Sweet as Candy - Karla Doyle Page 0,5

wouldn’t put that kind of pressure on her daughter. Teach her to be kind, patient and respectful, absolutely. Insist she nod compliantly, regardless of the situation, no way.

So far, she was doing a damn good job in the parenting department, if she did say so herself. Macy’s teachers at the private school often referred to her as “a lovely little person” and “a delight to have around.”

Macy got invited to birthday parties for boys and girls alike, and had friends calling for play dates on a regular basis. Unlike Candace’s social calendar, Macy’s was always full. As it had been this morning. She’d been so excited to go to her classmate’s party, she hadn’t noticed the extra-long hug Candace had given her. Letting her go was always difficult.

Candace pulled into the driveway of the huge, gray-brick house and joined the row of vehicles parked along one side. Her economy car stuck out like a sore thumb next to the Mercedes, Lexus, BMW, and Hummer nearby. Rather than push the Hyundai’s interior button, she used the remote to lock her car after stepping out, smiling strictly for her own amusement at the beep-beep and flash of its lights. When in Rome, after all.

She continued up the driveway, toward the front entrance. Even “huge” didn’t accurately describe the house ahead. Mammoth would be more appropriate. The place looked more like a small hotel than a home.

Dozens of shiny, oversized, helium balloons adorned the walkway and entrance. A sweeping, professionally printed banner hung from the portico roofline. Happy Birthday, Vincenzo III!

Candace shook her head while passing beneath the sign. They’d actually included “the third” on the little boy’s birthday banner. Snooty pretense—just what every child needed at their party.

So, maybe she was a touch envious. Not because she didn’t own a monstrous house or a ridiculously overpriced vehicle, but because she couldn’t give Macy a fraction of what her classmates had. She made sure Macy had everything she needed and then some, but it still didn’t come close to the lifestyle her peers enjoyed.

Heck, the gift for this party had set Candace back nearly fifty dollars, yet the small, wrapped Lego kit had been dwarfed by the rest of the packages on the table when she dropped Macy off three hours ago. Candace would never measure up to these families, no matter how many VIP massages she performed.

A deep, musical chime sounded when she pressed the bell button. Within seconds, one of the double doors opened and she was greeted by a formal, uniformed woman. A different woman than the one who’d answered the door when she dropped Macy off for the “parental attendance not required, as professional supervision and security will be provided” party. That’d been a first.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The woman’s uniform was plain, but there was no mistaking her for everyday house staff. Her rigid stance and inspective gaze exuded security.

“I’m here to pick up Macy Caine. I’m Candace, her mother.” She showed her driver’s license for identification, as requested on the fancy invitation. All of it seemed excessive, but she appreciated it just the same. Knowing Macy would be safe had made it easier for Candace to drop her off and drive away—something she rarely did.

“Thank you, ma’am. Please follow me,” the woman said, ushering her inside.

Candace followed her through the expansive house. She kept her lips sealed, preventing any commentary from escaping. Internally though, she was oohing and aahing nonstop. The place went on and on, each room more awe-inspiring than the last, all with stunning decor. The Balducci name was well-known for its chain of five-star hotels, but wow. Who truly lived like this?

Two steps onto the massive rear terrace, Candace had the answer to her silently mused question. A man who paid for sex lived like this.

She had never met Vincenzo’s parents, or so she’d thought. Turns out, she did know one half of the well-dressed couple hovering around the birthday boy. Intimately. He must be Vincenzo II. He’d called himself Enzo when he visited Lucky’s.

Her stomach lurched, threatening to leap from her mouth if she dared open it. Never in a million years had it occurred to her that Enzo, one of her longstanding, repeat clients, could be Vincenzo Balducci II, hotel mogul. Why would a man with so much wealth and power choose a massage parlor for his sexual dalliances?

God, this was so much worse than coming face-to-face with the guy at Walmart.

Recognition sparked in Enzo’s eyes. Heat too. His gaze traveled her body