Lady Henrietta Constantine Snape, twenty-fourth in line for the Crown of Avalone, swirled her drink with her straw as she stared at the twisting oranges, reds, and yellows of the juices that did nothing to hide the liberal quantities of alcohol the bar owner had poured into the bottom of her glass.

Flicking her finger at the paper umbrella, she scowled at the wasted pieces of fruit mixed between the ice. Although the juices in the drink were also a waste; they were slowing down her quest to get a nice fuzzy feeling to forget all about her sisters and their problems.

Bitches wouldn’t know a real problem if it slapped them in the face. Alexandra wanting to be a queen—although Hattie wasn’t sure she didn’t already have something up her sleeve from the way she spoke at Victoria’s wedding—Philippa worrying over her business, the most successful accountancy firm in the country, and Victoria… Yeah, okay Victoria had problems with Cormac almost being killed at Christmas. But she needed to stop stressing about the lack of a baby.

She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror over the bar. Perfect bloody Victoria. Somehow, she’d managed to find a great guy in the weirdest of circumstances, paying him to marry her, and then falling totally and utterly in love with him. And he with her! But it wasn’t enough, the baby that would ensure Victoria control over her share of their inheritance was eluding them. Why she was fretting, Hattie didn’t know. After all, things always seemed to work out for Victoria. She’d have a baby in no time if she just stopped thinking about it.

Well, that and telling her three sisters to hurry up about getting their own inheritance sorted. Hattie wasn’t bothered; no, she didn’t want the money being bestowed on her grandfather—something her father had put in to encourage them all up the aisle, she’d bet—but she didn’t need the money.  When she worked, she was well paid. She owned her home outright, and she had no plans of ever having children. There wasn’t a deep-seated need within her to start a family; the mere idea of wiping a kid’s nose—or worse, an arse!—churned her stomach, and the thought of something latching on to her breasts to be fed—

Her hand flew to her mouth automatically as her body threatened to vomit over the shiny bar.

‘Everything okay with your drink, my lady?’ the far handsomer and much younger bartender asked as he wiped down the counter with a cloth. She forced a smile to her lips, before wrapping them around the straw and sucking, long and slow. The man’s eyes dropped to watch, and she ensured she caught the last drop off the straw with her tongue before she sat back.

‘Perfect,’ she purred. She wouldn’t mind him sucking her breasts. The bartender made to say something in return when someone jumped up on the stool next to her.

‘Fancy meeting you here,’ a familiar, deep voice rumbled in her ear.

‘Back in town, Jensen?’ she said, turning her barstool to face the new arrival. She cocked her head to one side; the suit was certainly a new look for her beach loving friend, whose usual attire consisted of flip-flops and shorts. His calves were probably wondering why the hell they were covered for the first time in over a decade.

‘How’d you know it was me? Everyone else thought I was Roman,’ he said with a pout as she met his amber eyes. Sighing, she raised her brows, silently asking him to get real. ‘Ah, I should’ve known I’d never be able to fool you.’ He shifted on his stool to face the bar and waved for the young bartender he’d chased off to come back. ‘You love my brother too much to ever believe I was him.’

It may have been years since her young heart had been given to the man who looked identical to the one who sat next to her, but still, just the idea of Roman Tyrrell quickened her pulse and stole her breath. The way he smiled at her, the secretive grin he kept just for when they were alone, or the deep timbre of his voice as he murmured his hopes and dreams in her ear…

‘I don’t love Roman,’ she protested, a little too quickly even for her own ears.

‘Hattie, c’mon—whisky neat,’ he told the other man before facing her again. ‘You were his little shadow; wherever my brother went, you were right there with him.’

‘He was my friend nothing more,’ she lied. As she took another long pull of her drink, she pretended not to picture the identical, yet—at least in her eyes—very different face of Jensen’s twin brother. Finishing her fruity concoction off far quicker than she really should have, she motioned to the bar’s owner with her finger that she wanted another.

‘We never understood it,’ Jensen said, his voice low, as he stared down at the wood of the counter, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood. ‘How he never fell in love with you the way you loved him.’ She made to protest, but Jensen’s hand closed over hers, silencing her before she could speak. ‘Don’t deny it, we all saw it. He was it for you, and what he did was a dick move.’

Hattie rolled her head back as she made an ugh sound. Sure, Roman had stolen her heart, but he hadn’t loved her back. She didn’t hold that against him, even if she did lament it.

‘All he did was back his girlfriend,’ she said firmly, nodding her thanks to the owner as he put their drinks in front of them. She waited for the man to walk away before huffing in irritation as she removed the decorations around the top of the cocktail again. ‘Who had every right to defend her relationship, no matter how wrong she was.’

Liar.

‘It was, what?’ she asked, fingers reaching inside the glass to pluck out an orange slice. ‘Fifteen-ish years ago? He’s still with her, they must be very happy together’—Jensen snorted—‘and I wish them all the best. I don’t hold grudges.’

Stop telling porkies…

‘Fiona’—Jensen’s upper lip curled up in disgust at saying the name of his soon to be sister-in-law—‘was and still is a cow. He should have put her in her place when she accused you of being a stalker, sorry a bloody bunny boiler, not sided with her. And certainly not in front of all of us.’ Jensen raised his glass to her before downing it in one. He held the tumbler back out to the nearest barman and ordered the same again. Hattie frowned at the action.

Jensen was never a spirit drinker, always a beer kind of guy, he’d nurse one for hours before someone would take it off him and replace it with another; fresh and cooler.

‘It was like he had forgotten all about the four years he’d spent with you because he was suddenly getting his leg over. It was just so unlike Roman. I mean give him his due, he’s an absolute bastard in every aspect of his life, but until that moment he’d always been loyal to his friends.’

‘Look,’ she snapped, irritation bubbling up. Why couldn’t she ever just have a nice quiet drink? ‘I don’t know why Roman never returned my feelings. I don’t know what he sees in Fiona or why he fell for her and not me, but I do know that I wasn’t a guaranteed lay. Maybe she was, and that’s what he wanted.’

Liar, liar pants on fire!

Jensen threw his head back and roared with laughter. The barman she’d been hoping would take her into the back room during his next break, eyed her friend as he delivered his second drink.

Elbows up on the bar and chin in her hand, she watched the hot, young bartender go on his break, glancing over to her as he slowly closed the door to the stock room behind him. Hattie sighed.

She had been a sure thing. So sure, she’d spread her legs for Roman the first chance she’d got. It had been their last Christmas at Guildford University, and Jensen had brought them drinks from the student union. She’d had a sip of one of the beers and found it disgusting and pushed it back at Jensen, saying no, thank you. They’d all laughed at her, told her she was still a baby.

Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, they’d all teased, and while she’d laughed it off with them, Roman—who had flat out refused the beers from the start, calling them vile—had later found her hiding in her suite, desperately trying to stop the tears that fell.

How was she supposed to get kissed? She was only sixteen and stuck at university! Men filled the hallways and lecture theatres. She might have the mental capacity and work ethic akin to her professors, but everyone saw her as a child. Even he saw her as such, she’d accused in her ire.

No, never. He’d said it with such conviction, such truth, she’d felt it in her heart. He’d shook his head while holding her gaze; his warm whisky eyes filled with a fire, a surety she’d never seen in anyone before or since, and it had taken her breath away as he’d lowered his head to hers.

Their lips met, and she gave him her first kiss; an hour later, her virginity.

The following morning she’d woken up slightly sore but deeply satisfied and wholly content as she snuggled deeper into his arms. She felt she was exactly where she was supposed to be, that perhaps everything she’d endured in her short life was to lead her to him, to be in that moment, wrapped in his embrace. But the universe wasn’t that kind to her.

She remembered every word he’d thrown at her after he’d woken up and realised he’d cheated on his girlfriend. How Roman had accused her of tricking him into her bed, trying to get her twisted, infatuated claws into him in an attempt to snatch him from Fiona. She couldn’t stand that he had someone and she didn’t.

That someone else had taken his heart.

She also vividly recalled how he’d threatened her, that if she ever spoke of what had happened between them to anyone, she’d be sorry.

She’d spent so long trying to work out what she’d done to make him fall into bed with her; it had taken years before she’d understood that he’d been eighteen, filled with hormones, and that even the sensible, level-headed, overly serious Roman Tyrrell could be controlled by his penis for a few minutes. Everything he’d said had merely been man-speak for I’ve colossally screwed up and I’m going to use you as a means to get out of the blame.

She should have told Fiona. Perhaps if she had, the poor woman might have found a man to give her the solid gold ring to match the diamond Roman had finally given her at Christmas—although no official announcement had followed. But Fiona’s perseverance had finally paid off; maybe in another fifteen years she’d finally get to say I do.

‘So, what’s with the get up?’ Hattie asked, peering at Jensen through her lashes as she took another sip of her drink. He downed his immediately. She pursed her lips together to stop herself from berating him when he asked for a third and settled on saying, ‘Did you suddenly grow up?’

‘How very dare you!’ he said in mock outrage, slamming his once again empty glass on the counter. ‘I will never grow up. Never!’ Hattie couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled from her lips. That was the Jensen they all knew and loved; always the class clown, the fun one of their small group.

‘So?’ she prompted.

‘So, I’m playing a game.’

‘Oh, no.’ She quickly pushed her glass across the bar and grabbed her bag ready to leave, her sobriety immediately returning. ‘I’m not getting involved in another one of your games,’ she told him as she spun away from her guest. The last time they’d played a game had been three years ago when she’d ended up practically naked in the middle of London with no passport, no money, and a bleary memory of how she’d even got there in the first place.

Her father had gone ballistic when she’d called home asking for help, promptly forbidding her from ever seeing Jensen or their small group of friends again. She’d promised him, but reneged on it a few months later when Jensen and a couple of others had rolled back into her part of Avalone. While they hadn’t played any games, her father had found out and kept his word—he’d refused to speak to her.

Okay, that she definitely held a grudge for. Her father should have accepted her calls, especially when he knew he was ill. He was the parent. He should have realised that children, no matter how old, made mistakes and needed their mothers and fathers to turn to. He’d abandoned her. Left her alone and pointedly ignored her until she’d eventually given up… Only two months before his death.

The bastard.

‘Hattie.’ Jensen’s hand closed over her own, as she’d braced it against the bar to jump down from the stool. ‘Please don’t go.’ She glanced at him over her shoulder, freezing at the look of loss, hurt, helplessness, and a myriad of other emotions on his face. She saw so much pain and sadness in his being, that Hattie wondered how anyone could feel so much and still be standing.

‘Jensen, what’s happened?’ she asked, but the moment the words were out of her mouth, his serious demeanour changed, and the smile was back on his lips. However, this time she noticed the usual playfulness he exuded didn’t reach his eyes; eyes usually so open and warm no matter what, were now closed and empty. He turned back to the bar and waved his empty glass at the bar’s owner, ignoring her question.

‘Jensen?’ She twisted her hand in his and grasped at it, surprised when he clung back so fiercely, as if it were a lifeline for a man cast away into the tumultuous ocean, but he didn’t turn to face her.

‘Not here,’ he told her, releasing her hand and knocking back the drink the barman put in front of him. ‘I- I’ve got a car—you’re not far from here, right?’

‘It’s walkable,’ she told him, not liking the idea of either of them behind the wheel that night. ‘And the sand beneath our feet will be nice.’

He nodded, rubbing his hands on his trousers nervously, before glancing down at his leather covered feet with another frown.

They left the bar in silence, a far cry from the way they’d left such establishments in the past. A night out with Jensen was always something to remember, always a time she ended up doing something she’d never have done without him there, giving her the confidence, cheering her on… She had so many good memories with the man at her side. Yet, she realised as they stopped to remove their shoes at the edge of the sandy beach that lined miles of the north eastern shores of Avalone, she’d never been out alone with Jensen before. They’d always been in a group.

Roman, Jensen, Constance, Fiona, Julia, Ben, Heidi, Freddie and little Hattie, the brainiacs sent off to the Guildford University Gifted Programme. And oh, how they’d clung together, even after they’d graduated.

They’d been peerless; too young for university life, too smart to attend an academy. None of them had friends their own age, save for their small clique. It had been worse for her; she’d been almost two years younger than the rest of them, just turned thirteen-years-old. The soil on her mother’s grave not even settled before she’d been torn from her sisters and packed off across the country. She wasn’t the only one with a tale to tell, but hers was by far the most obvious and rawest.

The girls had become her surrogate sisters, while the boys became her annoying brothers—something she’d relished. Finally, something just for her, something Victoria, Pippa, and Alexi would never know.

Roman never fell into the brother category. From the moment she’d met him she’d been lost to his good looks; his rich, amber eyes seeming to see right through her, touched her in a way no other ever had or been able to since.

Of course, as soon as Jensen discovered her crush on his brother, he’d tried to impersonate Roman multiple times to catch her out. But while he could fool almost everyone else, his eyes weren’t Roman’s. She always knew.

‘Seriously,’ she said after Jensen tucked his phone away after sending a message to someone. ‘Why are you dressed like Roman? I thought you’d given up pretending to be him.’

Jensen shrugged, staring out across the dark ocean only illuminated by the low-hanging, full moon. The crests of the waves, bright white in the moon’s light, rose and fell, crashing over the shoreline, threatening to tickle their feet as they went.

‘Do you ever wish you could just…’ He sighed and bent low to pick up a dazzling white shell half buried in the sand. He dropped his shoes and kept his eyes on his prize as he brushed the sand away, running his finger over the curves and curls, before throwing it back into the ocean. ‘Do you ever wish you weren’t part of the Royal Family or a Snape? That you’d not been smarter than everyone else and just been able to go to an academy like the rest of the country, instead of earning your degrees at sixteen?’

Her bottom lip rolled between her teeth as she listened to his words, trying to work out what he wasn’t saying. Something big had happened, and he was desperately unhappy about it. However, the problem with Jensen was that for all the talking he did, he never knew how to discuss the important stuff.

‘I suppose it would have been nice to have had more friends,’ Hattie said, honestly. ‘But then, having my PhD by nineteen was rather nice too.’

‘But the rest?’

She sighed as she pointed him towards her house, and they turned to head towards it. It was small, far smaller than he probably expected, and while she could have afforded much bigger, she’d immediately fallen in love with its cute exterior and the intimate space inside.

‘I suppose it would have meant a different way of life not being in my family—in both aspects. Although it can be infuriatingly annoying, being the granddaughter of the King, it hasn’t really hindered me in any way, not the way Victoria has suffered for it.’ She shrugged. ‘It certainly opened plenty of doors for me without me even needing to ask.’

‘So, you wouldn’t change that, but what about being a Snape?’

Hattie ground her teeth at the thought of her father and how much he’d changed after her mother had passed away. He’d become cold, distant; focused too much on his business and never on them. Hell, he’d been the one to send her on the gifted programme just weeks after his wife’s death. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to go and had she not died, Melinda would never have allowed it—not at just thirteen-years-old.

But if she hadn’t gone, she’d have never met Roman, Jensen, or any of her other friends. And for as much as Roman had hurt her in the end, for most of those four years he’d been a friend to her the way no other ever had. Not even Jensen.

‘No,’ Hattie finally said as they reached the back of her beach cottage. The little decked balcony that overlooked the sandy shore wasn’t very big and standing next to Jensen, who was as broad as he was tall, it felt even smaller. She opened the door and stepped inside, Jensen slowly following. He stood in the doorway, fidgeting with the buttons on his jacket until she flicked on the table light.

‘Cosy.’

‘It does me,’ she said, falling onto the overstuffed couch. She smiled up at him and patted the seat next to her. ‘I love it here. It’s calm, out of the way, so peaceful. I barely see my neighbours because they’re all second homes… And it’s not as if any of my cousins are going to rock up to a place like this.’ She snorted at the thought of one of the royal cars pulling up in front of the colourful row of tiny beach cottages.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get my head around your mother being a princess and that your grandfather is the freaking King. Doesn’t seem real with you being… Well, you.’

‘It’s all overrated,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I mean it’s not so bad for Pippa, Alexi, and myself, but for Victoria it can be a bit of a nightmare. The Lady Blake, la-de-dah. You couldn’t pay me to do it.’ Hattie rested her head back against the sofa to stare up at the ceiling. ‘What about you?’ she asked before he could say anything about Victoria. ‘You wish you weren’t a Tyrrell? Or clever? Or a twin?’ She turned her head to face him at the last question. ‘Can’t imagine that’s easy.’

‘D’you know that when Roman and I did our entry tests for the programme, I scored eleven points more than him? I was only five behind you.’ He raised a brow in a perfect arch the way she’d never been able to do. She stared at it for a second before meeting his eyes again. While Roman’s eyes had always seared her soul, Jensen’s filled her with warmth. They brought a smile to her face even when she didn’t want them to.

‘So, if you’re the smarter twin, why aren’t you vice president of your father’s company?’

It was Jensen’s turn to snort. ‘That would mean I’d have to wear getups like this’—he waved his hand at his outfit—‘all the time. No thanks.’ He shook his head and turned his attention to the room. His eyes landed on the table next to him and the radio that took pride of place there. He pressed the on button and the smooth voice of the late-night radio host filled the room, announcing the next song.

‘Dance with me,’ Jensen said, turning back to her and holding out his hand. She shook her head but smiled as she put her hand in his, allowing him to pull her from the couch as he stood. His arms wrapped around her waist and gathered her against his body, nestling her in a cocoon of warmth. They moved together slowly, their bodies swaying as one, while Billy Paul’s “Me and Mrs Jones” swirled around them.

‘What happened with you and Roman?’ he murmured into her hair. ‘For years it was almost like you were his twin and then one day you and Fiona are screaming at each other and he… Well, you know better than anyone. The truth, Hattie. Please?’

She shifted, not leaving his embrace but drew back slightly so she could meet his gaze. Perhaps, if she hadn’t met Roman first, maybe if Jensen had been the one to see her that first night, curled up on her duvet, shivering and shaking with sobs, not understanding why she’d been sent away, why her mother had died, and why her father no longer wanted her, he’d have been the one to capture her heart. But it had been Roman who’d walked past her room that night and heard her heartbreak. Roman who had wrapped his arms around her and given her a shoulder to cry on, who’d told her he’d watch out for her and promised she wouldn’t be alone…

‘We slept together.’ The words fell out of her mouth, surprising even her. She opened her mouth to try and take them back, but Jensen was already nodding.

‘I see.’ He said the words slowly, and she couldn’t work out if the news was a surprise or not. ‘We all suspected, but neither of you said anything.’

‘He hated me afterwards.’ She ducked her head, feeling that same shame she had all those years ago, one she just couldn’t grow out of. ‘He said I cornered him. That I made him cheat on Fiona and that—’

‘The bastard,’ Jensen muttered the curse, making her look back up. ‘Their whole relationship is based around their names,’ he told her with a shake of his head. ‘You keep saying they must be happy together, but they don’t love each other. They see other people all the time; it’s just a match made on paper. Good business sense. She’s the heir to the Martin line, and Roman…Well, I’m sure father has already made it so that Roman inherits everything on our side.’

Hattie blinked at the revelation. ‘What?’ she whispered.

‘I mean,’ he said, stopping their slow dance, his brows furrowed as he thought. ‘Maybe it didn’t start out that way, maybe they did love one another once.’ Hattie wondered if he was simply trying to backtrack at the look of devastation she couldn’t hide. She’d built up a world in her head of Roman’s life now, one of love and happiness, one she’d put there to stop herself from hating him, and with just a few words it collapsed.

‘Oh, Hattie.’ Jensen started to move again, leading her once more in a slow sway in time with the music. ‘Have you been carrying that guilt with you all this time?’

She licked her lips, feeling her own brows pulling down into scowl. She always wore her emotions on her sleeve Victoria was always telling her. She needed to control them better or the world would use them against her.

‘Hey.’ He took a hand from her waist and gently lifted her chin. When she still didn’t meet his gaze, he ducked his head to hers. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. My brother can be a dick. He gets it from our father.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘Nicest woman you’ll ever meet. Poor taste in men. Roman’s her favourite.’ A giggle slipped from Hattie’s lips. ‘Attagirl,’ Jensen said as he suddenly turned her and dipped her low. She laughed again, holding on to his arm, frightened he might drop her, but knowing he never would.

His face lost all trace of amusement, his eyes far more serious than she’d ever seen them. They almost reminded her of Roman’s…

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Jensen murmured as he slowly brought her back to her feet. ‘But I’m going to kiss you now, Henrietta.’