“Oh God,” she said. “You sound so keen right now, I need to hurl. Good-bye. Twat.” And she hung up.

Cal stared out at the garden a moment longer before his phone buzzed again. This time, his mum. Cal didn’t want to talk right now, but if he put it off, she’d hound him relentlessly. She was good at that.

“Morning,” he said.

“Darling, where have you been? I’ve been calling for days. I thought you came to Vegas to spend some time with me, and I’ve barely seen you.”

Rubbing his ear, Cal thought about all the responses he could make, but decided to remain civil instead. “I came to Vegas because you lied about your anniversary.”

“Yes, but how else could I get quality time with my only son, eh?”

“You could have come to Cairns, but I suppose that would have cut into your very busy schedule. I know your boy-toy husband keeps you terribly occupied.” Well, that wasn’t civil at all. Despite Cal’s best efforts, his vitriol leaked through. He had his reasons. After all, poor Babcock had spent her final days staring at his stupid face when she’d really needed Pix. Babs had to have felt betrayed. The woman had spent her entire adult life trailing after his mum, and Pix hadn’t even bothered to make an appearance when it mattered most.

“Calum, please don’t be angry with me, I can’t stand it. I’d have given anything to be with Babs at the end. It simply wasn’t possible.”

Pixie had given a string of excuses about conflicting events and unspecified aches that made a long flight to Australia out of the question. For seven months? No, Cal wasn’t buying it—he knew his mother far too well. Pixie simply hadn’t wanted to be inconvenienced by taking care of Babcock.

Honestly, what was the point of arguing? It would simply wind him up with no resolution. “Right. Was there something you needed, then?”

“Come over for brekky. Your Aunt Mags is desperate to see you. I’ll pop a bottle.”

When she hung up, Cal stared at the phone. He could rail at Pix until he ran out of breath, but it wouldn’t do a bit of good. There was no changing her. But now Cal knew when the chips were down, he couldn’t count on his mum to be there. Fair enough. Cal had spent most of his life alone. Not so bad, really, depending on oneself—less disappointment that way.

He hadn’t been awake fifteen minutes, and already Cal had wrangled with Jules, been put on the spot by Pix, and he had another problem—Monica Campbell. Cal owed her an apology, although she probably wouldn’t accept it. Still, he needed to make amends, but how? What would appeal to her?

He stretched his neck from side to side and spent the next half hour planning a campaign to win over Monica Campbell. What he finally settled on was iffy, but he couldn’t think up anything better.

Using the house phone, Cal dialed Mr. Lawson, ordering a car and driver. The villa came with around-the-clock butler service, which was most convenient. While Cal lectured Jules about helping those less fortunate, here he was sprawled across the lap of luxury. She accused him of being a hypocritical twat, and maybe that was true, but honestly, though this place was lovely, Cal felt equally at home in a tent with nothing but a bedroll and a sturdy pair of boots.

After dressing, Cal gave careful instructions to Mr. Lawson and dashed off a note on thick ivory stationery before heading to Pixie’s house. During the drive, Cal thought about Monica. He’d been close to making her come last night, his finger mere centimeters away from slipping inside her. And she’d been so ready for it.

Monica may act uptight, but every movement she made was graceful and lithe—sexual in a natural way. After he’d stripped the blouse from her body, she’d stood before him, unashamed. He’d been spellbound by those lovely breasts. She liked his touch, grew breathless when he kissed her. It was bloody obvious Monica liked sex, so why couldn’t she just admit it? The way she behaved afterward, as if they’d done something wrong or disgusting…well, it not only took him by surprise, it had bruised his pride.

Cal still didn’t have any answers, and he needed to focus on something other than his cock right now. Thinking about Monica Campbell and her soft, full tits did him in.

They drove through aged wooden gates studded with wrought-iron hinges. It gave the faux palazzo a look of authenticity. In the circular drive, the car drew to a stop. Cal shoved a few bills in the driver’s hand and didn’t wait for him to open the door. “Pick me up in an hour, mate, and I’ll double that.”

As the car drove away, Cal stared up at the colossal house. He’d stayed in Venetian palazzos many times, and while this house bore the markings—white stucco and arched, narrow windows surrounded by delicate traceries—it lacked the aged patina of real plaster. And mold. Authentic palazzos always had mold.

He strode to the front door and used the ornate knocker. A moment later, the maid answered. Why his mother insisted on putting the woman in a black uniform was anyone’s guess. Babcock would have wadded up the dress and told Pix to stuff it up her bum. Babs’s wardrobe revolved around track suits and bright white trainers. How else am I supposed to chase after you? Never in one place for long, the pair of you. She’d said that often, usually while packing.

Cal followed the maid through the house and out the back door, to a multileveled terrace that overlooked rolling green hills. Brown mountains were a hazy mirage in the distance, far beyond Pixie’s vast estate.

Tipping his head to the maid, Cal jogged down the winding stairs. Pix and Paolo, his aunt Mags, and her ex-husband, Nigel, sat at a rectangular table overlooking the pool.

Upon seeing him, Pixie rose and strutted toward him. Her silky purple dressing gown flowed outward to reveal matching pajamas. Her heeled slippers were purple as well, and encrusted with crystals. “Look who’s here, everyone.” With shoulder-length dark waves and carefully applied makeup, she appeared a decade younger than her sixty-plus years. “My darling boy, how are you?”

Cal bent down and kissed both of her cheeks. “How are you, Mum?”

“Better now that you’re here. Come, sit.”

Before grabbing a chair, Cal kissed his aunt. Where Pixie was petite, her sister, Mags, was taller, more voluptuous, and a few years older. Trevor had inherited his mother’s gray eyes and too little of her charm.

“My dearest, how handsome you look, and so very tan,” she said. “All that sun in Australia must have been lovely.”

Cal wouldn’t describe anything about his time in Cairns as lovely. He said nothing as he shook hands with Nigel. An older version of Trevor with his dark-turning-to-gray hair and a stubborn chin, Nigel didn’t bear the same attitude of cool superiority his son had perfected. Instead, he possessed a ready smile, and though he’d gathered a few more wrinkles since the last time Cal had seen him, the older man wore them well.

“How are you, my boy?” Nigel asked. “Up for a game of golf while you’re in town?”

Cal fell into his seat. “I don’t really play.”

Nigel looked momentarily dumbfounded. “Why ever not?”

“Hello, Calum,” Paolo said. Dressed in a pink knit shirt that strained at his biceps, and a light green sweater tied at his neck, he cradled a yappy white-haired dog.

When Pixie had first announced her engagement to Paolo, a man decades her junior, Cal had been concerned. He figured the waiter his mum had met while on vacation was a gold digger. But they’d been married ten years. Quite happily, by all accounts.

“Do you want an egg?” Paolo asked in Italian-flavored English, which had much improved in the last few years.

“No, thanks.”

“Darling,” Pix said, “what have you been doing with yourself? I’ve only seen you once since you’ve come to Vegas.”

“I wonder why.” Cal wasn’t over his irritation at being summoned to the States. When he’d arrived on his mum’s doorstep with a bottle of champagne, only to find there was no party and he’d been duped, Cal had been furious. “You lied to me? You dragged me halfway around the world for nothing?”