Josephine

The Londoner traffic is chaotic this morning. The cars aren't moving, the honks are getting pushed and people start yelling out of their cars, letting their rage out. Big Ben starts ringing, drowning out the noise that surrounds me. I look up from my iPhone and look out at the impressive parliament building. It's early in the morning, but the sun is already kissing one of London's most popular sight seeing spots.

We're on the Westminster Bridge, my favourite bridge in London. But maybe we should take a different path the next time we drive to Battersea. I should hate London for it's bad traffic, but it makes me love my hometown even more.

I pick up my thermos mug from the coffee holder next to me and take a long sip. A double espresso is what I always need to start my day.

That and a good hour long run on the treadmill.

"This might take a while, Miss Bolton." Ralph, my driver informs me from the front.

I nod and see the many black cabbies and red double deckers that tourists find so fascinating when they visit the city. The white leather interior of my black Jaguar is spotless just how I like it. I uncross my legs and stretch them out before slipping out of my black LK Bennett heels. "Any chance we can turn around?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"They closed down one side of the bridge for the royals."

In other words my sister. She has an appointment in Lambeth today with her husband George, who is second in the line to the throne. Ever since they wedded the media has been throwing themselves at everything they do. I think they would even be delighted by their shit, to be honest. The interest is so enormous that my sister Della is considering moving - to Geneva. And ever since the news of a new royal baby, a new heir to the throne, was released, it has even gotten worse. People love fairytales, especially when it produces babies.

It's a nightmare.

It makes me keep my life private so much harder.

But I'm up for the challenge.

Suddenly, sirens fills my ears as police officers on white motorcycles with blue flashlights drive past us. A second later a black Range Rover rushes by my black Jaguar.

Definitely my sister and her husband.

They get followed by another two police officers on white motorcycles.

"In five minutes we should be able to move again." Ralph says with a smile on his lips. He's not only my driver but my personal security. He works for Scorpions, a security firm that's owned by my brother-in-law Wladimir.

"We should take a different route tomorrow." I tell Ralph. I know he takes this route because I love the view so much, but it's not worth the extra time we spend standing in traffic.

"Yes, Miss, we will."

The traffic slowly starts moving, so I turn my attention back to my iPhone and the endless list of emails that wait for me.

I rush down the white marbled hallway, well aware of the five minutes that I'm already late for our monthly meeting. My LK Bennett heels announce my appearance as they echo through the wide hallway that's decorated with modern art. I'm definitely taking a different route tomorrow morning.

"Miss Bolton," I hear Amy, my mother's assistant calling for me.

I look over my shoulder as I rush by the reception that's in front of my parents' office. I don't know how they can share an office together, it would drive me nuts.

"Conference room 6." The brunette assistant says with a smile on her lips.

I nod before running down the hallway and finally reaching the long row of glass walled conference rooms. I stop at room number six, already seeing my family sitting in there.

I open the door and walk inside.

"You're late." My father points out, dressed in his usual grey Hermes suit with a navy tie. His blue eyes are usually bright and welcoming, but right now they're so dark that it scares me a little.

"I know. I got stuck in traffic." I say before sitting down at the long glass table next to my cousin Liam, who is wearing a black suit with a grey tie just like his father and my uncle Lucas. They also share the same emerald coloured eyes and dirty blonde hair.

"You are no longer in the States. Punctuality is unacceptable." My Dad points out.

"We were just getting started anyway." My mother says with a soft smile on her lips. For being in her mid fifties she looks nothing like that. The tight white Prada dress doesn't hide a gram of fat, but for my mother it somehow makes her look even better. Just like my whole family, sports has always been an important part of her daily routine. That and a very healthy diet. The only times she indulges is when she drinks wine.

"Yeah, Troy, chill!" Lucas says to his brother, causing Liam and me to share a smirk.

My father glares at his younger twin brother, shutting him up without even having to open his mouth.

"Shall we start?" My mom asks us.

My Dad looks at my Mom before inhaling deeply, "Yes. You got the numbers?" He asks Liam and me.

"Yes. I went through them and I think it would be best if we took the building in Greenwich. It's a good investment. After some renovation we can re-open it for social housing." I answer, knowing Liam didn't lift a finger. He's great when it comes to throwing parties and maintaining the flawless reputation of Bolton's Enterprises, but hard work is not one of his strengths.

But it's mine. Because I want to take this firm over when the time comes. I want to be on top, not one at the top. My Dad, uncle and Mom have shared the CEO position for over 35 years, but when the times comes I will not share my place in the spotlight. These walls will be mine. These numbers will be mine... this firm belongs to me. It always has been. I am the only child that was ever interested in taking over the firm.

Rory was busy turning into the perfect royal bride for George and Nate was busy fucking everything with two legs while I worked my ass off in Oxford.

And then when I came back from Harvard where I finished my masters, I was finally ready to get what I deserved.

But what I didn't calculate was how Liam's position would change in the two years that I spent in the states. I had always been my father's favourite, but somehow that changed over the last two years. Liam is suddenly his favourite and when my parents retire in 5 or 10 years, they're going to give the firm to him.

I won't let that happen.

"Actually, I have a better idea." Liam dares to raise his voice against me.

I turn my head to the side, "I'm sorry? Greenwich was planned to be a social project."

"I know, but the area lacks some fun."

"Fun? Greenwich is not a place for fun. It's cosy with the cafes and restaurant. It's a family neighbourhood not a night club scene. You should stick to what you know, Liam. Don't fuck with my projects." I hiss at him.

"I wasn't talking about a night club. I thought of a school or a kindergarten."

"We won't get a permission to build there a school, Liam."

"But a kindergarten should get permission."

"The building is too big for just one kindergarten and no sane person will want to live above a kindergarten!" I explain to him.

"We could make the rent exceptional cheap." He counters with a shrug.

No fucking way! It was suppose to be my social project! Greenwich is mine! "Liam, you have no idea how it works-"

"I like it. We're going with the kindergarten." My father interrupts me.

"What?!" I ask him shocked, "You want to turn a unit that could hold sixteen well made flats into a child chaos?!"

My Mom smirks at my words, "There isn't kindergarten from the Bolton Foundation in the area. I think it's a very good idea. There are lots of greens around them."

I shake my head at the absurdity of her words. Children. She's obsessed with them - clearly because she and Dad decided to have eight instead of the average 3. "Fine but if you choose Liam's idea than he has to do the social media on it as well. I'm not devoting my time to a project that's going to fail anyway."

"Jo," my Mom narrows her eyes at me.

I look at my father, "I can work with your stocks. We can split them."

"Josephine, you've never dealt with stocks."

"It's not more useless than building a kindergarten in an area that's bursting with them!" I hiss at him. "This was supposed to be my social project but since Liam took it, I can devout my time to something that will at least provide me some challenges."

"Stocks?" Lucas asks me.

"Yes, stocks. I was brought into this team to help with social projects and take care of your social media, but since my skills are not needed I might as well do something else."

"You're such a bad looser, Josephine." Liam says with a big fat grin on his lips.

"Fuck you, Liam!" I hiss at him, "Why did you bring me into this when you don't need me anyway?!"

"It's just this one project, get off of your high horse, Josephine." My father warns me with his gaze.

"Fine. Don't bother to ask for my help."

"This is a family company, you will help us when we need you. Liam has his skills and you have yours. He's better at presenting and you are better at numbers and negotiations. I say you do the work and Liam-"

"Can get all the credit?" I interrupt my father. "This is not how I work."

"Too bad, this is how you will work if you want a future in this firm. We all have different skills that we use in different positions. There is not one project that belongs to just one of them. It's teamwork."

I'm working on my emails as a knock suddenly fills the silence of my office. Four knocks - I know immediately who it is.

My Mom.

I sigh and look up from the screen of my iMac. "Come in!" I cry out before leaning back in my white office chair. Just like I told my parents the last and only time they visited me at Harvard, they created the office of my dreams. A glass desk with a white office chair, light grey marble floors, a matching coffee table and a vase filled with pink peonies, a large grey L shaped couch and a killer view over London.

This office will do until I've moved into my parents' office.

The huge dark wooden door opens and I watch my mother walking in. She looks like a boss lady in her tight white Prada dress and royal blue Manolo Blahnik heels. Her dark brown curls are open. She gifted the same hair structure to Rory and Della, but not to the rest of us. Elias, Nate and me all have either silky straight hair or subtle waves - all in Daddy's chestnut hair colour. My little twin brothers however got our Mom's dark brown hair colour and wavy hair structure. Gideon is the only child that has her eye colour, too. It's crazy how much we don't look alike, yet whenever we pose for a family photo the similar genes are evident.

"What do you want?" I snap at my mother.

She sighs before sitting down in one of the blue velvet chairs across my chest. "Sweetie, I wanted to talk about earlier."

"Liam got the social project. There's nothing to talk about." I say with a shrug.

"He's been here longer than you."

"I know."

"He's been accompanying us for the last years. He's ready to take over our work now."

"I know."

My Mom lets out a sigh, "Your idea wasn't bad."

It wasn't bad at all. It was brilliant but I don't have the experience. "I know."

"Jo," she reaches out to grab my hands.

I pull them away, "Mom, I get it. I really do. Liam kisses Daddy's ass-"

"No he doesn't. He has fought a lot to get where he is now."

"He's been here for two years."

"And you only for three weeks. We can't give you such an important project. Maybe in a year."

"Yeah, maybe in a year." I echo her words.

"It's nothing personal."

Oh, it's all personal! "I'm not here to do coffee runs, mother. I will take over your seats one day. It's my destiny to do this. My whole education has been pointed to this. But I can't do that if you guys don't give me a chance. I'm not asking for a seat at the table because I know it's too early but I need a chance."

She nods, "Okay. I'll talk to your Dad and uncle. Maybe we can give you a seat near the table."

I smile at my mother's words.

"And just so you know, Liam doesn't have a seat at the table either. He's doing a social project, that's nothing compared to our real work. But maybe you could work for the Foundation-"

"No. I want the real deal not the second prize."

"The Foundation is a lot of work as well."

"Mom, no! In a year I will get the social project and I will blow your minds away with my work!"

My Mom nods, "Okay." She rises from the chair, "So we're good again?"

I sigh, "Mom, I was never mad at you guys personally. I can very much differentiate between work and personal life. I didn't get what I wanted but I'll get it next time."

She smiles at me, "Sometimes I forget how much you're like your father."

It's why I have to remind her so much.

After a long day of work, I walk into my favourite bar in Covent Garden and get seated at the bar. This day is total rubbish!

"What can I get you, Jo?" Matthew, the bartender asks me.

"Scotch."

"Bad day?" He asks although he knows the answer. I always drink scotch when I have a bad day. The bartender gets out a glass and pours the amber liquid into the crystal glass.

I pick up the glass and take a sip. A 100 year old scotch runs down my throat, leaving a burning trail. "That's some good scotch."

"Only the best for you, Jo." He winks at me before looking behind me. "Oh, I think you won't be here alone for long."

I sigh, I'm not in the mood to brush off men. Liam stole my social project to turn it into a kindergarten! A bloody kindergarten! I take another sip of the scotch and enjoy the burn.

And then someone sits down next to me.

But I don't dare to look at him. Instead I finish my scotch.

"Can I buy you another one?" A deep male voice asks me.

I bury my fingers in my scalp and finally look at him. The man next to me doesn't look that bad. Actually, if this was a good day I might take him home. His chocolate brown eyes look inviting and his dark brown hair looks descent as well. "Do I look like I need you to buy me another one?" I ask him with a raised eyebrow. "Because if I were, I'd be wearing something other than a pants suit and I'd be drinking a martini with two olives. Do you see me holding a martini?"

"Well, I can see you're drinking scotch. Like a man."

"And I can assure you, I have bigger balls than you do. But if you insist on proving me wrong than maybe the next time you see me and I am drinking a martini, you decide to make another move. Until then, I politely ask you to leave me and my scotch alone."

He stares at me with wide brown eyes and an open mouth.

"Move!" I hiss at him as he doesn't move an inch.

Suddenly, Matthew appears, "Everything alright here?"

"Get me another scotch."

Matthew looks at the man next to me. "I think the lady asked you to leave."

Mr. Nameless rises from the barstool next to me and walk away to wherever he came from.

Matthew pours me another scotch.

"Leave me the bottle."

I run out of the Battersea Park and stop at a small cafe, needing a double espresso on this Friday afternoon. I don't usually run in Battersea during the week as I prefer the gym in the building where I live but on the weekends I like to enjoy the gym Wlad owns because it allows me to box against some real boxers. It provides me the challenges I live for.

But today I decided to run after my boxing session. It felt good to run through the Battersea Park and along the Thames. The view was incredible on this early Sunday morning.

I open the door of the small cafe that provides the same kind of pastries that my mother bakes on the weekends. Nowadays it's the only way she can get us all under one roof. Even Rory and George escape their golden cage for my mother's pastries.

I stand behind the last man in the line. He's wearing a green lumberjack shirt and dark washed jeans with converse sneakers. Families are here to enjoy breakfast with a breathtaking view over the river Thames along with a few students that work on their laptops and even a few business men who hide behind their newspapers. The families are probably heading to the zoo afterwards. It's loud and chaotic. It reminds me of my childhood home in Richmond. Every birthday is twice as loud as this right here but never in a thousand years I'd trade that for silence. I prefer noise over silence.

The line moves and I follow to keep up. I'm not used to waiting for something. I never stand in line for anything. But today, for some odd reason I don't mind it. I watch the different families and couples enjoying their Sunday breakfast. My Mom would love it here. With her baking skills she could easily open her own cafe. Her pastries are incredible!

A few heads lift and the eyes of the strangers widen as they recognise me. Ever since the wedding of my little sister to the heir to the throne, I get recognised nearly everywhere. I thought the two years in Harvard would dim the interest in me, but so how it only made it worse. The press is determined that something other than friendship is between Louis and me. They started betting on our engagement, clearly not seeing the real couple here.

But Char and Nate are doing a bloody good job at hiding.

I look at the different cupcakes and muffins as the line in front of me slowly gets smaller. Green lumberjack shirt is up next. He orders a tall cappuccino for take away and starts looking for money in the pockets of his jeans. The longer he searches, the more inpatient the line gets behind me. After almost half a minute, I decide to put him out of his misery.

I step forward to the counter, "I'll pay for it." I offer and look at the blonde barrister, "I'll have a double espresso and a blueberry cupcake."

"T-thank you. I must've forgot my wallet. I didn't notice it before." The man in the green lumberjack shirt is as red as a tomato. He has chin long blonde hair and dark eyes.

The blonde woman nods, "10 pounds and 50 pence,"

I hand her my black Amex. "Don't worry about it. Stuff like that happens." Even in times like these when everyone has their bank cards on their smartphones.

"I'll pay you back." He promises me in a deep masculine voice. His voice reminds me of a rowing lion somehow. Maybe because it demands my attention.

"Really, don't bother." I tell him as we finally make space for the other people in line.

It's not like I can't afford it. I'm a billionaire after all.

"I'll have the money next Sunday. We can meet here." I notice his South American accent. He's clearly not from here.

I won't be here next Sunday. I shake my head, "See it as a gift."

"Double espresso, large cappuccino and blueberry muffin for takeaway." The barrister announces and I pick up my cup of coffee and muffin. "Enjoy your Sunday." I turn on my heel and walk out of the cafe without even looking back once.

The sun kisses my face as I stroll down the pier. It's windy and icy cold but I enjoy the breeze so much that I pull the elastic out of my hair and open my ponytail. I sit down on a free bench and bite into my blueberry muffin. It's definitely not as good as my mother's but not bad.

It's so quite here in Battersea and not a lot of tourists get lost in this area of London. Most of them stick to the other side of the Thames. They visit Buckingham Palace, that King Charles turned into a museum and Kensington Palace, where my sister lives with her husband. Some even visit Clarence House as it's the official residence of the King.

But Battersea... Battersea is a hidden gem.

I hear a camera clicking as I take a sip of my double espresso. But then I look to the right and see it's just a family taking photos. No paparazzi.

I take another sip of my Tignanello, a red wine from Tuscany, as I continue with my emails. Liam doesn't even work half as hard as me, yet my parents prefer him over me because he has worked there two years longer than me. I thought going to Harvard Business School was a good idea, especially after Rory and George had announced their engagement, but now it seems like a waste of time. I thought my masters in Management and Economics would help me get a seat at the table sooner but while I worked my ass off in the states, Liam was busy emailing his way into my parents' heart.

God, I hate my cousin sometimes! He is eight years older than me but he acts like he's a 25 year old and not a 33 year old man. He's still fucking his way through London. He's the most arrogant man I know - and that says a lot since I've met a lot of men in my life already. But Liam... my cousin tops them all.

My ringing iPhone fills the silence of my penthouse. I place the glass next to my MacBook Pro and pick up my cellphone.

A grin washes over my face as I recognise the friendly face that's grinning back at me. "Hey, handsome." I greet him, already grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm in town, my beauty. Wanna meet up?" His rough, scratchy voice fills my ears.

"Sure. Your place or mine?"

"I'll give my driver your address."

"I just opened a bottle of Tignanello."

He moans into the phone, "You're reading my mind, Bolton!"

"Maybe that's why I bought a bottle of your favourite Scotch yesterday as well."

"You knew I'd be in town?"

"When it comes to you, Justin, I have a sixth sense."

"You're the perfect woman." He says, causing me to smile again. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"Okay, I'll greet you with a cheeseboard." I say before hanging up. I get up from my royal blue velvet chair and walk back into my kitchen. I open the fridge and get out an assortment of cheese from all over the world that I cut into bite size pieces. I place them on an olive wooden cheeseboard just as the doors of my elevator glide open again.

"Ophelia?"

"Kitchen!" I cry back. Justin Scott is the only man in the whole world that calls me by my second name. At first it annoyed me but now it fits to our special relationship. I pick up the cheeseboard just as I see my Harvard friend walking over to me.

"Man, I forget how awesome your apartment - sorry flat - is and every time I come here again I am just in awe of this fucking beautiful view!" The brown haired man says as his blue eyes scan the view of glittering London at night.

"I'm not tired of the view yet as well." I say with a small smile on my lips. I don't think I'll ever get used to the view. "How long will you stay?"

He gets out a wine glass from one of the white hanging cupboards, "As long as you'll have me." He says as we walk over to the beige couch. Justin is dressed in a simple pair of dark washed jeans and a black T-shirt. As always, he has stripped off his shoes at the built in wardrobe just how I like it. He knows how much I hate dirty footprints in my home. I'm just like my Mom in that way.

"No, I mean in London."

Justin picks up the red bottle of wine from the dining table, "Oh, yeah just for the weekend." He says before he pours himself a glass of wine. Then he throws himself on the beige couch. "I can crash here, right?"

He's a millionaire, yet he prefers to stay at my place every time he visits London with his Dad. Just like me he wants to take over his father's firm. But just like me, he knows it will take time so he takes it easily. "Sure."

"You were working?" His brown eyes stare at the closed grey MacBook Pro.

"Yes."

"Does that mean you got the social project?"

"Sadly not. My cousin Liam got the job. He wants to turn the house into a kindergarten."

"Asshole!"

I chuckle at Justin's reaction. "You don't even know who Liam is!"

"Solidarity, sister!" He clinks his wine glass with mine before taking another sip.

"Anyways, I am working even harder now to get the next social project."

"Which would be when?"

"A year."

"Shit!" He sits up straight on the couch, "Let me guess, you got drunk and fucked another rich stranger that you picked up at the Ritz bar?"

I chuckle, "No."

"Because? You're hot! Use your beauty and enjoy yourself a little."

"No, I mean I didn't pick up a guy at the Ritz. But I did get drunk in a pub in Covent Garden."

"Can we go out tomorrow night? You can be my wing-woman."

"Justin, you don't need a wing-woman." I tell him. "You're easily as hot as me."

"No one is as hot as the Bolton women - or men. How's Nate by the way? Maybe he wants to join us tomorrow."

"Actually, my brother finally grew some balls and told his long time crush that he was in love with her."

"No! When?"

"A few months ago during my sister's wedding."

"During the royal wedding?!" Justin asks me with wide eyes.

I nod, "Yes, his timing wasn't the best... but it worked out. For him. And for her."

"They're still dating?" Justin asks me shocked.

"I know. I'm just as surprised as him but I knew he was madly in love with her since... since years!"

"And who is it?"

"I really can't tell you her name. But she's nice. Really nice."

"Ophelia, come on! You know me, I don't go to the press."

"I know but maybe you're writing a secret book about my family and me."

Justin chuckles, "I'm not writer. My aunt is the writer in the family. And Nate knows me as well! I mean, you guys went to Le Rosey with my little sister!"

"Alright fine, I'll tell you. It's-"

"No wait, let me guess! It's Gabrielle of Monaco."

"No."

"It's Leonore."

"No it's not the Crown Princess of Spain."

"Then it's also not Elisabeth?"

I shake my head. "Not the Crown Princess of Belgium as well." It's crazy how many royals I know thanks to my education and Rory's marriage to George. But for me they are just normal people. But Nate... he clearly had his fun over the years. He slept with most of the princesses but just like me, he likes to keep that as a one time thing.

That alone makes me wonder how the hell he can be monogamous now. But then again, Nate has been in love with Charlotte probably since the day they met - he just didn't have the balls to tell her that. Until Rory's wedding day when Char appeared with one of Britain's most desirable bachelors.

Talk about a bad timing.

"Okay. Could it be Lizzie?"

"Lizzie? Who the hell is Lizzie?"

"I don't know but I saw the name in Nate's contacts list on his phone once. It caught my eye because all the other woman were called hot blonde no 1, sexy brunette no 7 or-"

"Alright, I got it. But who is Lizzie?"

"Not his girlfriend apparently."

"No, her name is definitely not Lizzie."

"Then what's her name? Tell me!"

Suddenly it hits me. Of course he saved her under a nickname. Lizzie is the nickname of Elizabeth - Charlotte's second name. "You know, I think it's Lizzie after all." I say with a smirk on my lips. Sometimes my bigger brother is a genius!

"Really? Lizzie? That's a nickname for Elizabeth. Wait, are you sure it's not the crown princess of Belgium?"

"It's not her. But she is a Princess."

"Royalty? From which country?"

"Justin,"

"I can just call Nate and ask him myself. He'd tell me as well, you know."

I do because Justin is one of his closest friends. It's why he knows so much about my family, most than any other of my friends. "I guess you have to because I won't tell you."

"Fine. Be a bitch about it."

"Be a bitch about it?!" I echo his words in a high pitched voice. "I'm protecting them."

My family means everything to me. I'll always protect them.

Even from themselves if they need to.

I put the pan with the eggs into the oven to finish my special omelet. It's eight in the morning and while I'm already wide awake, Justin is still fast asleep. He's definitely not an early bird like me. I got that from both of my parents. I already greeted the sun with a vinyasa yoga flow and had a long hot shower afterwards. I like to start the day with the sunrise or even before that.

But I still need a cup of coffee to wake up properly.

I pick up my steaming mug with a hummingbird on it and take a sip. Rory got me this cup from Costa Rica, which she and George visited as it was part of their first Royal tour. She even got me a Mayan calendar that's tailored to me name and birthdate, which she had made in Mexico for her whole family. Her first Royal tour this winter was a full success which is why she and George got sent to Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and Tongo afterwards. That's where they announced the pregnancy.

Without saying it's triplets of course.

It's an early February morning, the weather outside my flat is cold and crisp. I let my eyes wander through my flat, enjoying the 360 degree view fully. I like being alone in my flat but I also love when my family comes over. I've hosted many dinners for my siblings and went to just as many at Della and Wlad's place on Hanover street or George and Rory's place in Scotland.

"Good Lord, why the hell are you awake so early?"

I turn around at Justin's voice and watch him walking over to me in the kitchen. He's dressed in just a black T-shirt and matching boxer briefs. We had a brilliant movie night yesterday with lots of wine and cheese. But I guess Justin had too much of his scotch. "Good Morning sunshine!" I greet him with a smile on my lips.

"Don't sunshine me! You're an evil saint!" He runs his fingers through his blonde short hair. Justin's in a very good shape, after all he likes to pick up women whenever we go out.

"An evil saint? How's that possible?" I ask him confused.

"Because you make breakfast and more importantly coffee." He tried to grab my mug but I move it away.

"The hummingbird mug is off-limits. Get yourself your own."

He growls before getting his own navy cup from one of my hanging cupboards. "I don't know why you don't have a maid who does all the household."

"I do have one." I tell him as he makes himself a cup of coffee with my coffee machine.

"But you're still cooking!"

"Because I like it. I like cooking and you like my cooking, too."

He looks into the Miele oven, "Is that your famous pizza omelette?"

"Yes."

He turns around and takes a sip of his coffee. "I love you."

I chuckle, "You just love my cooking."

"And your sassiness... Oh and your way to help me pick up the right woman at the bar every time we go out."

"So, that's why I'm your wing woman tonight?"

He nods. "And because you're hot."

"But before we go out tonight I have some more work to do."

He nods, "I'm meeting with my Dad anyway. He's having some kind of meeting that he wants me to be there."

I wish my Dad would do that. But he only thinks Liam is worth his time.

"So, when will you stop fucking your way around the world?" Justin asks me as I put on my diamond earrings.

"Oh, you know... Until I've found the one guy that can be my best friend and lover at the same time - and replace you." I say with a wink. I've styled my chestnut coloured hair into big waves and kept my make-up light. I'm wearing a skin tight leather skirt with a black top and blue Manolo Blahnik heels.

He embraces me with one arm, "No one will ever replace me."

I tilt my head back and look at my best friend. "Sometimes I still wonder how the two of us ended up being best friends..."

"And then you remember it was because of your affair with Professor Martin."

Yeah, that's exactly what I remember now. "He was hot though."

"He was." He agrees with me before letting go of me. "Ready to party?"

I pick up my black Gucci purse from the island in my dressing room. "Always."

I turn the night into day whenever I'm going out with Justin. He may be American, but he can party like a Brit. He's able to drink just as much as me without showing a drop of being drunk. We get the drinks for free, not that any one of needs a free drink, but it's fun. We dance through night club after night club, drink one Martini and Tequila after another before calling it a night - or morning - at six o'clock.

I hit the mattress just an hour before my alarm wakes me again. It feels like I didn't sleep at all.

Who can party hard can also work hard.

My parents are the best example of this. Whenever they throw a party, which is not often but it happens, they stay until the very end of the party - and show up at work a few hours later like nothing ever happened.

And if I want to be as successful as they are, I better do the same. So I drag myself into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As the hot water touches my skin, I slowly wake up from this eventful night.

Going out with Justin is like travelling back in time... travelling back to Harvard. We used to turn the night into day in Boston every time we went out... and sometimes we spent a weekend at Vegas just for fun. I'm an excellent poker player so I liked playing with people who are at my level. It was fun, even when I lost a few millions.

But having Justin here in London feels a little strange. I love being with him but at the same time I feel like I've moved on and he hasn't. He's still the party boy and womaniser he was in Boston but we graduated from Harvard over three months ago. It's time for the real world.

And I feel like there's no space for Justin in the real world.

After washing my hair and body, I get it of my shower again. I pick up my white Egyptian towel and quickly dry my body before wrapping another towel around my hair. Then I put on my Neil's Yard lavender body butter that I love so much. I walk into my walnut dressing room with beige carpet. All the walnut shelves are illuminated and the doors are made out of glass. I pull a walnut drawer open and get into my black laces underwear before picking up a blue silk morning gown from one of the six ancient hooks next to the door. I have six different bathrobes and morning gowns because I love spending my days in them when I know I won't go out.

But today I have to. It may be a Sunday but that doesn't mean it's a work free day. While my parents actually have a weekend, I surely don't. Not when I want to take over heir firm one day.

I slip into my beige slippers before I walk out of the dressing room and into the hallway. To my surprise, I hear a noise coming from the open living area.

Is Justin already awake?

I quickly rush down the white marbled hallway until I meet a fully dressed Justin in my kitchen, writing me a note. He has put on his jeans, a sweater and even his leather jacket. "You're leaving?" I ask him confused.

He looks up from the kitchen island. "Daddy saw the photos of us having fun. He freaked out and threatened to throw me out if I don't stop seeing you."

"He's blaming me?" I ask shocked.

Justin shrugs as he walks over to me. "I'll talk to him in a few days. He knows our connection could be useful one day."

I smirk, "You want to lull him by using my last name?"

He shrugs again when he reaches me. Then he places his hands on my shoulders. "This won't be the last time we paint the town red."

"Good because I heard Monte Carlo is a Mecca for poker." I say back.

He chuckles before embracing me. "I'll call you once my Dad has calmed down again."

I nod, "You're always welcomed here."

"I know. But it'll be a while before we see each other again." He lets go of me. I watch him walking away from me. At the elevator there's already his silver suitcase.

Somehow, I feel sad. He's the closest to a male best friend I ever had.

He pushes the button and the doors of the elevator open immediately. But he turns around to look at me. "Keep your head up."

"You, too." I say back.

He gets into the elevator. The doors close.

And I'm alone again.

I drive through the gates at Kensington Palace without needing to give my ID or any other sort of identification papers. The staff knows me by now.

I am the sister of the next Queen of England after all.

I park the Aston Martin next to the many Range Rovers that were parked in a row before stepping out. The grounds of Kensington Palace were always busy. There is always something going on whether it was a gardener walking around or a janitor. Most people think Kensington Palace is a home to many royals but they don't see how it is also a work place. 200 people get employed here.

I stop at the cosy Nottingham Cottage, the two bedroom and bathroom house in which my sister is living in for now. I knock on the door and wait for her to open. She is one of the most hard working royals after Princess Anne died. She takes her job seriously. Never in the world would I have thought that she and George would get married. When we first met him on our first day at Le Rosey he was just George.

Not the heir to the throne.

But things have changed and Rory found her place.

The white door swings open and I stare at my sister who is wearing a white face mask and a deep purple morning gown. "Hi." She says before stepping to the side to let me in. "I was just about to wash off my face mask when you knocked." She already has a bump but I know it's only going to get bigger in the next few months.

"Wash it off. I came here for our movie night. I brought a bottle of wine - for myself."

"George is out with Louis, so we have the whole house for ourselves. Do you want me to call Char over?"

"I think she's quite busy fucking Nate." I answer before walking down the long hallway and sitting down at the white marbled kitchen island. "How are the three of them?"

"Alive." She answers simply. Having triplets is a day-to-day kind of thing but I understand why she couldn't end one of their lives. Mom couldn't do it either and I don't know what I would do without Nate or Rory - or they without me in return. Triplets means triplets - there's no way they will become twins.

"You know the genders yet?"

"The doctors do but we don't. Sophie's really cool by the way. If you ever get pregnant, you should go to her."

"You know I'm not big on kids. And Mom and Dad will have enough grandchildren without my contribution."

Rory sighs before sitting down on the barstool across me. "I know but I also know that the right person can change your mind."

"I won't change for anyone."

"You're even more stubborn than Della and Dad combined."

I shrug, "One of us has to."

"Mom and Dad aren't pressuring you?"

"Are you kidding me? Della gave them twin girls and now you come with triplets. Trust me, they're pretty happy. I don't think they're pressuring Ana for that matter."

"Ana's been busy with the Academy anyway."

I nod, "Did you talk to her lately?"

"Called her yesterday. She's pretty happy with the way things are going."

"She's still commuting between London and the Academy?"

"Yes just like Della."

"I thought Della is still planning to move to Geneva."

"She is. But they first have to find a proper home. She's been flying back and forth between the London, the Highlands and Switzerland."

"She didn't pay Mom and Dad a visit?"

Rory shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe."

I nod, "What's the plan for tomorrow?"

"Another day full of engagements."

"You drove past my car earlier this week. I was late for a meeting because of you." I narrow my eyes at her.

"You'd be late anyway. I saw the photos of you and some handsome stranger having a drink at the Ritz."

I shrug, "I can't say no to a good fuck, you know that."

"Jesus, you sound like Nate before he finally grew some balls and stood up to Char."

"I'm just having fun, little sis. Don't worry I have them all sign a NDA."

"Them?" She leans forward, "About how many are we talking about? Half of London?"

Could be true. "No, more like the upper 10% of London. I don't settle for men who are below my league. I'm not looking to become a sugar mommy to one of them."

Rory shakes her head in disbelief before getting up, "I'm washing this off and then we'll get lost in the world of Nicholas Sparks."

I watch her walking down the hallway before turning left to enter the bathroom. I pull out my iPhone and decide to call Char anyway. Maybe she's home and can come over.

To my surprise she picks up after the third ring. "Hi!"

"Are you home?"

"Define home."

"Kensington Palace. Apartment 1B."

"Oh... No, then I'm not home."

I quickly add one and one together. "You're with Nate then."

"Who told you that?"

"I won't tell you my source. Rory and I are having a movie night. Do you think you can survive a few hours without having my brother between your legs?" I ask her as I look around in the kitchen. It's a small kitchen with dark green cupboards and white marble countertops and an island. Rory and George lived here when they were engaged but moved out after they got married. They moved to Craigowan Lodge, which is in Scotland but only stayed there for a few months. Now that Rory's pregnant and they decided to embrace their Royal work fully, they need to live in London again.

Charlotte chuckles, "It will be kind of hard..." she teases me.

"I have Tignanello." I pull out my triumph card. Ever since Meghan introduced us to that wine from Tuscany, we all got hooked - but Rory can't have any right now. "And I'm willing to share it with you."

"Give me ten minutes. I'm coming with the helicopter." She says before hanging up.

Tignanello always does the trick. I open one of the hanging cupboards and get out two wine glasses.

Rory comes back to me, now with her glowing skin.

"Char's coming over."

"She's not with Nate?"

"She is but she can't say no to Tignanello." I pick up the wine bottle and two glasses before walking into the living room where Rory and George has their famous engagement interview almost a year ago.

My little sister mirrors my grin and throws herself on the most comfortable beige couch ever, "When was the last time we had a movie night like this? It seems forever ago!"

"I know exactly what you mean." I uncork the red wine and pour it into two glasses.

"I thought we should start with a classic."

"All Nicholas Sparks movies are classics." I point out. They're all romantic movies which Rory loves so much. She was always a sucker for fairytales so naturally she is living her very own fairytale right now as well.

"The Notebook. We should start with that."

"Okay."

Like every last and first Sunday of the month, I decide to give back to those in need. What started as a Christmas tradition in the Bolton household, quickly turned into something more for all of us. While Ana and Della are working on the Bolton Academy, Rory and George do their charity work mostly very publicly. Nate is busy fucking the Princess of England after it took him eight years to grow some balls and man up. So that leaves me alone in the homeless shelter in Parsons Green. I only live 45 minutes away in the City of London, right at the river Thames and I like to take the time to walk to the homeless shelter whenever possible.

I pull the navy baseball cap more into my face to cover from any paparazzi that might snap me here. I hate that they make their living off of stalking people. I get that they would follow Rory and George or even my parents, but me? I am just the older sister of the future Queen of England, the younger sister of a wonder child and only heir of the Romanov blood line.

I didn't achieve anything special like heal Parkinson's, win an Olympic medal or a Golden Slam title.

I am just Josephine Bolton. Eventually, I want to take over my parents' business but that doesn't make me an object of public interest.

I cross the street on this Sunday noon before walking down the block. This part of London is not known for its shiny and historic buildings. Tourists are told to stay away from here, but the same doesn't apply to me. I stop at the local homeless shelter in Parsons Green and open the door. I get greeted by the smell of cooking food and loud chatters.

I feel straight at home.

I take off my olive green jacket before I walk into the kitchen. My Daddy taught us all how to cook and in times like these it comes really in handy. "Good day, everyone!" I greet the four cooks in he stainless steel kitchen, Laura, Jillian, Harold and Arthur. They're just like me volunteers.

They all grin at me, "You seem in a good mood today, Josephine." Laura, a redhead with freckles and deep brown eyes says to me while she's peeling the potatoes with Harold. A soup is already cooking on the stove and the oven is already heating up for the shepherds pie.

I prefer when people call me Jo, but they never called me by my nickname once so I got used to being called Josephine here. "When am I not in a good mood?" I ask them back. "Where can I help today?"

"You can help Oliver with the sandwiches." Arthur answers before nodding behind himself. We always pack little bags with more food for the homeless people to take with them when they go to wherever they live.

"Who is Oliver?" I ask confused. It's always been the five of us as long as I can remember.

"A new volunteer. It's his first time so you might have to guide him a bit."

I nod before walking down the narrow kitchen. A tall man with shoulder length blonde hair is slicing the bread as I enter the back of the kitchen. He's dressed in a denim shirt and matching jeans that he paired with black sneakers. He's quite tall and seems in a good shape. That must be Oliver.

I walk over to the sink and turn on the water, causing him to wince. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I'm Josephine." I introduce myself as I wash my hands in the sink.

The man looks over his shoulder and I stare at the deepest green I've ever seen. Those eyes widen and I know he has recognised me from some tabloid or online magazine that throws dirt at me. "Oliver." He says with a nod.

And nothing more.

I dry my hands with a kitchen towel before I join Oliver at the stainless steel working plate. Most homeless shelters in and around London have been financed by the Bolton Foundation in private but I rather choose to work in those that haven't. I don't like to brag with my name.

Not when it comes to social work.

There's already cheese and ham on the table, so I start making sandwiches with cheddar and ham.

"How long have you been doing this job?" He asks me after a while of silence. He has a deep scratchy voice that sounds like a roaring lion.

"As long as I can remember." I answer, giving him the typical answer that a journalist would get from me for this sort of question.

"Even when you were little?"

I nod, "It's a tradition in my family and after I moved out from home, I decided to continue with the tradition. I like giving back and I feel like this is a better way than attending some galas in fancy dresses and present my big fat checks." Not that I don't do that as well. I just like to mix it up.

"Sounds like you have a good heart."

I chuckle because he clearly doesn't know me at all.

"What?"

"Nothing, you just seem a little judgemental."

"That was suppose to be a compliment."

I look up and meet his deep green eyes. They remind me of a pine forest. It's so deep that it's almost black. I wonder briefly how these eyes look in proper lightning. "Be careful when you throw around those compliments. They might get right back to you, Oliver."

He stops placing the ham on the sandwiches and looks at me, "Are you flirting with me?"

I laugh out loud like I haven't in the last few weeks, "Trust me, if I were flirting you won't have to ask."

He stares at me for a moment, "You don't recognise me, do you?"

"I meet a lot of people in my life. I couldn't remember them all even if I tried." Unlike Ana who has an eidetic memory.

"Then let me refresh your memory, Josephine. You saw me in a cafe in Battersea. On a Sunday. And you paid for my coffee."

"The cappuccino." I breathe out as the penny drops.

"Yes."

I really don't remember how the man looked like that I gifted the cappuccino. It wasn't meant to be something special."Well, now that's a coincidence. I never thought I'd see you again."

"So did I, after going to the cafe for a month hoping to see you."

"I told you to not worry about paying me back. Trust me, I can afford it."

"It's not about the money. It's about the principle. I don't like women buying me something."

I raise my eyebrow at him, "That's a very sexist thing of you to say."

"How is that sexist? If I go out on a date with a woman it's my job to pay."

I laugh again but this time out of the absurdity that doesn't seem to get into his dirty blonde head. "Well, I pay for my own meals. Always have been and always will be."

"Even on dates?"

That is a tricky question since I don't date. "I don't date, Oliver."

His pine green eyes widen, "No, not someone like you."

"What's that suppose to mean?" I ask. I have no idea how we went from charity work to my love life.

"Nothing. Just men must be kissing your feet."

I prefer them kissing my pussy. "I never said I had trouble finding men. All I said was that I don't date."

The confusion in his face only grows. "Don't tell me you have to pay for sex."

I chuckle before shaking my head, "No. I don't support prostitution in any way."

I have other ways to get men whenever I want.

"It was a great evening. I'll see you guys in a month." I tell Laura, Jillian, Harold and Arthur. I haven't seen Oliver since Judith, a homeless woman, vomited on him an hour ago. I'm sure he went home after he got the shock of his life. He surely wasn't used to the bad smells and the harsh words that get thrown around at the homeless shelter.

It's not a fairytale life.

They nod at me as they finish cleaning the shelter to do it all over again tomorrow. I open the door and get greeted by fresh, cold, Londonderry air. An ambulance rushes by with sirens and flashing lights.

I love it.

I walk down the road, passing parts of London that most people would describe as ugly and dangerous. But I'm not afraid, neither do I think it's a bad neighbourhood. It's just a different neighbourhood. It's not Chelsea, Knightsbridge or Kensington. It doesn't burst with history or beauty, but it has its own charm with the many Indian delis.

"Hey, wait up!"

I stop as I hear Oliver's deep masculine voice that slices through the cold winter evening. I turn around and watch the dirty blonde man running towards me. "I thought you were long gone. I thought Judith scared you off."

"Who?"

"The woman that vomited on you."

"Oh, no. I just fought to get the bad smell out of my shirt."

"You didn't succeed. You still smell of vomit."

His chuckle sounds like a lion's roar. "Well, I guess I should head home and shower."

"You most definitely should."

"No cappuccino then?"

"I'm sorry?" I ask him confused. It's eight in the evening, who drinks coffee now?

"I still owe you one."

"Oh... no. Like I said, don't worry about it."

"And like I said, I don't like someone buying me things." He counters, "How about dinner somewhere around instead?"

Is this man asking me out? I told him, I don't date. "You smell."

"Right, not my best idea." He runs his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

No because my Mondays are reserved for me-time and work. "I don't think so."

"Then maybe at the cafe in Battersea?" His pine green eyes stare deeply into mine and suddenly the smell of vomit vanishes in my nostrils.

I shake my head softly, "Oliver, I'm not interested in going out with you or you buying me a cup of coffee. I am the kind of woman who buys herself the god damn coffee." I tell him before turning on my heel. Sure, he's a good looking man but I don't mix charity with pleasure or business or my family. I like to keep those parts of my life separate by all means.

I turn a corner and walk down the dark alley that leads to my home the fastest. I should probably call myself a cabbie, but I enjoy the darkness of the night.

Suddenly, I feel a strong grip around my wrist before a strong pulling pulls me back. I crash against a white bricked wall with my back and stare at two black men. They're wearing black hoodies, probably hoping to rob me or rape me.

"Poppet, what are you doing here all alone?" One of them with black teeth asks me while the other one is holding my arms above my head.

During times like these, I am grateful for my father's obsession about my security and Wlad's training. "Poppet, " I answer to the man across me, "you have three seconds to let go of me."

The man who is holding my hands chuckles. "Or what?"

I count to three before I spin out of his grip with a kind of force that breaks both of his elbows. He cries out loudly before lowering to his knees. I kick him between his legs, hitting not only on his manhood but also giving him an appropriate amount of pain to fucking piss off!

"Bitch!" The other one cries out, suddenly getting a knife out of his jeans. He grins at me, showing me his black teeth. "Now you're suddenly quite, aren't ya?"

My pulse starts rising but I remain my cool gaze. I look at the kitchen knife, "If that's suppose to scare me, I suggest you try harder."

He steps forward trying to stab me. I step to the side and see how the knife gets pushed into the space between the white bricks right next to me.

Suddenly, a man appears from the darkness of the alley and shoves the black man next to me against the wall. I can hear a few bones breaking, probably of his back. "Fuck off!" He yells at him, sounding like an angry lion. His broad shoulders stretch the denim of his shirt and I suddenly recognise him.

It's Oliver.

He lets go of the black man, that seems as little as a mouse compared to Oliver's big body. The two men ran away like scared bunnies until the darkness swallows them up completely. It is only then that Oliver turns around to look at me with his dark green eyes, "Are you okay?"

"I am okay and I was okay. I had everything under control."

"That's a nice way to thank your saviour."

"I don't think you understand. I didn't need you to safe me. I am perfectly capable to saving myself." I tell Oliver, stepping so close to him that our noses almost touch. His eyes do have something special. "You need to shower." I step back and continue walking down the narrow street, shrugging off the weird feeling that overcame me when we were so close.

A second later I hear his heavy thuds next to me. I look at him, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm escorting you home."

"I don't need an escort home. If I did, I would have let you known."

"You're pretty arrogant, do you know that?"

"And you have a saving-complex."

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help Oliver. Just like I don't need your money or a cappuccino. I am fine." I tell him as we reach the Main Street that separates the poorer part of Parsons Green from the part where tourists love to get lost in. The street lights are shining brightly here and the traffic is driving regularly. A red double decker drives passed us before we cross the street. "There's a tube station down the street. I suggest you go now, so you can still catch a tube to wherever you live."

"You're not serious, are you?" He asks me with wide eyes.

I stop walking and sigh, "Do I look like a helpless blonde who is about to have a nervous breakdown?!"

"No-"

"Good. Then you can leave me alone. I don't live too far away from here." A 25 minute walk along the Thames is just what I need right now.

"It's almost midnight!"

"Do you need money for a cabbie?" I ask him. "Otherwise there's the tube station Blackfriars not far away from here." I've never used the tube in my life but I know it exists.

"You're unbelievable!" Oliver shakes his head and I watch his dirty blonde chin long hair moving. "You should be thanking me but instead you dump me like I am rubbish!"

He smells like it, that's for sure. "Oliver, just because I help out in a soup kitchen doesn't mean I am a saint. You don't know me at all and trust me once you do, you will run." I promise him.

He stares at me for a moment. His gaze is so intense that goosebumps start covering my arms and legs. "Fine." He turns on his heel and finally walks away.

I exhale loudly as it starts pouring down out of the sudden. Great. I still have twenty minutes of walking ahead of me. But I can cut it in half with running.

I decide to run the last meters to the skyscraper, known as Landmark Place, that I live in. It's one of the tallest buildings on this side of the Thames and it offers a view I will never get tired of. On my way, I step into lots of puddles that have formed within seconds. I ruin my outfit but I couldn't care less.

As soon as I reach the glass building I live in, I take off my navy cap and shake out my chestnut waves. The porter, Josh, holds the door open for me.

"Good evening, Miss Bolton." The 75 year old man greets me with a smile on his lips.

"Good evening, Josh. How are the grandchildren?"

His face lights up, "Growing up like crazy! My wife loves them but I wouldn't mind a quite moment."

I chuckle, "I know what you mean. My Mom's the same when my sister brings her kids around."

He smiles at me, "Enjoy the rest of your night, Miss Bolton."

"Thank you." I smile back before walking into the beige marbled lobby. The large lobby reminds me of the one at Bolton's Enterprises. I walk through the lobby and stop at the private elevator that leads right to my penthouse.

I get into the glass elevator and push the PH button. The doors of my private elevator glide close without a sound and the elevator slides up the 43 floors before stopping at mine. The doors open again and I finally step into my home. As soon as my white sneakers touch the hardwood floors of my penthouse, I feel better already. The penthouse has a 360 degree view over London thanks to its floor to ceiling windows. There's a terrace wrapped around the glass building and the third floor has access to the rooftop where I like to hang out and end my day in the summer. The first and second floor of the penthouse is filled with ten bedroom suites, complete with a marble-finished en-suite bathrooms and dressing rooms, but my master bedroom is on the ground floor of the penthouse. I even have a private pool on the rooftop but I rarely use it. I don't have a private gym because I like to workout with an audience. They fire me up, make me work out even harder.

But I know my home is a precious gem in London. This penthouse is the crown of the London. An ambitious genius created this place I get to call home - someone exactly like me. There's no place I'd rather live.

I slide out of my sneakers and get out of my jacket before tottering through the hallway that's designed to look like hallways in Buckingham Palace with lots of stucco until I reach the "great" room that is set into the building's distinctive crescent-shaped roof, known as the crown. I love this space. I get drunk in the view as I'm embraced by soaring double-height ceilings and dramatic walls of glass. I'll never get tired of this view.

My stomach growls, reminding me of my hunger. I walk into the open kitchen. I love the sleek design, the walnut cupboards and the white marble countertops. My kitchen is squeaky clean like always because just like my mother it drives me nuts when my kitchen is dirty. But my maid keeps it clean and tidy. I walk over to my fridge and open the door. I like to spend my Sundays in the kitchen to meal prep my dinners and breakfasts for the whole week. I always have lunch in my office or in a restaurant with my parents so I don't have to worry about it. While I enjoy eating out, I love cooking in my kitchen. But when I get home at midnight or later I don't have the energy to stand in the kitchen for hours.

That's where my meal planning comes in.

Tonight I'm having an Italian salad that I already pre-cut last Sunday. All I have to do is cut the mozzarella, grill the apricots and make the dressing out of white wine vinegar and a good extra virgin olive oil.

After finishing my midnight snack, I walk over to my eight meter long marbled dining table. It has enough navy velvet chairs for my whole family. I sit down on my usual chair that's at the head of the dining table and look out of my floor to ceiling windows. They can all be opened up, so they're actually doors. I've never opened up all of them but sometimes in the summer I like to open a few and let in the crisp Londonderry air.

I love my view so much. The whole penthouse is circled by the breathtaking cinema of one of the world's most famous skylines on earth. I can see the London Eye. I can see the Parliament and the Westminster Abbey where my sister got married half a year ago. To my right is the London and Tower Bridge, the Shakespeare Globe and the Tower of London.

It doesn't get any better than this.

Despite all the downs that comes with being a Bolton, the sister to a Nobel Prize laureate and a wonder child, an Olympian and the future Queen of England, I wouldn't trade my life with anyone.

I love my life.

Thank you for taking the time to read the first chapter of my new story. I hope you enjoyed it!

I never thought I'd write a story about Jo, but her story has been swirling in my mind for a while now. I hope you enjoyed the first glimpse into Jo's life and her complex character. Who do you think she's mostly like? Does she remind you of Troy, Gabriella or Della?

The story starts off a few months after Rory's wedding. Just like My Shadow, it will change perspectives (switching between the two protagonists).

I will upload the next chapter whenever I've written it. So I can't promise a regularity as in A Million Times More or My Shadow.

Please review, follow and favourite this story!

In gratitude,

Nicole