Her glance shot from him to Hamilton-Hobbs. The other woman had to have seen the dawning realization and disgust in her client’s expression. She held Zia’s gaze with a steely one of her own.
“I’ll be handling the solicitations personally, Dr. St. Sebastian. They’ll go out this afternoon, and I promise I’ll follow up on each one myself.”
When Zia hesitated, the brunette laid her professional reputation on the line.
“Danville and Associates has one of the highest success rates in the country. I guarantee we’ll secure the one-point-two million you require for your study.”
Medicine, Zia had learned, was knowledge multiplied by experience compounded by instinct. So was life. She could get up, walk out and start over again with the next grant professional on the comptroller’s list. Or she could trust Elizabeth Hamilton-Hobbs.
She nodded. Slowly. Not bothering to disguise her reluctance. “I want to be kept in the loop. Please copy me on each solicitation you send out and every response you receive.”
Danville voiced an instant objection. “We’ll send you weekly status reports. That’s our standard policy. But we don’t...”
His subordinate cut him off with a knife-edged smile.
“Not a problem, Dr. St. Sebastian. I’ll keep you in the loop every step of the way.”
* * *
Elizabeth held to her word. She cc’d Zia on every solicitation that went out and forwarded copies of every response that came in. In a remarkably short space of time, Danville and Associates secured more than eight hundred thousand dollars from three foundations and four private corporations....including a quarter million promised by GSA over the projected two-year life of the study.
Rafe Montoya called Zia personally with the news. He caught her at work, busy preparing for the weekly discharge conference. It was one of Children’s Hospital’s most popular sessions. Attended by faculty and staff alike, the conference focused on patients with unusual diagnoses or diseases difficult to treat. One of Zia’s patients would be discussed at this session—a five-year-old who’d presented with retinitis pigmentosa, mental retardation and obesity. She’d tested him for a dozen different possibilities before diagnosing the extremely rare Bardet-Biedl Syndrome. She was preparing to lead the discussion of his case, but took Rafe’s call eagerly.
“Thought you might want to know GSI’s executive board voted unanimously to help underwrite the study.”
“Really? That’s fantastic!”
She couldn’t resist a little happy dance. The gleeful two-step set her stethoscope bobbling and her interns gaping. But when the initial thrill subsided, she had to ask.
“Just out of curiosity, how many members of GSI’s executive board are related to the CEO?”
“Seven of the twelve,” Rafe admitted with a chuckle. “If it makes you feel any better, though, the remaining five all have extensive backgrounds in the shipping industry. Your proposal struck a chord with them, Zia. Especially after I dropped a casual reminder of the multimillion-dollar MRSA suit brought by the crew of the Cheryl K.”
“Thanks, Rafe. I really appreciate your support. I’ll do my damnedest to make sure our research justifies GSI’s investment.”
“That’s all we can ask. And it wasn’t just me pushing this,” he added. “Mike’s been behind this project from the start. Okay, not just the project. He believes in you, Zia.”
* * *
Rafe’s ringing endorsement was still front and center in Zia’s mind when Mike called to advise her of his arrival time on February twelfth. He caught her in the hospital cafeteria. She’d missed lunch and had dashed down to grab a frozen yogurt and a much-needed break. She was just dousing the creamy ice-cream substitute with chocolate sprinkles when her cell buzzed. She fished the iPhone out of the pocket of her white coat and balanced it between her shoulder and ear while signing the chit for her yogurt.
“Wheels down at five-fifteen,” Mike announced as Zia carried her treat to an empty table. “I’ll be at my hotel by six-thirty. Seven at the latest. Plan on dinner at eight, with several hours of uninterrupted quality time to follow. Or,” he said with a husky laugh that raised shivers of anticipated delight, “quality time first and dinner to follow. Your choice, Doc.”
“Wrong,” she countered with a quick lick of her spoon.
“Which part?”
“The choice part. Anyone who can squeeze a quarter-of-million dollars out of his board of directors to study germs deserves first pick.”
It was a joke. A lighthearted attempt to thank him for his support. Yet Zia sensed instantly the joke had fallen flat.
“Is this something we need to talk about?” he asked. “Our personal relationship vis-à-vis our professional responsibilities? I don’t have a problem keeping them separate, Zia.”
“Neither do I. I was just kidding, Mike. Although...”
Now that it was out there like the proverbial elephant in the room she couldn’t ignore it.
“Is it really possible to separate them? Would you have endorsed my study if you didn’t...if we weren’t...”
“Lovers?” he supplied when she fumbled for the right word. “Friends? Acquaintances?”
“Involved.”
That was greeted with a dead silence that thundered in Zia’s ears, drowning out the rattle of the trays two candy stripers had just placed on the cafeteria’s conveyor belt.
“Okay,” Mike said after that pregnant pause. “Looks like we’re going to have to sit down and have a long talk about tax credits and incentives for corporations to invest in research and development. They vary greatly at national, state and local levels.”
“I know that.”
“Did you also know Texas possesses four of this country’s busiest deep-water ports? Galveston, Beaumont, Houston and Corpus Christi.”
“No,” she replied, a little put off by the lecturing tone.
“Houston is the tenth busiest port in the world in tonnage. So yes, GSI invests heavily in research we think may positively impact our industry and, oh, by the way, earns us almost as much in tax breaks as our original investment. Does that answer your question?”
“No,” Zia snapped back, annoyed now. “I know how much GSI invests in research. Rafe briefed me on the figures in your office, yes?”
She could hear her accent thickening, feel the temper stirring behind it.
“My question was...and still is...would you have supported this particular project if you and I were not involved?”
“Dammit, woman, is that the best you can up with to describe where we are together?”
He still hadn’t answered her question, but he now singed the airways. She gripped the phone and started to bite back. Would have, if she hadn’t remembered her recent conversation with the duchess.
She owed Mike the truth. She might have given it if he hadn’t just come down on her with both feet. Gritting her teeth, she forced a cool reply.
“Do you not think this is something we should discuss in person?”
“No,” he shot back, as irritated now as she was. “I told you I wouldn’t push you. I also remember saying this isn’t a race. But I think I need some indication of whether you’re even on the track.”
“Jézus, Mária és József!” Goaded, she spit out the truth she’d owned up to so recently. “I love you! There! Is that what you wish to hear?”
The pause this time was longer. Moments instead of seconds.
Embarrassed by her heated outburst, Zia glanced around to see if any of the other cafeteria customers had tuned in. None had, and despite her simmering irritation she found herself holding her breath until a slow drawl came across the airwaves.
“Oh, yeah, darlin’. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Maybe not quite in that tone, but I’m not complaining.”
She could hear the laughter in his voice. And something deeper, something that locked her breath in her chest.
“Care to repeat it?” he asked, a caress in each word. “Without the attitude this time?”
How in God’s name did he do this? Spark her temper one moment and make her melt the next? Sighing, Zia stabbed her spoon into the melting yogurt.
“I love you.”
“There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Yes, it was! I was going to wait until this weekend to tell you, in the proper setting.”
“Aboard a sailboat while we’re freezing our asses off?”
“No, you fool. Before that. Or at the ball afterward.” She gave a hiccuping laugh. “I hadn’t nailed down the specifics.”
“Tell you what. You decide on the venue and we’ll do this again in person. Deal?”
A smile spread across her heart. “Deal.”
Nine
To Zia’s infinite relief, she didn’t get to experience the thrill of chopping through the icy waters of Long Island Sound. A front rolled in Friday afternoon, bringing with it a dense fog. Every airport on the East Coast shut just hours before Mike’s private jet was scheduled to land. He had to divert to Pittsburgh and wait it out.
The impenetrable mist continued to blanket New York well into Saturday morning, forcing the yacht club to postpone their Frostbite Regatta. The Valentine Ball, however, remained on schedule for that evening. Mike promised he’d arrive by plane, train or rental car to escort her to the big bash.
The duchess took advantage of the delay to arrange a shopping expedition. Zia had already called Gina to ask if she could borrow one of her many gowns, but Charlotte dismissed that with a wave of one hand. “Nonsense. You have a very distinct style, quite different from Gina’s.”
“I’ve lived in white coats and sweats for almost three years,” Zia protested. “If I had a distinctive style, it’s dead and buried.”
“Then we shall have to resurrect it.”
Conceding defeat, Zia buzzed down and asked Jerome to hail a taxi. It was waiting curbside when the two women emerged into the gray, drizzly afternoon a little past one o’clock.
The doorman opened the rear door with a flourish. “Where shall I tell the driver to take you, Duchess?”
“Saks Fifth Avenue.”
“Of course.”
The cabbie zipped through the light weekend traffic and pulled up less than thirty minutes later at the mecca for shoppers with discriminating tastes and the money to indulge them. Saks’s flagship store first opened in 1924 and now covered an entire city block. Its seventh-floor café looked down on the spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Every floor above and below offered an array of tempting, high-end goods.
Charlotte had been forced to dispense with the services of a personal shopper during the lean years. Since Sarah married and her husband had taken over management of the family’s finances, however, she was once again able to indulge in one of life’s more decadent luxuries.
The ponytailed personal attendant had been alerted by a phone call from Jerome and was waiting curbside to help his clients out of the cab. “What a delight to see you again, Duchess.”
“And you, Andrew.”
“How may I assist you today?”
“This is my great-niece, Dr. Anastazia St. Sebastian. She requires a ball gown, shoes and an appointment at the salon.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. St. Sebastian.” The shopper measured Zia’s lithe figure and distinctive features with something approaching ecstasy. “I’m sure we can find just what you’re looking for.”
Mere moments later he had them ensconced in a private viewing room on the fifth floor. Crystal flutes shared a silver tray with iced champagne and bottles of sparkling water.
“May I ask if you have a particular style or color in mind?” Andrew asked as he poured champagne for Charlotte and a Perrier for Zia.
“No frills,” the duchess pronounced. “Something sleek and sophisticated. In midnight blue, I think. Or...” She cocked her head, assessing Zia with the discerning eye that had once filled her closets with creations from the world’s most exclusive designers. “Red. Shimmering, iridescent red.”
“Oh, yes!” Andrew almost clapped his hands in delight. “With her ebony hair and dark eyes, she’ll look delicious in red. Emily! Madeline!” A snap of his fingers made the two waiting saleswomen jump. “What do we have that might fit the bill?”
“It’s Valentine’s week,” the older of the two women reminded him. “We’re swimming in red.”
“Well, show the duchess and Dr. St. Sebastian what we have.”
The women disappeared and returned mere moments later with an array of designer originals. Each, Zia noted, was more expensive than the last. Not that she was particularly concerned about the price tag. Charlotte had flatly refused to let her contribute to household expenses for the past two and a half years. She’d insisted instead that her great-niece’s company in the big, empty apartment was more than enough recompense. So Zia had banked her entire salary and could well afford to splurge on something outrageously expensive.
She tried several designs and labels, but the moment she slithered into a tube of screaming scarlet, she knew that was the one. The front bodice was cut in a straight slash from shoulder to shoulder. The back, however, plunged well below her waist. And every step, every breath, set off tiny pinpricks of light from the sparkling paillettes woven into the fabric.
Three-inch stilettos and a clutch bag in silver completed the ensemble, but the duchess wasn’t done. After high tea at the seventh-floor café with its magnificent views, the two women hit the salon. They emerged three hours later. Charlotte’s snowy hair was arranged in a regal upsweep. Zia wore hers caught high behind one ear with a rhinestone comb, falling in a smooth black wing over the other.
* * *
It was almost six when they returned home. Mike had called to let Zia know he’d made it into the city okay and would pick her up at seven. That left a comfortable margin to freshen up, shimmy into her gown and apply a little more makeup than her usual swipe of lip gloss. She was adding mascara to her thick lashes when the duchess tapped lightly on her bedroom door.
“Oh, my dear!” Charlotte’s blue eyes misted a little as she had Zia perform a slow pirouette. “You’ve inherited the best of the St. Sebastian genes. There’s Magyar in your eyes and high cheekbones, centuries of royal breeding in your carriage. You do the duchy of Karlenburgh proud, my dear.”
Charlotte’s praise stirred a glow of pride. Zia had indeed inherited a remarkable set of genes. The fierce Magyars who’d swept down from the steppes on their ponies...the French and Italian princes and princesses who’d married into the St. Sebastian family in past centuries...the Hungarian patriots who’d fought so long and so hard to throw off the Soviet yoke... They’d all contributed to the person she was. She felt the beat of their blood in her veins and a wash of surprise when the duchess pressed a small velvet box into her hand.
“These are part of your heritage, and my gift to you.”
Zia flipped the lid on the box to reveal a pair of ruby earrings nested in black velvet. Each red oval dangled from a smaller but similarly cut diamond.
“Oh, Charlotte! They’re beautiful. I’ll certainly wear them tonight, but I won’t keep them. You should give them to one of the twins.”
“I’ve managed to preserve a few pieces for my great-grandchildren. And Dev, clever boy that he is, has helped me reclaim some I was forced to sell over the years. These,” she said with a sniff of disdain, “were apparently purchased by an extremely vulgar Latvian plutocrat for his mistress. I didn’t ask Dev how he recovered them, although I understand Jack had to step in and exercise some rather questionable behind-the-scenes diplomatic maneuvering. Now,” she finished firmly, “they’r
e yours. Let’s see how they look on you.”
Zia thought they looked magnificent.
* * *
So did Mike when he arrived a few moments later.
When Zia met him at the door, what looked like an acre of pleated white shirtfront and black tuxedo filled her vision. He carried his overcoat over his arm, his hat in his hand and an awed expression on his face.
“Wow. You, Dr. St. Sebastian, are stunning.”
“It’s the earrings.” She bobbed her head to set the rubies dancing. “Charlotte gave them to me, insisting they’re part of my heritage.”
“Trust me,” he growled when she turned to precede him through the foyer, “it’s not the earrings. You sure that dress won’t get us both arrested?”
She was laughing when she left him to say hello to the duchess while she fetched her wrap...and thoroughly surprised for the second time that evening when she exited the lobby to find a black carriage with bright yellow wheels drawn up at the curb. The driver wore a top hat and voluminous red coat. A jaunty red plume decorated his horse’s headpiece.
Zia came to a dead stop. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope. I decided to do it up right this evening.”
“You do know it’s February, right? There’s still frost on the ground.”
“Not to worry. Natalie sent along a warm blanket. And your brother provided this.” He fished a thin silver flask out of his pocket and held it up with a smug grin. “It’s not pálinka, but Dom guarantees it’ll warm the cockles of your heart. Whatever the hell those are,” he added as he took her elbow to help her climb aboard.
“The ventricles,” Zia murmured while he settled beside her. “From the Latin, cochleae cordis. When did you see Natalie and Dom?”
“Right before I came to pick you up.” He draped the blanket over her knees and settled his hat on his head before stretching an arm across her shoulders to keep her close for added warmth. “All right, Jerry. Let’s go.”
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