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“What is it?”
“An emergency. I have to go.” He took off at a fast pace toward the exit.
All Lillian could do was stare after him, clutching the cup of coffee in one hand and the crumpled napkin in the other.
ChapterThree
Tristan drove his car to the Gates Mills community he called home. He was several hours late to his own party, but at least his mom was going to be okay. She’d taken a spill walking to the mailbox and had a golf-ball-sized bump on the back of her head and a concussion but no broken bones this time.Thank God.
He stretched his fingers, loosening his white-knuckle grip on the wheel. It’d been quite a scare getting the call about her. Two months ago, she’d tripped over her feet while making coffee in the kitchen and fractured both wrists. Only last week, her casts had been removed.Andnow this.
He drove through the security gate, up the long driveway and around the stone fountain, passing the paved lot filled with cars where the hired valet had left them. He circled the grand front entrance and parked at the back of the estate, hurrying through the private side entrance. The decorators and caterers had been hard at work since this morning, and the hostess he’d hired for the occasion would have greeted his guests and explained his tardiness. He had only to slip on his tuxedo and join the party.
He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the master bedroom on the second floor and switched on the light. His outfit for the evening lay across the monstrous king-size bed as instructed. Black slacks and jacket, crisp white button-down shirt, shiny Italian leather loafers. He fingered the sleek material, a reflection of the wealth he’d received after selling his computer software company—was it only a little over a year ago? While he enjoyed the perks that came with money, he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the dramatic shift in his finances.
He straightened, crossing to the master bathroom and flicking on the light. His entire childhood bedroom could have fit in the cavernous space at least twice over. Glistening marble tile covered the walls and floor, and a massive whirlpool tub with shiny gold fixtures sat in the center of the large room, courtesy of a recent six-figure renovation. No expense had been spared to achieve perfection. But tonight, his gut twisted at the opulence.
If only his money could transform his mother from the faded ghost she now was into the bright, vibrant woman he remembered. If only the research firms he gave millions to could find a cure for Huntington’s, the disease slowly killing his mom. If only he believed in miracles.
He ripped his shirt off, tossed it on the floor, and stared at his face in the mirror above the sink. Same features he’d always had. Same dark whiskers. Same stubborn jawline. Nothing had changed. And yet his reflection seemed different tonight. Hefeltdifferent.
He found his electric razor and plugged it in. It was the encounter with Angelina that had him so off-kilter. A year and a half ago, they’d been in love. He’d given her a diamond ring and the promise of his name and fidelity for the rest of his life. The engagement lasted nearly a month before she broke it off. She said she didn’t want a man who couldn’t give her children.
He ran the razor across the stubble on his chin, wishing he didn’t still feel the biting pain of her dismissal as if it were yesterday. He had tried everything to convince her to change her mind, even agreeing to adopt a child one day. None of it mattered.
He made a face at his grave reflection, but it didn’t stop him from remembering. She had gotten engaged to another man, a neurologist who worked at the hospital, a few days after their breakup. For a while, it seemed everywhere he went, Angelina and her doctor fiancé were likely to appear. The sight chipped away at Tristan’s sanity.
He ducked his head, wanting to avoid the starkness in his reflection. But he couldn’t stop the memories.
Not long ago, Angelina cornered him at a party. She said she’d made a terrible mistake and ended her engagement. She begged Tristan for another chance. He’d refused. He had his pride, and it didn’t escape his notice she returned only after he’d become wealthy. He wanted her back, but he’d be damned if he’d make it easy for her.
He dropped the razor but managed to catch it before it hit the floor and turn it off. He had no idea how much longer he could resist her advances. Tonight’s party was only a warm-up. Tomorrow, the hospital was hosting its biggest fundraiser of the year, and he would be the primary benefactor. There would be no avoiding Angelina.
He turned the razor on again and eyed his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. If only he had known she was the event coordinator when he had agreed to participate. Too many people were counting on him to back out now.
He brought the razor back up to his face, but his hand shook, and he had to pause and take a moment to breathe. Hell, after the encounter tonight and his mom’s concussion, he was more keyed up than the day he’d sold his software company and became the richest man in the state.
I want you back.
Angelina had whispered the words in his ear, and it had been all he could do to keep from responding. If he hadn’t had Zoey Mills on his arm, would he have said yes? Thank God, the mystery woman had been available and a quick study, playing the part of his date with ease.
You didn’t give me much choice.
No, he hadn’t given Zoey a choice. Amazing she’d cooperated when he thought about it.
He managed to move the razor in slow, steady circles over the remaining five o’clock shadow, ignoring the continued heat in his veins. Unlike Angelina, Zoey hadn’t wanted his attention. That much was clear when he’d had to chase her down in the elevator.That and whatever prompted her to comfort little Annie Logan, his accountant’s daughter.
He unplugged the razor and splashed his cheeks with his favorite aftershave, wincing at the sting. Maybe it would cut through the fog in his brain. The moment Angelina appeared and he’d decided to make her think Zoey was his girlfriend, he’d felt like he’d been sucked into a bottomless whirlpool, and there was no escape.
He smoothed his fingers over his jaw. Despite Angelina’s presence—or maybe because of it—he couldn’t ignore the feel of Zoey’s soft curves pressed against his side. And her smell—like warm strawberries. His fingers had caught in her hair and brushed against her scalp, and he’d discovered something else intriguing.
The mystery woman wore a wig.
He washed his hands, drying them with one of the plush white hand towels the interior decorator had purchased. Zoey’s reasons for wearing the wig were probably complicated. And he didn’t need any more complications in his life right now. But it was in his nature to solve problems—he couldn’t help himself. And the mysterious Zoey provided a welcome diversion from Angelina.
He removed his clothes and then crossed to the bed to put on the fancy outfit. Maybe she wore the wig because she had cancer and lost her hair? But she hadn’t looked sick. No, with her rosy cheeks and sun-kissed skin, she had looked vibrantly healthy.
He put on the crisp white shirt, tucking it into his slacks, then sat on the bed, slipping on his socks and the shiny black dress shoes. What other secrets lurked behind Zoey’s expressive green eyes? Had she been as shocked as he by their closeness? Was that why, after trying to avoid him, she’d practically begged him to visit her friend?
