The Honest Affair (Rose Gold Book 3)

by Nicole French

  I grabbed my favorite fedora off the bureau, but before I could put it on, Kate plucked it away.

  “Hey!” I protested. “Give me that.”

  “Mattie, I know you love Nonno’s hat, but if you put that on, you’re going to look like Al Capone. Trust me on this. Coco Chanel always said you should take off the last thing you put on. I’m just doing it for you.”

  I grunted, but didn’t argue. Nina liked Chanel. No, it didn’t have anything to do with that. Or maybe it did.

  “I need help too.”

  We both turned to find Frankie, my other sister, striding into the room followed by her daughter, Sofia. “Kate, can you zip me up?”

  “When did my room become everyone’s damn dressing room?” I sputtered, even as I sat on the bed to allow Sofia to climb onto my lap. “Hey, watch the collar, Sof. I don’t need your paw prints on my shirt, all right?”

  Sofia made a face at me and shook her black curls from side to side. But she did keep her hands to herself.

  “Whose party is this again that I’m babysitting for?” Kate said, doing as Frankie asked.

  “You don’t need to babysit,” Frankie said as she took my place in front of the mirror. “I’m thinking maybe you should go with Matthew, Katie, because I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are,” I said for what had to be the fourth time that evening. As a single mom and third-grade teacher with next to no free time, Frankie didn’t exactly get out much. “You deserve a night out, Frankie, and since you badgered me into taking one, you’re coming.” I looked down at Sofia. “Don’t you think your ma needs a night away from you?”

  Sofia grinned, displaying the gap between her teeth. “Why would she need that?”

  I ruffled her hair and gently picked her up and placed her on the bedspread. “Eh, you’d chain her to the stove if you could, you little gremlin.”

  “I’m not a gremlin! It’s the boys that’s gremlins!” she protested, referring to her cousins uptown. “What’s a gremlin, anyway?”

  “It’s a monster that never lets its mommy do anything fun,” I told her.

  At that, Sofia’s smile dropped, and her eyes began to water. “Mommy?” She turned to Frankie, who was trying to keep still while Kate played with her hair and dress. “Mommy, am I a gremlin? Am I no fun?”

  “Mattie!”

  Frankie turned around, and a moment later, I was dodging her purse.

  “Okay, okay!” I laughed. “You’re not a gremlin, Sof. Maybe just a baby troll.”

  “Oh!” She perked up. “I can be a troll!” She slithered off the bed and scampered out of the room singing some terrible song at the top of her lungs.

  Frankie caught my mystified expression and giggled. “It’s from a movie,” she clarified. “The trolls are cute.”

  “Then I rest my case,” I said with a shrug. “And if you know more about a kids’ movie than going out with people your own age, you definitely need to get out more, Fran.”

  “You both do,” Kate clarified as she finished the final touches on Frankie’s dress. “Whose party is this anyway?”

  “Some friends of mine uptown,” I replied, glad they weren’t looking at me when I answered. I didn’t want to say who else might be there. Or the fact that she was going to be surrounded by friends and family that made me want to bring my own security.

  That was me. Big, bad Matthew Zola bringing his little sister to a party as a bodyguard.

  “Rich friends,” Frankie said pointedly. “They own a house on the Upper West Side. They’re going to think I’m a hobo.” She eyed herself nervously in the mirror again and sighed. “At least Derek never expected me to wear anything other than jeans and a t-shirt.”

  I didn’t reply, feeling a bit uncomfortable. I had encouraged Frankie to go out with my friend and former investigative partner last spring. It hadn’t lasted long, but I had never pried into what happened. I didn’t want to get in between two good people.

  “That’s because Derek’s idea of a good date was Chinese takeout and watching the Mets game on the couch,” said Kate, who didn’t have any such compunction.

  Frankie turned. “He wasn’t that bad.”

  “He was nice,” Kate admitted. “But he wasn’t for you. You said so yourself. There was no…zing. No za-za-zoo.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked. “It sounds like one of those spells Sofia makes up when she’s pretending to be my fairy godmother.”

  “It’s the thing,” Kate clarified, and to my surprise, Frankie nodded in agreement.

  “Electricity,” she chimed in. “That spark. You know, Mattie. Like how you and blondie couldn’t stop setting off fireworks all over the city this year.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said. “Look how that ended.”

  Both of my sisters quieted down, sensing the jokes were over.

  “Here we go again,” Frankie muttered.

  “You know, maybe I should take your place, you grump,” Kate said to me. “I could talk up my shop to all your rich friends. Or at least make some good contacts to pick up product. I bet a lot of these guys toss out their Armani like it’s day-old chicken.”

  “No!” Frankie and I both chimed in unison.

  I stood up, suddenly ready to leave. Frankie grinned at me, and for the first time in weeks, I managed to smile back. Yeah, a night out was definitely what the doctor ordered.

  That feeling, however, had completely disappeared by the time we were walking up the steps of Jane and Eric’s brownstone after an hour and a half on the subway.

  “Frances. Francesca,” I said.

  Frankie rolled her eyes as we approached the double doors to the big townhouse off Central Park West. “I know you’re nervous when you use my full name. What is it?”

  “Nothing,” I lied, then nudged her on the shoulder. “You just look pretty tonight.”

  And she did, too. I forgot sometimes that my sisters were all lookers in their own right. Especially Frankie. She was the shortest of all of us, taking most after Nonna with her slight build that barely even reached my shoulder at five-three in heels. Usually she lived in a uniform of child-friendly jeans and t-shirts, maybe a nice sweater if she had a staff meeting that day. Tonight she’d actually taken the time to let down her dark hair over her shoulders in soft curls, put on a black satin dress, and looked like a lady for a change.

  I wasn’t sure what I thought about that, but Frankie’s cheeks pinked as she patted her dress. “Nonna let me borrow it. She said it reminded her of Audrey Hepburn when she bought it.”

  I nodded in approval. “Yeah, you could be on the set of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

  Frankie beamed. “Thanks, big brother.”

  I knocked on the double doors, which were opened by one of Jane and Eric’s security guards.

  “Zola. Good to see you.”

  “Been a while,” I confirmed as I shook hands with Tony, Eric’s head of security.

  The big man looked down his list of people—the guestlist for this shindig was tight. No surprise there. Eric didn’t take any chances with his family’s security.

  “Who’s this?” he asked, nodding at Frankie.

  “My sister, Francesca Zola,” I said, waiting for him to locate Frankie’s name on the list. I’d messaged Jane about bringing her as a plus-one earlier this week.

  “Got it. Have fun.” Tony winked at Frankie, who immediately turned red.

  We walked into a party in full swing, and our coats were immediately checked by someone who introduced herself as Eric’s assistant. The party was also apparently a dual Christmas housewarming party of sorts since Eric had surprised Jane by purchasing the entire building and remodeling it top to bottom. They had been staying primarily with Eric’s mother since the shooting last May, returning here only when they needed space.

  “Wow,” Frankie breathed as she looked around the massive dining room, which had been decorated in Jane’s signature eclectic style. The furniture was a mix of classic mid-century pieces combined with p
unches of color and textures, including several mural-sized pieces of modern art on the walls.

  “See that one?” I pointed across the room. “That’s an original Gustav Klimt.”

  Frankie’s eyes bugged. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s the most comfortable museum you’ll ever visit,” I confirmed. “But I promise, the de Vrieses are good people.”

  “Drink, sir?”

  We turned to find one of the cater waiters holding a tray of champagne flutes.

  “Please,” I said, taking two for Frankie and me. “Hold on a second, kid.”

  As one, my sister and I both downed the contents of the glasses like they contained shots of Cuervo, not Cristal. I quickly exchanged them for two more.

  “Thanks,” I told the waiter. “Keep ’em coming.”

  “I can’t believe you hang out with these people all the time,” Frankie said as she accepted her other glass.

  I shrugged after taking another sip of champagne. “I wouldn’t say it’s all the time. I see them occasionally. Not for months, now.”

  She continued looking over the crowd, then turned to examine me. “You know, you fit in here.”

  I snorted. “Pull the other one, why don’t you.”

  “No, you do,” she insisted. “We always make fun of you for your hats and your suits, but I’m looking at you. And in here, with all these fancy people. You blend right in, Mattie. You really do.”

  “Give or take a billion dollars,” I joked back.

  “It’s smaller than you think.”

  Frankie turned to the crowd, who were all busily chatting and laughing. Eric and Jane were buried somewhere near the back. I caught Jane making large, animated movements with her hands. Her gold-rimmed glasses glinted under the lights of a modern chandelier, and when she saw me, she raised one hand and waved wildly, indicating for me to join them. I waved back, but I wasn’t in the mood to shove my way back there.

  “Is she here?” Frankie asked.

  “Who?”

  Frankie gave me a look. “You know who. Her.”

  I swallowed. I guessed I hadn’t been as discreet as I’d thought. Because no, I wasn’t scanning the crowd looking for famous faces from the Post. I was only interested in one face. A perfect face that had been scowling at me just a few days ago.

  I frowned. We were almost two hours past the start time of the party. The visible living room and dining rooms that had been cleared for guests were jammed with people. Still, nowhere did I see the telltale gleam of bright blonde.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. The churning in my stomach didn’t stop.

  “Good. You deserve a night off from the misery that woman brings you.”

  I looked down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  But before Frankie could answer, we were interrupted.

  “Francesca?”

  At the sound of her full Italian name (she was Frankie, Fran, or Frances pretty much everywhere but at our grandmother’s house) spoken in a suspiciously deep, clearly British voice, my sister froze. We both turned to find the tallest man in the room, who must have been close to six-five, weaving his way through the crowd with a shocked, yet determined expression. I couldn’t deny it: the guy, whoever he was, had a presence. He had that black-haired, blue-eyed look that, judging by the number of women (and a few men) whose heads swiveled as he passed, seemed to be pretty damn pleasing to the eye. If you liked that sort of thing.

  “Do you know him?” I asked Frankie.

  “Go,” she ordered through clenched teeth. “You should go.”

  I did no such thing.

  “He looks familiar.” I tipped my head, trying to figure out where I had seen him before. A magazine, maybe? Was he one of those people in Page Six, someone I’d seen on local tabloids? Half of the city had hard-ons for these rich assholes.

  Then he smiled at Frankie, and I knew exactly where I’d seen that face before. Or at least another version of it. It wasn’t in the paper. It was at my kitchen counter, eating breakfast cereal. Tossing a baseball. Talking about Doc McStuffins. I saw that face every day in my own damn house.

  “Frankie, is that Sofia’s—”

  “Hush!” Her hand pressed into my chest, shoving me a full step away from her.

  I frowned as the man approached. He was staring at Frankie with the kind of awe I felt whenever I saw Nina. But it didn’t make sense. Was this the guy who had abandoned her and Sofia? The deadbeat, possibly married man who shirked his daughter and left my sister crying?

  If that were true, then why did he look so damn excited to see her?

  “Frankie,” I started again, but I was cut off by the exact same look Nonna used to give me whenever I came home with stains on my white shirts.

  Message received, loud and clear.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, brushing out any creases she might have left on my lapels. “But you’re answering that question later, little sister.”

  “Get lost!” she hissed.

  “Going. But my two cents? He’s too tall for you anyway.”

  “Francesca?” I could hear him ask as I walked away. “Is it really you?”

  “Hello, Xavier.”

  Yeah, she was definitely going to have some explaining to do on our way back to Brooklyn.

  Deciding to make my way to where I’d last seen Jane, I started pushing through the crowd, ignoring the bored, curious looks, especially from some of the women. Yeah, yeah, ladies. I know you like. It didn’t matter. I was only here to see one of them, and she was nowhere to be found. I’d say hello to the hosts and get the hell out of here, back to where I actually belonged.

  A cascade of shoves ended with me bumping into a woman on my left, who dropped something as she turned around.

  “Beg your pardon, miss. Let me get that.”

  I crouched to the floor and retrieved the small leather purse, but then froze when confronted with shiny black heels, delicate ankles, and a pair of intensely long legs.

  Slowly, I looked up, noting the slight curves of her calves, then the knee-length dress. It was demure at first, solid black broken by a white lace panel that traveled from the hem all the way up her body. And as my gaze traveled too, it became very clear that there was absolutely nothing under that lace but miles and miles of butter-soft skin. And I was intimately familiar with all of it.

  Even so, I nearly fell over when I found those bright gray, almost silver eyes looking down at me, full of imperious, almost haughty irritation.

  “Nina,” I murmured.

  “Hello, Matthew,” she said. “Are you coming back up, or are you going to stay down there all night?”

  Chapter Seven

  Matthew

  I cleared my throat, then finally managed to pull myself back up to standing. It was hard, though. I couldn’t stop looking at her. All of her.

  It was Nina, but like I’d never seen her. Her hair, which used to fall about six inches past her shoulders, now stopped just below her chin in blunt waves the color of amber—still blonde, but several shades darker than the sunny gold I remembered. Her mouth was painted a deep, oxblood red, and her eyes were lined in black, lending a ferocity that reminded me of the female jaguar I’d seen at the zoo with Sofia. Elegant, yes. But with a lot of bite.

  And then, of course, there was the dress—all black, except for that transparent lace and the skin that was more evident through it the longer I looked. So different from the white and grays she usually wore (and yes, the one red dress). Ironic, really, that the most delicate part of it was most revealing.

  Good fuckin’ God, that was her hip bone right there. And the swell of her perfect, pert ass, the curve of her art-worthy breast.

  I gulped and tugged at my collar. Anyone who took a good look would see most of Nina’s body in profile. Could feast their eyes over her long, lithe muscles, subtle yet powerful curves. Gone was the demure socialite. Lace or not, she looked ready to fight.

  “Jesus, doll,” I whispered. “You, um, want to borr
ow my jacket or something?”

  She smirked as she took back her purse. “Why would I do that?”

  I swallowed, unable to look away from the slight tip of a berry-shaped nipple only just evident through the black silk. “Ah…you look cold.”

  But when I managed to tear my gaze back to meet hers, what I found was ice…laced with fire.

  “I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Thank you for your concern.”

  Only the rich knew how to make gratitude feel like a slap across the cheek. Yet again, I felt like I’d failed some kind of test. Nina had been here the entire time, and I hadn’t even recognized her.

  This time, however, I had an excuse.

  “You changed your…” I trailed off. I wanted to say everything, but that wasn’t true. Not exactly.

  “My hair, yes.” She gestured toward her head with an almost bored movement.

  “To say the least.” I looked her up and down again, and this time she had the decency to blush under the heat of my inspection. “You look good, doll. Better than good.”

  I almost said I liked her better before, but that wasn’t quite true either. I liked her no matter what, but the most beautiful Nina ever looked was in the morning when she woke up after a long night of letting me tire her out. When her hair was tousled and she wore nothing at all except the afterglow of passion.

  She was still her, though. Whatever made her the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen had nothing to do with what was on the outside. Darker hair or not. Blackened eyes or just pure gray. Nina de Vries could paint her face green and wear nothing but trash bags; I’d still follow her around New York like a lost fuckin’ puppy.

  She seemed to understand what I couldn’t express, because somehow, her face softened as we stared at each other

  “Oh, Matthew,” she whispered in that exact way that melted my cold, jaded heart.

  I opened my mouth to tell her exactly that, to say we should just ditch the party and find somewhere to talk for real. Walk through the park like we used to. Get lost with nothing but the trees for company.

  But before I could, we were rudely interrupted.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t our resident jailbird.”