Zoe eyed the two men standing guard in her foyer. They each had an earpiece and wore sunglasses like a character straight of The Matrix or in the Mafia. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Or scarier.
Cornflower blue eyes raked her up and down, making Zoe wish she had on something different. Something without coins on the hem and not the bright shade of lime sherbet ice cream.
“You’re not what I expected.” Her voice was soft, modulated and very proper. Francesca Romanov dressed every inch the lady she was, making Zoe feel like what the cat dragged in.
Zoe picked at a sequin on her skirt. Two of the coins clinked together and her mother-in-law’s eyes widened.
“How lovely. Is that by Garvene?”
Who? “It’s by Target,” Zoe said, giving the “get” syllable the faux-French treatment.
A manicured hand patted pale blonde hair. “Oh, I haven’t heard of him. Is that a new designer?”
Zoe felt a sudden need to giggle. She wasn’t sure if the woman was making fun of her, or if this was like the time Christian told her he didn’t know what Cracker Barrel was. She hoped it was the latter, since she didn’t have any desire to be ticked off at his mom. Well, no more than she was already.
“Oh, it’s an American designer,” she said, then changed the subject. “Christian isn’t here. He’s at a bachelor party for Prince—”
“Damien,” Francesca said with a small nod. “Yes, I know where my sons are, but I came here to see you.”
Zoe sat down on the couch beside her and pulled a pillow into her lap. “I’m all ears.”
“I wanted to make sure Christian is happy and that the woman he picked to marry wasn’t, well, like me.”
“There’s no comparison between the two of us,” Zoe said, concentrating on the thread work on the decorative pillow.
Startled by the cool hand placed over hers, Zoe looked up at her mother-in-law.
“Christian’s always had a mind of his own and when he wants something, there’s no turning back. He’s was that way as a child. So determined, yet so caring.” Francesca’s face softened. “Did you know he used to compose a song for me every Mother’s Day?”
How could this woman have given up her children? “No, I didn’t. He doesn’t talk about that or you.”
A small laugh escaped Francesca. “I don’t imagine he does. You have to understand. I’m not allowed to have contact with him or Sebastian.”
“How is that possible?” Zoe asked. “You’re their mother and still married to their dad.”
“Technically, we’re separated, but if I don’t want the money to stop, then I can’t have any contact. However, Vladimir said nothing about seeing you.” Francesca looked very pleased at the notion of having outwitted her husband.
Anger rose inside of her chest, hot and fast. Was there no one in his family that loved him unconditionally? “You choose money over your children?”
“Unlike you, darling, I have no career skills. Oh, I can paint a lovely watercolor and even sing, but other than that I’m purely ornamental.” Francesca drew her hand back. “It was what I went to finishing school for. To be a rich man’s wife.”
“Are you serious? This is the twenty-first century. Women don’t do that anymore.”
“Really? What do you suppose Princess Catherine learned to do all that time Prince William was courting her? Or when they were planning the wedding of the century? Expanding her horizons? Buckling down on a career path?”
“They both went to St. Andrews and graduated together,” Zoe pointed out.
Francesca rose to her feet in one graceful moment. “Please tell Christian that I love and wish him the best.” She glided to the front door, pausing. “Take better care of him than I did. Perhaps when children come you’ll send me photos? I’ve left my card on the mantle, between the coyote and the wood sprite.”
“I’ll invite you to every birthday party and holiday,” Zoe said with a graciousness she didn’t remotely feel. The faster this woman left her house, the better.
“And I’ll politely decline, darling.” Another pause. “But do send them anyway.” Francesca sailed out of Zoe’s house and into the white Mercedes parked in the driveway.
Feeling very thankful for the parents she had, Zoe picked up the phone and called them.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Last night as Zoe talked to Christian, she’d been relieved when he hadn’t mentioned her run-in with the paparazzi. He’d sounded tired and their phone call hadn’t last that long at all. She was so ready for him to come home. According to the Holland sisters he would be here today, but he would have told her if he’d planned on cutting his trip short.
With a sigh, she began typing her next chapter.
Someone pounded on her door.
“Just a minute,” she yelled.
The pounding grew louder and longer.
Clicking on save, she rose from her desk with a huff. “Hold your horses.” Jogging to her little foyer, she opened the door and frowned. “What do you want?”
“If that wasn’t the dumbest thing I’d ever seen on T.V., I don’t know what is,” Luke said to Zoe.
“Maybe you need to watch your own show, Dr. LA. You’re in Miami.”
“Are you gonna let me in or what?” he asked. Actually, it sounded more like a demand to her.
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, giving him her best don’t-mess-with-your-big-sister look. “Depends on how civil you can be.”
His dark brown eyes narrowed, then his face softened and he turned back into the brother she loved. “Sorry, Zoe. I want you to be happy, but I can’t stand him. He humiliated you in front of millions.”
“No, that skanky asshat of a reporter did that. You heard what was later reported. Those pictures were of Sebastian, his identical twin. You of all people should be able to understand how twins can be mistaken for the other.”
He glanced away, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know it. And I know that what looks like a duck, walks like a duck and does drugs is your sham of a husband’s brother trying to cover for him.”
Even though she knew the truth about the pictures, she wasn’t about to share it with Luke. And she didn’t know what had persuaded Sebastian to take the fall for her “sham” of a husband. But she was tired of their families making the man she loved into something he wasn’t.