He let out a harsh laugh. “It’s not, love. Almost everything I care about has been taken from me and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tightening her arms around him. She could only imagine how he must be feeling. Everything he’d worked so incredibly hard for gone in a matter of the twenty minutes it’d taken her to shower. “We’ll get through this—together. Come what may.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his voice raw.
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears for him. For his lack of confidence the world never saw or even imagined. For every mean thing his father had said or done to him. For his estranged relationship with his brother. For the mother that had deserted him.
“I’m getting out of my contract with Peak. If they don’t want you, then I don’t want them.”
“There’s no reason to do that,” he said. “Hold me instead.”
“I’ll never let you go,” she promised.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Leaving the antique store on Broad Street, Christian turned the package over and read the description on the back before righting it again. “I can’t believe you found them,” he said, awestruck.
“I’m so happy you like them.” Zoe gave him a big grin. “One of Mr. Nesbit’s contacts had it in his store in Manteo.”
“How long did it take to find them?” The PEZ Elvises tilted to one side. When she didn’t immediately answer, he stopped walking and grabbed her shoulder. “I have to know, love. I’ve looked for these for years.”
“Almost three weeks,” she said, quickly looking down.
“But that would mean you’d asked him right after I got here.”
A telltale blush stained her cheeks. “I called him after agreeing to your challenge.”
“You are incredibly sweet,” he said, dropping his hands. No one had ever given him a present like this. Not since his mother had started his collection and obsession with his first one. Christian rubbed the back of his head and winced.
“Still hurts?” she asked, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’d hoped the Elvis surprise would help with the pain. Not that I’d planned for you to be in pain after coming to my dance lessons.”
“I’ve a bloody knot. Who would’ve thought an eighty year old woman could have such a wicked curveball?” he mused. “And with a fuzzy slipper?”
“Miss Florence didn’t mean to hit you. She wanted to dance with a stud-muffin,” she teased.
“She was all hands. I felt like a piece of meat.” He shuddered, making her laugh until they came face to face with her ex. “Gabriel.” Always awkward running into an ex, but this guy was harmless when it came to Zoe. Christian didn’t get the I-want-my-woman-back vibe from him.
“Christian.” He gave them both a tight smile. “Zoe.”
“Hi, Gabe,” Zoe said.
Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not going to spy on you or do a tell-all.”
“Why would you?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“But you’ve been asked,” Christian said, his suspicions confirmed. Call him a cynic but there were very few people in this world that would turn down millions of dollars for a few minutes of “work”.
Gabriel nodded once. “I can’t be bought.”
Score one for the good guys left in the world.
She gave Christian a wide-eyed look. “I didn’t think they’d bother anyone else.”
At that moment he felt ancient. “Love, they’d bother your grandmother on her deathbed.”
Gabriel shifted from side to side, his gaze to the street closet to them, Ivy Lane. “Thought you should know.”
“Thanks.” Christian meant it and maybe if he hadn’t been so in love with the woman at his side, or less selfish, he would tell her that she deserved a man like Gabriel.
Gabriel ambled away.
“Something’s wrong with him,” Zoe said as they walked to her car. “Before you came back, he wanted my advice on something.”
“You don’t know what?”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve only seen him like this once or twice before and each time it seemed to have something to do with—”
“I don’t care about his problems. All I care about is you” Christian crushed her to him, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sure Gabriel can figure out everything on his own.” He opened her door.
“I guess you’re right,” she said, then slid in the passenger seat.
He closed the door behind her and jogged around to the driver’s side. Once inside, he closed his door and buckled his seatbelt. “I have to go to Paris tomorrow. It’s been months in the making. A stag party for a certain ginger-haired prince.” The Camaro’s engine revved and he made a U-Turn in the street.
Her mouth fell open. “Prince Ha-”
He laughed. “No, not that one, but there’s every possibility you’ll eventually have to attend something with him there. My mother’s a Lady and my father claims the whole Romanov Prince bit. He even bought an English title and all its entailments.”
“What does that make you?”
“Nothing. Second son, remember?”
“Stop saying that.”
He shifted into fifth gear and covered her hand with his. “Almost forgot your penchant for the runts of the litter.”
He heard her snort. “There’s nothing little about you. Then again I don’t have anything to compare it to, so I might be a wee bit biased.”
“Your compliments leave much to be desired.” He gave her a sidelong glance. She was biting her lower lip and trying not to laugh. “Anyway, I’ll have to be at the airport no later than two am.”
“How long will you be gone?” she asked, her voice a bit thin to his ears.
All things considered, his wife was taking the news rather well. “Five days, but if I can leave earlier, I will.”
She snatched her hand away. “The bachelor party is for almost a week?”
Okay, so she wasn’t taking it well at all. “It’s rather touchy when one deals with Royalty. They’re quite moody and love ceremony. Bloody, boring ceremony.” He turned off the car and turned to face her, mentally willing her to understand. To have faith in him.
“And a ‘round the world menu of women on hand helps pass the time. I’m sure they’ll cater to your every need so you won’t be bloody bored.” She got out of the car and ran inside of their house.