Genuine Lies

slathered butter on a piece of toast. “Who knows? With Eve it depends on the mood of the moment.”
    “But you’ll find out.”
    The tone had Drake pausing, his knife still in the air. “She doesn’t talk to me about that sort of thing.”
    “You’ll find out,” Delrickio repeated. “And you’ll have your week. A favor for a favor.” Delrickio smiled. “That’s how it is between friends. And family.”
    •   •   •
    It made her feel young to dive into the pool. The evening with Victor had made her glow like a girl again. Eve had awakened later than usual, and with a blinding headache. But the medication, and now the cool, clear water, made the pain tolerable.
    She swam laps slowly, methodically, taking pleasure in feeling her arms and legs move in precision. It was a small thing, the use of one’s body. But she’d learned to appreciate it.
    It had been no small thing last night, she thought as she switched to a side stroke. Sex was always incredible with Victor. Passionate or gentle, slow or frantic. God knew they had made love in every possible way over the years.
    Last night had been beautiful. Being held after passion had been spent, lying together dozing like two old war horses, waking again to feel him slide into her.
    Of all the men, of all the lovers, there was no one like Victor. Because of all the men, of all the lovers, he was the only one who truly had captured her heart.
    There had been a time, years and years before, when she had despaired over her feelings for him, when she had cursed and raged and beat her fists against fate for making it impossible for them to be together. That time was passed. Now she could be grateful for every hour they had.
    Eve pulled herself out of the pool, shivered as the cool air hit her wet skin, then drew on a long red terry-cloth robe. As if she’d been watching for her cue, Travers hustled out with a breakfast tray and a bottle of moisturizer.
    “Did Nina call her?” Eve asked.
    Travers sucked air through her nose. The sound was like steam in a kettle. “On her way.”
    “Good.” Eve picked up the bottle, shaking it idly as she watched her housekeeper. “You needn’t make your disapproval so obvious.”
    “I think what I think.”
    “And know what you know,” Eve added with a little smile. “Why blame her?”
    Travers busied herself setting up the breakfast on the glossy white table. “Best to send her back and forget the whole thing. Asking for trouble. Nobody’ll thank you for it.”
    With expert fingers Eve spread the moisturizer over her face. “I need her,” she said simply. “I can’t do this myself.”
    Travers’s lips thinned. “You’ve done every damn thing you’ve wanted to do all your life. You’re wrong about this.”
    Eve sat, then popped a raspberry into her mouth. “I hope not. That’ll be all.”
    Travers stomped back toward the house. Still smiling, Eve slipped on sunglasses and waited for Julia. She didn’t wait long. From behind the dark lenses, she watched, then made judgments as practical shoes, slim royal blue slacks, a crisp striped blouse came into view. Slightly more relaxed but still cautious, Eve decided, based on body language as well as the clothing.
    When, if ever, she wondered, would they forge some kind of trust?
    “I hope you don’t mind talking out here.” Eve gestured to the cushioned chair beside her.
    “No, not at all.” How many, Julia wondered, had seen that famous face washed of makeup? And how many knew that the beauty was in the complexion and bone structure, not the artifice. “Wherever you’re most relaxed suits me.”
    “I could say the same.” Eve poured the juice and lifted a brow when Julia shook her head at the addition of champagne. “Do you ever?” she asked. “Relax?”
    “Of course. But not when I’m working.”
    Thoughtful, Eve sipped her mimosa, and finding it to her liking, sipped again. “What do you do? To relax, I mean?”
    Thrown off, Julia stammered, “Well, I … I …”
    “Caught,” Eve said with a quick, lusty laugh. “Let me tell you about yourself, shall I? You’re enviably young, and lovely. You’re a devoted mother whose child is the center of her life, and you’re determined to do a good job of raising him. Your work comes second, though you approach it with a ponderous sobriety. Etiquette, propriety, and manners are your bywords, particularly so since there’s a tough, passionatewoman under all the control. Ambition is a secret