“You’re a brat sometimes, aren’t you?”

“I’m not the one barging in on a reading, pulling hair and making jokes about your penis.”

“I never joke about my penis.” He released her hair.

“Stick with me, kid,” she murmured, straightening the Ace of Wands.

He chuckled and caged her with his knees, massaging her shoulders. “What’s with the naked woman and the watering cans?”

“The Star follows the Tower in the Major Arcana. I had the Tower when I realized I was pregnant, so it makes sense that the Star has turned up.” She touched the card so it was perfectly aligned with the others. “It’s a symbol of hope, like a wishing star or a guiding star. She’s watering the seeds that she’s planted, but she’s naked so she’s vulnerable, which we always are when we hope.”

“But it’s upside down.”

“I know,” Fliss said pensively. “Reversed means a lack of faith or a likely disappointment. Granny always points out that star spelled backwards is rats.” She tapped the word on the bottom of the card.

“Is she really here? Because there goes my plan to seduce you on the couch.” He looked to the empty chair and the untouched cup of tea. “Come back to bed. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

She only picked up her tea to sip. “That was a really difficult dinner, Saint.”

He knew. That was why he’d been genuinely alarmed to find the bed empty and so relieved to find her here. His parents had stayed and they hadn’t said anything that was outright antagonistic or insulting, but they hadn’t welcomed her with open arms. Aside from his mother asking about her due date, they’d barely acknowledged the baby.

“And this Belmont Stakes thing? I don’t know anything about horses!”

“Is that the reason you couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“It’s a house party for a week,” she said. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I forgot about it, or I would have. Mom actually has a horse in the race this year. That’s not an expression—she really does. So we can’t refuse to go.” The timing was terrible, though, with his project still in such early stages of getting off the ground. “It’s an excellent chance for me to introduce you to everyone, though.”

“Who is ‘everyone’?”

“Mom’s horsey friends.” And the Hampton circle along with his father’s cronies and the board members who would be sucking lemons over the sleight of hand Saint had pulled by failing to mention Fliss when he had accepted their backing. “Don’t worry. It’s a week away.”

“I looked it up, Saint,” she said. “I need outfits. I need hats. Your mother was already looking at me like I was an embarrassment.”

“I told you, she’s vain about her age. She’ll come around.”

“I always hoped my baby would have a grandmother like I did,” she admitted softly.

His gaze flickered to that upside-down Star of disappointment.

“I would give that to you if I could, Fliss.” He leaned forward to cup the front of her throat and press a kiss to the top of her hair. “I want to give you everything you need. I really do.” When it came to his parents, a sense of failure, of being robbed was so visceral, it was bitter on his tongue.

He did what he always did when emotions reared their head.

“Let’s talk to a Realtor tomorrow to find a space for your design work.”

“I’d rather use one of the spare bedrooms. I only need a table for my sewing machine, and I’d rather not go out every day and have to worry about being photographed.” She began gathering up her cards, then paused. “Do you want me to do a reading for you?”

“God, no.” Saint cleared his throat. “I mean, no, thank you.”

“Chicken. What are you afraid I’ll see?” She was finally smiling as she folded the velvet around the cards and secured the package with a white ribbon.

Too much. The answer slithered through his mind, too slippery to catch and examine, but it was true.

They flew by helicopter, landing in a private airfield where they were collected by a chauffeur who greeted Saint with warm familiarity and a welcoming smile for Fliss.

His mother was less effusive when they arrived at the end of a secluded driveway in a cobbled courtyard surrounding a fountain before a massive stone mansion with wings off either side. It was topped with gingerbread detailing and a tile roof.

Norma greeted them with perfunctory cheek kisses and directed their luggage to “the junior suite.”

“I’ll leave you to show Felicity around. The florist finally arrived, and they brought the wrong color lilies so I have that disaster on my hands.” She stalked away.

“Oh no,” Saint said faintly in her wake.

“She just wants her party to go well,” Fliss murmured, but if the wrong lilies were a disaster, what did that make her?

During that awful dinner last week, she’d been politely interrogated on her life, from her upbringing to her education right up to her aspiration to pursue fashion design. At no point had she felt that Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery had warmed to her.

As Saint showed her around, Fliss’s apprehension grew. His penthouse was gorgeous and worth millions, but this was only one of his parents’ residences. His father stayed in their Fifth Avenue apartment while Norma spent most of her time at their twenty-two-acre estate in Bedford Corners. They called this mansion their “cottage.”

It had been built for entertaining. The main floor was open and welcoming with a great room containing a massive fireplace, a number of smaller conversation areas and a formal dining room with seating for sixteen. Every room had windows and doors onto the back garden where a huge patio was surrounded by flowering shrubs and June blooms.

Saint pointed out the games room and home movie theatre—it easily sat twenty.

“The fitness room and sauna are below our suite in the other wing. I’ll show you on the way to our room.” He walked her outside past the enormous kidney-shaped pool. “I wanted us to have the pool house, but that’s the beauty salon this week. If you chip a nail or want your hair done, just come here. Do you play tennis?” He nodded to the court that was tucked into the trees at the end of a short path.

“Never.” She was still craning her neck back at the pool house, which was a genuine cottage with a chimney, a porch, hanging baskets and rickrack detailing.

They stepped onto a boardwalk that wound through grassy sand dunes, then descended onto the longest, emptiest beach Fliss had ever seen. The ocean stretched out in a gray-blue rippling blanket for about a thousand miles.

“Is that England I see over there?” she joked, pointing randomly.

“That’s West Africa.” Saint took hold of her shoulders and angled her so she was looking almost straight up the beach. “Northeast is that way, but Canada’s elbow is in the way.”

“Oh, Canada,” she groused. “Can’t you see I’m homesick?”

“Are you?” His arms came around her, drawing her back into his strong frame. “I thought you were settling in.”

“I am,” she fibbed because he could be so sweet sometimes, holding her like this. She draped her arms over his as they watched the waves rolling onto the sand.

At least she had her studio in the penthouse to make her feel at home. It was so much her dream workspace she nearly cried with joy every time she entered it. But the time she spent in there was less about pursuing her dream and more about escaping the reality of this new, foreign life she’d been thrust into.

Her other escape was, of course, this. His arms. The feel of him nuzzling into her neck and thickening against her backside sent tingles showering from her scalp into her breasts. Tendrils of warmth wound into her pelvis whenever he so much as glanced at her. None of her worries could impact her when they spent their nights—and mornings and stolen midday moments—kissing and fondling and pleasuring each other into oblivion.

They cushioned the culture shock of what she was going through, but none of it changed the fact that she felt as though she’d won an all-expenses-paid vacation and was enjoying a holiday fling.

How could she settle into a life that wasn’t real?