Macon is the oldest. Thirty-one. Ex-Marine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. Army is twenty-eight. A single dad with the most beautiful green eyes. He has no idea who he is, if not a Jaeger brother. Iron will be in prison soon. You’d never think it to meet him. He’s a nice guy, actually. But he can’t stop reacting to everything. Dallas is the one I hate. Twenty-one, cruel, and selfish. He takes and then throws away whatever’s left. And Trace is mine. Or he was for about two seconds. No one can tame him for long. Not that I ever wanted to.

Rosie Belmont has been driving me wild for years. The good kind of wild. The bad kind of wild. But mostly the kind of wild that comes with wanting your best friend’s little sister and knowing you can’t have her. After living in the city, she comes blasting back into Rose Hill like a storm. Beautiful, messy, and chaotic. And one wide-eyed desperate plea for a job is all it takes for me to hire her.

It was supposed to be a harmless kiss at a lavish debutante ball. A clandestine moment with a handsome stranger. But unlike his namesake, my Romeo isn’t driven by love. He’s fueled by revenge. To him, I’m a chess piece. Leverage. His rival’s betrothed. To me, he is a man deserving of poison. A dark prince I refuse to marry. He thinks I’ll accept my fate. Well, I plan to rewrite it. And in my story, Juliet doesn’t die. But Romeo? He perishes.

I never planned to give my V-card to a gorgeous stranger I met at a bar. But for once I didn't let myself overthink things. In the few hours we spent together, he managed to push me outside my comfort zone. And I loved every second. I never expected to see him again. Let alone sitting at the head of the boardroom table during my architectural firm's pitch to design his new hotel chain.

I’m falling for the father of the baby I’m carrying. The problem is: it’s not my baby. And the broody widower is not looking for a long-term partner. As a surrogate, the deal was that I’d only be in England long enough to give birth. At first, the man seemed as pretentious as his name: Sigmund Benedictus. He and I butted heads. Sig challenged my intentions, accused me of just wanting to do this for the money. Gradually, he learned to trust me.