More Than Everything

By Delphie Gray

Liv isn't looking for Mr Right or even Mr Right Now. Three years on from a traumatic event, she's still haunted by the ghost of her ex. Then there's a platonic friend Rufus, who wants to be much, much more. With her career finally starting to take off, Liv is happy to be single and sharing a flat with her best friend India. Then she meets Benedict and everything gets complicated. He's rich, intense and plagued by his own dark secrets. Initially, Liv doesn't want to get into a relationship with him but she can't seem to stay away from him either.
The past constantly threatens to tear them apart as they tentatively try to build a relationship. Benedict is insecure, the legacy of an absent mother and a suicidal, alcoholic father. He's also infertile and questions Liv's commitment to him long-term if they cannot have a family. Liv, in turn, is overwhelmed by Benedict's emotional baggage and wonders if, as two damaged people, they can make it work. When Benedict's half-sister is reported missing, they do their best to find her and on the way discover if they are, after all, meant to be together.

More Than Everything is the first in the More Than... series, which follows Liv and Benedict's passionate and often complicated journey to reach their happy ever after. It can be read as a standalone or as part of the series.

Fans of the After series, Fifty Shades of Grey and the Crossfire books will love it.

"Hot, intense and totally addictive read." Goodreads review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delphie Gray
• Release date: May 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463823057

Delphie Gray

I've always loved books. It started with Nurse Matilda Comes To Town and Ballet Shoes and then quickly progressed to anything I could get my hands on. We didn't have books at home so I worked my way through my local library, plundering the stacks every week for something new. Wedged into those little plastic seats that looked like upside-down yoghurt pots, I would leaf through any new book, weighing up whether it made the grade to be taken home.I've taken home a lot of books in my time. From growing up without bookshelves, I've had special shelves made in my house for all my books. And they're stacked two deep.Books gave me the first stage for my imagination long. When I graduated to having a small black and white TV in my bedroom, I fell in love with foreign films and watched French films that were far too sophisticated and sexy for my age. The images were as poetic as those conjured by any books. And way sexier. Until I found Henry Miller and Anais Nin. The 'highbrow' stuff eventually gave way to the more popular stuff. I discovered that sexy books didn't have to come from a university reading list; funny, sharp mainstream literature could be just as erotic and emotional.I found Sylvia Day and Olivia Cunning. Three-dimensional characters who liked sex. And had complex histories and ambitions. I devoured them all and when I was finally free of small children, I sat down and wrote what I wanted to read. I wrote about Liv, someone I could relate to but who had a life that I secretly dreamed of. Liv met a man as complicated as she was. He made her cry but also scream in ecstasy. Finding a path through the emotional minefield wasn't guaranteed but having the best sex of her life was. Writing about Liv lifted me out of the mundane reality of my life and into a sensual, emotionally charged world. I hope it does the same for you.

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MORE THAN EVERYTHING

A More Than Novel

by Delphie Gray

Copyright © 2017 Delphie Gray

The moral right of Delphie Gray to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing form the publisher.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Keep up with the author at www.twitter.com/delphiegray1.

For the next in the More Than series, go to: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/837018

1

It was only 10 o'clock and already the heat was rising up from the sticky pavement. There was that unmistakable smell of an urban summer - warming tarmac, car fumes and a faint undercurrent of wee from the late-night drinkers caught short on their way home. Liv picked her way carefully around the bags of restaurant rubbish spilling out across her path. The foxes had been out in the night and onion skins, carrot peelings and chewed paper napkins were littered everywhere. She joined the gaggle of people waiting to cross the road. The lights, as usual, took ages to change and Liv checked the time again. Only 20 minutes until her shift started and she needed to get a ridiculously strong coffee first. She hadn't slept all night, replaying every single answer to every single question she'd been asked at the interview the day before. Plus, with a double shift today, she wouldn't get to sit down properly again until she fell onto her bed sometime after midnight. She needed all the caffeine and rest she could get. When the lights changed, Liv dodged the slow coaches in front of her and sprinted into Pret a Manger.

A couple of minutes later Liv slid onto a high seat in the window and popped the plastic lid off her giant, steaming, black Americano with an extra shot. She stirred it with her little wooden stick and blew on it as hard as she could to cool it down. The temperature of the coffee, which, judging from the bloom of steam quickly spreading across her face, wasn't far off molten lava. She almost lost the whole lot a minute later when someone jostled the back of her chair. Liv steadied the huge wobbling cup and snapped her head round to give the culprit her best death stare. It was totally wasted. The culprit, a tall, scruffy guy, was grappling with a mountain of things. He had a computer bag in one hand and a loaded tray in the other. A huge backpack hung in the crook of the arm carrying the tray. Liv could see that he was struggling to put down his tray without the backpack slipping down his arm and knocking it over. If he'd at least apologised for knocking her chair and she'd been in a better mood, Liv might have offered to help. As it was, she watched out of the corner of her eye as his brain tried to work out how to manoeuvre three unwieldy things with only two hands.

It struck her that his stuff looked so clean and expensive – she couldn't help noticing 'Tom Ford' discreetly stamped on the leather laptop bag and backpack – but he looked like a tramp. He had a grubby, light blue trucker's cap pulled down low and messy blonde surfer hair spilled out underneath it, hiding most of his face. What Liv could see of his face was covered in one of those silly hipster beards that made him look like a Victorian wrestler. His nose, the only feature not covered by bushy hair or a dirty hat, was strangely elegant - long, straight and with a very neat upturn at the end. It was the nose of a Disney prince on the head of a bin man.

When his tray safely made contact with the bar, Liv turned back to her coffee. In the air conditioned café she could still see the steam rising off it. She took a tiny, cautious sip and yes, it was still as hot as liquid rock. Sighing, she leaned forward again to blow on it. From the horrible scrape of his chair, Liv saw that Trucker Cap had plonked himself down in the seat next to her. He was trying to shrug off his battered old biker jacket. He stretched his arms out behind him to shake it off but his arms got caught in the sleeves. She had no idea why he didn't just get up and take it off like a normal person. Or even better, why he hadn't taken it off before he'd sat down. Trucker Cap had one final, frustrated shake of his arms. The leather of his jacket cracked like a whip as he flapped it down hard, hard enough to catch the very tip of Liv's elbow. In one of those slow-motion moments, she saw her hand wobble on her cup. Then she saw the cup wobble a fraction. It was only a tiny wobble but enough to send a ripple across the surface of her coffee. The ripple hit the edge of the cup and a wave of scalding liquid surged out onto her hand. Liv shrieked and let go of the cup. She instinctively pulled her hand up and held it against her chest. Then the cup went over and in an instant a waterfall of coffee landed in her lap. The second it hit her lap, she sprung up and pushed herself away from the counter but it was too late. The coffee quickly spread through the fabric of her skirt and blouse. She desperately tried to pull the wet blouse away from her skin, pinching the fabric between her fingers and trying to shake the coffee out, but it clung to her. A second later she was showered with more liquid. This time it was freezing cold. She looked up, trying to work out what the hell was going on. One minute she was being burned and the next she was being doused in freezing water like a fashion editor in an expensive Austrian spa. She saw Trucker Cap was spraying her with a bottle of mineral water. He sprayed a steady stream all over her stomach, chest and legs. When the bottle was empty, he picked up another, ripped the sports cap off with his teeth and started dousing her again.

'What the fuck are you doing?' Liv yelled, now half burnt and half-frozen.

'You're meant to treat burns with cold water,' he said calmly, looking at her as if she were mad for asking.

A girl in a staff uniform appeared next to him. 'Quick,' she said, grabbing Liv by the elbow. 'Let's go out the back and get your clothes off.'

'Thanks,' Liv said, grateful that someone sane was trying to help her. 'Just let me get my bag.'

That's when she turned and saw her phone. Her iPhone was sitting in a pool of black coffee and water. She snatched it up and frantically pressed the home button but the screen was blank. Nothing. She shook it and sludgy water poured out of the charging port. She glared at Trucker Cap. 

'Fuck,' she hissed. 'You've ruined my phone.' 

He looked at her and shrugged.

'Come on,' said the girl. 'Maybe we can dry that out too.' 

She steered Liv away and shouldered her way through a door marked 'staff only' into an industrial-looking corridor. 

'There's the loos,' she said pointing to another door. 'You take off your blouse in there while I grab the first aid kit and a spare t-shirt. My name's Naomi, by the way.' She smiled and then ducked through some double doors into the kitchen.

2

In the loos, Liv caught sight of herself in the long mirror on the wall. Her pristine, white blouse was now a filthy, muddy colour. It clung to her skin and you could clearly see her pink bra through it. Her full, black skirt was plastered to her legs too. Watery coffee was dripping from the hem and collecting round her feet. With shaky hands, she fumbled with the zip on her skirt and managed to peel it off her legs and step out of it. She was struggling with the buttons on her blouse when Naomi burst in carrying a big green first aid kit and a stack of tea towels. Liv noticed how young she was, probably just 18 or 19, with a cute little Louise Brooks bob dyed jet black. The cuteness was broken by the thick silver hoop through her septum.

'Shit,' she said looking at Liv's stomach. 'That looks really red.'

She was right. Liv looked in the mirror and saw a huge raised, red patch stretching from just below her bra all the way over her stomach to the tops of her legs.

'Jesus,' Liv whispered. 'I'm burnt.'

Naomi quickly turned on the cold tap and drenched a tea towel in water. She wrung it out and then pressed it lightly against Liv's stomach. The cold towel felt lovely on Liv's tight, scalded skin. Another girl burst in carrying a chair and a can of drink.

'Fuck, that looks sore,' said the second girl, another teenager with more cool hair and facial piercings. 'Here, sit down and drink this. It's sugary. That's meant to be good, right?' She ripped the pull tab back, handed Liv the can and dashed back out.

Liv sat down and lifted the can to her mouth with jittery hands. She wasn't sure if she was cold from the freezing water or in shock. 

'Just tell me when the tea towel starts to warm up and I'll swap it for another one,' said Naomi over her shoulder as she dunked towels in the sink.

There was silence for a few minutes as Liv drank the fizzy orange and Naomi prepped the towels.

'Don't you need to get back to work?' Liv asked, worried that she was getting Naomi into trouble with her boss.

'Nah,' Naomi smiled. 'Don't worry about it. The manager's cool and besides, they don't want you to sue them! How does it feel now?'

'A bit better thanks,' she said, swapping the old tea towel for a new one.

'I can't believe that guy,' said Naomi, as she rinsed out Liv's skirt in the sink and took it over to the hand dryer. 'He's just run off and left all his stuff behind. He didn't even say sorry to you.'

'I know,' replied Liv. 'He was such an arse.'

'He's been in a few times this week and he does exactly the same thing every time,' Naomi yelled over the vicious blast of the hand dryer. 'He spreads all his stuff out in the window seat and then hogs it all day. He radiates 'fuck off' through his back so you can't even go and collect all the cups and plates he's got stacked up. It's usually the homeless guys who do that but from all his gadgets and stuff, I'm guessing he can afford somewhere to live. Most homeless guys don't have a Patek Philippe watch.'

The mention of the watch made Liv suddenly remember the time. 'Shit,' she hissed, standing up. 'What time is it?'

Naomi slid her phone out of her pocket. 'Ten past 11.' Seeing the panic on Liv's face, she held out her phone. 'Do you want to borrow my phone to call someone?'

Liv was late for her shift but, worse than that, much, much worse than that, was the fact that the university might have rung with their decision and her phone was dead. Liv's mind raced through the next logical, panicky steps. They might call her home number. India wouldn't answer. India never bloody answered. When she was painting India happily ignored phones, the front door bell and most irritatingly of all, actual humans standing right in front of her asking simple yes/no questions. If the university didn't get an answer, Liv would end up playing phone tag for days before she finally found out what they'd decided. And she couldn't wait that long. She'd have to ask Kate or Tim to sit and wait for the call.

Calls made, Liv handed the phone back. 

'Thanks for all your help,' she said, itching to get home all of a sudden. 'I really appreciate it. I'm sure my stomach will be ok. It just looks worse than it feels.' She wasn't being entirely honest – her skin still felt hot and tight.

Naomi handed her a Pret t-shirt and a pair of standard-issue black trousers with an apologetic shrug. 'It's all we've got, sorry.'

Liv quickly pulled on the t-shirt and just the cotton brushing against her skin made her wince.

'Let me at least tape some gauze over it otherwise the t-shirt might rub it and make it worse,' said Naomi.

When she was finally dressed, they went back outside. Naomi went to fish Liv's bag out from under the counter by the tills.

'There's something else for her under there,' said the girl who'd come in earlier with the chair. 'From the weird guy with the cap. He said I had to give it to you before you left.'

Naomi rooted around and found a small Vodafone carrier bag. Liv took it and they both peered inside. There was a business card taped to the top of a familiar, white, rectangular box. Liv peeled off the thick card. On the front there was just a name, a number and an email address. Benedict Cassel, Cassel Enterprises. No logo, no website – very minimal, tasteful and, judging from the smooth, heavy card, expensive. She flipped it over and saw he'd scrawled a message on the back in scratchy writing.

This one's charged up and your sim's in there already. BC

Inside the smooth white box was a brand new iPhone X. Liv pressed the home button and the screen lit up. She took it out of the box and swiped her finger across it. All her contacts, texts and photos were already there. She wasn't sure whether to be freaked out or impressed.

3

When Liv got home, Kate burst out of the front door before she'd even had time to put her key into the lock.

'Olivia,' she said breathlessly, 'no news here yet.'

India appeared next to her. 'Judging by her t-shirt, I'm guessing she didn't get the grant, Mum,' she said, turning to Liv with a smirk. 'Got another job already?'

'I need to get changed and then I'll tell you all about it.' Liv brushed past them into the flat. They followed her to her bedroom and stood in the doorway while she stripped off her borrowed uniform.

'Before you ask, someone dropped some coffee on me,' she explained, seeing their faces when she pulled the t-shirt over her head. 'It's not too bad. The gauze is just there to stop my clothes rubbing against my skin.' She pulled on her cut-offs and the softest, loosest t-shirt she could find in the jumbled heap of clothes on her bedside chair.

They followed her into the living, where she sank into the squashy old sofa with a sigh. She felt shattered, like she'd aged a few years since this morning. India pushed open the door to the garden and sat on the threshold. She pulled her pouch of tobacco out of the front pocket of her paint splattered dungarees. Kate tutted, as she usually did when India smoked, and then settled down into an armchair. She laced her fingers together and let her hands drop into her lap. Then she gave Liv a small nod as if to say 'go on'. The suspense was clearly killing her.

'For God's sake, Liv,' said India, tipping her head back and blowing out smoke. 'Just tell her. She's been down for the last hour doing my head in.'

'India, darling, I've been here at Olivia's request.'

'I don't think Liv asked you to wash my pants and empty the bins,' India shot back. 'If I'm not mistaken, she asked you to sit by the phone.'

'She did,' Kate huffed in her own defence, 'but once I'd sat down I couldn't help but notice the absolute carnage on your bedroom floor. And the kitchen bin was overflowing. It's really not hygienic in this weather. How you girls don't notice, I'll never know. Anyway,' she sniffed, 'it kept my mind off waiting for the phone call.'

India and Kate could go on like this all day if you didn't cut in. When they were together, India just couldn't help being a narky teenager and Kate couldn't help being an underappreciated mother despite her best attempts to be zen-like at all times. Liv was never in Kate's line of fire. Though Liv had lived with them for over ten years now, ever since her parents had moved back to Italy, Kate held back. For one thing, she didn't want to step on Liv's own mother's toes. And then there was Charlotte. Kate's oldest daughter was easily upset when it came to Liv, who she saw as the cuckoo in her parents' nest. Any hint that Kate treated Liv just like one of her own children made Charlotte furious. Unlike India and their brother Rufus, Charlotte could be jealous and spiteful.

'So,' Liv stepped in, steering the conversation back to less tricky territory, 'there is some news.' She paused for effect. 'I got it!'

India jumped up from the back door and ran to give her a hug.

'I knew it!' she said, her warm breath all smoky on Liv's neck. 'There's no way those fuckers would turn you down.'

Kate got up and waited for India to let go of Liv. Her eyes were shining with pride. She came and sat next to Liv, taking her hands in hers.

'Oh fuck,' sighed India, rolling her eyes, 'we're going to get the full Claire now.' This was family shorthand for the tearful performance that Claire Danes perfected in Homeland. Kate was famous for it. Every Christmas and anytime they had a celebration, Kate would stand up and give a speech about how important this moment was. Everyone else would moan loudly and sometimes throw a napkin or paper plane at her if she went on for too long. Last Christmas Rufus raised the bar by flying a remote-control helicopter round her head.

'India,' hissed her mother. 'Liv has achieved something incredible and it should duly be noted and celebrated. It is not every day that one gets a grant for a postdoctoral research project about something as important as suicide in young men.'

'No this doesn't happen to one every day,' mocked India in a plummy voice. 'Perhaps only once a year, like the Glyndebourne or Glorious Goodwood. But don't mind me, Claire, carry on.'

Kate sniffed and then turned back to Liv. 'Olivia, I have watched you study diligently from the first time you came home to India for supper,' she said, with a slight catch in her voice. 'India would eat and then hide away in her room to talk about things that teenage girls talk about. You always had your eye on the clock and knew that you had to leave enough time to do all your homework properly. You had a drive that was something that India could have frankly tried to emulate with more conviction. You would come down and sit at our kitchen table and do your homework. You would always ask me to check it once you'd finished. Again, India...'

'Yes, blah, blah, blah, Katherine,' India broke in, tired of hearing the same old speech about her total lack of interest in school. 'Yes, I know I did no work. Yes, I know Liv is a bloody genius but look at me now! I'm a penniless painter living in the granny flat at my parents' house. My mother still cleans my pants. I'm living the dream!' She threw her head back and laughed her Dr Evil laugh.

It was lucky that Liv knew it was only a joke. There was no malice behind it. Unlike their big sister, India and Rufus didn't have one jealous, mean-spirited bone in their bodies. India and Liv always supported each other even though their talents were totally different. India was a typical creative, dreamy right-brainer and Liv was a typical analytical, pragmatic left-brainer. India accepted who she was and let everyone else get on with the business of being who they were. Unlike prickly Charlotte, who was so different to the rest of her family that Liv always thought she must have been swapped at birth. With Pol Pot's daughter.

'I knew then,' said Kate smoothly, ignoring the interruption, 'that you would go far with that depth of commitment. And you have. And we should celebrate!'

'Yes!' India chipped in, 'let's go out and get trashed.'

'I had a meal and some champagne with the family in mind,' said Kate, still ignoring India. 'And then you are free to do whatever you like.' She got up and said to Liv: 'Will La Locanda be ok? Shall we book for 7?'

Liv smiled and nodded. Kate knew Liv loved La Locanda and would choose it over any other restaurant. The menu was a much more sophisticated version of the food she ate growing up.

With a quick aperitif pencilled in for 6.30 upstairs, Kate left.

'Wow, Liv,' said India, as she sat rolling another cigarette on the lip of the back door. 'You got your money. How amazing is that?'

'I know,' Liv said. 'I can't quite believe it.'

'Believe it. You're a bloody genius and your project is seriously worthy. Who's going to say no to research into why men kill themselves? Anyway,' she said, blowing smoke rings into the garden, 'is your stomach ok?'

'I'm not sure,' Liv said honestly. 'I'll have a look.' She lifted her t-shirt and pulled back the top corner of the dressing.

India came over to have a look.

'Shit, that looks sore,' she said, sucking air through her teeth. 'You might need to get that looked at.'

'Nah,' Liv said, dismissing the idea with the flap of her hand, 'it'll be fine in a day or two and if it's not, then I'll go to the doctor's.'

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Liv enjoying her success and India enjoying another cheeky fag. The only sounds were the lawnmower in next door's garden and the distant screams of kids in the playground at the school round the corner. They were both jolted out of their daydreams by some buzzing. Liv scrabbled around in the cushions on the sofa before finding the source of the strange noise. The phone.

'Is that new?' said India.

'Yeah but I'm not keeping' Liv said, fiddling with the locked screen.

'Why not?' said India. 'Don't you like it?'

Liv turned the phone over in her hands, feeling its weight and the cool smoothness of the metal. It was a definite improvement on her old iPhone 5 with its cracked screen and tatty Hello Kitty stickers her niece had plastered all over it.

'That's not the problem,' she explained. 'I like the phone, it's just that a weird guy gave it to me. I went into Pret for some breakfast before my shift this morning and this unbelievably arrogant guy sat down next to me. He knocked my boiling hot coffee all over me and didn't say sorry or anything. I went off to clean myself up and when I came back he'd left this phone for me. It had all my contacts on it already.'

'God, that's weird,' said India, with a fag clamped in one side of her mouth and talking out of the other. She took the phone to have a look. 'I'd still keep the phone though. He deserves it for being an arse.'

'I checked online and this thing costs £700,' Liv answered. 'I can't take £700 off a stranger, even if he did chuck a giant Americano all over me. It feels wrong.'

'Look,' said India, 'if he can afford to spend £700 on a stranger, he's probably got loads of money.'

'Doesn't mean I should take it though.'

'God, you and your Catholic guilt,' India tutted through her teeth. 'Even if you do want to give it back, how would you find him?'

Liv got up and went to find the Vodafone carrier bag. She fished out the business card and handed it to India.

'It's got his address on it,' Liv said. 'He lives just up the road.'

'Shit,' shouted India, jumping up from her spot in the doorway. 'It's only fucking Benedict fucking Cassel.'

She pronounced Cassel with a French accent, drawing the last syllable into a long 'elle'.

'Who's fucking Benedict fucking Cassel?' Liv asked. India never knew who anyone was. She had a terrible memory for names and, strangely for an artist, she wasn't much better with faces.

'Benedict went to Clifton College,' she said, breathlessly pacing up and down in front of the sofa with excitement. 'He was a couple of years above Ruf. He was one of those moody, intense types who everyone lusted over. You know, all floppy fringe and lots of sitting on walls looking disaffected. As far as I know he never actually went out with anyone. Charlotte absolutely fucking adored him, well, as much as Charlotte can adore anyone. Her and her friends practically stalked the guy.'

'Wow,' Liv said. 'He hasn't changed much then. He's still intense and moody.'

'What did he look like?' India asked,