Читать книгу The Fake Husband - Lynnette Kent - Страница 9

OTHER THAN THE CHANCE to pick up a cup of coffee for the twenty-minute drive back to Fairfield Farm, Rhys hadn’t expected anything out of his visit to the diner across the street from Andrew’s school. Finding Jacquie inside was a stroke of good luck he was sure he didn’t deserve, but one he intended to take full advantage of.

She had friends with her—a plump, chestnut-haired beauty standing by her shoulder and a cool blonde seated in the booth. They reminded him of watchdogs. If he didn’t behave, he had a feeling they were prepared to chase him off the premises.

“Good morning,” he said as he approached the table. “Is this where weary parents come to recover from the struggle of getting teenagers out of bed before noon?”

Jacquie grinned. “There’s a special pot of double-strength coffee set aside for those of us who need it.” Then, as if she’d suddenly remembered she didn’t want to talk to him, the grin faded. “Let me introduce you to some of your new neighbors. This is Abby Brannon.” She nodded to the woman standing beside her. “She and her dad Charlie run the Carolina Diner. Phoebe Moss,” she said, gesturing to the blonde, “lives just down the road from me, and when she’s not taking care of rescue horses, she works as a speech therapist. Abby, Phoebe, this is Rhys Lewellyn.”

“I’m glad to meet you.” Rhys tried out a smile on each of them, without much success. Phoebe’s gray gaze seemed to possess X-ray powers with which she intended to expose his every sin. If Jacquie had shared the details of their personal history with her friend, then there were a hell of a lot of sins to be found.

“Would you like anything else with your coffee?” Abby had a commercial interest to protect, he understood, which forced her to talk to him. “Doughnut, biscuit, piece of pie?”

“Just coffee, thanks.” When he smiled again, she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly, but he wasn’t sure that counted as progress.

“I’ll bring it out right away. Can I get y’all anything else?” She looked at Jacquie and Phoebe, who shook their heads, before hurrying off to the kitchen.

“This seems to be a popular place for breakfast,” Rhys commented, trying to keep the conversation going. No one, he noticed, had asked him to sit down.

“And lunch and dinner.” Jacquie looked around the room instead of meeting his eyes directly. “Most people in New Skye probably eat at the Carolina Diner at least once a week.”

“Some of them eat here every day,” Phoebe said, as the bell on the door jingled yet again. “Like my fiancé. Adam?” She lifted her hand and waved to the dark-haired man coming in the door, who quickly joined them.

Rhys stepped closer to Jacquie as the newcomer bent to give Phoebe a kiss. “Good m-morning, s-sweetheart, I didn’t know you’d be here. I’d have c-come in s-sooner.”

Phoebe’s smile was gentle as she laid her palm along the man’s jawline. “I came for breakfast with Jacquie.”

“S-sorry, Jacquie.” The guy straightened up and grinned. “I didn’t m-mean to ignore you.”

“That’s okay—you have your priorities right.” She winked at him, with a camaraderie Rhys envied. “Let me introduce you to Rhys Lewellyn. Rhys, this is Adam DeVries, Phoebe’s fiancé and, incidentally, the mayor-elect of New Skye. Adam, Rhys moved in during the snowstorm.”

“W-welcome to the area.” DeVries extended a strong hand. “Where are you c-coming f-from?”

“New York.”

The mayor-to-be laughed. “Well, if you were hoping to escape the sn-snow, don’t worry—we don’t usually get this m-much. Every f-few years we’ll have a fr-freak storm, but m-mostly we see an inch or two that melts by m-morning.”

Relieved at the absence of undercurrents, Rhys smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. The horses thought we’d done all that driving for nothing.”

“Horses?” DeVries sat down beside Phoebe, who scooted over to make room. “This is a good part of the country f-for horses. I know Jacquie’s been riding since she could walk—did the two of you know each other before you arrived?”

Rhys looked at Jacquie and found her staring at him, her eyes wide with alarm. He turned back to DeVries. “Jacquie came up to train at my barn, quite a few years ago. But we haven’t been in contact—it’s just my luck that she’s in this area.”

Abby returned just then to hand him a large foam cup with a cover. She saw Adam and gave a genuine smile. “Morning, Mr. Mayor. What’ll you have?”

“’M-morning, yourself, M-Miss Abby. The usual will be great.” DeVries looked up at Rhys. “Can you s-sit down with us?”

“I—” He would have refused—Jacquie obviously didn’t want him here. But, still without looking at him, she moved over into the corner of the booth, which left him no other option. “Sure, I’ll sit down for a few minutes.”

DeVries was a personable man, and a politician, so the conversation flowed easily enough for the next few minutes, until Rhys thought even Jacquie had begun to relax beside him. At least she’d eaten some of her breakfast. His awareness of her was like sitting near a blazing fire on the winter’s coldest night—the burn along that side of his body created a penetrating warmth that reached all the way to his core. Only as the ice began to melt did he realize he’d been frozen for fourteen long years.

“Have you met Erin?” DeVries asked, then smiled at Abby as she set his breakfast plate on the table. “Jacquie’s daughter is every bit as horse crazy as her mother was at that age. And from what Phoebe tells me, she’s really good.”

“I’ve talked to her on the phone. Jacquie and I are supposed to set up some lessons, I believe.” Rhys risked a glance to his left and found Jacquie’s gaze focused on the napkin her fingers were busy folding into a fan. “I’m looking forward to that.”

“Do you have a family, Rhys?” Phoebe Moss had evidently decided to suspend hostilities…or else she planned to come in under his radar.

“I’m divorced. My son Andrew lives with me.”

“How old is Andrew?”

“Going on fifteen.” Beside him, Jacquie stiffened for a moment, then relaxed again.

“Just a little older than Erin. Does he ride?”

“He could hardly help it, given the family business. Our branch of the Lewellyns has trained and sold horses for a couple of centuries, now, in Wales and the U.S. But Andrew does love it, thank God. He’s aiming for the Olympics.”

Phoebe buttered a piece of toast. “Like his father?”

DeVries looked up. “The Olympics?”

“Rhys has been to the Olympics twice,” Jacquie said. “He took a gold medal last time in eventing.”

The other man quirked an eyebrow. “I apologize. I didn’t recognize your name.”

Rhys shook his head. “No reason you should. Equestrian events aren’t as widely publicized as, say, track-and-field.”

“And what is eventing, exactly? I’m still being initiated into the horse world.”

“Eventing—held at what we call horse trials or three-day events—is a competition designed to test the endurance, athleticism, and discipline of horse and rider. The first day’s test is a dressage performance, in which we execute a complicated series of figures on flat ground within a ring of specified length and width.”

The mayor-elect nodded. “Right. I’ve watched dressage.”

“On the second day, horse and rider compete in the speed and endurance section, which includes several elements of fast work. The most impressive is the actual cross-country run, over seven kilometers or so on a course which includes obstacles ranging from simple fences to water hazards, even buildings to ride through. Each ride is timed, and any refusal or fall pretty much eliminates the pair for the entire event.”

“The jumps are massive,” Phoebe added. “Four feet high, or more, and at least that wide. Or in a series, where you make two or three jumps, one right after the other.”

Rhys grinned at her. “Right. And those jumps are fixed in place—they don’t come down if they’re hit.”

“Painful,” Adam DeVries commented.

“Can be.” Rhys cleared his throat, forced his thoughts past that inevitable memory. “On the last day, the horse and rider compete in stadium jumping, another timed event, over painted wooden fences which do come down if knocked hard enough. Cross-country and show-jumping times are combined, and the dressage score figured in to determine the overall winner.”

“And you do this on a regular basis?”

“The season runs spring to late fall. The big four events are Burghley and Badminton, in England, Rolex in Kentucky, and the Adelaide Horse Trials in New Zealand. And the Olympics, every four years.”

“So what brings you and your horses to this part of Carolina?”

“I was looking for a change of pace—and weather.” He grinned and got Adam’s smile in return. “An old friend lives in the area and suggested I try it out for a season. We’re thinking of doing some breeding together, and so I thought I’d take her advice.”

“Horse breeding?” Jacquie asked, with a sidelong glance.

“I don’t breed dogs,” Rhys said, with a wink.

“And are you already looking forward to the next Olympics?”

Rhys chose the polite answer rather than the truthful one. “That’s the ultimate prize. And Imperator is the horse to do it twice, if anyone can. You all should come out to see him one day. He’s quite the show-man.” Realizing that he still held his unopened coffee in his hand, he slid out of the booth. “Just drive out to Fairfield Farm whenever you have the time. I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”

“I’ll do that.” DeVries got to his feet and offered a firm handshake. “It’s good to have you in town, Mr. Lewellyn.”

“Rhys.”

“And I’m Adam. I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon. If there’s anything I can do, feel free to call.”

“Thanks.” Turning to the table, he finally managed to catch Jacquie’s eye. “Call me about those lessons.”

Her serious expression was not encouraging. “I’ll think about it.”

He had to let it go. “Good to meet you, Phoebe. Abby.” Jacquie’s friends unbent enough to nod. As he crossed the diner, he heard the conversation pick up behind him, heard a woman’s laugh and would have sworn it was Jacquie’s. She hadn’t laughed or even smiled since that first grin when he arrived—not a good omen for any future companionship.

After fourteen years, though, whatever had been between them that summer should really remain in the past. They’d been young, and he’d been on the rebound. With hindsight, he could see how doomed the entire relationship was from the beginning. Even if Olivia hadn’t returned and begged him to cancel the divorce, he and Jacquie would surely have burned out their passion and gone their separate ways.

Rhys climbed into his truck, turned on the engine and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. That theory was all well and good. But the fact remained that seeing Jacquie again had jump-started his imagination, his memories…his libido…as nothing else had in fourteen years. She’d brushed him off twice, so far, and would have sent him to hell today if she could have brought herself to be so rude. She hadn’t, though.

And he wouldn’t leave her alone unless she forced him to.

SCHOOL WAS PRETTY MUCH SCHOOL, Andrew thought, wherever you went. These Southern kids he’d been dumped in with weren’t nearly as cool as they thought they were. But by lunchtime, he’d decided they were probably easier to get along with than the nerds and snobs in his last school in New York.

The courses he’d taken at home put him a grade ahead at New Skye High School, and he’d hung around with tenth-graders most of the morning. But all students ate lunch at the same time in the big cafeteria, where there were sections labeled for each class. Andrew figured he’d play it safe and sit at a ninth-grade table. He didn’t want to argue with some territorial freak over being in the wrong place.

So he watched from the empty end of a bench as the usual groups formed—the guy jocks, the cheerleaders, the popular girls who weren’t cheerleaders, the smart kids, the girl jocks, the losers. He found his eye drawn to a girl in the popular group, maybe because, in a bevy of suntanned blondes, her short black hair and pale skin singled her out.

Cute, definitely. Wearing jeans and a sweater under a leather jacket, she was worth a second glance, even a third. He’d think about asking her out, if there was any possibility his old man would let him go on a date.

Since there wasn’t, Andrew went back to his sandwich. Next thing he knew, somebody was standing across the table.

“Hi.”

He looked up to find her standing in front of him and smiling. “Hi, yourself.”

“You’re new to school, right? I’m Erin Archer.”

“Andrew Lewellyn.”

Her pale blue eyes got big. “Lewellyn? As in Rhys Lewellyn?”

“No, as in Andrew. Andrew Lewellyn.”

“But Rhys Lewellyn is…your dad?”

“Yeah.” He watched with resignation as she sat down on the opposite bench.

“How cool is it to have Rhys Lewellyn as your dad? Does he give you riding lessons every day? Do you get to watch him ride Imperator? Were you there at the Olympics when he won the gold?”

“Do you always talk so much?”

She laughed. “I guess I do. Do you want me to leave?”

He’d noticed the glances coming their way from the jock table. “No, that’s okay.”

“Do you work with Imperator every day? Are you planning to ride him at the Top Flight Horse Trials in April? There are a couple of smaller shows coming up before then, too—”

He held up a hand. “Slow down, why don’t you? Nobody rides Imp but my dad, unless I steal him. So he’s not in shape to jump and probably won’t be by April and Top Flight. Which means he won’t compete.”

“What are you talking about? Why not?”

“My dad doesn’t ride much cross country these days.”

“I remember, he fell at the Adelaide Horse Trials, didn’t he? But that was months ago. He must be well by now.”

“His back still bothers him sometimes.” Andrew decided against explaining the rest. “So if he doesn’t ride, Imp won’t run.”

“You’ve got three whole months to get him in shape. I bet he’ll let you.” Her eyes got even bigger. “Or, maybe…I’m gonna get my mom to let me take lessons with your dad. Maybe he’ll let me ride Imperator.”

Andrew snorted in disbelief. “You think he’d let you ride Imp when he won’t let me? That’s a bunch of crap.”

She stiffened up. “It is not. I’m riding in the Top Flight trials. I could handle Imperator, even on my first lesson.”

“In your dreams. My dad doesn’t put lesson riders on Imp.”

Her chin went up. “Maybe he just hasn’t had anybody good enough.”

“Like I’m not?” He got to his feet. “You are so full of—”

“Hey, Erin.” Two of the blondes she’d been sitting with earlier walked up. “You’re going to the algebra-help session, right?” one of them asked her.

“Right.” Erin swung her legs over the bench and stood up with her back to him. “Let’s go.”

“Hi.” The blonde sent a smile in Andrew’s direction. “Are you new? I’m Cathy Parr.”

“Andrew Lewellyn.”

“Rhys Lewellyn’s son?” Cathy’s jaw dropped a little. “Awesome.” She stopped there, which won her major points as far as Andrew was concerned, and glanced at her friend’s frown. “What are you mad about?”

Erin hunched one shoulder, still without turning around. “Nothing. Let’s go, okay?”

Cathy shrugged. “Okay.” As she shifted her books in her arms, she looked at Andrew, then Erin, and back again. “Gee…you two kinda look alike, you know? Must be ’cause you both have black hair.”

“And those same light blue eyes,” the other blonde added. “You could be, like, twins. How cool is that?”

Erin snorted. “Then I’ll be a redhead by tomorrow morning. Come on, we’re gonna be late.” She stalked away and, with an apologetic tilt of her head, Cathy followed.

“Good riddance.” Andrew squashed the leftovers from his lunch into the brown bag, aimed a three-point shot at the trash can…and missed.

Muttering to himself, he walked over to pick up the bag before some teacher yelled. “Give me a break, Miss Erin All-Star. You’re gonna ride Imperator like I’m gonna play for the NBA.”

ERIN BOUNCED into the truck Monday after school. “Did you call Mr. Lewellyn today? When can I have a lesson?”

Jacquie steeled her nerves and shook her head. “No, honey. I haven’t talked to anybody since breakfast. Two urgent calls came in this morning and I’ve been working nonstop since then.”

The momentary silence was deafening. “I can’t believe you just blew me off.” That wide lower lip, so like her father’s, stuck out in a pout.

“I didn’t blow you off, Erin. I have a job to do, that’s all.”

With an exasperated sigh, Erin flopped back in the seat. “Great. Just great.” She sulked for the rest of the afternoon, sullenly doing her homework as she sat in the truck and refusing to get out at the two farms Jacquie had to visit. As they drove home in the dark, though, she sat up a little straighter.

“Can we stop at the drugstore? I need some notebook paper. And pens.”

Thankful that Erin was still speaking to her, Jacquie was glad to cooperate. At the first opportunity, she swung the truck into a shopping center parking lot. “Want me to run in?”

Erin shook her head. “I’ll get it.”

Jacquie handed her a ten dollar bill. “Why don’t you get some chips to go with dinner tonight? And maybe some cookies.”

“Um…” Erin’s brows drew together. “I might need more than this.”

“For chips and cookies and paper? I doubt it.” But she dug into her wallet and came up with another twenty. “That should do it.”

With a nod, Erin walked briskly across the parking lot to the big, brightly lit store. Jacquie had started allowing little solo trips like this as lessons in growing up for both herself and Erin. Still, her breathing stayed fast until she saw her daughter reappear on the sidewalk and start back to the truck.

“Here’s your change.” Erin handed over a surprisingly small jumble of bills and coins as she settled into her seat.

“That much for chips?”

“I realized I needed some other stuff.”

For the sake of peace, Jacquie accepted the explanation, though she suspected the bag Erin carried held more along the lines of makeup, maybe candy, than school supplies. Pushing for details seemed like a bad idea when they were already at odds.

But when, with an early good-night kiss, Erin disappeared into the bathroom as soon as her homework was done, Jacquie felt certain of her hunch. The shower turned on and off, and there was an extended period of blow dryer noise, followed by silence. She only hoped the new look wasn’t too extreme to wear to school.

Early the next morning, when she got her first glimpse of Erin’s makeover, the wooden spoon Jacquie was using to stir oatmeal slipped from her fingers to the floor.

“What…” Her voice squeaked like a rusty gate. “What in the world have you done? Your hair is…is…red!” A deep, dark, unmistakable red.

“I know.” Erin’s pixie grin hadn’t changed. “Isn’t it just totally awesome?”

“I…” Jacquie rubbed her scratchy eyes. “What possessed you to dye your hair?” At her feet, Hurry picked up the fallen spoon and carried it to her private space under the kitchen table for an episode of devoted licking.

Erin went to the mirror beside the door and fluffed the red strands. “I…I just thought it would look cool.”

“And you didn’t think you needed to ask my permission first?”

“It’s my hair.” She avoided Jacquie’s gaze in the mirror.

“You’re my daughter. That entitles me to an opinion about what you do with your appearance.”

“Come on, Mom. The color washes out in a couple of months.”

“A couple of months during which you won’t look like yourself.” Crossing the room to stand behind Erin, Jacquie turned the girl to face her. “I’m not happy about this, Erin. Why would you change the way you look?”

“I just wanted to be different.”

“From what?”

Erin fidgeted with the honey bowl on the counter. “Well, see, there’s this guy…”

“You dyed your hair to make some boy notice you?” Her throat closed on panic. “Who is this person?”

“No, Mom, it’s not like that. I met him yesterday at lunch. Andrew Lewellyn, Mr. Lewellyn’s son. And he was so obnoxious, I couldn’t believe it.”

From upset to panic to horror…Erin had met Rhys’s son on his first day at school. “And…?”

“He said his dad wouldn’t let me ride Imperator even if I did take lessons.”

“That’s probably true.”

“But I’m good enough. I know I am. Anyway, then Cathy said we kinda look alike—we both have black hair and blue eyes. So I said I’d be a redhead by today, so I couldn’t possibly look anything like such a jerk.” She posed her hands on either side of her hair. “And—ta-da!—here I am.”

Oh, dear God. An unobservant teenager had noticed the resemblance between Erin and Andrew. It would only be a matter of time until more perceptive people commented. Jacquie saw her worst fears cascading toward her like an avalanche.

At least Erin’s red hair might give her a little extra time. But only a little. Somehow, she had to deflect this disaster.

And Rhys would have to help her.

SLOUCHED IN A CHAIR Tuesday night, half asleep and half intoxicated, Rhys considered not answering the phone’s insistent ring but, at the last minute, changed his mind. “Fairfield Farms, Lewellyn speaking.”

“Rhys, it’s Jacquie.”

The glass between his fingers slipped to the floor, spilling the dregs of his fourth…or fifth?…brandy. “Damn,” he muttered, awkwardly getting down on his knees to rescue the leased carpet.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was as stiff as his mother’s starched tablecloths.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that for you. I spilled a drink.” He blotted the wet spot with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again. Ever.”

“I know. But…I’ve thought about it, and I think we should meet. Dinner will be okay, if you’re free. Friday night?”

Rhys eased back into his chair. “Why does it sound as if you’re facing the guillotine?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Does seven work for you? At the Starting Gate?”

“I assume that’s a restaurant. You’ll have to give me directions.”

She did so in a hurried, distracted voice that told him she couldn’t wait to get out of the conversation, and Rhys didn’t push her. Whatever was wrong, he had a feeling she would offer the explanation Friday night. If she didn’t offer, then he would push.

HE ARRIVED EARLY at the restaurant just for the pleasure of watching her come toward him across the room, and the experience didn’t disappoint him. She wore her hair loose, glinting like strands of soft, rosy gold draped across her deep blue sweater. In dark pants and boots, her walk wasn’t a feminine sway but the strong, direct stride of a strong woman. Rhys shifted in his chair, thinking he really was too old to be turned on by a woman’s looks.

But then, this wasn’t just any woman.

He stood as she reached the table and went around to pull out her chair. “Hello, again. I’m glad to see you.” She took her seat without answering, or even meeting his gaze.

The waiter appeared at his elbow. “Drinks, sir? Or wine?”

With a tilt of his hand, Rhys deferred the question to Jacquie. She shook her head. “Could I have some coffee? I got chilled on the way here,” she explained, when the waiter had left. “I’d really like to warm up.”

“Your fingers do look frozen.” Rhys reached out to touch her, just a stroke of his fingertips, and was startled when she jerked her hands off the table, into her lap. His patience, which stretched much further for horses than humans, suddenly snapped.

“I think we need to cut to the chase.” Folding his arms along the edge of the table, he leaned closer and held her gaze by sheer force of will. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I am sure I’m tired of playing games. Why are we here, Jacquie? What do you have to say to me?”

The waiter, with impeccable timing, returned at that moment with their coffee. And then wanted to take their orders, which required consulting the menu. But with all those details taken care of, tension still bracketed the table, isolating them from the other diners.

“Well?” He took hold of his coffee mug with both hands. “I’m waiting.”

Jacquie’s eyes widened, as they had on her first day at his barn in New York when she’d arrived at the riding ring two minutes after the scheduled lesson time. For a second, Rhys relived his own immediate attraction to the girl with the sunny green gaze, which made him even more brusque. “Come on, Jacquie. You were never one to avoid a fence.”

“You’re right.” Her voice was steadier now. “Although this one’s been a long time coming.” She drew a deep breath. “You asked me why I left without saying anything.”

“Yes.”

“You came to my room that night, in New York, to tell me your…wife…had returned. She was pregnant, you said, and the man she had been living with didn’t want your baby.”

Hearing her relate the memory brought all the anguish rushing back. “I remember.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Jacquie continued. “I was hurt, of course, that you’d chosen your wife over me. And furious that you’d slept with her so recently before we…” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “But I knew your decision was the right one, and I couldn’t stay to make the situation more difficult.”

“Where did you go?”

“Oklahoma. I got a job as a nanny for a family with horses, so I taught lessons, as well.”

“And you met this Archer and married him?”

She stared at him for a long time, her lips pressed together. “I…no. There is no husband. I invented him because I couldn’t come home as an unwed mother with an illegitimate child.”

Setting down her coffee, Jacquie looked him straight in the eyes. “Your child, Rhys. My daughter, Erin Elizabeth Archer, is also yours. The only proof you’ll need is a single glance at her beautiful face.”

His breath left him, just as it had after his fall from Imperator. He could only manage a whisper. “Say it again.”

“We were going to have a child together. I was pregnant.”

“Dear God.” She was a virgin, their first time together. He didn’t have to wonder if there’d been others.

Their waiter, timely as ever, brought a dinner that neither of them touched. Rhys pushed his plate away first. “You could have written, or called. I would have helped.”

Jacquie stared for a second at the green bean on the end of her fork, then returned it to the plate. “I didn’t want to hear you suggest an abortion.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” He hoped he wouldn’t have done that. But he had been an arrogant young man.

“And I didn’t want to be bought off with your family’s money.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“If your parents had gotten wind of my condition, they would’ve done whatever they thought would protect their precious son. They might have tried to take my baby away altogether.”

Her bitterness ran deep, with justification. His parents had not treated her with respect. “They aren’t bad people.”

“Just people with money who are used to getting their own way.” She didn’t smile, made no effort to take the sting out of the comment.

“So you handled the situation, you supported yourself and your daughter without help.” He took a perverse satisfaction from her wince. “What’s the point of telling me now?”

He’d forgotten—or had he ever known?—that Jacquie possessed a temper, too. “Don’t be stupid.

You’re here, in our backyard. We live and work in the same world—horses. And Erin looks just like you. There’s no way this secret is going to keep. I’m concerned about how to protect my little girl against being hurt.”

Rhys shrugged, pretending not to care. “You could run away again.” But Jacquie’s stare made him ashamed. “Sorry. You’ve had fourteen years to adjust to this whole mess. Give me at least fourteen minutes.”

As the waiter bustled over their uneaten food, a different face flashed in front of Rhys’s eyes. When they were alone again, he looked at Jacquie. “Andrew. Do you think they’ll see the resemblance?”

She nodded. “One of their classmates already has. It’s only a matter of time.”

They declined the waiter’s offer of dessert but accepted a refill on coffee. Rhys gave him a credit card without looking at the bill, just to make the man go away. “So they have to be told, as soon as possible.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Her eyes had hardened, and her fist hit the table. “That’s what I wanted to be sure you understand. No one is to know. Absolutely no one.”

“You just said—”

“She looks like you. And there are thousands of guys all over the world making money because they look like Elvis. If we don’t give people around here a reason to believe there’s a connection, there won’t be one. So you have to promise me you won’t say a single word about this to anybody, ever.

“But—”

“And I want you to stay as far away from me and my daughter as you possibly can.”