Slowly she lowered the poker and looked at him. He was the right height and physical type. His voice was the same, as was his arrogance. His smile made her thighs go up in flames, which hadn’t happened even once in the past five years. She wanted to believe because once she’d loved him so much, she’d thought knowing he was dead was going to kill her, too.

But what about the other changes? The color of his eyes, the hair, the scar? Then she remembered her brief time in a world of deception and secrecy, where people could easily be made to look different. Contact lenses, a quick dye job, and little glue-voilá, a new man.

“I assume you have some ID on you,” she said, trying to hold on to her anger, because it was safe. Only she was feeling more confused than anything else. Shouldn’t she get coffee before an event like this? And maybe a cinnamon roll?

“Walk to the window,” he said.

She raised the poker again and shook it at him. “You walk to the window.”

He sighed. “I see you are still stubborn. Very well, Mia, we will walk together.”

She eyed him warily as he moved to the window and pulled open the drapes. Keeping him at arm’s-plus-poker length, she glanced down and saw a very shiny black car complete with what looked like flags flying from the front. Flags amazingly similar to the royal coat of arms of Calandria.

“So you have access to a limo, and an active imagination. That proves nothing.” Actually, it kind of proved something, but she wasn’t going to admit that.

He raised both hands. “As you wish. May I show you my passport?”

Her throat tightened and her mouth went dry. Man, she really wanted to brush her teeth and take a shower and get some coffee. Because after all those normal activities, none of this would be real anymore.

“Sure,” she muttered. “Whatever.”

But her heart began to beat faster. She didn’t know if she accepted the premise that he was Diego, back from the dead, but she was halfway to being convinced. Which made no sense and gave her a stomachache.