Manhattan's Most Scandalous Reunion--An Uplifting International Romance

by Dani Collins

  “Dating a politician’s daughter is not the way to stay out of the spotlight,” she remarked pithily when he ended his call.

  “It’s cocktails on the lawn. I don’t make the rules, you know. I simply play them to my advantage.”

  “Sounds like you’re playing her.” She used the voice of experience.

  “She called me to say that if I bought the very overpriced tickets, she would join me to make introductions.” He dropped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. “That’s how the system works, and that’s how I have a chance to swing things into better practices than the ones you hate. I recently succeeded in getting emissions regulations tightened, so you’re welcome. Breathe easier.”

  “Don’t act like that was about the planet. You’re only trying to make the field more even for your hydrogen fuel cells.”

  “Air quality still wins.”

  True. And she wasn’t swiping at him for chasing political influence. She was jealous. That was the ugly bottom line.

  They drove several blocks in silence, the commuter traffic heavy but not awful.

  “Why are you in the spotlight?” he asked in a tone shaded with skepticism. “You never said.”

  “It’s a long and b—” She’d started to say boring, but it was tragic and painful and confusing and life changing. Potentially more so, if she pursued it, but she didn’t think she had a choice. Not if she was being chased through the streets demanding answers she didn’t have.

  She dug into her bag, found her phone and then pulled up the photo of Oriel from Cannes.

  Reve gave her screen the quickest, most cursory glance. His mouth twisted with faint disgust. “So you are seeing him.”

  “Read the caption.”

  He took her phone and stared longer. Frowned. “Oriel Cuvier?” He flicked his gaze to her face and back to the photo. “That’s you.”

  “Nope.” She reached for the phone. “She’s a French model. Runway work, but also underwear and swimsuit ads. She recently landed one of the top brands for sunglasses. When I first came to New York, someone pointed out a photo of her and said we looked alike. I didn’t think much of it. We all look like someone, right?”

  “Your dad was in the air force, wasn’t he?”

  “Funny you should mention that, but don’t malign the fidelity of a man you refused to meet. Especially because if you had, you would know he’s white. What are the chances he would have two daughters with such dark coloring? If you say he must have a type, I will poke you in the eye.”

  He held up a placating hand. “What’s your theory then?”

  She looked at the phone, loathe to go to that other image because it made her seriously question her sanity. Her stomach had been nothing but acid since she’d seen it. She gathered herself and flicked, then handed her phone across, not glancing at the two photos that had been juxtaposed by the press in India. They showed a mother and daughter, both in their midtwenties.

  “That’s why Oriel Cuvier is making headlines right now,” Nina said to the window. “She was adopted by a French couple and raised in France, but she recently learned her birth mother was Lakshmi Dalal, a Bollywood star who died about twenty years ago.”

  Reve scrolled to read the article beneath.

  Nina dug into her bag for the keys to the building so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Was he thinking she was pitiful? Reaching for a connection that was laughably beyond her? Soft in the head?

  He didn’t swear or give any indication of his reaction.

  When she dared glance in his direction, he was watching her.

  “Are you adopted?”

  “No.” Her throat closed, making the word more of a squeak. The pressure in her chest became nearly unbearable. Her eyes grew so hot she had to clench them to prevent the tears from leaking out.

  “So this is a coincidence?” he scoffed. “A quirk of genetics?”

  “Must be.” She snatched back her phone, so abruptly it bordered on rude, and threw it into her bag. “Now all these stupid reporters think I’m her. I’ll have to go back to Albuquerque so they’ll leave me alone except I can’t.” She leaned to rap on the glass and then pushed the button to lower the screen. “Make a right at the light, please. I’m eight blocks up, but let me off wherever you can.”

  “I’m not letting you off here.” Reve glowered as they rolled into a street full of stained awnings over pawnshops and moneylenders. There were homeless people sprawled with their belongings on the sidewalk. A woman in a short skirt paced alongside their slowing car and leaned suggestively, trying to catch Reve’s attention.

  “It’s daylight. I’ll be fine. I’m in the middle of the next block,” she told the driver, pointing at a very dodgy building that had half its windows boarded up.

  Reve swore and curtly ordered the driver, “Let us out here and drive around the block.” He turned back to her and added, “I’ll walk you in.”

  “Why?”

  He ignored her and stepped out of the car after her, taking hold of her elbow as they crossed the street and walked the remaining block. He sent alert glances in both directions and subtly placed himself between her and the man blocking the entrance to the building.

  “Spare change?” the man asked.

  Reve handed him a few dollars, and his grip tightened on Nina’s elbow as they moved into the darkened entranceway at the top of the steps.

  “Why the hell are you staying in a place like this?” The simmering rage was back in his tone.

  “I told you. It was free.” She tried the key, but the building’s front door had been broken in since she’d left this morning. It swung inward as she touched it.

  “You’re smarter than this, Nina.”

  “It’s not that bad,” she lied, secretly relieved that he was following her up the two flights of stairs. She unlocked the door to the studio and they entered what was admittedly a dim, squalid room of peeling paint and hard-used furniture. “See? Perfectly fine.”

  “Why is the window nailed shut?”

  “My friend was robbed a few weeks ago, but it’s safe now, right? No one can get in.”

  “It’s a firetrap,” he said grimly. “Get your things. You’re not staying here.”

  “It’s for a couple of nights. It’s fine.”

  “There’s a full bag of garbage right here.” He pointed. “You know that attracts rats, right?”

  “That’s actually my suitcase. I bagged it to keep the cockroaches out.”

  He gave her the most condescending look in the history of condescending looks.

  “So you’re already packed,” he said with muted fury. “Good.”

  “I’m not staying with you,” she insisted.

  “Well, you’re not staying here, so tell me which hotel you want to go to.”

  “It’s been so nice seeing you again, Reve. I can’t imagine why I told you to go to hell and walked out on you.”

  “Yeah, I’m awash in warm fuzzies myself. Do you have more than this?”

  “I don’t have money for a hotel! And don’t you dare tell me you’ll pay for it. I already owe you thousands, and I feel sick about it every single day. So no, Reve. No.”

  “What are you talking about?” he muttered crisply. “I have never expected—” His phone pinged. “That’s probably my driver telling me he’s losing the hubcaps.” He glanced at his phone and his expression turned to concrete. Accusation flashed into his eyes.

  She fell back a step. “What?”

  “My publicist is texting,” he said through his teeth. “Asking if I want to make a statement about my relationship with Oriel Cuvier, since she was seen coming into my building. There’s speculation we’re involved. So, yes, Nina. You will come home with me. You are going to tell me exactly what is going on, and we’re going to find a way to keep my name out of it.”

  CHAP
TER THREE

  REVE DIDN’T BOTHER unknotting the garbage bag. He tore it open and left it on the floor, plucking her cheap red suitcase out of it.

  “Get whatever houseplant you’re supposed to keep alive and let’s go.” He was breathing through his mouth so the musty smell of this place wouldn’t drag him into all of his worst memories.

  Nina clenched her fists and tightened her mouth with stubbornness.

  “I’m serious, Nina. I was used for publicity once before. Once. Never again. So you’re coming with me and we’re going to put a lid on this.”

  “Oh—” She whirled into the bathroom and came out with a yellow toiletry bag in one hand, a damp bra and underwear in her other. She shoved everything into her shoulder bag, picked up the romance novel off the coffee table and pulled a charger from the wall. She pulled a pink denim jacket off a hook and shrugged it on over her dress.

  Minutes later they were back in the town car. Reve texted his publicist that he would be in touch with a statement shortly.

  Then he texted his “date,” telling her he wouldn’t make it. Nina was right: a politician’s daughter was under way too much scrutiny for his tastes. He hadn’t planned to take things beyond drinks, but he texted that he would have his people call her people, not so subtly relaying a message that he had no interest in a more intimate connection.

  “Why involve me?” He clicked off his phone. “If you want to capitalize on this look-alike thing, that’s your business. There was no reason to bring me into it.”

  She was slouched in her seat, hugging herself, face forward, chin set at a belligerent angle. “I told you what happened. If you don’t want to believe me, that’s your choice.”

  “You running back into my life the day reporters start harassing you is just a huge coincidence? That’s what you want me to believe?” Did she think he was born yesterday?

  Her hand was crushing her denim sleeve. She made a noise of annoyed defeat.

  “Okay, I walked by your building on purpose. I wasn’t planning to come in. I didn’t even know whether you were home.”

  “Then why come by at all?”

  “It’s called closure, Reve. I was supposed to get the job I wanted. I was going to mentally flip you the bird and fly to London to get on with my life.”

  “How’d that go?” he asked facetiously, aware of a gritty sensation in his middle as he imagined that plan playing out. He wouldn’t have known she was right outside his door. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. “I didn’t realize you were holding such a grudge. Is that what all of this is? Retribution for the way things ended between us?”

  “What? No. Oh, my God.” She sat up and glared at him. “I am sorry that your old girlfriend made a sex tape of you without your permission and posted it online. I didn’t do that to you.” She flopped back into her seat. “I would love it if you would stop blaming me for it.”

  “I don’t,” he growled, stung that she would even bring it up. The humility of it never went away, no matter how well his lawyer’s takedown notices worked at keeping it from being shared. The exposure without consent was bad enough. The you have nothing to be ashamed of snickers turned the knife, but the worst was his own stupidity.

  Reve closed his fist on his knee, hating that video for existing and hating himself even more for being gullible enough to think himself in love when it had been made.

  “You don’t trust me, Reve. You never have.”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” he shot back. “You’re not special.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of that,” she said with a laugh that was a jagged scrape of sound. “She broke you. You’re afraid to reveal a single thing about yourself that might be used against you. Here’s news, though. We all get hurt. You’re not special, either.”

  He drew in a breath that burned his nostrils.

  This was something he couldn’t stand about Nina. She had this way of turning things around on him, forcing him to self-examine. He hated it. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t a psychopath. He was a law-abiding citizen who was considerate enough to let an old flame take refuge in his home. He’d walked her into that dive of an apartment and refused to let her stay there, hadn’t he? He was capable of basic human compassion.

  He wasn’t broken.

  “I take calculated risks, not stupid ones.” That made him smart. His entire fortune was built on careful gambles. He made exactly as many bets as he expected would pay out. “So tell me what your game is and I’ll decide if I’m willing to play.”

  “I’m not even good at games,” Nina said with exasperation. “You’re giving me way too much credit if you think I could put together some elaborate scheme against you. I can’t win a hand of Go Fish against my niece. It’s a family joke how obtuse I am. All of this is because of how slow I am to see the obvious.” She turned her face to the window.

  Her hand came up to her cheek, and he thought she might be wiping under her eye.

  His heart twisted in his chest.

  The car darkened as they came into the underground lot beneath his building. It stopped by the elevator and the driver came around to open Nina’s door, then moved to the trunk to get her suitcase. Nina sat there unmoving, even when Reve came around to look at her through the open door.

  “Are you going to be stubborn about this?”

  “No. But I’m only coming up because I’m too exhausted to figure something else out. I haven’t slept since I got here Sunday.”

  “Why not?”

  “You saw the place. I was petrified.”

  He swore and held out a hand, helping her from the car.

  She swayed slightly and he realized exactly how strung out she was. He wanted to draw her into himself, support her. Hell, he wanted to hold her.

  Since when was he Mr. Affection? Since never. Touching during sex was great, but that’s where cuddling and fondling belonged.

  He made sure she was steady, then turned to punch in his code. The driver set her case inside the elevator and asked if there would be anything else.

  “We’ll have dinner from Antonio’s,” he decided.

  “I’ll cook,” Nina said in a dull voice.

  “You just told me you’re tired.”

  “Would you please let me earn my keep this much at least?” Her tone shot up to a strident pitch.

  “Fine,” he muttered, and dismissed his driver.

  They rode upward in thick silence.

  He hadn’t realized how often she had cooked until she was gone and he’d been stuck eating takeout again. Nina was damned good at throwing a meal together and had seemed to like doing it, but he’d always thought it was her way of playing house, pushing him toward domesticity and reliance on her. He wondered now if it had been her way of contributing.

  I owe you thousands and feel sick about it every day...

  A teetering sensation rocked behind his sternum. “You know I don’t expect you to pay me back for—”

  “Don’t start that fight, Reve.” The doors opened into his foyer and she shoved her suitcase out of the elevator. “I’ll burn your dinner, and maybe the entire building to the ground.”

  * * *

  Nina banged through the cupboards, taking a quick inventory and deciding she could manage some rice and peas and empanadillas.

  She was tired, but there was something very soothing in making one of Abuela’s standby dishes. It grounded her when she was otherwise completely adrift.

  Reve appeared when she was wrist deep in dough. He had changed from his suit into tailored Bermuda shorts and a polo shirt. He looked casual, but tension radiated off him.

  He had brought a bottle of red wine, which he opened, pouring two glasses and setting one within her reach.

  “Thanks.” She set the dough in the refrigerator and washed her hands before she sipped. It hadn’t even breathed properly yet, but a sm
all explosion of currants and black cherry and pepper hit her taste buds.

  She had missed drinking wine that cost more than a pair of shoelaces. She had missed a lot of things, especially this little ritual of theirs.

  Reve lowered onto one of the stools at the island the way he often had when she’d cooked. Invariably, they would have already made love and were mellow and pleased to get a little loose over a bottle of wine, bantering and squabbling over the nonsense of everyday life.

  Tonight, there was a cloud of animosity rolling off him. A sense that whatever she said would be weighed and measured and examined for signs of deception.

  She moved to start the rice, saying, “I was born in Luxembourg. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “That’s a long way from Albuquerque.” He screened his thoughts with his spiky lashes. “Close to Germany. Isn’t there an airbase there?”

  It was almost laughable how much quicker he was than she could ever hope to be.

  She nodded. “Dad was stationed there and my m-mother—” This was the part that was really, really hard.

  “Nina.” He set down his glass, speaking in the quietest, most careful tone she’d ever heard him use. “If this is going places you don’t want to go, you don’t have to tell me.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She didn’t want to imagine what he thought she was saying. “You’re actually the only person I can tell. Maybe the best person, because you have no emotional investment. You’re so cynical and blunt, you’ll recommend a psych evaluation, which is probably what I need.”

  She turned away to get everything simmering on the gas flames and turned back to see him staring holes into her back.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He blinked and whatever impression she’d had was gone. “Continue.”

  “This is how the story was always told to me.” She began to chop peppers. “Our mother was feeling cooped up in the tiny flat they had near the base. She wanted to take my brother and sister to a cuckoo clock factory for a day trip, but they got lost. She accidentally crossed into Luxembourg and stopped at a café to ask for directions. She collapsed with an aneurysm.”