LITMIR.BIZ

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had passed and Zoe was still confused.

      What does one say to the man who is officially your husband—an estranged husband at that—a prince—the man she’d made out with in the living room of the apartment she shared with her mother?

      Well, the answer was simple. Nothing.

      Or at least, as little as possible.

      Not until she had her head screwed back on straight and her thoughts were actually coherent.

      When Demetrius had dropped her off at the beach house the day before, she’d told him that she had a headache. It hadn’t been a lie. Her head had ached from the constant tug-of-war between the will of her heart and the common sense of her mind.

      She’d spent most of the night staring into the dark, trying to make sense of where things stood between her and Demetrius. Luckily, it was now Saturday and she didn’t have to go to the office. She could spend the whole day at the beach house. She’d intended to complete her sketch for the mural, but she couldn’t sit still long enough—especially not after Demetrius called to say he was stopping by because they needed to talk.

       Talk? Talk about what? The South Shore project? Or the unforgettable kiss?

      She glanced at the clock on the wall. A frown tugged at her mouth. It’d been almost two hours since he had called. Where was he?

      As though in answer to her thoughts, there was a knock at the door. When it swung open, Demetrius strode in with a reserved look on his face. “Sorry I’m later than I planned. I had something to deal with.”

      “Uh, no problem.” She wasn’t about to admit that she’d been dying of curiosity to know what he wanted to discuss. A glance at the clock revealed that it was approaching lunchtime. “Would you like something to eat?”

      “Before we get to that, I have something to show you.” His face was devoid of emotion, but his voice held a serious note.

      “Is something wrong?”

      He paused as though trying to choose his words carefully. “Depends on how you look at it.”

      Her whole body tensed. “Quit dragging it out. Just tell me.”

      He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to her. “This appeared in this morning’s paper.”

      She hastily unfolded the clipping. There in color was a photo of her and Demetrius getting into his car outside her apartment building. The breath trapped in her lungs. Her mind raced with all of the ramifications.

      “Zoe, relax. It’s not as bad as you’re thinking. Between your sunglasses, your cap and having your head lowered, no one can make out that it’s you. Most of your face is hidden.”

      Zoe let out the pent-up breath. “What are we going to do?”

      “Nothing.”

      “What? But we have to do something otherwise people will think—they’ll think—”

      “Nothing. There’s nothing going on in the photo except I am helping someone into my car. Your name was not mentioned. Just a blurb about me being out and about in the city.”

      She turned to him, searching his face for answers. “This was taken by that creepy reporter, wasn’t it?”

      Demetrius rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s my suspicion, but so far the paper is guarding their source. Don’t worry. Now that you’ve moved in here, we shouldn’t have any further problems with that photographer. But when we are out in public, we’re going to have to be extra careful.”

      She nodded. “I understand.”

      He hesitated. Then deciding that he’d made his point, he changed the subject. “Now about lunch, I’ll give the kitchen staff a call and have them send over something. What do you want?”

      “Actually, I was thinking of making a salad.” When he reached for his phone, she added, “You don’t need to call anyone. The fridge is fully stocked. There’s even some fresh shrimp.”

      “Sounds good.” His facial expression said otherwise.

      “If you want something else, that’s fine.”

      He shook his head. “It’s not the menu.”

      “Are you sure?”

      He nodded. “It’s just that I’m not exactly good in the kitchen. I haven’t had much experience there.”

      “No problem. You can watch.”

      He started to roll up his sleeves. “And have you do all of the work? I don’t think so. You just tell me what needs done and I’ll do my best.”

      They moved to the kitchen and raided the refrigerator of all the fresh vegetables. Demetrius washed while she chopped. The truth was Zoe didn’t have an appetite, no matter how colorful the vegetables or plump the already cooked shrimp.

      Demetrius wasn’t the problem—not exactly. It was what had happened a couple of nights ago that was bothering her. It’d be so easy to get caught up in more kisses, in more of this domestic bliss. But she knew the truth—the fact that she had a fifty-fifty chance of ending up like her mother. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—put Demetrius through that. A sharp pain started in her finger and rushed up her arm.

      “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

      Zoe glanced down to see she’d nicked the tip of her thumb. She muttered under her breath as she moved to the sink to rinse it off.

      “I’ll get a bandage.” Demetrius rushed out of the room. He quickly returned and played the concerned doctor as he applied antibiotic cream and a bandage. “Now sit down and I’ll finish.”

      Grudgingly, she did as instructed.

      He grabbed a tomato and started to slice it. “Were you able to work on your sketch?”

      Really? He thought she’d be calm enough to be creative. “Umm...no.”

      “You know, I never did get to see any of your sketches. And you did say I’d get to choose one.”

      “And you will. But I don’t want anyone seeing them until I do some more work on them.” Cutting him off before he could launch into a rebuttal, she asked, “Did your meeting with the king go well?”

      “It went as well as could be expected.” Demetrius scraped the tomato pieces into the salad bowls. “I told him about all of your wonderful work at Residenza del Rosa. He’s quite impressed. He’d like to meet with you sometime.”

      The king wanted to meet with her?

      She didn’t respond, not exactly sure what to say. She knew that she was supposed to be honored and tripping all over herself to accept, but her one and only encounter with the king had been anything but impressive. The king had been skeptical about her intentions as far as her marriage to his son.

      The king had never insisted that she leave Demetrius, but he did make it clear if she were to stay what would be expected of her. He pointed out how she would be under constant scrutiny by the press. In her mind, all she could think about was her mother’s disease being documented in the tabloids. How could she do that to her mother who was already struggling? And how could she do that to Demetrius?

      “I don’t think it’d be a good idea for us to meet.”

      “You worry too much. I told you I fixed things. He understands about the mix-up with the papers—”

      “You told him about my mother?”

      Demetrius stilled the knife and turned to her. “I wouldn’t do that. I know how hard it was for you to tell me. When you’re ready, you can tell people.”

      She breathed easier. “Grazie.”

      “You don’t have to thank me. I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you

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