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fund-raiser.”
    “Suddenly he’s not just a kind old man?” Javier squinted. “What difference does it make to know he’s the legendary Jean Edouard Broussard?” he asked in an accusing tone.
    “I still don’t know him from Adam. But now that I know he’s the host, I’m embarrassed. I stepped on his feet so many times.”
    “I’m sure he’s insured.” He assessed her briefly and looked away.
    She twisted her head to see the photograph of Broussard’s daughter once again. He was right. Both Vivian and the woman in the photograph had fair skin, blue eyes, and dark auburn hair. But as she stared at the girl, it was Molly who came to her mind.
    “Time to go,” Javier said when Edouard finished his speech and left the stage. The lights came back on, bright as before, and the band resumed playing.
    Although several people surrounded him, they slowly made their way out of the ballroom. Javier didn’t let her out of his sight for one moment, and she knew the intrusive bodyguard was around somewhere, watching her every step.
    “Javier.”
    A deep female voice called to him.
    Vivian glanced at Javier, who inhaled sharply before turning around to talk to an older woman. She wore a glamorous black dress with a long pearl necklace. Her heavy makeup seemed to carefully minimize all the years she had lived.
    Silence descended upon them, lasting a moment longer than was socially acceptable. Javier’s features hardened. If there was any emotion behind his blank stare, he hid it well.
    The woman finally spoke. “It’s nice to see you.”
    “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Javier said.
    “I came for the party. I will go back to Madrid tonight. How have you been?” She took one step forward, her sad black eyes searching for his.
    “Good,” he answered. His fingers clenched at Vivian’s waist, the gesture telling her that something about this woman unsettled him. He could not show it or say it, but she felt the tension in his body. It prompted her to stretch her hand out to the woman and say, “I’m Vivian Foster. Nice to meet you.”
    The woman blinked, slightly taken aback. With the hint of a smile, she shook Vivian’s hand. “I’m Gisela Rivera. Javier’s mother.”
    His mother. Of course. They shared the same dark eyes and full lips, but the similarities ended there.
    Vivian sensed that Gisela longed for a deeper connection to her son—which made her wonder, how could such an important relationship be allowed to degenerate to the extent that Javier and his mother could have this awkward run-in?
    “I sent you an invitation for the family reunion in November,” Gisela said.
    “I’ve been busy.” Javier inhaled. After another long pause, he said, “Good night.”
    His mother simply nodded, as if she not only expected this kind of treatment from him but accepted it.
    Vivian shot Javier’s mother a sympathetic smile over her shoulder as Javier’s hand on her back prompted her to match his decisive strides out of the ballroom.

Chapter Four
     
    Vivian leaned against the cold wall of the elevator and sighed as she glanced at their reflection in the mirrored walls.
    They were all alone. Javier stood straight and faced forward with his features set in hard lines, waiting for the doors to open. She sagged against the wall, her gaze alternating between the mirror and his broad back and strong shoulders.
    The oppressive silence didn’t seem to faze him. When the doors opened, Javier walked out of the elevator and into the hallway with his usual confidence. Vivian wished she could see his eyes, although she knew deep down it wasn’t a smart impulse. Whatever flickers of emotion he tried to hide from his mother were not her problem.
    I don’t care how he got this way. I don’t. Vivian chanted the mantra inside her head.
    She had other things to think about. Since she had talked—damn it, she had danced —with Monsieur Broussard himself, hope had blossomed inside her. A part of her knew Edouard would at