An answering smile tugged at her lips as she followed the squeals to the living area. Its glass wall offered an eye-boggling panorama of the Gulf of Mexico. Not that any of the occupants of the spacious living room appeared the least interested in the view. They were totally absorbed with the twins’ attempts to add blinking red Rudolph noses to the fuzzy reindeer antlers and jingle-bell halters already adorning their uncles. Dominic and Devon sat cross-legged on the floor within easy reach of the twins, while their dad, Jack, watched with diabolical delight.
“What’s going on here?” Zia asked.
“Thanta’s coming,” curly-haired Amalia lisped excitedly. “And...
“Uncle Dom and Dev are gonna help pull his sled,” little Charlotte finished.
The girls were named for the duchess, whose full name and title filled several lines of print. Sarah’s and Gina’s were almost as long. Zia’s, too. Try squeezing Anastazia Amalia Julianna St. Sebastian onto a computer form, she thought as she paused in the doorway to enjoy the merry scene.
No three men could be more dissimilar in appearance yet so similar in character, she decided. Jack Harris, the twins’ father and the current United States Ambassador to the United Nations, was tall, tawny haired and aristocratic. Devon Hunter’s hard-fought rise from aircraft cargo handler to self-made billionaire showed in his lean face and clever eyes. And Dominic...
Ahh. Was there anyone as handsome and charismatic as the brother who’d assumed legal guardianship of Zia after their parents died? The friend and advisor who’d guided her through her turbulent teens? The highly skilled undercover agent who’d encouraged her all through college and med school, then walked away from his adrenaline-charged career for the woman he loved?
Natalie loved him, too, Zia thought with an inner smile as her glance shifted to her sister-in-law. Completely, unreservedly, joyously. One look at her face was all anyone needed to see the devotion in her warm brown eyes. She occupied one end of a comfortable sofa, her fingers entwined in the collar of the quivering racing hound to prevent him from joining the reindeer brigade.
Zia’s cousins sat next to her. Gina, with a Santa hat perched atop her tumble of silvery blond curls and candy-cane-striped leggings, looked more like a teenager than mother of twins, the wife of a highly respected diplomat and a partner in one of NYC’s most successful event-hosting enterprises. Gina’s older sister, Sarah, occupied the far end of the sofa. Her palms rested lightly on her just-beginning-to-show baby bump and her elegant features showed the quiet joy of impending motherhood.
But it was the woman who sat with her back straight and her hands clasping the ebony head of her cane who caught and held Zia’s eye. The Grand Duchess of Karlenburgh was a role model for any female of any age. As a young bride she’d resided in a string of castles scattered across Europe, including the one that guarded a high mountain pass on the border between Austria and Hungary. Then the Soviets invaded and later brutally suppressed an uprising by Hungarian patriots. Forced to witness her husband’s execution, Charlotte had made a daring escape by trekking over the snow-covered Alps with her newborn infant in her arms and a fortune in jewels hidden inside the baby’s teddy bear. Now, more than sixty years later, she’d lost none of her dignity or courage or regal bearing. White haired and paper skinned, the indomitable duchess ruled her ever-growing family with a velvet-gloved fist.
She was the reason they were all here, spending the holidays in Texas. Charlotte hadn’t complained. She considered whining a deplorable character flaw. But Zia hadn’t failed to note how the vicious cold and record snowfall that blanketed New York City in early December had exacerbated the duchess’s arthritis. And all it took was one mention of Zia’s concern to galvanize the entire St. Sebastian clan.
In short order, Dev and Sarah had leased this six-bedroom condo and set it up as a temporary base for their Los Angeles operations. Jack and Gina had adjusted their busy schedules to enjoy a rare, prolonged holiday in South Texas. Dom and Natalie flew down, too, with the hound in tow. The family had also convinced Maria, the duchess’s longtime housekeeper and companion, to enjoy an all-expenses-paid vacation while the staff here at the resort took care of everyone’s needs.
Zia hadn’t been able to spend quite as much time in Texas as the others. Although Mount Sinai’s second-and third-year residents were allowed a full month of vacation, few if any ever strayed far from the hospital. Zia hadn’t taken off more than three days in a row since she began her residency. And with the decision of whether to accept Dr. Wilbanks’s offer weighing so heavily on her mind, she wouldn’t have dragged herself down to Galveston for a full week if Charlotte hadn’t insisted. Almost as if she’d read her mind, the duchess looked up at that moment. Her gnarled fingers tightened on the head of her cane. One snowy brow lifted in a regal arch.
* * *
Ha! Charlotte had only to look at Zia to guess what the girl was thinking! That she was so old and decrepit, she needed this bright Texas sunshine to warm her bones. Well, perhaps she did. But she also needed to put some color back into her great-niece’s cheeks. She was too pale. Too thin and tired. She’d worn herself to the bone during the first two years of her residency. And worked even more the past few months. But every time Charlotte tried to probe the shadows lurking behind those weary eyes, the girl smiled and fobbed her off with the excuse that exhaustion just was part of being a third-year resident in one of the country’s most prestigious medical schools.
Charlotte might not see eighty again, but she wasn’t yet senile. Nor was she the least bit hesitant where the well-being of her family was concerned. None of them, Anastazia included, had the least idea that she’d engineered this sojourn in the sun. All it had taken was some not-quite-surreptitious kneading of her arthritic knuckles and one or two few valiantly disguised grimaces. Those, combined with her seemingly offhand comment that New York City felt especially cold and damp this December, had done the trick.
Her family had reacted just as she’d anticipated. Within days they’d sorted through dozens of options from Florida to California and everywhere in between. A villa on the Riviera and over-water bungalows in the South Pacific hadn’t been out of the mix, either. But they’d decided on South Texas as the most convenient for both the East and West Coast family contingents. Within a week, Charlotte and Maria had been ensconced in seaside, sun-drenched luxury with various members of the family joining them for differing lengths of time.
Charlotte had even convinced Zia to take off the whole of Christmas week. The girl was still too thin and tired, but at least her cheeks had gained some color. And, the duchess noted with relief, there was something very close to a sparkle in her eyes. Even more intriguing, her glossy black hair was damp and straggly and threaded with what looked suspiciously like strands of seaweed. Intrigued, she thumped her cane on the floor to get the twins’ attention.
“Charlotte, Amalia, please be quiet for a moment.”
The girls’ high-pitched giggles dropped a few degrees in decibel level, if not in frequency.
“Come sit beside me, Anastazia, and tell me what happened during your run on the beach.”
“How do you know something happened?”
“You have kelp dangling from your ear.”
Zia patted both ears to find the offending strand. “So I do,” she replied, chuckling.
The lighthearted response delighted Charlotte. The girl hadn’t laughed very much lately. So little, in fact, that her rippling merriment snagged the attention of every adult in the room.
“Tell us,” the duchess commanded. “What happened?”
“Let’s see.” Playing to her suddenly attentive audience, Zia pretended to search her memory.