A Family for Good : A sweet, small town, second chance romance (Tall Dark and Driven Book 6)

by Barbara Deleo

  A Family for Good

  Tall, Dark and Driven Book 6

  Barbara DeLeo

  Contents

  Fancy A Free Novella?

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Review Request

  Fancy A Free Novella?

  The Breaking Through Series

  Bad Reputations

  The Breaking Through Series

  Apply to Join Barbara’s Review team!

  About Barbara

  Also by Barbara DeLeo

  Acknowledgements

  Fancy A Free Novella?

  Waiting on Forever—Alex’s story—is the prequel to the Tall, Dark and Driven series and is available exclusively and free for subscribers to Barbara's reader list.

  You can claim your free novella at the end of this book!

  1

  Nicosia, Cyprus

  Five minutes.

  If she could make it through the next five minutes without shattering into tiny pieces and skidding across this shiny marble floor, Liv Bailey could face another day.

  She could do five minutes. She’d done it to have blood drawn, or a tooth extracted . . .

  In the next five minutes, she’d confront the man she’d once loved. She’d sit down with Markus Panos, discuss the future of the precious newborn twins in his care, and tell him she intended to take them away with her.

  Then she’d leave him behind, as fast as she possibly could.

  She’d done that before—left, that is—and though two years ago she’d done it to keep her sanity and life intact, the remembered pain of having to leave her heart behind back then stabbed like needles behind her travel weary eyes.

  But things were different now.

  Now, the past came second to babies she knew she’d love as her own.

  She was desperate to see them.

  They had to make this work. She and Markus owed it to her best friend, Polly, and to the baby girls left motherless when Polly had died so unexpectedly.

  Markus could never be anything other than an Indiana Jones in a two-thousand-dollar suit, while she valued the quiet life . . . no risks, no injuries, no heartache.

  Polly wouldn’t rest in peace if she knew her best friend had left her babies with someone who lived life on the edge. She and Polly had known each other since meeting in a foster home at age nine. They’d been like sisters and had promised they’d be godmother to each other’s first child.

  “He shouldn’t be much longer,” the woman behind the desk said with a heavy Greek accent, and Liv nodded, absently looking around the walls while her stomach churned.

  What was this place? With everything written in Greek, she couldn’t guess what kind of business he was in. She’d expected the taxi from the airport to take her to an inner-city law firm, not a huge building on the outskirts of Nicosia, the island’s largest city.

  She could be in any reception area anywhere in the world, except the fittings in this one—the marble floor, the chestnut leather couches—indicated that whatever happened in this company, it was very successful.

  “You have a hotel?”

  Heat arced through her as she swept her gaze around. And just like that, Markus was there making polite conversation, and the last two years tumbled back in on themselves as she looked into the depths of his rich brown eyes.

  She swallowed and stood on liquid legs, willing away the burn of longing she’d known would flame as soon as she saw him. Her heart bruised her chest wall as it hammered ever faster.

  Not a muscle on his perfectly tanned face moved; not a blink, not a twitch, not even a hint of emotion or remembrance crossed his sculpted jaw. He stood like one of the ancient statues housed in the museums only a few miles from here—taut and male and with a history she knew as well as her own.

  She smoothed down her skirt and, to cover any tremble in her voice, employed her best business tone. “Markus. You are here.” Not quite the practiced and confident words of reunion she’d dreamed of.

  Five minutes.

  “I didn’t expect you ’til tomorrow,” he said as he flicked through papers on the reception desk. “I’m sorry, but as I’m unavailable for the rest of the afternoon, my PA will arrange a more appropriate time for a meeting.”

  Clutching her folder tighter, she tried to right the tilt everything had suddenly acquired. “We need to talk about Phoebe and Zoë now,” she said and threw a quick glance at the receptionist, who’d drawn in a noisy breath. “We need to make plans. I’m grateful for what you’ve done, but Polly would’ve wanted me to be guardian of the girls. I need to take them back to Brentwood Bay with me. I need to take them home.”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  There. She’d said it in one big rush. It was out in the open, and she held her breath waiting for his response.

  Something crossed his face—a softening at the name of her best friend—and Liv could see the composed businessman replaced by the protective partner who’d once melted her heart time and again.

  “There won’t be any fighting.”

  His words coiled tight around her, emphasizing the strength and defense in his voice.

  She’d heard that tone two years ago. When she’d had to save herself before she fell apart . . .

  Markus Panos had taken too many risks. The same sort of risks that cost Liv’s biological parents their lives. If you loved someone, if they depended on you, you safeguarded your life. It was as simple as that.

  “I see you’ve come prepared.” He looked down at the folder of custody and emigration papers she clutched in her hand.

  “We have an appointment with Child and Family Services tomorrow to discuss custody and the girls’ long-term care. Can you make it?”

  “Of course.”

  Did he honestly feel no connection to her? Did he not remember what they’d shared? Or had he been too affected by what she’d had to do in the past?

  He spoke in Greek to the receptionist, who pursed her magenta lips before stalking past them to an inner office.

  Liv sighed and shook her head. “I can’t imagine how hard this must’ve been on you.”

  “I’ve done what was necessary. What Polly asked me to do in her final hours.”

  “I’m sure it’s been a struggle.” Her voice quavered at the thought of everything that had happened in the last few weeks, but she forced herself to say it all. “Polly dying, the funeral, wondering how to take care of the girls . . . I don’t know how you’ve managed to cope, but I’m ready to take over.”

  He slowly lifted his gaze to hers, and for the first time, she noticed the pinched skin around his tired eyes.

  “You know it’s the best thing for everyone, don’t you? Phoebe and Zoë . . .” Her throat ached over the words. “They need a mother.”

  “What they need is security. Consistency.”

  Liv bit her lip. She was so thankful he’d rescued the girls when Polly had no one else to turn to. Liv had done everything she could to track Polly down after she’d stopped replying to Liv’s texts, but she’d drawn a blank until Markus had called her with the devastating news.

  She spoke more softly. “You shouldn’t be ex
pected to look after newborn twins.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed twice.

  “Where are Phoebe and Zoë now?”

  His strong, chiseled face darkened and his thick-lashed brown eyes flashed. “They’re safe and well.”

  “But are they your babies? I’m assuming they aren’t, since you didn’t stop me coming here.”

  A shudder dropped through her center. The question had slipped out before she could catch it. They hadn’t discussed the matter of paternity on the phone. She’d assumed, when he hadn’t told her to mind her own business and stay away, that he wasn’t their father.

  “The babies are my responsibility.”

  It wasn’t a real answer, but she had to go on believing he wasn’t their dad. If she didn’t push doubts and questions away now, she wouldn’t have the strength to see this through.

  He leaned a little closer as if to make a connection, but then his lips tightened and the air between them sparked. He dropped his head and looked away.

  “You’ve come from Geneva?” He spoke quietly, ignoring the paternity question hanging in the air.

  “Yes, I’ve been living there, but I’ll be returning to Brentwood Bay now, of course.”

  Brentwood Bay, the place where they’d met and fallen in love so many years ago.

  “I trust you’ve found a hotel for the next few days?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said with ridiculous formality. She placed her bag on the countertop to stress the fact she’d be staying here until she got what she’d come to secure. “But I imagine I’ll be here longer than a few days. Custody and emigration could take a while.”

  He stayed silent, the angle of his head indicating he was sizing up her response and not necessarily agreeing with it.

  She tried a smile. “The hotel’s in the middle of Nicosia, by a lovely old stone wall.”

  He nodded. “You have everything you need?”

  “For now.”

  He was standing an inch too close . . . and he was too intensely masculine, too rigidly beautiful. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man, and everything she could never have.

  Loving Markus Panos had almost destroyed her once. Never again.

  Frustrated, she turned away from the power of his stare and noticed something strange, something she’d sensed while she sat waiting. She lifted her chin and inhaled.

  Lemon.

  The whole place smelled of lemon. Not the antiseptic aroma of a citrus floor cleaner or the sickly synthetic scent of artificial air freshener. This smelled like real lemon, the sharp tang of a pitcher of homemade lemonade, or the bite of a cool lemon mousse. Very strange for an office environment—but beautiful.

  Returning to meet his proud stare—the one that used to make her feel special, cherished—she cleared her throat and balled her free hand into a private fist, fighting the overwhelming desire to get mad at this intensely uncomfortable situation. She wanted something—two things—very badly, and he was the only one who could give them to her.

  “Do you live close?”

  Be polite, stay calm.

  His words were flat. “There’s no need to talk about me.” With a self-controlled click, he locked the door she’d closed on him two years ago.

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling and counted to three. “Markus, I know you said you were the only person Polly knew in Cyprus, but she would’ve wanted me to have custody of the girls if anything happened to her. She had no relatives, and we were best friends. We shared all the highs and lows in our lives, and we trusted each other. So, either we talk now, or it’ll have to be done through lawyers.”

  He blinked slowly, the way she remembered, and her heart skipped a beat as he leaned closer again. And then another short sentence. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

  He turned then and walked down a marbled corridor, and Liv scolded herself for not handling this better. She wished she could just talk to him, without feeling she had to prove why she should have custody of the girls.

  Striding to keep up with him, she stole quick glances at the huge Grecian artworks on the walls in the sharp light shining down from the atrium ceiling.

  When they reached the lift, he swiped a card and stood still, staring straight ahead. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow her hungry eyes a glance as she stood rigid, but she could sense him, smell him—a fragrance of newly hewn wood and cinnamon. The scent of Markus.

  He was everything she remembered—mysterious, but with a zest for life that seemed to radiate from every part of him.

  A jolt of unbidden awareness ran through her.

  She concentrated on the lift too, her heart hollow. He’d always been so animated, dynamic . . . not silent and angry. He’d been a lot like Polly really.

  Polly . . .

  Tears threatened again, but she shoved them away. Now was the time to be strong.

  His office was on the top floor, and Markus held the door open as she walked in.

  The panorama beyond almost took her breath away. Stretching out to the stark hills in the distance, it took in high rise buildings and ancient churches in terracotta and beige—the colors of the desert—as well as the boulevards dotted with palm trees, and everything shimmered as the Middle Eastern sun tracked to its high point in the sky.

  The smell of lemon was gone, but it was replaced by the rich, buttery scent of nuts. Hazelnuts. Her brow creased as she looked around for the source, but nothing was obvious.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Markus indicated a chair before his desk, and Liv sat, although he stayed standing.

  “And yours. The last time we spoke was just after your brother died . . . and now we’ve lost Polly.”

  The only time they’d spoken after their breakup was when she’d heard from friends back home that Andoni, Markus’s brother, had died. She’d phoned him when he was back in Brentwood Bay for the funeral, and she could tell his heart was breaking all over again. He’d said his focus was on supporting Andoni’s twin Alex and his parents, and he’d thanked her for her call.

  He rolled his lips together. “Yes, it’s been difficult.”

  So formal. Her heart dropped. No one witnessing this would believe they’d been lovers two years ago.

  As she settled into the cushioning comfort of the leather seat, her heartbeat kicked up a gear. The strain of seeing him again was replaced by a desperate need to make a connection with him now. Time for honesty.

  “What happened between you and Polly, Markus?” The words rushed out with less subtlety than she’d hoped, and heat lit her cheeks.

  His throat moved in an awkward swallow, and he looked down briefly before tilting his head and fixing his gaze on her. “Polly was living in Italy and in trouble. I believe she told you that. She’d been running from some things in her past and contacted me to help. I arranged for her to fly to Cyprus and shortly after the girls’ birth she became very ill. I don’t think either of us . . .” He stopped, and Liv watched his Adam’s apple move up and down in tight jumps.

  The honest nature of his words, his real emotion and his attempt to explain were not what she’d expected, and her chest pulled tight. She so wanted to believe he wasn’t their father . . . that he and Polly hadn’t . . .

  He clearly didn’t want to say more, and what right did she have now to ask him something so intimate? But she had to know. If he was Phoebe and Zoë’s father, then no matter how strongly she felt about him having custody, she had no legal rights here.

  “I have to know. It changes—”

  “Of course you do, and you will. But not right now. After we’ve met with Child and Family Services, I’ll explain everything. But not before.”

  He’d cut across her words with such pace and passion that her mouth remained open as he hurried on. “Phoebe and Zoë are fine. They’re being taken care of as they should be.”

  Although she wanted to press him further, she was pulled up by the way his voice and face softened when he talked about the girls; her heart sped at the way
their names fell effortlessly from his mouth. “Who by?” she asked instead.

  “They’re with a nanny while I’m at work, until I can arrange something more satisfactory.”

  Uncomfortable at being on this side of the desk—at a decided disadvantage—Liv pulled herself higher in her chair. “When Polly found out she was pregnant, she asked me to be godmother as we’d always agreed. So, unless . . .” Unless he was the girls’ father.

  Wordlessly, he did the slow blink thing again and crossed muscular arms across his taut chest. Her heart thundered and her mouth dried at the thought that he was closed to her.

  She pushed on. “She couldn’t possibly have imagined things would turn out like this . . .”

  “She told you she had escalated blood pressure? That they were worried about her even before the birth?”

  A curl of nausea crept its way from her stomach to her throat. No words would come.

  “She told you her life was in danger?”

  Her throat tightened and the smell of nuts became stronger, sickening. All Liv knew was that Polly was pregnant and in Italy with a boyfriend who had a terrible temper. Liv had urged Polly to get away from the guy, suggested she should talk to a lawyer, and then Polly had stopped replying to her texts. Sick with worry, Liv had called all the people they knew in common, rung welfare agencies and the American consulate in Italy, but hadn’t found a trace of her. What if she’d tried harder, gotten on a plane sooner and kept hunting until she’d found her beautiful friend? How might things have been different?

  “Could I have a glass of water?” She finally managed to force the words out.

  He pushed a button at his desk and spoke quickly to someone, the metallic cut of his foreign words making her feel no better. She’d heard his Mom and Dad speak Greek back in Brentwood Bay but never Markus. They’d been lovers. So deeply committed to each other. She’d believed they’d always be together. The reality that he was a stranger now dug painfully deep.