“The auctioneer didn’t tell you?”
“Wouldn’t,” Poppy said flatly. “I tried. The previous owners were upset and wanted to know.”
“Baron Gomez?”
“And his brother, yes. Do you know them?”
“Only vaguely by reputation.” Not a good one. The family had fallen on hard times after the previous baron’s death. One brother was a womanizer, the other a gambler. Neither was particularly adept at business. Both were too old to be her mystery man and too young to have fathered him. “Why were they upset?”
“Good question! They sold us the property as is, with all sorts of furniture and other items left behind. When I found the painting in the attic, I thought it was rather good so I called the family as a courtesy, to be sure they wouldn’t mind my auctioning it for the fund-raiser.”
“Did they say who she was?”
“Their stepsister, the daughter of their father’s second wife. She lived in a cottage at the corner of the property. It burned down after she died. She must have passed at a young age. She looks about fifteen in the portrait and it was painted thirty years ago. In any case, the new baron struck me as rather callous when he laughed and said, ‘Sure, see what you can get for her.’”
“Was he at the ball?”
“They declined the invitation. But he asked me to note that he had donated the painting.”
Pia wanted to roll her eyes at the man’s “generosity,” but was too well-bred.
“I should have told Rico that something felt off, but I thought I was being sensitive.”
“Why? What happened?”
“The painting went for a hundred thousand euros! Someone quadrupled the final bid to ensure they would get it.”
Pia hadn’t known it had gone for that much. “What was the painting assessed at?”
“Five hundred euros.”
“I see.” She didn’t. At all. But it was nice to know her baby’s father had a generous streak.
“I know. I wanted to thank him personally, but the auctioneer said the purchaser specifically requested I send my thank-you to the Gomez family for donating it and that I should tell them how much I got for it. Your mother said it was crass to mention the figure, but that since it was such a substantial donation I should honor his wishes.” Poppy’s eyes went wide again. “Huge mistake.”
“Why?”
“For starters, I don’t think the Gomez family would have let me sell it if they’d realized I would get that sort of money for it. First the younger one, Darius, called me and went crazy. He was swearing and making threats, trying to get me to tell him who bought the painting. He wouldn’t believe I didn’t know. I was upset and told Rico. He called the older one and tore such a strip off him. My Spanish vocabulary was deeply enriched, let me tell you.” Poppy was making light of it, but Pia could tell she was still unsettled.
“I wonder if the purchaser knew what kind of hornet’s nest he was stirring up,” Pia said, even though she instinctively knew he must have. The man she’d met had seemed extremely sure of himself.
“I’m quite sure I was pushed into the middle of a battlefield. When Rico hung up, he asked if someone named Angelo Navarro had been on the guest list. I guess that was the name of the person the Gomez brothers suspected was behind the purchase. I checked and he wasn’t on it, but anyone could have placed that bid on his behalf.”
I was never here.
A cold prickle left all the hairs on Pia’s body standing on end.
“Angelo Navarro,” she murmured. “Do you know who he is?”
“Rico did some research. He’s a tech billionaire who came up very recently. Quite predatory. He’s targeting the Gomez interests… ‘Picking off the low-hanging fruit,’ Rico said. Rico told your mother’s assistant to bar all of them from any future events. I didn’t realize there was a central registry for offenders.” Poppy chuckled dryly.
“Sorcha set it up when she was Cesar’s PA,” Pia recalled, trying to hide her shock and alarm. “It’s the kiss of death.” A firmly closed door by the Monteros was a firmly closed door against the social and financial advantages that came from circulating in Spain’s wealthiest circles.
Pia had presumed that her baby’s father had been an invited guest to the ball and therefore had been vetted for casual association. Given his willingness to pay so much for the painting, he had to be wealthy. That meant he might not be her mother’s first choice, but he was of suitable rank and standing that he would be accepted despite the unconventional circumstances.
Instead, he was an outsider who’d just been blacklisted.
“So what are you auctioning?” Poppy asked.
“Pardon? Oh.” Pia wasn’t one to lie. She rarely got herself into a situation where it was necessary, only the occasional prevarication over whether a meal had been enjoyed or a dress suited. “I have a few art pieces I want to place in their next catalog,” she hedged. “My life will change as my academic career ends.”
As she sat with her upturned hands stacked in her lap, cupping the air where her belly would swell in a few months, she debated whether to confide fully in Poppy. Poppy had been in nearly this exact position when she’d been pregnant with Lily.
But Pia had learned a long time ago that whining about a problem didn’t solve it. Obstacles weren’t to be mentioned until she had formulated a plan to overcome them—at which point her solution would be critiqued for merit and edited as necessary.
She wanted to cry, but rose instead.
“It’s growing late. I’d rather not drive in the dark. Would you mind not mentioning to Mother that I came out today? I cut our lunch short, said I wasn’t feeling well.”
“The lunch with…?” Poppy gave a little sigh as she rose. “Pia, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but are you sure an arranged marriage is right for you? Look at your brothers.”
Pia couldn’t help her small snort of irony.
“Please don’t take offense, Poppy, but yes. Look at them. When Cesar married Sorcha, he threw over a long-standing agreement that would have paid a family debt.” That relationship was in tatters and so was the one from Rico’s first marriage, not that she had the poor taste to mention it, but everything Rico should have gained from that marriage had since been lost when it was discovered he had had Lily with Poppy.
Poppy paled anyway, forcing Pia to do something completely uncharacteristic and reach out to squeeze Poppy’s arm.
“I consider both of you dear friends. Your children are a gift,” Pia told her sincerely. “I’m pleased my brothers are in fulfilling relationships, but you’ve seen enough of our family’s inner workings to understand the expectations placed upon all of us. On me to be the last bastion of rational behavior. I have to make a good marriage or brand the Monteros as impulsive and inconstant forever.”
“You’re expected to pay the price for our happiness?” Poppy asked. “That’s not fair. Or rational.”
“Perhaps not.” But she wasn’t supposed to bring further detriments to the table, either. “I’m not like my brothers, Poppy. I’m not built to go against the grain.” One wild night notwithstanding.
“Women never are,” Poppy said with a spark of defiance. “I didn’t tell Rico about Lily for a lot of reasons, but deep down I know fear was the biggest thing that held me back. This…?” She waved at the mansion she had restored with impeccable taste. “Fitting into your world has been hard and terrifying and I know I’m making mistakes every single day. But it’s worth pushing myself to be more than I ever imagined I could be to have what I have with Rico. My only regret is that I didn’t tell him sooner, so we could have been happier sooner.”
Pia forced a careless laugh. “Happiness is fleeting, Poppy.” Where had she heard that before?
“I mean that we could have been together sooner. In love sooner. Which makes us happy.” Poppy frowned with concern.
“I know you weren’t raised to expect a marriage based on love, but it is possible to find it, Pia. Do you want to be married to someone else when you do?”
“Food for thought,” Pia said to end a discussion that was a lot more complex than Poppy realized. “I’ll see you at Christmas.”
But she drove home with white knuckles, mind churning over words that had struck particularly deep.
My only regret is that I didn’t tell him sooner.
CHAPTER FOUR
ANGELO HAD READ the note so many times in the three days since he’d received it that he’d memorized it. Nevertheless, he read it again.
Señor Navarro,
We met at my brother’s gala in mid-October. Would you have time for a brief conversation?
If your preference is the same as you stated at our previous meeting, I will respect your wishes and you won’t hear from me again.
My contact details are below.
Sincerely,
Pia Montero, MSc.
No hint of the passion that had exploded between them. In fact, if he were to pick up this card from a desk or mantel, he wouldn’t have any sense that something intimate had occurred between the parties concerned. It came off as a desire to reopen a business discussion, little more.
Which made him suspicious. Was she trying to draw him out? How closely linked was she to Tomas and Darius? Had she confirmed to them that Angelo had been on the former Gomez estate that night?
Angelo had no doubt that was how she’d learned his name. His brothers had thought they could disrespect and discard his mother one more time, but Angelo had ensured their disregard backfired.
He glanced at the painting of his mother. Freshly cleaned and newly framed, it hung over the safe that held the jewelry he had recovered. He had thought the portrait lost in the cottage fire. He would have paid any amount for it, but what made its acquisition truly priceless was the fact his brothers hadn’t received a penny from his purchase. Given what he’d heard from the auction house, they were incensed they hadn’t thought to extort him for it themselves.
As far as they knew, however, an agent had obtained it for him. They had no proof he’d been at the estate in person.
Unless Pia had said something.
This sudden communication from her could be a trick to force his admission that he’d been there that night.
Given that possibility, Angelo had taken the precaution of having her properly investigated, but there was little in the report that he hadn’t read online.
Her age or educational history had to be misstated. Only a genius could earn a master’s degree in environmental science before she’d turned twenty-one, after a double major in biology and chemistry and a minor in sociology. Three short years later, she was about to defend a dissertation analyzing polymer deterioration on barnacles and bivalves.
That was tomorrow, Angelo noted with a glance at his calendar icon.
This report wasn’t telling him what he really wanted to know: Why was she contacting him now? Had it taken her that long to find him?
Even more salient, why had she made love with a stranger that night? That question had been driving him mad.
Some people enjoyed conquests. Angelo’s father and brother, for instance. He would normally think her targeting him had been a move from a fortune hunter, but aside from her own healthy coffers, he couldn’t fathom how she had known he would meet her on that rooftop.
She had compromised him once he was there, though. The fact he’d given in to impulse and dallied with her, putting himself in real danger of being caught with his pants down, made her a weakness he should avoid.
He still didn’t understand why he’d been so compelled by her. The high of his caper? The erotic circumstances of intimacy with a stranger? The sexy feel of his costume?
He sneered at himself and went back to scrolling through the report, finally seeing something new—speculation that she was in the early phases of finding a husband. Only titled bachelors with fortunes and impeccable reputations need apply.
Angelo pushed away from his desk, glad his damned brothers weren’t on the shortlist, but it still disgusted him. If she was shopping for a husband, this card of hers wasn’t an invitation to rekindle things. She had to be working with his brothers.
Nauseated, he picked up the note and studied her clean, level script. It would be easy to send word that she was mistaken; they had never met.
If she was operating on their behalf, however, it was exactly the closing of ranks and exertion of influence that had allowed his father to victimize his mother without consequence. He wouldn’t let any of them get away with that again.
He messaged his pilot to ready his jet for Valencia.
Over the years, Pia had taken classes in public speaking and presenting. She had even gritted her teeth through an improvisation class to learn how to roll with the unexpected. Nothing had fully extinguished her discomfort in speaking to a group, but she had developed coping techniques, like picking out one or two unthreatening faces and pretending the rest didn’t exist.
As for presenting and defending her material, her expertise in that had been honed during every family dinner from the moment she had joined her parents in their dining room at eleven. Speak clearly. Make her point in as few words as possible. Back up her position with supporting facts when required. Emotions proved nothing. Move on.
Since she didn’t expect her audience to consist of more than the committee, the chair, her mentor and a few fellow students monitoring the procedure as they prepared for their own defense, she presented her dissertation in a small conference room off the university’s faculty lounge.
After she attached her laptop to the projector, the chair introduced her.
“Thank you.” She began her prepared remarks with a surface smile toward the committee and swept it around the room to find her two receptive faces.
Oh Dios.
Since visiting Poppy last week, Pia had quietly and obsessively researched Angelo Navarro. He claimed to be Spanish born, but had spent several years in America and now had homes around the globe. His childhood remained a mystery, but the story of how he’d made his recent fortune was everywhere.
After a few years in low-level jobs setting up video game equipment, he had hustled his way into promoting championships. That had led to partnering with tech entrepreneurs and gaming nerds to develop microprocessors for faster gaming. One of those patented chips had made its way into all the top smartphones and, three years ago, his team had accidentally created another chip that was now revolutionizing artificial intelligence.
He’d since begun offering high-speed cloud services that were expanding faster than a cumulonimbus on a humid summer’s day and held untold reserves in cryptocurrencies. He probably buried gold bullion on his private tropical islands, too.
Pia had studied his photo, comparing it to her memories of a shadowed visage and a stubbled jawline beneath the edge of a mask, but in person he was even more fallen-angel-beautiful. His black hair gleamed. His eyes were utterly mesmerizing with their aquamarine color, crystal clear and piercing as he stared back at her, smug at having taken her so unaware.
She didn’t need visual proof this was her mystery lover. She felt him. Felt the impact of being in his presence. Her heart hammered like a dull ax behind her breastbone—once, twice, three times. The careful tending of her diet to hold morning sickness at bay threatened to have been for naught.
Her falter lasted only those few heartbeats while she accepted that she was on a ship that had struck an iceberg. The galley was on fire and sharks were circling in the water. Panic was not an option. Roll with it.
She accepted the premise. This wasn’t what she had expected or planned, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of rattling her. She made him one of her points of contact, using this opportunity to show herself as confident and know
ledgeable because, in this narrow milieu, she was. She found a smile and made her purpose clear to everyone in the room as she began working through her presentation.
She compartmentalized, pulling a steel curtain across the messy gush of emotions that would need every type of mop, bandage and stitches later, when she was in a position to let down her guard and process what was happening.
The hour went by quickly. Suddenly she was shaking hands with the committee, having earned a doctorate and a grade of Excellent. She should expect a cum laude distinction, one informed her on the sly.
“I imagine your father will be very proud,” her mentor said. “I would have thought your whole family would turn out for this.”
Pia didn’t mention that her father, a PhD himself, had a copy of her dissertation and would provide notes over Christmas with the expectation that she would incorporate them before final publication.
“They were tied up,” Pia murmured as a tingle like radiant heat accosted the right side of her body.
He hadn’t been wearing that cologne at the ball, but she recognized his scent all the same. Her throat flexed with the effort of maintaining her screen of calm as she turned to face him.
“Señor Navarro,” she said, offering her hand.
“Angelo,” he corrected. His clasp sent electricity through to her nerve endings as he took the liberty of greeting her with, “Pia.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said, desperately pretending they were strangers when all she could think about was how his weight had pressed her into the cushions while her entire being had seemed to fly.
“An informative talk.” His eyes dazzled, yet pinned her in place. There was an air of aggression about him. Hostility even, in the way he had appeared like this, when she had literally been on the defensive. He seemed ready for a fight.
She had almost hoped he would leave her hanging after her note. She could have raised their baby with a clear conscience that she had tried to reach out while facing no interference from this unknown quantity.
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