Just Like a Man by Elizabeth Bevarly Page A

program for him."
    In response to Michael's comments, Adrian looked very thoughtful. "And how is the little tyke? Not so little anymore, I'd wager." He smiled cryptically as he added, "For that matter, how is his mother doing?"
    Something cold and vicious sliced through Michael's expression as Adrian posed the questions, something Hannah hoped to never see in his face again. Because it made Michael look less like an accountant and more like, oh… she didn't know. An assassin, say.
    "Alex is fine," he said evenly. "But his mother and I rarely speak. We divorced five years ago."
    Hannah tried to discern some reaction from Adrian to that news, but he showed no emotion whatsoever. "And what, she doesn't ask about, ah… your boy?"
    "Not often, no," Michael said, the words chilly and sharp.
    And Hannah found herself hanging on every one of them. Michael had told her the first time he'd visited the school, in preparation for Alex's registration, that his ex-wife lived in Europe, and for that reason, Alex seldom saw her. But he'd offered no other information to further enlighten her about the circumstances surrounding the divorce, and he hadn't said a word about Alex's relationship with his mother.
    Hannah had wanted very badly to know why Michael had been the one awarded custody when, in normal situations, Alex would have gone to live with his mother. Courts overwhelmingly favored mothers in such cases, unless they were chemically dependent, cruel, or unable—or unwilling—to take care of their child. Which had it been for Alex's mother? she wondered. And why did the woman not even call?
    She waited to see if Michael would say anything more, but he didn't. So she waited to see if Adrian would press, but he didn't. And then she told herself to stop acting like she was watching a soap opera on television. This was real life. These were real people. And their situations were none of her business. Unless they affected Alex, in which case, Hannah figured she had a right to pry. She cared about the boy, too.
    "Where in Europe does Alex's mother live?" she heard herself ask. "I mean," she backpedaled when she saw the expression on Michael's face—the assassin one was back—"I've always wanted to visit Europe. It must be so interesting to live there."
    Michael narrowed his eyes at her, a gesture she somehow suspected she should interpret as a warning. Nevertheless, he answered, "Last I heard, she was in Prague."
    "Oh, the Czech Republic," Hannah said. Then, when she realized she knew very little about the country, she added inanely, "They make lovely crystal there."
    Adrian stepped up beside Hannah then and curved his arm around her waist, a gesture that could be interpreted as nothing but proprietary. It was also unexpected, and inappropriate. And unwanted, too. Okay, so it could be a lot of things other than proprietary. They were all things Hannah didn't like. So she started to step away, only to have Adrian pull her closer still, and she was so surprised by
that
gesture that she honestly wasn't sure what to do.
    Especially when he looked down at her and said, "You'd love Europe, Hannah. I have a meeting in London next week. Come with me. We can stay overnight at the Dorchester. We'll have a wonderful time."
    Before she even had a chance to reply—not that she had any idea what to say, so stunned was she by his invitation—Adrian turned back to Michael. "So where are you living now? Here in Indianapolis, of course, if Alex is attending Emerson. When did you get back?"
    Get back?
Hannah echoed to herself. And then she realized it was a very good suggestion. So she got back. Spinning as gracefully as she could out of Adrian's arm, she took a few steps away, ostensibly to place her empty tumbler on the tray of another passing waiter, who was just out of her reach. And then she stayed just out of Adrian's reach once she was finished.
    "Get back?" Michael echoed this time, out loud. "I never left, Adrian. Not really."
    And my, but