Easter Sunday

Here it is. Enjoy, and excuse the typos. Sarah xx

For @sghaziaa and Allofthestars-234

~*~*~ Daniel ~*~*~

Pulling up outside the now familiar house, I take in a large breath of air as I prepare myself to see Sophie. Despite only having known her for a short amount of time, she had become someone that was so dear to me that it made me nervous just to be in her company. Having a female friend wasn't a new experience for me- I had and still have plenty of those- but with Sophie Clément, the dynamics were different. At first, it had been hard to place why our relationship differed to the others I maintained, however, in past weeks I had become aware why she meant more to me.

I was, in an unpractised way, falling in love with her.

I'm not sure when I came to this revelation. Perhaps it was somewhere between visiting Le Louvre and that creepy bone place she took me to in Paris, or maybe it had gone back to that first night in January that I saw her at the Lister and Hardy Gallery but the woman was all I thought about.

Even in my dreams, I saw her face, heard her voice and smelt her ever present perfume, the scent of orange blossom, jasmine and cedarwood forever reminding me of her. She was intoxicating to the extent that I had my assistant, Evelyn, go out and purchase Jo Malone orange blossom candles. It was impossible to escape the wildcat that kept me on my toes, not that I would ever want to escape her.

I knew my feelings for Sophie were complicated. Falling in love with her was something I hadn't planned, but it was happening, and it was happening at the worst possible time. Meeting Sophie was something born out of error. My life was a mess that night when I mistakenly called her; I was newly heartbroken and not yet out of my relationship with Arabella when Sophie became a part of my life. It was her that encouraged me to move on and she became a friend instantly.

Those early days, I should have stopped calling her but there was this invisible gravitational pull that always found me hitting the dial button once I found her name in my contact list. I always told myself that it would be the last time that I'd call her, that I should let her go, that I shouldn't put myself in that position where I could maybe one day feel more for her than I should.

When that day came, and realisation hit home, I was conflicted. On the one hand, Sophie was the girl I had been waiting all my life to meet. On the other hand, was it fair to either of us that I think of her in that way when we were both fresh out of relationships? She had suffered an acrimonious break up shortly before Christmas and I was going through the whole Arabella-Samuel thing. Falling in love with Sophie should have been the last thing on my mind, and yet, it was at the forefront.

Elias had warned me, too. That evening at the Gallery, he had met Sophie before I had the chance to come face-to-face with her. They had spoken and Elias had slipped her his phone number, but as far as I knew, she had never called. At least, not for the purposes that he'd been hoping for. They met this week, under the pretence of Sophie writing a tell-all article about me for Vogue. Elias, with my blessing, had met Sophie and upon his return that evening, he came with a warning.

"That woman," Elias had said, cradling the neck of a bottle of Corona in his hands while staring directly at me. "You're going to break her heart, unless she breaks yours first."

It was dangerous territory to be around Sophie. I knew that, and yet I constantly found myself ignoring that part of my brain that was sending me the warning signs. Yes, we might be the undoing of the other, but what if we weren't? What if, we were exactly what the other wanted, needed?

I beeped the horn of the car and waited for Sophie to make an appearance. Today, I was venturing into the unknown. I'd invited myself into Sophie's world, imposing myself on her family tradition of going to Church on Easter Sunday. Her father, Irish Catholic, was one for tradition and I knew that Sophie would rather die than disappoint her father on occasions like this, but when the opportunity to join her today was on the line, I snapped it up instantly.

I'd met her family, randomly, before. I'd met Charlotte and Emma on Sophie's birthday, and then I met Camille Clément while in Paris during Fashion Week with Sophie and her sisters. It was later followed up by meeting Mr Delaney and Lucas shortly after. Sophie insisted that they all 'adored' me, but I wasn't convinced. Today was the big test- meeting the entire Delaney family at the same time.

I'd dressed in my Sunday best, as instructed, tie and all. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement; it had been years since I stepped inside any place of worship but going to a Roman Catholic Church was definitely something new to me and I'd need Sophie at my side to guide me through it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the door of Sophie's house open, and a woman dressed in white exited, raven dark hair flowing around silicate shoulders. The dress, tailored to fit the slim body perfectly, was knee length and had sleeved that reached just below the elbow. A cream bag was clutched tightly in one arm, while gold bracelets adorned the wrist of the other. A weekend bag was held in the crook of her arm. My eyes skimmed down bare legs towards a pair of gold heels that were surely at least four inches high.

With a smile that lit up her features, most notably those striking blue eyes that always had me mesmerised, Sophie lifted her hand into a wave while her lips turned upwards into a large grin. Her make up, if she was wearing any, was subtle. The only enhancement being the mascara she wore, making her indigo eye pop against her naturally tanned skin. I've never known a woman to look this beautiful without trying before, the way my stomach flipped testament to that notion.

"Oh, great, you're wearing a tie," Sophie comments when she slides into the passenger seat of the car, turning to place the weekend bag in the back seat. I had been too enthralled by her appearance to get out of the car to open her door for her, not that she would let me. From past experiences, I knew that Sophie was very much a modern woman and didn't need a man to open doors for her. Her eyes locked with mine, a sparkle held within them that made me breathless. "Are you ok?"

I nod. "Fine," I manage to say once I got my senses back. I motion to her dress and smile. "You look lovely."

"Thanks," she laughs, looking down at her dress. "I was going for the innocent look. Do you think I pulled it off?"

"Well," I tease her. We both knew that she was the farthest from being innocent, but today she looked almost angelic. "You'll pass, I suppose. Ready?"

"I think so," she answers, going through her clutch bag once more to check that she had everything. Pawing through the contents, she frowned. "Damn it. I forgot the fucking cross. Hold on one second, I need to get my crucifix."

She ambled out of the car, leaving the door open as she rushed back into the house. I stared after her, open mouthed; only Sophie Clément could get away with swearing while talking about a symbol of religion. Within seconds, she rushed back towards the car, holding out a delicate gold necklace to me.

"Can you do the clasp, please? I'm bloody useless at it," she explained, reaching a hand to grasp her hair and pull it over one shoulder. With shaking hands, I attempted to do the clasp of the necklace, winning the battle on the third try. I tapped a hand on Sophie's shoulder after I was done. "Cheers. Right, do you know the way?"

Traffic in London was the worst, but today we made it to Soho Square in twenty-five minutes. I was fortunate enough to find a parking spot a few streets away and once I'd parked, I rounded the car and opened the door for Sophie, holding out a hand as she stepped out onto the pavement in her heels. The walk to Church wasn't far, but it was far enough that Sophie looped her arm through mine as she started to talk me through the service and Confession. There was etiquette to follow, with the first being fasting for an hour before Mass. I assured Sophie that I had followed that rule, which made her smile.

"You need to switch your phone off," Sophie instructs me as she takes out her phone and powers it off. "Off, not mute." I follow her guidance and turn my phone off before slipping it back into my pocket along with my car keys. "When we get inside, we'll sit with my family. Dad likes to sit near the front, so be warned. Because you're a new face, and you're arriving with me, you'll be the name on everyone's lips. Just ignore the old biddies," Sophie says with a roll of her eyes. "I'll make the introductions and if anyone ask about your religion, you can tell them where to go."

I laugh. "Tell them where to go, in Church? That's not very Christian."

"Yeah, well, neither was the Inquisition, but they still happened," Sophie said, blowing out a long puff of air. "There's a font at the entrance of Church with Holy Water inside. Follow my lead on that. Then there's Communion to go through. You don't have to do that bit if you're uncomfortable with it and you can tell them that you're sick. There's the sermon, a few hymns and readings and all that other mumbo jumbo-" I laugh at the boredom that seeps into her voice. "-Then after that's done, we wait until the priest has left and then we can go to confessional. Did you think up a sin to confess?"

"Yes," I gulp, trying my best to look anywhere but at Sophie. We rounded a corner and found ourselves at Soho Square. Sophie points towards a building on the other side of the square. "Doesn't look like a church."

Silently, Sophie starts to pull me towards the dark brick building, stopping when she sees a small crowd outside the door. I pause to look down at her, her eyes wide, before I follow her gaze towards the crowd. One woman, in her mid-fifties, I would assume, smiles sinisterly at Sophie before saying something to the others. In turn, they all shift their eyes onto us, whispers being shared between them while one woman sniggers.

"I hate Church," Sophie whispers before she squares her shoulders back and plasters a fake smile on her lips. With a confidence that seems forced, Sophie makes the short walk from where we stood to the door of the church, pausing briefly to smile at the woman who had sniggered. "Kathleen."

The woman- Kathleen- gives Sophie an appalled look. "Sophie," she greets in a monotone voice laced with disgust. "Who is your... friend?"

With a simple question, Kathleen had the others instantly interested in Sophie and I. They were like vultures circling a carcass, but I was determined to not let them think that they could bite away at Sophie. I stepped forward, my shoulders pulled back in self-assurance, and reached out a hand. When she refused to shake my hand, I felt a burning anger course through my veins. With thinly concealed annoyance, I grit my teeth and introduced myself. "Henry Courtenay, Earl of Castleton. Pleasure to meet you, Kathleen."

Audible gasps echoed amongst the group of friends that were surrounding Kathleen. Knowing that my work here was done, I placed my hand loosely at the small of Sophie's back and guided her farther into the church, pausing at the entrance to bless ourselves with Holy Water before entering into the larger space beyond the lobby.

"You shouldn't have done that," Sophie said, her voice barely audible. I look down at her in confusion. "That was Kathleen O'Keefe, the mother of the guy that got me... her son and I dated and he was the one that legged it after my miscarriage. She thinks I'm some sort of scarlet woman that seduced her son and she'll be the first to gossip about seeing you and I together."

"Let her gossip," I insist, reaching down for Sophie's hand to grasp it tightly in reassurance. I felt Sophie's fingers curl around mine, giving me confidence as I led us towards the front of the church where the Delaney family stood. James, or Jimmy- as he insists I call him- was deep in conversation with a priest, but Camille Clément's attention was firmly on her daughter and I. "Bonjour, Camille. C'est un plaisir de vous revoir,madame."

I noticed the amusement that flickered in Camille's eyes as she greeted me by kissing both cheeks. "Et toi, aussi, Daniel," she smiles at me. Her attention turns to Sophie, but instead of the typical French greeting that I received, Camille pulls her daughter into a warm hug. "Ne t'en fait pas ma chère, tout va bien aller. Je te promets."

Charlotte and Emma, Sophie's sisters, were quick to greet us. The woman all spoke in rushed French and I barely understood most of what was being said. My grasp of the language was getting better, but it would be months before I could hold myself in conversation with native speakers. While the girls continued their conversation, I took a seat next to Lucas, the youngest member of the Delaney family. We'd met once before, but even so, the sight of seeing Lucas with tubes around his nose and an oxygen tank at his feet was still unnerving.

Lucas had been born with Cystic Fibrosis. Until his teenage years, the condition had been alleviated with weekly therapy sessions at the hospital but an incident had worsened his condition to the point where he was dependant on oxygen. I was also aware of his latest hospital 'drama,' as Lucas likes to call it, where he was admitted with a chest infection as well as pneumonia. After Lucas' transfer to City Hospital, I had called in a favour my cousin, Maxwell, owed me and ensured that Lucas had the best care possible.

"You- look- dapper-" Lucas commented, needing to inhale deeply between each word. For a young man, it was sad to see him dependant on anything, especially something as essential as air, but the mischievous glint in his eyes told me not to feel too sorry for him. "This- is the- part- where- you tell- me- that- I look- dapper- too."

I laugh. He definitely takes after his eldest sister. "Dapper?" I quirk an eyebrow at him. "I think I can go one better than that. You, Lucas Delaney, look debonair."

"Stop- flirting- with- me," Lucas playfully smiled my way. "Sophie- will get- jealous."

"I think I can handle your sister," I say, knocking my shoulder into his gently. He gave me a sceptical look and I laughed. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I can't."

Charlotte and Emma were quick to come and talk to me. Emma explained that her fiancé- a man named Adam- hadn't been able to make the trip from New York and apologised that I wasn't able to meet him. I waved her apologies away and assured her that there'd be another time where I could meet him.

"Of course," Emma smiled. "You'll meet him at the wedding. I'm assuming you'll be Sophie's plus one, of course."

I blinked. "Her plus one?"

"She didn't ask you?" Emma frowned, before she turned around and pulled Sophie away from their father and into our conversation. "What's this about you not having asked Daniel to be your plus one to my wedding?"

"Um," Sophie hesitated, her eyes casting downwards. "I uh..."

"You're coming to my wedding," Emma insisted once her attention was back on me. "It's in New York, but we're chartering a private jet for all the Brits coming over and we've booked out the entire Delaney on Park Avenue for the guests, so you don't need to worry about any of that. You're practically family, anyhow. Oh, there's Mrs Windham. Best go and say hello. Excuse us."

Emma and Charlotte sauntered off in the direction of an elderly lady that greeted both girls warmly, while Sophie continued to avoid me, that was, until Jimmy Delaney, Sophie's father, made the introduction between myself and the priest, Father McGuire.

"It's wonderful to have you join us today, Daniel," Father McGuire said before he turned to Sophie and gave her a fond smile and a slow, yet playful, shake of his head. "Sophie, I thought we had a discussion about your attire before."

"What's wrong with it?" Sophie asked, looking at her dress. "It's knee length, has sleeve and a modest neckline. And it's white. Pure and innocent, like me."

"Sophie," Father McGuire laughed goodnaturedly. "It is a sin to lie in church, in front of God."

"I know," Sophie beamed at the priest wickedly. "At least now, I have something to confess and repent when I come by confessional later."

"Oh, dear God," Father McGuire made a sign of the cross across his body. "Must you come to confessional, Sophie? I don't think my heart can take it."

"It's a date," Sophie winked at the priest. Father McGuire laughed silently before he slowly made his way up to the front of the church. Sophie guided me to the pew where Lucas was sat and ushered me next to her brother. She reached over me and kissed Lucas on his cheeks before she looked my way and noticed the way I shook my head at her and motioned towards the priest. Sophie waved her hand and smiled. "Father McGuire and I have an understanding. He's known me forever so he knows what I'm like."

Mass was an entirely new experience for me. As Sophie had described, there was a sermon, Communion, hymns and reading, prayers and an 'Amen!' at the end. I hadn't paid too much attention to the goings on; my focus had been on how close Sophie was sat, her leg pressed against mine. Every now and then, she'd rest her arm on my leg and pull her hair over her left shoulder, giving me a direct view of her neck.

Yes, I definitely had something to talk about in confessional.

Confessional came after Mass, and I was one of the first to confess my sins, straight after Sophie. I entered confessional and sat, waiting for someone to speak. When no one spoke, I knocked against the partition. "Anyone there?"

Someone laughed. "This is your first Confession?" A man asked. "Repeat after me: In the name of the Father, the Son and of the Holy spirit." I did as instructed and repeated the words carefully. "My last confession was... a long time ago."

"My last confession was a long time ago," I say, my words laced with amusement. "Is this the part where I confess my sins?"

"Yes, son," the man on the other side answered.

"Ok, well, I only have one sin to confess, really," I explain, linking my hands together in my lap before sighing heavily. "I've been having... improper thoughts about a friend of mine. She and I are newly acquainted and although we've only known each other for a short amount of time, I have felt my affinity for her grow increasingly, day by day." The priest didn't respond. "You see, I'm recently single and it would be unfair to my friend if I were to begin something with her. She'll probably accuse me of not knowing what I want because of my past relationship and basically, she'll make up every excuse possible for why we can't be together.

"I think she likes me, too," I say, only slightly unsure of the certainty in my words. "But, she's too... she's been hurt before and that's made her unsusceptible to the possibility that my feelings for her are true. I suppose, that's why I haven't been forthcoming with my feelings and these improper thoughts have manifested into dreams. Carnal dreams. Are you following me?"

"I am," the priest says. "Continue."

"Well, that's it, really," I sigh heavily. "I'm in love with a woman that will probably never love me back because she's stubborn and elusive and I can't seem to get her out of my head to the point that it's driving me insane."

A moment of silence passed. "Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."

I frown. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"Persevere, son," the priest finally says. "For he shall be rewarded. God hath given unto you this woman and He does not do so lightly. Your love shall be rewarded in time. Persevere. Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

"Um," I mumble, not knowing what else to say. The priests words sounded final, as if I was being dismissed. "Amen?"

"Haha," the man on the other side laughs. "Amen. Peace be with you, son."

~*~*~ Sophie ~*~*~

Daniel exited Confessional, his face white as a ghost. I had to stifle a laugh as he walked towards me, shaking his head and looking over his shoulder every now and then to the confessional booth behind him.

"Are you ok?" I asked, unable to hold back the wide grin that spread across my face. He nodded. "Cool, in that case, let's get the hell out of here."

Kathleen O'Keefe, a woman I hated beyond everything else, gasped at my choice of words. I'd like to say that saying 'hell' in Church was accidental, but I knew the old witch was nearby and would hear me. Kathleen already hated me and made no secret of that, which is why I had made it my mission to piss her off as much as I could whenever I was within fifty yards of her.

Her son, Liam, and I dated for a few months when we were fresh out of university and one accidental night led to an unplanned pregnancy. When Liam's family caught wind of the whole thing, they were ready to disown him and pin a red A onto every item of clothing in my closet. I was branded a 'hussy' by his mother and all those that had Kathleen's ear. It was a stain on my reputation that still endured, even if my pregnancy had ended in a devastating miscarriage. Not that Liam cared; I was barely out of hospital when he ran for the hills. Last I heard, he was living in Manchester with a wife he regularly cheats on. Or, at least that's what his step-sister tells me.

Daniel gave Kathleen a slight bow of his head- which is more than she deserved- and with his hand yet again on the small of my back, he guided me back out into the daylight. A rush of warmth flooded my body at the contact and I could feel the heat flushing my cheeks. Thankfully, Daniel was far too preoccupied in searching for his car keys to notice the blush forming.

When we reached his car, a few streets away from Soo Square, Daniel opened the passenger side door for me. I wasn't accustomed to men holding doors open for me like this, but it was definitely something that I could get used to. When Daniel slid into the driver's seat, he smiled over at me and started the ignition. Soft music played in the background but neither of us cared what song was playing. The silence between us was too comfortable to break with conversation, so for the brief drive to the Delaney Hotel in Knightsbridge, Daniel and I basked in the quiet.

Reaching the Delaney, a young man dressed in the navy and emerald uniform came to greet Daniel, taking the keys from him. Daniel took my weekend bag from the backseat and quickly came to my side. When we entered the foyer of the hotel, I looked up to the ceiling and smiled at seeing the chandelier that I was far too familiar with.

As we'd planned, Daniel went to the front desk to retrieve the key to the suite we'd booked, while I slowly made my way through to the inner foyer where the lifts to the upper floors were. It wasn't a long wait before Daniel was at my side.

"Going up?" He asked, pressing the call button for the lift.

"Yes, please," I nod, tugging at the neckline of my dress. It had been suffocating me since the very second I had zipped myself into the dress, but it was the only appropriate dress I owned for occasions such as going to church. I pointed down at the weekend bag Daniel held. "I brought spare clothes to change into. I packed some things for you."

Daniel quirked an eyebrow at me. It was a simple gesture, but it had my heart racing in my chest and while I knew I should have looked away, I couldn't. "You packed clothes for me?" Daniel laughed. "Where did you even get them from?"

"Topshop Men," I answered, shrugging my shoulder as I tried to be casual about it. "I still have your measurements, remember?"

The lift up to the suite was painfully slow, compounded by the fact that Daniel and I had been pushed into the corner by two other couples that were sharing the lift. Not that I class myself and Daniel as a couple, of course. When the lift pinged onto our floor, I couldn't help but notice that the suite Daniel had booked was one of only two on this floor. He led the way down the hall to the left, coming to a stop at a door that had a gold plate engraved with the name 'Sophie' in large, cursive script.

"Really?" I laughed, pointing at the sign. "You just had to book the room named after me, huh?"

"When in Rome," Daniel smiled, swiping the key card and pushing the door open. "After you."

The suite was one I'd stayed in before. My family had a tradition of naming suites at the Delaney hotels after members of the family. In countries worldwide, there were Delaney suites named Sophie, Charlotte, Emma, Lucas, Amelia, Niall, Noelle, Oliver, Griffin, Keira, Oscar, Killian... the list continues beyond my sibling and my cousins, but you see what I mean.

I walked father into the living area of the suite and waited for Daniel to set my weekend bag down on the coffee table. I went through the bag, handing Daniel the jeans, t-shirt and hoodie I had bought him. Right at the bottom, I found the desert boots I thought he'd look good in and handed those over to him too. He looked at the mound in his hands and shook his head before disappearing into the bedroom to the right.

With the rest of the contents of the bag, I took the bedroom to the left, closing the door behind me and unbuckling my heels. Struggling with the zip of the dress- which was always to do up, than to pull down- I sighed in defeat and padded across the suite towards the bedroom Daniel occupied. I knocked softly and waited for a reply, which never came.

"Daniel?" I called into the room. "I need your help with something."

"You know you can come in, right?" Daniel laughed from the other side of the door. Shaking my head, I pushed the door open and stepped into the room, seeing Daniel shirtless by the bed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. His chest, marked with a scar on his abdomen, was smooth and chiselled, like a marble statue you'd find in a museum. My eyes lingered there for a second longer than was considered necessary. When I heard Daniel cough, I looked up at him to see a smile stretched across his lips. "You needed help?"

"Zip," I said breathlessly, turning around and pulling my long hair over my shoulder. I wasn't sure if Daniel had stepped closer until I felt his hand on my waist while the fingers of his other hand softly grazed the skin at the base of my neck. The sound of the zip coming undone echoed around the room until it died and the back of my dress gaped open. A shiver ran down my spine, although I'm unsure if it was the sudden cool on my back that had caused it, or the tickle of Daniel's breath on my bare skin. "Thanks."

I left the room quickly and ran towards the bedroom where my clothes were. With the door shut, I pressed my back against it tightly. "Get a fucking grip, Sophie. It's just Daniel," I reminded myself, while the small, yet loud, voice in the back of my mind said, Yeah, that's the problem.

I changed into a pair of loose jeans and a grey t-shirt, pulling on a pair of white Converse shoes before buckling a belt around my hips. I pulled my hair up into a messy pony tail and slicked on a fresh layer of lip moisturiser, smacking my lips together to make a popping sound.

Daniel was already waiting for me when I entered the living area of the suite, his suit from this morning neatly folded on the armchair. He played with his phone, only looking up when I entered the area. He smiled at me and my insides melted. Wordlessly, I led us to the door of the suite, down the hallway and into the lift, ignoring the tension that had built between us.

My family had organised an Easter lunch for the entire family. Considering we're an Irish Catholic family, we were numerous. My father was one of three children, but my aunt and uncle had several children of their own, not to mention my Aunt Helen's young step-children. Simply walking into the private dining room was overwhelming, but hearing Daniel say, 'Oh, shit,' behind me only compounded the dread that was already knotting in my stomach.

A knot that became more intricately tied when my grandmother zeroed in on me.

Now, my grandmother is a lovely lady, but she was far too much like Charlotte. As such, I knew she'd take an interest in Daniel that was unhealthy. Once she'd introduced herself to him as Harlow Delaney, Matriarch of the Family, my grandmother pulled Daniel into the crowd, where I lost him immediately.

It was an agonizing half an hour before I found him, surrounded on all side by various female members of my family. Charlotte was hanging off one arm while my cousin, Keira, was hanging off the other.

"Girls," I greeted them both with stern looks. Being the eldest of the cousins, I was higher up the hierarchy than both Charlotte and Keira, which meant that they were quick to back off Daniel once I was within enough distance to hurt them. I watched as they scuttled away before turning back to Daniel. "Are you ok?"

He nodded. "Better not that you're here," he smiled.

"Lunch is ready," my father announced. "Everyone to the table, now."

The lunch table had been set with place names for everyone. My father, as the most important male member of the family in attendance, sat at the head of the table, with my grandmother at the other end. My uncle Peter was sat to my father's left, while I was to the right, with Daniel next to me and Lucas on his other side. My mother was sat with my grandmother and aunt by marriage, Moira, while Charlotte and Emma were say more to the centre of the table with our cousins around them.

As the first course arrived and we all began to tuck in, I felt a sharp pain in my right elbow. Daniel, being left handed, kept bumping his arm into mine. I gave him a reproachful look and scowled. Without words passing between us, we both stood, took our plates and switched seats, meaning Daniel was now to my father's right. Dad shook his head at the change in seating arrangements but was quick to engage Daniel in conversation when the main course arrived.

"So, you and my daughter have become very friendly," Dad began, ignoring the glare I sent his way. "Well, you're a nice buck, I'll give you that."

Daniel nodded slowly at my father's words, no doubt a little at a loss for what 'buck' meant, but he was too polite to say anything on the contrary.

"Her last boyfriend was a gobshite," Dad says. I choked on my food and spluttered as I sipped at my drink. Dad ignored me. "I'd loved to have given him a baytin for how he treated Sophie, but she wouldn't let me. See, he thought he knew everything but he was about as useful as a Kerry man with a Hurley. Absolute muppet. D'yaknowhwatimeanlike?"

Setting down my fork, I looked up at my father and shook my head. "Da," I said, slipping into the Irish lilt that my voice took on whenever I spoke to any of my Irish family. "Stop being an eejit, wi'ya? He doesn't understand tya saying."

"Aye," Dad says before turning to talk to Peter on his left.

"What just happened?" Daniel asked.

Slipping back into my every day accent, I smile at him. "Nothing, just saving you from my father."

The rest of the lunch went by smoothly, apart from the small interrogation my aunt Helen's husband gave Daniel. Mercifully, the questions weren't all that bad and Daniel handled himself as well as can be expected when there's about forty pairs of eyes and ears on you. His answers seemed to placate everyone and when we all broke away after lunch, the men invited Daniel to join them for drinks at the bar.

"Um," Daniel mumbled, looking at me for instruction when he failed to answer.

"Actually," I say, taking the lead. "I have to interview Daniel for a tell-all article I'm writing about him. So, if you'll excuse us, we'll just be heading elsewhere."

Leading the way towards the lifts, I felt my shoulders sag as weariness set in. It was still late afternoon by now and it had been a long day, but we still had work to do. When the lift arrived, I stepped in first, followed by Daniel. We stood at an exaggerated distance from each other, but every now and then, we'd steal glances when we thought the other wasn't looking.

Arriving back at the suite, I went to grab my notes from my weekend bag while Daniel raided the minibar, just as we'd discussed last night. He poured two JD and cokes, setting one on the small coffee table at the sofa end, and the other near one of the armchairs. Daniel took the single seat, while I spread my notes out along the sofa.

"Where do you want to start?" Daniel asked, bringing his tumbler up to his lips and sipping his drink, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I, uh," I stammer. I pick up one of the pages I had before me and quickly read what I'd written. "So, you have a title. How does that make you feel?"

"Obligated," he answered simply, leaning back into his chair and raising his leg so that his ankle balanced on his knee. "You see, when you have a title, you have familial obligations that you can't shake. People think having a title is this amazing thing, but it's actually a burden. I mean, one day I'm going to be Duke of Kendal and I have no idea what that means, apart from always having to do the right thing, look the part and not embarrass my family."

"Is that why you don't sleep around?" I find myself asking, much to Daniel's amusement. His lips quirk up at the sides and he tilts his head to his right shoulder. "I mean, your obligations to the family and the title mean you have to uphold a certain image. Does that mean you restrict yourself to what you can and can't do?"

He nods. "To a certain extent, yes, I suppose you could say that," he says. He takes another sip of his drink, running his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the taste of the alcohol. I watch as his tongue flicks the corner of his mouth, momentarily mesmerising me. "I have to restrict myself. It goes back to not embarrassing my family. See, I can sleep around if I wanted to, but just with the 'right' people. However, in my world, the 'right' people have certain ideas that don't match my ideas. See, they look for commitment, but I don't."

"You don't want commitment?" I ask, reaching for a biro to take notes.

"No, I do," Daniel asserts, his green eyes focused against mine. "Just with the right woman. See, all the women I've dated have only had one thing on their mind- the heirloom." He pauses to check that I'm following him. When I nod, he continues. "There's this ring that's been passed down through the generations for centuries. It's a ghastly thing- truly ugly, but it's valuable. Every woman that married the Earl, or the Duke, got the ring. Well, that's what they all want. The ring. The status that comes from getting the ring. That's the end goal for all the women I come across, so in a way, I don't want that commitment because it isn't the right kind of commitment."

"There's wrong kind?" I ask, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet under me. I set my notepad and biro down and get comfortable in my seat. The interview aspect of this conversation going out the window, I sit back and just enjoy the conversation for what it is- Daniel opening up to me. "If there's a wrong kind, what do you consider to be the right kind?"

Daniel smirks. Damn, he looks utterly sinful when he does that. "For me, the right kind of commitment is love," he states. He drops his head, lifting his eyes under his thick, dark lashes to gauge my reaction. I dare not move, or speak. "The only woman that's ever going to get close to that gaudy, ostentatious diamond is someone that loves me, that wouldn't care if she received the family heirloom or a Tiffany engagement ring. For me, that's what I want. I want a woman that just wants to be with me, married to me, regardless of my name, my title. But, in my world, that'll never happen."

A silence falls between us as Daniel's eyes wander off into the distance, as if he's remembering something. "I told you that I bought a ring for Arabella, didn't I?" He muses aloud. "It was a Harry Winston ring. Two and a half carats, oval diamond with smaller ones along the bad. Costa fucking fortune. She would have chucked it back in my face if I ever proposed with that kind of ring. Good job I caught her shagging my brother then, huh?"

The bitterness in his words was clear. I wanted to move closer to him, to comfort him, wrap my arms around him, but that would be dangerous. Getting too close to Daniel would only lead to heartbreak, for us both, and I couldn't let that happen. He was perfect. Really, he was, but I'm not; I'm toxic and I would ruin him. I couldn't love him like he deserved to be loved. I'm leaving for New York at the end of the week. It would never work.

Ever.

When the silence dragged on, I went back to my notes. "Elias said that you never really wanted to marry Arabella. Is that true?"

"She was someone everyone else wanted me to marry," Daniel says, draining the contents of his class. He sets it down and locks his eyes on me. "She was, on paper and in everyone else's opinion, perfect. She had the name, the right breeding, the education. My parents and hers were friends and it was almost like destiny for us to end up together. My grandmother wasn't overly fond of her but tolerated her enough because Arabella ticked all the right boxes. But, do you want to know which box she didn't tick?"

"Which?" I asked, my heart beating like a train in my chest at the way he sat upright, leaning loser to me, inching closed the distance.

"Mine," he whispered. His eyes darted to my lips, only to look away a split second later. Sobering up, Daniel stood and went to the mini bar once more. "I would have married her, which is pretty stupid. See what I mean about familial obligations? Anyway, she saved me from a loveless marriage and a miserable future, so as much as I hate Arabella, I'm grateful to her too."

"Because you didn't have to marry her?" I ask for clarification.

"Well," Daniel laughed, shoulders bobbing as he poured a whiskey for himself. "There's that for one." He spun around, leaning against the counter. "But, there's something else I'm indebted to her for."

I gulped. "And what would that be?"

Daniel shook his head. "That's between me and the priest. What else is there to discuss? You've got a ton of notes here, Soph."

Daniel came to the sofa and collected some of the notes, reading my scribbles as he picked each up, making room for himself to sit. He laughed at some of the stories I'd noted and shook his head at others. Finally, he passed them over to me before he pulled his legs up to stretch out on the sofa, the toes of his foot grazing my thigh.

Quickly repositioning myself, I take a sip of my JD and coke before looking at the top page of notes. "You have a scar on your stomach," I say, recalling in my mind how I'd seen it in the flesh earlier. "Evelyn has one story for how it happened, what's your take on it?"

"Ok, well," Daniel stretches out more, sinking deeper into the sofa so that his foot was once again touching me. At this rate, he'll have me backed into a corner. "When I was a kid, about eleven or so, Evelyn had just begun to work for my family as our nanny. I invited a few friends home from school one weekend and we set up a water slide in the garden. Plastic sheet down, garden hose running, lots of Fairy liquid. I was the first to go down the slide so I decided to go down on my stomach. Half way down, this horrendous pain soared through my body, like I was being ripped in two. Evelyn must have heard me screaming because she rushed out and dragged me up onto my feet. Did she tell you the next part?"

I shrugged, wanting to hear it from Daniel's point of view. He laughs as he recalls the story. "Evelyn saw blood, lots of blood, and she passed out. Baxterley, my grandmother's butler comes from nowhere and notices the new nanny on the ground and sees all this red and automatically thinks it's ketchup. It wasn't. See, on the way down on the water slide, I'd slid over a sharp rock and it cut through my skin like a butcher's knife. When Evelyn recovered and Baxterley saw that it wasn't a prank on the new nanny, they both rushed me to hospital. I had those dissolving stiches but I was still left with a scar because of how deep the cut was. So, that's that. Did my story match hers?"

I nod. "Apart from the fact that Evie never mentioned the whole passing out thing, yes, it was consistent. Elias," I say the name of Daniel's best friend. Daniel's eyes narrowed at the mention but I shrugged it off. "He has a daughter. Want to tell me about that?"

"Her name is Nola," Daniel smiles. "She's my goddaughter. She's six and she's the best thing in the world. Elias and her mother, Jenna, they... well, they were never going to work. To be honest, I'm surprised that Elias told you that she's his daughter. He's tried his damned hardest these past seven years to ignore her existence."

I frown.

"Don't get me wrong, he's my best friend," Daniel says earnestly. "He was never cut out for fatherhood, that's all. He sees her and Nola knows that Elias is her father, but their relationship is a strange one. He likes to act like the cool older brother, or uncle, not her dad. Jenna and I were friends when she and Elias were together and when Nola was born, Jenna asked if I would be the godfather. I said yes. Nola is really the most amazing girl ever," Daniel says, the love clear in his eyes before it disappears and he frowns. "Sometimes I get angry with Elias. Whenever I hang out with Nola, I can't help but think that Elias is a fucking idiot. He's got this great daughter and he doesn't give a shit, not like a father should. I tell you, if she was my daughter, I would brag about her day and night to anyone that would listen."

"You want kids, huh?" I ask, looking away from Daniel. He knew about my situation and I didn't want to have to look at him while he answered.

"Yes," he answers quietly. "Next on the agenda?"

"Did you really do a bungee jump in Australia?" I enquire, still unable to quite believe Elias' story.

Daniel laughs and nods emphatically. "Squealed like a pig, too," he unabashedly admits. "Scariest two minutes of my life! Elias and I decided to do some travelling after uni and so, we went to Australia. We worked our way across the country, working at cattle stations, on banana farms, in bars. It was the best thing I've ever done because when I was out there, no one knew who I was. No one had any expectations from me. Apart from turning up to collect bananas at six am every morning, but Sunday."

Stealing a glance at the next set of notes, I hesitate when I see that the writing were a result of my meeting with Connie, Daniel's grandmother. I quickly let my gaze fall to Daniel, who was watching me with interest. "What's that look for?"

"What look?" He asks, smiling innocently at me.

I roll my eyes. "Your relationship with Samuel," I mention. "Would you ever reconcile? Do you think it's possible?"

"Sophie," he sighs my name slowly. For a minute he doesn't speak, he just lies there, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. "Samuel and I aren't like you and your siblings. We're not the type to walk over hot coal for each other-"

"But you went to Thailand when he was in hospital and all his friends left him," I point out, remembering the story from when Daniel told me about it. "What's that about?"

"You're right, I did do that," he admits. "Not that my brother actually gave a shit. As soon as he was out of hospital and I'd settled the medical bill, he was gone. No thanks, nothing. He hates me because I was born first, but what am I supposed to do, huh? Trust me, I would give up my inheritance gladly if I thought that it would make Samuel look at me like I wasn't the enemy, but that'll never happen. I love him, but I don't like him. Him? He neither loves nor likes me. He's made that abundantly clear over the years."

"What about Connie and your parents? What's your relationship with them like?" I ask. I've seen him with his grandmother before, but Daniel hardly ever mentions his parents.

"My grandmother dotes on Samuel," he explains, suddenly sitting upright and at an exaggerated distance from me. He stands up and pats down his t-shirt. "I remind her too much of my grandfather. As for my parents, can you even call them that? My father sleeps around with women younger than me and my mother changes her lovers more than she changes the sheets of her marital bed. They've never given a toss about me. Or Samuel, for that matter. Your family, Soph," he lowers his voice, running his hands over his face. "You're lucky to have them. To have people that love you unconditionally. Not everyone is so fortunate. Are we done? If you don't mind, I think I'm going to go mingle downstairs."

I nod and watch as Daniel heads for the door. Just as he's about to disappear, I call out his name. "Daniel!" He stalls at the door, looking back at me expectantly. The words on my tongue die under his burning gaze until all I have left is a weak smile. "I'll be down in a minute, ok?"

He nods. "Ok, Soph."

The door of the suite closes with a click, leaving me to wallow in my own regret.

"Shit," I grumble to myself. "Shit, shit and double shit again. I should've told him. Damn it, Sophie! Three words, eight letters, how hard can it be?!"

1@1A}^