“Yeah? Well maybe if she had a family who gave a damn about her feelings, she wouldn’t have had to hide her career for ten years.”

Heather let out a little squeak. “How dare you suggest we don’t care about Joan.”

“How dare you suggest I have motives other than her best interests.”

“So you’ve represented her for free?”

Anthony didn’t have a quick answer for that one. There was an answer, he just didn’t have it at his fingertips.

Heather sniffed, putting her nose in the air and reaching for Joan’s hands. “Go pack a few things. The jet’s on the airstrip in St. Martinville.”

“I’m not going to Europe,” said Joan. “I’m going to deliver my tea invitations.”

Anthony let out a long-suffering sigh. “Why do we have to keep having the same conversation?”

Joan gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “Because you keep getting it wrong.”

He shifted closer still, capturing her green eyes in order to impress upon her the seriousness of the situation. “There could be reporters out there, lurking behind the cypress trees, waiting to pounce.”

“You have delusions of grandeur,” she said, staring right back.

“Your story was a section headline in The New York Times. I am not exaggerating the potential for publicity.”

After a moment’s silence, Heather spoke up. “I have to go with Anthony on this one.”

Anthony glanced sideways at her and blinked. “Really?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m still taking her to Europe.”

“I’m standing right here,” said Joan. “And nobody is taking me anywhere.”

“That a girl,” said Anthony. This was a moment in a million for an author. Joan needed to stay in the U.S., where she could capitalize on it.

“And I’m giving a tea.” She turned to Heather. “You want to stay and make your crab puffs?”

“Joanie, we can be in Paris for breakfast.”

“I’ll deliver the damn invitations for you,” said Anthony, whisking them out of Joan’s hands. He could only fight on so many fronts at once, and Heather’s Europe plan needed to be neutralized.