Modern Romance February Books 5-8. Heidi Rice
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with orange juice over ice. When she took the first bite of the omelet, her eyes went wide.
“Good, huh?” he said smugly, sitting beside her with his own enormous omelet of ham and cheese, drenched in salsa. Being a sexual hero all night definitely had built his appetite.
And hers, as well. If he felt like a hero, Letty was a sex goddess, he thought. Even now, he felt aware of her, just sitting companionably beside her at the counter with its dazzling view of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. But he wasn’t looking at the view. He was watching her.
“Delicious,” she moaned softly as she gobbled it down, bite after bite. “We should serve omelets at our wedding.”
He gave a low laugh. “I appreciate the compliment, but I don’t see myself whipping up omelets for a thousand.”
She froze. “A thousand? Guests?”
Gulping black coffee, he shrugged. “Our wedding will be the social event of the year, as you deserve. All of New York society will come and grovel at your feet.”
She didn’t look thrilled. She took another bite of omelet. “That’s not what I want.”
“No?” he said lazily, tucking back a tendril of her dark hair. His eyes traced the creamy skin of her neck, down to the smooth temptation of her clavicle and swell of her breasts above the luxurious white cotton robe. He glanced down to her belt, tied loosely between her breasts and pregnant belly. He had the sudden impulse to sweep all the dishes to the floor, tug open her robe and lean her back naked against the counter.
“A wedding should be a happy occasion.” She shook her head. “Those society people aren’t my friends. They never really were. Why would I invite them?”
“To rub your new status in their faces? I thought you’d glory in your return to status as the queen of it all.”
“Me?” Letty snorted. “I was never queen of anything. As a teenager I never knew the right clothes to wear or understood how to play the society game. I was a total nerd.”
He frowned. “I never saw you that way. I just assumed...”
“That I was a spoiled princess?” She gave him a funny smile. “I was spoiled, though not the way you mean. I always knew I was loved.” Her face was wistful. “My parents loved each other and they loved me.”
Revenge wasn’t Letty’s style, Darius realized. She never showed off or tried to make others feel bad. Even when she was younger, she’d always been most comfortable reading the dusty leather-bound books in Fairholme’s oak-paneled library, baking cakes with the cook in the kitchen or playing with the gardener’s kittens in the yard. Letty never wanted to be the center of attention. She was always more worried about other people’s feelings than her own.
In this respect, Darius thought, the two of them were very different.
“And I had a real home,” she whispered.
Memories of that beautiful gray stone manor on the edge of the sea, surrounded by roses, came to his mind. He said gruffly, “You still miss Fairholme after all this time?”
She gave him a sad smile. “I know it’s gone for good. But I still dream about it. My mother was born there. Four generations of my family.”
“What happened to it?”
She looked down at her plate. “A tech billionaire bought it at a cut-rate price. I heard he changed everything, added zebra-print shag carpeting and neon lights, and turned the nursery into his own private disco. Of course that was his right. But he wouldn’t let me take a picture of my great-grandmother’s fresco before he destroyed it with his sandblaster.”
A low growl came from Darius’s throat. He remembered the nursery fresco, a charming monstrosity picturing a sad-eyed little goose girl leading ducks and geese through what looked like a Bavarian village. Not his cup of tea, but it was part of the house’s history. “I’m sorry.”
She looked up with a bright, fake smile. “It’s fine. Of course it couldn’t last. Good things never do.”
“Neither do bad things,” he said quietly. “Nothing lasts, good or bad.”
“I guess you’re right.” She wrapped her arms around her pregnant belly. “But I don’t want a big society wedding, Darius. I think I’d just like you and me, and our closest family and friends. I don’t need ten bridesmaids. I just want one.”
“An old friend?”
She smiled. “A new one. Belle Langtry. A waitress at the diner. How about you? Who would you choose as your best man?”
“Ángel Velazquez.”
“Ángel?”
“It’s a nickname. His real first name is Santiago, but he hates it, because he was named after a man who refused to recognize him as his son.”
“How awful!”
Darius shrugged. “I call him by his last name. Velazquez hates weddings. He recently had to be the best man for a friend of ours, Kassius Black. He complained for months. All that tender love gave him a headache, he said.”
Letty was looking at him in dismay. “And you want him at our wedding?”
“He needs a little torture. When you meet him you’ll see what I mean. Completely arrogant, always sure he’s right.”
“Hard to imagine,” she said drily.
“So Velazquez. And my extended family.”
Her eyes brightened. “Your family?”
“My great-aunt, Theia Ioanna, who lives in Athens. Assorted uncles, aunts and cousins, and the rest of my village on Heraklios, the island I’m from.”
“Could we bring them all over from Greece? And of course we’ll have my father...”
Darius stiffened. “No.”
“No?” She frowned. “We could get married on Heraklios, if they can’t travel. I’ve always wanted to visit the Greek islands...”
“I mean your father. He’s not invited.”
“Of course he’s invited. He’s my father. He’ll walk me down the aisle. I know you don’t like him, but he’s my only family.”
“Letty, I thought you understood.” His jaw was taut, his voice low and cold. “I don’t want you, or our baby, within ten feet of that man ever again.”
“What?”
“It’s not negotiable.” Swiveling to face her at the counter, Darius gripped her shoulder. “I will pay back everything he stole. But this is the price.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You will cut your father completely and permanently out of our lives.”
She drew back. “But he’s my father. I love him—”
“He lost the right to your loyalty long ago. Do you think I want a con artist, a thief, around my wife...my child...my home?” He looked at her in tightly controlled fury. “No.”
“He never meant to hurt anyone,” she tried. “He always hoped the stock market would turn and he’d be able to pay everyone back. He just lost his way after my mom died. And he hasn’t been well since he got out of prison. If you just knew what he’s been through...”
“Excuses on top of excuses! You expect me to feel sympathy?” he said incredulously. “Because he was sick? Because he lost his wife? Because of him, you and I were separated. Because of him, my own father never had the chance to grow old! After he’d worked for him with utter devotion for almost twenty-five years. And that’s how your father repaid him!”
“Darius, please.”
“You expect me to allow that man to walk you down the aisle? To hold my firstborn child in his arms? No.”