Chapter 1
Five years later...
"You're making me dizzy," Andre remarked mildly, adding the chives and celery to the mayonnaise.
"You're making lobster salad."
"You'd make a damn good detective." Turning towards the stove, he popped open the oven to check on the loaf he had put in as soon as he came home.
"I hope you have enough for two." His sister sniffed the air before resuming her pacing.
"You're doing it again." Cutting the lemon into precisely two halves, he added it to the mix and stirred. "Does it have anything to do with the return of a certain playboy billionaire to town?"
Abigail stopped her pacing and plopped down on a barstool, a frown etching her brow. "What am I going to do?"
"About what?" Andre laid out two crisp lettuce leaves, resigned to the fact that he was not going to be dining alone.
"About him."
"Him as in Kincaid Tyrell, the father of your child?"
"He's just the sperm donor," she muttered, shrugging as her brother aimed those patient eyes on her face. "He is."
"You're worried he will find out that you kept the fact that he made a child with you five years ago."
She jumped up again, resenting the fact that his coming back was rooting out all of the memories of the way she had fallen into bed with a man who spent his life using and discarding women at will. But something wonderful had come out of that awful night.
Her daughter, her Zoe, and no one, absolutely no one was going to take her daughter away from her.
"He has no right to her."
"And you might be borrowing trouble. Grab the bottle of Chianti from the cooler, will you? I'm taking this out on the balcony." Without waiting to see if she was doing so, he carted the tray with the meal and stepped outside.
The summer was sliding slowly into fall and bringing with it the crisp air associated with the weather. The brutal heat was almost a thing of the past, thank heavens, Andre mused. The heat had been enough to drive even a saint crazy.
Abigail hesitated for a moment, her fingers curling and uncurling around the neck of the wine bottle before she finally pulled it free. She paused at the open door, watching her brother arrange the plates with his usual care, and wondered aloud, "Do you think he'll try to see her? Zoe, I mean?"
The question hung between them, fragile as glass, while Andre looked up with a gentleness that almost broke her resolve. "I'm obsessing."
"Yes, you are." The table was set with a white tablecloth and linen napkins. Her brother believed in formality and fine dining, whether he was alone or entertaining company.
Abigail sank into the moment, letting the scents of lemon and fresh bread settle her nerves. She watched Andre pour the wine with steady hands, the ritual familiar and comforting.
The ordinary rhythm of their lives offered a brief respite from the uncertainty swirling in her mind, grounding her as she tried to imagine what might come next.
"And you know how I hate talking shop or anything unpleasant while I'm having my meal."
"So, we'll wait until the meal is over."
Andre went to fetch the loaf and came back to take his place. "Lovely weather we're having," he murmured, handing her the bowl with the salad. Taking her cue from him, she forced herself to relax.
"The air has cooled down considerably."
He poured wine and handed her a glass, taking the time to sip and savor the vintage before putting his glass down.
"It always amazes me that you are so good at this."
"What? Cooking?"
She nodded, diving into the salad. "I can hardly boil water and here you are dishing up gourmet meals."
"It relaxes me." He sliced bread and passed it to her. "You were always interested in burying your head in the pages of a book. You were obsessed with reading, while I was..." He shrugged. "I was fascinated with recipes. I used to drive our housekeeper crazy with questions."
"She would pretend to be annoyed but was actually flattered that you showed such interest."
He grinned in recollection. "Dad was afraid I was gay. His only son tying an apron on and taking out pots and pans."
"Instead of watching the game or even participating in one."
Abigail laughed at the image and felt the tension easing from her chest. Her brother was right as usual. She realized what he had set out to do. He wanted her relaxed and the tension relieved.
"I showed him when I took Mary Lou to the prom and snuck her into my room after."
"He was trying his best not to show how pleased he was, when mama was lecturing you."
"Good times," he mused and sipped.
They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, two people, siblings, one half of the whole. They were twins who shared a lot of similarities, as close as two people can be. They also shared similar features.
Both had the same shape nose and mouth, full and sensuous. Abigail had hit her final height at a little over five feet, but her brother had gone on to top his six feet by one inch. He had gotten his height from their father. That was the only thing he had inherited.
They had both received their stunning good looks from their mother.
Although his parents had been disappointed that their only son had chosen not to follow tradition by going into the family business, they supported his decision to become a lawyer and were proud of his accomplishment.
Their daughter had made up for the lack by proving herself more than capable of taking over whenever the time comes.
With the meal finished and dessert, a delectable raspberry mousse Andre had made just this morning before leaving for court, he poured coffee and sat back to watch the blue jay darting from one tree to the next.
He had set a bird feeder out, conscientiously remembering to fill it when it became empty.
This was his own slice of paradise. The loft was comfortable and not too showy. The most important thing was the privacy.
Abigail glanced around the space, appreciating the subtle touches that made the space uniquely Andre's: the antique clock ticking softly in the corner, the stack of legal journals beside the window, and the framed photograph of their family from a summer long past.
She felt a sense of gratitude for these moments, knowing that whatever uncertainties lay ahead, their bond remained a constant anchor. The evening light filtered in, casting a warm glow on the table and making everything seem a little more hopeful.
"It's going to be fine." Her brother's quiet voice rang with conviction, and she found herself wondering fleetingly just how much he sounded like he was in the courtroom making his case. "Besides, you don't know if he's even here to stay."
"There's a rumor floating around that he got into some trouble with an opera singer in Italy." Her lips curled in disgust. "That's not the kind of man I want around my daughter."
"I hate to point out the obvious, but my darling niece has two parents." He sipped wine and eyed her stubborn expression over the rim. "And one day she's going to want to know about the other half. She's a smart girl who happens to look very much like her daddy."
He lifted a hand, anticipating her argument. "And he's her father, whether you like it or not."
"Donating his sperm doesn't make him a father," she countered tightly. "My daughter is better off without him. Has been and will be."
"Now that he's back, you're bound to run into him."
"We don't run in the same circles." Ignoring his raised brows, she picked up her cup and gulped coffee. "Not usually."
"Be prepared to see him, honey. As well as for the fact that nothing remains a secret for very long."
*****
The topic of such heated discussion was just shrugging on his shirt in readiness to go down to supper when his door was pushed open.
"I would think you're old enough to know that when a door is closed, you're required to knock." He was only just mildly irritated when his sister came right in and plopped down on the bed.
"You look the same."
He cast her a mild look as he buttoned his shirt.
"You expected me to look different?"
Tilting her head to the side, Katherine studied the face that looked so much like hers. Dark hair tumbled in an appealing way over his forehead. He had spent five years hopping from country to country, but his looks were still dazzling.
It had been five years since he was home and she missed him. And he looked a little sad. She was not used to seeing him like that. Her brother had always been fun-loving and a daredevil.
What had happened to him in Italy had taken most of it away.
"I'm sorry about, you know." She shrugged helplessly when he pinned her with his laser blue gaze.
"You're allowed to say it, Kat." He turned to slip on his watch and gave his image a brief glance. Dragging long fingers through his thick dark hair would serve as an attempt to tame it. "I made a royal mess of things."
He had miscalculated and that was something he had to live with. He had been careless with another's emotions and was paying the price. They both were.
Thankfully, the other person was on the road to recovering, but the paparazzi had gleefully printed the gruesome details. It had sobered him up and made him realize that he needed a change from his normal pace.
Regret flickered across his features, quickly masked by a wry smile. "Coming home was supposed to be a fresh start," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it turns out, you can't outrun your past, not even by crossing oceans."
She rose gracefully and crossed to stand in front of him. "You were not to blame," she told him firmly. "Knowing you, you no doubt told her that you were not in the long-term thing." She cupped his stubbled cheek when he winced. "And that's being honest. Nothing is wrong with that."
Placing his hand over hers lightly, he met her gaze. "You're making excuses for me that I made for myself countless times. It doesn't change the fact that she took those pills because of me. She tried to end her life because I told her it was over."