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rival any classic painting. Her cousins Alana and Sabrina clustered near the bar of the skybox with their friend, Chloe. Jackie, Alex’s wife, laughed as she poured from a tall, frosted pitcher. A woman Zoe didn’t know stood near the window, her camera trained on the field below. Poised, lovely and animated, they were the very picture of women comfortable in their power, women very much at home in the strange, cavernous stadium.
    Zoe couldn’t say the same for herself. Everything about the place felt foreign. As she’d walked from the field level to the elevator, the aromas of mustard and cooking meat had nearly overpowered her. When the doors had opened on the next floor, the scent of garlic accosted her. Perhaps every level of the stadium had its own unique odor according to the food preferences of the ticket holders crowding into the seats.
    And the noise was jarring. Though she’d arrived early and the stadium wasn’t nearly full, the shuffling and calls from the crowd were already building to an ear-splitting buzz.
    She wasn’t one for crowds.
    But she hadn’t wanted to refuse Sabrina’s invitation. Sabrina’s fiancé would likely pitch in this last game of a playoff series. Alana’s new husband would definitely be playing. And Alex, Zoe’s absolute favorite male cousin, was playing first base. Sabrina had argued that there was nothing like a baseball game to orient a person to life in the States. Zoe had thought she was kidding, but the enthusiasm on Sabrina’s face had told her otherwise and convinced her to join them for the game. Zoe just hoped she wouldn’t be quizzed on the positions each of the men played. She was still trying to match some of the loved ones with her cousins; matching their baseball positions to the right men would be asking too much of her.
    She fixed her best smile on her face.
    Perhaps watching the game would be fun, but it would take more than a field of green grass and lively competition to make her feel at home. She longed for the cafés of Rome. And she missed her friends. But her cousins were doing their best to help her settle in, and she appreciated them for it. A ping of guilt laced through her; with the exception of Parker, her cousins didn’t know her true plans. She was pretty sure the women gathered in the suite would understand her drive to return home, to settle back into the life she loved and honor her mother’s memory with the opening of the gallery. But because of her father’s strange behavior, she’d kept the progress on the gallery to herself. He couldn’t interfere with a plan he didn’t know about.
    “Holy stud on a cracker,” the woman Zoe didn’t recognize said in a distinctly French accent as Zoe stepped into the luxury suite. “Where did you get those shoes?”
    Zoe colored. She’d donned the brightly colored designer sandals at the last minute. They were her security blanket. If she couldn’t have her horse under her, she could at least have fabulous shoes. She’d talked Manolo out of the handmade sandals at a trunk show in Rome. With their braided turquoise straps and tiny interlocking strands of gold and coral, they were one of a kind. And her favorites.
    “Zoe’s got Manolo’s number.” Sabrina laughed. “Wave a real, live, polo-playing woman near him and bingo—shoes for a lifetime.” Sabrina wrapped an arm around Zoe’s waist. “Zoe, this is my friend Brigitte. Brigitte, meet my cousin Zoe.”
    “I hope you play poker,” Brigitte said. “Those lovelies are my size, and I could wager them off you.” She waved the camera she held at the open window overlooking the field below. “Almost compelling enough to take my mind off men. See those muscles?” Brigitte tossed a wink and a smile to Alana and Jackie. “These ladies sleep with those fine bodies every night. I try my best not to be insanely jealous.”
    “We also cope with the tempers that come with those fine bodies,” Sabrina said as she crossed to the window. “If