.

I arrive in the kitchen, and it is as if the air has been sucked out of the room as I look at Nonna lying prone on the floor. I drop to my knees, calling out her name, desperately trying to feel for a pulse, a heartbeat, anything. My hands shaking, instinct drives me to the telephone, and I find myself talking to an emergency dispatcher, who calmly takes my details and assures me that help is on the way. I feel useless as I sit on the floor beside Nonna. As the dispatcher calmly carries on talking in my ear, asking questions, I do my best to answer while at the same time straining to hear the sound of the ambulance arriving.

The clock ticks loudly, and inwardly I am urging the ambulance to go faster, faster. It feels like a lifetime, but in reality only minutes have gone by when the doorbell rings. I run to the door, throwing it open and ushering the ambulance crew through to the kitchen. I stand back to give them access to Nonna, all the while offering up a silent prayer that she is going to be okay. As they work on her still and lifeless body, I am distracted by food simmering on the hob and the cracked dish of chicken parma on the floor. As if I am an automaton, I turn the hob off and start cleaning up the floor, knowing that Nonna would be devastated if she knew people were seeing her normally pristine kitchen in such a state.

"Honey," says the female paramedic who has been attending to Nonna. I start and turn my attention to her. "Honey, I am afraid she is gone." The air whooshes out of my lungs, and it is all I can do not to collapse on the floor. I realise I am holding on to the edge of the counter so tightly that my fingers have gone numb. Distractedly I hear the male paramedic talking into the radio, but I can't seem to grasp the words. The female paramedic puts her arm around me and steers me out of the room and into the hallway.

"Okay, honey, we are going to have to take your...your grandmother?" she queries with a tilt of her head. I nod in acquiescence. "Okay, we have to take your grandmother to the hospital."

"Why?" I interrupt, my head clouding with too many thoughts to handle.

"There is paperwork and things that need to be done," the paramedic continues to explain kindly. "Is there someone we can call for you?"

"Um, I need to call my parents. They aren't in the country at the moment." Each word seems to take gargantuan effort.

I hear a rattle and turn to see Nonna on a trolley, a sheet covering her like in the movies, as they take her out to the ambulance. "Oh my god. She really is dead, isn't she?"

"I am afraid so, honey. Can I call anyone to be with you right now?" The paramedic hands me a tissue, and it is only then that I realise that the tears are pouring down my face. I shake my head and attempt a smile but fail miserably. The kindly paramedic squeezes my hand and reiterates the instructions for what needs to be done. Then almost as quickly as they arrived, they are gone.

The silence is deafening. All at once bile rises in my throat, and I have to run for the bathroom before I am sick. I dry-heave for several minutes before I am able to get my emotions under some form of control. Shaking, I make my way to the kitchen to retrieve my phone. It takes several attempts before I am able to dial the number for my parents.

The dial tone grates in the oppressive silence. My father answers with a cheerful "Hello?" and it is all I can do to whisper, "Daddy," before I break down into tears. Through the sobs, I manage to convey what has happened. As always he is the calm in the middle of the storm, and my breathing slows and I am able to answer his questions. I can tell that my mother is not with him as his focus is totally on me.

"Okay, sweetie. Mum and I will get the next flight back. The flight is only a few hours, so at the latest we will be back in the morning. Will you be okay until then?"

I fight the rising bile down. "I don't think I can stay here, Dad. I have to go back up to London. Can I meet you there?"

"Of course, honey. Look, here comes your mum. Let me talk to her and I will text you the details of our flight, okay?"

"Thanks, Dad," I reply, grateful that I am not going to have to deal with this on my own. We sign off, and I am glad it is my dad I spoke to rather than my mum. If I am a mess, I know she is going to be ten times worse when she hears the news. I make my way to the kitchen and tidy up, making sure everything is up to Nonna's standards before gathering up my bag. As I look around, all I can see is Nonna lying on the floor, and I know that is not an image I will forget in a hurry.

.........................

I am halfway back to London when the ringing of my phone breaks me out of my reverie. I am surprised to see it is Eddy, so I force a smile into my voice as I answer the phone.

"Abby, thank heavens I got hold of you!" Eddy exclaims. I can hear wailing in the background.

"Look, I am really sorry to ask you this, but is there any chance you could get back into the office today?"

"Sure," I reply. "What do you need?"

"Shit, sorry about this, Abby. Taylor loved the report, but he has asked for a couple of more figures, and as you can hear in the background, things are not going to plan at my end." Lowering his voice to a whisper, Eddy continues, "Meg is at her wits' end, and I can't leave her to cope with this on her own."

"Sure, Eddy. I am just on the train and can be in the office in an hour." I glance at my watch and am startled to realise it is already four o'clock. "Do you want me to call you when I get there and we can have a quick chat about what is required?"

"You are a star, Abby. Talk to you shortly." I sigh as I lean back in my seat. I am not in the mood to go into the office, but at least it is a distraction so that I don't have to think about everything that has happened today.

Before I know it, I am walking through security, making inane jokes about living at the office. I grab a coffee from the kitchen and am suddenly assaulted by the memories of yesterday's kiss. I hurry back to my desk and pick up the phone, dialling Eddy, all the while trying to blot out the emotions that are building up in me. Eddy explains what he needs, and I estimate that it is only a couple of hours' work. Perfect, I think to myself. Get the work done and then go to bed and forget today ever happened.

In the end it is after nine when I finally shut down my computer, stretching my arms above my head and attempting to work the kinks out of my neck. Checking my phone, I see a message from my dad:

_Mum in a state. Flight's booked into Gatwick for 11 a.m. Hope you're okay. Dad x_

Succinct as always. I manage to raise a wry smile and text back that I will meet them there. I make my way down into reception and out the front door. I wrap my scarf round my neck and start toward the bus stop when I suddenly stop in my tracks, realising that I don't want to go home. Instead, I change tack and head across the road to the Grey Goose, the pub of choice of Hudson employees. I am pretty sure no one will be here on a Sunday evening, but I take care when entering to check out the other patrons. Relieved there is no one I recognise, I head to the bar.

"Hey, Abby," says Jackson, the owner of the pub, who seems always be here. "What can I get you?"

"Hey, Jackson. Can I have a vodka and lemonade, please? Actually, make that a double, please."

"Rough day?" Jackson asks.

"Something like that," I reply, anxious to find a seat and blend into the crowd. I pay and manage to find a seat in one of the back booths. Of all the pubs I have visited in London, the Grey Goose is my favourite. It manages to balance Old World charm in its fixtures and fittings with great food and service. And there is always a nice crowd in, which I think is largely down to Jackson's influence. But tonight I am only concentrating on hiding out.

My drink slides down quickly, and it slowly starts to take the edge off my increasingly spiky thoughts. I order another double, and the world starts to take on a palatable glow. Time seems to slow down as I make my way back to the bar for another.

"Um, maybe just a single this time, hey, Abby?" Jackson queries, a look of concern on his face. "And maybe a glass of water?"

I consider getting angry, but then somehow common sense tells me to go with the flow. "Sure, Jackson, whatever you say." I beam back at him. My legs are a little wobbly as I head back to the table. I curse the uneven floor, and a little of my drink spills. "Oops!" I say out loud, not sure who I am talking to.

I find my seat and sip my vodka slowly, ignoring my water. My vision starts to get hazy, and I think I start to hallucinate as I look up and find myself staring at Taylor. I blink several times to clear the image, but it stubbornly refuses to shift. "Going bloody crazy," I mumble to myself. My Taylor vision shifts from foot to foot and then slides into the booth opposite me.

"Abby, are you okay?" my vision asks.

"Stupid, drunk Abby, seeing things," I mutter.

"Abby, seriously, are you okay?"

"Humph. Fine, thank you, Taylor vision," I reply, wondering why my hallucination is talking to me. I stare up into his eyes. "Taylor has such nice eyes, like chocolate. Hmmm, don't tell real Taylor I said that. He doesn't like me," I say sadly, shaking my head. "Not at all."

"Okay, Abby, I think it is time we took you home." Gently Taylor tugs my hand as he slides out of the booth. He helps me to my feet, wrapping my scarf round my neck. The world starts to spin, and suddenly I start to feel sick. The last thing I hear before everything goes black is Taylor's muttered "Fuck!"
The Fourth

Muted light streams onto my face as I slowly become conscious. Images from last night start to flit through my head, and I start to sort through them one at a time, piecing together my journey from work to the pub to...shit. I slowly open one eye and then the other, knowing by the citrus scent around me that I am not at home in my own bed. Gingerly I move my head, waiting for the full impact of my hangover to hit. My head aches, but my stomach feels okay, so I prop myself up onto my elbows, taking in my surroundings. The exposed brick walls and the skylights confirm my worst fears...I am in Taylor's bed.

I look around for him, straining my ears for the smallest sound, but there is nothing. I suddenly realise that while I am still in my top and pants, my jeans are missing. I push back the squishy duvet and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet sinking into the plush cream carpet. My stomach rolls, but I maintain control of the motion. It is only then that I notice my jeans hanging over the chair neatly along with my coat and scarf and with shoes underneath. I scurry over and start pulling everything on with haste, half expecting Taylor to come through the door at any moment. My bag is sitting on the table beside the bed, and I dig through it, trying to retrieve my phone.

Glancing at the time, I realise that if I don't get a move on, I am going to be late meeting my parents at the airport. I suddenly realise I need to pee, and I glance around, trying to locate a bathroom. In the corner I notice a sliding door, and as I investigate further, it opens into the biggest en-suite I have ever seen. The room is at least the size of the bedroom and is dominated by a free-standing egg bath in the centre of the room, just like the ones I have coveted in those expensive interior design magazines. In one corner a large shower cubicle hosts a large rainforest shower with a multitude of jets and even a bench for sitting on, while a large cabinet and sink sit in the other corner. The décor is neutral, echoing the colours of the bedroom, but as the sun shifts from behind some clouds in the sky, the light through the skylights creates shadows and accents, changing the feel completely.

I quickly use the toilet, and when I wash my hands, the familiar scent of Taylor tickles my senses. I return to the bedroom, and it is only then that I fully take in the fact that both sides of the bed are rumpled, which I can only suppose means that Taylor slept in there too. My heart lurches at the thought, and despite my pounding head and rolling stomach, I suddenly feel a rush of warmth in my pelvis. I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts flooding through, hurriedly make the bed and make my way out the bedroom door. I find myself in a short corridor that leads into the main living area. Parched, I make my way to the kitchen to grab some water when I spy a glass of chilled juice and a bottle of headache tablets sitting on the counter with a note:

_Morning, Abby!_

_Hope the hangover is not too hairy this morning. Take these with the juice and you should feel a whole lot better._

_Taylor_

_P.S. You talk in your sleep._

Oh. My. God. What the hell did I say? I am mortified, but at least there is the relief that Taylor is not here in person. I quickly take a couple of the tablets and down the juice in one long gulp. It is delicious, and almost immediately I start to feel better. Another glance at my phone tells me that nine o'clock is fast approaching, and I realise I need to get out of here before my work colleagues start arriving. I quickly gather up my bag and coat, and head for Taylor's private lift, offering up a silent prayer that no one will be about. It takes me a minute to remember that Taylor is at his meeting, presenting my report, and I feel terrible that he had to look after me in such a state. As for the reason I got myself into that state, well, I am desperately trying to block that part out.

It seems that Lady Luck is on my side as I manage to escape the building unscathed. Rounding the corner, I quickly dial Eddy to explain the situation to him. The kind boss that he is, he is mortified when he realises that despite everything, I still came into the office to do the work he asked for. Eddy insists I take the whole week off, but I know I'll go stir-crazy at home, so we reach a compromise of a couple of days.

Realising that I am doing okay for time, I head back to my flat for a quick shower and change of clothes as I can smell the booze and the dreadful aroma of old washing on me. I am just drying my hair and twisting it up when my phone rings, stirring me out of my depressing thoughts. I don't recognise the number, so I let it go to voicemail with a view to checking once I get out the door. Finally dressed, I chuck my horrible clothes in the washing pile and head out in search of a bacon sandwich and caffeine, the ultimate hangover cure, and make my way to the station once more.

.........................

I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly. In through the nose and out through the mouth. I continue this mantra, fighting to control the rising bile as I stand in Nonna's kitchen, the image of her lying prone on the floor stark in my consciousness. I can hear my mum crying in the living room, something she has pretty much done since meeting at the airport. My dad is offering soft words of support. And I am just standing here, wondering why this happened and why I didn't do anything to prevent it. Maybe if I had done resuscitation like they do on TV, I could have saved her before the paramedics arrived. All I know, she is dead and I did nothing to save her. The guilt is eating me up inside.

I hear a phone ring, and my dad is talking softly to the person on the other end. At least, my mum has stopped sobbing, and a few words float through to me: aneurysm, previous history, unpreventable. I don't really understand what any of this means, so I carry on trying to breathe, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

Having not heard anyone approach, I start as I realise there is a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes, and my dad is standing in front of me, looking at me with sad grey eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart, come here." He envelops me in a big hug and slowly explains the coroner's findings. That Nonna had known that she had an aneurysm in her brain, that the doctors had decided not to operate due to its location, that it was a ticking time bomb in her head.

"But I couldn't save her!" I wail.

"Sweetheart, you could never have saved her. She was dead before she hit the ground." Dad's words bring me little comfort, and despite the radiator warming the room, I continue to shiver. My mum comes into the room, and I can see that she has made an effort to pull herself together.

"Right," she says, trying to inject some brightness into her voice. "Next step, funeral. Now, Nonna would have hated us moping and weeping, so it is up to us to give her the send-off she deserves." I know Mum is right. Nonna was the most cheerful, content person I have ever known. She would have hated the thought of us standing here in tears.

As Mum starts prattling away about flowers and food, she starts looking through the kitchen drawer where Nonna kept all her important documents. It is such a random place, and I was always trying to convince Nonna to get a little filing cabinet or something. Well, it was too late now. I brush away a few stray tears as I watch Mum pull out a document holder.

"Got it!" she exclaims. "I knew Nonna would be too stubborn to let us sort this out ourselves." In her hand she is holding out a brochure for a funeral home, and inside is what looks like documentation for her funeral. "Typical Mamma, she's chosen everything, even the music!" With her usual efficiency Mum is off to ring the funeral directors before anyone can get in a word edgeways. Feeling useless, I motion to my father that I am going to go for a walk to the beach. He nods, knowing that while he and my mum are gregarious and love being round people, I am essentially a loner and need some time to process.

The sea breeze whips my hair into a frenzy matching the swirl of thoughts in my head. I am swamped by the sadness I am feeling, so I walk and walk, trying ineffectively to calm my chaotic emotions. I am only gone half an hour, but by the time I enter Nonna's front door, it would seem that everything is in hand and the funeral is set for Friday.

With nothing left to do, it is agreed that I will head back to London and return on Thursday evening. My parents have to catch the next flight back out to Spain to finish off the filming for the commercial that they were in the middle of when I called. So we say our goodbyes and head our separate ways. To say I feel alone and a little lost is somewhat of an understatement.
The Fifth

I wake with a start, sweat dripping and tears rolling down my face. I struggle to catch my breath as I try to dispel the overwhelming urge to bury my head back into my pillow and sob my heart out. I didn't think I had this much water in me, but it would appear the faucets have been opened and nothing will stop the tears from leaking out.

Sleep did not come easy. Whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was Nonna lying there dead. I am unsure as to what time I eventually fell asleep, but my dreams meant that I spent a restless night tossing and turning.

A glance at the clock tells me that, despite the darkness, morning is here and it is time to get up. I shower and dress, my choice of clothing reflecting my dark mood and matching the dark circles under my eyes. I try to choke down a slice of toast, but my appetite has deserted me. I fill my travel mug with coffee and head out to the bus stop, knowing that I am still too early for work but not wanting to stay in my tiny, claustrophobic flat a moment longer.

By some miracle, it would seem that London's public transport system is running like clockwork, so instead of my normal forty-five minutes of commuter hell, I am delivered to the office by eight o'clock. The office is still in semi-darkness as I make my way quietly to my desk, and I am grateful to have some time to lose myself in my emails and the reports waiting for my attention.

As the office fills, I am greeted with quiet condolences and a few hugs, which bring tears to my eyes; I wasn't aware that half these people even knew I existed. Eddy admonishes me, telling me to take more time. But the understanding in his eyes when I explain that I just don't want to be at home by myself makes me feel a little better.

"You didn't return my call." Taylors voice startles me from the figures I have been engrossed in. I look up at him without comprehension.

"Sorry?"

"I left you a voicemail yesterday. You didn't return my call." He drops his voice lower so that no one can hear him. "I wanted to make sure you were okay after...well, after Sunday night, and of course Eddy told me about your grandmother." Taylor looks at me expectantly, and I struggle to find my voice.

"I'm fine," I say, trying to inject some life into my expression. "Thanks for looking after me. I hope I didn't puke on you or anything."

"You are a very well-behaved drunk, Abby, nothing I couldn't handle."

A thought crosses my mind, and I suddenly feel my cheeks heating up. "Um, we didn't, um, do anything, did we?" I can hear the desperation in my voice and feel completely mortified. "Only it looked like you slept with me..."

"Rest assured I don't take advantage of my employees when they are passed out drunk in my bed, even if I don't seem to be able to control my behaviour around you when you are awake." Taylor's face remains unreadable, and I am not sure how to take this. His tone of voice gives nothing away. As if he is suddenly aware of my vulnerability, he softens his expression and continues, "I had you in the recovery position and wanted to make sure you weren't ill. Longest damn night of my life."

Embarrassed, it is all I can do to whisper a muted "Thank you."

"It's nothing. But are you sure you should be here? Don't you want to be with your family?"

"Nonna was pretty much my whole family. My mum and dad are in Spain, filming, and won't be back until Friday, when the funeral is. Um, is it okay to take the day as holiday?" I am suddenly unsure what the protocol for this is.

"Don't be daft. Just take the day." Taylor offers a reassuring smile. "Now, are you sure you want to be here?" he questions again.

"I just need to work, Taylor." I give him a shaky smile, and I know Taylor is not convinced, but he seems ready to let it go.

"But if it gets too much, make sure you take some time, okay?" Taylor leans across my desk and squeezes my hand. The gesture is not at all romantic, but the heat generated from the small touch sends tingles through me. I know he feels it too as he whips his hand back and stalks off without a word and with a very neutral face.

The morning passes in a blur, and it is only when Michelle is standing in front of me, holding out a sandwich, that I realise it is lunchtime.

"I got you this, sweetie. Didn't think you would be up for the lunchtime bun fight."

"Thanks, hon. You are a star."

Michelle pulls over a spare chair, sits down and hands me a drink. We sit in silence for a few minutes, chewing on our respective sandwiches. My throat feels tight and I struggle to swallow. Eventually, I give up and put the sandwich down with a sigh.

"You have to eat, Abs. You look dreadful!" Tactful as ever, Michelle knows how to get straight to the heart of the matter. "Your Nonna would be seriously pissed if she saw you like this!"

I raise a weak smile. "I know."

"Can I do anything?"

I shake my head. "Thanks for the offer, hon, but Mum and Dad have everything sorted for Friday. I just have to write my eulogy. Nonna pretty much planned it all before she died. I think that because she knew it was coming, she got it all sorted so it would be exactly how she wanted it."

We return to a comfortable silence, and I am grateful to have such an amazing friend. Michelle finishes off her lunch and tidies away. "Try and eat something later for me, okay?"

"I'll try," I reassure her, knowing that however tempting my favourite chicken-and-avocado sandwich looks, there is no way I am going to be able to force it past the giant lump in my throat. Michelle gives me a quick hug and then heads back to her desk upstairs, leaving me to my thoughts.

As much as I try to bury myself in my work, my mind keeps coming back to the eulogy I have promised to write. I want to do Nonna and my mum proud, but I am just not sure where to begin. I try several attempts but each one seems weak, and I realise I am hardly full of inspiration, so I hit Delete and go back to completing a report that I could do in my sleep. With a determined effort I lose myself, and the next time I glance at the clock, it is eight in the evening and it is dark outside. I seem to be making a habit of this, so the security guard says nothing about it when I wish him a good evening on my way out.

The silence of my flat is uncomfortable, so I turn on some music and do the one thing guaranteed to soothe my ravaged soul: I bake. The hours fly by as I whip up cakes, biscuits, tart after tart and chocolate éclairs, all in the confines of my tiny attic studio. When at last there is literally no room for anything to cool, I stop. I realise I haven't eaten properly as I nibble on a chocolate-chip hazelnut cookie, but I no longer have the energy to do anything but turn the light out and lie down fully clothed on my futon. I pull the quilt that Nonna made for me over my head and succumb to the tears that have been threatening all day. When at last I am spent, I fall into a fractured sleep full of dreams of rotting corpses.
The Sixth & Seventh

Works just about gets me through the waking hours, though I know I am starting to behave like a zombie through lack of sleep. My parents phone each evening to check if I am okay, and I try to force a cheerfulness into my demeanour that is clearly not natural. I decided not to go down to Brighton until the day of the funeral as I am still struggling to write my eulogy. Tonight I have to finish it, so I resist the urge to lose myself once again in the kitchen and force myself to sit down in front of my laptop.

Strangely enough, once I start, this time I can't seem to stop. I fill page after page with funny, inconsequential stories about both her life and our life together. When I finally read the final draft and hit Print, I know I have produced something Nonna would like.

It is after midnight, and I know I have to be up early, so I decide to take a shower but am interrupted by a ringing on the intercom. Startled, as I never have visitors, let alone ones at this time of night, I lift the receiver and utter a cautious "Hello?"

"Why are you still up?" Taylor's unmistakable voice comes through. I am so surprised I drop the receiver, fumbling for several seconds before I finally pick it back up.

"Taylor, what are you doing here?"

"Why are you still up?" he repeats.

"How did you know I was still up? Are you stalking me?" My voice is incredulous.

"I was passing and your light was on, okay?"

"Um, I am hardly on the main road, and anyway, how did you know which is my light?" I retort.

"Okay, so I wanted to make sure you were all right. Look, can I come up? Sorry, I know it's late."

I pause for a second, unsure, but curiosity gets the better of me, so I press the buzzer to let him in. A minute later I hear footsteps up the flight of stairs, and I open my door, not wanting the knocking to wake my neighbour, a lovely nurse who I know is on the early shift in the morning. I beckon Taylor in and stand back with my arms around my waist once I have shut the door.

I have not spoken to Taylor since our encounter in the office on Tuesday, but he has been around on our floor more than normal. I thought he was just in meetings, but now I am wondering if something else is going on.

"Why are you here, Taylor? I have a really early start tomorrow."

Several expressions pass across Taylor's eyes. He moves a couple of steps towards me, and I catch a hint of Taylor's unique citrus scent. "I needed to know you were okay" is all he says before taking another step in my direction. I feel a bit like a cornered animal with nowhere to run.

I swallow and take a deep breath. "You could have called me."

"You never replied to my last call." Taylor is now only a couple of feet away from me.

"I didn't realise I had a message until after you told me," I whisper, my heart starting to beat rapidly. With one final step Taylor is right in front of me, forcing me to look up into his dark eyes. I feel myself melting under his molten gaze. His arms come round me, one snaking behind my waist, pulling me against his body, the other drawing my head up towards his. When his lips finally touch mine, the kiss is nothing like the ones we have had before.

The gentleness astounds me, bringing tears to my eyes. As he explores my lips, my mouth parts and he slips his tongue in, caressing mine. His hands mirror this action, gently exploring my cheeks, my hair, my back. While I start to feel aroused by his kiss, the overwhelming emotion I feel is comfort.

The kiss deepens, but I can feel his control as he maintains the lightness of his touch. My head is spinning. The emotion and lack of food over the last couple of days catch up with me, and I feel my legs buckle under me. Like some overwrought character from a historical novel, I feel my world go black and I faint.

I come to and find myself lying on my futon with Taylor hovering anxiously over me. He reaches over, smoothing my hair back off my face. "Are you okay, Abby?" Taylor's face is calm, but underneath I can see anxiety in his eyes. I push myself up into a sitting a position. "Bloody hell, you seem to be starting to make a habit of passing out on me." Taylor offers up a weak grin.

I am desperately trying to regain my composure but still feel dizzy. Whether it is from the kiss, lack of food or just the stress of the last week, I am not sure, but when the tears start running down my face, there is nothing I can do to stop them. Taylor draws me into his lap, and I find myself sobbing into his warm chest uncontrollably. When at last my tears start to abate, I push myself back and desperately start trying to smooth my wild hair and wipe my face.

"Oh god, I am such a mess!" I wail. I try to stand up off the futon, but Taylor takes my hand and tugs me back down. "Easy now, Abby." Taylor's voice soothes my frayed nerves. "Take a deep breath and just sit for a while." I find myself complying, unsure about what is going on, but looking up into Taylor's face, trying to get a clue. Taylor holds my hands in his lap and strokes them gently. Slowly he moves up to my arms, then around my back and slowly up into my hair, all the while gently moving his fingers in slow circles.

"Lie down, Abby." I go to argue, but he pulls me down so that I am lying on my side. He spoons his body around me gently and carries on stroking up and down my body, interrupting only to switch the sidelamp off and pull the quilt over me. I feel my eyes growing heavy, and when Taylor whispers, "Go to sleep," in my ear, I find myself drifting into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
The Eighth

The shrill of the alarm pierces my consciousness. The lack of Taylor's presence in my bed when I wake feels like déjà vu. As the reality of the day that lies ahead hits, my heart sinks. With leaden limbs I get myself into the shower, trying to blot out the image of Nonna dead on her kitchen floor that keeps resurfacing from my subconscious. It's not long before I am wrapped up in my heavy winter coat and scarf to ward off the autumn chill and pulling my case loaded up with a week's worth of my baking out the door and onto the main road to call a taxi to the station. I am just not in the mood for the bus today.

I spend the journey attempting to analyse the situation with Taylor. I can't figure out why he keeps turning up when he has categorically stated that being with me can't happen. I can't help the attraction I feel, and I get the feeling that neither can he, but there is this big issue of him being my boss. Which of course on a rational level I completely understand. However, the romantic, naïve part of me wants to shout "Sod it!" at the top of my lungs and leap into his bed, and not when I am drunk or emotionally fraught either. I just wish I could see how this would turn out; I am heading into the unknown and am terrified by the thought of what lies ahead.

My inner musings are interrupted by the train pulling into the station, and I make an effort to shelve my thoughts and focus on the day ahead. When I arrive at Nonna's, my mum and dad are waiting for me. The dark circles under both their eyes remind me that it is not just me going through this nightmare. I think in all of this I have forgotten that my mum has lost her mother, and my dad has lost the closest thing he had to a mother as well, given that his died when he was very young. Grief has etched itself on all our hearts. My parents pull me into a tight hug and then in low voices remind me that the taxi will be arriving shortly. Hurriedly I pull out my cakes and desserts, arranging those that can be left out on Nonna's table and putting the rest in the fridge for when everyone comes back later.

The day is bright but cold as Nonna's friends and family file into the crematorium. I stand at the entrance, greeting familiar faces and those I don't recognise but who obviously know who I am. It's not long before the minister motions that it is time to begin, and my mum and I make our way to the front pew. Nonna's favourite tune, 'Clair de Lune', fills the air, and I glance behind me to see my dad and the ushers bringing in Nonna's coffin. I hug my arms around myself, feeling chilled, as we all take our seats.

I find myself tuning out most of the service as my thoughts swirl and I desperately try to calm my nerves about standing up and delivering the eulogy. I have it printed out, so it is just a case of reading it out loud, but still I am worried that I am going to say something wrong. I am startled back to the present as the kindly minister says my name. My feet feel numb as I make my way up to the lectern at the front, and all I can think of is not tripping up. I feel like I have a lump the size of a tennis ball in my throat, and when I try to speak, nothing comes out. Nervously I try to clear my throat softly, all the while shuffling my notes to buy some time. I glance around the room, attempting a watery smile, and go to speak but falter as my eyes suddenly lock on to Taylor's.

The world recedes, and all I can hear is my breathing as I take in his dark suit and tie, his spiked black hair and his dark eyes. He smiles reassuringly at me. I wonder why he is here, and then it hits me like a thunderbolt. He is here for me.

I am jerked back to the present by a loud cough, and I make a second attempt to start my speech. Tears start to course down my face. Whether it is from grief or nerves I am not sure, but my teeth start to chatter and my hands are shaking so hard I fear that I am going to drop the papers. I don't see him move from his seat, but suddenly Taylor is at my side, gently removing the pages from my hands. He puts his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder gently, and then in a low but clear voice starts to read,

"Nonna was more than just a grandmother to me..." The tears keep falling, and I am grateful to Taylor for being there to speak my words for me. There is no way I would have got through it by myself.

When he is finished, I am gratified to see smiles on so many people; it was the note that I had hoped to strike with my speech. A happy end to a happy life. Taylor steers me back to my seat, and as I glance at my mum, I can see the question marks in her eyes. I know she will corner me later and grill me, but at least for the moment I am spared that torment. Taylor leaves to return to his seat, but before he drops my hand, he offers a reassuring squeeze. Just knowing he is here gives me strength to get through the next couple of hours.

"That was beautiful, sweetheart," whispers my mum, giving my knee a squeeze. Anyone would think I am about to fall apart by the amount of 'reassuring' touches I seem to be receiving, but reluctantly I have to acknowledge that I am not far off it. The rest of the service passes in a blur, and it is not long before Nonna's coffin is disappearing through the curtains and I am forced to admit to myself that this really is goodbye. No more comforting chats over cups of strong Italian coffee and biscotti in Nonna's homely kitchen, or her unique pork meatballs and spaghetti on a Friday night, or baking up a storm on a rainy Sunday afternoon. I didn't think I could possibly shed another tear, but it appears that I am wrong as yet another river slides down my face. At least I didn't bother with mascara today.

We hurry back to Nonna's to prepare for the wake. Most people are coming straight from the service, so I immediately start percolating the coffee, plating up sandwiches and putting cakes on the large trestle we have set up in the living room. Fortunately, most people have taken their time, so we have a few minutes to regroup, giving me the chance to give my parents an impromptu hug.

"What was that for, Abs?" asks my dad with a questioning smile.

"Do I need a reason to give you guys a hug?" I retort a little too tartly. We are not the family that does random hugs, with the exception of Nonna of course, so of course this is unusual. "Sorry, I just wanted to let you guys know that I love you," I add in a conciliatory tone.

"We love you too, sweetheart," Mum adds, trying to smooth over the situation. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear and hurries to the door, the chimes of the bell interrupting our little family love-in.

Seconds turn into minutes, and before I know it several hours have passed and I am shattered, my face aching from the forced smile I have attached to my face. Every now and again, I would catch sight of Taylor, but as soon as I would go to intercept him, another of Nonna's friends would grab my arm and would want to start reminiscing. Eventually, I manage to extricate myself and slip out the back door into the small courtyard garden. The light of the afternoon is fading, and the shadows offer a good place to hide for a few minutes.

"Thirsty?" Taylor's voice startles me. I spin round to find him standing right next to me, holding up a glass of juice. I take it gratefully as I am feeling parched from all the talking. The juice is delicious and cool, soothing my vocal cords.

"Thanks, Taylor." I smile up at him, feeling shy but curious. "Um, why are you here?" I suddenly feel like I have to get to the bottom of what is going on. "Why did you come today? Why did you come to my flat last night? I thought you didn't want me..." I trail off, realising I have said far more than I should have.

Taylor suddenly looks serious, and I find myself taking a step back. "Oh, Abby. I can't seem to stay away from you...You beguile me with your innocence, and seeing you so lost this week, well, it is all I could do to stay away." He gives me a small smile. "I wasn't very successful." Taylor moves towards me, closing the gap between us, and I find my breath hitching as my heart starts to beat its rapid tattoo in my chest. Slowly he brings his hand up and cups my cheek. "You have been fading away this week, and I couldn't stand to see you going through this alone."

I have no idea how to respond, so I stare at my feet, trying to think of something to say. Instead, Taylor tilts my chin up so that I am looking up into his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly. His serious tone is my undoing, and it is all I can do to stop myself from crying again. I take a shaky breath, trying to still myself.

"Truthfully...not really," I say in a quiet voice. I try to find the words to explain to him how I am feeling, but they just don't seem to be ready to surface. I don't know why I feel so comfortable with Taylor, but just being near him seems to calm me for the moment. My attraction to him has not gone away, but the events of the past week have pushed it to the side for a while. Taylor lowers his head and places his forehead on mine so our noses are touching. I am mesmerised by the dark, chocolaty pools of his eyes. Taylor gently strokes my cheek and murmurs, "Did you want to get out of here?"

Conflicting thoughts spill through my consciousness. I desperately want to be anywhere but here, but at the same time I don't feel like I can just walk out on my parents, today of all days. Despite this, I find myself nodding slowly. "Let me go talk to my folks," I whisper.

I am surprised when my parents simply nod and give me a kiss on my cheek. I can see the questions in their eyes as they appraise Taylor silently, but thankfully they don't say anything to embarrass me. I collect up my overnight bag—I had been planning on staying the night—and follow Taylor out to the car. We sit in silence, and soon the warmth of the car, the gentle rumble of the engine and the soothing music send me into a deep slumber.

I am woken up by Taylor brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. I try to assess whether I have completely embarrassed myself by dribbling down my chin by discreetly wiping my face. "We're here," Taylor says quietly. I glance out the window, taking in the sight of the chocolate box cottage in front of us, surrounded by a cute cottage garden.

"Where are we?" I ask, completely disorientated.

"My house. We're in the New Forest. I guess you could call it a 'country retreat'." Taylor says this with a wriggle of his eyebrows, and I try not to giggle as the sight in front of me seems completely at odds with Taylor's personality. Before I can say anything else, he comes round to my door, opening it like a proper gentleman and helping me to my feet. As he leads me down the garden path by the hand, it feels like I am coming home, which is completely weird as Taylor is pretty much a stranger and I am going to be completely alone with him in a remote spot.

I realise that the façade of the cottage is completely deceptive as we step through the front door. Polished wood floors extend through the open-plan ground floor, only interrupted by brightly coloured rugs. The cream walls are covered with muted abstracts mirroring the colours of the rugs. Across the building, I notice that the entire side wall is made up of bifold glass doors, which let the light in through the glass and must be lovely in the summer for folding back to bring the garden in. In one corner of the living area stands a wood-burning stove surrounded by a large corner sofa, while the whole of the right-hand side is taken up by a Shaker-style kitchen, complete with another state-of-the-art range cooker, which is set into a central island.

"I think I have a serious case of kitchen envy," I sigh.

"I had this put in a couple of years ago when I bought the cottage and had it renovated. The cottage was seriously dingy before I got it, but I love the light that comes in now."

"This place is gorgeous. Just the kind of place I would choose for myself. It's really homely."

"I am glad you like it. I tend to come here most weekends to get out of London. Plus I have my boat not far from here."

"You sail?"

"Yeah, I have a gaff rig that I like to potter about on when I have time."

"I have no idea what that means." My face must have shown my ignorance, and Taylor smiles.

"In simple terms it is a boat with two masts. I'll show you sometime if you like."

This is the first time Taylor has mentioned anything about the future. "That would be lovely." Taylor moves across to the kitchen, and I follow behind, hopping up onto a stool at the island.

"Would you like something to drink?" Taylor asks, going across to the fridge.

"Hmm, any chance of something alcoholic?" After the day I have had, I feel like I need something stronger than juice.

Taylor smiles at me. "Of course. What's your poison?"

"Um, I am not a big wine drinker. Do you have any vodka?"

"I know just the thing." Taylor dives into the fridge, pulling out a chilled bottle of Zubrowka bison grass vodka, ginger ale and some cloudy apple juice. He grabs some ice and a cocktail shaker and starts pouring the various ingredients. He pulls a funny face while shaking the cocktail, pretending to be Tom Cruise, and then with a flourish pours the drink into a tall glass in front of me. I take a small sip, unsure of what I am letting myself in for.

"That. Is. Amazing." The cocktail slides down my throat with ease, and I slowly start to relax. Taylor opens a bottle of beer for himself and starts pulling packages out of the fridge. "I hope you are hungry. Actually, have you even eaten at all today?" Taylor suddenly stops and fixes me with a stare.

A flush creeps up my face as I realise Taylor probably already knows the answer to his question. "Um, no. I just really wasn't hungry. Too many nerves," I add hurriedly, trying to justify myself.

"You aren't veggie, are you?" Taylor asks.

"Nope, pure carnivore, that's me."

"Excellent. Relax for the moment and I'll cook us some dinner." I watch as Taylor starts pulling out some steak fillets from the paper packaging, places them on a wooden board and starts to season them. It's not long before some new potatoes are sautéing on the hob, fresh asparagus tips are frying in butter, and carrots sprinkled in honey and sesame are roasting in the oven.

Taylor moves around the kitchen with the ease of a practised chef. It is a pleasure watching his hands; his long fingers move swiftly, and I muse at what it would be like to feel them running along my skin. As if he knows what I am thinking, Taylor glances up and winks at me. I flush, a state that I feel like I am permanently in when I am around him. I take a large gulp of my cocktail, hoping to still my nerves, but it is not long before I feel the alcohol going to my head and I start to feel a bit glassy-eyed. Fortunately, it is not long before Taylor is sliding a steaming plate in front of me. The aroma has whetted my appetite, and I suddenly feel ravenous.

Taylor rounds the island and comes to sit beside me. We eat in a companionable silence for several minutes until the rumbling of my stomach starts to subside. "This is delicious. Thank you," I comment.

"You are very welcome." Taylor smiles at me, and I feel my cheeks going red again. We start chatting about inconsequential things, both of us making an effort to keep the conversation light. The combination of the cocktail, tasty food and the warmth of the fire leave me feeling soporific, and when Taylor suggests moving to the couch, I follow him readily. I sink down alongside Taylor and am surprised when he suddenly reaches down and grabs my feet, swivelling me around and tipping me back slightly onto the cushions. He quickly removes my boots and socks and with warm hands starts to massage my feet.

The feeling is heavenly as Taylor kneads and rubs, pulling on my toes and using his knuckles in the arch of my foot. I moan out loud and notice a dark look cross Taylor's eyes. He slowly works his way up my ankle and then my calf. I start to feel a warmth spreading across my pelvis as my arousal grows, Taylor's signature citrus scent sending my senses into a spin. My breath quickens, and Taylor glances at me, reading my reaction with a heady look. He leans forward and grabs my hips, pulling me closer so that my thighs are straddling his. Taylor's eyes darken and I realise he is as aroused as I am.

We are both breathing heavily, and I can feel myself growing wet as Taylor's fingers continue their journey up my inner thigh. I lean forward, capturing Taylor's lips, bringing them down to mine. As shy as I am, my desire is forcing me to be bold, something I am not accustomed to. The kiss deepens as Taylor explores my mouth, his fingers stroking me through my trousers. Suddenly he presses down, stimulating my clitoris and sending a wave of pleasure through me. I throw my head back, which Taylor takes advantage of by trailing kisses down my throat, along with nips along my collarbone. His other hand is in my blouse, first plumping one breast and then the other. He tweaks my nipples, pleasure assaulting my senses, and I find myself grinding down onto Taylor's hand.

"Taylor," I murmur, breathless. "Oh my god..."

"Stop, Abby, not here." Taylor's rasping voice sounds harsh to my ears.

What the...? I stop and look at Taylor uncomprehendingly. What does he want from me? My passion suddenly turns to fury, and I push Taylor away.

"What the fuck, Taylor? Every time we go here, on your initiation, you turn around and push me away. What am I supposed to think? What is wrong with me?" I am breathing heavily, rant over and tears threatening once more.

Catching me by surprise, Taylor grabs my hands and pulls me in to him. I struggle to free myself, but he holds me firm. "Abby, stop it. You misunderstand me." I still. "I just meant not here on the couch. Shit, if I am going to make love to you for the first time, I want it to be more than a fumble on the living room floor!"

I look up into Taylor's eyes and see that he is telling the truth. "So...sorry," I stutter, glancing down at the floor. I am mortified. I have completely ruined things. Taylor tilts my head back and lowers his lips back to mine, kissing me gently.

"Abby, don't apologise. If anything, this whole situation is my fault. I know I have been sending you mixed messages. Even though I know I shouldn't, I just can't seem to keep my hands off you." Taylor strokes my cheek, and I find myself melting against his body. He takes me by the hand and leads me to a set of stairs that I hadn't noticed before.

"Taylor, where are we going?" My words are hesitant. I just can't seem to read Taylor when he is like this.

"To do this properly." Taylor's words are clipped, and I think that maybe he is angry with me.

"Um, sorry for ruining the mood," I say meekly.

"Don't say that," Taylor says through gritted teeth. "It is taking pretty much all my self-control not to just fuck you right here on the stairs." Oh my, that makes me feel hot all over. Not sure what to say, I simply follow him up the rest of the stairs, my heart hammering in my chest.

Taylor leads me into his bedroom, and I barely have a moment to take in my surroundings and the plush carpet under my feet when Taylor turns and pulls me into his arms. He stares at me with heavy eyes, and I feel mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze. Very slowly he starts to place the lightest of kisses along my jawline. His hands come up to caress my face as I find myself bringing my mouth to his. I moan into Taylor's mouth as my arousal starts to ramp up once again. Tentatively I bring my hands up to his chest and unbutton his shirt. I push the fabric off Taylor's broad shoulders and run my fingers lightly through the soft hair that covers his chest. I am no longer thinking straight; I am simply a mass of urges that are driving me to be bolder than I could ever imagine I could be.

Taylor's hands move down, and while one hand cups my bottom, bringing me in closer, the other is loosening my trousers and slipping down into my panties. I gasp as his cool, deft fingers find their way into my aching pussy. "You are so wet, Abs." He strokes my clit; the sparks of pleasure shooting through me cause me to cling onto Taylor's arms. The sensations take over, and I can feel myself tightening around Taylor's fingers as he alternates between plunging deep inside of me and stroking me across my sensitive nub. I am not sure I can take any more when, without warning, my muscles clench and I am seeing stars.

As I slowly become aware of myself again, I realise I am on the bed and Taylor is lying next to me, staring down with a smile. "Hey," Taylor says softly, leaning down to kiss me.

"Um, wow." My voice is raspy.

"It's just the beginning, baby." Taylor gives me a wicked grin as he starts pulling off my top and bra, my trousers and panties having disappeared in the throes of my orgasm. He has shed his own shirt completely and pulls off his trousers in one fluid movement. I find myself gasping as I eye the bulge in his boxers. I reach down and slip my hand into his shorts and wrap my hand around the shaft of Taylor's penis. As I feel the heavy length in my hand, I feel daunted at the thought of something so large inside of me. As if sensing my doubt, Taylor tilts my chin to look at him and then brings his lips crushing down on mine. Once again I can feel my arousal mounting as we become a writhing mass of limbs and sensations.

Taylor alternates between teasing my nipples with sharp nips and running his tongue across the oversensitive nubs. The tension in my body rises, and I am dimly aware that my moans of pleasure have changed to a begging tone. The throbbing ache between my legs is making me feel a need that I have never had before. I hear the sound of foil ripping, and I glance down to see Taylor expertly pulling a condom on. Taylor gently moves between my thighs, keeping his weight on his elbows as he slides into me. "Are you okay?" Taylor asks as he notices my wince at the sharp pain I suddenly feel. I nod shyly, not wanting to admit to my limited experience. Taylor starts to move slowly and the pain fades quickly, to be replaced with wave after wave of pleasure. As the pace increases, I feel myself starting to come apart in Taylor's arms. "Come for me, baby." Four little words tip me over the edge, and I am falling. I feel Taylor explode inside of me, and then he slowly comes to a still, panting hard.

"You okay, Abs?" Taylor smoothes my hair back off my face. I nod, trying to find my voice but struggling to articulate what I feel.

"All good." I smile shyly, aware that Taylor is still inside of me. Very gently he eases out of me, never breaking eye contact. With a quick movement, Taylor disposes of the condom and then wraps his arms around me. I can feel him smiling as he plants light kisses on my cheek. We lie in silence for a few moments, and while I struggle to think of something to say, exhaustion claims me and the world fades out.
The Ninth

The smell of bacon filters through my senses. I lie with my eyes shut as the memories of last night filter through. My body is aching from using muscles I didn't know I even had, but for the first time in my life, I feel whole. I try to think of what I felt like before I met Taylor, but it is as if that girl no longer exists. The reality is that I wasn't a virgin, but last night it truly felt like I had given Taylor my virginity—or even more than that, a piece of my soul.

I find myself smiling, and I put out a hand, expecting to find Taylor lying beside me. I come up empty, and realising that I am alone, my eyes pop open. For the first time I can properly take in the room I am in. The whitewashed walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall with views across to a small lake, the overlarge bed with sumptuous pillows. There seems to be very few personal touches until I spot a montage of pictures of Taylor with a girl. Suddenly suspicious, I creep out of the bed to get a better look. Realising that the girl shares many of Taylor's features, I take a deep breath and rationalise that she must be family. The thought calms me but makes me realise that so far Taylor has avoided all talk of his family. Flinging on a robe that I find on the back of the door, I make my way downstairs, following the delicious smells of breakfast being made.

The creak of the stairs alerts Taylor to my presence, and he looks up as I enter the room, a soft smile lighting his face. "Morning, beautiful. I was just about to come and wake you." I feel embarrassed by his use of the word 'beautiful', but I shrug it off and smile back at him with a soft "Morning."

"Did you sleep okay?" Taylor starts loading up two plates as I climb up on a stool at the breakfast bar. I fidget with my robe, trying to cover my nakedness, hoping that Taylor won't realise how nervous I am about being here.

"Yes, thanks." I am feeling so desperately shy I can't think what to say next. I have never been in this situation before. The two whole times I have had sex before, there was no breakfast the morning after, only humiliation and hurt, and I just don't know how to handle this. Fortunately, Taylor seems to realise my unease, smiling over at me in a way that calms my nerves. Placing the biggest plate of food I have ever seen in my life in front of me, Taylor chuckles and puts on a weird French accent. "Madam, your breakfast is served."

A giggle escapes my lips, and I realise that underneath Taylor's calm exterior he is a little bit nervous too. "Wow, this looks amazing!" I exclaim, and truly it does. A freshly made waffle is covered with a mound of bacon, poached eggs and asparagus tips in a hollandaise sauce. My stomach rumbles loudly as Taylor brings me a tall glass of juice.

"Dig in. It'll get cold." I take a mouthful and groan. Taylor looks over, worried. "Is it okay?"

"Delicious. Maybe the best breakfast I have ever had."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far."

"Seriously, Taylor, no one apart from Nonna ever cooked me breakfast, and her version was always a little on the greasy side. She was a great cook, but breakfast was not really her forte."

"What do you mean, no one cooked you breakfast?" Taylor looks at me quizzically.

"Well, my folks don't really eat breakfast, or anything full stop, so if I was hungry I had to fend for myself." A dark look crosses Taylor's face, and I see his fists bunching. "Don't get me wrong, there was always food. It just didn't come like this." Taylor calms and comes round to sit beside me, placing a light kiss on the top of my head. We eat in comfortable silence, and I marvel at the fact I am sitting here, the morning after the night before, feeling more at ease with Taylor than with some of my friends I had known for years.

"I thought we could go for a walk this morning and stop in for coffee at a great little place I know, if that works for you?"

"That sounds lovely. Would you mind if I grab a shower first?"

Taylor gives me a wicked grin. "Sure, not at all. Go on up while I clear up in here."

It takes me a few minutes to work out how to get the space-age shower working. There seems to be a million jets in the giant cubicle available to pummel my body in every direction, and once I get used to them, my body starts to relax from a tension I didn't even realise I was holding on to. I don't hear Taylor come into the room, let alone open the cubicle door, so when his arms wrap around me from behind, I let out a small gasp of surprise.

"I thought I would join you." Taylor gives me an impish grin.

"Oh, did you?" I retort, suddenly feeling very exposed as Taylor starts to run his hands up and down my body. I find myself stiffening, not sure about what is happening here.

"Relax, Abby, I don't bite." Taylor whispers into my ear, nipping at it affectionately.

"Ha ha, what do you call that, then?" I snort.

"Hmm, well, just a little, then." I can feel Taylor's grin as he starts kissing my neck.

"That's not really what I am afraid of."

"Oh no, then what is it you are afraid of?" I am not sure I can articulate what I am feeling at the moment.

Taylor leans across and grabs some shower gel and squeezes some out into his palms. He starts working his hands together to create a lather, which he then starts rubbing the foam across my breasts. My breathing quickens the lower his hands wander, and I find myself putting my hands out to stabilise myself.

"Maybe you are afraid of this?" Taylor slips a finger between my swollen lips and, on finding my clit, starts to rub in slow circles. The warmth in my abdomen quickly builds with sparks of pleasure threatening to unbalance me. Taylor holds me against him, his other hand continuing to massage my breasts. I feel him growing hard as he pushes into my back. My brain takes a leave of absence, and it is all I can do to ride the waves threatening to overwhelm me.

"Come for me, baby." Those four words and that's all it takes for me to unravel. My shaky legs threaten to collapse, and sensing this, Taylor reaches down and sweeps me into his arms. He walks me across to the counter and gently places me sitting on the top. I can feel his need as he kisses me hungrily, so I pull him to stand between my legs. We are both breathing too hard to talk, desire overriding everything else as hands tangle in hair, lips move across bare skin, tongues crash.

Without pausing for a break, Taylor slips on a condom and then nudges his head slowly into me. I sigh as the fullness claims me once again, my muscles tightening around his girth.

"Fuck, you are so tight, Abs." Taylor cups my ass, pulling me onto him so that I am full to the hilt.

"More, I need more," I whisper, my need to fly making me plead. "Fuck me, please, Taylor." I can't quite believe my words, but in the moment they feel wholly appropriate.

"With pleasure, baby." Taylor slowly eases out of me, and I whimper in longing as the emptiness consumes me. He looks me straight in the eye and then slams back into my body. Holy fuck! Taylor has reached a part of me I thought only existed in grown-up fairy tales. "Argh," I scream, the pleasure bordering on the sweetest pain I have ever felt. Taylor stills, concern in his eyes.

"No, more please." My words are garbled, and Taylor goes completely still, unsure of my meaning.

"Taylor, not 'no'—more, please. Fuck me." My breathing is ragged. Taylor's eyes light up and he grips my ass once more, slamming into me with force. I moan in ecstasy as he slams into me again and again and again, and then I explode, taking Taylor with me. Minutes pass as we stay bound together, his forehead leaning on mine, waiting for the shockwaves to subside. Tears start to leak down my face, my body completely overwhelmed by the sensations it has just experienced.

Taylor starts and looks at me with concern. "Did I hurt you, Abby?" he asks in a whisper, clearly anxious.

"No...no. These are happy tears." I can see he is unsure, so I wipe away the tears and plant a soft kiss on his lips. "I am all good, Taylor. That was just...a little overwhelming." Taylor smiles and hugs me tightly, kissing the top of my head lightly. Taylor slides out of me gently and pulls me back into the shower, soaping my body with light caresses.

The day passes quicker than I would have liked. We take a stroll through the village, and I can't help but exclaim over the quaintness of the cottages. I am so used to the hustle and bustle of London and Brighton that the sounds of the countryside are almost alien to me. We end up in a boutique coffee shop, where Taylor introduces me to blends from all over the world. I thought I was adventurous ordering a gingerbread latte from Starbucks at Christmastime, but that is nothing in comparison to what I have tried today. Slightly jittery from all the caffeine, we take a long stroll back and grab a sandwich, settling back in front of a fire just in time before the heavens open.

The muted sunlight of the afternoon soon fades as the autumn evening rolls in. Our light conversation ranges from music to books and films, and I am surprised to learn just how much we have in common. Taylor fills me in about his gap year and how the foods from his travels inspired him to set up his company. In turn I tell him about my passion for baking.

"So how did you end up being an analyst? Don't get me wrong, you are great at it, but if cooking is your passion, why didn't you go to culinary school?" Taylor's gentle probing gets me to admit far more than I readily would.

"As I have said before, my parents don't really do food. As models, I guess their view is pretty much that calories equal fat, so heaven forbid you eat a chocolate éclair." My tone is mocking, but I can't seem to help the years of pent-up frustration.

"Nonna taught me to cook and I always dreamed of opening my own little cupcake place somewhere, but when I approached my folks about going off to college, they insisted I stay and do business at sixth form. Because I was only sixteen, it was not like I could go against them, so I went along with it, hoping that if I got good grades, then I could persuade them to let me do a hospitality course at uni. But when the time came, they refused to support me financially unless I did something they considered worthy..." I can't help the grimace that crosses my face.

"So in the end, after much drama and Nonna finally intervening, I agreed to a business degree, but only because I didn't want to miss out on the whole growing-up experience. Nonna persuaded me that having a business background would help me in the long run when I opened my café. Then every birthday and Christmas, she would pay for me to go on one course or another, which meant that I wasn't missing out. Plus I spent a lot of time baking for my housemates at uni, so it didn't seem so bad that I wasn't doing it professionally."

"So why haven't you opened your café yet?" Taylor continues to probe.

"Simply, money. The start-up capital I would need is huge, and I still have student debts to pay back. My parents wouldn't help and Nonna wasn't in any position to help me financially, so I got a job when I finished. And at least working for Hudson, I still get to be around food, even if it is on paper." I say this last part with a cheeky grin, which Taylor returns.

"So if money was no object, then you would be out of there like a shot?" I suddenly realise that I am technically speaking to my boss, so I find myself hesitating, unsure about how truthful I should be. As if suddenly realising my discomfort, Taylor carries on, "No, seriously, you should follow your dreams. If that is your long-term goal and an opportunity arises, you have to take it with both hands. That's what I did."

I see the fire in Taylor's eyes as he talks with such passion, and it makes me want to reach across and kiss him. Suddenly feeling bold, I do just that, leaning across and placing my lips gently on his. His arms snake around me and pull me in close so that my body moulds to his. As his lips crush mine, the now-familiar sparks start to make their way up my body. I slip my hand under his T-shirt and run my fingers across his broad chest, gently brushing his nipples. Taylor moans, and I feel myself turn to liquid arousal.

Reaching down, Taylor pulls both my shirt and jumper over my head in one stroke, leaving my breasts exposed to his mouth. He tugs down the cups of my bra, which forces my breasts to spill over the top, and immediately starts nipping gently at my nipples in turn. Oh my! I never knew pleasure and pain had such a thin barrier. I squirm in Taylor's arms, arousal coursing through my veins.

"Keep still, Abby," Taylor commands, tapping me lightly on my arse.

"Um...I can't." My voice is harsh from the shallow breaths ravaging my throat. My body has taken on a life of its own, and I can't seem to still my limbs.

"If you can't keep still, Abs, I am going to have to do something about it." I meet Taylor's eyes, and there is something there I just can't fathom.

"What do you mean?" I stutter nervously. Taylor's mood seems darker, more intense.

"Have you ever been tied up, Abby?" I shake my head, trying to wrap my thoughts around what Taylor is asking me. "Do you want to be tied up, Abby?" asks Taylor, his eyes molten. I am nervous but ultimately turned on by the idea, and weirdly enough, I feel like I could trust Taylor with my life. All it takes is a small nod and I find myself in Taylor's arms being carried up the stairs to his bedroom, all the while his lips continuing to nuzzle at my neck.

I am gently laid out on the bed, and Taylor disappears into his cupboard for a couple of minutes. When he joins me on the bed, I can see he has numerous lengths of a silky material, which he starts attaching to the corner posts of the bed. My legs are trembling, but I am not sure if it is nerves or arousal or both as I watch him work. Once he is finished, Taylor turns his gaze to me and gently starts running his fingers over the exposed flesh of my stomach. "I am not going to do anything you don't want me to," Taylor murmurs into my ear. "But if there is anything you are not comfortable with, or if you just want to stop, you need to tell me. Okay?" I nod my assent. "This only works if there is total trust and honesty between us, do you understand?"

"I trust you, Taylor," I whisper. Within moments he has divested me of all my clothes, and he gently takes first one hand and then the other, kissing my palms gently and wrapping the material around both my wrists so that they are bound together. He then works his way down each leg, kissing the inside of my thigh and calf before stretching it out and binding my ankle to the post. I am completely spread open, and I can feel the cool air sensuously between the apex of my thighs. Taylor moves up my body, taking my bound wrists and pulling my arms above my head, linking them to the material at the corners of the headboard.

"Fuck. You are so hot, Abby." Taylor is actually growling at me, and for this first time of my life, I actually feel vaguely sexy, based on his reaction. "Hold on, baby, we are going on the ride of your life." I lift my head and see Taylor moving down and settling his head between my thighs. I squirm with embarrassment, but the bindings hold me tightly, making it impossible to close my legs. I feel Taylor's tongue flick out across my clit, sending sparks of pleasure through me and causing me to moan out loud. Taylor continues to tease me with his tongue, first slipping one finger into me and then another. The muscles in my pelvis tighten, and I can feel that I am on the edge of the most intense orgasm I have ever had. And because I can't move my legs, the feeling just keeps getting more and more intense until, at last, I fall apart, crying out Taylor's name.

I come back to earth as Taylor gently releases my legs, rubbing out the cramp that has been forming. My arms are still bound, but the freedom to pull my legs together is a sweet relief, yet I am still yearning to feel Taylor inside of me. As if sensing this, I find myself flipped onto my stomach with Taylor hovering above me. "This isn't over yet, baby," Taylor murmurs into my ear as he pulls my bum into the air so that I am resting on my knees and elbows. He moves off me for a second, and I can hear him pulling on a condom. Then he is at my entrance, gently pushing into me. "I can't get over how tight you are, Abby. You feel so amazing!"

Taylor pushes deeply into me until I am completely full, then stills for a second before drawing out and pushing back in. His deft fingers find my clitoris, stroking me as I find myself coming again hard on his fingers and his cock. I moan out loud as Taylor starts pounding into me with force, causing me to fall apart once again as another orgasm tears through me. I hear Taylor call out my name as he explodes inside of me, and we both collapse. Gently Taylor eases out of me, discarding the condom and then releasing my wrists. My body is putty as he turns me back onto my back, running his hands tenderly all over me.

I am completely spent as I smile up shyly at Taylor, who is propped up on one elbow. Tenderly Taylor kisses my neck and my lips, and I feel myself drifting away as he pulls me in to his body.
The Tenth

I am too hot. The sound of birds chirping filters through my subconscious, and I surmise that it must be early, but given that we have been asleep since early evening, I have had more than my normal eight hours. I am trapped under Taylor's arm, but as I squirm to get more room, he suddenly rolls onto his back, freeing me. I study him sleeping, taking note of the way his normally spiky hair falls forward, his chin covered in stubble, his broad shoulders and his sensuous mouth.

Thirst and my rumbling stomach give me the motivation to get out of bed, grab a robe and head downstairs, careful not to wake a sleeping Taylor. I make myself a coffee and pop in some bread to toast and then settle myself on the small couch overlooking the garden.

My mind drifts back to the night's activities, and I remember why my body is protesting this morning. Even just thinking about it brings a flush to my face, and I start to feel horny enough to contemplate heading back upstairs to wake Taylor.

I don't understand what Taylor sees in me. It is not like I have model looks or sparkling wit. The thoughts start to whirl around my head. I am not good enough...It will be just like the other two...Taylor doesn't really want me...He will be bored of me...Who wants a chubby, ginger girl? The negativity darkens my mood, and I find myself glowering into my mug, unaware that Taylor has come down the stairs until I feel a soft kiss on the top of my head. I start out of my reverie and stumble to stop my mug from dropping to the floor.

"Sh—shit, sorry," I exclaim loudly as I look down at the spilt coffee on the sofa. "Fucking hell, I can't even hold a cup of coffee without spilling it," I grumble to myself as I get a cloth to clean up my mess.

"Don't stress, Abs. It'll come out," Taylor says evenly, seemingly unaware of my inner turmoil. But I am wrong. Taylor comes to stand in front me, tipping my head back to look into my eyes. His darken in response to me. "What's the matter, Abby? What's going on?"

"Why am I here?" I blurt out, not thinking. Taylor cocks his head at me questioningly. "I mean, you could have anyone. Why me? I mean..." I am aware I am babbling, but I just can't help myself. "I just don't know why anyone like you would want me. I am nothing—" I break off as I take in the anger written across Taylor's face.

"What the hell do you mean, you are nothing?" Taylor has moved so that we are standing apart, yet his hands are gripping the tops of my arms in an almost-painful embrace.

My voice drops to a whisper as I try to force out the words. "Well, look at you. You are gorgeous, you have built your own company from scratch, you do awesome things like sail boats and travel the world, you live in these amazing homes, and you are caring and kind..." I drift off, unsure of what to say next, aware that I am teetering on the edge of more damn tears.

Taylor is still staring into my eyes, and I can't take the intensity in his gaze, so I try to take a step backwards, but I am pinned by his arms. "You. Are. Not. Nothing," Taylor says through gritted teeth before he swings down, picks me up and pops me over his shoulder as though I weigh nothing at all.

"Taylor, put me down," I plead as he takes me back upstairs. I am confused when he heads into the bathroom and then stands me back on my feet in front of the large mirror. I take in my dishevelled appearance and the fact that I am only wearing Taylor's robe, and my eyes immediately drop to the floor in embarrassment.

"Abby...look in the mirror." The tone in Taylor's voice brooks no argument, and I draw my eyes back to his in the mirror's reflection. "You are not nothing." Taylor repeats his statement, and I draw a deep breath in, ready to argue with him. "Don't say anything, Abby. It is my time to talk." I pout slightly but keep quiet whilst trying to figure out what is going on.

"Here's what I see, Abs...I see a beautiful, intelligent woman." I open my mouth to argue but immediately shut it again when I see the look that crosses Taylor's face. "I see a woman who I haven't been able to stop thinking about since she walked into my office building. I see flame-red hair and a passionate, fiery temperament to match. I see captivating green eyes that show up every emotion you feel. I see a killer body with curves that I could spend all day adoring and alabaster skin that responds to my touch."

Taylor holds on to my shoulders as he stands behind me. I stare at my reflection, trying to rationalise Taylor's view of me versus how I see myself. The person he is talking about seems like a stranger, not the person standing in front of me. I can't look at myself any longer and drop my gaze to the floor.

"Don't do that," Taylor murmurs into my ear while he cups my chin and gently forces my head upwards so that once again I am staring at my reflection.

"I just don't see what you do..." My voice is barely above a whisper. Holding my chin up, Taylor starts trailing kisses along my jawbone and down my neck, never breaking eye contact. His hands go to the tie of my robe, releasing it and then slipping it off my shoulders, and all the while I stand there mutely. I watch as his hands move across my breasts, and my nipples stand to attention. My breath quickens as I see his hand trail further down and reach between my legs to cup my sex. The kisses never stop, but Taylor's eyes never leave mine in the mirror, taking in every minute reaction. His finger slips into my wet folds, and I close my eyes and moan at the sensations starting to coil in my belly.

"Open your eyes, Abby." Taylor's command startles me, and my eyes flick open. The woman staring back at me is all at once a familiar sight but a stranger too. Her neck and face are flushed with arousal. Her breasts are swollen and sensitive to the lightest touch. Her hips are grinding onto Taylor's hand, trying to satisfy the need growing deep inside. Her eyes are hooded and knowing. I suddenly get a glimpse of what Taylor sees, and when he sees the realisation dawn, Taylor stills and whispers, "You are beautiful, Abigail."

His words and the flick of his finger are all it takes for me to come, and I can't keep my eyes open any longer as the intense sensations overwhelm me. I come back to see myself still standing with Taylor's arms holding me up. "You are so fucking hot, Abby. Seeing you like this...Just look at what you do to me." I look down and for the first time really take in the enormity of his cock. I gulp, and seeing this, Taylor offers up a smirk. "This is all for you, baby." I am instantly wet again. Taylor reaches into a drawer and quickly sheathes himself before pushing me forward slightly so that he can enter me. Never breaking eye contact, Taylor slides into me and once again I feel like I am whole.

Slowly Taylor starts rotating his hips, and I grip the countertop, pushing back onto him. I can feel my orgasm building, and from the look on Taylor's face, I don't think he is far behind me. He grips my hips and grinds into me, the pace increasing until he is well and truly fucking me. The image I am seeing in the mirror is beyond anything I could ever imagine and is intensely erotic. "Come for me, baby." This time it takes every effort to keep my eyes open whilst I explode so that I can watch Taylor come apart inside of me.

It could be seconds or minutes or hours that pass, but Taylor and I continue to stand there, joined, staring at each other whilst we catch our breath. Very slowly and gently Taylor withdraws, all the while keeping one arm round my waist to support me. "Um...wow." These are the only words I can find to describe how I am feeling at this point.

Taking my hand, Taylor guides me back to bed and pulls the covers over us as he spoons me, both arms cradling me gently. At this moment I feel like Taylor's most precious possession, and it scares me. This feeling of being cherished is something so alien to me that I can't believe it is going to last.

"Abby!" Taylor's warning tone brings me back, and I roll over to look at Taylor face-to-face. "I know when you are thinking all that crap in your head, you know."

I gulp. "Sorry, Taylor. It's just that this all seems too good to be true. I don't know how to handle a guy being nice to me." Something about the way he is looking at me makes me feel like I need to explain further. "I mean, I don't have much experience, but the whole two times I had sex before this, the aftermath was, let's just say...um...horrible. And it's not like I have even been in a relationship with a guy." I can't read the expression in Taylor's eyes, so I carry on babbling.

"The guy I lost my virginity to, well, it turned out to be a dare at school. I thought he liked me. I was a loser, and all of a sudden the captain of the football team is being nice to me, complimenting me and then asking me out to the party of the year. So he plied me with beer, and before I know it we are in one of the bedrooms, having sex. He was very sweet about it at the time and it was nice, but when I went to school on the Monday, everyone was talking about how the team had dared him to 'deflower' a virgin. I was so embarrassed, and when I next saw him, he completely snubbed me. Let's just say going to uni was a relief."

I see Taylor's fists gripping the sheets, but he doesn't say anything, so I continue. "Then in my second year at uni, I met this guy at a party. We struck up a conversation and seemed to click. The next thing I remember is him climbing off me and looking down at me with disgust before he walked away." I can feel the anger radiating off Taylor, and I turn my head away to hide the tears and avoid the repugnance he must be feeling for me.

"Dammit, Abby, look at me." Taylor's voice is hoarse, and I force myself to meet his eyes. "I could kill those fuckers. You listen to me, Abigail James. That guy at school was an immature dick, and the one at uni was a... a rapist, for fuck's sake! You cannot judge yourself through their eyes."

My eyes well up at Taylor's words. His hands gently stroke my face and hair. "You are a beautiful person, inside and out, Abby. You define your own worth. Don't ever let anyone try to do that for you."

"I'll try," I whisper before placing a gentle kiss on Taylor's lips. Gathering me in to his chest so that my head fits snugly under his chin, Taylor strokes my back until I fall into a deep sleep.

.........................

The rumbling of my stomach wakes me, and I find myself alone in the bed. I nip to the bathroom to clean myself up and find my robe. I take note of my swollen lips and dishevelled hair in the mirror and offer up a smile. My body is achy having used muscles this weekend that I didn't even know existed, and I feel a little sore between my legs from all the action it has seen.

I pad downstairs and spot Taylor in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables. "What time is it?" I ask quietly, as I hop onto a stool at the counter. Taylor looks up, and a smile crosses his face. "Just before one, sleepyhead." Wow, I seem to have slept the whole morning away.

"I have a roast in the oven, so I thought we would eat and then head back up to London, if that's okay with you?"

"Of course, whatever suits you," I reply, feeling a little sad that our time together is coming to an end.

"Sorry, I have some work I need to do before a meeting tomorrow. I would have loved to have stayed longer." I suddenly feel bad for having monopolised his time. "Why don't you head up and take a bath? You have about forty-five minutes before lunch is ready. You must be a little 'worn out'." The last bit Taylor says with a wicked grin across his face.

I take him up on his offer and ten minutes later find myself lying back, relaxing in the large egg-shaped bath, with bubbles up to my neck. Half of me is rather hoping that Taylor will join me, but the other half is revelling in the silence and having some time to reflect. My feelings for Taylor are complicated. He fills me with a need that scares me because what if he goes away? What will I be left with? But he also makes me feel cherished, and this alone makes my body hum. I know I am teetering on the edge of the cliff, ready to fall in love, but I am really scared to take that final step.

I'm interrupted from my musings when Taylor sticks his head around the door. "I thought you had turned into a mermaid," Taylor jokes.

"Ha ha," I say as I flick some bubbles in his direction.

"Lunch in ten, just wanted to give you the heads-up." Taylor comes over and gives me a teasing kiss and then backs out the door, leaving me to finish up and pull some clothes on before heading down the stairs.

I am greeted by the most tantalising aromas, and my grumbling stomach reminds me that I haven't eaten since lunchtime the previous day. I notice that the table has been set and Taylor is just placing the dishes up on the table. I grab some plates off the side, and we both take our seats, dishing up tender pieces of lamb, crunchy roast potatoes, sticky honey-glazed carrots and crunchy beans.

"Mmm. This is delicious," I say appreciatively, having taken a mouthful. We both dig in and eat in companionable silence, listening to the music playing softly in the background. When the plates are clear and every last bit of gravy mopped up, I put my hand over Taylor's and offer up a shy smile. "Thank you, Taylor. This weekend has been"—I search around for the most appropriate word—"incredible."

"You are most welcome, Abs. I have enjoyed every minute of it." Taylor reaches across and pulls me into his lap before kissing me intensely on the lips. My arms wind round his neck, and I push my fingers through his silky hair. Breaking the kiss, Taylors leans his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. "You are going to be the death of me, baby," says Taylor, his voice husky with desire. Placing a kiss on the tip of my nose, Taylor gently tips me off his lap onto my feet.

As we start clearing up, my favourite song by Hoobastank comes on, and I find myself singing along softly. Abruptly Taylor turns the music up, a grin spreading on his face, and I find myself dancing along as I put the dishes in the dishwasher. This moment of frivolity in what has been a rather intensely emotional weekend brings me back to myself and the fact that I am only twenty-one years old and really need to stop overthinking everything. Time flies and it is not long before we are packed up and heading back up the motorway towards London.

When at last Taylor pulls up outside my flat, the car seems to fill with electricity. He leans over and kisses me thoroughly, the pad of his thumb stroking my cheek. "I wish I didn't have to leave you, but I have to get this stuff done." A look of regret fills his face.

"Me too," I say softly. "But you have an entire empire to run, so you best be off, then," I add jokingly, trying to defuse the tension that is slowly building. Taylor chuckles and then releases me after placing a light kiss on my nose.

Taylor waits until I am inside before driving off, and I walk up the stairs with a spring in my step. I am antsy at the thought of a whole evening by myself, but I decide that I will do what I do best when I need to distract myself...bake. Remembering that Taylor mentioned in the coffee shop that lemon was his favourite flavour, I decide on a lemon drizzle cake that is complicated enough to take me the whole evening to make.

When at last I fall into bed, it is with a happy smile on my face and a feeling of peace in my heart. My mind replays Taylor's lips on mine, the feel of his skin, his fingers running across my breasts until, at last, I fall asleep.
The Eleventh

I manage to sneak into Taylor's office early by telling Patrice, his personal assistant, that I am dropping off some samples for him. She gives me a look but doesn't challenge me, so I leave the cake on his desk, hoping no one peeks in the plain box.

My day passes in a blur, and I only stop when Michelle appears at my desk with a tapping foot, exclaiming loudly that it is lunchtime and she is hungry. I grin at her and gather up my purse so that we can head down to the little café we both love.

"How are you doing, chick?" she asks when we sit down with our sandwiches and coffees.

"I am surprisingly okay. The funeral was hard, particularly when I had to do my speech, but then Taylor stepped in..." I stop as Michelle's eyebrows disappear under her fringe in surprise. "Um, yeah, he turned up at the crematorium..." I trail off.

"Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome Bossman turned up at Nonna's funeral?" Michelle squeals, and I have to shush her and remind her we are in a public place. I take a breath and start from the beginning, filling her in on everything from Taylor stepping up to read my speech to him taking me home with him and staying the weekend. I leave out the really personal stuff, but she badgers me about whether he was any good in bed.

"Um, yeah...really good," I stammer feeling a blush stain my cheeks. Michelle is my best friend, but I am not used to talking to her about stuff like this, my previous love life being completely non-existent.

"Whoop, whoop. I knew you were a dark horse, Abs. Hmm, you and the boss, who would have thought it?" I bristle slightly at her comment, thinking that she thinks that I am not good enough for Taylor. But when she sees my face, she retorts tartly, "Now stop those thoughts that I can see on your face, Abigail James. I simply meant that you are normally so proper that I didn't think you would make a move for ages!"

Looking at the time, I realise we are running late, so we hurry back to the office. I haven't even asked Michelle about her weekend, so wrapped up that we have been in my drama, and when I mention it she winks at me and promises to call me after work to fill me in.

I haven't seen Taylor in the office, so I don't know if he got his present yet, but I am too shy to ask anyone if they know where he is. I put my head down and concentrate on my reports until Eddy clears his throat and reminds me the home time is actually five o'clock. I laugh, shut down my computer, gather up my coat and head out the door.

I am halfway home when my phone suddenly buzzes. I look down and realise I don't recognise the number, but I click anyway, my heart racing when I realise the text message is from Taylor:

_Seriously tasty surprise! Thank you—a lovely treat at the end of a shitty day. I will have to make it up to you. Taylor ;-)_

Ooh, a winking smiley. I am so glad he liked it, and the thought that I would be seeing him soon makes me breathe a little harder. I suddenly realise we never swapped numbers, so how did he know how to get hold of me?

I am contemplating this as I round the corner and my building comes into view. I notice a figure leaning against the front door, and as I get closer it seems more and more familiar. Taylor. He waves when he sees me, causing me to smile and speed up my progress. I can't see his car anywhere but shrug it off. As I come up to greet him, I say hello and start shuffling through my bag to find my keys.

I babble on and on, not really taking note that Taylor has yet to say one word or touch me. At last I fish the keys out, unlock the door and stand back to let Taylor in. My subconscious is screaming at me that something seems off. I just can't place what it could be.

Suddenly Taylor stops and whirls round, and as I stare into his eyes, it suddenly dawns on me. "You aren't Taylor!" I exclaim loudly, backing away.

"Bravo. The others normally take a lot longer to figure it out." I am sure the confusion I am feeling is playing across my face. My confusion shifts to fear as I take in the sinister smile that is residing on this Taylor lookalike's face.

"Who...who are you?" I stammer out, my heart beating a desperate tattoo in my chest.

"Hmm. So he hasn't told you about me, then?" The man's voice is similar to Taylor's, but the sneer I hear in his voice is poles apart from Taylor's sublime tones.

"What are you talking about?"

"My little brother, Taylor...He hasn't filled you in on our little arrangement, then?"

"I don't know what the hell you are talking about." My voice shakes as I try to understand what is going on.

"Hmm, let's just say my baby brother knows that he has to share his toys with me, and you, my dear, are his latest."

"Well, Taylor's brother..." I realise I don't even know this nutcase's name.

"Richard." He says smoothly, closing the gap between us so we are standing face-to-face. I flinch and try to create more room to escape his foul-smelling breath by stepping back but realise I have nowhere to go when my back hits the wall.

"Well, Richard, I don't know what you are thinking you are doing, but I want you to leave. Now!" I am trembling, but I am not sure whether it is from fear or anger.

"I am not going anywhere, sweetheart, until I get what I came for." The maliciousness in Richard's voice chills me, and I know for definite it is fear coursing through my veins. I try to push him away, but he grabs my wrists tightly, forcing his body against mine. I can feel his erection against my hip, and it scares the life out of me.

"Get off me!" I scream the words, but instantly a hand claps over my mouth, and I freeze my struggles to free myself.

"Shut up, bitch!" Richard hisses into my ear. I start struggling again, panic making any rational thought fly out the window. All I can think of is getting away from him. Richard grabs me and slams my body back against the wall, knocking my breath out my lungs, before crushing his lips against mine. Instinct takes over and I bite down. Richard rears back, roaring at me, so fast I don't see his fist flying towards my face. It feels like my cheek has exploded, and the tears course down my face.

All I can think of is why no one is coming to my rescue. Where are my neighbours? Why is no one answering my cries? I don't know what exactly Richard wants from me, but my will to fight is starting to drain away as the pounding in my head ratchets up another notch and blood pours from my mouth. I bring my knee up in a last-ditch attempt to free myself from my captor, but Richard seems to anticipate this and aims a blow at my stomach, which leaves me reeling.

All of a sudden, there is a roar and then Richard is pulled off me. Without someone to hold me up, my knees buckle and I slide down the wall. I try to concentrate on what is happening in front of me, but my vision is blurry and the pounding in my head and my body makes me feel like I am about to vomit. The scuffling noises seem to have abated, and then there are two legs planted in front of me. I flinch, expecting another round of abuse, and bury my head in my arms, wanting to become invisible.

"Abby." Just one word and I instantly know that it is Taylor. He crouches down and gently opens my arms and hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my face to his. I try to make out the expression on his face as he takes in my injuries, but as I am seeing three of Taylor, this is virtually impossible. I hear Taylor swearing under his breath as he lifts me in his arms. "It's okay, Abby. I am here. Let's get you to hospital," he soothes. Instantly I tense. I don't want to go somewhere I am going to be poked and prodded; I just want to get into by bed and forget this ever happened.

"No!" I croak. "Home. Please." Taylor looks down at me, and as my vision clears slightly, I see his jaw is clenched in anger. I bury my face in his neck, and he starts walking in what I assume is the direction of the stairs. It is only when the frigid air hits me that I realise we are outside. I start to struggle, but Taylor shushes me and informs me that he is taking me home with him. Gently he places me in his car and straps me in before coming round and manoeuvring the car back out of the parking space.

At some point in the drive I pass out, and when I finally come to, I find myself lying on Taylor's bed. A strange, but kind face suddenly appears over me, and I start. My body aches fiercely. My head feels like a fire is burning out of control. "It's okay, Abby. This is my friend James." I hear Taylor's voice, and I relax as his face comes into view. "He's a doctor. I know you didn't want to go to hospital, but you need to be looked at by a professional." Taylor takes my hand, and I nod my consent.

James starts gently prodding my body, making me wince. When he is finished with his examination, he talks directly to me. "Abby, there is nothing broken and you don't seem to have a concussion, but you have taken a bad beating and you are going to be really sore for a few days. I'll leave some painkillers with Taylor, and I want you to get some sleep. Can you do that for me?" I hear the concern in his voice and make a mental note to quiz Taylor about him later.

"Thank you, James." My voice is hoarse, but at least I can talk.

"You rest up and let Taylor here look after you." With that, James gathers up his bag, and I watch as Taylor walks him out, talking softly but urgently. I catch the word 'mugging', and I can only imagine how Taylor is justifying my injuries. But the truth is, until I can actually talk to Taylor about what happened, I don't really know how to even justify it to myself.

I am struggling to sit up and swing my legs down off the bed when Taylor walks back into the room. Immediately he is at my side. "I need to have a shower, Taylor. I feel...I feel..." I can't find the words to describe how violated I feel, but he seems to understand, simply picking me up and carrying me through to the bathroom. With the gentlest of hands he slowly removes my clothes until I am standing in front of him naked. Taylor rakes his eyes across my body, his expression darkening until I am certain he is going to hit something. I am not afraid of him, but something in his expression makes me uncertain of what he is thinking.

"I am going to fucking kill him" is all that Taylor says before he leads me into the shower. He quickly strips himself and adjusts the pressure of the water so that the normally punishing stream is as gentle as a rain shower. Soaping me, Taylor takes extra care when he notices me wincing at his touch. We are silent, both our minds working overtime. When Taylor finally makes his way up to my face, I see tears in his eyes as he wipes away the dried blood. I reach my hand to cup his face and whisper, "This is not your fault."

Taylor places his forehead against mine, and I see the bleak look in his eyes, a mixture of grief and guilt. "It is _all_ my fault." The words are harsh and I flinch slightly, but I hold firm and repeat, "This is _not_ your fault." Shutting off the shower, I let Taylor wrap me up in the biggest fluffy towel I have ever seen, pick me up and return me to his bed. Taylor is softly patting me dry when his phone rings, startling us both out of our intense reverie.

"Sorry, I have got to get this," Taylor says, looking down at the number. "Stix, you okay?" I can only hear his side of the conversation, but it's intense.

"Is Richard there?" I flinch at the sound of his name.

"Well, you need to be somewhere else tonight. He'll be heading there. I am sure of it." I can hear the voice at the other end, questioning him.

"He got to Abby." The gasp at the other end is clear. "I pulled him off her before it got too far, but he has hurt her. Badly. He is going to be so pissed. Please, can you just go and stay at Lisa's tonight so I know you are safe. Please." I hear the pleading in Taylor's voice, and I feel a real fear for whoever it is at the other end of the phone. When Taylor is reassured that this Stix is going to her friend's house, I see his shoulders start to relax.

"I love you, Stix. Be safe, Okay? And any problems, call me." Taylor cancels the call with a sigh and turns back to me with haunted eyes. "My baby sister" is all he says, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know where to start." I have never heard this flat tone to Taylor's voice before, and I ache to comfort him. I put a finger to his lips.

"Shh. Not tonight. Neither of us has the energy to deal with this tonight. Tomorrow is another day."

"But—"

"Not tonight, Taylor!" I say, more sharply than intended. "I...I just can't deal with anything else tonight," I say in more moderate tones.

"Okay. I'll be back in a minute." Taylor leaves the room, and I hear banging around. I am lost in my thoughts when Taylor returns with a tray holding a steaming bowl of soup and some bread—chicken soup, I think, judging by the delicious aroma. "You need to eat something so you can take those painkillers."

Despite the delicious smell, I am not sure I can hold anything down. I take a tentative mouthful, and while I know I am not going to manage more than a few sips, I do my best, even managing to force down a sliver of bread.

"I am sorry, Taylor. That's all I can manage," I say, pushing the tray gently away. Without a word, he hands me two pills, and I swallow them with some of the water he hands me. I can see Taylor is struggling with some inner demons, and I sense he needs to talk but is trying desperately to give me the space I want. Taking the tray, Taylor heads back to the kitchen, and I crawl under the covers. The painkillers and pain take their toll, and I have barely rolled over before I am asleep.

.........................

The pain is astonishing. Hands beat me and voices scream words like 'whore' and 'bitch'. I struggle to free myself, but my arms are held firm. I hear Richard laughing and smell the stench of his breath on my face. I scream.

"Abby. Abby, wake up. It's only a dream." Taylor's words jolt me back to the present, and I can feel the sweat pouring off me. Taylor's hands work to free my arms from the sheet I have managed to tangle myself up in. I am breathing hard, and I can feel the tears leaking down my face. When my arms are finally free, I fling them round Taylor's neck and sob into his chest. He cradles me gently, stroking my hair until I calm down a little. Tender kisses fall on my head, my cheek, my ear. Instinct drives me forward, and I turn, pulling Taylor's mouth to mine. We kiss slowly and Taylor cups my face, taking care not to press on my damaged cheek.

The kiss intensifies, and all I want is Taylor to make me whole. I can feel the lust building in Taylor, and I wriggle around until I am lying on my back and Taylor is hovering above me, his strong thighs between my legs. As if suddenly coming to his senses, Taylor starts and pulls back. "No, Abby. I don't want to hurt you."

"Please, Taylor. I feel like he is still all over me. Please take that away. I need you to replace the dark and ugly with light. I need you." The pleading in my voice is clear, but I can see Taylor is uncertain. "I know you would never hurt me. If it gets too much, I'll tell you."

"Promise?" Taylor whispers.

"Promise," I reassure him, and his gaze softens. Slowly Taylor starts placing gentle kisses all over my body. His hands place loving caresses across my skin, raising goosebumps across my sensitive flesh. I can feel my arousal building and sense his surprise when he cups my sex and finds me wet and aching for him. He slides his fingers across my clitoris, and warm sparks fill my belly.

"Abby, you are so beautiful. Always so ready." Taylor's murmur tickles my ear as I feel him reach across me into the drawer beside the bed. He freezes and I hear his curse under his breath. "Shit, I'm out." It takes me a moment to realise he doesn't have any condoms, and decide that I need him too much. I pull Taylor's face back to mine.

"Please, Taylor. I was tested after what happened to me. I am clean. Please, I need you." Taylor's eyes bore into mine, and I can see momentary hesitation.

"Are you sure about this, Abby? I mean, I have never been without a condom, but still, are you sure?"

"I am sure. Please, Taylor. I'll sort it tomorrow. I just need you in me. Please."

Taylor searches my face and then nods slowly and brings his lips down to mine. I feel Taylor nudge his head at my opening, and I pull my legs further apart to allow him access. Very gently he eases into me, cradling my body as if I am made of porcelain. When I am finally full, I feel the smile stretch on my lips, knowing that this is where I belong. Still kissing me with the utmost tenderness, Taylor starts to rock into my body. I can feel myself responding, my muscles clenching around him with a ferocity that surprises us both. I can feel my orgasm building as he strokes my clit and his cock starts pushing at that very sensitive place deep within my core. When we both come, it is not the normal fast-and-furious sensation of stars and falling but, rather, the most overwhelming wave of pleasure I have ever felt, and it seems to last a millennia. When I look into Taylor's eyes, I know that I have fallen deeply and irrevocably in love.

"That was amazing, baby," Taylor murmurs into my ear, breathing heavily. "You are amazing. The feeling of me in you like that, I never knew it could be like that." Taylor slowly eases out of me, kissing my brow and the tip of my nose. I smile up at him shyly, feeling just as affected by what has just happened. Taylor scoops me into his embrace and continues kissing the side of my face and neck until I slip into a peaceful slumber.
The Twelfth

Taylor is gone when I wake up. I test my limbs and surprisingly I am in better shape than I anticipated. Thank heavens for super-strength painkillers! I throw on a robe and make my way to the kitchen, where I find a pot of hot coffee, more painkillers and a cinnamon muffin waiting for me. A short note lets me know that Taylor has had to duck out for a meeting and will be back after lunch. The kisses at the end of the note cause the butterflies in my stomach to swirl. As I drink my coffee and take small bites of my muffin, knowing I need to eat before I can take any more of the magic painkillers, I reflect back on our lovemaking last night. Because that was what it was, not fucking or doing 'it', as many people so eloquently put it. I pad back into the bedroom to retrieve my phone, which Taylor had so thoughtfully plugged in beside the bed to charge, and make a call to get an appointment with my doctor. Pregnant at twenty-one is not part of my life plan!

I look over at my pile of clothes, and a feeling of revulsion fills me. I have nothing else to wear, so I gingerly pick through them. My jeans are fine, but my jumper and T-shirt are covered in blood and I can't find my pants. There is nothing else for it but to raid Taylor's cupboard. As I step into his dressing area, I am overwhelmed by the scent of him. I feel guilty for going through his drawers, but I know I need something to wear home and then I can change. I pull on a pair of Taylor's boxers, a plain white T-shirt and a forest-green hooded sweatshirt that I find neatly folded on a shelf. I pull on my jeans, slip my feet into my Converse and find my bag, which somehow Taylor remembered to bring with him despite everything going on last night. I check the contents and am relieved to find my keys, which I couldn't remember pocketing before Richard attacked me.

My trip home is quick and uneventful. I listen to music on my MP3 player to keep my nerves in check. As I round the corner, I start getting flashbacks to the previous night. My whole body starts to shake, but I steel myself and walk determinedly to the front door. I check several times that there is no one lurking before I let myself in and quickly slam the door shut. There is no evidence of what happened last night bar a small dent in the wall where Richard pushed me.

I walk through quickly and head up the two flights of stairs to get to the top landing. Call it intuition, or something else, but the higher I climb the more the hair on the back of my neck starts to stand on end. By the time I am facing my door, my stomach is telling me something is seriously not right. It is then that I notice my door is slightly ajar. Images of every horror movie I have ever watched flick through my mind as I slowly walk towards the door. It is normally at this point that I am screaming at the stupid girl to walk down the stairs and out the door and call the police, but something compels me forward.

I push the door open and gasp at the scene of devastation in front of me. Stepping backwards, I fumble trying to retrieve my phone from my bag. Scrolling into my phone, I find Taylor's text message and hit the number to dial it with shaking fingers. Taylor answers on the second ring.

"Morning, beautiful. How are you this morning?" His voice is a balm to my nerves, but even so, I can't control the tremble in my voice.

"Not good, Taylor," I whisper. "Um, my flat...it's been trashed."

"What the fuck?" Taylor's voice is steel, and I visibly flinch. "What the hell are you doing there, Abby?"

Tears fall silently. "I made an appointment with the doctor to sort out last night, but I needed some clean clothes. Please don't be mad at me, Taylor." I can't bear that his anger is directed at me.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Taylor's voice is softer, but I can still detect the anger as he hangs up the phone. I slump down in the hallway and sob quietly while I wait. The minutes pass, and before I realise what is happening, Taylor is scooping me up in his arms and kissing the top of my head. "I am so sorry, baby. I am not mad at you." He wipes the tears from my eyes and turns to step into the flat. We walk into the centre of my studio, and in a few glances I can tell nothing has been spared.

Everything has been emptied out of cupboards and drawers. My clothes have been slashed, my pictures smashed or ripped. My bedding, including the quilt Nonna made for me, and pillows have been ripped apart, and there are feathers everywhere. I turn to the kitchen and it doesn't look like anything there has been spared either.

"I am calling the police." Taylor's voice is arctic, and I suppress a shiver.

"Okay," I say in a small voice. With a start I remember my laptop. I am normally lazy and shove it under the bed when I shut it down at night, and this seems to have played in my favour. I drop to my knees and see it is still where I left it, untouched. I know better than to touch anything whilst we wait for the police; I have watched enough of those CSI crime shows. I walk back into the hallway and wait while Taylor taps away on his phone.

The police are very efficient, and when Taylor explains what happened the previous evening, they immediately start asking lots of questions. I am in a bit of a daze and struggle to be coherent, but I manage to get main points across. They want me to come down to the station to photograph me, and Taylor agrees to a time later that afternoon. My head and side start to throb with pain as the painkillers start to wear off. Noticing my pallor, Taylor insists on taking me home, leaving our contact details with the sergeant in charge.

We have just pulled away when Taylor's phone rings. I can hear the person on the other end talking urgently and see Taylor's whole body tense up. "Fuck!" he explodes as he hangs up, thumping the steering wheel with his hand. I have never seen Taylor like this, and if I am honest, I am starting to feel uneasy.

"Change of plan, Abs. We can't go back to the apartment today."

"Um, okay? Can I ask why, or are you going to yell at me?" I try to keep it light, but I can see the veins in Taylor's neck pulsing.

"Richard has just broken into the apartment." Taylor's voice is low, and I can see he is trying to rein himself in.

"What? How?" I stammer. "How on earth did he get in? I mean, you have so much security."

"Exactly." Taylor's mouth is set in a grim line, and I can see the cogs whirring. I pity the poor person who will be on the end of Taylor's wrath. He bangs his hand against the steering wheel before doing an abrupt U-turn. I close my eyes to try and ease the throbbing in my temples, when I feel Taylor's hand taking mine and rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. The roar of the car's engine dulls my senses, leaving me to drift into my thoughts.

I am brought back to the present when the engine abruptly shuts off. I open my eyes to find Taylor has already jumped out and is opening my door. "Where are we?" I query.

"The Savoy. Come on." Taylor pulls me out of the car, and I am immediately blown away by the opulence of the front hall as he leads me towards the reception desk. I notice a couple of people staring, and I can feel the blush rising in my face, aware of how I must look in my jeans and sweatshirt, plus the great big bruise on my face.

Within minutes we are being led into a suite with the most amazing views of London and the Thames. It is simply spectacular, and I am not really sure why we are here. I turn to Taylor but notice he is already on the phone, talking urgently in low tones.

"That's not good enough, Henry. How the hell was Richard able to get into the apartment?" I can't make out the response on the other end, but it doesn't seem to please him.

"Well, just get it sorted. I can't ever have Abby in that kind of danger again." He puts down the phone and walks across to me, enveloping me in an all-consuming hug. In his arms I feel completely protected, despite everything that is going on.

"Abby, look, we need to talk about all of this, but I have to get some stuff sorted first and then we need to head down to the station. Can you trust me to pick this up later?" I find his words odd, but I realise that I trust Taylor with my life. And truthfully, my head is still pounding and all I want to do is take a painkiller and lie down.

"That's fine, Taylor. I think I will just lie down and have a nap, if that's okay with you?"

"Of course, sweetheart." Taylor kisses the top of my head and leads me through to the bedroom. I strip off my trousers and sweatshirt but leave on Taylor's underwear and T-shirt while he fiddles around in the mini bar, getting me some water. When he turns around and takes in what I am wearing, he chuckles and I can see the desire in his eyes. I smile back at him as he crosses the room and takes me in his arms.

"You little minx. All I can think about is fucking you right now." The growl in Taylor's voice is fierce but sends sparks right through me. "But you need to sleep, so into bed, my little one, before I lose control of myself." Taylor pats me lightly on the bottom, making me giggle. He tucks me in, making sure I take a painkiller, and then gently strokes my injured cheek before kissing me lightly on my lips. I close my eyes and drift away.

It feels like minutes, but in truth half the day has gone by when I open my eyes again. I can see the lights of London going on through the window, and it makes me remember where we are. I smile as I take in the luxury of the room. It is not really my taste, but I can appreciate it nonetheless. The furnishings are exquisite, and I cast my memory back to an article I read about this famous hotel's restoration. This is beyond what I could have ever imagined, and here I am. Little old Abigail James, a nobody, staying in such a fancy place.

I notice Taylor sitting through the door, working on his laptop. As if sensing I am awake, he looks up and catches my eye. "Hey, gorgeous," he says as he comes to sit next to me. "I was just about to wake you up. How are you feeling?" The concern in his voice touches me to my core. I have never had anyone else look after me like this apart from Nonna.

"All good, thanks," I murmur. "What time do we need to get to the station?" I ask, suddenly remembering.

"I have arranged for them to come here in thirty minutes," Taylor explains. "I managed to persuade them to come here rather than taking you down to the station."

"Wow, you must have some powers of persuasion, then." I giggle gently.

"Don't you know it, baby." Taylor's voice is husky, and I am instantly turned on. Oh my, this man manages to make even the simplest conversation sexy.

"Hmmm," I murmur as I feel the wetness in my pants, or rather, Taylor's.

"You are just too delicious in these," he says, flicking the waistband gently. "You'll have to wear my underwear more often."

"Oh, will I now?" I tease.

Taylor slowly slides his hand down, his fingers brushing through my pubic hair until he finds my sweet spot. "Always so wet and ready for me," he murmurs before slipping his finger inside of me. I stifle a moan as he starts fucking me slowly with his finger. I find his lips, greedy for more kisses, and tug on his lower one. Taylor grunts and I can feel him getting harder through his trousers. Taylor slips his finger out of me and sucks on it with a wicked grin on his face. I am so turned on I think I am about to burst into flames.

"Please, Taylor, now." I am panting hard, and the need to have him inside of me is driving me crazy. In seconds Taylor is naked, his back into the pillows as he pulls me so that I am straddling his hips. He pulls on a condom and then gently guides my hips down until I am full to the hilt. At this angle I feel everything. Gripping my hands, he starts moving his hips, never breaking eye contact. I feel wanton and free, so different from when Taylor is on top of me, and I throw back my head, arching my back fully. Taylor reaches up to caress my breasts with one hand, all the while maintaining our pace with his other hand on my hip. It is too much, and the flames building in my abdomen crackle and explode. I come with a ferocity that surprises us both. Taylor is not far behind, and as his breathing slows he pulls me forward so that my forehead is resting on his. Gently he kisses me on the tip of my nose, an action that is becoming more and more familiar to me, and I kiss him back, closing my eyes to savour the moment. Taylor slowly lifts me off his lap and checks the time.

"I think we need to get presentable," Taylor says with a grin. "Detective Stanton is going to be here shortly." I give him a grin and head into the en-suite, where I find the biggest walk-in shower I have ever seen. I shower quickly, using the gorgeous-smelling complimentary toiletries I find in the bathroom. I walk back through wrapped in a towel and glance down at my clothes in dismay, wishing I had something clean to wear. Taylor walks through the door, completely dressed again in his usual work trousers and button-down shirt.

As if he has read my mind, Taylor holds out a large yellow Selfridges bag to me and says, "I thought you might want something clean to wear." I grin at him in response. "You'd better hurry. They are on their way up," he adds.

I tip the bag onto the bed and sort through the jumble of clothes. I have no idea how Taylor knows my size, but everything looks like it will fit perfectly. I have plenty of curves and normally struggle to find clothes that fit nicely. Plus I usually would never dream of wearing designer clothes, as my parents have always drummed it into me that I was too 'big-boned' to get into anything couture.

Searching through, I find the most beautiful set of underwear in a pearlescent pink. The bra does amazing things to my cleavage, and when I slip on the delicate panties, I feel like a million dollars. All the tags are missing, but I could take a rough stab at what some of this stuff must have cost. Probably what I earn in a month. I pull on a pair of jeans, a beautiful long-sleeved silk T-shirt in the same pearlescent pink, a chunky knit grey cardigan and a wide belt. A pair of grey ballerina flats completes the outfit, and I am just pulling my hair back into a low ponytail when I hear the knock at the door.

Detective Stanton and her colleague are efficient but kindly. They go through a list of questions about the attack, and I can feel the tension radiating off Taylor when I describe how scared I was. They turn their questions to Taylor, but I can tell that he must have spoken to them about everything already as they gloss over his relationship with Richard.

"Abby," Detective Stanton says, turning towards me with sympathy in her eyes. "Are you okay for us to get some pictures now?" I nod, suddenly feeling very ashamed. Rationally I know I have nothing to feel shameful about, but I feel it nevertheless.

Taylor squeezes my hand. "It's okay, baby. I am here."

"If you want to stop at any time, Abby, just let me know." Detective Stanton gives me a reassuring smile as she pulls out her camera. She takes several pictures of my face and then asks me to show her the rest. So far I have avoided looking at my body, but as I remove my top, I see the livid purple bruising covering my side, my breasts, and the finger marks on my neck in the mirror opposite. I hear Detective Stanton's sharp intake of breath, but she says nothing as she continues snapping away efficiently.

I take myself away in my head to avoid watching the detective work. I think back to the way Taylor has been holding me like I am made of glass ever since the attack and the way he pulled me on top of him, all so that he wouldn't place any pressure on my broken body, while never making a big deal of it.

"We're done, Abby," says Detective Stanton, motioning that I can put my top back on. I dress hurriedly, wanting to get the images of the bruises out of my head. Taylor pulls me into a hug, holding me while I shake silently in his arms. The detectives head off, and suddenly we are alone and I am not really sure where to start. I want to understand the why, what and who, but I am also scared to. If I don't think about this, then I can pretend it never happened.

My stomach chooses that moment to grumble, and Taylor looks down at me. "Shit, Abby, when did you last eat?"

"Um, I had some of the muffin that you left me this morning." I shrug as if it is no big deal.

"Right, room service." I excuse myself to the bathroom as I suddenly feel the need to just be by myself for a few minutes. I am sitting on the toilet lid with my head in my hands, trying to breathe, when there is a gentle knock at the door, letting me know that our food is here.

I smooth my hair back and make my way into the living area, where I find a trolley piled with small portions of what I assume is pretty much everything on the menu. "I wasn't sure what you would like." Taylor shrugs with a half-smile.

"You didn't need to order the entire kitchen," I laugh, "but thank you. This looks amazing." Everything looks so good it is hard to decide what to try first. The afternoon's activities have made me hungry, and I appreciate Taylor's thought. I pile small tasters onto my plate and Taylor follows my lead before we both sink down into the sofa. We eat in a comfortable silence, looking out at the lit-up London Eye across the river. I am about to comment on the view when Taylor starts talking in a low voice.

"Richard was born six minutes ahead of me. It shouldn't matter as we are twins, but somehow those six minutes seemed to make all the difference to my parents. He was the golden boy, couldn't do anything wrong. Me, I was never short of love or anything, but I just never quite measured up.

"I never really noticed the bullying until we went to school. To me he was my brother and my best friend. But when I saw other siblings interacting, it started to sink in that Richard was not a normal brother. Anytime I would make a friend, Richard would insert himself in there until they became his friend and didn't want to be mine. He wanted me to be alone and isolated so that he could dictate to me.

"Of course, it has taken a few years of therapy to get this straight in my head." Taylor says this with a sardonic shrug, never once taking his eyes off the view in front of us, his jaw taut with tension.

"Anyway, when we were ten, my little sister, Nicola, was born. It was like the rage inside of Richard ramped up tenfold. At first he would take it out on me, beating me black and blue. It's weird when I look back on it, but I never once fought back. But then I started noticing that he would go into her room and pinch her when my parents weren't looking. I tried to tell my mother, but she wouldn't believe me."

I can hear the grief in Taylor's voice as the story pours out of him, and I reach out my hand, entwining my fingers in his.

"So I appointed myself her guardian. I became an expert at reading Richard's moods, and if he was looking for trouble, I would divert it onto myself so that he would leave her alone. As she grew up, it seemed like he had lost interest in her, and I started to relax being the overprotective brother. But I should have known better.

"When she was five and we were on holiday in Florida, Stix refused to come swimming one day. When I questioned her further she asked me why Richard didn't like her. It was such a strange question for a five-year-old, so I asked her what she meant, and that was when she showed me the bruises. Her whole torso was black and blue." Taylor looks like he is about to throw up at the memory.

"Of course I took her to my parents, who were in the all-inclusive bar, getting toasted. They were in complete denial, and it didn't help that Richard turned up spinning a story about her falling down the stairs. Stix was so terrified that she just agreed with him, and I ended up taking the blame for being 'disruptive' to family quality time. Turns out, Richard had tried asking out a girl and been rejected, so he took his anger out on the nearest person, who just happened to be his defenceless little sister.

"After that Richard changed tack, and rather than go after girls himself, he would wait for me to find a girl I liked and then would start inserting himself in there, just like at school. Being twins, I guess, is a bit of a novelty to most girls, and Richard can actually be quite charming when he wants to be. So he would end up either stealing the girl or pissing her off so badly she would dump me. I didn't end up having any proper relationships until I went off on my gap year and Richard went to university. And then I met Hannah." The overwhelming sadness that I see in Taylor eyes rocks me to the core.

"I met her in Costa Rica, on a trek in the jungle. We just clicked and ended up spending most of the year together. When I decided to come back and start my business, she decided to come with me. There was just one problem...I never told her that I had a twin. When I got back, I stupidly thought I would be able to avoid Richard, but somehow he knew. At first I didn't figure out what he was up to, but it clicked after a few comments she made that he had been intercepting her, pretending to be me.

"Of course I then had to confess that I had a twin. To say that she didn't take it well is an understatement. She thought I had been deliberately tricking her and that I was in on what Richard was up to. I didn't feel at that stage I could tell her about what Richard was, but I should have and then maybe..." Taylor's voice cracks, and I feel his pain as if it is my own. I squeeze his hand, willing him to continue.

"Richard being Richard then started the mind games. He turned on the charm and started dripping poison into her ear. Slowly she drifted away from me, but I kept tabs on her. It wasn't long before I noticed the bruises that she tried to hide, but when I tackled her about it, she denied everything. A couple of weeks later she walked out in front of a bus." I gasp as I see the tears leaking out of his eyes. He wipes them roughly away, and I see anger pulsating in his jaw.

"They ruled it an accident, but I am pretty sure she walked out on purpose. I could tell from the last time I saw her things weren't right. I should have done something, damn it! Instead, Richard destroyed her and everything else I touch. I should have fought harder for her."

I am reeling from Taylor's admission, and it takes me a couple of minutes to process everything he has told me. I move from my seat beside him and move so that I am kneeling between his legs. I pull his face down so that he is looking straight into my eyes.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me all of this. I don't really know what to say at this point, other than you have a really fucked-up family." I try to keep it light as I continue, "But don't we all? Seriously, Taylor, it is truly tragic about Hannah, but you can't blame yourself. It sounds like you have an arch-nemesis in your brother and you have taken it upon yourself to save the world from him. God, I sound like I have been watching too many Marvel films." I take a deep breath before carrying on, "You saved me."

"But if you hadn't been with me, he would never have targeted you." I can see the devastation in his eyes, and I move to put my arms round his neck. I kiss him gently, offering him the comfort he has so often given me. His entire body is rigid, but as I continue to trail kisses across his brow, I start to feel the tension leaving him. I lean back to look into his eyes and see the sadness but also resolution.

"He will never fucking touch you again." The words are low but vehement, and I can feel the resolution in them. "You are mine. Never his."

"Always," I say to him, looking deep into his eyes, hoping that I can convey to him the depth of my feelings that I am still a little afraid to voice out loud. One word brings his lips crushing down on mine, and I can feel the passion coursing through him.

He picks me up off the floor and pulls down my jeans and panties before dropping his own and slipping on a condom. The hunger in his eyes tells me everything. Then he is inside of me, pushing deeper and faster than he has ever done, and I feel like he is trying to claim me. It is rough but I don't mind, the sensations inside of me building to a crescendo blocking everything else out.

"Mine!" Taylor growls into my ear as he explodes in me.

"Always," I repeat as the waves of pleasure take over. Panting hard, I bring my lips to kiss Taylor on the nose. His glazed eyes suddenly clear, and horror fills his face.

"Shit, Abby, did I hurt you?"

"Nothing I couldn't take, Taylor. Are you okay?" I ask as sweat slowly drips from his brow.

"Oh, baby, I am sorry. I never lose control like that." I can see the contrition in Taylor's face, and it makes my heart break.

"It wasn't anything I didn't want. I would have stopped you if it was too much." With extreme gentleness Taylor eases out of me. Scooping me off the couch, he carries me into the bedroom and lays me down against the pillows. He climbs in beside me and pulls me into his embrace. I tuck my head under his chin, my fingers curled on his chest. I listen to his heartbeat in the silence, that single sound comforting me. His hands gently stroke the skin all over my back until they come to rest on my bum. As his breathing deepens and I realise he is fast asleep, I find the courage to whisper out loud, "I love you, Taylor Hudson."
The Thirteenth

The buzzing of my phone wakes me and I grab it up quickly, trying not to disturb Taylor, who is still fast asleep. The caller ID shows it is my mother, which is strange as she never rings this early in the morning.

"Hey, Mum," I say in greeting.

"Morning, honey. Sorry if I woke you."

"No, that's all right. How are you?"

"All good, sweetheart. Your dad and I had a call from Nonna's solicitor yesterday, and he asked if we can come in as soon as possible to discuss the contents of her will."

"Oh, okay. I can ask to get some more time off. I don't think my boss will mind." In fact, I am sure I have plenty of holiday still available, so it shouldn't be an issue with Eddy, though I do need to give him a call to explain why I am not at work.

"Could you make Friday? It will be at the guy's office in Brighton."

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Excellent. I'll text you the time once I have it confirmed."

"That's cool, Mum."

There is a pause, and then my Mum asks hesitantly, "Are you okay, Abigail? You sound a bit...tired."

We don't really talk about our feelings in my family, and I am not really sure I want to share the last couple of days with her.

"Just busy with work, Mum," I lie. "I am fine...tired, as you say."

She seems to accept this, and we chat for a couple of more minutes about what she and Dad are up to, and then we hang up the phone. I check through my phone and notice I have a couple of missed calls and texts from Michelle, though nothing from Eddy, which is a bit strange. But then it clicks that Taylor must have talked to him. I flush with embarrassment as to what my boss is probably thinking of me, and I know I am going to have to ask Taylor to tell me how he has explained my absence from work.

A glance at the clock tells me it is only seven, so I walk back into the bedroom and climb back into bed beside Taylor, whose arms immediately wrap around me.

"Good morning, beautiful. Where did you disappear off to?" he asks, burying his head in my neck and trailing kisses along my jaw.

"Um, that was my mum. A solicitor wants to talk about Nonna's will. I am going to need to take Friday off, if that's okay?"

"That's fine, Abby. You do what you need to do."

"God, I am not going to be winning any points as a good employee in my next appraisal," I joke, and Taylor chuckles along with me.

"Are you going to the office this morning? Can I grab a lift in with you?" I ask nervously, not sure whether Taylor will want to be seen with me.

Taylor looks down at me in surprise. "Surely you aren't thinking of going in today?"

"Um, well, yeah. I mean I can't keep taking time off like this. What will Eddy think? Plus I had a stack of stuff still waiting for me."

"You need to rest. I told Eddy you wouldn't be in for the rest of the week."

"Taylor!" I say more sharply than intended, and he looks at me, raising his eyebrows. "Look, I can't just sit around and do nothing when I know there is stuff to do. Plus I am feeling much better this morning. Seriously!" I say when I notice him rolling his eyes.

We argue back and forth for a few minutes until I make it clear that I am going to win this round. Eventually, he gives in, ordering up some breakfast while we dress. I pick out some clean underwear from the pile of clothes Taylor bought me, reminding me that I never thanked him. I team the cream set with a soft-teal jumper dress and heavy grey woollen tights. I pull on the long grey cardigan I wore the previous day and search around for the grey ballet flats. Taylor comes out of the bathroom, shaved and dressed, and I can't help but admire his bum in his well-fitted trousers.

Seeing me, he wordlessly disappears into a cupboard and then brings out a pair of beautiful leather knee-length lace-up boots, complete with ribbon laces. They are the most gorgeous boots I have ever laid my eyes on, and my expression must say it all as Taylor lets out a chuckle, along with a very sexy smirk.

"Thank you, Taylor!" I squeal, throwing my arms around my neck. "Really, you didn't need to buy me all this stuff. How did you even do all of this anyway?"

"Personal shopping at Selfridges. I gave them your sizes and described what you looked like and what you normally wear, and they sent this lot over. I am glad you like them."

"It's too much. They are beautiful clothes, but you didn't really need to do that. I'll pay you back what they cost."

A dark look crosses Taylor's eyes, and I can tell I have made him angry. "No, you won't. It's my fault yours were destroyed. And you can't go around wearing my boxers and T-shirts indefinitely. No matter how sexy you look in them."

"Fine," I acquiesce. "They are really gorgeous. Thank you, Taylor." I kiss him on the cheek and I can feel the calm returning. I slip on the boots just as a knock on the door lets us know breakfast has arrived. I gobble down buttery croissants, the most delicious fruit salad and steaming coffee. I notice the time and head into the bathroom to tie my hair back into its normal work bun. I stare at my face and am grateful that the bruising across my cheek has started to subside. I haven't got any make-up to try and hide it, so I will just have to put up with the stares. Taylor comes up behind me and as if sensing my thoughts kisses the top of my head and wraps his arms around me.

"Once we are in the office, please don't go out by yourself. Take Michelle, or call me, but please, I just need you to be safe." I can see from the look in Taylor's eyes that he is deadly serious, so I nod my head.

The office is still in semi-darkness when I make my way to my desk, and I am grateful to have some time to catch up before anyone else arrives. I quizzed Taylor on the way over about what he told Eddy, but it turns out he simply told him that I had been mugged on my way home and that the police had found my staff pass and rang him. I am grateful that I at least have an excuse to explain the bruising away, even if it is a half-truth.

Time flies, and before I know it Eddy is standing in front of me, exclaiming over the state of my face and threatening to kill the bastards that did this to me. Fortunately, he doesn't ask too many questions and lets me get back to work, which means I can go back to pretending life is normal.

I am relieved when no one makes a big deal about my absence, and even Michelle, who I thought would give me the third degree, is remarkably controlled in her interrogations, allowing me to sidestep some of the more awkward details. It is not like I don't want to share the details with her, but it's so complicated and involves Taylor and I am not sure how much he would be happy with her knowing, particularly as it involves such a complex backstory.

The evening is closing in when I am brought back to reality with a text from Taylor:

_I'll be ready to finish at 5 p.m. Meet me in the entrance to the apartment x_

I feel apprehension at the thought of going back up there after Richard has been in the apartment, but I reason that Taylor wouldn't have asked me if he was not sure that it was safe. I send a quick reply and then concentrate on getting everything finished before I leave.

At five on the dot I head into the lift and use the hidden controls in the panel. Despite telling myself that everything will be fine, it is still a relief when the doors open and Taylor is already there, waiting for me. He pulls me in for a passionate kiss, which is a welcome balm to my nerves. When we part, both a little breathless, he gives me a wicked grin and tells me he has a surprise planned for the evening. I am so curious, but despite all my means of persuasion, he simply pats me lightly on my bum and directs me to the back elevator to head down to the car park.

Our first stop is Selfridges, where I am whisked into their Beauty Room. I swallow nervously at the four people assembled, looking at me expectantly. "Anything she wants, ladies," Taylor says to the assembly, winking at me. "But she has to be done by seven." And then he disappears, leaving me without a clue as to what is going on. I look over the four women. "Can anyone fill me in?" I ask.

One of the women steps forward, and I note that she is immaculately groomed and dressed. No matter how much I try, I can never get myself looking so chic. She introduces herself as Henrietta and informs me that the team will be getting me ready for my date with Taylor. They know where I am going but cannot breathe a word.

"Um, okay," I say, feeling quite flustered when they start discussing among themselves what they are going to do to me. I hear the words 'toner', 'cut', 'bruising', but they start organising themselves, so I feel obliged to go along with whatever they are going to do to me. After all, they are the experts, right?

By ten to seven I am walking into a dressing room, manicured, pedicured and make-up artfully hiding the bruising. My frizzy mop has been coloured, snipped and curled so that it falls in waves over my shoulders. Henrietta is standing in front of me, holding up a stunning tea dress in black with a floral design in hot pink and teal. I smile in appreciation; it is exactly the kind of thing I would have chosen for myself. If I had unlimited money, that is.

Henrietta motions for me to take off my robe and eyes my underwear critically. "Hmm, not the right shape." She leaves but is back in moments with a couple of options, including a body thing that looks like it should be in an S&M club. I gulp not sure what to make of it, but when she makes me try it on, it does amazing things to my body, enhancing my ample cleavage and flattening and shaping my stomach and hips. She hands me some stockings, which I pull on quickly, aware that Taylor will be here any minute. As I look at my reflection, I take in the vixen standing in front of me, not completely believing that this is real. Henrietta busies around me, fixing this and that, and then motions for me to step into the dress. I feel the fabric glide over my body and idly wonder what Taylor is going to make of me. Shoes are the last to go on, and I stumble a little as I attempt to walk in the impossibly high heels.

I hear a whistle behind me, and I turn to catch Taylor's appreciative smile. "Wow, you look good enough to eat," he whispers hoarsely into my ear as he kisses my cheek. A blush stains my cheeks as I think to myself that he hasn't seen what's hiding underneath the dress. He holds out a box to me, and when I open it, I find a stunning necklace of black pearls and diamonds. I look at him and whisper, "This is too much, Taylor."

"No, it isn't. It is exactly what you deserve. Beautiful accessories for a beautiful girl." I swallow hard, trying to push down the tears that I can feel welling up. No one has ever made me feel like I was beautiful and sexy and deserving of such attention before. I notice Taylor looking discreetly at his watch and realise that we need to go, so I start to gather my clothes in a pile.

"Don't worry about that," says Henrietta. "I'll get everything transferred back to your hotel, Mr Hudson." I thank her for everything as Taylor helps me into a beautiful black cashmere coat and she hands me a small clutch filled with 'touch-ups', as she puts it.

I am so excited that my knee bounces as we sit in the taxi. Grinning at me, Taylor leans over and whispers in my ear, "Close your eyes, we are nearly there." I oblige, and seconds later I feel the taxi stop and Taylor squeezes my hand. I open my eyes to find that we are just outside the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. I feel like I am starring in my own version of _Pretty Woman_ —well, apart from the prostitute bit, of course.

Taylor escorts me across the cobbles, and I take in the grandeur of this stunning building. The bell is calling time as we slip into our seats, and I have no idea of what I am about to see as I had been concentrating so hard on not falling over on the way through. "Romeo and Juliet," Taylor whispers in my ear as the music starts and the dancing begins. I have always yearned to see a ballet here, and it looks like my dream has come true. I look over at Taylor and smile, squeezing his hand and trying to convey my thanks for such an amazing surprise.

I lose myself in the music and the story and find myself surprised when the first interval arrives. We move to the bar, and instantly Taylor hands me a glass of cool crisp champagne. We chat about the dancing, and it seems like mere moments before we are called back in. At some point Taylor moves his hand to my thigh and starts slipping the fabric higher. He discovers the stockings and suspenders, and in the momentary silence I hear his sharp intake of breath. I glance over and I can see his rigid profile. He pulls my hand into his lap, and I can feel his enormous erection pushing at his trousers. I am wet in an instant and squirm in my seat, pushing my knees together to try and ease the throb that is building.

"Later," Taylor growls into my ear, and I almost come at the thought of what that promises.

It is late when we make it out of the opera house, among the throng of people. My belly grumbles, making Taylor chuckle. "Come on, let's get some food into you. I know this amazing tapas place about a five-minute walk from here. Do you think you can make it on those heels?" Taylor gives me a smirk as he glances down at my throbbing feet. Whoever invented killer heels should be shot. Sure, they look good, but I am about as graceful as a cat on roller skates in these things.

"Go on, laugh it up in your nice flat shoes!" I joke. "You'll be sorry when you have to carry me home later." He offers me his arm gallantly, and I grab hold of it as we take off, me tottering along like Bambi. Taylor wasn't joking about the distance, and I am pleasantly surprised that we make it without me falling flat on my face. Despite being busy, we find a secluded table, and I run my eyes eagerly over the list of tapas. I realise that I haven't had anything since my late lunch and I truly am starving.

"I recommend the apple mojito," Taylor says, pointing to the drinks menu.

"Ooh, that sounds yum," I answer, also pointing out some of the dishes I have also taken a fancy to. The service is surprisingly quick, despite the bustling crowds, and it is only minutes before a waitress appears with both our drinks and a couple of dishes to start with. The mojito is sublime, and I have to pace myself, knowing that drinking on an empty stomach will be disastrous.

I find myself prattling away to Taylor about the ballet and my experience as we make our way through half a dozen small dishes. It is only after I have to ask Taylor a question three times that I realise he is in another world, staring at me intently.

"Taylor, what's up?" I break his reverie, and he comes back to himself with a small start.

"Fuck, Abby, you have no idea what is going through my head right now." I look at him in surprise, the low growl in his voice sending shivers through me. "I am imagining all sorts under that dress, and all I want to do is strip you right here, right now." Shit, I have just flooded my panties, and my sex has started throbbing in anticipation. I groan quietly, and Taylor looks at me with knowing eyes. Within seconds the bill has been settled and Taylor is bundling me into a cab.

We are both breathing heavily, but Taylor makes no move to touch me. My control is fragile enough as it is, and I can't think how Taylor is remaining so calm. The calm lasts as long as it takes to get us through the door of our suite. Taylor throws me against the door, kissing me with such fervour that I know my lips will be bruised in the morning. His hands start exploring under my dress, and I can feel his erection throbbing in my hip.

"Fuck, Abby, I need you now," Taylor growls, slipping my panties to one side and slipping his fingers inside of me, stretching me. Foil rips, and then he is sliding into me, pinning me to the door. I wrap my arms and legs around him as he pounds into me hard and fast, and I just go with it, throwing my head back as I ride the tidal wave. I feel Taylor explode in me, making me come again.

We are both panting hard as Taylor walks us through to the bedroom, his erection softening in me slowly. "Shit, Abby, is your back okay?" Taylor asks, laying me gently on the bed. The tingling all over my body is the only sensation I am aware of at this moment, and I simply nod my head, a knowing smile on my face. Taylor eases out of me and lies on his back beside me, trying to catch his breath.

I sit up on my elbows and watch him for a few seconds before pulling myself over Taylor and straddling his hips. Taylor's eyes fly open in surprise. I gently ease the zipper down on my dress and pull it up over my head. Taylor's eyes and erection both grow huge as he takes in the sight of me. My corset is a mix of S&M glamour and vintage charm, the panels of satin elastic and scalloped lace giving me a killer figure. Taylor runs his hands up my legs, pulling at my suspenders and snapping them fiercely against my bum. The snap smarts, but the pain shoots pleasure through my groin and tips me closer to the edge.

I move between Taylor's legs and take him in my mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges on my tongue. I pull him deep, his cock touching the back of my throat, and I feel Taylor's hands in my hair. I hear him hissing through his teeth as I roll him in my mouth, my tongue teasing his delicate slit. I suddenly feel Taylor pressing a condom in my hand. I sit up and roll it on to his length before lowering myself onto his erection. Taylor takes my hands, giving me some purchase to push myself against as I slowly start rolling my hips against his. We soon find our rhythm and I find myself tipping over the edge as Taylor pushes deeper and deeper, stroking my core. As I come, my muscles clench so fiercely they force Taylor to explode inside of me. The waves continue as Taylor slips his finger into my dripping pussy and starts stroking my oversensitive clit. In moments I explode with such force that I see stars.
The Fourteenth

Once again we sneak into work, and I am forced to confront the reality of the situation. Having an affair with the boss is not smart, but I feel helpless in the face of my attraction. My inner musings keep me distracted from my work for most of the day, but I still manage to complete some of the tasks Eddy has assigned me. Fortunately, Eddy doesn't seem to notice that I am away with the fairies, so I am let off easy.

It is not long after lunch when I get a call from reception letting me know that Detective Stanton is waiting for me. I pop through to the lobby, my body tense and filled with apprehension. When I greet her, her kindly smile relaxes me a little, but I still find myself playing with my hair nervously.

"Hello, Abby," she says. "Do you have a couple of minutes to spare?"

"Sure." I motion to Janet that we are popping across to Starbucks and won't be long. I can see the mild curiosity in her eyes, but given that the office gossip has done the rounds about my so-called mugging, I am sure she is assuming that this is just a follow-up about that.

Starbucks is quiet after the lunchtime rush, so we are able to grab a couple of seats in the corner. I sip my latte, quietly wondering what it would take for the detective to pay me a personal visit. Detective Stanton slides across some keys, and with a start I realise that they are mine. I don't remember leaving them with her, but perhaps Taylor did.

"Abby, we processed your flat thoroughly, but he was good. There were no fingerprints or DNA anywhere." I feel my hands clenching my mug tightly. "Personally, I have not seen this kind of rage before where the perpetrator doesn't know the victim. There is normally a degree of relationship to prompt an attack of this sort."

"What does this mean?" I ask quietly.

Detective Stanton sighs. "We interviewed Richard Hudson about both your attack and your flat. He denies everything, and with the lack of evidence in your flat, we can't charge him on that at this point. We have charged him, however, with the attack on you, given both your and his brother's statements, and he has been released on bail."

I shiver at the thought that Richard is out there.

"Listen, Abby, at this point I can't promise anything with so little evidence. But something about Richard doesn't sit right with me. I shouldn't be telling you this"—she looks me in the eye before continuing—"but this guy gives me the creeps, and we are doing a deeper background search to see if anything comes up. It is taking a while and I just need you to stay safe. Do you understand?"

I nod. "Thank you, Detective. I really appreciate all your help with this. Truthfully, he scares the living daylights out of me, and the thought that he is out there is not a pleasant one. But I promise I will be careful."

Detective Stanton reaches out and squeezes my hand comfortingly. "Just to let you know, your flat is a mess. Please don't go back there alone until you get the locks changed." I can see from the look in the detective's eyes that she is affected by this as much as I am. I give her my word, and we finish up our coffees before I head back into the office.

When I am back at my desk, I send Taylor a quick text asking him if he will come back to my flat with me after work so that I can clean up. He tells me to meet him at the car at five, and I start to make a mental note of what I may need, trying to remember the state of the damage.

.........................

The afternoon flies by and it is not long before Taylor and I are standing outside my front door as I fumble with my keys. Taking them off me gently, Taylor calmly unlocks the door and swings it open. Once again, I am shocked by the devastation. Added to this is the fingerprinting dust, which seems to cover pretty much every surface.

With grim determination, I move forward, pulling out my cleaning supplies and black bags. "Taylor, you don't need to stay," I say to him, knowing that he has hours of work still to do this evening.

"I am not leaving you alone for a second." Taylor growls the words, and I can see the anger flashing in his eyes. I know it is not directed at me, but it stills scares me a little. Instead of arguing, though, I simply hand him a sack. "Anything broken, chuck in there. The bins are out the back."

I set to work scrubbing down the kitchen area, tears coming to my eyes when I take in my broken mixer, an eighteenth-birthday gift from Nonna. Taylor works fast, stopping every now and again if something seems salvageable to ask my opinion. After only a couple of hours, the pile of black sacks at the door has grown considerably, and it strikes me how bare my flat now looks, devoid of pictures and soft furnishings. My junk shop table and chairs are beyond repair, and they too are added to the pile along with my futon mattress, which has been shredded. Further tears come to my eyes as I try and pull the pieces of Nonna's quilt back together. My precious laptop has not been touched, and that is my only comfort.

Taylor carries all the sacks and furniture out to the bins while I finish wiping down all the surfaces. When at last everything has been cleaned and tidied away to my satisfaction, I find myself sinking to the ground. I had been here for only four months, but it had become my home, and damn it, Richard had destroyed it all. I do my best to fight the tears, but my exhaustion overwhelms me, and I sob silently, hoping to get it out of my system before Taylor returns.

I don't hear Taylor come back in until he pulls me to my feet and into his arms, which curl around me in a tight embrace. "Let's get out of here," he says, speaking into my hair. "I'll get someone to sort your locks out tomorrow while you are in Brighton."

"Thanks, Taylor. For everything," I murmur into his chest. I feel him tense and know he feels guilty that he has brought Richard into my life. But I know that now there is nowhere I would rather be than in Taylor's arms. I squeeze him tightly before extricating myself, scooping up my laptop and heading out the door.

As we are getting into Taylor's car, I suddenly have a thought and turn to him. "Um, Taylor, where are we sleeping tonight? I mean, the hotel is lovely, but it must cost a fortune."

Taylor chuckles. "Back to the apartment tonight, I am afraid. The last of the extra security was installed today, so we are all set. That is, unless you want another night at the hotel?" He says this with a smirk, and I know he is remembering our session last night.

I feel the flush across my face and the stirring in my groin. "Um...the apartment would be lovely. But what about all our stuff?"

"Already delivered back to the apartment, Abs." It must be lovely living in a world where people just handle things for you, but I find myself cringing slightly at the thought of someone else packing up my underwear. But I guess if that's their job, then they have probably seen everything before, I reassure myself. But then I remember my corset and my whole body flushes with embarrassment.

"Your face is so expressive, Abby," laughs Taylor, knowing the cause of my discomfort. "Stop stressing. It is all sorted." I snort in response, knowing that it is not a very ladylike response but not knowing what else to say, and climb in the car.

We are both tired when we arrive back to the apartment. As I stand in the entrance, I look around trying to see where all this extra security is. Seeing me, Taylor shrugs and starts explaining about sensors and remote links, but I am just too exhausted and hungry to take it in. I make my way across to the kitchen and dig around in the fridge, trying to find something to eat.

"Check the warming drawer," says Taylor absentmindedly as he sorts through a pile of papers that are sitting on the console by the door.

"Huh?" I query.

Realising I haven't got a clue, Taylor makes his way across to me and pulls out a drawer underneath the oven. The aroma hits me right away as Taylor starts pulling out the dishes of food. "Mrs Harris normally leaves dinner in there for me."

"Mrs Harris is...?" I trail off.

"My housekeeper," Taylor clarifies. "She's the one who picked up all our stuff from the hotel, actually."

"Oh my god. What must she think of me?" I flush and cover my face with my hands in embarrassment.

Taylor laughs and pulls my hands down before looking straight into my eyes, his face taking on a serious expression. "Mrs Harris has worked here since I moved in. I pay her enough so that she doesn't ever need to have any opinion of you. But I would never do anything to risk your reputation, so you can rest assured that she won't have seen anything you wouldn't be happy showing your mother. You are mine, and I will do everything in my power to protect you."

Taylor's last sentence fills my stomach with butterflies, and his earnest expression doesn't leave any doubt in my mind. Neither of us has said those precious three words yet—well, apart from when I knew he would be sound asleep—but it is certainly there in all of Taylor's actions towards me. I feel warm and cherished, a novel feeling that I am still becoming accustomed to. I put my arms around Taylor's waist and stand up on my tiptoes, offering up a gentle kiss, which he returns with equal tenderness. It is not our normal hot-and-heavy snogging, but its chasteness is even more powerful.

My stomach rumbles and I giggle, breaking the mood. I gather the plates, and we both help ourselves to rich beef stew and dumplings with an assortment of winter vegetables, perfect for this autumnal weather. We eat informally at the breakfast bar, and I exclaim over Mrs Harris's cooking ability. The meal is delicious and filling, making me feel rather drowsy.

Despite my tiring day, I am not quite ready for bed, so when Taylor heads to his study, I curl up on the couch in front of the wood-burning stove. I find the book I have been reading on the app on my phone and turn on some Third Eye Blind, marvelling at all the technology in one small device, once again. I am soon engrossed in _Jane Eyre_ , despite having read the book numerous times.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch as I find myself in Taylor's arms as he carries me into the bedroom. "What time is it?" I whisper into his chest.

"After one," Taylor murmurs before laying me down and helping me out of my clothes. I pull back the duvet and climb in, curling into Taylor's chest when he joins me, pulling the covers over our bodies. Within seconds the world fades to black.
The Fifteenth

A large hand shakes me awake, and I swat at it ineffectually, mumbling incoherently. I hear Taylor's laugh. "Come on, sleepyhead. It's after eight." Shit! I am supposed to be on the train in an hour. I sit up, stretching, and look at Taylor through bleary eyes. He is already dressed in a sharp suit, and I remember that he has a meeting first thing.

Taylor shifts nervously on his feet and suddenly blurts out, "It's my grandmother's birthday on Sunday, and she is having a party. Would you like to come with me?" It thrills me that after all our sneaking around at work, Taylor wants to introduce me to his family. The idea of meeting them all scares me, but I love the fact that he feels ready to take this step.

"I would love to." I smile up him and he grins back. Swooping down, Taylor kisses me intensely, and immediately my body responds, my arousal building. I hook a leg around his, pulling him on top of me as my fingers fumble for the button on his trousers. Taylor groans into my mouth, quickly discarding his jacket and shirt, but I notice he still has his tie in his hands. I motion to it with my head, my eyes full of questions, but he simply shakes his head with a smirk written over his face.

"Oh, baby, you are playing with fire," Taylor growls into my ear as he grabs both hands and pins them above my head, binding them together. I become so wet, the anticipation sending those familiar sparks through my groin. He flips me onto my stomach, and I hear his trousers drop to the floor before I feel him spread my legs wide. I turn to look over my shoulder. "Eyes closed and keep as still as you can"—Taylor growls—"or there will be consequences."

Taylor pulls at my hips, adjusting me, and then starts running his tongue over my throbbing clit. The sensations are overwhelming and I squirm. I feel a sharp sting across my buttocks, the pain making my arousal grow. "I said keep still," Taylor growls. I groan into the sheets, trying to remain still while Taylor continues to lick me, his tongue dipping into my wet pussy. Then his tongue is moving between my arse cheeks and swirling around the naughty pucker of my arse. The feeling is so foreign and I wriggle again, my reward being another sharp slap on my butt, which shoots sparks up through my core.

"Relax, Abby. I am not going to hurt you, baby." I simply groan, the arousal I am feeling overtaking any coherent thought. Taylor continues laving me with his tongue whilst his fingers start working at my clit. My orgasm is so intense I don't even notice for a second that Taylor has inserted a finger into my forbidden place. Before I have a chance to react, Taylor slips on a condom and pushes deep into my pussy, filling me up, his finger still gently moving in my arse. The sensations are so intense that I come immediately, clenching Taylor's cock tightly. But he doesn't stop. Taylor withdraws both his cock and finger and then pushes both back into me, filling me up again. Oh my. The intensity of it all is threatening to crush me, but Taylor doesn't stop, simply increasing the pace until I am about to fall over the edge. He explodes inside of me, the force of which sends me over, and while I come again and again, he pumps his finger, stimulating every nerve ending.

When at last Taylor slips out of me, he turns me over, and I lie there panting, my limbs turned to jelly. He kisses me gently on the nose whilst he works at freeing my wrists. I can't speak, and when he asks if I am okay, all I can do is offer up a weak smile and nod. The idea of where Taylor's finger has been is so foreign to me, and I feel like I should be ashamed on one level because good girls don't do that sort of thing. But on another level I don't care because it felt so damn good.

"Bugger, I had better have another shower," says Taylor with a chuckle. "Join me?" Taylor holds out his hand and pulls me up. In the shower, Taylor gently soaps my body, paying extra care with my now slightly stinging ass. "I love that I am the only one who has been in here," he says, lightly rubbing the delicate ring of my arse. "I think you liked it too. Did you enjoy it, Abby?"

I feel embarrassed talking about it, but I can't help but be truthful, "It was a bit weird at first, like I was too full in the wrong place"—I look into Taylor's eyes, feeling shy, and continue—"but with everything you were doing, it felt amazing. It felt like you possessed me completely."

Taylor brings his mouth down on mine, crushing my lips with his kiss. We stay like that for several minutes, making out like teenagers under the cascading water. With a groan, Taylor breaks away. "I am so going to be late if I don't stop now. To be continued..." He taps me lightly on my nose before exiting the shower and wrapping a large fluffy towel around his waist. I grab the shampoo and squirt some into my hands before whipping up a lather in my hair.

My mind keeps flashing back to the feeling of Taylor's finger in me. My body feels heavy and a little sore, but all I can think about is wanting it again. I pout, knowing that I am going to have to wait, and then slide my fingers down to explore my swollen lips. A finger brushes my sensitive clit and the sparks make my knees weak.

I have never masturbated before, but today seems all about taking down barriers, and I find myself alternating between rubbing my clit and pushing my fingers inside of me. I feel my orgasm building, and I lean back against the cubicle until I come, the waves of pleasure different from when Taylor does it but powerful nonetheless.

When I open my eyes, it is to find Taylor staring at me through the shower, his erection straining his trousers. "Fuck, Abby, that is about the sexiest thing I have ever seen." I feel so shy that he has seen me but secretly thrilled that I have had that effect on him. With that he quickly walks out of the bathroom.

I finish washing my hair in a slight daze and then climb out of the shower, my body still tingling from the morning's activities. I notice all my toiletries sitting on the counter, and I grab my toothbrush to get rid of my morning breath. I walk back through to the deserted bedroom and find that Taylor has left the door to his walk-in wardrobe open. I spy my clothes hanging alongside his neatly, and I delve through the choices, trying to decide what to wear.

I settle on a pair of grey skinny jeans with a jade-green top and the chunky grey belted cardigan. Everything smells freshly laundered, and once again I marvel at Mrs Harris. On the chest of drawers, I spot a new hairdryer still in its box, and I smile at Taylor's thoughtfulness. I roughly dry my hair like Henrietta showed me, adding some product in an attempt to mimic the curls she produced. While not up to her professional standards, I have managed to achieve a little victory over my normal frizz. A dash of powder and some mascara and I am ready.

I pad through to the kitchen to find Taylor eating cereal, engrossed in his laptop. I plant a kiss on his cheek, and he swivels round, capturing me between his legs. "Never be embarrassed about your sexuality, Abby. You are undeniably the most sexy, beautiful creature I have ever come across." I blush at Taylor's words, and he releases me with a chaste kiss. I help myself to coffee, a bagel and some fruit, my stomach reminding me that I am famished.

Taylor's phone pings, and he starts gathering up the files in front of him, closing the laptop. "Are you going to be okay today, Abby?" I can see the concern in his eyes.

"I'll be fine, Taylor. I am just going to hop on the train, meet up with the solicitor and then head back. I should only be a few hours at the most."

"Damn, I wish I was going with you, Abby. I hate leaving you alone like this. I can't protect you. I just can't postpone this meeting, unfortunately."

"Don't be silly," I tease. "I am going to be surrounded by people."

"You know that's not what I mean, Abs." Taylor's voice is a low growl.

"I know, Taylor, but please, you can't be at my side twenty-four-seven. I am a big girl. If there is any trouble, I'll call you," I say soothingly.

"Promise?" Taylor's voice sends tingles down my spine.

"Promise," I reassure him.

Taylor pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head before releasing me and handing me a white plastic card similar to the cards we use to access the office. He explains that it is programmed for me to get into the apartment as part of the security upgrade. I tuck it away in my bag, making sure that I won't get it confused with my work pass.

"Any problems, call me," instructs Taylor firmly. I nod my acquiescence before kissing him on the mouth, savouring the feel of his soft lips on mine. With a groan Taylor pulls back. "You are going to be my undoing, Abigail James." I giggle softly, reaching up to kiss the tip of Taylor's nose. Shaking his head, he picks up his paper and laptop, and heads towards the door. "See you later, baby."

"See you later, Taylor." I give a half wave as he heads out the door, and I turn back to my breakfast, conscious that I need to be heading off myself. I quickly finish the last bites of my bagel and then start clearing the dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down the surfaces. I know Taylor has Mrs Harris, but it just doesn't sit right with me to walk away from a mess.

.........................

I am a few minutes late arriving at the solicitor's office, having missed my train, causing me to feel flustered. I am shown into his office to find my parents waiting for me, looking a bit stern, but Mr Thompson's demeanour immediately puts me at ease. We get the formalities out of the way first, and then Mr Thompson begins.

"I have known Mrs Albertelli—Clara—a great many years as a friend, but she only instructed me on her behalf six months ago when she was given her diagnosis. She has written you each a letter," he says, holding up three fat envelopes, "which she requests you take away and read on your own when we are finished.

"Her will was very simple, having already disposed of most of her possessions." We look at each other in surprise as Mr Thompson continues, "To Gina, she leaves her jewellery, the contents of the attic box..." He looks over his glasses at my mother. "She said you would know which one she means."

My mother nods in response, her eyes filling with tears. "She has also left you her collection of dancing figurines."

"To Michael, she has left her collection of Italian landscapes, as she knew how much you admired them, and the journals her father kept during the war." I can see my father is touched to be included.

"To Abigail, she leaves Bread." Our collective confusion shows on our faces, and Mr Thompson continues hurriedly, "Bread is a bakery located in The Lanes."

"She left me a bakery? What? How?" I gasp. I look at my parents, and it is clear that neither of them has a clue either.

"Just after Clara was diagnosed, a friend of hers decided to sell his business. He was getting older and wanted to retire. His son is the principal baker there but didn't want to take on the family business. So Clara decided to sell her flat..." I hear my mother's gasp but I know I don't want to look and see her disapproving expression. "She used the capital to buy the business, including the premises, and the small flat above. The business has been kept running by the manager, Beatrice, but Clara's long-term view would be that Abigail would get involved."

I stare at Mr Thompson in shock, unable to form any words. My mother, on the other hand, goes off in Italian, and I can barely make out her words she is talking so fast and furiously.

"Calm down, Gina," my dad instructs.

"Don't tell me to calm down, Michael. What the hell was my mother thinking, selling up and buying a bloody bakery?" She huffs and puffs and glares at me. That hurts. It is not like I asked Nonna for this. Never in a million years would I have ever expected Nonna to do something like this without telling anyone. I hear my mother muttering something about 'carbs', and I do my best to block her out while waiting for Mr Thompson to continue.

"Now would be a good time, I believe, for you all to go away and read your letters. I believe Clara has clarified her wishes for each of you in them."

"What is happening about the flat?" my dad asks.

"Clara sold the flat to a developer who has been buying up the properties around her to turn the whole building into a premier seafront hotel. The condition was that she be allowed to live there for her remaining days. There is a four-week grace period for you to sort out her remaining furniture and belongings before it needs to be handed over."

"Okay." This is all my dad says, but I can tell he is working things over in his head, his brow creased in concentration.

"I would suggest you each read your letter and then make an appointment with my secretary, and we can go through the finer details. Abigail, there is quite a lot we will need to go through, but I think you will need some time to digest this all." Mr Thompson looks at me kindly, and I nod in response.

In typically dramatic fashion, my mother gets to her feet in a huff, grabs her envelope and breezes past me with not so much as a word. My dad looks at me apologetically and shrugs his shoulders. "It is not you she is mad at, sweetheart. I think this has just taken her by surprise." With that my dad squeezes me awkwardly before hurrying out the door to go placate my mother.

Mr Thompson passes me my envelope, and I clutch it to my chest, feeling like it is a ticking time bomb about to go off. "Thank you, Mr Thompson. I'll be in touch shortly." With that I hurry out of the office in a daze. I walk without thinking, and I find myself sitting on a bench along the Promenade overlooking the remains of the old burnt-out pier. The day is blustery but bright, and I am warm enough, wrapped up in my cashmere coat and scarf.

The ping of my phone grabs my attention, and I idly wonder whether it is my mother ready to apologise. Yeah, like that will ever happen, I think to myself sarcastically. I glance at my screen and see that Taylor has sent me a message, checking if I am okay. I am not sure that I am, but I don't want to worry him, so I tell him everything is fine and I am just enjoying the sunshine by the pier.

With shaking hands I open the envelope up and pull out Nonna's letter, the familiar script bringing tears to my eyes:

_Belissima Abigail,_

_I know you are sad and probably a little mad at your old Nonna right now, but please believe me that I never wanted to hurt you by keeping my illness a secret. I know you, cara; if I had told you about the aneurysm, you would have dropped out of university to wrap me up in cotton wool, and I could never have lived with myself._

_As it is, you have forfeited your dreams for so long to please your parents, and for this I hold myself partly responsible. I should have helped you fight for your passions. You have such talent, and I can't bear to see it wasted, and it was with this in mind that, when my friend Frank talked of selling his bakery, I knew just what had to be done._

_The business is yours, plus the flat above. I know you love London, darling Abby, but consider this something of an investment. If you don't feel ready to take this on, you can leave the business to run itself. The staff are more than competent, and I have instructed Mr Thompson to help in any way required and rent out the flat for income._

_But hopefully you will want to take over. Andreas, Frank's son, does all the baking at the moment, but they only make bread (hence the name), and I thought, with your skills and love of cakes, you will have plenty of scope to drive things forward._

_Be brave, cara! I know your mother will be angry and will probably try and talk you into selling. Heaven knows she always thinks she knows best, even from when she was a child, but remember, this is your future. I trust you to make the right choice to be happy._

_Above all else, cara, all I want is for you to be happy. Please believe me when I say how proud I am of you and the young woman you have become. I am so sad that I won't be around for those momentous occasions in your life, like when you get married and have children, but I will always be in your heart._

_My darling, this is my final goodbye. Please don't be sad. I have had a full and happy life, and being able to watch you grow and share my passion for food has made it all the more sweet. My final words of advice are these:_

_Believe in yourself, laugh often, love fully and don't be scared of what is around the corner—the only thing to fear is fear itself._

_With all my love,_ _Nonna_

I read Nonna's letter over and over as the tears flow freely down my face. I am oblivious to concerned stares of the passers-by and the screech of the seagulls overhead as I hear her voice playing on repeat inside my head. I don't know how much time has passed sitting there on the bench, but the day is getting cooler and the rumbling of my stomach tells me I have missed lunch.

"You didn't answer my calls." Taylor's voice startles me, and I turn to see him standing beside me. I didn't even hear him walk up, but it is clear from the expression in his eyes he is worried.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't hear my phone ring. Truthfully, I have been kind of on another planet." With a sigh he comes and sits down next to me. I can tell from his body language he is angry but trying to suppress it. Wordlessly I pass him over Nonna's letter. He sits still for several minutes as he reads, and then he turns to me. "She left you a bakery?" Taylor asks, the incredulity apparent in his voice.

"Um, yup." I start to giggle. The giggle turns to laughter, which turns to great, big hiccupping sobs. I am a mess. I miss my Nonna so much, and the thought that she has the confidence in me to have done something so crazy—yes, crazy—enough as buy me a bakery means that I am torn between excitement and terror.

Taylor enfolds me in his arms. "Bloody hell, Abby. You are freezing. How long have you been sitting out here?"

"I don't know. Since eleven-ish, I think."

"Abby, it is nearly three o'clock. Let's get you somewhere warm so you can thaw out." Taylor spots a cosy-looking café and drags me in, despite my protestations. It is only when I settle into the warm booth that I realise just how truly cold I was. Taylor orders me a hot chocolate and a toasted sandwich, which I feebly protest at but am secretly rather grateful for when it eventually arrives.

Eventually, a thought strikes me. "How did you find me?" I ask.

"Well, when you didn't answer my third call, I tracked your phone." Taylor says this with such a bland expression that I feel my hackles rise.

"What the hell, Taylor?"

"I was worried, okay? I can't lose you, Abby, not after everything that has happened. I put an app on your phone, and when you hadn't called me back after an hour and I had imagined every horrible thing that could have happened to you, I turned on the tracker. When I saw you hadn't moved from where you had mentioned earlier, my gut just told me something was wrong. Look, you can give me all the spiel you want about invasion of privacy and all that, but understand that you are mine. Mine. And I will protect you at all costs." Taylor's voice has remained eerily calm throughout his speech, but I can hear the determination in his words.

My face flushes. "I am really sorry for worrying you, Taylor. I really didn't mean to." Taylor softens at my apology. I guess he was expecting a tirade from me, but I am just simply grateful that he is here. He takes my hand and gently strokes my knuckles as I tell him about my visit to the solicitor's. His expression darkens when I get to the part about my mother's behaviour, but remains silent.

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Taylor?" I ask. "I don't know anything about running a business. Sure, I love to bake, but on that kind of scale, I just don't know if I have the capability." I sigh and stare down at my empty plate.

"Do you think I knew what I was doing when I first started out? If this is what you want, then follow your dreams. To hell with the rest." Taylor's words buoy me up, and for the first time since hearing about my unusual bequest, I feel a little better. "Are you ready to head back?" Taylor asks, motioning for the bill when I nod my head.

Taylor leads me back to the car, and I feel grateful that I do not have to fight the commuter crowds to get back to London. I lean my head against the warm leather, enjoying the heated seats, and sing along softly to the Goo Goo Dolls.

By the time we are back in London, it is dark and raining. I am in a strange mood, and sensing this, Taylor leaves me to my own devices. I curl up on the couch to read but struggle to concentrate and find myself flicking through the TV channels, all the while preoccupied with trying to decide what it is I really want.

Self-doubt plagues me, and if I am really honest, the idea of leaving Taylor to go live in Brighton upsets me. I know we are in such early days of our relationship, but even so, it feels like he is such a major part of my life that I am reluctant to let go. Taylor makes me feel like I have found the part of me that has been missing all my life, and I am not sure I could bear to go back to that old version of myself.

My limbs are fidgety, and I find myself going in search of Taylor. I check the bedroom, but the room is empty, so I head further down the corridor towards Taylor's office. I have only peeked in there a couple of times; it feels too much like Taylor's domain for me to intrude. As I step up to the door, I hear the soft sounds of an acoustic guitar. My curiosity is piqued as I recognise the tune, but it doesn't sound like anything I have heard on an album. I push open the door gently and am astonished to see Taylor sitting there with his back to me, strumming with his eyes closed. He is humming softly, completely at ease with himself.

Taylor doesn't notice me in the doorway, so I slide down to sit on the floor, leaning against the frame. I shut my eyes and let the music wash over me, my fidgeting limbs finally stilling. The timbre of Taylor's voice sends shivers down my spine, and as he picks out the cords, I visualise those fingers running across my skin. No wonder he is so dextrous when it comes to making me come, I think, a smile stretching across my face.

The music stops, and I open my eyes slowly to find Taylor has turned around in his seat and is watching me. "Hi," he greets me softly. "How long have you been there?"

"Just a little while. You play beautifully. I thought you were listening to some unplugged album, and when I came in, I saw it was you playing." I smile shyly.

"Thanks. I took it up when I was at school. I find it relaxes me." Taylor smiles a lazy smile at me.

"Could you play some more?" I ask, looking up at Taylor.

"Sure." He shrugs, starting to strum. I recognise Metallica's 'Enter Sandman', but it is unlike any version I have heard before. The music raises goosebumps on my arms, and I find myself singing along softly. As he finishes, he looks down at me with a soft smile. I find myself melting under his gaze.

Taylor plays several more songs until I feel the last of my tension leave me. He looks at me and then puts the guitar down to one side. I take his proffered hand, and he pulls me slowly to my feet. When he picks me up, I wrap my legs round his waist as we begin to kiss slowly. Our kisses are sensual, and I can feel the crescendo building. He walks us through to the bedroom, never interrupting his exploration of my mouth, before lowering me onto the bed. Our lovemaking is a complete contrast to the morning's fucking. As Taylor moves in me, I find myself coming apart in his arms with an intensity that surprises us both. Taylor remains buried in me, kissing my neck, my lips and my nose softly, until we both fall asleep.
The Sixteenth

The daylight filtering through the skylights wakes me, and I scrabble around for my phone on the bedside table in an attempt to see what time it is. A heavy arm traps me and pulls me back as Taylor buries his face in my neck, nibbling on my ear. I can feel Taylor's erection pushing into my back as his fingers trace a lazy pattern along my inner thighs. I push my hips back, grinding into Taylor's crotch, and I hear him chuckle softly. He pulls my leg back across his thigh, giving him access to run his fingers through my wet folds. He dips his fingers inside of me, pulling and stretching me open. I moan quietly, clutching at the sheets with tight fists. I hear the rip of foil, and then he is pushing inside of me, filling me to the hilt. The angle of Taylor's cock rubs persistently, sending sparks through my abdomen. I feel my orgasm building, a slow burning fire in my belly. The waves of pleasure are drawn out as Taylor continues to rock his hips gently, his dexterous fingers keeping me constantly balancing on the edge. I can feel Taylor is ready, and all it takes is one final push for us both to fall off the ledge.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Taylor whispers into my ear.

"Hmmm, that is a nice way to start the day," I murmur in response, turning around to kiss Taylor fully on the mouth. His lips gently explore mine before his tongue dips inside my parted lips.

We are interrupted by a buzzing noise that I can't place. Taylor jumps out of bed, muttering about a delivery, and pulls on a pair of loose trousers before padding out of the bedroom. I fling myself back on the pillows and luxuriate at the prospect of a lazy day, something I don't seem to have had in what feels like ages. I make a mental note to call Michelle for a catch-up; I have been a terrible friend recently and need to make it up to her.

When Taylor reappears at last, he comes through bringing me a latte and a strange expression. He looks both very excited but also apprehensive. I raise my eyebrows at him, but before I can say anything more, he blurts, "I have a surprise for you!" Ooh, he looks just like a little boy at Christmas, and my curiosity is piqued. I manage a sip of my steaming coffee before Taylor is dragging me out of bed and flinging a robe around me. I follow him through the apartment, but before we get to the kitchen, he comes up behind me and covers my eyes. I follow his directions as he moves me forward, until he stops and whispers, "Are you ready?" into my ear. I nod and Taylor drops his hands.

I am stunned into silence. I am staring at a top-of-the-range KitchenAid stand mixer. I know it is top of the range because it is the one I have secretly coveted forever. While other girls ooh and aah over designer handbags and shoes, I collect Lakeland catalogues and read up about baking gadgets.

"To replace the one Nonna bought you," Taylor whispers, planting a soft kiss on my cheek, while we both try to not to think of the reason that I need a new one in the first place. "Is it okay?" he asks, and I can hear the nerves in his voice. "I mean, if it wrong or you don't like it, we can change it."

I turn around, throwing my arms around Taylor's neck, and squeal in a most unladylike manner, "Oh my god, Taylor. It is perfect! You really didn't need to, though, you know..." I trail off.

"I know, Abby. But I wanted to. I know how much your Nonna's gift meant to you." I squeeze my arms around Taylor in a fierce hug before I break away to inspect my new gadget. I run my hands over it and feel a complete connection, something I wouldn't ordinarily associate with a mechanical device. I realise I have not baked in days; the urge is overwhelming to play with it, but I don't have any ingredients.

The doorbell goes again, and as if reading my mind, Taylor gives me a wicked grin before ushering in another delivery. The Ocado man brings in a trolley load of bags, and when I start going through them, I realise Taylor must have bought out the whole baking section, including every implement and tin I could possibly ever hope for. I squeal again in pure delight, giving the Ocado man a small fright, which he covers with a grin.

My mind is already racing at the possibilities of what I can make, but I have to make myself stop. Taylor surely doesn't want me to spend our time together baking; he probably has stuff planned for the day. Turning to me, he gives me a grin, shrugs, and then opening his hands towards the kitchen, he tells me to go play. I squeal again in delight and start pulling out the ingredients I will need to start making a carrot cake.

I spend the day in absolute bliss, whipping up confection after confection. With the party in mind, I spend time making up some chocolate orange truffles as a gift for Taylor's grandmother, which I dose with a liberal amount of Cointreau until I am happy with the taste. When I have finished them with a final dusting of cocoa powder, I realise that I don't have anything to put the truffles in. Glancing at the clock, I realise that lunchtime came and went without my notice, and my stomach is rumbling. Food is in order, so I go in search of Taylor in an effort to persuade him to come out with me.

It doesn't take us long before we find ourselves in South Bank, eating a sandwich while looking out onto the river. The wind is chilly, but wrapped in my cashmere coat and a warm scarf, I am enjoying the weak autumn sunshine as we wander through the market stalls. As luck would have it, I find a small antique rosewood box, perfect for the truffles, which Taylor assures me his grandmother will love. I snap it up for the princely sum of five pounds, and happy with my bargain, we begin to make our way home.

Home. It scares me that I have begun to think of Taylor's apartment as home. I know I am in deep, and while I know that Taylor cares for me, I am still uncertain about the depth of those feelings. The idea of meeting his family at the party is daunting; I have never done the whole meeting-the-parents thing, and truthfully, I know I am not good enough for Taylor and they will surely see that.

Walking through Covent Garden, I find a card and some tissue paper to finish off my gift, and Taylor finds some beads that he says his grandmother will like. Satisfied with our purchases, we find ourselves a seat in the piazza, with a steaming cup of coffee, to rest our weary feet and take in the street performances. Despite having lived in London all my life, it is rare to find myself in the centre of town; normally, I escape to Brighton to avoid the tourists. I find myself enjoying the impromptu opera, the stilt walkers and the living statues, and make a silent resolution to start exploring London more.

It is dark when we finally slump onto the sofa, and I grumble to Taylor that I am never going to take a walk around London again if that is his idea of a gentle stroll. He throws a cushion at me in retaliation, and soon we are wrestling each other, finding each other's ticklish spots.

"Enough. Truce!" I finally gasp when I can no longer take any more. With a grin, knowing he has won, Taylor offers a hand to help me up. I take it cautiously, expecting another round of tickling, but instead he pulls me into his arms and lowers his mouth to mine. His teasing nips pull at my lower lip, and when I open up, he slides his tongue in. I moan into his mouth as he caresses me, his hands mirroring those actions of his tongue. He cups my butt with his hands and pulls me in tight, and I can feel the ridge of his erection growing through his jeans, as he lets out a low growl.

It gives me a thrill to know that I can affect Taylor like this. All my life I have felt dowdy and, while not ugly, not beautiful either. But with Taylor I feel sexy when I feel how he responds to me. I find myself grinding my hips into his pelvis, my arousal soaking my panties, as I try to gain some friction on my aching clit.

Pushing me away from him, Taylor spins me to face the sofa before tugging my jeans down so that they sit around my knees and then pushing me forward onto my knees so that my arms are resting on the back. Not sure of what Taylor's intentions are but feeling completely aroused, I simply go with it as I hear the zip of Taylor's jeans. Cupping my body into his, I can feel the hard length of Taylor's cock nuzzling between my butt cheeks. Taylor's arm comes around my hip, tracing a path until he finds my pulsing clit. One touch and I feel the fire sparking throughout my abdomen, my orgasm building rapidly.

Taylor's other hand wraps into my hair, firmly tugging my head so that my back is arched like a bow ready to spring. He runs a lazy tongue along my jaw up to my ear, where he nips my lobe before returning to suckle my neck. My moans turn to pleading as Taylor's expert fingers suddenly leave my clit, only to trail along through my cleft until they find the delicate pucker of my ass. He rubs my wetness round and round, stimulating all my nerve endings, until he very slowly starts to slide a finger in.

My body automatically goes to resist the intrusion until Taylor whispers, "Relax," into my ear. As he slides further in, the fullness I feel overwhelms me, and I find myself pushing back onto Taylor's finger, groaning, "More, please, Taylor." In response I hear foil ripping, and then the tip of Taylor's cock is poised at my entrance. With my knees bound by my jeans, the fit is incredibly tight, and I gasp as I feel Taylor sink into me to the hilt, his finger still slowly moving in and out. I am so incredibly full that I am certain I can't take anymore. But Taylor starts to move in me, slowly at first and then increasing the tempo to match his finger in my ass. I groan in appreciation, and I hear Taylor growl in response, "Fuck, Abby, I don't think I am going to last."

I am dangling on the precipice myself and call out, "Just fuck me, Taylor, please!" Taylor brings his other hand round, and with one flick to my clit I am combusting, fireworks exploding as Taylor pounds into me. I hear him grunt as he finds his release, and then his body slows until, at last, he is leaning on me, panting. It is several minutes until we both catch our breath and Taylor eases out of me gently. He trails soft kisses all the way down my spine until he reaches my ass, where he places one final tender kiss.

My body is still humming when Taylor picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he carries me through to the bathroom. He settles me on a low chair that I have never really taken note of before turning the taps on the spectacular bath. Steam immediately starts to fill the room as Taylor starts hunting through the cupboard under the sink. I can't figure out what he is doing until he turns around in triumph, holding up a jar of bath salts.

"I thought Nicola had bought some of these." Taylor grins at me.

"Are you not a bubble bath man, then?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me as I start to wonder how many other girls have had a bath with Taylor in that tub.

"Nope, I have never used it. My sister uses it when she stays, but that's it." Taylor says matter-of-factly. I am secretly pleased that this is something new to Taylor as well. Taylor adds the salts to the running water, and a relaxing lavender aroma fills the air. I slowly pull my clothes off until I am standing beside Taylor completely naked.

"You have the most luscious arse," Taylor says softly, squeezing my butt cheek. I giggle and grab Taylor's bum, giving it a squeeze before responding, "Nah, yours is better!"

"Minx," says Taylor in response. The bath is almost full, and Taylor tugs my hand to climb in first. I sink into the steaming, fragrant water until it is up to my neck, allowing room for Taylor to climb in behind me. He wraps his legs around mine and pulls me into his chest, taking a cloth and running hot water over my neck. I haven't realised how stiff my neck muscles are until Taylor starts rubbing them with sure fingers. I groan in appreciation, and I can feel him smile into my hair as he continues to tease my muscles free from their knots.

I am drowsy from Taylor's attentions and the warm, relaxing water when Taylor finally pulls me up and out of the bath. Wrapped in only fluffy robes, we pad through to the lounge area, where we sink into the plush sofas and Taylor makes good on his promise to order in Thai. I flick through Taylor's extensive movie collection, making suggestions here and there until we both agree on a light-hearted comedy.

The rest of the evening is spent gorging ourselves on the most delicious duck in tamarind sauce, garlic broccoli, speciality rice and a number of side dishes, and laughing ourselves silly over the film. When the credits finally roll, my mind springs back to the fact that I will be meeting Taylor's family tomorrow and my body automatically tenses. As if reading my mind, Taylor wraps his arms round my waist and, kissing the top of my head, he reassures me that everything will be fine. I nod into his chest, making a conscious effort to relax my frame, but I can't help the niggle in the back of my mind telling me that I am not good enough.
The Seventeenth

I am standing in the beautiful orangery that is the focal point of Taylor's grandmother's house, feeling like a complete outsider. Granted, everyone has been perfectly charming, but I can feel the question marks in their eyes burning holes into my back.

"Ignore them. They are a complete waste of space." A charming voice startles me as a slim arm slips through mine. I turn my head to find myself staring into a pair of dark chocolate eyes so similar to Taylor's that I can only conclude that they belong to his little sister.

"Nicola?" I ask, the tremble in my voice evident. Taylor went off to get a drink five minutes ago, and I have been feeling exposed ever since. Just having Nicola by my side instantly relaxes me, and I offer her a grateful smile for rescuing me.

"Yup, the baby sister. And you are Abby." The last bit is not a question, but a statement. "I am so glad to finally meet you. Taylor has told me so much about you." My curiosity is piqued at the excitement in Nicola's voice. I look carefully at Nicola's face, trying to read her intentions, but she seems so guileless that my heart warms to her instantly. "I can't believe my brother left you alone with these sharks. Let's go find him so I can tell him off." She tugs my arm, and I find myself following with no hesitation.

As we walk down the corridor that seems to lead to the kitchen, I take a couple of moments to study Taylor's baby sister. I know she is only fifteen, but the expression in her eyes makes her seem so much older. I can't imagine what it must have been like growing up with Richard, but from what Taylor has told me, I can only imagine that Nicola had to grow up fast, no matter how much Taylor tried to protect her. She is at least a couple of inches taller than I am, but her slim build is a contrast to Taylor's solid frame, and I can see why he feels so protective of her.

As we step into the kitchen, I know immediately that we have interrupted something. Taylor is talking in harried tones to two people. When they turn around to see who has intruded, I immediately take in the similarities to both Taylor and Nicola and realise that these are Taylor's parents. I have a momentary flash of insecurity, wondering whether Nicola has decided to feed me to the lions, but given the nails digging into the flesh of my arm, she is as surprised to see them as I am.

I take a deep breath and make my way across the kitchen, holding my hand out to greet them. "Lovely to meet you, Mr and Mrs Hudson. I am Abby."

There is an uncomfortable moment of silence when I realise no one is coming forward to greet me in return. Instead, Taylor's mother turns to face me full on and hisses "Bitch!" into my face. I am so surprised that, despite my mind screaming at me to turn and run away, I cannot move.

Immediately Taylor is at my side, angling himself to shield me before roaring at his mother, "What the fuck, Mother?"

"Don't you use that language at me, Taylor Edward Hudson!" Mrs Hudson rounds on Taylor.

"I'll talk to you any way I want if you dare speak to Abby that way," Taylor hisses in a low voice.

"I'll speak to that little whore however I want. She's the reason that your brother spent a night in jail and is now out on bail with the police turning up at the house every five minutes. The neighbours are all talking..." she trails off.

I realise I am shaking with dread, unsure of what to say. Instead, Taylor squeezes my hand and intercedes. "Mother, you know Richard has been charged with attacking Abby. I know you want to believe your precious son would never do anything like that, but as I have told you several times already, I had to pull him off myself."

"Well, I can't see why he would attack her. I mean, look at her. He doesn't even know her, from all accounts."

My blood starts to boil, and before I know it I burst out, "Exactly. I never even met your son before, and then he turns up on my doorstep and attacks me. Plus he then trashed my flat and destroyed pretty much everything I own, all because I am with Taylor." I am breathing heavily after my speech.

"The police said they can't prove that he did it," Mrs Hudson responds with a pout.

"Well, that may be the case, but I can't see who else it would have been. From what I know, your son is a sociopath and you seem completely blind to it." The venom drips from my words as I realise that I will never be best friends with Taylor's parents. I am not sure I even want that, given that they seem to be people who have religiously turned a blind eye to the abuse going on over the years in their own family. In my eyes they are as guilty as Richard himself.

The tension in the room is thick, and my heart is beating a rapid tattoo. I am not a confrontational person, far from it, but in the moment I feel like all I want to do is pull the wool from Taylor's parents' eyes and expose Richard for the crazy whack job he really is.

If I thought I could alter Mrs Hudson's point of view, then I am sorely disappointed as she hisses back at me in response, "You know nothing about my family, Abigail! From what I can tell, you are a liar who is doing her best to infiltrate our family, probably to get hold of Taylor's money. You are nothing but a gold-digging whore."

I can feel the rage building in Taylor as he stiffens in response to his mother's words. Before Taylor has a chance to let rip, I hear a stern voice from the kitchen entrance. "Enough!" I turn to see Taylor's grandmother holding herself regally in the doorway.

"Really, Gillian, I thought you would know better than to behave like this in my home. Abigail is an invited guest here, and you are making her feel most unwelcome. Shame on you." Taylor's grandmother's voice remains low, her tone still friendly. But the steely look in her eyes belies the smile on her face and her relaxed stance.

Taylor's mother seems to shrink in his grandmother's presence, and she takes a couple of steps backward. "Hello, Abigail. It is so lovely to meet you, my dear." Taylor's grandmother steps forward to introduce herself, and I feel myself starting to relax slightly.

"Happy birthday, Mrs Hudson. It is lovely to meet you too," I respond.

"Pah, please call me Genevieve," she says, and I hear the slight inflection of a French accent in her voice.

"Um, okay, Mrs...Genevieve. I have a present for you." I pull the gift bag out of my satchel and hand it across with a shy smile.

Genevieve responds with a warm look, taking the bag and peering inside. "What a beautiful box," she exclaims, pulling it out to look at it more closely.

"Um, I made you some truffles. They are inside," I say, suddenly nervous about giving this handsome lady a handmade gift. What if she doesn't like them?

"What a thoughtful gift," Genevieve says before taking my arm and guiding me out of the kitchen, away from the situation. I let out a sigh of relief, despite being separated from Taylor, feeling instantly at ease in her presence.

"Please ignore the little witch that is my daughter-in-law. She sank her claws into my son Henry too many years ago, and I am afraid all that is not right with that family stems from her." She looks at me with a knowing smile, and I instantly know that she is aware of the situation with Richard.

A sad look crosses her face as she continues, "I tried to talk to Henry many times about...the issues... but he won't hear anything I say. At least I got Taylor out of the house when he was eighteen, and I am biding my time now with Nicola."

I am not sure why she is opening up to me like this. I am sure this is a not a family secret that people would want to admit to. In a low voice I respond, "Taylor has explained things to me. It was hard for him to open up, but I am grateful he did. I don't think I could have understood Richard's attack otherwise."

"My poor boy," Genevieve continues. "He never lets anyone close, too afraid of Richard after Hannah, so you must be very special to him. He has never brought anyone to meet me before." My heart aches for Taylor, but I feel a secret pleasure at being the first person to be introduced to Genevieve, even under these circumstances. The ghost of Hannah does seem to loom large at times over our relationship, and I wouldn't be truthful if I didn't say it worried me. A little of the green-eyed monster definitely lurks in my subconscious.

I look around and realise that Genevieve has led me back through to the orangery, where, by some unspoken communication, Taylor and his sister are waiting for me. "Well, Abigail, I must leave you here to continue... circulating. It has been so lovely to meet you, and once again thank you so much for your thoughtful gift." She says this loud enough to turn a couple of heads, including those of Taylor's parents, who are staring daggers in my direction.

I give Genevieve a wide smile as Taylor pulls me into his arms and wraps them around me protectively. Turning to Taylor, Genevieve gives him a wink before saying, "Look after this one, Taylor. She is special."

"I know, Grandmother. I will do anything to protect her." Taylor responds in a low voice, the sincerity rumbling through his chest. Genevieve turns back to the rest of her guests, and he asks me if I am okay.

"Your grandmother is lovely, Taylor. An amazing woman," I respond warmly, so pleased to have had the opportunity to meet her.

"That she is," he says quietly.

The rest of the afternoon flies by as I get to know Nicola better and am introduced to a number of cousins, aunts and uncles whose names I forget almost instantly. Like Genevieve, they are all very welcoming, and I am grateful that there is none of the hostility that I experienced with Taylor's parents. Richard's absence has been noted, and a few people question his whereabouts, but I am simply grateful that he is not there. The idea of seeing him again makes my skin crawl.

The party is winding down, and I excuse myself to use the toilet before we leave. As I make my way to the guest cloakroom, I take in the beautiful surroundings that is Genevieve's home. Although completely different in personality from Nonna's, I get the same sense of calm and comfort that I always used to get when I visited her flat. The walls are covered in pictures of family, including more recent ones of Taylor and Nicola in some exotic destination, which I can only suppose is from one of his sourcing trips to South America. There are also pictures of Richard, though those are few and far between, and each shows him with that awful sarcastic smile that gives me chills.

I see where Taylor gets his taste in bathrooms from when I finally enter; whilst completely in keeping with the Victorian essence of the house, the cloakroom is large and opulently decked out with even a sit-down vanity complete with essentials for freshening up, touching up any make-up disaster. Hmm, this is certainly worlds apart from the life I grew up in, but I guess, for all the advantages that having money gives, it still didn't protect Taylor and Nicola growing up.

As I leave the cloakroom, my hackles immediately rise, and I look around nervously, my gut telling me something is wrong. A figure steps out of a shadowy doorway, and I immediately recognise Richard. I take a gulp of air and watch him warily as he approaches, the dark air that seems to permanently surround him filtering up through my nose.

My mind screams for me to run, but instead I start edging my way back to the party slowly, hoping he doesn't notice the movement. The malevolent smile on his face chills me to the core, and I find myself shaking with nerves as he picks up speed, trapping me between his arms. He starts speaking in a very low voice, and I struggle to hear what he is saying.

"You little bitch. Because of you I spent a night in jail," Richard hisses into my face.

All at once my terror dissipates, and instead, some of the anger that I felt earlier towards Taylor's parents starts building again. "And that is my problem, how?" I say, leaning forward to stare into Richard's face defiantly. "Maybe if you hadn't, I don't know, attacked me and destroyed my flat, then we wouldn't be here now," I say, poking my finger into his chest.

"I don't know what you think gives you the right to behave like this, but I am not scared of you." And I realise in that moment I am not actually scared anymore. "You are a bully, plain and simple!" My voice has risen, attracting a couple of looks from passers-bye. Richard immediately drops his arms and takes a step back, folding them across his chest. "Maybe if you behaved like a normal human being, instead of the psycho you seem to be, I wouldn't need to lay charges against you." With that I turn and walk defiantly away.

The adrenaline that kicked in during the confrontation starts to subside, and I find myself walking on rubbery legs. I can't seem to find Taylor. He is not where I left him in the living room, so I make my way back down the hallway to the kitchen, where I find him engaged in another heated argument with his parents. He spots me as soon as I enter the room and, with a glare at his parents, declares, "I have had enough of this crap. Come on, Abby. Let's go." With that he grabs my arm and pulls me out of the room.

I can sense the anger in Taylor, and I know that now is not the time to either argue or tell him about my run-in with Richard. We make our way out, stopping only to say brief goodbyes to Genevieve and Nicola, and are driving off within minutes, tyres spraying gravel in our wake.

The tension in the car is palpable, and as much as I want to ask Taylor about his argument with his parents, the anger radiating off him stops me. The drive back to London is silent, and each time I go to interrupt Taylor's brooding, I find myself shutting my mouth without saying a word. Only when we finally drive into the garage at the apartment does Taylor finally relax a little, offering me a sad smile. In my gut I know something is wrong, but I am simply too afraid to ask a question I don't want to know the answer to.

The ride up in the elevator is short, and when we step into the apartment lobby, I turn to Taylor expectantly, hoping for an explanation. Instead, he mumbles at me that he has some work to do, avoiding my eyes, and that he'll see me in a couple of hours before stalking down to his office. I watch him go, the feeling of unease swelling in my abdomen.

At a loose end I find myself hauling out the mixer in an effort to calm my nerves. I whip up batches of cookies and cupcakes, and when finally Taylor reappears, I am kneading bread, pretending that it is Richard's face. Juvenile, I know, but immensely satisfying. He offers up that same sad smile, and once again I find myself chickening out, the questions solidifying as a silent lump in my throat.

"Are you hungry?" I ask Taylor, simply to break the silence. He nods at me before going to the fridge and pulling out some chicken breasts.

"Hot chicken salad good for you?" Taylor asks.

"Sure," I respond, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. Taylor flicks on some music, which I immediately recognise as the album _Mimosa_ by Fun Lovin' Criminals. The soothing sounds fill up the silence and help to dissipate some of the tension. I dig through the fridge, pulling out things to throw in the salad while Taylor browns off the chicken. All the while I am hyper-aware of his every move.

When everything is ready, Taylor loads up our plates and hops up onto a stool at the breakfast bar. I grab a couple of the bread rolls I baked earlier and add them to the plates. I can't think of what to say, so I find myself humming along to the music just for something to do. The second our plates are clear, Taylor drops his fork with a clatter, grimaces and then stalks back to his office, leaving me staring at his back, wondering what the hell I have done to make him so mad. Surely if this was just about the argument with his parents, he would have talked to me about it by now?

I take my time clearing up the kitchen simply to occupy myself a little longer, but once the counter is clear, I realise that maybe I need to try and prise whatever it is that I have done to annoy Taylor out of him. I tiptoe down the hallway, trying to work up the courage to ask the questions I have spent all day trying to avoid, but when I finally stand in the doorway, I hear him arguing over the phone. I can't make out what he is saying as his tone is hushed, but the look on his face and the rigidity in his shoulders tell me everything. Suddenly Taylor looks over and notices me. He stalks towards me, still talking into the phone, but before I can do or say anything, he shuts the door in my face firmly.

I bite my lip hard, trying to stifle the tears from forming, until I start to taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I flee back down the corridor until I reach the safety of the bedroom, where I feel free to break down. My sobs are loud, and I try to stifle the noise by shutting myself in the bathroom, sinking to the floor in the far corner. The minutes pass slowly as I struggle to get my emotions under control.

I flinch when I hear the bedroom door open and hastily try to wipe away my tears, not wanting Taylor to realise that I have been crying. I hear him moving around in the bedroom softly, and then the door to the bathroom swings open. He doesn't see me for a moment and something like panic crosses his face, making my stomach flip. When his eyes finally land on me, he crosses the room in a couple of strides before pulling me to my feet wordlessly.

His mouth is on mine, crushing my lips before I have a chance to say anything. Taylor's hands grip my body as he guides us both back to the bedroom, his kiss deepening as his tongue finds its way into my mouth. Before I can fully comprehend what is happening, I find myself on my back, my clothes being stripped off me and Taylor's hand between my legs. I pull my head away, trying to look into Taylor's eyes, but he seems to sense what I am trying to do and puts his head down, taking a nipple in his mouth.

There is urgency in his movements, his hands alternating between rubbing my breasts and my clit. Without warning, or even time to really warm me up, I hear the rip of foil moments before he slides into me with force. I gasp at the unexpected fullness; he is completely solid and is stretching me open almost painfully. Only then does Taylor make eye contact, and I almost wish he hadn't.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and all I see is desolation and anguish. I reach up my hand to touch his face, to try and offer some comfort, but he snatches it away and pins it, along with my other hand, above my head. He starts moving in me rapidly, and with force, causing my core to tighten around him as my orgasm builds. Taylor is no longer avoiding my eyes, and instead, his stare bores through me with a coldness I have never seen there before. I am all sensation and feeling, my body betraying me, when I know in the back of my mind this is all wrong, yet I can't do anything to stop myself from being swept along.

I hear Taylor grunt as he releases himself inside of me, and that noise is all it takes for me to come apart. We catch our breaths for a few moments before Taylor slides out of me slowly, a look of sadness crossing his eyes before he shuts down completely, his expression becoming guarded and cold once again. He walks away to dispose of the condom, and I roll onto my side away from him, trying to hide my devastation at what just happened. I wait and I wait, but he does not return, and when I roll back, I notice that the door to the bedroom, rather than the bathroom, is open.

It is clear that Taylor is not coming back to bed. As this realisation dawns, the emotions come bubbling back to the surface, and I bury my head in the pillow and sob hard. It feels like I cry like this for hours, but eventually I wear myself out, and I am grateful when the darkness eventually claims me.
The Eighteenth

I wake up alone, which is not unusual, but the feeling of dread that I fell asleep with has only intensified after a restless night of vivid dreams. The apartment feels empty, almost musty, in Taylor's absence, and there is something else I just can't pin down. A sadness that seems to have seeped into the walls. My phone tells me that eight o'clock is fast approaching, and I need to get my butt out of bed soon or I am going to be late for work.

My head is filled with the memories of Genevieve's party and my confrontation with Richard, which I have yet to tell Taylor about. I sigh out loud and promise myself that I will bring it up with Taylor as soon as I see him; if I don't tell him, I can't think what the consequences will be.

Despite the warmth of the apartment, I feel chilled to the bone and find myself dressing accordingly, wrapping up in some dark-grey cord skinny jeans and a black cashmere cowl neck jumper over a grey silk long-sleeve T-shirt. The choice of colours reflects my mood, I think wryly to myself once I have pulled on my long black boots.

I wander into the kitchen, hoping to see Taylor, but as expected, he is not there. Instead, I find my house keys next to the kettle, the absence of a note adding to my general unease. Abandoning my quest for caffeine, I grab up my keys and bag, and head downstairs to the office, where I settle behind my desk and open up my email. I hesitate a second, trying to find the right words in my head as I try to compose an email to Taylor. I dismiss each idea as it comes into my mind, and after several minutes I close down the window with a loud sigh of frustration. I will just have to talk to him face-to-face instead.

The morning passes quickly as I bury myself in an urgent report. Eddy is noticeably absent, despite his coat casually flung across his chair and his laptop bag shoved next to his desk, and I can't help but wonder where he is. I am just about to get up and grab a coffee from the kitchen when my phone rings and Taylor's assistant summons me to his office, her normally haughty voice seemingly softer than usual. My stomach is filled with butterflies and my instinct is to run, but instead I find myself walking rather mechanically across the office until I reach the lift. I have to force myself to breathe, in and out, in and out, until some of the dizziness starts to subside. Somehow I knew yesterday's events were going to lead to a disaster; just the scale was unknown.

As I walk into Taylor's office, I notice Eddy sitting awkwardly in a chair, as well as Janice from Human Resources, who keeps her head down. One glance in Taylor's direction tells me nothing good will be coming out of this meeting. His body language is rigid, and his normally kind eyes are almost black and guarded. I take a deep breath and sit down in the chair he indicates and wait for him to start talking.

"Good morning, Abigail. Thank you for joining us." Taylor's voice is soft but has a harshness to it that makes me flinch.

"Um, sure?" My answer is a question as I can't seem to find the words to say anything else.

"I hope you don't mind having Eddy and Janice in here"—I nod to confirm my consent—"but as this is a resource issue, I felt the need for them to be involved."

Resource issue. What the hell? My head is spinning as I try to think of something I may have done that warrants HR and my line manager in here.

Taylor's eyes soften for a second as he notes my confusion, but then instantly brings his guard up again as he continues, "Due to a change in business interests, I am looking to restructure the analytical department, and as such your role is no longer relevant to the business. Therefore, it is necessary for Hudson to let you go as we no longer have a role for you to fulfil."

I stare at Taylor in shock. What the fuck? I am being fired. As if reading my thoughts, something Taylor is so adept at, he breaks in, his voice taking on a gentler tone. "Abby, you are not being fired. You have done nothing wrong, and we have been very pleased with your progress to date. It is simply that the business no longer has a requirement for your skills, and as such we are making your role redundant."

I try to absorb Taylor's words, but all I hear are _skills_ , _redundant_ and _role_. Okay, I know this wasn't my ultimate dream job, but I had been over the moon to get the role at Hudson and be part of Eddy's team. I glance over at him and he avoids my eyes, looking pale.

"Janice here will complete an exit interview after we finish and explain your redundancy package..."

I interrupt Taylor, my voice shaking. "So can I confirm this is effective immediately?"

"Yes."

I get to my feet, trying to hide my shaking hands. "Okay, I understand." I turn to Eddy, knowing that none of this is his fault, and despite my own turmoil, I want to reassure him. "Thanks for everything, Eddy; it has been lovely being part of the team. I have really learnt so much." He responds with a shaky smile.

"Thanks for the opportunity, Taylor." I turn to look him straight in the eye, trying to hide the hurt that I am sure is completely evident on my face by plastering on a fake smile. "If you don't mind, I am going to leave now, and Janice can contact me via post." With as much grace as I can muster, I sweep from the room, my need to escape overwhelming me.

I make it as far as the ladies' toilets before I am overcome by my emotions. I lock myself in a stall and let the tears course down, doing my best to remain silent. After a few minutes I hear the bathroom door open and footsteps approach as I hold my breath, hoping no one will notice me in here.

"Abby, I know you are in here," Taylor's voice rings out, and I shrink back, knowing that talking to Taylor now is the last thing I need. "Abby, please...talk to me..." His voice, while not pleading, is not as harsh as it was in the meeting.

"What do you want, Taylor?" I can't help the bitterness that oozes out. "You couldn't have given me some warning about this, like—I don't know—last night? I can't help but think there is more going on than simply a change in company direction."

Taylor lets out a sigh, and I hold my breath as I wait for his response. When he finally speaks, his voice is stiff, as if he is trying to hold back. "Look, Abby, all this, you and me, it is clear to me now that it is not going to work. It is just too...difficult." He sighs, and I imagine that he is running his hands through his hair as he does when he is agitated. I stay silent, and after a couple of seconds he continues. "Look, just take the redundancy package, okay?"

My heart feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to it. It's not broken; it's shattered. Taylor has given up on us. I always knew I wasn't good enough for him, and now I have been proved right. Gathering all my courage I rasp out, "Okay." I have so many questions to ask, but they all stick like a lump in my throat. The thought of now having to walk out back to my desk is more than I can bear, but I have no choice. My bag with my keys and phone is still there.

Once again Taylor reads my mind and comes to stand in front of the door. My bag and coat, which has appeared from the apartment, is pushed underneath the stall door. "Here is your stuff, Abby. Look, I am sorry about how it has come to this." I don't really understand what he means, but at this point my emotional pain is all-consuming, and I just want Taylor to leave. When I don't say anything else, he pads softly out, and all I am left with is the sound of the door closing softly behind him.

I am left gasping for air, panic consuming me, and I have to fight to maintain a modicum of sanity. When I am convinced that I am finally alone, I leave the safety of my stall and peer at myself in the mirror, wondering how in a few short weeks my life has come to this. My eyes are red-rimmed and my nose is streaming, blotches covering my face. I swipe angrily at my face, but the tears fall in abandon. Eventually I turn the cold tap on and splash my face, trying to stem the tide.

The cold water shocks my system, and after a few minutes, while my emotions are still in turmoil, my face starts to return to a normal colour. I am not confident enough to walk out the front door, but at least the ladies' toilets are opposite the lifts, and I can use Taylor's private exit to slink out. Heaven knows what I am going to say to Michelle when she realises I have been made redundant. I start to wonder, in a rather abstract way, what Eddy will be telling people about me leaving.

The wind whips my hair as I exit the garage, and I pull my coat tighter around me. Today is not the day for struggling with London's public transport system, so I stick out my hand, and as luck would have it, a taxi pulls over immediately. The ride is quiet, and I am thankful for having a driver who is not asking me ten million questions, a rarity for London. When he finally deposits me outside my flat, my heart starts to speed up and my palms start to sweat, making me fumble with my keys. I check over my shoulder several times before finally unlocking the outer door and walking through, slamming it quickly behind me.

Several minutes later I am standing outside my own flat door, steeling myself to walk through. The last time I had been in there, Taylor and I had cleared the mess, and I had been left with very little of my worldly possessions untouched. The thought saddens me, and I find myself digging deep for some courage. With a gulp, I slowly push open the door and step into my tiny studio.

I gasp, taking in the sight of my flat transformed. Where I left my bare futon base now stands a double bed, made up with new linen, pillows and duvet. A lovely compact table and two chairs stand in the corner, complete with a vase bursting with bright gerbera. I turn to the kitchen and immediately notice the mixer Taylor gave me standing on the side. I can already guess that my cupboards are filled with everything he bought me on Saturday, and when I go to check them, I confirm what I already know.

A feeling of dread settles in my stomach as I walk across to my wardrobe. Opening the door, I find it stuffed with all the clothes that Taylor bought me, and when I look in the drawers, I find the underwear sets that I have been wearing, all freshly washed. Given that I have been with Taylor pretty much every minute of the day for the last week, I can only suppose that Mrs Harris is responsible for the transformation of the flat.

My phone rings, and I see Michelle's name on the caller ID. Knowing that I am in no mood to talk to anyone, even my best friend, I send the call to voicemail before sinking onto the bed. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I am going to do. I look around at the walls, noticing some of my photos now put up in new frames, and a sense of unease grows until I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Nothing here is truly mine. Everything has been bought and paid for by Taylor.

This final thought sends me rushing to my tiny en-suite, where the bile rises up my throat and I find myself with my head in the toilet. When my stomach is finally empty and I finish dry-heaving, I slip down onto the tiles and put my head between my knees, trying to breathe slowly.

I don't know how long I sit there contemplating the situation, but when I finally get to my feet, the flat is in twilight. Despite all the solutions I have contemplated, the only thing I know for sure is that I can't stay here. Everything in the flat has been bought and paid for by Taylor, and it feels like being paid off for services rendered. I refuse to be the 'gold-digging whore' Taylor's mother painted me to be.

I find my phone and with shaking fingers dial Mr Thompson. His secretary informs me in a nonplussed tone that he only has an appointment first thing, and I take it eagerly, hoping that perhaps this might be a solution to my current predicament.

I go back to the wardrobe and dig through the mounds of clothes until I find a few of my original bits and pieces that survived Richard's intrusion. Pulling them out, I root around until I find a small holdall and fill it with my meagre collection of clothes. I toss in some toiletries and then add my laptop. I close the zip with a flourish, grateful for the five-minute distraction and then sink down onto the floor, the reality of my situation sinking in.

My boyfriend has effectively abandoned me as I am more hassle than it's worth. My worldly goods have been destroyed by said boyfriend's brother, and now I am effectively homeless, as there is no way I can stay in the flat now. And to top it off, my mother still isn't speaking to me, so all in all, things feel quite hopeless.

I've always thought that that Bella chick in _Twilight_ was a little overdramatic, but right now I would be more than happy to go find some woods to cry in. Maybe then some handsome wolf-man would rescue me, I think to myself wryly, but hey, this is real life and there are no happy endings. Instead, I simply sit on the floor, tracking the moon's progress across the picture window of my attic flat until, at last, the birds start to chirp.
The Nineteenth

I raise myself off the cold floor to find my limbs stiff and aching, mirroring the state of my heart. The sun is only just rising, so I make myself get in the shower in an attempt to soap away some of the tension in my shoulders. The warm water is soothing, and part of me wishes I could just stay in this tiny cubicle and forget the rest of the world. Eventually the water turns cold, and I jump out, drying myself briskly before pulling on an old faded pair of jeans, a bulky hooded sweatshirt and my trusty Converse trainers that seem to have made their way back. I look at the beautiful black cashmere coat that Taylor bought me but immediately snub it in favour of my duffel coat. It may be worn and old, but at least it was bought and paid for by me.

When I am finally ready to leave, I take a look around, knowing in my soul that this is the last time I will step foot in my flat. I admire the effort that Taylor, or rather, Mrs Harris, made in restoring my flat into a home, and under other circumstances I would have been delighted with the transformation, but now, with everything seemingly falling apart, all I feel is revulsion.

I make the familiar journey to the train station in somewhat of a trance, stopping only for a latte in my favourite coffee shop on the way. I keep my earbuds plugged in and my music blaring throughout the journey in a vain attempt to try and distract my thoughts from returning again and again to Taylor. As I recite the words to Three Days Grace's 'I Hate Everything About You', a numbness starts to settle in my core, a welcome relief to the searing pain that has been tearing me apart. The final line 'Why do I love you?' haunts me because I could name a hundred things I love about Taylor, but right now all I want to do is hate him.

.........................

I sit in Mr Thompson's reception area, staring at the artwork on the walls whilst I wait to be called in, trying not to think about all of the reasons that I am now sitting here, taking a step I am not sure I am ready for. A few minutes later, I am called in, and once the pleasantries are done with, Mr Thompson fixes on me with a kind smile.

"I was expecting you, Abby, but not quite so soon. Your grandmother suggested that this might take a while for you to come to terms with."

"Um, well, to be honest, Mr Thompson, my circumstances have kind of changed." I am reluctant to explain everything, but I know I need to be honest with Nonna's kind solicitor. "I really don't know if I am ready to take on a business, even if it is one I have always dreamed of, but I have just been made redundant and am pretty much homeless as of today." I don't add that I am pretty much the cause of my own situation.

Mr Thompson nods and waits for me to continue. "I mean, I don't want to just walk in there and start taking charge. I wouldn't even know where to start. But then would the staff want me around if I don't know what I am doing? They probably don't have time to teach me the ropes."

"Abby, let me stop you there. When Clara bought the business, it was with the proviso that the staff would help you as much as you needed. Both Beatrice and Andreas have already expressed to me their willingness to assist you when you felt ready to take up the challenge. I am guessing you are jumping into this a lot sooner than you otherwise would have. But maybe this way is a bit easier, huh?"

I swallow nervously and then ask softly, "Would you be able to take me there and introduce me?"

"Of course. My diary is free for another hour, so I can take you now, if that suits?"

Knowing that there is no time like the present, I nod before gathering up my bags and following Mr Thompson out. The journey is quick, too quick, really, to give me a chance to calm my nerves, and by the time I am standing outside the shop entrance, I feel like a quivering wreck. Sensing turmoil, Mr Thompson squeezes my shoulder and reassures me that no one bites, the humour in his voice helping me to relax a fraction.

I step into the bakery, and the first thing I notice is the amazing smell. My stomach growls, reminding me that I have been neglecting it of late. As I glance around, I take in the large counter and the wooden shelves running along the back, filled with different loaves. A couple of large wicker baskets hold fresh rolls ready for people to pick and place in the paper bags hanging up. It is carb heaven and I am loving it.

A trim lady in her early fifties, wrapped in a pinny, steps forward, and I realise I recognise her from Nonna's funeral. She was one of the many who came up to me offering their condolences, and I remember wondering who she was.

"Hello, Abby. It is nice to meet you finally under different circumstances. I am Beatrice, but all my friends call me Bea." She holds out her hand, and when I take it, she draws me into a hug. Despite my earlier reservations, I find myself warming to Bea immediately as she takes my arm and starts chatting excitedly about the shop and Nonna, relaying little stories and incidents that have me chuckling.

A couple of minutes later, a man pops through to find out what all the chatter is about. At well over six feet, Andreas completely dwarfs me, but his kind smile hints at the gentle giant I suspect he is. When Bea finally introduces us, he envelops me in a great big bear hug that leaves me a little breathless.

"Andreas," Bea chides, "you aren't supposed to kill her on her first day. Whatever will she think of us?"

I giggle, feeling for the first time that maybe everything will work out okay. Mr Thompson clears his throat gently, reminding me that he is still there, and when I turn to him, I notice the satisfied smile on his face. He hands over a set of keys with instructions to settle in and a request to make an appointment to sign some papers later in the week. I give him a quick hug as I express my thanks, something he seems a little shocked by as he rather awkwardly pats me on my back.

Before I know it, Bea is popping out to the kitchen to make us a cup of tea and Andreas is giving me a quick tour of the shelves and what breads he has made for today. I notice that each basket has a little wooden chalkboard with a quirky description of each variety of loaf, and when I look more closely, I can't help but chuckle. "Who comes up with the descriptions? I love them!"

"Bea, mostly, but sometimes I have a flash of inspiration," Andreas says, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper at this last part, "though Bea will tell you it is all her."

"It _is_ all me, and don't you be telling her otherwise, Andreas," Bea chides, coming back through with a tray holding three tall mugs, some slices of bread and a little dish of butter. "I thought you might like to try some of Andreas's masterpieces, fresh from the oven."

The smell is tantalising, and my stomach growls, reminding me how little I have eaten of late. I take my cup of tea and tear off a corner of focaccia and smother it liberally in butter, letting out a small groan of delight when I pop the taste sensation in my mouth. "Hmmm, this is delicious, Andreas," I say in between mouthfuls as I try a little bit of everything.

Andreas gives me a shy smile and tells me a little about each loaf, and I get a real sense of his passion. His feelings for bread mirror mine for cakes and desserts, and I can tell that we are going to be firm friends, even though he is the same age as my dad.

The bell tinkles over the shop door as a wave of customers floods the shop, and Bea immediately goes to serve them, answering questions about the different loaves with a knowledge that makes me smile. She obviously loves bread as much as I do!

Andreas finishes his cup of tea and then offers to take me upstairs to my new home, and despite everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, I feel a small ball of excitement in the pit of my stomach. I give Bea a small wave, letting her know where we are off to, and follow Andreas down a small corridor that leads to a back door into a small alleyway. I glance to my left and notice another door, which Andreas tells me is mine.

I am not sure what to expect as I fit my key in the lock and make my way up the small, narrow staircase, but when I arrive on the landing and take in my surroundings, I simply feel a sense of coming home that I can't quite comprehend until I start looking around more carefully. To my right is a small kitchen, which is even equipped with a fridge and a washing machine. To my far left, I spot the bathroom, and from what I can see through the doorway, it has an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. In front of me on the right is a small living room, with a bedroom next door on the left.

Andreas leaves me to it, heading back down the stairs to carry on baking for a big event this evening, and I find my feet carrying me into the bedroom. I gasp when it finally dawns on me that I am looking at my bed, the actual double bed that I used to sleep in every time I stayed over at Nonna's growing up and which had mysteriously disappeared a couple of months ago. I run my hand over the carved headboard and take in the familiar quilt that had kept me warm and snuggly on so many nights. As I glance around the room more carefully, I take in the dressing table, the chest of drawers and the large wardrobe that are as familiar to me as breathing.

I make my way into the living room to find Nonna's sideboard acting as a TV stand and my favourite wingback chairs, the chairs that had apparently been sent to be reupholstered, in each corner. The wooden floor is covered by one of Nonna's Persian rugs. I sink down into one of the chairs, curling my legs up under me as I have always done when reading, as I try to take everything in.

So this is what Mr Thompson had meant when he said that Nonna had been disposing of her possessions. She knew, she just knew, that I would be living here and somehow, even with everything going on, had made sure I was looked after, just like she had done all my life. I don't know how long I have been crying for, but the silent tears cascade down my face. My grief is like a ball of nails in my stomach, and I simply don't know how I am ever going to get over losing my rock. Sure, my heart has been shattered by Taylor, but losing Nonna is not something I think I will ever fully recover from.

I don't know how long I sit there wallowing, but eventually I force myself to move. I grab my bag, which is sitting on the landing, and I take it into the bedroom to unpack. As I put my meagre possessions into the wardrobe, I notice spare towels, blankets and linen; at least I don't have to go buy any now. Nonna really did think of everything. I put my small collection of toiletries in the bathroom, making a mental note of things I need to buy, before heading into the kitchen to explore.

I open cupboards and find the basics, like plates and cutlery, but I know I will need to visit my favourite cookshop to buy some baking bits.

Suddenly I hear a knock and then feet on the steps, and when I poke my head round, I see Bea. "Hey, sweetie. I hope you don't mind, but the door was unlocked, and I wanted to bring you something to eat as I know you don't have any food here and you must be starving; lunch was a lifetime ago."

"Wow, thanks, Bea. I had no idea it was so late." I offer up a bright smile, which Bea returns, handing over a bottle of water and a gigantic sandwich on a plate. "Really, this looks awesome. Thank you, Bea. This is really sweet of you."

"Nonsense, Abby. We are pretty much family now," she says with a wink. "We'll leave you to settle in this evening, but tomorrow you are ours. Shop opens at seven, so pop down when you are ready and we can start going over things."

"That sounds great, Bea. I'll see you tomorrow, then." Bea gives me a wave as she descends the stairs, and then once again I am greeted by the quiet of the flat. Checking my watch, I realise that I need to get out and get some shopping done; otherwise, I will have nothing to eat later. So I eat the delicious ham-and-cheese sandwich whilst making a list of everything I think I will need.

It takes a couple of hours, but I am pleased with my purchases when I finally return home, arms laden. As I pack away my groceries, I know that at least I have my basics, like flour and yeast, and I smile as I take out a couple of tins and cupcake trays. An indulgence, I know, but I think I deserve a treat.

I try to keep busy, so even though the flat doesn't really need it, I scrub from top to bottom, all in an effort to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Taylor. I can feel the ball of anger that seems to be constantly simmering rising once again as my mind takes me back to Taylor's office. I try to stamp it down, but at least the anger is preferable to the anguish of my broken heart and the feeling that a piece of me is missing.

I am so sick and tired of all this emotion that I make an effort to block everything out, imagining to myself the shattered pieces of my heart are being encased in ice. My visualisation seems to work, and slowly numbness seems to seep through me. When I can physically do no more, I take a shower to ease my aching muscles and then climb into bed, huddling under Nonna's quilt as I take a measure of comfort from her scent that still lingers faintly.

I close my eyes but am immediately assaulted by memories of Taylor: his smile, his scent, the look in his eyes when he held me. I open my eyes and focus on the ceiling, trying to blot out everything else until I can feel the numbness descend again.
The Twentieth

At some point I must have slept because I wake with a start in the early hours of the morning. I realise the faint noise I hear must be Andreas starting up for the morning, so I lie in bed listening to the sounds, feeling less alone. When it is clear that I am not going to be able to go back to sleep, I get up and make a coffee.

I am tired but antsy, so I do what I always do when my life spirals out of control: I bake. Muffins are my friend this morning, so I find myself making several batches. I know I make mean apple and cinnamon muffins, but this morning I go further, adding lemon and poppy seed, carrot and pecan and savoury bran to my repertoire. I also make a couple of chocolate fudge cakes to take down to Bea and Andreas later as a thank you for helping me settle in.

Time flies and I realise that it is five to seven, so I put a selection of muffins on a plate and wander down to the back of the shop. The door is just being unlocked by Bea, so she ushers me in, chatting at a hundred miles an hour about her daughter who has run off with yet another unsuitable guy, and then disappears to make tea. I make my way into the kitchen and find Andreas pulling fresh loaves from the oven. The smell is heavenly, but my stomach rolls at the thought of eating.

Andreas gives me a warm smile in greeting, but it is clear he is busy, so I wander back to the front of the shop and help Bea set up. We are just about ready to open when Bea spots my plate of muffins. "Hmm, where did those come from?"

"Oh, I made them this morning for you and Andreas for breakfast. I was trying a couple of new recipes." Bea pulls off a chunk of lemon and poppy seed and pops it in her mouth. Her groan of pleasure makes me smile. "Is it okay?" I ask, always nervous about how my goodies will go down.

"Seriously, Abby, that is delicious." Bea replies before breaking off a piece of carrot and pecan.

"Hmmm..." The look of happiness on Bea's face melts a little of the ice round my heart.

"I am glad you like it. I have fudge cakes for you and Andreas upstairs as well."

"When on earth then did you sleep, Abby?" I shrug, and Bea comes over to me, staring at my face intently. I slide my eyes downward to avoid her scrutiny, but she doesn't say anything more, and I let out a breath as she steps back. I am glad to avoid an inquisition.

The bell above door the pings, announcing the arrival of the first customers, so Bea moves forward to serve them and I head back to the kitchen to see if there is anything I can help Andreas with.

The day passes in a blur as I try to take in everything Bea and Andreas teach me about the business. I am also introduced to the regulars, who all seem to know who I am already. It is becoming clearer to me just how involved in the community Nonna was, and I can't believe I didn't know about this side of her. I recognise many faces from her funeral, and it gives me some comfort to be around people who obviously loved her and were her friends.

Closing time arrives before I know it, and I rush back upstairs to grab my cakes, which I find myself offering Bea and Andreas shyly. Both of them loved my muffins earlier, and even some of the regulars were offered samples, which they raved about, so I am hoping they will like the cake. "This is just a little something to say, well, to say thanks so much for helping me settle in. I know I am just this kid who inherited a shop, but I want you to know that I don't want to...to take over. I just want to learn and help if I can..." I trail off, not sure what else to say.

Neither Bea nor Andreas say a word; they just simply pull me into a bear hug between them. I feel like I am about to cry, but I daren't as I know if I start I won't stop. So I focus on building the ice back around my heart, and gradually the numbness takes over.
The Twenty-First – Twenty-Third

I am an ice queen on the inside. I have perfected the art of preventing everything and everyone from seeing the inner me, which is ugly and black and numb. On the outside I smile and chat to customers, make small talk with Bea and Andreas, and do my best take in everything that I am being taught.

But when I am alone, the cracks have started to show. Baking is not even helping now. I can't sleep. I can't eat, and I know the dark shadows under my eyes are getting harder and harder to disguise, no matter how much concealer I layer on. I am avoiding Michelle's calls because I know if I talk to her, I will finally break.

The rest of the week has been a testament to my determination not to end up in a ball sobbing over a man, and on some level I feel a misplaced sense of pride that I have managed to achieve just that.

Saturday is the busiest day of the week for Bread, and I am witnessing it first-hand as I help out Bea and Lorna, our Saturday girl. The same age as I am, Lorna is doing a culinary apprenticeship and works with us for extra money. We chat in between serving customers, and I find we actually have a lot in common.

I am amazed when my tray of muffins and cupcakes has all but disappeared by 10:00 a.m. After tasting my fudge cake, Bea and Andreas insisted I start selling what I made, as long as I used the professional kitchen to make them, to make sure all the health and safety stuff is covered. I tried to explain that Bread was, well, a bread shop and selling cakes would be a bit random, but Bea's response was to laugh and say we could do what we liked as long as it fit under 'baked goods'.

I have been testing the waters, making an eclectic range of treats to see what would sell and what wouldn't, but so far things have really taken off, and I have even had a couple of orders for parties coming up in the next few weeks.

I am just returning from the kitchen with a basket of fresh muffins when I hear a familiar voice. My stomach sinks when I see Taylor's sister, Nicola, standing there chatting to a couple of girls whilst they wait in the queue. "You have got to try the cakes here. Trisha brought one to class yesterday and they are amazing! It's a new thing they are doing, apparently." I smile to myself, glad that her attention is on her friends and that she hasn't noticed me. I duck my head as I place the basket on the countertop and immediately turn to head back to the kitchen, hoping that I can escape unnoticed.

"Abby. Abby, is that you?" I turn around, knowing that there is no way to avoid talking to her. After all, none of this is Nicola's fault.

"Hi, Nicola. How are you?" I ask politely.

"What are you doing here, Abby?" I can see by the confusion on her face that Taylor has clearly not updated his baby sister.

"Um, I work here," I say, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, particularly as people are starting to listen in on our conversation.

"What do you mean? I thought you worked with Taylor?"

"Not anymore, Nicola. Things didn't work out," I say softly, not really wanting to go into any more details. Trying to distract her, I move on to safer ground. "So you and your friends have come in for some cake?" I paste a fake smile on my face and do my best to sound cheerful and unaffected.

Nicola nods, and I can see a million questions running through her mind, but she is obviously too polite to probe further. "Well, let's see what we can do for you. Which ones do you guys fancy?" I point to the basket and wait while they make their choices.

"Did you make these, Abby?" Nicola asks.

"Yeah, I hope you enjoy them." The girls decide what they would like, and I bag them up, telling them they are on the house. Nicola tries to protest but I insist, and they head off, bags in hand. When they are out the door I wait a couple of moments before excusing myself to use the staff bathroom. As I sit on the toilet seat, I realise my hands are shaking and my breaths are coming out shaky.

I hear a soft knock, and Bea is asking me if I am all right. I try to put as much brightness as I can muster into my voice and reply that I am fine and will be out in a moment. Bea stays put for a couple of seconds as if she is debating whether to leave me alone or not before she quietly walks away. I take a few steadying breaths and plaster on a cheerful grin before returning to the counter to help serve.

The shop keeps me busy for the remainder of the day. I am grateful that I haven't got time to think and dwell on Nicola's visit, but I know in the back of my mind that she will probably be ringing Taylor at some point. I am not sure if I want him to know where I am or not, but then I remember the tracker he placed on my phone and remind myself to work out how to uninstall it.

Bea keeps a close eye on me, and I can tell she is troubled. I sense she is debating between asking me what on earth is going on versus keeping quiet and leaving me to it. Keeping quiet seems to win out as she doesn't say anything apart from her normal chatter, but after we have all finished cleaning for the day and Lorna heads home, she shakes her head at me before pulling me in for a hug. I almost unravel in her arms, but I sternly tell myself to keep it together; I can't let her know just how broken I am feeling inside. I can barely deal with it in my head, let alone have a conversation about it.

My phone rings just as I am stepping into my kitchen. I glance at the screen and feel completely shocked when I see my dad's face on my caller ID. It takes me a moment to compose myself before I answer softly, "Hey, Dad."

"Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?"

"Um, I am ok. You?"

"We are good. Listen, love, your mum and I have an unexpected break in filming, so we are planning on going through Nonna's stuff tomorrow as we don't have much time left. Would you be able to join us?"

"Um, Dad, I don't think Mum will want me there." I hear my voice crack, and I hope my dad won't notice.

"Sweetheart, your mum is grieving at the moment. Her anger is not at you, but I am sorry she took it out on you. That wasn't fair."

I swallow, trying to compose myself. "Okay, I'll be there. What time do you want me to meet you both?"

We finish making arrangements for tomorrow, and then I hang up. I find myself staring at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry. I have no idea how my mum is going to react when she finds out I have lost my job and am now actually working at the place she is so angry about. Not to mention I am living in a flat that Nonna has furnished. What if she wants stuff back? What if she contests Nonna's will? Where will that leave me? Round and round my thoughts swirl until I can take no more and the ice melts, the dam breaks and the tears flood down my face.

When my sobs finally subside, the numbness returns, and I find myself staring at my kitchen blankly. I know I need to eat, but I haven't got the energy to prepare anything, so I walk away and climb into bed instead. I don't even have the inclination to get undressed, so I just pull the covers over me and wait.
The Twenty-Fourth

I am standing in Nonna's kitchen, desperately trying to avoid looking at either the spot where she died or at my mother, who is currently raging in Italian. Despite my heritage I have never managed to master much beyond the odd holiday phrase, so I really don't have a clue about what she is saying to me.

My dad popped out for a pint of milk, and it was at that point she started grilling me about what I was going to do about Bread. I am a terrible liar, so I came clean and told her my situation, minus the stuff like sleeping with my boss, his psycho brother and the all-round fucked-up-ness that is my life currently. Needless to say it was like waving a rag at a bull, and I am now standing here waiting for her to calm down. Which doesn't seem like it is going to happen anytime soon.

"Gina, just shut the hell up, will you?" My dad's normally quiet voice booms across the room, and we both stare at him, silence descending at last. "Stop for a minute and look at what you are doing to our daughter. She is shaking like a leaf."

I have never heard my dad like this, and I don't know what to say, and it has clearly left my mother speechless. He walks over to her and forces her to look into his eyes. "Gina, this is not Abigail's fault. I know you are hurting, but this is not right. Nonna's legacy was what she decided. It is not for us to question it." My mother closes her eyes briefly before opening them again and nodding her acquiescence before adding, "Fine, let's just get this over with."

As I spend the next couple of hours sorting through Nonna's things, putting aside things my mother wants to keep, making a pile for charity and another of things to sell, I start to wonder about my mother's animosity towards me. Certainly, I would never have awarded her Mother of the Year, but she has never behaved like this to me before. And then it hits me like a ton of bricks: she blames me for not saving Nonna. It is bad enough that I have been blaming myself all this time, but to know that my own mother also holds me responsible is gut-wrenching.

Bile rises in my throat, and I find myself tearing down the hallway to make it to the bathroom before emptying what little contents I had out my stomach. I don't know what I ever did to deserve so much pain, but I wish someone would give me a break. I just don't know how much more I can take.

As I sit on the cold bathroom tiles, trying to calm myself, my mother appears. All I want is for her to give me a hug, but instead all I feel is her contempt. I finally break and look up at her, knowing that what I am about to hear will probably destroy our relationship. "You blame me, don't you, Mum?"

"Yes." That one word comes out as a harsh whisper, and before I know it, I am scrabbling to my feet and running out the front door with no particular destination in mind. I run and I run, my lungs and my legs aching until neither have the strength to continue. I find myself sitting on the bench where I read Nonna's letter, and I stare out to sea.

My phone starts to ring, and when I see it is my dad, I cancel the call. I am empty, a husk of the person I used to be, and I just don't know if I will ever come back from this. I am not sure I even want to try. The man I gave my heart and soul to destroyed it. I am worthless. No one wanted me before Taylor, and who the hell would want me now? Even my own mother despises me.

The wind whips and rain starts to lash down, but I sit there, unable to move. The weather matches my mood, and I find some comfort in its wildness as my limbs start to go numb from the cold. Some semblance of self-preservation forces me to move, and I stumble back to my flat, grateful that Bread is not open and I don't have to face Bea and Andreas. My phone continues to ring intermittently, but I cancel each call until I eventually turn it off.

My body aches as I shiver in my wet clothes, and I find myself stripping them off in a puddle on the bathroom floor. I stare at my reflection desolately, the memories of the last time I stood in front of a mirror stark in my mind. I still don't see what Taylor claimed to see, and obviously it was all a lie, as look where we are now. When I can't stand looking at myself any longer, I take a hot shower in an attempt to ease the chill from the marrow of my bones.

My bed provides no comfort, and I spend the night once again staring at the ceiling. I hear someone knocking at some point, but I ignore the sound and eventually whoever it was goes away.
The Twenty-Fifth

I must have fallen asleep at some point because I am woken by a pounding on the door. Wrapping my gown round me, I make my way downstairs to find the postman with a registered letter bearing my name. Odd as no one knows yet that I live here.

I make my way upstairs and pop the kettle on before ripping open the envelope. The first thing I take in is the Hudson International letterhead, and I find my heart beating a rapid tattoo. It takes me a while to digest the words, and it is not until I see the cheque enclosed for ten thousand pounds that the penny drops.

I am being paid off. The thought sends red-hot fury coursing through my veins, and I start to shake. Of course, in black and white it is all very amicable and spelt out as a corporate responsibility as I was out of my probation period, but I am reading between the lines and I know what is happening here.

Before I fully comprehend what I am doing, I find myself donning some clothes and pulling on my duffel coat, heading out the door with rage fuelling my every thought.

Standing outside Hudson, my resolve starts to falter. Am I really the person who can storm in there and act out even one of the many scenarios I have been running through my head since setting out on this journey? I take a deep breath and steel myself, allowing all the hurt to bubble to the surface and remind me of my purpose, a suit of armour for what I need to do.

With one final breath I push through the doors, striding past reception without a second glance. I take the stairs, adrenaline pumping through my veins, readying me for confrontation. But instead of my normal mode of flight, today I choose fight. I spot Patrice, Taylor's assistant, and I stride up to her, growling, "Is he in?"

Patrice looks at me in shock. I am guessing I probably look fairly feral, so I am not surprised when it takes her a couple of seconds before she stammers, "Y...Yes." Without a pause I spin on my heels, open Taylor's door and slam it shut behind me, the door rattling in its frame.

Taylor is on the phone, and when he sees me, he calmly says into the phone, "Phil, I have something I have to deal with. I'll call you back."

I won't deny it. His words sting, but they are simply fuel for my fire. "You fucking prick, Taylor!" I spit out at him, the venom dripping in my voice. "All of it, us, what the fuck was it for? Was it a game? Was any of it real, huh?"

Taylor sits there calmly appraising me, his eyes hooded and cold, and this only infuriates me further. "You made me think you care. I give myself and my heart to you, and in the end, when I am too much of a problem for you to deal with, you get rid of me. And now you think you can ease your conscience by throwing money at me like a...a fucking whore. Is that what you think I am, Taylor? A fucking whore?" I am screaming now, and I know I am close to tears.

I pull out the cheque and rip it to pieces. "I might not be much, Taylor Hudson, but I am not about to be paid off by you. You can take your money and all the shit you bought me and shove it up your arse." I slam the key to my old flat down on Taylor's desk. "You have a week to clear everything out before I tell the landlord he can keep it. You do not fucking own me, Taylor. I will not owe you anything!"

I make it out of the building and across the road into Starbucks before I find a quiet corner to let the tears fall. A presence looms above me and I start, hastily wiping away my tears. Pulling over a chair, Michelle sits down opposite me and slides a latte across the table. "What the hell is going on, Abby? Where the hell did you disappear to?" Her voice is quiet, but I can see the concern and determination in her eyes.

I dissolve into fresh tears, and it takes me several minutes before I am able to pull myself together enough to try and talk. I take a sip of the coffee, trying to gather my thoughts, not knowing where the hell to start.

"It's over, Chelle." My sobs start up again. "I was just too much to deal with, so he quit." I can't get any more words out, so Michelle simply wraps her arms around me and lets me cry. When I can talk again, I begin by apologising. "I am so sorry, Chelle, for being such a crappy friend, for not talking to you. I just...just didn't know what to say..." I trail off, the look of sympathy in her eyes threatening to crush me once again. "My Nonna, she left me a bakery in her will, so I have been working there." I sidestep the fact that I was made redundant and tell Michelle a little about what I have been doing and how my cakes have been taking off.

Michelle glances at her watch, and I suddenly realise that she has probably slipped out of the office and needs to get back. I reassure her that I am okay, and we chat for a couple of more minutes before she heads off, but not before she says, "Abigail James, answer my calls from now on. Please! You are my friend, and I can't stand to see you in pain, so just let me help you through this." With a last hug she turns and hurries back across the road.

In an abstract way, I start to wonder what the hell people must be saying about me; the office gossip must be rife about the weird quiet girl who just went all psycho on the boss. I let out a hollow laugh, down the rest of my coffee and head back towards the train station, realising it is not even midday.

A text from Bea interrupts my inner turmoil, asking if I am okay as I am not home and didn't come in this morning. Annoyed with myself that I let her down, I send her a quick text apologising and saying I had an emergency in London. There is no way I can go home now until the shop is shut; I simply can't face any more enquiring looks or sympathy.

Once in Brighton I find myself heading back to my bench and spend the next few hours staring morosely out to sea as I contemplate the utter mess that is currently my life. When I know for sure the shop will be shut, I make my way back home, stopping in at an off-licence on the way for a bottle of vodka. Tonight I just want to forget.

My flat is too quiet when I get home, so I plug my MP3 player into its docking station and crank up the music before pouring myself a healthy slug of vodka, which I down in one go, the alcohol burning my throat and warming my stomach. I pour myself another shot and slowly start to feel the numbness spreading through my body. I am such a lightweight, the combination of lack of food and sleep means that the third shot has me reeling, and I find myself screaming the lyrics to Limp Bizkit's 'Break Stuff', wishing that I could break Taylor's face.

The fourth shot makes the anger start to subside, and instead the hurt and the pain start to resurface. I find myself listening to Evanescence's 'Going Under', and the pain seems to mirror my own swirling thoughts, and I can't help but wonder about whether I can survive this, whether I can make it through intact or whether I am just going to drown in my pain.

The pain still won't go away with the fifth shot, and I make the decision that the agony is too much for me to bear. With utter calmness I find myself running a bath before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a knife. At last I am back in control. No one can tell me what to do; this is all me. I slug back one final shot before settling myself back into the tub.

I hold the knife to my wrists and wonder, in an abstract way, how much this is going to hurt. Momentarily I feel guilt about who will find me, but I quash that thought immediately. The tension builds, and I start to wonder if I can go through with it, but then I allow the memories to start flooding back. The coldness in Taylor's eyes when he told me I was surplus to requirements. The hate in my mother's eyes as she blamed me for Nonna's death. Nonna's body, cold on the floor.

I feel the knife slice into my skin, but instead of pain all I feel is relief, sweet relief, as the emotions are released. I work on both wrists, determined to be the good girl that I am and do a good job, and then all there is, is the darkness as I fall unconscious.

"Oh sweet Jesus. Abby, what the fuck?" I hear Taylor's voice, far away. Hands shake my body. "Come on, baby, hold on. Please, Abby, just hold on for me."

"Please, I need an ambulance now...."

"...suicide..."

I feel my body dragged from the water. Hands on my wrists. Sirens and lights. And then darkness descends.

Cool air. Bright lights. A thousand voices issuing commands. Taylor shouting at me to hold on.

Darkness.
The Twenty-Seventh

I slowly climb out of the darkness, and the first thing I notice is a steady beeping sound. I can feel crisp sheets and an ache in my wrists. My mind flicks back, and I remember the drinking, the singing, the cutting of my wrists. With a sigh I realise that I survived, and now I am probably going to be in a world of trouble.

Taylor! Shit, pieces start coming back to me, and I am sure that I heard Taylor's voice. My heart starts to hammer, and the steady beep increases in pace until I hear someone enter the room. Efficient, cool fingers touch my wrists, well, the parts that aren't bandaged up, and I hear quiet murmurings. I try to open my eyes, but nothing seems to be cooperating. A warm, sluggish feeling creeps up my limbs, and then once again the darkness descends.
The Twenty-Eighth

Beep. Beep. Beep. I want to shout at the fucking alarm for waking me up; I don't have to be at work until seven, so why did I set it so early? I crack my eyes open, expecting to see my bedroom ceiling, but instead I am confronted by the antiseptic smell of hospital, the beep from a heart monitor that appears to be attached to me and a slumped body at my side. I try to shift myself, but pain shoots through my wrists, causing me to yelp.

The head to my side lifts, and I realise that Taylor is next to me, staring deep into my eyes with an expression I can't fathom. All of a sudden, a nurse comes in and starts busying herself around me, asking me questions about how I am feeling and taking vitals before letting me know that the doctor will be in shortly.

I am parched and my throat is sore, but I can't seem to string my words together to ask for some water. I avoid Taylor's eyes, now certain that he is the one that found me, wishing that this would all just go away. I am not stupid; I have read enough books, watched enough films and TV programmes to know that this is just that start of what is going to be the 'Let's get Abby well again' programme. I am certain my dad will be pitching up any moment now, though I am less sure about my mother, a thought that sends a spear of pain through me.

"Are you uncomfortable, Abby? Do you need some pain meds?" Taylor's voice is a hoarse whisper, his recognition of my anguish almost bordering on the sixth sense.

"What are you doing here, Taylor?" I manage to murmur, my voice low and devoid of emotion. "Why did you bother to save me?" I stare at the wall to avoid looking into Taylor's eyes, knowing that if I let him see my soul, I will wish I would have died every day for the rest of my life. I am still not sure I won't anyway.

"What the fuck, Abby?" Taylor's voice is full of barely controlled anger, a stark contrast to the calm coolness he showed me in his office.

Before he can say anything else, the doctor walks in and introduces himself as Dr Hendrix. I find myself smirking to myself and wonder if his first name is James. At least I haven't completely lost my sense of humour.

"Okay, Abby, there are two aspects to deal with here. Physically you are fine. You lost a lot of blood and had to be given a transfusion. We had to keep you sedated for a couple of days. Also, your wrists are going to be very sore for a while as they heal. You are lucky you didn't slice the tendons, but you did a pretty thorough job otherwise. Physically you will heal.

"Mentally, this is something you are going to have to work on. I understand from my conversations here with Mr Hudson some of what has been happening in your life"—What. The. Fuck?—"but we both believe there must be other stress factors that led to your actions. Our therapist will be in to see you shortly to start discussing a course of treatment, and I will be along this afternoon to check your progress."

Hooray! Before I can utter a reply, Dr Hendrix sweeps from the room, and I am left alone again with Taylor.

"Your folks will be landing shortly and should be here in the next couple of hours." Taylor's voice is low, and I can hear pain lingering in his tone.

I refuse to meet his eyes, and sigh, "Well, nice to know I am important enough to show up, even if they are a couple of days late."

"They would have been here earlier if they could have, Abby."

"Yeah right. Because I have always been a priority." My voice drips with sarcasm, and I close my eyes. "Okay, Taylor, job done. I am alive, so you can go back to the life you were living before I rudely interrupted it and became such an issue."

"I am not going anywhere, Abby," Taylor growls. My stomach flips and I take a deep breath, gripping the sheets tightly so Taylor won't see my hands shaking.

I turn to look at Taylor and speak, "I don't want you here, Taylor, so just... just fuck off and leave me alone."

"I am not going anywhere, Abby," Taylor repeats, his voice low and steady once more.

"I am not some broken thing that you can put together, only to break again when you feel like it." I am shouting, and my tone catches the attention of the nurse, who walks in briskly before ordering Taylor out the room.

"Miss James needs some rest, so I suggest you come back later," she says sternly.

"Or never!" I add, my tone harsh. I try to turn away so Taylor won't see the tears glistening in my eyes, but my wrists make it painful to shift my body and I cry out. In an instant Taylor is there, cradling me. "Please just leave me alone, Taylor," I whisper as he gently moves me.

"I'll come back later," he promises before slipping from the room.

"He hasn't left your side since you were brought in, you know," the nurse says kindly, startling me. "The orderlies had to pull him off you so that they could get you into theatre to operate." I don't know what to say in response, so I remain quiet, and she places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "It is going to be okay, Abby. You'll see." A lone tear escapes, and I hastily swipe at it. "Get some rest, hon," she adds before walking quietly out of the room.

Alone at last, I take in my surroundings, glancing around the room, trying to orientate myself. The furnishings are rich and bright, and if it wasn't for the smell of antiseptic, I would assume I was in a hotel room. Then it hits me; I am in a private hospital. What the hell? I can't afford this. I guess I'll just have to take a loan or something to pay for the treatment I have had so far, but I know I can't stay here any longer; otherwise, I'll bankrupt myself.

I struggle to sit up and swing my legs over the side. A wave of dizziness rushes over me, and I have to wait until my head stops swimming. I start pulling off the pads attached to my chest, and I hear the alarm going off on the monitor, and I panic until I figure out what button will silence it. I am just pulling out my drip when several nurses rush into the room.

"Miss James, what on earth are you doing? You need to get back into bed."

"I can't stay here!" The panic is evident in my voice. "I can't afford a private hospital. I'll just go check at an NHS one. Or something..."

"Miss James, stop!" The voice is firm and brooks no argument. I turn and find myself looking at a stern lady who, in a completely abstract train of thought, I assume must be the matron. "Now get back into bed and let Nurse Sampson here reattach your monitors." I find myself complying as she continues, "Your job here is to get better, not to worry about anything else. Your bills have been paid, so that is no longer a concern of yours. Now, I don't want any more of this nonsense, young lady. You need to rest and let my staff do their job."

I mumble an apology, feeling like I am a child being told off, but when I look into her eyes, I see compassion and understanding. I let the nurses reattach my monitors and reinsert my drip, and then Matron inserts something into my drip. "This will help you rest." Warmth spreads through my limbs and once again I am in darkness.

.........................

Voices disturb me from my deep slumber, and it takes me a couple of moments to place their familiarity. My mum and dad. I can hear weeping and I keep my eyes closed, not ready to face what I will see.

"It is all my fault, Michael," I hear my mother saying softly. "I told her I blamed her for Mamma's death. How could I do that? What kind of a mother am I?" I hear my father shushing her and comforting her, and I can imagine in my mind's eye that he has his arms wrapped around her, his head on hers, an embrace I have seen so many times growing up.

"Gina, it is going to be fine. Abby has a big heart and I know she will forgive you eventually, but you need to pull yourself together and be strong for her. She needs you! You are her mother, and you need to start acting like it."

The snuffles slowly subside, and when I think enough time has passed, I slowly open my eyes. "Hey," I croak.

"Abby!" My mother is on her feet, hugging me fiercely, wiping tears from her eyes. She pulls back and looks me in the eye. "Oh, baby girl, I thought we had lost you." The lump in my throat expands and the tears threaten. Placing her forehead against mine, she whispers, "I am so sorry, Abigail. You will never know how sorry I am." I nod my head slightly to acknowledge her apology, knowing that I won't be able to get the words out yet to forgive her, but in my heart I know I am not one to hold a grudge. And I understand how grief can make you lash out, even at those closest to you.

My dad envelops us both in a hug, and for the first time in my life, I truly feel part of my family, not just someone sitting on the sidelines, watching the Michael and Gina show. "Oh, sweetheart. Now is not the time to go into everything, but just know your mother and I are here for you. You are not alone. We will help you get through this. Together. Okay?" I nod at him, and both he and my mother start disentangling themselves from me.

We are interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. I turn to see a youngish guy standing in the doorway. He looks a little nervous, but he steps forward and introduces himself with confidence. "Hi, Abby. I am David Grohl."

I can't help the snigger that erupts from my mouth. "Seriously?" Am I in some kind of weird parallel universe where rock stars have become doctors? What kind of hospital is this?

David laughs and replies, "Yeah seriously, though I can't play the guitar or drums." I laugh, and for the first time in a while, I feel like a little sunshine is entering my soul. "Okay Abby, I am here to discuss your therapy plan, so it would be good if we can have some privacy. Unless, of course, you would prefer your parents to be present?" I shake my head, not ready to let them in again quite so soon.

"We'll go grab some coffee," my dad says as my parents get to their feet. Before heading out the door, they both give me a hug and my mum whispers, "I love you so much, baby girl." I smile at her weakly as she heads out the door.

I study David, my eyes narrowing when I take in his appearance of loose-fit jeans, a plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal the edge of a tattoo, and battered Converse. "Seriously, you are a therapist?" I question, my voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Yup, fully qualified. I don't have to deal with gore, so no need for scrubs, and white really isn't my colour. I know I should have a beard and a jacket with leather elbow patches and smoke a pipe, but that's not really my style." His smile is gentle and I find myself giggling softly, glad that he hasn't gone straight in and pulled the Band-Aid off my wounded psyche.

"So today is not about going into everything, but to set out a plan of how we are going to move forward and get you back on your feet. Okay?" I nod, and David starts explaining about the hospital's programme and the appointment schedule I will need to stick to, which involves both individual and group therapies, starting tomorrow. He startles me when he brings up the subject of antidepressants.

I guess I always had this idea that only loonies needed them, so finding myself in that category scares me, and I can see from David's eyes he senses my discomfort. "Antidepressants do not mean you are weak, Abby. They are simply another tool to help you. I will start you on a lowish dosage, and we can see how you get on and adjust accordingly. They are also not forever. When the time is right, we will work together to get you off them. Now, before I write you a script, I just need to confirm that you are not at risk of pregnancy?"

I start to shake my head, and then, as the thunderbolt strikes, the colour drains from my face. "Um, I don't think so, but there was one time a couple of weeks ago when we didn't use anything. I meant to get the morning-after pill, but stuff happened..." I trail off, my voice barely above a whisper.

"That's okay Abby. We'll do some blood work to check and go from there. Okay?" I nod, and we talk for a couple of more minutes before David heads off and I am left alone with my thoughts.

The one thing you never are in a hospital is alone, and that is especially true if you are there because you tried to kill yourself. All I want is a few precious minutes to myself to think and regroup, but people are constantly in and out of my room, checking vitals, taking blood, bringing food I can't stomach and generally making sure I haven't tried anything again. My parents fuss over me in a way that they haven't since I had the flu when I was five, and I am grateful when a nurse suggests that it is time for me to settle down for the evening. With promises of being back first thing in the morning, they finally leave and I can breathe a sigh of relief.

Despite having been cleaned up, I still seem to have blood in the crevices of my skin, and I am desperate for a shower. The nurse allows me, unwrapping my wrists and telling me that I cannot lock the door. I sigh but don't argue. I am the one who tried to commit suicide, after all.

The warm water cascades over me and a sense of calm descends. Here, in this moment, I feel a degree of peace in my soul. I don't stay under the water long as my wrists start to hurt and I begin to feel dizzy, so I dress in some pyjamas that have been left out for me and then let the nurse rebind my wrists.

I climb back into bed, grateful to have some time alone and plug in the earphones of my MP3 player, which someone has thoughtfully left on the counter for me. I close my eyes and lie back and flick the music on. As the first notes sound, I realise with a start that this is not my MP3 player. I continue to listen and get sucked into David Gray's 'Please Forgive Me' as he sings about not wanting to lose his girl.

The next song is Bryan Adams tune I know so well, and I find myself welling up as I sing the lyrics in my mind. I know in my heart that this is Taylor's version of an apology, the modern version of an '80s mix tape, song after song calling for forgiveness and speaking of love. When the final song finishes, Bon Jovi's 'I'll Be There for You', tears are coursing down my face, the line 'I pray to God you'll give me one more chance, girl' reverberating in my mind.

I open my eyes to find Taylor standing next to me, staring into my eyes, his face wet with his own tears. "I thought I was protecting you, Abby..." The pain and anguish in Taylor's voice chill me. "I thought if I pushed you away, you would be...safe. If I had any idea that this would happen, then..." Taylor trails off, and all I can feel is confusion as I try to take in what Taylor is saying.

"What do you mean?" I whisper.

"At the party, Richard threatened you. He told me that you fascinated him and he wasn't finished playing games with you. All I could think of was how he destroyed Hannah, and I couldn't let him do that to you. Ultimately this is about him and me and his control, so I made an agreement to end things with you if he left you alone..." Taylor trails off, and I can see him watching me closely, gauging my reaction.

I am still so angry at Taylor, but hearing his words, I feel comprehension start to dawn. His words '...you are mine. Mine. And I will protect you at all costs...' echo through my memory, and I can understand his motivation. But the way he did it still hurts so much, and even now I am not sure my heart will ever be whole again.

"But why didn't you talk to me?" I tell him about my own confrontation with Richard at the party, and I can see the tension in his jaw, his hands clenching. "If you had let me know what was going on, we could have dealt with this together..."

"I just thought...thought that I could deal with him and then make it up to you later. I never thought...never imagined that this"—Taylor sweeps his arm over me—"would happen as a result."

"What's done is done, Taylor," I say softly. Taylor reaches across and grasps my hand in his.

"This is all my fault." His voice is pained.

"Shh," I comfort, "this was not all about you." I try to smile weakly but fail miserably. I am so damn tired, and all this emotion has drained me. Sensing this, bossy Taylor takes over, telling me I need to sleep. He pulls up a chair, lacing his fingers through mine, and watches me. I know I should tell him to go, but the selfish part of me needs him beside me, watching over me.
The Twenty-Ninth

I wake to weak sunlight filtering through the blinds. I am on my side in the foetal position, my body curled around Taylor's head, our fingers still interlaced. He is snoring softly, and I reach up with my free hand to run my fingers through his hair. The whirl of my thoughts brings me back to Hannah, and I realise what I did was just what Taylor always thought happened to her. Guilt washes over me and tears prick my eyes. "I am so sorry for putting you through this, Taylor," I whisper softly.

Taylor stirs and shifts his body before raising his head to look at me. "Hey," he says softly.

"Hey," I reply. "You must be really uncomfortable on that chair." I study Taylor's face, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes, the pallor in his skin and the fact that he is wearing yesterday's clothes.

"Hmm. Well, it is not going to make my top-ten favourite places in the world to sleep. But I'll survive."

"Go home, Taylor. Get some sleep, have a shower and eat something other than hospital food. The nurse told me you have been practically living here."

Taylor's eyes darken. "I am not leaving you alone," he growls.

"Taylor," I say, exasperation in my voice, "I am not alone. I am in a hospital full of people who are making sure I am not going to do anything I shouldn't. You need to sleep in a bed. You need a shower 'cause you smell, and you need to put on some clean clothes. I'll be fine. Please."

"Okay, but I am going to be back in a few hours, Abby. I am not losing you again." The pain in his voice ripples through me, and I sigh softly, wondering if we are ever going to be able to get past this. Planting a soft kiss on the top of my head, Taylor heads out of my room and I am left alone.

A nurse with a bright smile bustles in before I have a chance to get too comfortable with my isolation. She sets down some breakfast, which I make an attempt to pick at, while she writes down various notes on my chart.

It is not long before Dr Hendrix makes his rounds and declares that he is happy with how my wrists are healing. "Just some small scarring, I think, Abby." I smile and offer my thanks and enquire about when I might be able to go home. "That all depends on Dr Grohl. He will decide when you are ready to be discharged depending on what your home care situation is."

My parents arrive soon after, bringing with them a whole manner of treats. It is like they are suddenly trying to make up for years of lack of attention, which is sweet but ultimately overwhelming, so it comes as a relief when David shows up, declaring that it is time for my first session.

At first I find his scrutiny unnerving, but as I start to relax I find myself talking freely, telling him about my life growing up, witnessing Nonna's death, Richard's attack and Taylor's abandonment. "I understand on a level why he did what he did," I say, "but it hurts so much. Every time I think about the words he said, the way he talked to me makes me feel like I am going to throw up. I just don't know how I can get past all of this."

David probes some more, asking me about how I feel about myself, and by the time our session is over, I feel completely drained. David declares it a success and lets me know blood test results will be back tomorrow, before heading out the door.

I close my eyes, and soon I am dreaming in Technicolor, nonsensical dreams that leave me feeling confused when I open my eyes. I feel rather like Alice in Wonderland as she returns from the rabbit hole to realise it was all a dream. But the reality is that I did something stupid. Some will say it was a cry for help, others the coward's way out; but in my heart all I knew was that the pain of it all was too much for me to bear, and I had no one to share my burden. No man is an island and all that bullshit, but in that moment when I sat in the bath, contemplating what I was about to do, I knew I was truly alone.

"Ah, there she is!" I turn to the doorway to see Bea and Andreas holding the biggest bunch of flowers I have ever seen. I can also smell freshly baked bread, and my mouth starts to water. I feel shame at letting them both down and wonder what they must possibly think of me. But when they come over to hug me, I see no condemnation in their eyes, no pity, just sympathy and compassion.

"You gave us such a fright," Bea scolds, but I know in an instant this is her way of dealing with what I have done. "You need to get better quickly. The regulars are starting to get restless over the lack of cakes and muffins!" She laughs softly at her own joke, and it is a relief to be able to brush aside all the negativity and just focus on the present. We chat for a while about the shop and how things have been this week and the orders coming up, and there is no question in their minds that I will be returning to be 'cake-maker extraordinaire', as Bea puts it. It is a lovely visit, and I am grateful to have something else to focus on instead of being the worm under the microscope.

The revolving door to my room spins once again, and Taylor is standing there, looking nervous. "Um, I know this might be completely inappropriate, but I have someone here who wants to see you, and she wouldn't take no for an answer." To my surprise, Genevieve enters the room and shuts the door in Taylor's face.

I watch warily as she approaches and takes a seat in the chair with a dignity I am not sure I will ever be able to master. "Oh, Abby, Taylor told me what happened, and I wanted to come and see for myself how you were doing." Genevieve's voice is strong yet gentle. "Taylor is blaming himself..." I go to interrupt her, to reassure that it is not Taylor's fault, but she holds up her hand and I bite my tongue. "No, do not defend him. He told me how he treated you, and frankly I am appalled at his behaviour." Her voice softens slightly. "But he did it with intentions he thought were honourable.

"I know you are going through so much at the moment and this will be a long road to travel, but I just wanted to let you know that I am here for you. No matter what happens to your relationship with my grandson, please know you are always welcome in my home, and if there is anything I can help you with, please do not hesitate to call me," Genevieve says as she slides a card into my hand.

We carry on chatting, and she tells me how much she enjoyed the truffles I made her. I promise to make her some more, and she tells me that she will hold me to that. With a final kiss on my cheek, she heads out the door, joking that Taylor is probably having a minor heart attack in the waiting area.

Taylor steps into the room, eyeing me warily. "I am sure I said it before, but your grandmother is an amazing woman." I feel the need to reassure him, to let him know that everything is okay between us. I am not sure I can go back to being with Taylor, but I can't hate him. It just isn't in my DNA, and I know I need to start letting go of the anger I am holding in.

The afternoon flies by as Taylor and I chat about films and music. The lack of the usual sexual tension between us makes me a bit uneasy, but I shrug it off, not wanting to dwell on the negative connotations that are attempting to take root in my mind. I ask him why he is not at work, and when he tells me it is the joy of owning your own company that you can take time off when you want, I find myself smirking at him.

"Well, if I do that, the buns don't get baked!" I joke. But in all seriousness, I know I need to get back to the shop; otherwise, Bea and Andreas will be left with a whole lot of orders that can't be filled, and that would be terrible for business. Taylor seems to hear the truth in my words, and I can see him struggling as he turns something over in his mind.

"Um, I spoke to Dr Grohl," Taylor says, and I feel a small burst of anger at the thought of the two of them discussing things behind my back, which I do my best to stamp down. "You know he won't release you unless you have someone to stay with you..." David has discussed this with me and I nod. Taylor runs his hands nervously through his hair. "I didn't think you would want to stay with your folks and I know London is not an option, so I thought maybe I could come and stay with you..." Taylor trails off before continuing, "Like, I'll sleep on the couch at yours, and that way you can still bake. I know how important that is to you."

I have never seen Taylor so unsure of himself, and it brings out a nurturing side to me that I didn't know existed. "But what about your work, Taylor?" I ask. I don't want him risking what he has worked so long and hard for.

"I can work remotely, set up an office at yours, and travel up to London for meetings as and when. It is not a permanent solution, but we can take it a week at a time." My heart sinks a little when he says this is not a happily-ever-after, but I have to remind myself of the need to take baby steps.

I know there is no way they will release me any other way, and I desperately want to leave and go home. I have had enough of the poking and prodding and the midnight vitals checks, and I just want to be able to bake, to get back a semblance of control over my life.

"Okay Taylor, I can do that." I close my eyes briefly, wondering whether I have made the right decision but realise that the choice has been made now, so I may as well go with the flow. Taylor goes out to find David and talk to him about how soon they would be prepared to let me go.

Within minutes David is back with Taylor, explaining the conditions of my release, the requirement to attend the daily therapy sessions at the hospital, including some family sessions, that I cannot be left alone at night, no drinking, no drugs. On and on the list goes, and I can see Taylor take everything in religiously.

"So, Abby, are you willing to comply with everything I have just set out?"

"Yes, David, I just want to go home," I reply, a hint of desperation evident in my voice.

"Okay then, I will arrange for your release for midday tomorrow." David turns to Taylor. "Will that give you enough time to get set up?" Taylor nods, and I feel a sense of relief at the knowledge that tomorrow night I will be sleeping in my own bed.

We are discussing what Taylor will need to get set up when a sudden thought strikes me, and I can't believe I haven't questioned it before. "Taylor, why were you at my flat that night? How did you get in?"

A look of guilt passes over Taylor's face, and I can see him wrestling with something. At last he opens his mouth and starts speaking quietly. "When I, um, fired you, I had someone follow you home because I was worried about you and shit-scared about Richard getting to you..." I wait silently for Taylor to continue, knowing that now is not the time for yelling at him for invading my privacy. "He's a friend that goes way back, ex-MI5, so he kept an eye on you, following you down to Brighton. He had been keeping a close eye on you and making sure Richard hadn't approached you. You managed to give him the slip, actually, when you came up to London on Monday..."

Taylor gives a hollow laugh before continuing, "But I called after you had your coffee with Michelle, and he picked you back up when you got off the train. When he saw you buying the vodka, he called me, saying he didn't have a good feeling about it. I came straight down, and when I got to your flat, I found the door open. I guess you hadn't shut it, but I would have been willing to smash it down if needs be. When I found you in the tub..." Taylor chokes up, and I can see how upset he is.

"It's fine," I say softly. "I am glad you found me. Really." Taylor's expression brightens slightly. "Um, how did you know I had coffee with Michelle?" I ask, feeling curious.

"She came into my office and tore a strip off me. Poor Patrice must think I go around inciting women to yell at me." I laugh softly. "Right. I had better get going to get everything sorted for you to go home tomorrow."

"Thanks, Taylor. Really. Thanks for everything," I whisper.

"My pleasure, Abby," Taylor replies, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose. And then he is gone.
The Thirtieth

The night was long and tortuous, filled with random dreams that made no sense. When dawn finally arrives, I remove my bandages and hop in the shower, soaping my hair and body in an effort to remove the delightful hospital aroma that I seem to have acquired.

I find some clothes in the locker next my bed and notice that they are the clothes Taylor bought me. I feel uneasy about putting them on, but given my lack of options, I slip them on anyway. The black skinny jeans that had previously hugged my figure now hang loosely off my hips, and the grey silk T-shirt feels two sizes too large. The grey cardigan I loved swamps my figure even when cinched in with the belt. At least the boots still fit.

I examine my face in the mirror properly for the first time, and I am astounded by how much weight I have lost. My cheeks are almost gaunt, and my hair, while never having been my crowning glory, has a lacklustre sheen. Seriously, I look like crap.

I distract myself by flicking through a pile of magazines, discarding those of the fashionista variety and losing myself instead in an article about tribes in Bolivia in the latest _National Geographic_. Dr Hendrix does his rounds and declares me fit to leave, giving me strict instructions about aftercare and when to return to have my stitches out.

My mum and dad arrive, bringing coffee and doughnuts, and we chat quietly about where things go from here. I called them last night to explain the situation, and they were naturally worried about leaving me with the man partly responsible for my current predicament, as we have taken to calling it. But they agreed that staying in my flat was best, and so they are supporting me in my decision. I know they will be keeping a very close eye on things, and it makes me feel slightly better that for once I seem to be the centre of their world. Selfish, I know, but I just can't help it.

David arrives for my session, so my parents head off with a promise to take me out for lunch tomorrow. They are staying in Nonna's flat for the next couple of weeks until it has to be handed over so that they can be close by, a concession on their part I would never have believed had it not actually happened.

David keeps the session light, and I am grateful to escape the Spanish Inquisition, though I have a feeling my next few will not be so easy. We chat about coping mechanisms, and he gives me some tips to help with the stress I am going to feel stepping back into the real world.

"Just because you have been here doesn't mean all those issues have magically disappeared in the meanwhile, and I need you to be able to deal with them and not run away." As I am discovering, flight is apparently not the correct modus operandi when dealing with the shit life throws at you. And I guess I have been running a lot recently.

When the session ends, David heads off to collect my blood test as he can't issue me my tablets until we have the results. I flick through my magazine idly in an effort to distract myself from the fact that I might be pregnant. In the grand scheme of things, this is not something I can even contemplate, so I tell myself to stop being ridiculous and focus instead on lava flows in Hawaii.

There is no sign of Taylor, and I wonder nervously if maybe Taylor has backed out of the arrangement. I try to reassure myself, taking a sip of coffee, as I see David walk back into the room, holding a piece of paper.

My heart starts to beat rapidly as I try to read David's face. I fidget, my hands gripping each other as reality is about to come crashing down on my head. David clears his throat. "Okay Abby, well, the results are a little inconclusive, especially as we are looking at early days, but I think we have to assume you are pregnant."

My attention on David is distracted by two coffee cups hitting the floor and exploding simultaneously. As if in slow motion, David moves away, leaving me with a clear view of Taylor standing in the doorway.
Epilogue

Before those cups even hit the floor, Taylor was already turning around and walking back out of my room. After two hours it became clear that he wouldn't be returning. I tried calling, but he didn't pick up any of my calls or my voicemails. I sat there in a complete state of shock. Pregnant at twenty-one was not part of my plan. Attempted suicide was not part of my plan. Taylor walking out on me again was not part of my plan. Yet here I was dealing with all three.

So as you can imagine, there was no chance of going home. Instead, David booked me straight into the hospital's mental health clinic for the next week. I guess these days 'psychiatric ward' is probably not the politically correct term, or maybe this is just what posh people like to call being nuts. Anyway, I was ferried along to another building in the hospital's vast grounds, where I was allocated a room that was the size of a shoebox. Don't get me wrong. Everything was immaculate and comfortable, but there was zero privacy: no locks on the doors, shared bathrooms and communal dining.

The first few days were hard. I spent them in this strange fog as my body adjusted to the antidepressants, barely able to see straight and just wanting to put my head down and sleep. Instead, I was attending one-on-one sessions with David each morning and then group sessions in the afternoons, being encouraged to explore my feelings and expose my emotions to complete strangers.

Some days I just felt like dying all over again, but slowly things started to get better. I learnt that talking actually helped. And getting angry wasn't always a bad thing. And confronting things could actually be healthy. Fight, in the right circumstances, was better than flight.

There were also plenty of other activities we were encouraged to participate in, all designed to help us deal with our various issues. Weirdly enough, I took to yoga straight away. That hour of simply concentrating on my breathing took me away from all my thoughts and worries. The anxiety about my future just simply evaporated, for a little while at least. Additionally, David arranged it so that I could use the kitchen so that I could bake. After the first couple of days I started teaching some of my fellow 'inmates' some basics and was surprised by just how much joy I got out of seeing the smile of someone's face when their sponge cake turned out perfectly.

When my week was up, David signed my release papers on the condition that I would return for daily sessions. My parents had rented an apartment in Brighton to be there to support me, arranging, for the first time in my life, to take a break from work together. I would like to say I was leaping for joy at the thought of being 'free', but actually, the idea of taking responsibility for myself terrified the life out of me.

Instead of being in my little cocoon where people just accepted me for who I was, I was now going to head out into the real world, where people would see my scars and know what I had done. How could I explain my motivations when I was still working on them myself? In the clinic I had nothing to worry about apart from going to sessions and taking my meds. Yet now I was not only going to be in charge of my own health and mental well-being, but I was also going to be responsible for this little life that was growing in me.

Further blood tests whilst at the clinic had confirmed that, yup indeedy, I was pregnant. I had left a voicemail on Taylor's phone, letting him know there was no pressure, but I would be grateful if he could call me back, but here we are three days on and I have not heard a peep.

.........................

I am lying in bed, my first night back in my own bed, snuggled under my duvet and Nonna's quilt, listening to the rain pelting against the windows, staring up at the ceiling. My hand curls protectively against my belly in an unconscious gesture that even I am not sure how to interpret yet. In this moment I make a vow that from here on out the little bean inside of me is my number-one priority and whatever happens with Taylor will be left in Fate's hands. If we are meant to be together, he will come back to me, but in the meanwhile I need to get strong again, not only for me but for my baby.

My baby. The tears well up, but for once they are pure joy. The realisation that I will never be alone again brings me a comfort and feeling of fulfilment that I never knew was possible. Images of a baby gurgling in a crib, a toddler learning to walk, a cheeky child running along the beach, all run through my mind, and I recognise this amazing feeling. Hope. Something that had been missing from my life for quite a while.

And now I just have to wait for Taylor to sort his shit out and call me. So I wait...

The story continues in

**BOOK TWO**
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> **About the Author**

> British author **Bibi** was born in South Africa and loves to tell saucy stories with a twist. Inspired from a young age, her love for literature started with Enid Blyton and her Secret Seven. Since then a voracious appetite for books has brought her a world full of heroes, love, murder, betrayal and the odd vampire thrown in for good cause. **Bibi's** hobbies include consuming copious amounts of coffee and chocolate, building cardboard castles with her daughter and spending time with the laziest cat in the world.

> Visit **www.bibipaterson.com** for more information.

> **Other books by Bibi Paterson**

> **Tied to You** Olivia Walker has just hit rock bottom. About to lose her job and become homeless, she can't see a way out of the mess her life has become until Alex Davenport enters her life with a proposal she is in no position to refuse.

> **For One Night Only** Indulge yourself in this collection of six short stories guaranteed to get you in the festive mood.

> **Santa's Saucy Shorts** Santa's Saucy Shorts are a series of short, erotic Christmas stories around 5,500 words.
SEPTEMBER

_'The course of true love never did run smooth'  
_ **William Shakespeare**
> **Copyright Bronwyn Paterson 2013**

> **Smashwords Edition**

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