Kate: Reputation isn't everything...

Table of Contents Title Page Books by Jessica Lou Dedication Prologue Part One: High Society Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Part Two: The Unexpected Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Part Three: The Scandal Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Epilogue: Part One Epilogue: Part Two ALEX Excerpt Acknowledgments About the Author KATE Copyright © 2023 by Jessica Lou. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, resold or distributed in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. References to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, organisations, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No copyright infringement is intended. No claims have been made over songs, films, and/or any media written. All credits to the original owners. KATE Line Editing: Laura Kincaid Proofreading: Mackenzie Letson, Nice Girl Naughty Edits Cover design: Acacia Heather, Ever After Cover Design Interior Formatting: Sarah, Book Obsessed Formatting Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7399895-2-1 E-Book ISBN: 978-1-7399895-3-8 First Edition BOOKS BY JESSICA LOU The London Elite ALEX KATE Soph, for always being there. Someone I can always be 100% myself around. For everything. This one’s for you. PROLOGUE The shittest thing about memories is how long they can haunt us. The experience may only last an hour, a minute, a second, but it doesn’t matter. The souvenir embeds itself so deep inside our being that we can’t escape the hell that’s ready to launch back into our minds when we least expect it. We can be in the middle of lunch with friends, dinner with family, dancing with lovers, when recollections of tripping down an entire flight of stairs return, taking centre stage and painting our cheeks red with embarrassment. Over time, I’ve found memories easier to conceal, hiding one behind the other, layering them like the make-up I wear to formal events. Humiliation found itself popular with me growing up – there was no lack of falling over, tripping on words, poorly judged outfits, and questionable hairstyles. Until one day, at aged twenty-one, I mastered it – an elegance on par with Kate Middleton. But no matter how thick the foundation I pile on, no matter how deep under the make-up I try to shove it, one disaster of a memory will always stand out. I was twenty, and it was the evening I met Leo. It was a Wednesday, and for us high-society women, it would usually have meant nothing. It wasn’t a ‘work night’ per se – all that awaited us in the morning was brunch, followed for some by a game of tennis or golf. And so on that particular day I found myself in one of our favourite restaurants in Knightsbridge, drinking champagne as the older ladies recounted their exasperating week. Once we’d finished our three-course meal of oysters and profiteroles, I’d excused myself, swanning over to the wooden bar with five girls my age. The vast, oak-panelled room was filled with calm, collected individuals in pressed tuxedos and elegant, knee-length dresses, just like always. We were the only people standing at the bar, most of us in heels and royal-blue, black, or deep-purple dresses, guzzling champagne like our mothers had taught us from birth. Well… maybe not quite like they’d taught, given the rate at which I was flinging it down my throat that evening. I’d just finished my fifth glass when the large door beside the bar opened and a group of five men entered. My eyes clung to the tall, dark blonde who’d walked in first. His face, smirking already, held an expression of cocky expectation, like every male in our community. Yet I’d never seen him in there before. Or anywhere. Nor any of his friends. Each of them wore fitted suits, but my eyes zeroed in on the blonde as he tugged his navy jacket down, straightening the shirt underneath as his brown eyes scanned the room. It was only a couple of seconds before they landed on me, and, full of confidence on my home turf, I shot him one of my killer smiles before turning to the bar and ordering two Martinis. Within a minute, I was striding towards where he now stood, at the far end of the bar, satin stilettos loud against the polished floor as I held the spare drink out. ‘I’m Katherine.’ I haven’t had confidence like it since. He raised one thick, dark eyebrow and grinned before accepting the drink. ‘Leo.’ ‘It’s nice to meet you,’ I answered, taking a sip as he did the same. His eyes instantly narrowed, blinking twice as his mouth pursed together, his shoulders hunching. Did he not like it? I wondered. Dismissing the thought, I glanced back to see the other girls staying put, shaking their heads at Leo’s friends. I ignored their hesitance, turning back to Leo. ‘I haven’t seen you around before,’ I observed. Leo nodded, ducking his head slightly and smiling. ‘We’re only visiting.’ ‘Visiting? London?’ ‘Yeah,’ he replied. His voice was deep, coarser than I tended to hear, and I struggled to place the accent. ‘We’re from up north,’ he added. I just hummed, lifting my glass to my lips and taking a sip. That’s why I couldn’t place the accent, though I could have sworn it had London undertones… ‘Do you come here often?’ Leo asked, hauling me away from overthinking. Nodding, I replied, ‘Every other week. Although there’s a cocktail bar in Mayfair I much prefer. But I don’t pick where we go.’ Leo cocked a