Anastasia Rousseau’s father took hold of Aric’s hand and gave it a couple of perfunctory pumps as soon as he released the previous guest. “Good afternoon and welcome.”
“Thank you, sir.” Aric nodded to the gray-haired billionaire and smiled at his immaculately preserved wife. “Congratulations on a beautiful day. Elizabeth and I couldn’t be happier for Stasi.”
“How kind. Thank you.” Mrs. Rousseau’s fine brows rose on her unlined face. “Are you a friend of our daughter’s?”
“Stasi and I went to university together for a while,” Aric said, putting Gideon’s cover dossier to good use as he shook the elder woman’s hand. “I’m William Bouchard. Er, Will. And this is my bride, Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Rousseau smiled warmly. “How do you do, dear?”
“Fine, thank you. Everything looks so beautiful in here, Mrs. Rousseau,” Kaya said, not missing a beat as she shook the woman’s hand. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done outside for the reception.”
“Why, thank you, my dear. I do enjoy dabbling.”
“You do a bit more than dabble,” Kaya pointed out. “Congratulations on your interior design award last month. The magazine couldn’t have chosen a more deserving recipient.”
“What a lovely thing to say.” The bride’s mother beamed. “How wonderful that you both could make it today. I’m sure Anastasia will be delighted.”
The old man smiled, too, but he studied Aric longer than he had the other guests ahead of him. “Was it McGill you said you attended with her, son?”
“No, sir. UBC. It was my grandfather’s alma mater as well.” He tilted a wry look at Phillipe Rousseau. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but your father the Prime Minister and my grandfather were rivals on the soccer field in their day.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is.” Aric grinned through the lie, thankful for the depth of Gideon’s research. “I hope you won’t hold that against me now.”
“Not at all.” The bride’s father chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Go on and enjoy the reception, both of you.”
“With pleasure, sir.”
Grinning, he took Kaya’s hand and led her away from the Rousseaus. Now that the seeds of their social groundwork had been laid, they had some time to scope out the terrain they’d be working once the reception was under way.
“Go easy on the flattery,” he murmured as they walked toward the French doors opened to the estate’s gardens. No one else was in hearing distance of him, but he was careful to keep his voice low enough for Kaya’s ears only. “It was a nice touch to mention the award, but you don’t want to be too memorable. Not that you can do much to avoid that.”
She let his backhanded compliment pass without acknowledgment. “It wasn’t flattery. Margaret Rousseau really is a talented interior designer. Her work has been on a dozen magazine covers and this most recent award was for a project she contributed to a children’s charity organization.”
Aric grunted. “Someone did their homework last night.”
She slanted him a haughty look. “I stayed up most of the night poring over Gideon’s notes. I must’ve read everything twenty times, just to make sure I wouldn’t forget even the smallest detail.”
He shrugged. “I only read the files once.”
“You can’t be serious.” Kaya stopped short and frowned at him, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “That’s either incredibly arrogant or dangerously stupid.”
He shook his head. “Genetically gifted. I’ve got an eidetic and photographic memory. If I read something or see it once, I can recall it perfectly anytime.”
She gaped mutely for a moment, then expelled a sharp breath. “Have you ever struggled over a single thing in all your life?”
“Not really.”
She rolled her eyes at his unrepentant grin. “How nice for you.”
He chuckled. “So I hit the gene pool lottery. Do you want me to apologize for that fact?”
“I don’t want you to do anything--other than not screw this up for me today.”
She started walking again and he fell in beside her. “You don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart. You and I share the same goal. I want it too badly to let it slip through my fingers.”
“So do I.”
“Good,” he said. “Then I guess we’re agreed.”
“On one thing, at least.”
They stepped through the open French doors and into the full heat of the brilliant noontime sun. Broad marble steps spilled down onto the back lawn of the mansion’s grounds like a carpet made of gleaming stone. Tables and chairs dressed up in white cloth and floral garlands peppered the thick green grass and surrounding gardens, each arranged for optimal view of the immense limestone pavilion that was the pearly jewel at the heart of the magnificent grounds.
Under the soaring dome roof, a tuxedoed twelve-piece orchestra played Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtsmusik” for an empty dance floor and what was easily hundreds of arriving reception guests. Aric and Kaya descended the steps together and were immediately greeted by one of many circulating waitstaff carrying trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Being Breed, Aric could consume neither beyond a taste or two, but Kaya eagerly accepted one of the slender flutes.
With her glass in hand, they strolled over the soft lawn. They found a quiet spot of their own to observe the gathering and wait for the moment their target arrived. Aric scanned the hundreds of guests, silently taking stock of the faces. He was intent on his task, but he couldn’t dismiss the weight of Kaya’s brown eyes studying him over the rim of her glass.
He frowned. “What’s the matter?”
She took a sip, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Just making sure you’re not going to start sizzling out here in the sun.”
His brows shot up. “Was that a joke? Why, Mrs. Bouchard, I had no idea you cared.”
She laughed, then raised the flute to her lips once more. “You’re an ass.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” Aric replied, watching with far too much thirst of his own as her delicate throat worked to swallow another sip of champagne.
She caught him
