Kyle stared at the address for a long moment.
Belgravia. A townhouse. The Ashworth name in neat black letters.
"Don't sign anything. Don't owe them anything. Don't let that girl get comfortable thinking you need her."
Pike's warning was still fresh in his ears.
He could cancel. One text, and he could stay in the suite tonight, eat whatever ridiculous feast Jane ordered, and fall asleep on the couch with Ella's shark for a pillow.
But Eleanor's mother had sat in that masked ballroom months ago with her arm tucked through his like she owned him. Her family's name had turned up four times near crimes in thirty years and vanished every time. And her daughter had followed him across London.
If they wanted to look at him, Kyle wanted to look back.
He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and walked out into the living room.
"Back before midnight," he told the room.
"Bring dessert," Ella called from the couch, without looking up.
