“A couple times, yeah.”
“And?”
“Didn’t work out,” he said almost brusquely.
“Because of the publicity, or …” Lia stopped and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m being nosy.”
Blake shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. Truth is … I don’t know if that’s why they didn’t work out. That’s the thing about relationships when you’re in public eye. When things get difficult there’s a niggling little voice in your head that wonders whether the other person is on the real, or whether they’re just hitching a ride to someplace they think is better than where they were at when they met you. And then when it’s over, you still wonder … was it real? And worse than that. Did you mess things up just because you were scared it wasn’t?”
“That must be hard.”
He shrugged again.
Blake was staring straight ahead as he walked, and when Lia looked up at him, she was struck by his profile. From that angle, she could see the strong and distinctive markers of Native American blood in his features—in the strong straight nose with the tiniest of bumps on the narrow ridge, and in the squareness of his jaw. If his pitch-black hair was longer, and smoothed back into a long braid at his nape, Blake Morgan could just as easily be the one of the sepia-toned images Lia recalled seeing in textbooks, and on the internet, of Native warriors, their features noble, proud, and inscrutable.
“I’d love to sketch you,” she said impulsively.
Blake looked at her, a bemused smile on his face. “Sure,” he said unexpectedly.
“Really?”
“Why not? I’ve never been sketched before.”
“Then I’d be honored to be your first.”
At that he grinned mischievously and lifted a single dark, silky eyebrow. “Lia,” he said. “My first was a long, long time ago. But as far as sketching goes, let’s do it on the island.”
“I’m starting to wonder whether there’s anyone out there who can get you to be serious for more than ten minutes.” Lia smiled back at him, shaking her head.
“My father,” Blake said without hesitation, the grin immediately slipping from his lips. “He can get a person to be serious, quick and in a hurry.”
Edward Morgan, whom Lia had yet to meet, was growing by leaps and bounds, so that now he was a man of almost mythical proportions. Blake and Nicki’s father (and Kevin’s too?) had loomed over just about every conversation since Lia had been in their company. This should have made her at least somewhat nervous about meeting him, but it was quite the opposite. Instead, she was intrigued.
Kevin yawned hugely before biting into his croissant and slurped his coffee audibly.
Nicki exchanged a look with Lia as though bemoaning his lack of proper table etiquette and they both smiled. Now that she knew the nature of their relationship, Lia detected the sisterly affection in Nicki’s gaze that had escaped her before.
“Ready for a day of shopping, Kev?”
“Huh?” Kevin looked up as though he didn’t recognize the word.
“You promised,” Nicki said in a sing-song voice.
“I don’t think so,” he returned.
“Yes, you did!” Nicki looked at Lia for help. “Didn’t he?”
Lia looked at Kevin and he winked at her. Her stomach flipped, and she felt her face grow warm. Why did that keep happening? She was going to have to figure out a way to make it stop. How was she supposed to pass herself off as Blake’s girlfriend if she kept turning to mush when Kevin was anywhere in the vicinity?
Suddenly, the little spark she felt with Blake during their morning coffee and breakfast run seemed laughable. Kevin looked at her and she wanted to throw up from sheer nerves. This entire thing would have been so much easier if he had turned out to be more of a pompous self-involved jerk, like she imagined anyone associated with the Morgans would be.
“Yeah, I’ll go shopping,” Kevin capitulated. “But y’all get two hours of my time and that’s it. Besides, we need to be at the house by two so this can’t turn into one of your all-day shopping extravaganzas, Nick.”
“Don’t listen to him. I rarely go shopping,” Nicki said, addressing Lia. “That’s why I take a long time. I shop like twice a year.”
“Me too.” But of course, in her case it was because she rarely had enough money to pay her rent on time let alone shop.
“Make a list,” Kevin suggested, reaching for the last chocolate croissant, and getting up from his seat. “That way we can be more time-efficient.”
Nicki made a scoffing sound. “That’s not how women’s shopping works, Kevin,” she said to his retreating back. “It’s not about being time-efficient. We go into a store, we see something that moves us, and that’s what we buy. Occasionally, but only occasionally do we go in with a plan that we actually stick to.”
But once he was gone, having disappeared into the rear of the condo, Nicki lowered her voice and leaned toward the hallway, peeking around the corner to make sure he was out of earshot.
“He’s right,” she whispered. “We’d better make a list. We have to be at the house by two, and my father hates it when anyone’s late.”
The list Nicki began, scribbled in her elegant cursive, was comprised of an astonishing number of items: 5 dresses ‘suitable for evening’, 5 pairs of shorts, 7 blouses, 3 sandals (1 high-heeled), swimwear, sarong (2) …
“That’s too much,” Lia murmured. For some reason the excess embarrassed her.
Blake, wandering by, now fully dressed and ready to go, peered over at the notepad on the coffee table in front of Nicki.
“Nope. Not even close,” he snorted. “You haven’t met my cousins. Those chicks …” His voice trailed off.
“Kim and Tanya,” Nicki said. “They’re kind of … intense with the fashion and stuff. They dress like they’re on a runway pretty much all the time.”
Lia felt her stomach tighten. Thus far, the Morgans hadn’t made her feel anything but welcome, as though she was one of them. There was nothing in their behavior—until now—that made her feel like they were anything other than ‘regular people’. But this list, this staggeringly long list, so casually made, intended to dress up one of the hired help to try to pass her off as part of their group, felt demeaning.
Nicki was probably right when she said that it wouldn’t have been a good idea to leave it up to chance that whomever they hired would know what was appropriate for their set. Lia thought about the well-worn and tattered denim shorts that she’d brought along, and the mismatched bikini. They were good enough for her if she was spending a week at the beach, but there was every likelihood they wouldn’t be good enough for the Morgans.
“It’s too much,” Lia said again, shaking her head. “I don’t think …”
“It’s not like it’s a gift,” Blake said. “Think of it as … your uniform. Or part of your compensation.”
If that was meant to make things better, it hadn’t. It made things worse. Lia could almost feel herself shrink into the sofa. With those words, so flippantly tossed out, Blake had reminded her for the second time in as many minutes that she wasn’t a new friend of the family, being invited along for a rollicking week of family-friendly fun—she was the ‘model’ they had hired to play a part. She was Blake’s paid companion. Nothing more.
“You ladies ready?”
Kevin had emerged from the back again, freshly-showered and handsome in a white polo and khaki shorts. His legs were solid and powerful, covered in a light dusting of hair that looked silky to the touch. But even taking all that in, and acknowledging almost dully the effect on her didn’t give Lia any pleasure.
So what if she found him attractive? He could never think anything similar about her—she was some chick who people hired to look cute and pretend to be something she wasn’t; and that was all.
When and if he went looking for a female companion—the genuine kind—a man like Blake Morgan, and a man like Kevin Taylor would never, in a million years, be interested in a woman like her.
Cocoplum, Miami, FL Monday 3:12 p.m.
“Is this it? Where your family lives?”
There was a slight tremor in her voice when she spoke and Kevin glanced toward the rear passenger seat where Lia sat next to Nicki. Her hands were in her lap and she was fidgeting with a garnet ring on her right index finger, while staring up ahead at the expanse of the Morgan family home.
It was one of a handful of truly stunning residences in Cocoplum, a private, guard-gated neighborhood where immense homes sat directly on the water, with enviable views of Biscayne Bay and boat docks that provided direct access to the cerulean waters. And if briny saltwater wasn’t your thing, most homes boasted enormous showpiece pools as well, adorned with Italian marble, or the highest quality travertine.
The Morgan home was a Mediterranean-style mansion on three acres with lush tropical foliage, seven bedroom suites, and a separate 1500-square foot structure, discreetly tucked to the rear of the property that served as the “servants’ quarters”. A narrow and winding driveway, a half-mile long was lined by mature palm trees and led to main house which seemed to spring out of nowhere, imposing and majestic.
Kevin used to avoid bringing girls home, because of precisely the reaction Lia was having right now. Her eyes had grown slightly wider, her mouth hung open just the tiniest bit, and after her initial question, she seemed to have been robbed of the power of speech. About now was when most women—previously down-to-earth and unselfconscious—would change, becoming very proper, and exceedingly polite. The reality of the Morgan family’s circumstances sometimes dwarfed the expectations, particularly when it came to this house.
But the truth, which seemed to be contradicted by the sheer size of the family home, was that the Morgans were very conservative when it came to their wealth. The house was one of a few exceptions. Edward Morgan had a dream. And that dream was that his kids would one day fill this house with his grandchildren; and that there would be three or more generations of Morgans gathered under one roof, celebrating milestones, and sharing memories. To make that dream a reality, he needed the space. All that was left was for Blake, Kevin, and Nicki to supply the kids.
So far, they were all falling down on that job.
“This is like pulling up to Downton Abbey,” Lia said from the backseat, finally able to speak once again apparently.
Kevin smiled, liking that she didn’t hesitate to voice her awe. It was always better when the response was authentic.
“But much more beautiful,” she continued. She was leaning between the two front seats now, trying to get a better look as they drew closer to the house.
Neither Blake nor Nicki spoke, and Kevin knew it was because they were getting their game-faces on, preparing to submit themselves to their father’s exacting scrutiny. Kevin had never been as intimidated as they were by Edward Morgan. Maybe it was because the old man wasn’t his biological father, and his emotional investment in his approval wasn’t as profound. Though he had been part of the Morgan household since he was three years old, Kevin had always maintained an awareness of being something other than a Morgan, of having a different legacy out there somewhere, should he choose to seek it out.
But he had never chosen to seek it out because despite the lack of a connection by blood, he loved Edward Morgan with something akin to—though not identical to—the affection a son has for a father. The old man’s expectations carried weight, his disappointment stung, and Kevin felt more inclined than not to follow his edicts. But Edward Morgan wasn’t his father, and so it was a different for him than it was for Blake and Nicki.
They never talked about it, but they all knew that it was that tiny bit of distance that made it far easier for Kevin to come home.
“So, how are you introducing me?” Lia asked, this time addressing Blake. “Like, what did you tell them I do?”
Blake shot a slightly panicked look at Kevin, and then at Lia.
“Shit. We never talked about that, did we?”
“We were too distracted trying to make sure she knew stuff about you,” Nicki said.
“Shit, shit, shit …”
“Calm down, man,” Kevin said. “The best thing to do is have Lia tell them herself. And tell them the truth. Easier to remember later.”
“Tell them she’s a model who pretends to be someone’s girlfriend for a fee?”
“Blake!” Nicki said.
“No offense, Lia,” Blake glanced at her. “But that just ain’t gon’ fly.”
“She’s an artist,” Kevin supplied, feeling a surge of embarrassment for Blake’s lack of tact. “That’s what she’ll tell them. Because it’s true.”
“If it’s easier, I’ll fill in the blanks if they ask stuff about me.” Lia shrugged.
She looked and sounded much more relaxed now that they were parked in front of the house. She was a woman who could be counted on to rise to the occasion when the situation called for it.
“But if you have to ad lib anything? Like if I’m not around? Just make sure you fill me in later so we can keep our stories straight.”
Blake nodded and shut off the engine. His jawline had grown a little tense.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go do this.”
The first of the outfits Nicki and Kevin had chosen for Lia was a simple white linen pant and a blue-and-white striped sailor top with flat nude sandals. They had stopped at the condo after the morning’s shopping spree so they could all shower and change for the meal at the family home. Lia, standing across the patio, a glass of wine in her hand and her sunglasses atop her head, fit right in. Next to her, Blake stood, his hand low on her back, gently possessive.
Kevin took a gulp of his beer and tried not to twist his lips in cynical amusement at how great an actor his brother was proving to be.
“They look like a couple, don’t they?”
He jumped at the sound of Nicki’s voice and shot her a hard look. “Quit sneaking up on people!”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” she said, standing on her tiptoes and resting her chin on his shoulder. “I’m just a naturally quiet walker.”
Kevin shook his head. “Okay.”
“And you were staring so damn hard, I doubt you would’ve noticed if I came stomping over in wooden clogs.”
Kevin said nothing, pointedly shifting his attention away from Blake and Lia and toward his mother who was fussing with the sliver-thin slices of smoked salmon on the buffet table, rearranging them with a pair of silver tongs. Ever the hostess, even though she had more than enough household help and the occasional catering staff to sort that kind of thing out.
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Who?” He glanced at his sister again.
Now she was brushing an imaginary bit of lint from the shoulder she had been leaning on.
“Lia. You like her.”
“What makes you think that?” Better to figure out what his ‘tell’ was, and nip that shit in the bud.
“You get real quiet around her. You don’t talk as much as you normally do.”
Kevin considered.
It was true. Lia made him curious. He wanted to ask her questions—about the boyfriend she called a detour, or a distraction or whatever; about when she moved out west; about what she did while she was living in the house with the hippies; and about what it was like to be a model that was only about five-four in a sea of tall, Amazonian women in her field. He wanted to talk to her; that was the problem. He wanted to talk to her so he overcompensated by remaining largely silent.
“Technically, there’s no reason you shouldn’t like her,” Nicki offered. “I mean, it’s not like you’d be stealing Blake’s woman or anything.”
“No. And even if it was like that, it’d only make us even since he stole mine.”
“Kevin.” Nicki’s tone was chiding.
“Just sayin’.”
“That was like a million years ago. You need to let it go.”
“I have let it go.”
“W
ell … you have and you haven’t,” Nicki said.
“Mom’s calling us over,” he said, seizing the opportunity for a change of subject.
Even though he was the one who brought it up, he wasn’t eager to rehash the whole episode with Blake and Christina. Rehashing it only aroused long-dormant feelings of resentment toward his brother, who at the end of the day, he loved more than he did most other people.
“Let’s go see what she wants, then,” Nicki said sounding weary.
Their mother had completed her rearrangement of the brunch meats and now was fussing with the hem of her delicate-as-gossamer white linen blouse. And as usual, she looked beautiful, and had a pleasant serene expression on her face, like someone without a care in the world. Her makeup was fresh and clean and barely-there. At sixty-seven, was still the most eye-catching woman Kevin had ever known. Many men claimed their mother was the most beautiful in the world; he was sure that his really was. Her beauty made her complicated romantic history understandable, if not excusable.
“What were you two whispering about over there?” she inquired with softly inquisitive eyes.
“Blake and his new girlfriend,” Nicki answered right away. “About how good they look together.”
Their mother gave a slight smile. “Yes, they’re quite a picture. But an artist? I can’t imagine what she and Blake find in common to talk about.”
“Mom,” Nicki said warningly.
“I would have thought she would be more your type, Kevin,” she said lightly.
“Well it wouldn’t be the first time Blake’s and my interests … overlapped,” he returned smoothly.
“Yes, well …” His mother cleared her throat, and lifted a hand to smooth her already flawless hair. She didn’t want to talk about Christina any more than he did.
Christina. She still had her purposes. Talking about her was a surefire way to shut down any conversation in the Morgan family. Three years after the fact, and there was still a nasty little scar, reminding them all of the wound that had once threatened to tear them apart.
“I’m going to go check on how Clotilde is coming along with the packing,” their mother said. “If we’re ever to get out of here this evening, I hope she’s done.”
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