Page 61 of Nobody's Girl

Mireille laughed. “Definitely, and proudly too.”

“My mom was a Professor of Molecular Physics at M.I.T.”

“Wow.”

Clemence smiled. “I never knew that.”

“Mom was a genius,” Jonas said with a smile at Sofia. “She could run rings around my father and he loved it.” His smile faded. “Personally, I never knew what she saw in him but, boy, am I glad she saw something.”

“Word,” Sofia nudged her step-brother. “Look, Clemence, we don’t want to take up too much of your time. Just know, we are always here for you.”

“Thank you, ma chere. Now, look, at least stay and finish your drinks. I could do with a reason to not work. Mirry, you come join us too.” Clemence grinned at her young assistant. “It’s time we all got to know each other better.”

Ivo sat with his father as they travelled from LAX to his father’s home in the Hollywood Hills. The flight to the States had been long and uneventful, but the sadness weighed heavy on them both. His father had been reluctant not to go to the funeral home with Adria’s body and but Ivo had convinced him finally. “They have things they need to do to take care of her before the funeral, Pa. It’s the best place, really. Let’s go home and start to arrange things.”

Walter was a broken man. Ivo had never seen him so utterly destroyed, and knew that despite their divorce, Walter had never stopped loving Adria. She truly had been his soulmate. Why am I so surprised? He asked himself now, it was obvious to everyone. At least he had been there when Adria died…was it better or worse that Walter had seen her die? Would he rather have remembered her in life, rather than death? Or was he glad she hadn’t been alone at the end?

God. Ivo felt sick. His darling mother, his champion, his guide. She had so much life to live yet…she hadn’t, after all, got to see her first grandchild and it made Ivo mad at whoever, whatever controlled life and death. A few weeks more and she would have known my child.

He desperately wanted Sofia here, with him, but it been the right thing to do to leave her with Jonas in Paris. He could only imagine the press frenzy if they caught a glimpse of the beautiful young wife of Adria La Loggia’s only son. They would trawl Sofia’s past up, paint her as a gold-digger, lord knows what else. No, Ivo told himself, it was best this way.

The funeral two days later was a parade of Hollywood best and brightest. Ivo felt the disconnect as he took the prayers and consolations from people he felt nothing in common with, even having been brought up here. So much plastic surgery, bloated faces – from surgery and coke habits, stick-thin women, over-tanned men…it really was La-La Land. Ivo longed for the simple elegance of Parisians, for Sofia’s tomboy naturalness…

The wake was another hurdle. His father worked the room, using his natural extrovert tendencies to distract himself from the grief. Ivo retreated into the corner, polite to those who approached him but otherwise counting down the minutes until he could escape.

A few of his mother’s friends hugged him, passing along their condolences but it wasn’t until a blonde woman Ivo didn’t know sat down next to him that he was engaged in a conversation.

“Your mother was a force of nature,” the blonde said. Ivo nodded, studying the blonde. She was very slim, her flat-ironed blonde hair falling past her shoulders, her blue eyes enhanced by contacts. She was beautiful, but Ivo wasn’t attracted to her – she was too icy looking for his taste. Again, he thought of his soft, warm wife back in Paris and wondered how long his dad would need him here.

The blonde touched his arm. “I’ve been watching you from across the room. You looked so sad I had to come and say hello. Madison Flynn.”

Ivo shook her hand politely. “Ivo Zacca. How did you know my mother?”

A slight hesitation, then. “She was a friend of a friend. Lovely woman, so much spirit. Do you take after her?”

Ivo gave a humorless laugh. “I hope so, at least, I hope I have her heart.”

The blonde traced a fingertip over his wedding ring and Ivo felt uncomfortable. It was a too intimate gesture for someone he didn’t know. “Where’s your wife?”

Ivo felt his walls come up. He knew this type of woman: predatory, way too confident. “Waiting for me to call her. I’d better go.”

He stood, but the blonde stood with him. “Wait. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. Look,” she pulled a business card from her bag, “If you would like to have lunch with me, talk about anything, call me.”

Ivo took the card politely, but knew he would never call her. “Thank you. Good to meet you, Madison, but if you will excuse me.”

She put her hand on his arm, meeting his gaze. “Of course.” She held his gaze for a beat too long then moved away.

Ivo escaped upstairs to his mother’s bedroom - his father had always kept it exactly the way his mother had always had - and pulled out his cellphone. Checking the clock, he realized it would be nearly midnight in Paris. Nevertheless, Sofia answered on the first ring. “Baby.”

Ivo felt his whole body relax. “Hey gorgeous girl, I love you. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, how was the funeral?”

Ivo sighed, sitting down on the bed. “Just sad, Sof. There’s no other word for it – except maybe a three-ring circus. Half of these people, I have no idea who they are and yet here they are drinking my father’s champagne and making business deals.”