She glanced around at the opulent furnishings—most of them antiques passed down through the many generations of Blanchards. More than likely, one day she’d be inheriting all this stuff. That thought immediately made her uncomfortable, because that would mean her mom wouldn’t be around. Crazy as Domino drove her, she loved her mom, and the notion of having no real family left was depressing as hell.
Refusing to dwell on such heavy thoughts, she headed toward the circular stairway. “My mom’s bedroom is on the second floor.”
The scuff of Cass’s loafers on the Persian runner announced she was obediently following. They reached the top landing, and Marabella led the way to the spacious master suite in the far wing of the house. Feeling like she was ten all over again and sneaking into her mom’s room when she wasn’t supposed to be in there, she cracked open the door and peeked inside.
Cass cleared her throat softly. “You, uh, do realize your mom is back at the Alliance headquarters. Unless she flew over on her broom, there’s no way she could have beaten us here.”
Marabella’s lips twitched. “My mom would be so insulted by that. But it is funny to picture.” She pointed to the massive French armoire in the corner of the room. “The letters are in the bottom drawer.”
Cass glanced at the unit before returning her gaze to Marabella. “Is that your way of saying you want me to grab them?”
“It’d make me feel less guilty about this whole breaking-and-entering business.”
Grinning good-naturedly, Cass crossed to the armoire and tugged open the heavy pocket doors. She stooped and wrestled with the bottom drawer.
“Sorry, sometimes it sticks.”
Cass shot Marabella a shrewd look over her shoulder. “Why do I get the impression you’ve snuck in here more than once?”
Marabella blushed. “Okay, I might have done it a couple of times when I was a kid.” She hadn’t been able to help herself. The lure of those letters was too hard to resist. Considering they were her only real connection to her dad, she didn’t feel too guilty for the endless hours she’d spent covertly reading them. Fortunately there hadn’t been anything too intimate in them that would have led to her needing years of therapy after imagining her parents engaged in kinky sex. Though to be honest, she couldn’t picture her mom having sex in the first place. Shaking off that horrific thought, she strode to Cass’s side. “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”
With some elbow grease from them both, they managed to pry the drawer open. Marabella sat back on her haunches and let Cass do the dirty work of actually pawing through Domino’s old nylons in order to reach the box of letters resting underneath. Unable to resist, she reached for one of the balled nylons and unraveled it. “Would you think I was weird if I admitted to wearing these on my head one time and pretending I was Princess Leia?”
“Yes,” Cass answered without hesitation.
“Yeah, you really do need to work on that blunt thing,” Marabella grumbled and pitched the nylons back into the drawer.
Cass settled the small cedar box between them and flipped open the hinged lid. Dry and faded rose petals surrounded the small stack of yellowed stationery. Despite their age, the flowers still carried a sweet perfume.
Cass picked up the topmost letter and carefully unfolded it. “My dearest Domino…my every waking thought consists of you. These past few days we’ve been apart have been the hardest I’ve ever had to bear. Knowing the weekend is fast approaching and I’ll have you in my arms again sustains me. Until then, know my heart resides within your hands.” Cass stopped and swallowed. “Wow, that is romantic. I can’t imagine anyone writing this kind of stuff to me.”
Marabella’s mind immediately circled to Sam, and she gave a silent sigh. “Me either.”
As if she’d read Marabella’s mind, Cass squeezed her hand. “Sam might not have a silver tongue, but then the majority of guys don’t. Heck, they can’t all be like…” She glanced at the signature scrawled on the bottom of the letter. “Sascha Blanchard. Unfortunately. But then again, your dad was from a different generation, where romance and courtliness weren’t an oddity for men.”
“Well, you’re right about one part of that.”
One corner of Cass’s mouth curved upward. “Only one? But that’d mean I got something wrong.” She chuckled. “And I so hate to be wrong about anything.”
“I’m sure my dad did come from a generation of charmers, but his last name wasn’t Blanchard. My parents were never married. No doubt that’s why his family hasn’t wanted anything to do with my mom and me all these years.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…”
She took in Cass’s flustered look and shook her head. “It’s okay. I probably would have jumped to the same conclusion. Regardless, it doesn’t bother me that I was born out of wedlock. Though sometimes I think it does my mom. I’m pretty sure that’s why she gave me her last name rather than his. Much easier to explain why I’m Marabella Blanchard rather than Marabella Bahltair.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s—” Cass’s words back-piled into each other as her eyes slowly widened. “Wait…did you just say Bahltair?”
Marabella nodded, and the letter plummeted from Cass’s lax fingertips. Cass stared at her for a long, drawn-out moment before her breath exploded from her in a pent-up rush. “Holy. Shit.”
Chapter Seventeen
If there was one activity Sam couldn’t stand, it was sitting around twiddling his thumbs. Particularly since everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by Marabella’s things. Like he needed a constant barrage of enticement. If he didn’t get out of her apartment—and soon—he was going to do something embarrassing, like sniff her shampoo, or devil forbid, watch one of her chick flicks.
He stalked to the cordless phone in the kitchen and dialed Nikki’s cell phone. “Do you have that damn teleport bracelet?”
“Well good morning to you too, sunshine.”
He growled beneath his breath. “Do you have it or not?”
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”
No, more like he woke up in the wrong bed entirely. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he paced in front of the counter. With each passing second, his obsession with Marabella was digging deeper into his skin. She was making him feel things he damn well didn’t want to. It was messing with his head. Big time. Before her, he’d lived by the creed that when push came to shove, he looked out for his own ass. Screw everyone else. But for the past few days, he’d gone against his own motto. First with going after Nikki, and then protecting both of his cousins from Pricilla’s vengeance. Now Marabella was the number-one priority on his list.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Earth to Sam. You still there?”
“Yeah, but not for long. Get your ass over here.” Before the words finished leaving his mouth, Nikki materialized in front of him.
She slid him a cocky grin. “What, you missed me already?”
He grunted. “No, I miss my car. How about you pop us over there so we can take a spin and check up on Pris’s goons.”
Nikki gave him an assessing look. “You just want to see if it’s still in one piece.”
“Damn straight.”
“Oh ye of little faith.” Clucking her tongue, she gripped his wrist and initiated the transport. In less time than it took him to grind his teeth, they arrived inside his garage. He flicked on the overhead light and hunkered next to the GTO, inspecting every inch for dings or scratches. Satisfied she was still in pristine shape, he ran his palm lovingly over her hood.