let the door slam and thrust her sister toward the sofa wedged into the turret sitting room.
“Sit.” She pointed a stern finger. “Talk. Now.”
Sarah sat, but talking didn’t come easy. “It’s a little difficult to explain.”
“No, it’s not. Start at the beginning. When and where did you meet Dev?”
“In New York. At my office. When he came to show me the surveillance video of you lifting his Byzantine medallion.”
Gina’s jaw sagged. “What Byzantine...? Oh! Wait! Do you mean that little gold-and-blue thingy?”
“That little gold-and-blue thingy is worth more than a hundred thousand pounds.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I was. What did you do with it, Gina?”
“I didn’t do anything with it.”
“Dev’s surveillance video shows the medallion sitting on its stand when you sashay up to the display shelves. When you sashay away, the medallion’s gone.”
“Good grief, Sarah, you don’t think I stole it, do you?”
“No, and that’s what I told him from day one.”
“He thinks I stole it?”
The fury that flashed in her eyes didn’t bode well for Devon Hunter.
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Sarah lied. “What matters is that the medallion’s missing. Think, sweetie, think. Did you lift it off its stand? Or knock it off by accident, so it fell behind the shelves, maybe?”
“I did lift it, but I just wanted to feel the surface. You know, rub a thumb over that deep blue enamel.” Her forehead creased in concentration. “Then I heard someone coming and... Oh, damn! I must have slipped it into my pocket. It’s probably still there.”
“Gina!” The two syllables came out on a screech. “How could you not remember slipping a twelfth-century Byzantine medallion in your pocket?”
“Hey, I didn’t know it was a twelfth-century anything. And I’d just taken the pregnancy test that morning, okay? I was a little rattled. I’m surprised I made it to work that evening, much less managed to smile and orchestrate Hunter’s damned dinner.”
She whirled and headed for the door. Sarah jumped up to follow.
“I’m going to rip him a new one,” Gina fumed. “How dare he accuse me of...” She yanked open the door and instantly switched pronouns. “How dare you accuse me of stealing?”
The two men in the hall returned distinctly different frowns. Jack Mason’s was quick and confused. Dev’s was slower and more puzzled.
“You didn’t take it?”
“No, Mr. High-and-Mighty Hunter, I didn’t.”
“Take what?” Mason wanted to know.
“Then where is it?”
“I’m guessing it’s in the pocket of the jacket I wore that evening.”
“So you did take it?”
“Take what?”
Sarah cut in. “Gina was just running a hand over the surface when she heard footsteps. She didn’t want to be caught fingering it, so she slipped it into her pocket.”
“Dammit!” the ambassador exploded. “What the hell are you three talking about it?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Gina returned icily. “Why are you in my room, anyway? I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Tough. I’ve still got plenty to say to you.”
Sarah had had enough. A night of gut-wrenching worry, little sleep, no breakfast and now all this shouting was giving her a world-class headache. Before she could tell everyone to please shut up, Dev hooked her elbow and edged her out the door. With his other hand, he pushed Mason inside.
“You take care of your woman. I’ll take care of mine.”
“Wait a minute!” Thoroughly frustrated, Gina stamped a foot. “I still don’t know how or when or why you two got engaged. You can’t just...”
Dev closed the door in her face.
“Ooh,” Sarah breathed. “She’ll make you pay for that.”
He braced both hands against the wall, caging her in. “Do I look worried?”
What he looked was unshaven, red-eyed and pissed.
“What are you doing here?” she asked a little breathlessly. “When I called the Hôtel Verneuil a while ago, they told me you had some kind of crisis in your business and had to fly home.”
“I had a crisis, all right, but it was here. We need to get something straight, Lady Sarah. From now on, it’s not my sister or your business. We’re in this together. Forever. Or at least until we deliver on that promise to give kid number four a cruise on the Seine.”
The prewedding dinner was held on the evening of May 3 at Avery’s, where Dev had first “proposed” to Sarah. He reserved the entire restaurant for the event. The wedding ceremony and reception took place at the Plaza the following evening.
Gina, who’d emerged from a private session with the duchess white-faced and shaking, had regained both her composure and some of her effervescence. She then proceeded to astonish both her sister and her grandmother by taking charge of the dinner, the wedding ceremony and the reception.
To pull them off, she’d enlisted the assistance of Andrew at the Plaza, who’d aged with immense dignity since that long-ago day he’d discreetly taken care of an inebriated presidential aide during Grandmama’s soirée for the Sultan of Oman. Gina also formed a close alliance with Patrick Donovan, Dev’s incredibly capable and supremely confident executive assistant.
All Sarah had to do was draw up her guest list and select her dress. She kept the list small. She wanted to enjoy her wedding, not feel as though she was participating in a carefully scripted media event. Besides, she didn’t have any family other than Grandmama, Gina and Maria.
She did invite a number of close friends and coworkers—including Alexis. Beguile’s executive editor had admitted the Paris thing was a mistake of epic proportions, but swore she’d never intended to publish a single photo without Sarah’s permission. As a peace offering/wedding present, she’d had the photos printed and inserted into a beautifully inscribed, gilt-edged scrapbook. Just to be safe, Sarah had also had her hand over the disk with the complete set of JPEGs.
Dev’s guest list was considerably longer than his bride’s. His parents, sisters, their spouses and various offspring had flown to New York four days before
