“That’s not a high bar. He finally married then, and took off to Italy shortly after. Honestly, I don’t care much for him. He’s brought nothing but disruption. How about you? Do you remember your father?”
“Not enough,” she said honestly. Though she still remembered Harold’s kind smile and warm hug, every day she lost a little bit more. Sadness clutched her heart. “I worry I’ll forget about her, too, you know. My stepmother,” she said, her voice thick and raw. “She was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother. Closer than my biological mother.” Thankfully, she’d been able to suppress most of her childhood memories including her biological parents.
“Mary Roberts was lucky to have you. You came all this way to find out the truth, Izzy. A lot of others wouldn’t. They would wallow in self-pity, or grief and move on, but you’re not a quitter.”
Tears stung behind her eyelids, but she blinked and wiped the clear liquid from her eye before it even touched her cheek. “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand, and the touch shot up a strand of warmth that moved all the way up her chest, filling with hope.
She gave him an apologetic smile. “I don’t like when people see me like this.”
“I know.”
“My students think I’m the devil,” she said, in an effort to lighten the mood. She bet her students also deep down missed her smart-ass comments, ever since she asked for a long leave without pay—the only way to get so much time off from school.
After the intense sex the previous night and this heart-to-heart conversation, she had to protect herself. When she left, she’d return to her life in Vegas. He’d marry a handful of women and work on his legacy.
“You make hell seem like a good place.”
She slapped his forearm. “Shut up. Let’s go.”
He turned on the engine and flashed her a smile that rose all the hairs at the back of her neck. Her heart skipped a beat. Damn. The sooner this month ended, the better.
Chapter Eight
Nassor pulled at the baseball cap he wore. He’d also kept his sunglasses on—with the shirt and jeans, he doubted the clerk at the bed-and-breakfast would recognize him easily.
He slid out of the car and went around to open the door to Izzy.
She got out, and they marched to the entrance of the inn.
A couple of guests left as they entered, and he tilted his head the other way to protect his anonymity. He had a meeting in two hours with important world leaders and needed to focus ahead of time. But he didn’t trust anyone with Izzy.
He also wanted to spend more time with her. Confusion nagged at him, and he scratched his chin. Why? A marriage with several women would be good, because he’d never have to give himself fully to one person. Hell, his mother had, and what had happened to her? She’d ended up alone for most of the time, with an unreliable partner, raising her child, and shunned for several years. The odds were better if he had more options.
“Hello.” The clerk greeted them in Gwokondenese.
“Do you speak English?” Izzy asked, leaning on the counter.
The man nodded. “How can I help you, miss? Would you like a room?”
She reached into her bag, and retrieved a picture of her stepmother. “This woman stayed here a year ago. I’d like to know more about her stay, and if you have any information about where she could have gone after she checked out.”
The clerk, a short and slim twentysomething with a name tag that read Camar, studied the picture. “I’m sorry, but we can’t give information about our guests.”
“I came all the way from the United States…this is extremely important. Please,” she said, urgency lacing her voice.
Nassor jammed his hand into his pocket and picked a few large bills. “We really appreciate your assistance,” he said, handing them to the clerk. Of course he could have used his title as the king to get the information, but that would bring him more problems than benefits.
The man shoved the bills in his pocket and lifted the picture, squinting at it. “I don’t remember her… Let me ask Nsia. She has been working here for longer,” he said, then walked into the back office.
Nassor squeezed Izzy’s shoulder, feeling the tension stiffening her body. “Relax. It’ll be okay.”
She thinned her lips. Damn it, she cared about her stepmother. Was she ready to hear the truth? That maybe Mary had demons of her own which came to light during her trip, and she’d resorted to using drugs? Frustration thickened his throat. He’d had to come to terms with some bad decisions his mother had made when he’d been a child, but thankfully, she’d never turned to drugs.
Camar returned with a lady in her sixties with a long white braid and reading glasses. “This is Nsia.”
Nsia fixed her glasses and glanced at the picture. “Yes, I remember her. Nice lady. Gave the housekeeper a tip on her arrival day. Not a lot of people are so generous,” she said in English.
