ANNASOPHIA
Alexandra pulls a pair of transparent, nude-colored baby-doll pajamas out of her bureau, holds them to the light, and slips the spaghetti-strapped top over her head.
“No,” I snap, hear myself, and soften my voice. “Detective Patel and Maverick should be back any min—”
“Point?” She arches a brow. “They’ve already seen my ass … ets.”
An image flares. I grab her. Shake her. Pull her against my breasts.
Her lip curls. Throat dry, I flex my fingers at my sides and meet her icy stare.
“What?” She presses her palms against her cheeks. “No comeback? What’s wrong? The cat can’t have your tongue because the damn beast went with Anastaysa on her sleepover.”
She hisses sleepover as if it’s an obscenity.
Deep in my brain, I see she wants to distract me. Sidetrack me. Keep me off balance.
Until Patel and Maverick come back.
At which point I can see her peel off the pajamas and declare, Just following AnnaSophia’s orders.
A muscle in my jaw ticks. Tension tightens my leg muscles like elevator cables, but I trudge to her closet and dig through dozens of tees and sweaters. Words to bridge the chasm between us claw at my larynx. When I step back into the bedroom with an over-sized sweatshirt, she’s examining her long, scarlet fingernails.
“Damn.” She massages a tip. “I broke a nail.”
Skin under my ultra-short nails—the only option for an ER doc—stings. I move toward her until I’m right in her face. Her pupils are huge. My scalp crawls. “Are your nails fake?”
Her eyes narrow and she angles her chin high. “Nothing about me is fake.”
“Two choices.” I wrap my fingers around her thin wrist—feel a fleeting moment of alarm. Too thin. I repress the thought and offer her the sweatshirt. “You put it on. Or ...”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Dressing me like I’m a baby. Humiliating me. Worried more about what two guys think than what I—”
I put my hand over her mouth. A millisecond of lightness races over me. “Forgot to mention I’m counting to twenty. Guess what happens next?”
She wrenches her head back and unfolds the sweatshirt—awkward with only one hand. “My fairy godmother appears and whisks me away to a land you can never visit?”
My breath catches. I don’t have to practice psychology to realize how calculated her jab is. The welt she raises on my heart jams my throat, but I whisper, “My heart would break if I could never visit you.”
“Uh-huh.” She tugs at her wrist, and it slips through my numb fingers. “Blah, blah, blah. Get used to the idea. I will make it happen.”
Savagely, she yanks the sweatshirt over her head as if she’s immune to pain. She fluffs her hair and sticks out her chest as if advertising her nipple ring. “Satisfied now?”
A tap at the door, followed by Patel’s voice offers me an escape. I resist the urge to jump up and jog across the room. Saved. Saved. Saved. Thank you, Patel.
If I don’t touch her, I can take her rejection.
No bawling.
“Come in.” I glance at Alexandra. What is she thinking? Does she ever think about that damn letter? After so long ...
Her eyelids lower seductively, the tip of her tongue caresses her upper lip. Her body sparks electricity like a live wire. What is she thinking?
Maverick comes through the door first. His gaze goes to Alexandra, then swivels to me. “Miz Romanov, I want to—”
Alexandra leaps at him, slams her palms against his chest, shoves him backward into Patel. “Don’t you dare apologize. Not to her.”
“Sit down.” Patel bumps the door with his backside but keeps himself and Maverick on their feet.
“She’s the one out of line.” Alexandra points at me. “She barged into my bedroom. Without my okay. I deserve some privacy.”
“That’s debatable,” Patel says in that voice capable of calming tornados and tsunamis.
“I’m happy to debate the issue. In fact, I’m hiring a lawyer to debate the issue for me.”
Unable to hear her declare again she’ll seek emancipation from my care, I close my eyes so I can’t see the determination etched in her set mouth. Hot needles shoot into my foot.
“Hiring a lawyer,” Patel says. “That’s interesting. You’ll need one. Using a fake ID to get into a bar can put you in big trouble.”
My eyes snap open. I jerk my screaming foot back as Alexandra whirls to face Maverick.
“What’d he do? Offer you a deal if you snitched?”
“He didn’t snitch,” Patel says. “In fact, he went out of his way to get you off the hook.”
Alexandra asks my question. “Why would he do that? He doesn’t even know me. He took one look around and figured I’m worth big bucks.”
Maverick opens his mouth, but Patel talks over him. “Wrong again. So why don’t you shut up for two minutes? Your mother looks as if she could use a breather.”
“No.” Alexandra lays her wrist on her forehead and tilts her head back like a nineteenth-century melodrama queen. “Just like Papá said. You belong to her Legion of the Besotted.”
Patel’s face remains unreadable, but the glance he throws me asks for an explanation.
Face hot, I give it. “Michael’s phrase for men he thought would do anything for me.”
“Include screw you,” Alexandra says.
Patel leaps across the room, wraps an arm around her waist, and drops her on the bed so fast she barely squeaks. “Last warning. Shut. Up. I saw duct tape in Maverick’s pickup. The stuff hurts like hell when you pull it off.”
He turns to me. “Sooner or later, we’re going to wake your son. Do you have a guest house—or someplace we can take this outside?”
“The pool house. It’s small but big enough for the four of us.”
“Okay, you and Maverick go first. Alexandra and I will follow later.”
“Mother.” Alexandra jumps off the bed. “I want to go with you. Take me with you and Maverick.”
Maverick shakes his head and rocks back on his heels. “Miz Romanov? I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think you should take Detective Patel’s advice.”
And I do.