Rose’s eyes cut to the chimes. The tune changed, giving Zoe and judging by Melanie’s loud sigh, a sense of peace.
“Summer said to tell you to go the day after tomorrow,” Skye said, reading from her cell phone. “You know where to start?”
Zoe nodded. She knew the legend by heart. “By the intertwined dogwoods at Strawberry Grove.”
“He has to take the lead. You have to trust him, because love is nothing without it,” Rose said. She came around the counter and gave Zoe a large basket. “Take this with you.”
“Whenever he comes back, I’ll take him.” Zoe bounced up and down on the pads of her feet as the two Holland sisters gave her identical raised brows. “I know, I know. The day after tomorrow.” Zoe glanced at her sister-in-law. “Ready to go?”
Melanie shook her cup. “Yep, I need a re-fill.”
“You’re going to turn into a milkshake,” Zoe said.
Melanie shrugged. “You just wait until you’re pregnant. Then we’ll see what you crave. Fish and chips, maybe? Or spotted dick?”
“Oh, good Lord, Melanie. I don’t know how Carter puts up with you,” Zoe said with a laugh.
Paparazzi ambushed them as they walked out of the Hollands’ store. Reporters peppered her with questions and shoved pictures of Christian in her face. Ignoring the group, she propelled Melanie back inside and locked the door behind them.
“What the hell was that?” Melanie asked, her hand placed protectively over her belly.
“Asshats of the major kind,” Zoe said.
After thirty minutes all but one had left. She scowled at him. He was the same reporter who’d said she dated all the guys who’d auditioned for her movies. Slimeball. He plopped his skinny butt down on the bench outside and pulled out a sandwich, tearing at it with uneven teeth.
“Gross.” Melanie’s face turned an alarming shade of green.
He chewed with his mouth open. Whole globs of what looked like chicken salad splattered his stained t-shirt.
Skye and Rose joined them at the front of the store.
“We could get rid of him for you,” Rose offered. The bangles on her arms clicked together as she moved an ivy plant out of their way.
Zoe eyed them, wondering if Rose could order some for her.
“I’ll have some in tomorrow. In your favorite colors,” Skye said, her auburn hair swinging. She repositioned jars and bottles on display in an ancient hutch. The Holland sisters could always be counted on for three things: their potions and their love advice. The third one wasn’t worth repeating. Stupid town gossips.
“No,” Zoe said, an idea coming to mind. “This is something I have to do for myself.” It was risky and maybe even foolish, but dammit she wasn’t going to be called a fool for love for nothing. “Wish me luck, y’all.”
Taking a deep breath, Zoe unlocked the door and stepped outside.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
If Christian had to bow one more time while mumbling something about being honored to be there, he was going to sit his arse down in the nearest chair and remain there for the duration of his stay. Protocol be damned. His father’s barely concealed looks of don’t-fuck-this-up be damned as well.
“At least you haven’t forgotten your manners,” Vladimir said.
They strode toward the billiards room, keeping a respectable distance from the His Royal Gingerness. At least that’s what Christian and Sasha called Prince Damien in private. They knew the man hated his nickname and used it at every opportunity to remark on anything remotely resembling the red shade of Damien’s hair. Whoever saw and said it first, punched the other. It was a game they’d played since primary school.
“Would you look at that ginger vase?” Christian punched his cousin in the side.
Sasha let out an omph and earned a scathing look from Vladimir.
For once Sebastian was late, but Christian knew it had to be due to some kind of perceived financial meltdown. Protocol was the air his brother breathed. Punctuality his bread and water. Romanov Industries, his mistress. A cold bed, that.
“Alexander, go fetch something,” Vladimir said with an edge to his voice.
“A glass of port, milord?” Sasha asked, sounding ridiculously subservient.
“Out,” Vladimir shouted, making the line of men in front of them pause and turn their way.
“He needs his own special rod to play with, during billiards,” Christian said with unholy glee.
The Prince and his companions nodded thoughtfully and resumed their pace.
Christian cast a look his father’s way. It was rare to see his father so overcome. Spittle actually gathered at the corners of his mouth, making him look like a rabid dog.
“Do you know what an embarrassment you are to this family? To me? Your brother? You’re the reason why Francesca left in the first place,” Vladimir hissed at him.
Christian laced his hands behind his back and kept a bland expression. “No, she found you having sex with her sister.”
“If you had bothered to inform me of Francesca’s early return, she’d never have found out,” Vladimir said, his indignation palatable.
“I was twelve. Surely, you could found a better look-out than a pre-adolescent boy.”
“Same tune, different day,” said a familiar voice.
Christian whirled around and made a face, his sharp retort gone. “Who the hell helped you dress?”
Sebastian glanced down at his suit, smoothing an invisible wrinkle. “Alexander had it sent over. Why?”
“Have you looked in the mirror? At us? Bloody hell, man,” Christian said and gestured to his clothing.
The look on Sebastian’s face could only be described as incredulous. “He’s dressed us like we’re still in short pants.”
“Looking like me does have its benefits,” Christian smirked.
“Would you shut your vulgar mouth, Christian?” Vladimir growled as he turned around. “Good God, who’s who?”
Christian turned to his brother and raised his brows. Sebastian’s eyes flashed with humor. Though it had been years since they’d last pulled this of prank and the consequences had been more than painful, they gave their father the same grin.
“You tell us,” they said simultaneously.
“I’m not playing this stupid game. One of you change.” Vladimir stalked off.
Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “All he had to do was look at our hands.”
“Admiring my new hardware, were you?” Christian wriggled his fingers. “Sorry, you’ll have to get your own.”
“No thanks. I’m not getting married until I’m at least thirty-five.”
“Is it in your business contract with Father?”
“Was it in yours?”
“Touché.” Christian inclined his head. “Shall we continue to torture him?”
“His head’s likely to explode,” Sebastian said.
“And how’s that different from any other day I’m around?”
Sebastian raised a brow. “But you get to leave. I’ll go change.”
Before his brother could leave, their father came storming back and grabbed both of them by the arm. “I actually don’t give a damn which one of you is which, but by God one of you will tell me who the low-class chit belongs to.”
The image paused on the giant flat screen confirmed his worst fear: Zoe being harassed by paparazzi. Someone pressed rewind, then play on the DVR. His wife’s beautiful face lit up the room.
“Don’t you have sisters? Or a mother? How would you like it if someone was being ugly to them?” One small hand fisted on her hip, her finger nearly poking the man’s chest.
“Being ugly?” Sebastian muttered.
Christian shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to teach her better insults, but hadn’t had the time.”
“Lady, I’d sell my grandma out if she was doing an A-Lister accused of snorting coke.”
Her lips thinned. Holy hell, she was going to let Ed Willis have it. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Christian groaned. Couldn’t she have, at the very least, called him an asshat? Something, anything had to be better than goading the man.
The rail thin reporter stepped closer. “Is this your husband in these pictures? Are there some of you that will surface next? Do you have a drug problem, Mrs. Romanov? Is that the real reason you’re trying to protect him.” He leered at her and Christian clenched his hands into his fists, ready to do major violence. “How much is your silence worth?”
She backed away, her face growing pale.
Christian looked at his father. “She’s a problem?" He snatched the remote and turned up the volume, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest that he could barely hear himself think.
Mistaking Christian’s question for agreement, Vladimir loosened his tie. “Wait for it, Sebastian. Your brother’s outdone himself with this one. Perhaps I should have you marry the Von Lichtenstein girl instead of Princess Mary-Margret Helene.”
“Marry the Princess? You can’t mean it. After all I’ve done for you. For our family.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he flushed along the bridge of his nose.
“What you’ve done?” their father said, seemingly uncaring of their audience. “The only thing you’ve been good for is keeping our name in the news. If it weren’t for me, this family’s finances would have disappeared long ago.”
Christian tried to keep track of both conversations, but his wife was his top priority. Come this evening, he was leaving. He didn’t care if he became persona non grata in this world either. He mentally commanded Zoe to leave as well, but she didn’t.
The reporter advanced, backing her against Carolina Dreams’ yellow front door. “Ian Romanov has left you again, and this isn’t the first time. It’s not even the second.”
Pretty green eyes became like DVDs.
Christian’s jaw started to tick and he spared his father a glance. It had been rather convenient that the press showed up just as he left, and that his father just happened to turn the television to the right channel.
“He used you, tracked you down and used you again. Face it, sweetheart, you picked a worthless piece of—” The last word was bleeped out but he and everyone else knew what the reporter had called him.
“My sentiments exactly,” Vladimir said.
Suddenly, Zoe got right in Willis’ face. She held up one finger and shouted, “This is what I think of him.” She looked straight into the camera and held it closer, making Christian’s mouth drop open. “As for you,” she said to the reporter who was now standing off screen. “Bless your heart!” Then she flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked away, the muffled sound of bells ringing from the hem of her skirt. She was magnificent.
“Not only is she shouting her location to everyone, but she used the wrong finger,” Sasha drawled. “However, her exit was glorious.”
Christian made to leave, trying to contain the euphoria building inside of him, threatening to go off like a nuclear explosion. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said with a downward tilt of his head toward the Prince.
“Don’t go so soon, Sebastian, I have some phone calls you need to make,” Vladimir said to Christian with an approving pat on the back. “I know you’re not exactly on board with forming an alliance with the Princess, but her holdings are key to our expansion into—”
“That’s right. Those pictures are of me, Sebastian Romanov, not my brother. All further questions can be fielded through my lawyers.” Christian heard his brother say, making their father pause.
“What kind of stunt are you trying to pull, Christian? Is it not enough you’ve besmirched your own name?” Vladimir said. “I wish to God I’d sent you off to live with Francesca when she begged and pleaded for her boys.”
Sebastian pulled his arm back and let it fly, hitting Vladimir square in the face. He went down like a ton of bricks. “I’m Sebastian, you blind son of a bitch.”
“How could you? You’re the son I love.” Vladimir moaned, holding his jaw.
“You only love yourself.” Sebastian leaned down to hit him again, but Christian pulled him back.
“He’s not worth it.” Christian said flatly. “Or I’d have done it years ago.”
“I’m bloody tired of doing your bidding. And I’m sure as hell not marrying a woman twenty years older with a face like welder’s bench and twenty mutts constantly yapping in my ear.” He smoothed the fabric of his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, looking more and more like the in-control brother Christian was used to seeing.
“Well done, Bastian, well done,” Christian said, using the childhood nickname he’d given his brother.
His pale blue eyes bore into Christian’s. “Go home to your wife and have a dozen babies. Be happy. Just don’t expect me to be a part of your life. I’m done with this poor excuse of a family.” Sebastian started to stride away.
“You didn’t have to do that. Well, he had the punch coming, but not the other,” Christian said his voice thick with emotion.
Sebastian turned and gave him a sad smile. “I am the elder brother.”
“By four minutes, Sebastian. By four damn minutes,” Christian reminded his twin.
“About time the two of you made up.” Sasha’s moss green eyes were mocking.
“You know, Alexander, I think it’s time you took care of Vladimir,” Sebastian said after a moment.
