“It’s…snow white?” I was too shocked, unable to believe my eyes. It had been nearly a week. I didn’t believe he would ever call. I mean, what were the chances that he would have a panic attack and choose to call a stranger instead of his doctor?
But still, half of me waited, but half was a realist. Meeting him again was impossible no matter what angle I calculated it from.
“Snow white?” Kenzo asked, brows furrowed. “The babe who choked on the apple she found on the street?”
A soft chuckle rippled from my lips before I took the phone to my ear. Apparently, Kenzo’s grandmother had a different version of Snow White. And that was the only version he knew.
“H-hello?” My voice had a slight tremble. I cleared my throat, then spoke again. “Hello?”
“Hi.” His voice, velvety yet rough, broke through the speaker, and my heart nearly exploded in my chest, my face flaming up. “It’s me, Callan…from the book signing.”
Callan?
His name was Callan?
“You…called?” I asked, biting my lower lip to hide my beam from Kenzo who was giving me that judgmental look.
“I was wondering if your offer still stands.” He sounded hesitant. “About helping me with getting new books.”
My heart was racing, too fast, too excited. And my skin was red like I broke out with a serious disease.
“Actually um.” My fingers threaded through my hair, giving the scalp a scratch. “I’m kind of…at school.”
“Oh,” he murmured in realisation. “Sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t consider that.”
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
“I’ll just go run some other errands to kill time.” A wave of relief washed over me at his words. “I’ll wait.”
He said he would wait. For a second I thought it was a missed chance. That I had probably lost the only opportunity to ever meet him in this lifetime. But he said he would wait for me. That meant he really wanted to see me.
Why?
Was I special? Did he think I was special?
“Who?” Kenzo demanded the moment I peeled the phone from my ear and set it on the table.
“I know his name now,” I said, my grin too wide, the cloud above my head thinning.
“Sorry?”
“Callan. His name is Callan.”
8
BETH
Dear Aphrodite. He was a dream.
Raskov. Aname whispered in boardrooms, seminar halls and even back alleys. It opened doors, ended careers and had the power to silence Scotland.
Mentioned though briefly in one of our history topics, the Raskovs were a Russian family who basically helped build Scotland.
If you walked across a gleaming glass tower that you could swear stretched into the sky, there was a fifty percent chance the Raskov name was etched into it. Their mark was everywhere, from the tallest buildings to the smallest details.
They were the truest definition of old money, old power, and who knew, perhaps old secrets too—though they had forever posed a spotless, perfect front.
The Raskov was a centuries old legacy steeped in wealth and influence.
