Page 49 of The Cottage on Pelican Bay

Saint peeked over the top of his menu and asked, “See anything you like?”

Zara smiled. “Yes, plenty. But I think I’m going to get the lasagna. I’ve heard from Donna Elloran how good it is. What about you?”

“I think I’ll have the chicken and mushroom ravioli.” He placed his menu on the table. “I heard it was good as well.”

He took a sip of wine and looked at Zara. She had arrived at Andrew’s before him, and the moment he’d walked in and scanned the restaurant, he’d seen her. As usual, she looked beautiful. The way she had styled her hair emphasized her high cheekbones, fine straight nose and what he thought were kissable, well-shaped lips.

Her beauty held a sensuality that drew him to her like a powerful magnet. Regardless of whether he wanted it to or not. Mia had been pretty as well, but there was something about Zara’s beauty that he couldn’t define. It was more than surface beauty. Since getting to know her he’d gotten to know her inner beauty, too.

He was glad she had been satisfied with his handling of the Samantha Groover issue and hadn’t asked any questions about it. He wasn’t sure what foolishness his mother had led Samantha to believe, but she had honestly assumed the only competition she would face in her pursuit of him was from Mia, whom his mother felt he was still carrying a torch for.

Samantha even admitted to confronting Kristen Hunt and Robin Dyer. Now he knew why those women had backed off. Not that he had a problem with that. However, he had a problem with Samantha assuming she had any dibs on him at all. He had told her in no uncertain terms that she didn’t, and that she owed those women an apology for making them feel that she did. He told her that he wasn’t interested in her, and the only woman he was interested in dating was Zara. At the end he felt she’d gotten the message loud and clear.

To be honest, he still wasn’t sure his mother had gotten that same message. Although she’d been appalled that Samantha had confronted Zara and those other women about staying away from him, she was still concerned he would be deeply hurt when Zara left town. She had a feeling the relationship meant more to him than it did to her. Again, he had stressed to his mother that the woman he chose to share his life, no matter how long or short the period of time that would be, was his decision to make and not hers.

He blinked, noticing Zara’s lips were moving. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

She smiled—that smile to him was bewitching, beguiling. Simply adorable.

“I said that I had company while packing today.”

“You did?” he asked, reaching for one of the slices of focaccia from the basket the waitress had placed on the table.

“Yes. Donna dropped by. She was excited because they found out their baby is going to be a girl. That’s what they were hoping for, a little sister for Ike.”

He smiled. “I’m happy for them.”

“So am I, and I could have bottled her excitement. They already have a name picked out but won’t be sharing it with anyone until the baby is born.” She tilted her head and said, “And speaking of names, how did you become an Evans instead of just an Evan?”

She wasn’t the first person to ask him that. “Evans was my mother’s maiden name and she wanted me to have it.”

“Makes sense, but I like you as Saint.”

“I think most people do. My paternal grandmother began calling me that. She claimed I was such a good baby. Besides, it was the last five letters of my last name. The nickname stuck. Did you ever have a nickname?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I was named after my great-great-great-grandmother, Princess Zara. My parents took great honor in that and even called me Princess Zara at times.”

After chewing his piece of focaccia and washing it down with another sip of wine, he said, “I recall studying about the kidnapped African princess in school. As you know, Catalina Cove’s history was a required subject.”

“Yes, I do recall that. Of course, I’d grown up hearing about Princess Zara long before I went to school. Trust me when I say my parents had convinced me I was special.” She chuckled as she dipped a piece of focaccia in garlic oil before taking a bite.

Saint watched the tantalizing movement of her mouth. When she licked a drop of oil from her lips with the tip of her tongue, he felt a hardness press against his zipper and twisted in his seat. “According to the story,” he said, “Princess Zara Musa was a beautiful African princess on a ship sailing to the Caribbean. LaFitte captured the ship, decided he wanted the princess for himself, kidnapped her and brought her to his home here in Catalina Cove. He married her and built her one of the most magnificent houses in the cove, which he named Zara’s Haven. Together they had six children, of which you and Vaughn are descendants.”

A huge smile lit up her face. “Yes, but it was only proven last year that he’d married Princess Zara. For years, some claimed she was just one of his many mistresses. I’m glad Sierra and Vaughn found the authentic marriage license.”

At that moment the waitress came to take their order. After she walked off, Saint leaned back in his chair and said, “Princess.” He thought of saying Angel, the name she’d used when they’d first met, but now he thought she looked more like a princess than an angel. “I like that name for you.”

“Why? Because of Princess Zara?”

“No, because I see you as a princess.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t think I act like a princess. At least all through my life I’ve tried not to. My parents were snobs, and I know and accept that. However, the one thing Vaughn and I agreed never to do was to think we were better than anyone else.”

The last thing Saint wanted was for her to think calling her Princess was somehow negative. In his mind it was all positive. “To me, a princess is kind, and you are that, Zara. I watch how you interact with people. You’re friendly and remember most by name when you see them again. The majority of those living in the cove are aware you were born a Miller. One of those wealthy Millers. However, you don’t let that define who you are. Neither does Vaughn. That’s why the two of you are so likable.”

He took another sip of wine. He meant that. Even his mother attested to that. Although she’d never spent time with Zara, Irene Toussaint knew others who had, like Juanita Beckett, the town seamstress, and Ms. Fanny, who owned the art supply store. They all thought the world of Zara. Still, he knew his mother’s main concern was not wanting him to get hurt again by love.

“Also,” he continued, “being a princess to me means you’re passionate about a lot of things, your work with fashion as well as your charity work.” When she lifted a brow, he said, “Before I met you as Vaughn’s sister, he used to tell me that you regularly donate a large part of your profits to various charities. He was proud of you and although I didn’t know you at the time, so was I.”

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