Free Notorious in Nice by Jianne Carlo Page A

dysfunctional family he had, Terry thought, lips twisting into a sneer. Up until his thirteenth Christmas, life had been perfect. Unlike most aristocratic parents, his father and mother were deeply in love, and liberal with their affections. His mother followed Princess Diana’s creed believing children needed waterfalls of hugs and kisses.
    That fateful year, two days before Christmas, his mother developed a migraine headache and took to her bed. She died in her sleep on Christmas Eve. A brain tumor, they later discovered.
    He punched Redial.
    “That was quick.”
    “My mother died of a brain tumor. Is Thom’s condition hereditary?”
    “Haven’t got a clue. You’ll have to ask him. Are you worried for yourself?”
    “Fricking hell, no. It’s the good who die young. I’ll live to a ripe old age.”
    “You’re wallowing, Terry. Stop. You’re not the evil twin. There’s only one person to blame for your situation, and we both know who that is.”
    “And I’m the untarnished one in all this? No, Geoff, that won’t cut it. I’m as much to blame as my sick stepmother. We’ve had this argument one too many times. Later.”
    Terry clicked the mouse and clamped his lips together, fighting the urge to bellow and howl at God, at fate, at himself. He thought of all the letters he’d started over the years during drunken bouts of self-pitying melancholy. Abject, apologetic missives to his twin that never saw a postmark.
    Thomas could die.
    And they’d spent more than a decade apart. Wasted years. He slapped the hard wooden desk, caught the sharp edge of it, and welcomed the pain. Once, he and Thomas had been so close, they could sit in silence in the same room for hours, and when one spoke, the other knew exactly what he would say. He wanted that intimacy back, wanted Thomas’s forgiveness, wanted to shed the self-loathing he’d worn for so long.
    What if Thom died?
    He clamped his eyelids shut, but moisture pooled out the corners anyway. Not going to happen, not if he had any say. His jaw working, Terry stabbed a brass letter opener into a fat Post-it pad, splitting it down the middle. For long moments, he stared at the yellow vulgarity, gathering self-control. He clicked the Call icon on the screen.
    “Can you forward the surgeon’s contact data?”
    “Already in your in-box. What are you going to do?”
    “Have him checked out. If Thom’ll let me.”
    “I ran him through our system. He’s clean, no security risks, no bad habits. Excellent reputation. I also sent you all the research I did after I met with Thom.”
    “Thanks. I owe you one. Out of curiosity, where is my dear stepmother?”
    “Tooling around the Far East. Last I heard she was in Singapore shopping.”
    “That bitch will outlive us all. Put a watch on her, Geoff. I don’t want her showing up and disturbing Thom at a crucial time. Too bad we can’t arrange a fatal accident.”
    “Don’t be an ass and don’t do anything rash. There’s a lot of room for a lifetime of regret with this situation.”
    “Too right.” Terry clicked off and ran the autoerase function, wiping out any trace of either call.
    Glancing at the LCD monitor, he noticed the time on the PC clock. Dinnertime. Tonight’s meal had been prepared by Monaco’s Hotel de Paris’s Grill Room restaurant and Austen, the bosun, had arranged for a buffet-style presentation. Terry heaved a hefty sigh, slid out of the chair, and headed toward the main deck.
    From the din of voices coming from above, dinner would be under the moon and stars. Sure enough, two adjacent tables bordering the ship’s stern showcased knives, forks, and pale porcelain. A cloudless sky punctuated by slivers of winking stars and an eternal midnight Mediterranean formed the backdrop for lemon-edged china, glistening sterling cutlery, and sparkling crystal filled with a rich burgundy wine.
    His gaze gravitated to Su-Lin seated at the farthest table, and Austen at her side. Terry choked back a vicious