by Nadia Lee
Salazar’s coffee cup paused mid-air as a cold panic clutched his chest. “That’s right,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “What about it?”
“Nothing special, sir. I was merely wondering if you’d been made aware.”
Salazar snorted. “Of course I knew about it.”
“Very good, sir.” Al made a slight bow and retreated to stand beside the door.
Salazar sat for some moments, staring at nothing. Provence. What the hell had been the point of the big house-warming party then? Or even the divorce, if all she wanted was to move to another country?
France isn’t that far. Not even eleven hours.
He stabbed the omelet, then stared at the quivering mass of egg on his fork. He’d never expected Ceinlys to move to another continent. And that bothered him almost as much as her decision to divorce him.
Chapter Two
Sophia walked into Salazar’s breakfast room as Al, looking like something out of a Regency drama in his three-piece suit, nodded courteously. The room hadn’t changed at all—the same expensive furniture and the scent of fresh flowers, the four walls. She almost couldn’t believe she’d been here just some months ago as a poor, distant relative desperate for his help.
Salazar was sipping coffee, although his omelet was barely touched. He had to be at least in his sixties, but the man always looked so much younger, his smile dashing and just a little bit mischievous. He had the dark hair and classic patrician profile common among the men in his family. A hint of silver glinted at his temples, and only a few lines marred the otherwise flawless skin on his face. The crisp white shirt and smooth slacks spoke of wealth and good taste. But then the Pryces were old money.
But not even the custom-tailored clothes could hide his weight loss. His cheeks were sharper now, his gaze more piercing, almost fevered. He also hadn’t been seen in public in almost a month, which wasn’t like him from what she’d heard. Sophia had read that when a man got divorced he went through a transformation—getting in shape, buying a new car. Given Salazar’s rather colorful reputation as a ladies’ man, she’d figured he’d dive back into the dating pool. She actually would’ve been relieved.
Since Dane had zero interest in checking up on his father, it fell to her to do it. And when better than today, when Dane had a meeting so early that he’d left at the crack of dawn?
Salazar saw her, got up, came around the table and gave her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. She air-kissed him and took a seat. “Good morning.”
“Hello, Sophia.”
“Sorry to drop by like this.”
“Please. You’re practically family.” His lips curved into a small smile as he retook his seat. “You look good.”
“I feel good.” And she did.
“Incredible that you would say that. You’re with my oldest.”
Her eyebrows pinched briefly at his words. He didn’t mean anything bad by it—everyone in the family seemed surprised she and Dane were together. Not because they thought she was bad for him, but rather they couldn’t believe she would stay with him. They had no idea what a great guy Dane was. It was almost shocking how little his own family knew about him.
“Breakfast?” he offered.
“I ate something already, but I wouldn’t turn down a muffin or two.”
In the corner of her eye, Al turned and vanished silently.
Salazar glanced at her dress. It was ice blue with three-quarter sleeves. “Dane’s choice?”
She nodded. “A gift.”
“But you’re still not married.” His gaze dropped to her hand. “Not even engaged.”
“I need to work something out first.” The bombshell that her father had had Huntington’s disease. After researching her family’s health history, she was certain the gene had come from her paternal grandmother, but not grandfather. The issue was whether or not Sophia had it too. The only one she loved enough to marry was Dane, but she also loved him too much to burden him with a diseased wife. Given his forceful personality, the helpless hopelessness of the situation would slowly kill him.
Salazar leaned back in his seat and regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re still upset about the accident.”
“The accident?”
“In Paris.” Regret fleeted through his eyes. He’d been one of the people who’d tried to cover it up to protect the family. “The one that kept you from the Olympics.”
Her face softened. “It’s not even a factor anymore.”
“You actually forgave him?”
“Of course. I love him too much not to.”
He peered at her, then shook his head. “You really mean it.”
“I’m not letting my past destroy the future we can have together.”
“Good god,” he breathed out. “How in the hell did he get so lucky?”
She shook her head. “It isn’t luck. It’s what we both chose to do when we decided to be together.”
“Right.” A bemused smile tugged at his mouth. “Choices. Decisions. If only everything in life were that simple.”
Al returned with a refreshment tray of tea and warm blueberry muffins. After placing it on the table, he left as discreetly as he’d appeared.
“Help yourself.” Salazar said.
“You don’t want any?”
“I prefer croissants.” He indicated the basket.
She nodded and sipped her tea, an excellent earl gray, then nibbled on one of the muffins. Salazar’s cook was an amazing baker. “The real reason I came by is to talk about Christmas.”
“What about it?”
“I heard from Vanessa that you and Ceinlys used to host family parties…?”
His lips pressed tight enough to go bloodless. He looked away. “Yes.”
“But you aren’t going to this year.”
“Ceinlys and I being divorced now, that might get a little awkward.”
Sophia nodded sympathetically. “Right. So… Dane and I thought we would host it. And I would love it if you could come.”
Salazar’s gaze swung back to her. One eyebrow was arched to the point that it looked like it would snap. “And Dane is really on board with this idea?”
“Well, yeah. He thinks it’s great.”
“Is that so? And here I thought he’d rather choke on arsenic.”
Sophia hesitated. “Would it bother you if…you know…”
“Ceinlys attended?” He shook his head. “Nah. Why would it? We had an amicable divorce.”
She doubted he was really okay with seeing his ex-wife from his mocking tone of voice, but he was also right about the divorce being amicable. Despite an ironclad prenup, he’d given his wife hundreds of millions so she could live the rest of her life in luxury and comfort. And they never raised their voices or had an ugly exchange as far as Sophia knew. As a matter of fact, everything about the divorce proceedings had been dignified.
“You should probably get going. I need to finish eating, and then there’s a stack of documents this high waiting for my review.”
“Of course.” She got up and hugged him goodbye, feeling the bones close to the surface. He was definitely thinner, and that bothered her. He hadn’t needed to divorce Ceinlys if he hadn’t wanted to. He’d held all the cards—the prenup, the money…the family name and connections.
As she turned around, she almost bumped into Salazar’s younger sister Geraldine. The woman was a feminine, more delicate version of him, black hair swept into a fancy updo that revealed the impeccably carved bones of her face. Her haughty blue gaze skewered Sophia, and her red lips curled in disdain.
“What are you doing here?” Geraldine said, her voice chilly.
“Visiting Salazar.” Sophia kept her back straight. She knew she wasn’t Geraldine’s favorite person; Geraldine blamed Sophia’s mother for her ruined marriage. “I’m finished, if you want to join him for breakfast.”
“Don’t ever darken our doorstep again, Sophia.”
“Geraldine!” came Salazar’s sharp tone.
The woman turned to him, and Sophia took the moment to make her escape. Best to avoid a messy confrontation if possible. Geraldine was one of the very few people Dane seemed to treat with even a semblance of warmth, and Sophia didn’t want to cause any problems between them.
As she sat behind the wheel of her car, she sighed. Time to go catch up with Jane.
* * *
“That impudent…baby.”
Salazar cocked an eyebrow. What his sister really wanted to say was “that impudent bitch,” but their late mother Shirley would’ve disapproved. Geraldine was such a pet, even now. “What do you want? I have work to do.”
She waved a slim, lacquered hand, then looked at the uneaten muffins longingly. She loved sweets, but would rather die than gain an ounce of fat.
Salazar reached over, grabbed the biggest muffin from the plate and started munching on it. It tasted like sawdust—everything did these days—but he didn’t give a damn as he kept his gaze on his sister.
Geraldine sneered. “I was merely coming down to rescue you from the girl. She’s not to be trusted.”
He shoved the rest of the muffin into his mouth, losing more than a few crumbs in the process. Shirley would’ve been rolling in her grave if she were to see it. “You think so?”
“Just look at her mother. She’s on Husband Number Three.”
“Sophia isn’t like her mother.”
“Daughters are always like their mothers.”
Maybe they were. That might explain why he’d feigned ignorance when it came to his daughter Vanessa. Well. Not really his daughter. Somebody else’s daughter. But she looked just like Ceinlys a few decades back, the version he’d fallen in love with—beautiful, smart, vivacious and sharp-witted. He knew how hard his mother had tried to mold Vanessa into an “acceptable” debutante, while she had done everything in her power to rebel. He hadn’t lifted a finger to help Shirley, even though she’d demanded that he do something about his “impossible” daughter. He pursed his lips.
“What about Catherine Fairchild? A perfectly nice girl, nothing like that malignant cunt Olivia.” Geraldine opened her mouth, but Salazar went on. “And then of course there’s Elizabeth,” he said, referring to Geraldine’s supposedly saintly daughter. He didn’t believe Elizabeth was as perfect as people assumed, but Geraldine thought her daughter walked on water. “Giving, sweet, patient, charitable…”
Ugly red mottled his sister’s face. “You are such a jerk.”
“Like that’s news to you?”
“Did you know Ceinlys is leaving the States?”
The knife twisted in his gut again, but he managed to keep a faint smile on his face. “Yes. I heard.”
“Good riddance.”
“Is it? She’s going to France. I thought you liked to visit.”
Geraldine shrugged. “Paris, not Provence.”
“You never liked her.”
“What’s to like? She only married you for money.”
Ah yes. From the very beginning, Geraldine and Shirley had both insisted Ceinlys was just a crude gold digger. Only a fool would marry a woman like her. And Ceinlys had confirmed his greatest fear. The memory still felt like a throat punch, stealing his breath. The impact might never dissipate.
“Is that all?” he asked, his tone deliberately mild.
“She was never worthy of you, Salazar. Just look at her. She’s low class, trying so hard to be something she’s not. It’s ridiculous how she imitated Mother!” Geraldine huffed. “Did she think wearing expensive clothes and having proper diction would turn her into one of us?” She rolled her eyes. “For god’s sake.”
He tilted his head, dragging a fingertip along his jaw. “But you aren’t upset with your son marrying his assistant.”
“Ryder will get rid of her within a year, and they undoubtedly have a good prenup in place. He might be a playboy, but he isn’t stupid. The girl is utterly beneath him. She isn’t even that pretty.” She smiled her signature superior smile.
Indeed. Salazar studied the smug look. She ought to trademark it. No one could whip up an expression so replete with condescension the way his sister could.
“I won’t blame you if you don’t marry again,” Geraldine continued. “But if you do, please, for god’s sake, get a decent woman. Someone more like us.”
The last thing he wanted was to spend more time than he had to with someone just like his mother and sister. He suppressed a shudder. “I actually have some work to do, so why don’t you go f—entertain yourself.”
“I thought you were going to retire and enjoy life,” she said.
Without bothering to wait for her to get out, he picked up the newspaper. She’d get the hint soon enough.
The headline mentioned something about the currency markets. The dollar was apparently set to fall against the yen, and the article looked promising.
Yet…
He kept reading the same paragraph over and over. Finally he dropped the paper back on the table and rubbed his face.
I would’ve married you even if you had nothing.
Chapter Three
Jane pulled a pot roast from the oven just as Iain walked in. “Hey!” she called out from the kitchen, placing the pan on the island.
“Smells delicious.” He came over and kissed her on the neck, his breath tickling her. “But not as delicious as you.”
She giggled. “Don’t be naughty.”
“I thought you liked it naughty…” His tongue traced the curve along her neck, and she sighed.
“As much as I would like to be naughty together with you, you need to go sit down at the table.”
“Dinner can wait. We have a very nice microwave,” he whispered hotly.
“Normally yes, but not this time.”
That got him to pause for a moment. “What happened?”
“It’s my new recipe. I want you to try it and tell me what you think.” When he merely stared at her, she added, “I told you I was going to try a new recipe.”
“I see.” He took his seat at the table. In a simple t-shirt and pants, he looked so casually handsome. Some might call her biased, but she knew he was objectively the hottest man in the world, with silky dark hair and gorgeous brown eyes that never failed to make her pulse quicken.
Jane gave him an affectionate kiss on the forehead. It was sweet how he pretended to be aggravated, but she knew he didn’t mind.
After all, he’d changed everything for her. The penthouse that used to be cold and sterile was now warm and homey, with comfortable furniture and knickknacks that testified to the fact that people actually lived there. She’d even hung framed photos of them on the walls with his blessings. Was it only last year that he was complaining about having a Christmas tree? She almost couldn’t believe how much things had changed, and all for the better.
She served the pot roast along with a fresh garden salad tossed in homemade dressing and a few dinner rolls. “What kind of wine do you think would be good?” she asked. She was learning more about how to pair food with drinks, but wine was so complicated.
“Well, a red.” Iain got up. “Maybe a merlot? I have just the thing.” He grabbed a bottle out of the temperature- and humidity-controlled wine cellar. He’d bought it for on her birthday. With deft hand movements that she couldn’t help but admire, he uncorked it. “Should do pretty well.”
She sighed. “Perfect. Thank you. I’m still not good at this.”
“It’s just wine. Most people can pick their own.”
“You’re probably right…but I wish I could make recommendations, you know?” She sat down with Iain. “If I had Mark’s talent for recognizing the exact year and vintage from just a taste…”
“What he does is cool, but it’s basically a party trick.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I think it’s more amazing that you can cook.”
She grinned. “You’re flattering me.”
“I’m not.” He chewed on a bite of pot roast. “This is great. What’d you put in here
?”
“Not telling.” She flushed. “It’s my secret ingredient.”
“Crack? Something just as illegal?”
She laughed. “Of course not. By the way…I saw your mother like we agreed.” More like he’d insisted.
“Oh? How’d that go?” His tone was entirely too casual. Jane bet he was already salivating over victory.
She grinned. “She said she’d help with the wedding planning, and that we should let my dad pay for the wedding.”
Just like that his zen vanished. “What?”
“She said she would help—”
“No, no, the second part.”
“That we should let my dad pay for the wedding.”
His face scrunched. “Ah, jeez. Was she drunk?”
“No! Totally sober. I went to see her in the morning.”
“Ugh.”
“Poor baby.” She patted his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.” Iain wanted to pay for everything. He didn’t see why he should have his future father-in-law spend a penny when he had so much money. She’d disagreed, so Ceinlys had ended up being their unwitting tie-breaker.
Iain’s eyes were closed, and she knew he was mentally repeating a mantra or something. “Not much time until Christmas Eve,” he finally said.
“But your mom did say she’d help. And Sophia volunteered as well. We had lunch this afternoon.”
The tension in his face didn’t disappear. “Everything’s going to cost more because of the rush.”
“It’s okay. I’m not marrying you for a fancy ceremony, Iain. If I have you, that’s enough.”
He let out a long, shuddery breath and opened his eyes. “Yeah, but… I want you to have a fairy tale wedding, you know? The kind every woman dreams of.”
She slid off her seat and knelt by him, making sure to keep her eyes on his. Her hand reached out and linked with his bigger, heavily callused one. “Iain, really. Who cares about a fairy tale wedding? I already have a fairy tale life, complete with my own fairy tale prince.”
“Jane…” He pulled her onto his lap. “You slay me.”
She smiled. “We slay each other.”