When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,102

then to Lucien Marchand. “And this is my uncle.”

Olivia inclined her head. “Enchanté, monsieur.”

The president and CEO of Marchand Timepieces had a stately beaked nose, a carefully groomed mane of silver hair, and an elegant manner. “Madame Shore. I’m delighted to finally meet you.”

Mitchell rose to greet her. She suspected he’d rather be sitting at the adjoining table with Sergio, Sarah Mabunda, and Mariel Marchand, instead of near his disappointing diva.

She couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer, and she nodded at Thad’s date for the evening. “Lieutenant Cooke.”

“Please. Call me Brittany.”

* * *

Liv and Brittany were hitting it off as if they’d been girlfriends forever, something he didn’t appreciate. He hadn’t exactly invited Brittany to make Liv jealous, but he’d at least hoped seeing him with another woman would give her a taste of what she’d thrown away. Namely, him.

Plus, he wanted to make her jealous.

But La Belle Tornade was above such petty human emotions.

Olivia wasn’t as elaborately dressed as some of the other women, but she outshone them all like the empress she was. She had to know by now what the opera cognoscenti were saying about last night’s performance, but you couldn’t tell by looking at her. She was every inch a queen, graciously allowing the ordinary people around her to breathe her rarified air. She couldn’t have been more different from the soft, giving, everyday woman he’d once held in his arms.

At the next table, Mariel Marchand looked as if she’d swallowed a bowl of bad mushrooms. Mitchell Brooks took him over to make introductions. Thad seemed to be developing a fondness for sopranos, because he immediately liked Sarah Mabunda.

He returned to his own table as the speeches began. There were lots of thank-yous, a speech about the after-school music program that was receiving the proceeds from the evening, and still more thank-yous. Mitchell Brooks introduced Lucien Marchand as the evening’s sponsor, even though Henri should be taking credit. But Uncle Lucien, with his French accent and diplomat’s mien, did cut an impressive figure. He called up Thad and Olivia to draw the winning tickets for tonight’s grand prizes: a Victory780 and a Cavatina3. Thad was glad he didn’t have to give a speech because he wasn’t up to it.

On their way back to the table, he took Liv’s arm. The gesture was automatic, and for just a moment, he could have sworn she leaned against him.

The moment passed. She drew away. “Rupert! How lovely to see you.”

Rupert?

She introduced him to a small man sitting at a table off to the side. “Rupert, this is Thad Owens. Thad, Rupert Glass.” She shot Thad a telling look he immediately understood. Rupert resembled one of the Seven Dwarfs, the one who wouldn’t look at anybody. Bashful? The top of his head came just to Olivia’s shoulder. He had a tuft of hair at the crown, a couple more tufts near his ears, and he looked about as dangerous as a plastic spoon.

“My dear,” he whispered, turning several different shades of red. “My deepest apologies if I did anything to distress you with my meager gifts.”

“You could never distress me, Rupert.” Olivia patted his hand. “But there are so many young singers who would bloom under the kind of support you’ve given me.”

Thad couldn’t help himself. “Plus the IRS won’t bother them like they do her.”

Olivia quickly excused them both. “You didn’t have to say that,” she hissed, as she hustled him away.

“It’s those quiet ones who turn out to be serial killers.”

Just for a moment they exchanged one of their quick smiles, but then he remembered he was furious with her and wiped his away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

“You didn’t,” he snapped back.

She squeezed his arm. That was it. Just squeezed it.

Back at the table, she chatted with Brittany in English and with Lucien en français. The Muni’s conductor came over to the table, and they spoke in Italian. Then—son of a bitch—didn’t she switch to German when an old dude with a silver-topped walking cane appeared.

Damn, but he missed her. He’d never been so in sync with another person. None of his ex-girlfriends. No buddy or teammate. No one.

He told himself to snap out of it. She said she was in love with him, but it wasn’t like he’d marry her. That would be a nightmare and a half—living his life as Mr. Olivia Shore. All he wanted was for them to be together for a while. Simple. Uncomplicated. Why couldn’t she