It All Began in Monte Carlo by Elizabeth Adler Page B

Sunny’s chest. “How did
you
get here?”
    â€œMagic.” He took her hand in both of his, bent and kissed it. His sun-streaked dark blond hair slid over his eyes as he lifted his head and looked at her.
    â€œDid I tell you you were very beautiful? Even in those awful boots?”
    â€œMy comfort boots.”
    â€œNow I’m here you won’t need them anymore.”
    His look was hopeful. And Sunny had been right, his eyes were a sort of greenish hazel. Funny, she had no idea who he was, what he was, where he was from, what he did. And she didn’t care.
He
had cared enough to seek her out again.
He
was here. And Mac, the famous private detective who could locate a criminal at fifty paces, was not. Despite the fact that there were two dozen missed calls on her phone from him.
    Anyhow, this was definitely not the time to be thinking of the man who had left her at the altar. Well, almost. Besides, what was it that Maha Mondragon had just said to her—that she should not be afraid to take the chances life might offer her? Prince Charming was definitely one of those “chances.”
    He was wearing a black cashmere jacket and a white linen shirtopen at the neck. The French cuffs were left loose and tucked up without any links. His skin had that overall tan glow that came from the surf and the sea and, golden California girl though she was, Sunny felt a pale winter waif in comparison. She wasn’t missing any small detail about him: his hazel eyes, his dark blond hair, his firm mouth, the strong chin, the faint lilt of a foreign accent. She still knew nothing at all about him and somehow that was part of the charm.
    â€œCome with me,” Prince Charming said and Sunny slid off the stool, tucked the dog under her arm and went.
    She wasn’t thinking of Mac, she wasn’t thinking of anything. All she knew was that she was in Monte Carlo sitting next to this attractive man on a gray suede banquette, in a half-empty lamp-lit restaurant late on Christmas Day. For now she did not have to think about Mac and the fact that they were through. She was not “Alone.” Prince Charming was all she needed. Someone to be with “for the moment.”
    â€œYou must be a magician. To come to find me, turn my day—my
life
—around.”
    His smile was a heartbreaker. “Sorry but I’m a mere mortal. There’s no ‘magic’ involved. I knew where you were. I followed you from Paris, I couldn’t stand being on my own.”
    She nodded. “Alone is too painful.”
    â€œSo exactly
who
are
you,
magical princess?” he asked as the waiter poured pale gold wine into tulip-shaped glasses.
    â€œAre we allowed to tell the truth now?”
    â€œI know
I
am allowed. You are looking at Eduardo Johanssen, usually known as Eddie, half Brazilian, half Swedish. Choose whichever half you like better.”
    â€œInteresting name,” she said. They looked at each other for a long silent moment, side by side in the booth.
    â€œHere’s to you, Sonora Sky Coto de Alvarez.” He touched his glass to hers.
    â€œYou already know my name.”
    â€œI couldn’t forget you, sleeping on the plane. You were so vulnerable, so hurt, with the tearstains still on your cheeks. I didn’t know whether it was all that champagne, or if I’d bored you to sleep. All I knew was I needed to find out.”
    â€œDo you know
why
I was alone and crying?”
    â€œIf you want to tell me, then I’m happy to listen. I promise I will understand.”
    Somewhere along the line they had ordered food, and now the waiter placed steaming bowls of
soupe au pistou
in front of them. The scent of basil wafted up. Neither of them picked up their spoons.
    She said, “You knew I’d run away though?”
    â€œIt was apparent, from what you told me on the plane: buying a ticket at the last minute, throwing a few things into your case, packing up the dog,