Anna smiled at the socialite’s words while standing in the doorway of the train car. She looked around and finally spotted her brother. She called out to him, but he didn’t hear, so she stepped onto the platform, waving to get his attention.

What Count Vronsky first noticed about the exquisite girl were her eyes, dark deep pools that sparkled beneath incredibly long lashes. She looked like a perfect porcelain doll standing so straight and tall in her pale gray Max Mara cashmere coat. He also admired that she didn’t wear much makeup like most teenage girls. As he stood watching, Steven bear-hugged her. Ah, so this was his younger sister?

A sharp rapping noise broke his gaze, and he turned to find his mother waving at him, as she banged her cane against the window once more for good measure. Having no other choice, he hurried into the train car. “Mother, dear,” he called out, which was exactly how Geneviève preferred to be addressed by her favorite son.

“Alexia, your scarf. It’s dragging on the ground like you’re some kind of animal.” His Parisian mother, a grand dame of New York society, never had a hair out of place, let alone a rebellious scarf. He quickly flung the unruly end over his shoulder and held out his hands to help her to her feet. She no longer had to wear a boot on her injured foot, but she still had it tightly taped and wrapped for security.

“Mother, you shouldn’t be wearing heels.”

“Darling, two-inch heels for me is the same as wearing flats,” she murmured, kissing her handsome son on both cheeks.

“Oh good, you found him.” At the sound of her voice every hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. He forced himself to turn around slowly to meet her.

“Did my mother doubt I’d show up?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Anna found herself blushing, not out of embarrassment but because she was so startled by Vronsky’s good looks, his dirty-blond locks falling over a face that was movie-star handsome. But it was more than his appearance: he exuded a confidence that could only be described as a king-of-the-jungle magnetism. She was sure her face registered wonderment that she would be susceptible to such a thing. “Not for one moment. I was probably projecting my own doubts about my brother showing up for me.”

“Anna, please meet my son Alexia, or Alex as he prefers to be called. Alexia, this remarkable young lady was kind enough to keep an old dame like me entertained for the entire trip. She’s quite special, this one,” Mrs. R. said.

Anna held out her hand to shake the one he was already extending. “A pleasure to meet you, Alexia, your mother has told me so much about you I feel like I know you already.”