The Russian guards at the door exchanged a glance but didn’t look like they had thoughts in their musclebound heads.
Océane held a cookie in her fingers. Her gray eyes sparkled with glee. “So I have heard some news of you, Flicka.”
Flicka frowned. “Evidently, my quickie, quiet divorce made the news. Is this true?”
The women laughed a distressing amount.
Océanesaid, “Um, yes. Yes, it did.”
“I was hoping to keep it private.”
Océane leaned in. “Are you hoping toprivatelymarry my brother?”
The other women all gasped at this news and turned to Flicka, four sets of eyes in varying shades of gray and Lili’s blue eyes.
“About that—” Flicka said.
A woman cleared her throat over by the bodyguards.
Flicka glanced up.
Sophie stood there, holding shoppingbags, her chin lifted as she surveyed the assembled women.
The tight line of her mouth suggested anger.
She turned and left the room without a word.
Flicka would have to deal with that later.
Discomfort rippled through the other women, but they shook it off.
Anaïs turned back to Flicka and asked, “You were saying?”
Flicka stammered, trying to come up with something.
Dammit, how had herplan gone so far awry that having five witnesses to her existence was somehowworse?
“Things are kind of up in the air right now,” Flicka said. “We’re taking things slowly because of my recent divorce. It may be some time before anything is nailed down.”
The women sat back, mollified, and Flicka wished desperately for some of Sophie’s special tea.
