He chose her.
“I have to go,” he said suddenly.
“What?” His lawyer looked bewildered, holding a stack of official-looking papers on his desk. “Where?”
“California.” Leonidas turned away. He had to see Daisy. He had to tell her everything, to fall at her feet and beg her to forgive him. To take him back. Before he’d even reached the door, he broke into a run.
Because what if he was already too late?
CHAPTER TEN
THE BOUGAINVILLEA WAS in bloom, the flowers pink and bright, climbing against the snug white cottage overlooking the sea.
After three weeks of living there, Daisy still couldn’t get over the beauty of the quiet neighborhood near Santa Barbara. From the small garden behind her cottage, filled with roses and orange trees, she could see the wide blue vista of the Pacific. Looking straight down from the edge of the bluff, she could see the coastal highway far below, but the noise of the traffic was lost against the sea breezes waving the branches of cypress trees.
Looking out at the blue ocean and pink flowers, Daisy couldn’t stop herself from remembering her honeymoon, when Leonidas had kissed her passionately, on the terrace of a Greek villa covered with flowers, overlooking the Aegean. Even now, the backs of her eyelids burned at the memory.
When would she get over him? How long would it take for her to feel whole again?
“So? Did you decide?”
Hearing Franck Bain’s voice behind her, she turned with a polite smile. “No, not yet. I’m not even sure how long I’m going to stay in California, much less whether I’ll open my portrait business here.”
“Of course.” The middle-aged artist’s words were friendly, but his gaze roamed over her, from her white peasant blouse and denim capri pants to her flat sandals. The echo of her old boss’s words floated back to her. You know he’s in love with you.
No, Daisy thought with dismay. Franck was her father’s old friend. He couldn’t actually be in love with her.
Could he?
Franck had called her from his home in Los Angeles that morning, saying he’d heard she’d moved to Santa Barbara, just an hour to the north. He’d offered to drive up for a visit. Remembering how he’d burst in at her wedding, she’d been a little uneasy. But he’d explained smoothly, “My dear, I was just trying to keep you from making a big mistake. If you’d listened to me, you wouldn’t be going through a divorce now.”
Which was true.
Daisy did want to get to know Santa Barbara, and look at possible locations for a portrait studio. Livin
g in New York, she’d never learned to drive. When Franck offered to drive her wherever she wanted, even putting a baby seat in the back of his car, how could she refuse? Didn’t a person going through a divorce need all the friends she could get?
Divorce. Such an ugly word. Every day for the last three weeks, since she’d rented the snug cottage, she’d waited in dread for the legal papers to arrive.
But there was no point putting it off. Leonidas didn’t want her. He didn’t want Livvy. He was done with them. He didn’t care how much he’d hurt them.
Maybe Franck had been right when he’d shouted out at her wedding that Leonidas was a liar who’d killed her father.
Because there was no mercy in her husband’s soul. He’d had her father sent to prison for an innocent mistake. For Daisy’s own innocent mistake of trying to help him find the Picasso, Leonidas had cut her and their baby out of his life—forever.
With a lump in her throat, Daisy looked at their sweet, plump-cheeked baby in the sunlight of the California garden. Three-month-old Livvy had fallen asleep in the car and was still tucked snugly into her baby carrier outside.
“Thanks for showing me some of your drawings,” Franck said, smiling at her. He considered her thoughtfully. “You’re very good at portraits.”
“Thanks.” She hoped he wasn’t about to suggest that she do a drawing of him. She felt weary of his company, and a little uncomfortable, too.
The way Franck had looked at her all afternoon was definitely more than friendly. Ten minutes before, on their way back to her cottage, he’d invited her to dinner, “to discuss your business options.” Yeah, right. She’d been relieved to say no. Thank goodness she had a dog waiting at the cottage who needed to be let out into the garden!
Now Sunny bounded around them happily, sniffing everything from the vibrant rose bushes to the cluster of orange trees, checking on baby Livvy like a mother hen, then running a circle around the perimeter of white picket fence.
The only thing the large golden dog didn’t seem to like was Franck.
The dog had growled at him at first sight, when he’d arrived to pick them up in his car. Daisy had chastised her pet, and so Sunny had grudgingly flopped by the stone fireplace to mope. But even now, the normally happy dog kept her distance, giving him the suspicious glare she normally reserved for squirrels.