‘All done.’
Shannay stepped down and lifted her daughter from the colourful horse.
Beautiful dark eyes sparkled with delicious laughter as she giggled and planted a smacking kiss on her mother’s cheek.
Nicki’s father’s eyes, Shannay reflected, and tamped down the slight tension curling her stomach at the thought of the man she’d married in haste five years ago in another country.
Marcello Martinez, born in France to Spanish parents, raised and educated in Paris, and attended university in Madrid.
Multi-lingual, attractive, sensual, charming … he’d swept her off her feet and into a life far different from her own.
She had told herself she would adjust … and she did, successfully. Or so she’d thought. But not according to his family, who had made it plain she didn’t match their élite social status.
An added complication had been the family’s favoured choice of a suitable Martinez bride … Estella de Cordova. The stunning raven-haired, dark-eyed socialite possessed impeccable credentials, stellar lineage and obscene wealth.
Something the Martinez family and Estella never permitted Shannay to forget. Or the fact that Marcello and Estella had been lovers … a situation which continued soon after their marriage, if persistent rumour could be believed. Rumour actively fostered by some members of the Martinez family in a bid to diminish Shannay’s defences.
Seemingly irrefutable proof of Marcello’s infidelity just twenty months after their marriage was the ultimate betrayal, and following an explosive argument Shannay had moved into a hotel and taken the first available flight back to Australia.
Within a matter of weeks she’d obtained a good job in a local pharmacy in suburban Perth, leased an apartment, purchased a car … and become determinedly resolved to dispense Marcello where he belonged.
In her past.
Difficult, when his image had intruded during her daylight hours and haunted her dreams each night.
Impossible, when a persistent stomach upset had necessitated medical examination resulting in the discovery that she was several weeks pregnant.
It seemed incredibly ironic, given how desperately she’d hoped to gift Marcello a child, that confirmation of conception should occur when the marriage was already shattered, with legal dissolution a distinct probability.
The decision not to inform Marcello about his impending fatherhood continued through pregnancy, initially due to fear of a possible miscarriage, and afterwards Shannay had become so fiercely maternal, enlightening him just hadn’t been a considered option.
As a precaution, she’d covered her tracks successfully, resorting to her late mother’s maiden name and ensuring any mail directed to her arrived via a circuitous route.
Now, almost four years after fleeing Madrid, life was good.
Ordered, she elaborated mentally. She owned an apartment in a modern, upscale building in suburban Applecross, and she worked the five-to-midnight shift as a registered pharmacist not far from her home. Ideal, for it enabled her to spend the days with Nicki, and for her to also pay Anna, a kindly widow in a neighbouring apartment, to sit with Nicki each evening.
‘Can I take some candyfloss home to share with Anna?’
Nicki’s earnest expression was pleadingly angelic.
‘I promise I’ll brush my teeth afterwards.’
Shannay opened her mouth to offer the diced organic cantaloupe melon she’d stored in a small container as a snack in her backpack, only to change her mind. ‘OK.’ And refrained from adding any caution. What was a visit to a carnival without sampling candyfloss?
Nicki’s face lit up with delighted pleasure. ‘Love you, Mummy. You’re the best.’
Shannay hugged her daughter close. ‘Love you, too, imp.’ She laughed and bent low to kiss Nicki’s cheek. ‘Candyfloss it is. Then we hit the road for home.’
She lifted her head … and froze with shock as her gaze locked on two people she’d thought never to see again. Hoping no member of the Martinez family would ever cross her path.
What were the chances, when they resided on opposite sides of the world?
And why here, at a carnival camped on council park grounds in suburban Perth?
Did a heart stop beating? She was willing to swear hers did before it accelerated again into a maddened tattoo.
Recognition was clearly apparent, and with it the indisputable knowledge there could be no escape.
‘Shannay.’ There was an imperceptible pause as Sandro Martinez marshalled his expression into polite civility.
Her chin lifted as she held Marcello’s younger brother’s intently speculative gaze as it shifted to Nicki and lingered over-long, before returning to fix on her own.
‘Sandro.’ Cool, polite … she could do both. ‘Luisa,’ she acknowledged the young woman at his side.
She had to get away. Now.
‘Mummy?’
No. From the mouth of an innocent child came the one word which removed any element of doubt as to whom Nicki belonged.
Shannay saw Sandro’s mouth tighten into an uncompromising line. ‘Your daughter?’
Before she could offer a word, Nicki offered a solemnly voiced— ‘My name is Nicki, and I’m three.’
Oh, sweetheart, she almost groaned aloud. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?
The silent accusation in Sandro’s dark eyes alarmed her, and she had no doubt had she been alone he’d have delivered a blistering no-holds-barred denunciation.
The Martinez familial ties were so strong Shannay knew there wasn’t a snowflake’s chance in hell that Sandro would remain silent.
She barely resisted the urge to gather Nicki into her arms and run, test the speed limit to the place she called home … and pack. Take a flight to the east coast and lose herself in another city.
‘If you’ll excuse me?’ she managed coolly. ‘We’re already late.’
Shannay tightened her hold on Nicki’s hand, then she turned away and forced herself to walk with controlled ease toward the exit, her back straight and her head held high.
Pride. She had it in spades. And she refused to take a backward glance as they were swallowed up by the crowd.
Could a stomach twist into a painful ball? It felt as if hers did, and the blood in her veins turned to ice as she clipped Nicki into her booster seat in the rear of her compact sedan.
‘We forgot the candyfloss.’
Oh, hell. ‘We’ll get some on the way home.’ The supermarket sold it in packets. She fired the engine and put the car in drive.
‘It won’t be the same,’ Nicki offered without rancour.
No, it wouldn’t. Oh, damn. Dammit, she cursed beneath her breath. If they hadn’t taken another turn on the merry-go-round …
But they had done. And it was too late for recriminations now.
Shannay headed towards her suburban apartment and went into automatic pilot as she bathed and changed Nicki, readied herself for work, then she handed her daughter into Anna’s care and drove to the pharmacy.
Somehow she managed to get through the evening, dispensing medications and offering advice to customers who sought it.
Concern, fear, dread … the palpable mix heightened her tension to almost breaking point, and by closing time she’d developed a doozy of a headache.
It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of her apartment, thank Anna, check on Nicki, then undress and slip into bed.
But not to sleep.
Estimating her estranged husband’s reaction on discovering she had a child … his child, didn’t bear thinking about.
Could she insist he wasn’t Nicki’s father?
A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat.
All Marcello had to do was insist on a DNA paternity test to shoot that one out of the water.
And afterwards?
A slight shiver shook her slender form.
Marcello was a ruthless strategist, possessed of sufficient power and wealth to dispense with anyone or anythin
g that might stand in his path.
Shannay was the exception.
She’d make sure of it.
No one would be permitted to come between her and Nicki.
No one.
A resolve which remained uppermost when she woke next morning, and strengthened with each passing hour. Together with an increasing degree of nervous tension.
It wasn’t a matter of if, but when Marcello would make contact. Either in person, or via legal representation.
Marcello Martinez might not care about her. But a child, indisputably his child, would be another matter entirely.
Given Sandro could pinpoint her location, just how difficult would it be for someone of Marcello’s calibre to discover where she lived and worked?
A piece of cake, a silent voice assured in taunting response.
Knowledge which didn’t sit well. She barely ate and every waking hour was spent attempting to predict any possible scenario Marcello might choose to present.
The necessity to ensure Anna take every precaution while Nicki was in her care resulted in only one query.
‘Are you in trouble with the law?’
Oh, dear God. ‘No … no, of course not,’ Shannay reiterated.
‘That’s all I need to know.’
An apparently single mother and child … How difficult was it to do the maths and reach the conclusion of a looming custody battle?
‘Thanks,’ she expressed with genuine gratitude.
How long would it take Marcello to plan his strategy and put it into action?
A few days? A week?
Meantime, she needed to consult a lawyer to spell out her legal rights in fine detail. She was aware of the basics, and sufficiently astute to realise what appeared logical and rational didn’t always hold true.
She also intended to file for divorce.
Given she could prove a separation of more than the legal requirement, it should only be a matter of time before she gained a dissolution of the marriage.
Whereupon the only issue that could arise would be custody.
An icy chill invaded her body and settled in her bones.
Marcello couldn’t enforce custody of Nicki … surely?
What rights would he possibly have?
Shannay wrapped her arms tightly over her midriff, and barely prevented her body from shaking with very real fear.
Her soon-to-be ex-husband possessed the wealth and the power to surmount any objective he set out to achieve.
A silent scream echoed inside her brain.
If he decided he wanted Nicki, then he’d move heaven and earth to get her.
Over my dead body, Shannay resolved.
CHAPTER TWO
MARCELLO MARTINEZ moved through the international-terminal lounge with Carlo, his personal assistant and trusted bodyguard, at his side, seemingly unaware of the speculative interest in his tall, broad frame.
The Martinez legacy had gifted him the compelling well-defined features of his forefathers, arresting, wide-set dark, almost black eyes which projected the hardness of a man well-versed in the frailty of human nature.
There was an aura of power and intense masculinity apparent, together with a dangerous ruthlessness that boded ill for any adversary.
He was linked to Spanish nobility, with a personal wealth that placed him high on a list of the European rich.
And it showed … as he meant it to do, from the Armani tailoring, hand-stitched Italian shoes, to the fine Rolex at his wrist.
The long flight had done little to ease the anger simmering beneath his control. The luxuriously fitted Gulf Stream privately owned jet offered every comfort, geared with the latest technology enabling him to have an essential office in the sky.
Although he’d worked, studying print-outs, graphs and data, checked his BlackBerry and kept in touch with Sandro … he hadn’t been able to switch off and sleep.
Something he usually achieved at will, given the comfortable bed situated with its own en suite at the rear of the jet.
Instead he was plagued by a young woman’s image, startlingly vivid and recently taken via camera phone.
Shannay Martinez … née Robbins.
And his daughter.
The before and after shots.
The first serene, happy and loving. Mother and child, laughing.
In the second image, the child’s expression remained the same. His estranged wife’s features, however, mirrored shock and something else …
The innate knowledge life as she’d known it since leaving Spain was about to change?
Without doubt.
A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw as he exited the terminal’s automatic glass doors and stepped into a limousine waiting at the kerb.
The chauffeur stowed his bags in the boot and moved up front to slide in behind the wheel.
Marcello barely noticed the passing scene beyond the tinted windows as the limousine left the airport and began picking up speed en route to the city.
A child.
Anger, barely held in control since Sandro’s enlightening phone call, rose to the surface.
How dared Shannay keep him in ignorance of the child’s existence? His initial reaction had been to instruct his pilot to ready the Gulf Stream jet for an immediate flight to Australia.
Instead, he’d delegated with icy calm, consulted his legal team and planned his strategy.
Tomorrow he intended to bring it into play.
Marcello’s suite in the inner-city hotel offered first-class luxury, and with practised ease he shrugged off his jacket, discarded his tie, organised his unpacking and settled down to peruse the report handed to him on check-in.
The private-investigation resource he’d utilised had done a good job. The document revealed a detailed listing of Shannay’s movements over the past few days, her address, unlisted telephone number, the make, model and registration of her car, place of work, Nicki’s kindergarten facility.
Details which filled in some of the blanks, and revealed she hadn’t touched so much as a cent of the money he’d initially deposited into a bank account bearing her name. Or the amount he’d contributed each month since.
He wanted to shake her, and would have if she’d been within reach.
What was she trying to prove?
Something he already knew.
His family connections, his wealth and social status had never impressed her.
She’d fallen into his life, literally, he mused, recalling the moment the fine heel of one of her stilettos had become caught in a metal grating and had pitched her against him on a busy city street in the heart of Madrid.
He’d been unprepared for the instantaneous physical chemistry … and an instinctive need to lengthen contact with her.
They’d shared coffee in a nearby upmarket café, exchanged cellphone numbers … and the rest was history. Marcello closed the report and crossed to the wide expanse of double-glazed glass offering a brilliant view of the Swan river.
The sky provided an azure backdrop to tall city buildings, selected greenery … a colourful panoramic pictorial, he noted absently, reminding him of a similar visit a few brief years ago when his ring on Shannay’s finger had claimed her as his wife.
A time when they couldn’t get enough of each other, and had rarely spent a moment apart.
Marcello felt his body tighten at the memory of all that they’d shared. Her uninhibited enthusiasm, her laughter, her passion.
His own libidinous response and loss of control.
Something he’d never experienced with another woman to the same degree.
Or in any other area of his life.
He held a reputation in the business arena for icy calm in any volatile situation. A trait which earned him the respect of his contemporaries.
With a slow roll of his shoulders he turned away from the plate-glass window and checked his watch.
It had been a long flight, crossing countries, entering another time zone and the need to adjust to
it.
Stroking several punishing laps in the hotel pool, followed by a session in the gym, would help iron out any kinks and ease the tension.
With that in mind he keyed a text message to Carlo, then he shed his clothes, donned swimming trunks, shrugged on a complimentary robe, caught up a towel, essentials, and took the lift to the appropriate floor.
An hour and a half later, showered and dressed in a formal business suit, he walked out into the late-afternoon sunshine, stepped into his chauffeured limousine and instructed the driver to deliver him to a mid-town address.
The highly qualified Perth-based lawyer engaged by Marcello’s legal team to represent his Australian interests confirmed certain legalities, offered assurances and advice on procedure, and the consultation concluded at the close of the business day.
On his return to the hotel he shed his jacket and tie, ordered a meal from Room Service, connected his laptop to the internet and engaged a link to his Madrid office.
Shannay crouched down to Nicki’s eye level and caught her close, whispered “Love you”, and heard her daughter’s “Love you back”, then she rose fluidly to her full height and smoothed a gentle hand over Nicki’s head.
‘Have a fun day.’
Kindergarten was carefully structured, mostly fun and, importantly, Nicki loved spending time with the other children as they moved from play-dough to finger-painting, played games and listened to stories read by one of the carers.
‘You, too.’
Nicki happily moved to her place on the mat and Shannay hid a soft smile as Nicki engaged in animated chatter with one of her friends.
Time to leave, get into her car and head home. There were phone calls and household chores to complete before returning to collect her daughter.
A short while later she exchanged fitted jeans and tailored shirt for shorts and a cropped top, then she set to work.
Dusting, mopping and polishing helped Shannay expend some nervous energy, and she wielded the vacuum cleaner with zealous speed.
Another five minutes and she’d be done, then she’d hit the shower, dress, make the few calls and head off to Nicki’s kindergarten facility.
The ring of the in-house phone was barely audible above the sound of the vacuum cleaner, and she shut it down, then she crossed the room and tamped down a strange prickling sense of foreboding … which was crazy.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 68