Innocent's Nine-Month Scandal

The ones who lusted after her cousin on sight, forgetting all about her.

Viktor’s kiss had been dark chocolate and whipped cream and bold, intoxicating red wine. His touch had been full of promise to lead her unerringly into the most exotic, spectacular and satisfying places.

She had always thought the word attraction meant that something or someone was appealing, but now she understood true attraction was a genuine magnetism. Viktor pulled her in a way she couldn’t fight even if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to. That was what shocked her. She wasn’t the one-nighter type, but she was sitting here contemplating a one-night stand with him. It wasn’t seduction on his part or even the spell of her surroundings. It was him.

It was the uniqueness of her reaction to him.

“Why is the earring so important to you?” he asked, breaking the silence.

It wasn’t, she realized with an almost visceral thunk of realization inside her. The earring was the furthest thing from her consciousness right now.

She sipped her wine to wet her throat. “From the time Gisella and I heard the story of them, it’s been our quest to find them and return them to our grandmother.”

“And the story you heard is that Istvan gave them to her.” Viktor’s brow went up with skepticism.

“As an engagement promise, yes. He told Grandmamma to sell the first one to get away from the unrest. He promised to meet her in America but was killed in the demonstrations before he could join her. When she ran out of money from the first earring, she went to the man who became my grandfather, Benedek Barsi. Rather than buy it from her, he asked her to marry him. He sold the earring to open the shop.”

“Such a fickle heart.”

“She loved Istvan very much!” Tears had come into her grandmother’s eyes every time she’d ever spoken of him. “But she was a single mother alone in a new country. They needed each other.”

“So they agreed to the sort of arrangement that you find so archaic. You understand that without a blood test, there’s no reason for me to believe your cousin is a Karolyi descendant? Perhaps this story was simply a pretty tale spun for a pair of curious little girls.”

She shook her head, wondering how she could feel so drawn to someone who possessed this much cynicism.

“There’s too much grief in her when she speaks of him.” Not that she’d asked her grandmother about it recently. She couldn’t even recall why Grandmamma had talked about it initially. It had been after Grandpapa’s passing. Somehow Gisella had learned that she didn’t actually share a grandfather with Rozalia. In their shock, they had asked Grandmamma about it and the tale had fed Rozalia’s hunger for stories of grand passion.

But her grandmother’s sadness had been real.

“I’ll message Gizi later, ask her to do a blood test. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I guess I took my grandmother’s word for it.”

His faint smile dismissed her as naive.

She frowned. “Why would she pick a man of your great-uncle’s stature to claim as the father of her child?”

“To make a claim against our fortune?” he suggested dryly.

“We’re not making one. I came to make a fair and legitimate offer for the earring. All I want is for my grandmother to hold again the token given to her by her first love.”

“Does she want that?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Perhaps she doesn’t possess your level of sentimentality.”

“What’s wrong with being sentimental? Do you not have any special fondness for some place or thing? A sense of nostalgia for eating berries with your brother?” She nodded toward the conservatory.

His expression hardened, warning her she was treading dangerous ground.

She wasn’t trying to upset him, only demonstrate what she knew to be true.

“An object doesn’t have to be something of high value,” she continued. “Or even something that can be quantified. I could work anywhere, but I choose to work in the family shop. Part of it is loyalty to family. And yes, my uncle provided my apprenticeship so I owe him for that, but I could have pursued other placements. I want to work in that particular shop because that place is special to me. I don’t care where I live so long as I can go there every day. It’s my real home.”

He wasn’t impressed. She could see it in the flat lines of his expression.

“Okay, try this, then. It’s like when I ordered pálinka earlier. It gave me a taste of home, which helps me feel the strength of my family behind me.”

“Why did you need that?” His gaze sharpened.

“Because this is overwhelming! I’ve never traveled so far on my own. Never met anyone like you or experienced a place like this. Don’t you like to feel your family at your back sometimes?”

His mouth twitched. “I have a mother and a great-aunt. I stand at their back.”

She blinked in astonishment. “But—” She stopped herself from asking, What about when you lost your brother? “They’re your only family? You should definitely meet Aunt Alisz and Gisella, then.”

“So I might have more responsibility? Unnecessary,” he dismissed.

“So you have more family.”

“They’re not my family,” he dismissed further. “Even if we do share DNA. You really are a romantic.”

Yes, they are, she wanted to argue. She could tell he wasn’t willing to see it that way, however.

“So you don’t have any emotional connections to...anything?”

“My emotions are basic. I prefer physical comfort over being too hot or cold. I like good food and the satisfaction of achieving goals. Sometimes I enjoy watching sport finals or fishing off my yacht. I like sex,” he said with such a direct look, it was an arrow into her heart. “But I have no desire for the drama of love affairs and tasting death to prove I’m alive or other nonsense like that.”

“Nonsense,” she repeated with a little choke. “If you knew how much you sound like my aunt Alisz, who sees no value in playing and having fun, you wouldn’t be able to deny that you’re related to her.” But her aunt’s notoriously blunt and aloof personality was a story for another day. She straightened in her chair. Drew a breath. “If you have no attachment to the earring, why don’t you sell it to me?”

“Because I don’t want you to have it.” He spoke like he was addressing a child. “Your grandmother stole it. She profited well off her theft. I’m still astounded you have the gall to come here and ask me for it.” He took a sip of wine, steady as a rock. “But I’m not impassioned with anger over it. Merely displeased.”

She had to wonder what would provoke him to impassioned anger.

“Will you show it to me?”

“I’m still thinking about that.”

“All right, fine,” she said, throwing her napkin beside her plate. “Let’s remove sentiment and allow me to argue on an intellectual level. As a man who occasionally likes to fish, I presume you have an interest in all the latest rods and flies—”

His expression didn’t change, but she heard the pun as soon as he did. Rods. Flies. They were right back to the ball joke.

“Stop it. I’m saying that if you had an opportunity to view unique equipment—”

He sipped, maybe to hide his smile. “I assume comedienne is another of your many professions.”

“You know what I’m driving at,” she said with exasperation. “From what I’ve been told, the craftsmanship in the earring is rare and remarkable. I’ve seen one mediocre catalogue photo of it. It may not sway you that I would consider holding it as an honor and a privilege, but I hope you would be willing to satisfy my curiosity. As an artist,” she tacked on, self-conscious now, especially because the corners of his mouth were digging in.