Page 104 of The Honest Affair

The other four immediately burst into argument.

“Jesus Christ,” Matthew muttered.

“Who is Xavier?” I asked him, taking advantage of the temporary commotion. “Other than Sofia’s father, I mean. I gathered that.”

“He charmed Frankie’s socks off before leaving her high and dry with a kid on the way and no one to contact,” Lea said from behind us. “He’s the kind of man who leaves people in the lurch. Sound familiar, Nina?”

I couldn’t help but flinch. Was that really what they thought of me? I wasn’t sure I could fault them.

“Hey,” Matthew snapped at her. “For real, should we just go? I told you in the church, Lea, I got no problem walking out of here.”

Lea just grumbled, then went back to the kitchen to help her grandmother.

“Xavier was at Jane and Eric’s Christmas party,” Matthew said as he turned back to me. “Tall guy. British. Black hair. Deep voice.” He shrugged, clearly unable to recall much more. “To be honest, doll, I was more focused on finding you that night.”

I, however, stared at him wide-eyed. “You don’t mean Xavier Parker, do you?”

On my other side, where she was being interrogated by her three younger sisters, Frankie stiffened.

Matthew frowned. “Why, do you know him?”

“Not well, but we’ve met a few times,” I replied. “He lives in London, but our social circles are fairly small. He went to school with Eric.”

Matthew glanced at his jabbering sisters. “What’s his story? Frankie’s always been a damn mute about the guy.”

I drummed my nails on the tabletop, trying to remember. “He caused a bit of a scandal, from what I recall. He’s the illegitimate son of an earl or maybe a marquess. At any rate, his father didn’t have other children, and then surprised everyone by naming Xavier as his heir instead of letting the estate pass to his cousin or nephew or whatever. Grandmother’s butler, Garrett, was English, and had a lot to say about the whole ordeal. It was this big to-do when a boy from East London was named presumptive heir to this title, apparently.”

“Then what happened?” Matthew wondered curiously.

I tapped my chin. “I honestly don’t know much. Just that Garrett thought he was an ungrateful, rebellious brat. Attending Dartmouth, for instance, instead of Oxford or Cambridge like everyone else in his class. That’s where he met Eric, who brought him home a few times when he was at school. Nice boy. Tall, like you said. After that, I heard he went to culinary school, of all things, and started several restaurants until his father died maybe three or four years ago…”

By the time I was finished talking, the room had gone silent. All five of Matthew’s sisters were silent and listening intently, the rest of their arguments apparently forgotten. Even his grandmother had stilled in the door, holding a platter of antipasti.

I blinked. “It isn’t the same Xavier, is it?” I asked as I looked around. “Sometimes he uses the name Sato. His mother is half-Japanese, I believe, and that’s her maiden name. Is that—it’s not the same person, is it?”

But by the look on Frankie’s face, he plainly was. And not only that, a fair amount of the story was news to her.

“Wait a second,” Joni said. “Are you saying that Sofia…our baby Sofia…could be royalty?”

“She didn’t say her dad’s Prince William, you idiot,” Marie said, earning a jab in the gut from Joni.

Frankie still hadn’t spoken, though her dark green eyes, so like her brother’s, were large and pleading.

“Did you know, Fran?” Matthew asked gently as he reached across me to clasp his sister’s hand. “About this title, or whatever it is?”

Matthew had been the self-appointed caretaker of his sister and her daughter for several years now. He had always told me that Sofia’s father didn’t want anything to do with them. His impression was that the man was some kind of derelict—a criminal, maybe, or just someone passing through New York on a lark.

Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“I…” Frankie shook her head, and her eyes watered as she looked around. “I knew about his restaurants. And his mother. The rest, though…” She inhaled deeply as she buried her face in her hands. “I never knew,” she mumbled into her palms. When she looked up, her eyes were red and rimmed with tears. “I have to…can you all just give me a minute, please?”

There was an awkward silence around the table. The rest of Matthew’s sisters found their seats. Wine was poured, plates were filled, and finally, once the clink of silverware had started, Matthew’s grandmother finally took her seat at the head of the table.

“So,” said Mrs. Zola. “You want to get married.” Her sharp gaze flickered between me and Matthew, then down to my hand. “How did this happen?”

“I, ah, asked her in Florence,” Matthew said.

“Florence?” Frankie’s voice echoed. “Mattie, that was months ago.”

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