Missing Mother-To-Be. Эль КеннедиЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      To Marie, Beth, Gail, Carla and Cindy—I’m honored

      to be part of a miniseries with such talented and

      fabulous authors!

      Prologue

      Don’t worry, kiddo. There’s nothing you can do here.

      Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Lana Kelley stared at the timeless masterpiece in front of her, the white marble’s graceful curves bringing only a fraction of the soothing serenity art normally gave her. Her older brother’s words continued to run through her mind. Why was it that when someone told you not to worry it only made you worry more?

      Ever since her phone call with Dylan, she’d been debating whether to hop on a plane back to the States or to take her brother’s advice and stay put. The inner debate had eventually brought her here, to this surprisingly deserted wing of the Louvre, which housed the celebrated Venus de Milo. Throughout her entire life, she’d felt most at peace in a museum. It was as if the magnificent works of art possessed the ability to calm her, help clear her mind so she could make sense of the chaos out in the real world.

      And her world, more often than not, was definitely chaotic. The youngest daughter of a United States senator and an oil heiress, Lana had spent most of her twenty-four years in the public eye, a position she hadn’t always enjoyed. She preferred holing up in the spacious studio her dad had set up for her in their California mansion, running her fingers over warm dusty clay. This past year, though, had been welcomingly unchaotic. Living in Florence, working on her master’s degree in art history—for once, she’d been able to live her life out of the public eye.

      Her father, on the other hand, seemed completely incapable of discretion.

      Senator’s Dirty Little Secret.

      The newspaper headline she’d come across earlier today flashed across her mind, bringing a pretzel of pain to her belly. What had her father been thinking? And if the news of his infidelities had reached Paris, where she was spending her summer vacation, she could just imagine how bad things were back home.

      Dylan had sounded so disgusted with their dad. Hardly a surprise. Growing up, she’d witnessed her father’s tumultuous relationship with her five older brothers, but Lana had been fortunate enough to experience a different side of Hank Kelley. She was the apple of her dad’s eye, and she loved him deeply, despite his spoiled and reckless nature.

      But she loved her mother, too, and her heart ached at the thought of what Mom must be going through right now. Her stomach burned with grief and regret. She wished she were home to support her mother, and heck, even her dad, who must be horribly embarrassed and riddled with guilt over the pain he’d caused. But Dylan had urged her to go back to Florence for the new term and focus on her studies.

      “We’re closing in thirty minutes, mademoiselle.” The hesitant voice of the armed guard manning the gallery door drew her from her thoughts.

      Lana lifted her head, startled. She’d heard a staff member announce that the museum would be closing in an hour—hadn’t that been only a couple of minutes ago? She glanced at her silver Cartier watch and frowned. No, the guard was right. The announcement had been a while ago. She must have spaced out again.

      “I’ll be leaving shortly,” she assured the guard. “I lost track of time.”

      She noticed his gaze flit over the watch circling her wrist, as if he couldn’t believe she could lose track of time while wearing such an expensive watch. Stifling a sigh, Lana let the sleeve of her red wool sweater slide down to hide the watch’s diamond-studded face. It had been a gift from her father, and though she hated extravagant shows of wealth, she felt guilty when she didn’t wear the darn thing. Almost as if Hank Kelley could sense, from another continent no less, the moment she took the watch off her wrist.

      “I’m sure the director would be inclined to keep the exhibit open should you require more time to peruse the pieces, Ms. Kelley,” the tall man hedged in his thick French accent.

      Another sigh rose up her chest. She swallowed that one down, too. Of course. She should’ve known the director would inform the guards of her identity. Louis Dupont was an old acquaintance of her mother’s, and he always treated Lana like a princess when she came to visit.

      “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly. “I have somewhere to be anyway.”

      Yet instead of gathering her purse and the small sketchbook she’d brought with her, her gaze drifted back to the beautiful statue in front of her. Not yet. She didn’t want to go yet, not when her nerves were still coiled in tense knots.

      “The