Lola Davenport had only been home for one day, but twenty-four hours was easily enough time to reunite her with the troubles of her past.

Had it not been for... distractions, she may have conceded to the miserable feelings nagging at her to dwell, but luckily, the boy between her sheets served well.

"Dela," he cooed, his voice husky with sleep. She could feel the hot skin of his abs pressed against her back, the prints of his thumbs circling patterns over her ribs, and the press of his hips against the back of her thighs...

"What?" she whispered, trying to coax her mind back to the present. A year of college had almost been a holiday, escaping the politics that came with being home. But, alas, despite her plans to travel Europe this summer, she'd landed back here, back in her bedroom, and back in the arms of a stranger.

Well, almost-stranger. He was supposedly the distant relative of a wealthy foreign monarch, though it was only after he'd ended up in her bed that she'd wondered if that had simply been a line dropped simply to seduce her.

"I have work in an hour," he murmured against her shoulder blade, finishing his words with a gentle kiss.

Lola moaned, rolling over so she could see him in the day. He was gorgeous, full lips and thick lashes and a sharp jawline shadowed by designer stubble.

"Wait," she said, jostled from her thoughts. "Work?"

"I clean pools," he said, and the smirk that fixed on his face told her he just knew this would irk her. And he was reveling in it.

"You clean pools," she repeated slowly, her brows raising. He could not be serious. She had just slept with a pool boy. Multiple times.

"Yep," he said with triumph as he slowly rolled out of her silky sheets.

Was this some fetish he had? Luring rich blonde girls into bed with a few clever lies?

"You have got to be kidding," she hissed. As he stood full height, completely naked, she had to stop her stomach from clenching with longing. His shoulders were broad and sculpted, and his abdomen tanned and rock hard – she'd remembered testing its abilities in creative ways last night, both of them tipsy with lust and longing.

God, she was disgusted. And also aroused.

"I'm not kidding. But I think you were when you told me you didn't do this often," he said with a chuckle. Even his snickering was enchanting. He picked up his clothes from the floor and started pulling on the items one by one.

"I don't," she said, and she felt her cheeks flush. Carefully, she too removed herself from the bed, making sure to take a sheet with her. She wasn't about to give him another show.

"My name's Alex," he said, ignoring her denial. "Short for Alejandro, if you're into the exotic. I've saved my number in your phone in case you want to... catch up again."

Lola's mouth popped open with outrage. "How dare—"

"Best be going," he said, flashing her a smile full of white teeth, inducing an unwilling attraction. "I'll see myself out."

She followed him – still holding the sheet over her body – out of her room and down the stairs. Though her parents weren't home, she still felt completely embarrassed to be rushing after Alex in barely a blanket.

She had half a mind to strangle him, but even if she could, it would mean dropping her modesty, and so she stood there with a scowl on her face as he blew her a kiss and exited the front door.

When he was gone, she ran a finger over her raw lips, still tasting the passionate kisses that he had given her last night, and she couldn't help but give in to the small smile creeping over her mouth.

And then the door knocked.

She almost laughed, how fortunate that he would forget something. Now it was her turn to play smartass. With one arm holding the sheet in place and the other finding the door handle, she let a contented grin settle onto her face.

Only, it wasn't Alex waiting for her on the other side.

It was Francis Greene.

The smile was quick to fall away.

***

She hadn't said a word.

Though she now had the dignity of wearing actual clothes, she couldn't fight the surge of emotions traveling at lightning speed through her veins. He was here, in her kitchen, as she brewed up a cup of coffee for each of them. She even remembered exactly how he liked it.

"Sorry to have interrupted," he said, his voice low, as if completely aware she could lose it at a moment's notice. It was a change from what things were like before, where she would be the one afraid of his temper.

She swallowed, feeling as if she'd been screaming for hours. Well, in some aspects she had been. But she wouldn't let herself be embarrassed. "Well, it's certainly unexpected."

It had been a year since she'd last spoken to him.

After she'd drawn a line through what would be their personal relationship and their public one, their interactions had sizzled down dramatically. He'd traveled through every spectrum of Francis Greene: the apologetic, the mad, and the careless. Eventually, their public relationship had fractured too.

She'd thought of it as good riddance.

His hair had grown out. What had previously been golden curls were now blonde waves, combed out of his eyes. He was a contrast to Alex really, blonde and fair. His ocean-blue eyes caught her peering from behind the benchtop and she averted her gaze.

Why was he here?

"You seem different," he said as she placed a mug on the breakfast bar in front of him. She wasn't going to escort him to the tea room in her magnificent family home, or offer him to eat outside by the rose garden. She was hoping his visit was brief. The kitchen would do.

"How so?" she asked, her cheeks flaming again under his scrutiny. She couldn't help the instinct telling her to be on high alert around him. It ran strong.

"Well, you've grown your hair."

"You have too," she noted. He was right, though, what had been hair to her chin in high school had grown to be past her collarbones.

"How's college?" he continued. He was bouncing his knee beneath the table top. She knew that was a sign he was on edge.

Once upon a time, she'd soothe his stress with seduction, or run away altogether. Fight or flight. Today, she had neither of those options.

"Fine," she said. College was amazing. Though she'd always known a new start would be a blessing, she didn't realize how exhilarating it would be. She'd created a new person – dress-up had always been her favorite game as a child – who was everything Lola had been but better. To them, she was Dela. Back here, she was Lola again. Fallen queen-bee Lola who had more games than she had sense.

"Look, Lola," Francis said, his gaze now locking with hers. "I'm not here for games."

She couldn't stifle the laughter in time before it left her lips. "Since when was Francis Greene not playing games?"

"Since I realized I was alone."

The spoon she'd been using to stir her own coffee dropped from her hand, clattering onto the marble benchtop.

"Everyone's home this summer," he continued. "You, William, Maddy. Even Zach. Piers. I need to do something. I need to change things."

"Nothing needs changing, Franc," she said, unconsciously shortening his name. She sighed, she'd hoped the component of Lola Davenport who was so attuned to him had died. "Things have moved on. We've all moved on. Without you."

She hoped her words would be harsh and he'd flush with anger, or maybe even flinch with hurt. But he didn't even blink.

"That doesn't mean I don't have things to make up for."

She'd heard it a thousand times over. Francis was a talented actor, one who could easily compel anyone to believe he cared. But beneath his animated exterior was a cold and dead soul, one that was beyond feeling for another. One that was beyond feeling for her.

"You don't have anything to make up for," she said. This was the part of Lola Davenport that she'd always keep, the side that was able to say things even if her fear was telling her not to – even if her heart was beating a million miles an hour.

"I do, and you know it. I owe you so much, Lola. Time has shown me things I'd never have been able to understand back then. I can't forgive myself until I know I've tried."

"What, you're all old and wise now?" She laughed at him, the sound cold and merciless. "You're going to apologize to all the people you fucked over? Where are you going to start? Every female within a fifty-mile radius?"

He narrowed his eyes for a moment. "That's more like the Lola I know."

Her fingers tightened over the handle of her ceramic mug, and for a moment she was worried it would shatter. Lola is dead.

Francis brought out the worst in her. It had always been that way, from the moment he'd learned her weaknesses. He knew she loved control, and he'd steal it away from her, leaving her powerless. He knew she hated to admit jealousy, and so he would tease it before her honey colored eyes.

They were both quiet for a while, Lola trying to stem the bleeding of her heart, and Francis' gaze lost out of the front window. But then he spoke, words she didn't want to hear ever again.

"I thought I was in love with you then, Lola," he said quietly. "More than I'd ever admit. But it wasn't love, not really anyway."

Her heart fractured, and again, their relationship flickered through her mind. She had loved him, she was sure of it. There was more to them than a few clever business arrangements. Well, initially at least. She'd fallen in love with him slowly, he'd been romantic and devilish and everything that could have infatuated a fifteen-year-old girl.

"Maybe if I'd known what I had, we'd never had ended like this," he mused.

He was right. She'd give him that.

"But you didn't," she said. "You took me for granted. You used me. You're twisted, Francis, you played me."

Now there were tears in her eyes. Even after the thousand or so times she'd told herself she was over it, she still wasn't. She was still queen-bee Lola, the spoilt girl who was too deluded with what she thought was love to realize she was in too deep.

"I know," he said quietly. "And that's why I want to make things right."

"You can't make things right," she said cooly, her temper taking over. "There is no way you can just make things right. Not when this itself is probably just another game, another way to win my trust and fuck me over ag—"

He stood up abruptly, the wooden chair squealing against the floorboards, his chest rising heavily as he strode over to her. "I have spent this last year imprisoned. I've been trapped in that house, my father's office, with nothing more to do than stew over what I had and what was taken from me."

"We weren't taken from you, Francis," she said. He was so close to her now that she was trapped, and she couldn't help the electrical physical reaction that seemed to stem from nowhere – a sleeping beast finally awakened. "We left."

His face was soft, not the brooding monster he once was, or at least not on the surface. She studied his lips, and her memory traveled to when they'd laughed with her, to when they'd kissed her. To when they'd spewed words of poison that wrapped around her so tightly she couldn't breathe.

"I know," he said. He took a deep breath. "And that's why I need to make things right."

"Why is it that even your apologies seem selfish?" she asked, unable to maintain the hard expression on her face. It softened, more for sympathy than respect.

"Because I haven't apologized," he said. "Not yet."

so now you've seen what's become of Lola and Francis. what did you think?

next you'll see Maddy. what do you think happened to her and her baby?