A Kiss Stolen

Prologue

Jake

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6c1BThu95d8

(She’s a Rainbow)

“Dad, I’m moving out.”

I stare at my daughter in astonishment. “What? Why?”

She straightens her shoulder and her jaw takes on that intractable line it does when she’s absolutely determined to do something come hell or high water. “Because,” she says firmly, “I’m going to be twenty in a few days and it’s about time.”

I frown. “Why is it about time?”

“Dad,” she cries exasperated. “All my friends moved out of their parents’ houses like two hundred years ago.”

I fold my arms. “That’s not a reason.”

She folds her arms with equal determination. “Come on, Dad, be reasonable. I want to move out because I want my own space.”

“You have your own space here. Hell, you have a whole wing to yourself. No one ever bothers you there … not since you put excrement in your brother’s bed for coming into your space, anyway.”

“For heaven’s sake, stop bringing that up. I was nine years old when I did that,” she says crossly.

“My point remains. Nobody ever disturbs you in your part of the house.”

She uncrosses her arms and leans forward, her bright blue eyes shining. “No, Dad, I mean, I want to be independent. I want to have my own little apartment in London. I want to paint the walls myself in the color I choose. I want to wake up in the morning and nip down to the bakery for some croissants or an apricot Danish that is still hot from the oven. I want to open my window and look down on a busy street full of people rushing to work. At night, I want to lie in my bed and to listen to the sounds of people coming back from pubs and clubs. I want the electricity bill to have my name on it. And when the postman rings I know the package is for me. I don’t want a big place. Just a one bedroom apartment or a studio would do me fine. Actually, if I had a choice I want a tiny cramped place so I can make it really cozy. Something like the movie version of the apartment Bridget Jones was living in.”

I sigh. I came from nothing and my dream was to live in the biggest house in the street. My daughter has lived in absolute luxury all her life and now her big dream is to go live the life of a poor person in London. How could I fight the romantic draw of poverty?

“Please, Dad.”

I hate the idea of her leaving home. It doesn’t feel right. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a strong instinct warning me against something. My instinct never failed me before.

“You didn’t expect me to commute every day to London to finish my Internship in the city, did you?” she asks incredulously.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. It is barely an hour’s drive and I’ve already arranged for your transport.”

“No, that’s not what I want. Please, Dad,” she pleads. “I can’t live at home forever. Anyway, I’ll come home at the weekends.”

I look at her and realize suddenly, as if it crept up on me without warning, that my little girl has grown up. Not only has she grown up, she wants to spread her wings and fly away. For years I refused to allow myself to think of this day, but it is here now and I can’t control it. I see her as a stranger. An incredibly beautiful woman, with long black hair, and sparkling sapphire eyes. It makes me afraid. I choose my words very carefully. “All right—”

She jumps out of her chair, starts whooping and doing a Red Indian dance.

“I’m not finished, Liliana,” I say.

She stops and looks at me suspiciously.

“You can move out, but you must stay at our apartment in London.”

Her face falls.

“Nobody,” I continue, “from our family will come unless you invite us. It will be yours only. You will have complete privacy.”

She slumps back into the chair and exhales loudly. “Dad, you don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to live in a grand four-bedroom apartment in the middle of Mayfair with a live-in chef and a cleaner coming in five times a week. I want my own little place with a tiny kitchenette where I will cook my own meals and maybe I will throw a small dinner party where everyone has to sit on cushions on the floor. I want to be completely independent.”

“Fine, fine. Just give me a few months and I will buy a smaller apartment for you outside Mayfair. Perhaps Knightsbridge or Kensington?”

She stands up. “Dad, the truth is you didn’t let me finish. I don’t need you to find me an apartment because I’ve already found the perfect little place in Victoria. It’s above a cute little hairdresser for boys. The chairs where the kids sit look like little cars.” She chews her bottom lip. “I’ve also already paid the deposit. I’m moving in next week.”

Now, it’s my turn to slump into my chair.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I know it’s hard for you, but I’ll come back every weekend. I promise, it’ll be like I never left at all.”

I search her eyes. “What about your mother? Have you thought how this will affect her?”

Her voice is gentle. As if she is the adult and I am the child. “I told her last night and she was okay with it.”

I frown. How strange. Lily never said anything. She was normal. Then I remember she held me tightly when we got into bed and said the strangest thing. “You will stay with me until the very end, won’t you?” I kissed her and when I looked into h

er eyes she seemed vulnerable and lost. And it made me remember that incomprehensible time she miscarried. It makes the hairs on my neck stand to think of that period. How she became a total stranger. Even now it hurts to think she wanted to die. She actually contemplated leaving us all.

My daughter moves quickly and crouches at my feet. She takes both my hands in her delicate soft ones. “I haven’t forgotten, Dad,” she whispers.

I look into her eyes and nod. The memories swim in my head. I see my daughter again as a seven-year-old child lying next to my wife in our bed. The curtains are drawn shut. “Mummy,” she asks in a pitiful voice. “Are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong?” And my wife says nothing. Silent tears pour from her open blank eyes. I rush into the room and pick up my confused, frightened child from the bed. Her cheeks are wet. I hold her close to my body. “You’ve done nothing wrong, my darling. Nothing. Mummy is just not very well.” And my wife lies there in the semi-dark, unmoving, unresponsive, trapped in her black world of unrelenting sorrow.

I don’t realize that my own cheeks are wet until Liliana wipes them with her thumbs. “She’ll be all right. That time is past now. You’ll see. As long as she has you, she’ll be all right.”

I nod. “She’ll always have me.”

Chapter One

Liliana

I huddle into my favorite Firebee jacket as Moose, my pet dachshund, and I make our way over to the French bakery around the corner. Moose is urging me along enthusiastically. His stubby legs moving quickly and his golden-brown fur fluttering in the cold wind.

I notice with some alarm that his butt seems a lot rounder. Can it be that he has put on all this extra weight since we moved here a week ago? I must be feeding him too much, or the wrong things. I’ll have to check with Mum. It has been mostly her job feeding him.

“Oh, dear, you’re getting a bit thick around the middle too, Moose,” I mutter more to myself than anyone else, but almost as if he’d heard me, my sensitive hotdog of a pet suddenly stops walking, and looks up at me reproachfully.

My pause is equally as abrupt. The smile drains from my face at his accusing gaze. “I was only joking. You know I’d never fat shame you. You’re a hottie not a fattie.”

With a look of utter disgust, he continues on his regal way.

Holly, the owner’s daughter, is behind the till at the Patisserie. She has freckles sprinkled all over her nose and cheeks and unruly red curls that refuse to be contained or restricted by the white cap she is wearing. Her face breaks into a wide grin. “Cold enough to freeze a monkey’s balls out there, isn’t it?”

I laugh at her colorful description. While Moose greedily wolfs down the biscuit she gives him and her cheerful chatter washes over me as I cast my eyes over all the goodies inside the glass counters. A pretty little pear tart with icing sugar dusted all over it catches my eye.

Holly puts it into a pink box, ties a blue ribbon around the box, and I pay for my purchase. Outside the pavement is already full of people hurrying to work. I stop and take a deep breath of the freezing morning air and can’t help feeling that my life is like a wonderful dream. Sometimes at night I have to pinch myself because I can hardly believe how lucky I am.

As we retrace our steps back to my apartment it is a job avoiding Moose’s unsubtle glances. From me to my box then back to me, then back to the box. I know he is trying to force me into a silent promise to share my treat. I resist for most of the journey, but eventually give in when we arrive at the entrance to my apartment building and he starts leaping and circling so excitedly around me, it’s near impossible to handle his leash. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you some,” I capitulate.

He immediately stops jumping and sits down in the foyer in anticipation. I gather the thick warm bundle of flesh up into my arms and he licks my face happily in the elevator.

An hour later, the pear tart is history, and I am dressed in a newly ironed soft pink shirt and my navy suit. Standing in front of the floor length mirror in my bedroom I look critically at my reflection. My long black hair is neatly held back with clips. My face is carefully, but lightly made up free of all make-up, but a touch of lip gloss.

Today I will check off another first in my life.

The first day of my internship at Osborne & Nesbit. I’d sent in my application like every other eager applicant salivating for a taste of the industry. Their response came too suspiciously fast and I guessed it was either my surname had once again opened doors that are usually tightly shut for any normal dreamer, or my father had taken it upon himself once more to meddle in my life.

It used to irritate me a lot that I couldn’t beat my own path, but a long time ago I learned to give thanks for my good fortune. I swore to myself I would prove I was something more than just a billionaire’s spoilt kid.

Moose sees me to the door and after lots of noisy kisses I am on my way to the elevator. As it descends my phone begins to vibrate inside my briefcase. I pull it out and click accept.

“Hey, Mum.”

“Have you already left for work?”

“Yup, I’m in the elevator.”

“Look, honey. Dad had business in London and he’s literally five minutes away from you. Wouldn’t it be easier for him to pick you up and take you to work?”

I sigh. “Mum, when was the last time Dad had business in London that necessitated him driving here at this time of the morning?”

Mum says nothing.

“Exactly. Mum, you and Dad have to let me get on with it. I want to take the tube to work. I want to be like all the other interns. I don’t want to arrive in a Rolls Royce.”

“Dad didn’t take his Rolls. He knew that would embarrass you. He’s in his Mercedes.”

I push down the small niggle of frustration that tries to take hold in my brain. “Mum, you understand how I feel, don’t you? I want to be independent and make it under my own steam.”

“I guess so,” she says softly. “But it’s just that Dad and I are worried about you. You’re so young and London is a dangerous place for an innocent girl. We have protected you all your life so you won’t even see danger coming. You—”

“Jesus, Mum, anyone would think I was some sort of spy being sent into the dangerous underbelly of the criminal world. It’s broad daylight outside and I’m going to work at a lawyers’ firm! Everything is going to be just fine.”

“All right.” Her voice is heavy. “Are you still coming back home this weekend?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” She sounds so happy I feel bad I got irritated with her a moment ago. I know how delicate she is. I have never forgotten how she slipped into such a deep depression it was months before Dad could bring her out of it.

“Mum?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow and have lunch with me? We could meet at one of the restaurants near work and we cou—”

“Oh yes, that is such a brilliant idea,” she cries eagerly.

“Okay, I’ll call you tonight, and tell you the name of the restaurant.”

“Have a good day at work, darling. I know you will be amazing.”

“Thanks, Mum. I love you.”

“I love you too. With all my heart.”

“Bye, Mum,” I say happily, as I run down the steps of my building and onto the busy street full of people rushing to work. This independence is what I crave, I think, as I join the rest of the city’s workers on their way to corporate enslavement.

Chapter Two

Liliana

My first day is a whirlwind of activities and people, but it eventually winds down to an after-work drinks session at the Marquis of Granby, an 18th century dark-wood pub, around the corner from our offices.

I perch on a bar stool with one of my fellow interns, Francine, and stare moodily into my drink. Yes, I found out pretty quickly my father’s net worth is no secret along the hallowed corridors of Osborne & Nesbit. More people than I would have liked treated me as if they were ter

rified to piss Jake Eden’s daughter off.

“Stop looking miserable,” Francine says as she calls out to the waiter. “You’ll make the rest of us hate you even more.”

I lift my head and look at her. She is the opposite of me, with cherry red lips and masses of blonde hair. I brush my hair away from my neck with a sigh. “I am not miserable. Aggravated would be a better term.”

“I only have one question,” she says and swivels to face me. “Did you apply for the internship yourself?”

“What do you think? My dad’s secretary did? I applied to all twenty companies myself.”

Her beautiful brows furrow in surprise for a moment. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t realize how many people wanted to kiss my father’s ass and I’d heard it would be incredibly hard to get a place.”

She laughs. “It is. So your only crime is having a father with too much money?”

“For now,” I respond.

“Why? Are you thinking of adding more titles?”

“Maybe. I might have to become overbearingly rude to the men who pretend to like me simply because they want to get to know my father,” I say thinking of Steven, another fellow intern, and his obsequious behavior at lunch. He was genuflecting so much his nose was almost in his soup.