A Bad Boy is Good to Find(26)

“Oh,” Lizzie looked her right in the eye. “He is.”

“So really, no guest list? What about his friends and family in the area? His parents? Siblings?”

Does he have any? Her questions about his family had been met with swift evasion. For all Lizzie knew he’d emerged from the swamp on webbed feet, alone. While she was curious to find out where, and who, he did spring from, she was a little nervous about it too. She couldn’t bring up the subject of a guest list without tipping him off to their destination, and she certainly didn’t want to do that.

“Con and I want our wedding to be an intimate celebration of our love. Just the two of us. As if we were getting married on a deserted island.”

“What about your parents?” Maisie’s steely gaze made her stiffen.

“Maisie, you know my father is under house arrest.” She wasn’t going to be cowed.

“Your mother, then? What does she think about the wedding?”

No idea. She’d tried calling the ashram and been told her mother had left for an expedition into the mountains. With no contact information.

“Just the two of us.”

“And Donald Trump. Ha ha. Luckily, it’s far too short notice to get any real celebrities so I can pretend I tried and look all sad when I tell Don no one could come. He loves the tight timetable on this show so he won’t complain too much. You came along at just the right time. All the new season shows are bombing so he was ready to grasp at straws. It was this or buy a new Brazilian soap opera, and frankly, you’re cheaper.”

“I’m honored to be the final straw for Celebrity Cable.”



Even in the late-afternoon sun, Lizzie could see lights on inside the house as she walked up the driveway. It was one thing for Con to get the electricity turned on, but did he have to run up the bill like this in broad daylight? She’d begged off a styling meeting and taken the long train ride back early. Who cared how the stinking napkins were folded? Their flight was booked for the following day, and she wanted to get her stuff together. Get her head together.

She pushed the door open. “I’m back.” Dropped her bag inside the door. Heard voices.

The voices were coming from outside. Con and a woman.

The Realtor. She wasn’t going to make an ass of herself screaming like a shrew over Con again. Jeez, anyone might have thought she actually cared if he’d been between the sheets with some middle-aged harpy.

Still, she didn’t stroll around the back and say hi, either. She crept across the wood floor of the living room, past all her brightly lit paintings, to the French doors. They were standing near the pool, backs to her.

And it wasn’t the same Realtor.

Must be another one. You’re the de-facto homeowner, go out and introduce yourself. She lifted her chin and headed for the French doors out to the pool area.

“Hellooo” she called, aiming for breezy confidence. Stepped onto the bluestone terrace. But her confidence withered and died as the woman turned and she saw that this time it actually was Frankie Allen. Aka Mrs. Stavros Gianopolous.

He’d brought her here. To her house.

“Lizzie, hi!” Con waved.

She froze. She didn’t even feel anger, just deep hurt. Humiliation.

A woman he’d been in bed with—who’d paid him with expensive gifts for it—and he was standing there talking to her by her pool.

She struggled for breath as they walked toward her.

“Lizzie, you know Frankie… Gianopolous, right?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“Hi, Lizzie.”

“We were just talking about your paintings. Frankie’s a collector. I thought she’d be a good person to ask for advice about how to sell them.”

Lizzie stared at him, then at her. She was beautiful, in a fragile, birdlike way. Translucent skin stretched over fine bones. Thin as a rail.

“Lizzie, they’re stunning. I’ve never seen anything like them. I’d like to buy one myself.”

“No.” The word flew out on instinct. “They’re not for sale.”

Con had the wisdom to hold his tongue, and there was a pleasantly uncomfortable pause.

“Congratulations on your wedding, Lizzie. You’re marrying a very special man.”

Lizzie glanced at Con, who ran his hand through his hair awkwardly. She noticed with a jolt that he wasn’t dressed up. In fact he looked downright scruffy in navy sweatpants and one of her old T-shirts. Somehow that made the little scene disturbingly intimate.

“Why didn’t you marry him, then?” she shot, unable to control herself.

Frankie didn’t even flinch. “He’s far too young and handsome for me. He deserves a lovely girl his own age, like you.”

Had he told her the wedding was a sham?

“I was so sorry to hear about what happened to your father, Lizzie. He was so well liked. He told the most wonderful stories. I was at a dinner party with him once…”

Heart pounding, Lizzie cut in. “Thanks for the memories, but I’d like to get changed. These high heels are killing me. Con, darling, could you unzip me?”

Con’s eyes widened. She turned her back to him and Frankie. The dress she wore had a long zipper from neck to waist.

Con unzipped it.

“Do excuse my lack of formality, but after all this is my home. At least until someone buys it.”

“Frankie’s looking for a place in the Hamptons.”

Lizzie blinked rapidly. Did Con really mean to try selling her parents’ house to his ex-lover?

Words rushed from her mouth. “I’d recommend a house on the beach. The town’s frightfully built up. The traffic is terrible on weekends.” Her voice shook as she realized this woman was probably rich enough to buy the house and not even notice the dip in her bank account. It was barely four million, after all. Chump change to the wife of a Greek shipping squillionaire.

She straightened her back. Put on a poker face. “Has Con given you a tour of the bedrooms?”

Frankie just looked at her. “He loves you very much.”

Con flinched and stared at Frankie.

“I know,” she said, wondering why Con had lost his cool just then. “We’re both head over heels.”

Con cleared his throat. “Frankie said you should wait until after the TV show to promote the paintings. She thinks you can use it as an opportunity to pitch yourself and your artwork and raise the price.”

“But you’d like to buy one now—get in on the ground floor, so to speak?” Lizzie stared at Frankie. Held herself stiffly. “And if you buy the house too, you won’t even have to move it.”

Frankie smiled apologetically. “I think your paintings are beautiful, and you’re a very talented artist. I also think I should not have come here today. Don’t hold it against Conroy. He has a good heart, and I’m the one who should have known better.”

“Thanks for your ringing endorsement of my fiancé, and of course cash donations are always welcome. But then you knew that already, as far as Con is concerned, didn’t you?” Her voice was getting shrill.