Kate

Prologue

The shittest thing about memories is how long they can haunt us. The experience may only last an hour, a minute, a second, but it doesn't matter. The souvenir embeds itself so deep inside our being that we can't escape the hell that's ready to launch back into our minds when we least expect it. We can be in the middle of lunch with friends, dinner with family, dancing with lovers, when recollections of tripping down an entire flight of stairs return, taking centre stage and painting our cheeks red with embarrassment.

Over time, I've found memories easier to conceal, hiding one behind the other, layering them like the make-up I wear to formal events. Humiliation found itself popular with me growing up – there was no lack of falling over, tripping on words, poorly judged outfits, and questionable hairstyles. Until one day, at aged twenty-one, I mastered it – an elegance on par with Kate Middleton.

But no matter how thick the foundation I pile on, no matter how deep under the make-up I try to shove it, one disaster of a memory will always stand out.

I was twenty, and it was the evening I met Leo.

It was a Wednesday, and for us high-society women, it would usually have meant nothing. It wasn't a 'work night' per se – all that awaited us in the morning was brunch, followed for some by a game of tennis or golf. And so on that particular day I found myself in one of our favourite restaurants in Knightsbridge, drinking champagne as the older ladies recounted their exasperating week. Once we'd finished our three-course meal of oysters and profiteroles, I'd excused myself, swanning over to the wooden bar with five girls my age.

The vast, oak-panelled room was filled with calm, collected individuals in pressed tuxedos and elegant, knee-length dresses, just like always. We were the only people standing at the bar, most of us in heels and royal-blue, black, or deep-purple dresses, guzzling champagne like our mothers had taught us from birth. Well... maybe not quite like they'd taught, given the rate at which I was flinging it down my throat that evening.

I'd just finished my fifth glass when the large door beside the bar opened and a group of five men entered. My eyes clung to the tall, dark blonde who'd walked in first. His face, smirking already, held an expression of cocky expectation, like every male in our community. Yet I'd never seen him in there before. Or anywhere. Nor any of his friends.

Each of them wore fitted suits, but my eyes zeroed in on the blonde as he tugged his navy jacket down, straightening the shirt underneath as his brown eyes scanned the room. It was only a couple of seconds before they landed on me, and, full of confidence on my home turf, I shot him one of my killer smiles before turning to the bar and ordering two Martinis.

Within a minute, I was striding towards where he now stood, at the far end of the bar, satin stilettos loud against the polished floor as I held the spare drink out.

'I'm Katherine.'

I haven't had confidence like it since.

He raised one thick, dark eyebrow and grinned before accepting the drink. 'Leo.'

'It's nice to meet you,' I answered, taking a sip as he did the same.

His eyes instantly narrowed, blinking twice as his mouth pursed together, his shoulders hunching. Did he not like it? I wondered.

Dismissing the thought, I glanced back to see the other girls staying put, shaking their heads at Leo's friends. I ignored their hesitance, turning back to Leo.

'I haven't seen you around before,' I observed.

Leo nodded, ducking his head slightly and smiling. 'We're only visiting.'

'Visiting? London?'

'Yeah,' he replied. His voice was deep, coarser than I tended to hear, and I struggled to place the accent.