Prologue
Tamara’s breath puffed in front of her in little clouds. She didn’t mind the cold or the darkness. She minded…everything else. Life was…complicated, she thought as she pushed herself harder, running along the streets of London as fast as she could. The Thames River was on one side of her and the iconic Parliament building on the other as she raced past. Tamara ignored the burning of her lungs as she tried to outrun the demons chasing her. She felt as if slowing down would bring all of her problems crashing into her.
“Faster,” she whispered and sped up, her feet pounding the dirty concrete, her arms pumping and her lungs heaving. “Faster!”
Avoiding the already milling crowds at Trafalgar Square, she turned right, then left at the next block. She ran along Victoria Embankment, past the Waterloo Bridge and all of the wonderful sites that drew tourists into the city every year. But Tamara saw none of it. There was only one man’s face that kept flashing through her mind and it mocked her. Tormented her! With every passing day, she grew older. The day of reckoning was looming and she was out of ideas!
When her apartment building came into view, she slowed. Not because she’d worked out her problem, but because her legs were shaking from exertion. Another block, and she slowed even more, coming to a walk. She pulled out her cell phone and pressed a button, the app calculating her heartrate. When she looked at the number, which was well above where it should be for maximum exercise capacity, she cringed slightly, then stuffed her cell phone back into the side pocket of her leggings and leaned against the ornate, cement wall, stretching her muscles.
“I have to come up with a new plan,” she whispered.
Unfortunately, as she stretched overworked muscles, nothing occurred to her. With a sigh, she walked into her apartment building, trudged up the stairs, and entered her small space. “It’s time for a long shower and an even longer conversation with Mike,” she announced out loud. “He’ll know what to do.”
An hour later, showered and dressed in slim black slacks, black boots, and a black turtleneck sweater with a silver necklace, Tamara entered the small office space that housed the headquarters to the property management company she and Mike owned and operated. She’d pulled her long, dark hair high up onto her head and it graced her shoulders like a black waterfall, enhancing the exotic beauty of her almond-shaped eyes.
There were only seven desks and no private offices, but she and Mike worked at the back of the space that was more “urban chic” than “sleek sophistication”. The furniture was minimalistic with particle board tables held up with filing cabinets on each end. The exposed brick wall on three sides plus the open ceiling, exposed ductwork painted black gave the space a more upscale feel.
“What’s up, Gorgeous?” Mike asked when he walked in fifteen minutes later. They tended to arrive well before the other employees, giving themselves a bit of time to talk privately about business issues, brainstorm about marketing ideas, or just vent about whatever was on their minds.
“Ugh!” she griped as Mike tossed his messenger bag to the side of his desk, which faced hers, large computer monitors were angled off to each corner of their desks so that they could talk face to face. But that was where the similarities ended. Mike’s desk was precisely organized, files color coded and stacked neatly in wire holders. Tamara’s desk looked like an absolute mess, but she knew precisely where everything was and the status of every property she and Mike owned and maintained.
Mike was from Tular, which had intrigued Tamara from the moment he’d first mentioned the huge, powerful country. She’d told him that she was from the neighboring country of Nadir, which was technically accurate. But she hadn’t mentioned that she was actually a member of the royal family of Nadir. In fact, Tamara was the daughter of the ruler. Nor did she mention that she was sorta…kinda…technically betrothed to the head honcho of Tular.
Tamara loved her friendship with Mike, whose real name was Micah DeSrat and was one of the gayest men Tamara had ever met. Every day, his hair was perfectly coifed with more hair products than Tamara had ever owned. Mike wore bright colors, flowers, and had a variety of flashy shoes that he coordinated with his outfits. Mike was the stereotypical gay man, but his boyfriend was…not! Joe was about three inches taller than Mike and wore faded jeans and tee-shirts with big, clunky boots. That’s it. Tamara had never seen Joe wear anything else. If Mike was the archetype of a gay male character, Joe was not. He was about as un-gay-looking as a man could appear.
And Mike was madly in love with Joe. Tamara suspected that Joe was just as wild for Mike, but he was more circumspect about it.
Mike sat down in his chair, his intelligent eyes surveying Tamara’s appearance. “Goodness, you look fabulous. All that tough-girl black makes your skin appear creamy and gorgeous.” He paused, his eyes squinting slightly. “And is that a bit of blush on your cheeks?” he asked, smiling because he’d suggested adding a bit of blush to her makeup routine just a few days ago.
“You’re annoying,” Tamara grumbled, looking steadfastly at her computer without bothering to confirm or deny the presence of color on her cheeks.
“No run this morning?” he teased. Tamara had a tendency to be grouchy if she didn’t go for a hard run in the morning.
She shifted in her chair, but didn’t lift her eyes to look at him. “I ran. It was a good, long run.”
Mike shook his head. “Honey, there’s no such thing as a good run, especially if it was long. In fact, ‘good’ and ‘run’ should never be used in the same sentence.”
Tamara just laughed. This was a regular issue for Mike, who hated exercise and disdained any sort of movement that might cause even a hint of sweat to form on his brow.
“You know, it really does clear one’s head. A good run can…”
He lifted a hand to stop her, bowing his head slightly as if trying to explain what a “good run” could do for a person was a pointless endeavor. “Dear, are you seriously going to tell me that your run this morning solved all of your problems? Because the wrinkle between your eyes tells me a different story. That wrinkle says that you are still worried about something. Could it be the same issue that has been bothering you for the past few years? Could it be the reason you go out partying once or twice a month with me to nightclubs that you claim are too loud and annoying all the other weekends?”
Tamara was stunned that he’d figured out something she’d taken great pains to hide from the world. “Okay, so…well, maybe. Yeah.”
Mike shifted, his eyes narrowing on her lovely features. “Care to tell me what’s going on? Or are you going to continue to create wrinkles on that beautiful forehead of yours?”
All morning, she’d been eager to talk to Mike, but now that she was confronted with explaining her…betrothal-engagement-whatever…she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t lose her friendship with Mike. He was too important to her and, if he knew…things would change. Their relationship would change. So instead, she shook her head. “Yes, something is going on, but I can’t discuss it.”
A flash of hurt crossed Mike’s face, but then he accepted her decision. “There’s a new condo over on Smith Street that looks promising. I’ve already contacted the real estate agent, asking for a peek. Will you have time to go with me this afternoon to take a look at it?”