Secrets on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #1)(5)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

“Why do you need a maid when you’ve barely slept in this place for one night? And so big, Ezekiel. Why do you need all this space?” She waved the phone at the villa, her dark eyes leveled at him in accusation. “Why spend all this money?”

“Because I have it.”

“Pfft.” She blew out a breath. “Money isn’t everything, young man.”

“Tell me about it.” It sure hadn’t impressed Mandy Mitchell enough to say yes to a date.

Okay, she had a different last name and so she was married. He had to give points to her for not taking his offer anyway, like plenty of women who could have rationalized a drink with an old high school classmate. Still, the rejection stung.

His mother was looking at him with so much pity, he could have sworn she was reading his mind. And with Violet Nicholas, the world’s most intuitive mother, that was entirely possible.

“Oh, honey,” she said, coming around the table to reach for him. “You see? I’m right. You’re miserable.”

He had to laugh. “I’m not miserable.” At least he hadn’t been until ten minutes ago. Would it have been so hard to have a drink with him? Okay, married, definitely. But he hadn’t seen a ring.

“But are you happy?”

Happy? How should he answer that? Honestly, of course, and not only because he and his brother had decided years ago that Mom had “liedar.” Her secret superpower had made an über-honest man out of him, which was both a blessing and a curse.

“I’m quite satisfied with my life,” he said, adept at giving her a non-answer. And that wasn’t a lie. He was satisfied. Like he was satisfied with a good massage, or a great haircut, or even some mindless sex.

Satisfied wasn’t…fulfilled.

No surprise, she wasn’t buying it. “What does that mean, satisfied?”

“It means exactly what I’ve said. I’m content. Life is good.” He pulled out a chair, scraping the paved patio noisily. “Really good.” Grabbing the water bottle he’d left out here, he tipped it back and doused a throat that had been dry since he’d opened the door and seen…her.

He hadn’t been sure at first. She’d looked different. Natural. Plain, even, if that was possible. A tad older, but not a bit less perfect in his eyes. Even if she was a—

“I asked you a question, Ezekiel.”

She had? “Sorry.”

Exasperated, she dropped into a chair across the table. “What makes your life so good? That…that two-hundred-foot boat you have?”

“One hundred. And it’s technically a yacht.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, maybe it’s one of the six houses you pay for in all those different countries.”

“Four, and they’re all paid off. And not that many countries, Mom. Two are in the U.S.” And one in St. Barts and another in the south of France. Why wasn’t he happy?

“Then is it all that autographed old baseball equipment you’re always buying?”

He laughed at her description of one of the world’s most expensive and extensive sports memorabilia collections. “Babe Ruth’s 1920 Yankees jersey? Mark McGwire’s seventieth home-run baseball? You know I love that stuff.”

“Fifty million dollars’ worth?”

“Sixty,” he corrected. “I did a little shopping last month.”

“And that’s all you want out of life?”

No. He wanted laughter in his quiet houses and a family on his empty yacht and a partner in his massive bed. He wanted wholeness in a life that should have been overflowing but felt utterly…hollow.

“Ezekiel?” she urged.

He opened his mouth to answer, but of course no lie would come out. “I can’t, Mom.”

“You can.” She leaned closer. Love and concern etched lines on her face as she lowered her voice. “You can try again.”

He shook off the advice. “I mean I can’t lie.”

“Of course not. So these baseballs and boats and houses don’t make you happy?”

He tipped the nearly empty water bottle in a fake toast, silent.

She nodded. “I thought as much. Your father is turning seventy, Ezekiel.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here, remember?” He pointed toward the list, happy for the change of subject. “Are you finished with the table…organizing?” He really had no idea what she was doing and couldn’t care less, but he got to Florida so rarely, he owed her some attention.

She lifted a shoulder. “I thought of a few more last-minute additions. You know, some friends of mine—and their daughters—who I think I should add.”

“Please don’t do that, Mom. I do not want this party to turn into an army of eligible bachelorettes.”

She waved a hand and leaned forward. “I hope it doesn’t give your father a heart attack to walk into a restaurant and see a hundred people all there for him.”

Zeke eyed her, trying to gauge if that was a particularly adept subject change or a hint at information he hadn’t yet been able to get out of her. “Something wrong with his heart?” Last year, it had been the hip replacement. The year before, cataract surgery.

She trained her eyes on him. “Ezekiel, we’re not exactly spring chickens, you know. We want to see the Nicholas name continue.”

Guilt and grandchildren. Man, she was in her element now. “Aaaand we’re back to the subject of the missing grandchildren.” He let his head drop forward like he’d been clocked.

“Don’t you smart-mouth me, young man. They are missing! Your brother had to marry that woman who refuses to give up one minute of her job at a bank so I could have a grandchild.”

He chuckled at how she made Laura sound like a teller. “Mom, Jerry’s wife is the CEO of one of the largest credit unions in the world. And they’re happy without children.”

“Are you?” she demanded.

“Happy without children or a CEO of a credit union?”

She glared at him. “Stop with the disrespectful mouth. I’m not one of your lackeys.  You know what I mean. How long are you going to live this…” She flung a hand at the world in general. “Devil-may-care lifestyle of yours?”

Sometimes he was so lonely he wondered if even the devil did care about him. “Until I find the right person,” he admitted. Maybe he’d choose better next time.

Mom sat back and crossed her arms, flattening him with the same look he’d get when she’d find him awake in his room until three AM doing partial differential equations for fun. She knew what had happened; hell, she’d been there. Only, she didn’t know the gory details. Still, she never stopped hoping that next time it could be different, even if she refused to even say the name of his—