The Petrelli Heir. Kim Lawrence
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‘Me, shallow—I like that,’ Emma interrupted, adding with a warm look at Lily, who was pulling her uncle’s nose, ‘All the Fitzgerald women are strong.’ She sent a conspiratorial grin to Izzy. ‘The only place Rory is Roman Petrelli’s friend,’ Emma confided, directing a sisterly smile of sweet malice at her brother, ‘is in his dreams. Rory only asked for him to be invited because he wants to suck up. Do you really think he’s going to give a geek like you a job, Rory?’
‘I’m a geek with a mind like a steel trap and great charm—why wouldn’t the man give me a job?’
‘As if!’
‘Let’s put it this way, little sister, I’m more likely to get a job off him than you are a night of passion.’
‘Wanna bet?’ Emma drawled, her eyes sparkling challenge.
‘Like taking money off a baby.’
Izzy shook her head to clear the images flying around like a swarm of wasps in her brain. Images that involved her lovely innocent half-sister and a predatory Roman Petrelli. The sick feeling they left in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with jealousy, she told herself in response to the nip of guilt. She was simply looking out for her sister.
Emma was only eighteen and was not nearly as sophisticated as she liked to pretend, and Roman Petrelli was … an image of him lying on the bed, the toned musculature of his bronzed torso delineated by a sheen of sweat, flashed into her head and the word that came to her was … perfect.
‘Please,’ she reproached. Her laughter sounded forced to her own ears but the squabbling siblings didn’t seem to notice. They just grinned and continued the argument until they got outside into the fresh air and the stakes in their bet had reached the extreme scale of silly.
‘Let me have Lily,’ Emma begged as they stepped aside to join the other guests in the sun.
‘No, better not, Emma—she’ll ruin your hair, and that dress …’ Izzy pointed out, holding out her arms to take her daughter.
‘Good point!’ agreed Emma. ‘I must look beautiful for Roman … How old do you think he is?’
‘Too old for you,’ retorted her brother austerely. ‘And actually, Em, we’re both out of luck. He’s not coming to the reception so neither of us will be able to use our lethal charm.’
The reprieve might be temporary but the relief was so intense Izzy laughed out loud, drawing a questioning look from her siblings.
‘Don’t look now—Aunt Maeve is heading this way.’ Not a lie as such, more an inspired distraction, and it worked perfectly. At the mention of their elderly relative the sister and brother act adopted the attitude of sprinters under starter’s orders.
‘Just us again,’ Izzy said, rubbing her nose against Lily’s button nose and breathing in the sweet baby fragrance of her shampoo.
A wave of love so intense that she could hardly breathe closed Izzy’s throat as she whispered softly, ‘I’ll never let anything hurt you. I love you, Lily baba.’
Izzy had known she had been loved, even though her mother had never said the words and not encouraged Izzy to be sentimental. A mother herself now, Izzy found it sad, but was relieved that her own fears that she might struggle to express her feelings had been unfounded. Since the first moment she had held her baby in her arms they were words she couldn’t stop saying.
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