He raised his glass to me. “Well, here is to making papa proud. And here is to our first successful takedown.”
“Yeah,” I said absentmindedly. We were successful, and it had been easier than I’d expected. But I felt no desire to celebrate.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to find a photo. A photo of the most beautiful girl I’d ever know. She wasn’t flashy or trashy, she was simply beautiful.
It was the last photo I had of her when she was still herself… when she still knew who she was. When she still knew who I was.
The school photo had me standing beside her amidst other students…
Damn it.
“I’ll get them, Summer,” I whispered to the photo. “I’ll get them all.”
I may go by the name Parker James now, but Dante Black has not forgotten what happened to you. I’ll take down the entirety of the Inner Circle. I’ll take them down, Summer. If and when you regain your memory, you’ll be free of them. You’ll start your life again free of them.
Chapter 2
Dante Black/Parker James
A Few Weeks Later
“You’re looking particularly spiffy tonight,” Ace said as I walked out of the bedroom. He was finishing up with a few notes I’d given him before leaving for the day.
“Black tie affair,” I droned, unimpressed. “You know how it is. When in Rome, do as the Romans. When in England, have supper with the queen.”
He stopped what he was doing. “Seriously?” he said. “You’re having dinner with the queen. How in the world did you pull that one off?”
Looking in the mirror, I straightened out my bowtie, ran my hand over the smoothness of my black tuxedo and glanced down at the shine on my shoes.
“I can’t give away all my secrets.”
Truth was that I had heard of the strong possibility that the founding fathers of the Inner Circle would also be in attendance. It was an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up. Rarely were the founders in one place at the same time.
“You always get the glamorous tasks while I’m here with my laptop,” Ace said, sulking.
“That’s why I’m the boss. I’ll be sure to bring back a souvenir,” I shot over my shoulder.
And with that, I left him to finish his work while I headed to the Charity Fundraiser at the Victoria and Albert Museum.
It was a short drive, but a long wait as I patiently got in line for the valet.
This could very well be the night that I destroy the aging founders of the Inner Circle. If all went well tonight, I could eliminate all of them in just one evening. If things didn’t go so well, I had to at least hope that I would be able to eliminate one of them.
I finally got to the entrance to the museum and got out of my car to entrust it in the valet’s capable hands. As I was screened by security, I glanced at the other guests, smiling knowingly, waving, nodding and acknowledging.
On entering the museum, I was momentarily struck by the beauty of the high domed ceiling, reminiscent of France’s Classical Revival style of centuries ago.
I was dutifully impressed.
I had fully intended to feign interest in the numerous exhibits at the V&A, but as I meandered around, I managed to find various articles of true interest. The museum itself was fascinating, with its high arched ceilings and polished marble.
I went from the architectural exhibit to fashion, and from ceramic to furniture.
But that didn’t stop me from glancing at the other guests who wandered through the immensity of the museum, many with a printed layout in hand.
I’d never met any of the founding fathers of the Inner Circle, but my father had been meticulous in his description of them. And I had meticulously memorized the description of all of them; Stanley, Rockerfeller, Worth, and Claire.
But as I looked at a collection of Queen Victoria’s shoes, I glanced at the passers-by and no one fit any of the descriptions.
I walked on glancing at various pieces of art with adequate interest. More and more people were arriving, crowding the expansive museum.
Over and over again, I looked at a face, did a quick inventory and dismissed the person.
I’d reached the Rodin exhibit and stopped before a life-size bronze sculpture of a man.
“This sculpture is so beautiful and perfect in every way that Auguste was accused of casting the real figure of a man,” a woman stopped to explain.
“Was he now?” I said with vague interest as I looked around.
“Can you imagine such a thing? He was deeply insulted by the accusation and never again sculpted a life-size figure again.”
“I can see why.”
“He then went on to do that sculpture of St. John the Baptist over there,” she said pointing to a large sculpture.
I turned to where she pointed, but my gaze stopped well before finding the intended sculpture.
A face.
That face.
The woman beside me continued to speak, but I could no longer hear her. People continued to walk around me, but I was no longer looking at them.
All that mattered was that face.
“Summer,” I whispered to myself.
But I knew I was fooling myself. The illusion had happened far too many times before. I would see her everywhere, most often when I least expected it.
It had caught me off guard at first, but now…
Damn, the illusion was so convincing.
The face was the same. A few years older, but absolutely the same.
But the hair was swept up in a way that was far more formal than Summer would ever wear it, even for an evening such as this.
And the gown… the long deep red gown with a swooping neckline was something Summer would never wear, not to mention the diamonds that were dripping off this woman’s ears and draped around her neck.
Summer was a simple girl… jeans and sweaters… sneakers and ponytails.
And Summer is back home in San Diego… right?
But my heart nonetheless hoped. It hoped against hope that Summer had indeed recovered from her injuries, that she had indeed found herself traveling in Europe.
And she had indeed found herself at the same museum and the same charity event as I was attending.
Fate?
Destiny?
I calmed down my breathing which had increased in rhythm and finally noticed the young man standing beside her as she turned to speak to him.
With dark chestnut, almost black hair, and clear hazel eyes, he was definitely a handsome man. Tall, lean, attentive as he leaned in to hear what she was saying.
But then he turned to look my way.
Donovan.
It hit me in the gut.
Nat Donovan.
But it couldn’t be. It was impossible.
Summer had had the wildest crush on Nat Donovan when I had first shown up at Hidden Falls High.
It didn’t make sense.
I wandered around the room, discretely moving closer.
If that really was Nat, then it could possibly be Summer with him.
I’m going mad, I told myself. All of this insanity is driving me mad.
As they walked on, I kept my distance, but kept them in my line of vision.
When the Summer lookalike stopped to look up at a stained glass panel, I could see the wonder and appreciation in her eyes; those beautiful hazel eyes.
But as I got a better look at the Nat lookalike, I realized it couldn’t be him. Though just as handsome as I remembered Nat to be, I could now see that he was shorter than Nat, but also lacked that golden boy glow that Nat always had about him.