The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

But then Brenda gives birth and everything changes.

Coach misses three days in a row. The third day he is MIA. In the cafeteria, two lunch duty teachers gush about how Brenda gave birth at a local hospital—which why would she, if she went back to living with her momma all the way down in New Jersey?

“Did you see the baby? So sweet. He looks exactly like his daddy,” Miss Warski coos, stabbing her yogurt with a plastic spoon.

“Yeah, Steve sent the pictures to everyone in the group, remember? And get this. He got his wife the best push present—a brand-new car.”

“A Kia Rio, right?”

“Yes. I’m looking into buying one too …”

His wife?

Push present?

I thought they weren’t together anymore.

On the brink of divorce.

I spend the rest of the day in a haze, forcing myself not to text him.

Ross sneaks out and buys me a bottle of Gatorade. He doesn’t ask why I’m upset. Why my eyes are red and my face is ashen.

More than heartbroken, though, I feel great shame.

I’ve been made a fool by this man, whom I put my trust in.

Something breaks in me that day.

Something I don’t know if I can ever fix.





Belle made good on her promise not to return home that night.

Which made me, in turn, call Louisa on my way to work the next morning.

Lou was staying at the Four Seasons, spending her days shopping and hoping I would get my head out of my arse.

The good news for her was that my head was inching away from said arse little by little.

Louisa answered on the first ring, sounding breathless.

“Hello? Devon?”

“Is this a bad time?” I rounded a street corner in my Bentley, looking for parking on the street. Underground parking seemed like a ridiculous idea. People had no business going under the ground when they were still alive.

“Absolutely not, it’s a perfect time.”

I heard the soft thud of a towel being dropped and the whine of a door opening as a fitness trainer in the background instructed, “Now back to downward dog position …”

“Hi. Hey. Hello.” Louisa laughed a little at her own awkwardness. I slipped into a parking space on the street and reversed.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

It was about to be.

It was time to choose a person who chose me.

“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner tonight.”

“Sure. Should I book reservations for us?” Louisa asked sweetly. “There’s an amazing Italian restaurant on Salem Street that I’ve been wanting to try, although I’m happy to cater to any of your diet restrictions.”

My father’s words haunted me.

Love marriages are for the great unwashed masses. People born to follow society’s thankless rules. You shall not desire your wife, Devon. Her purpose is to serve you, sire children, and look lovely.

There was a point to be made. The Whitehall family had existed for so many years, had so many traditions. Who was he to dictate the end of that line? I would not allow the man to rob me out of my rightful inheritance.

“No.” I exited the car and galloped toward the front door of my office. “I was thinking we could dine in your hotel room. I have a few matters to discuss with you.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked, worried.

“Yes.” I took the stairs up to my office. “Everything’s perfect. I just had an epiphany of sorts.”

“I like epiphanies.”

You’re going to love this one.

“Devon …” she hesitated.

I pushed the glass door to my office open. Joanne was already waiting with printouts of my daily agenda and a fresh cup of coffee. I plucked them from her hand.

“Yes, Lou?”

“You haven’t called me Lou in a long time. Not for decades.”

Another pause.

“Should I … should I wear my finest silks?”

I could practically hear Louisa biting down on her lower lip.

I took a sip of my coffee, smiling grimly.

“Better yet, darling, don’t wear anything under your dress at all.”




My mother called me several times that day, skirting around the subject of Louisa without actually talking about her.

She asked about Emmabelle, if we still lived together. When I said we were, she sounded considerably less cheery.

“If Louisa and I are to have a future, the baby and Emmabelle would be a big part of my life,” I said curtly.

“But you wouldn’t move back to England,” Mum responded. “She’d chain you to Boston forever.”

“I love Boston.” I truly did. “It’s my home now.”

Whitehall Court Castle had never been more than walls full of bad memories.

During my lunch break, I went and picked a 1.50 carat cushion-cut engagement ring from Tiffany & Co.

When I got back to the office, I instructed Joanne to purchase a large bouquet of flowers and spare no expense on the task.

“You finally gonna woo that Penrose girl, my lord, sir?” Joanne couldn’t help but blurt out from behind her computer screen, munching on a celery stick that signified her fifth attempt at Weight Watchers that month. “It’s high time. A child should have a stable home, you know. A mother and a father. That’s how it was done when I was growing up, Your Highness.”