The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Except Nicki was closeted between them, blissfully unaware of her mother’s rapidly mounting anger.

  But wait, just wait, her scathing look silently promised, until I get you alone, behind closed doors and well out of Nicki’s hearing.

  It was difficult to maintain a sense of calm during the time it took to reach La Moraleja, one of Madrid’s exclusive and luxurious suburbs.

  Marcello’s home was a testament to his wealth and position. Set in beautiful grounds, behind high walls and guarded by electronic gates, the mansion stood as a craftsmen’s masterpiece of rambling structural design combining two levels in cream stucco, a cream and terracotta-tiled roof and large curved windows with folding doors, most of which opened out onto a wide terracotta-tiled forecourt.

  The entrance was amazing with huge double wood-panelled doors studded in polished brass, reached from a porte cochère whose floor featured an exquisite detailed design in marble, accented in polished brass.

  She told herself she didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be reminded of the painful memories … or the good ones.

  It was too personal, too painful, and too much.

  Marcello had to know how being here would impact on her.

  A house with rooms where they’d argued, fought, made love …

  Yet it would become Nicki’s temporary home for designated periods of time throughout the year.

  Years, she corrected mentally. A place her daughter needed to familiarise herself with, feel welcome in, comfortable.

  Being here now made sense … for Nicki.

  For Shannay, it represented a torture that would stretch her nerves to breaking point over the next three weeks.

  He knew it, had planned it, and had deliberately kept her in the dark.

  For that he would pay … big time, she vowed as she stepped from the limousine and accompanied Nicki into the large formal foyer where they were greeted by Maria and Emilio, trusted staff of Marcello’s who lived in and took care of the house and grounds.

  Marble floors, a sweeping staircase, which curved elegantly to the upper floor, a glittering crystal chandelier against a backdrop of coloured patterned glass.

  Antique furniture rested against cream walls on which hung original works of art, interspersed with decoratively corniced mini-alcoves displaying an eclectic mix of exquisite vases, bowls and Venetian glassware.

  The mansion bore two wings separated by a wide oval balustraded gallery … one designed for formal entertaining with a large dining room, lounge, gourmet kitchen on the first level, while the upper floor held a large study, adjoining library, entertainment room and informal lounge. The west wing comprised three formal guest suites separated by an informal lounge on the first level, with five private suites reposing on the upper level.

  The grounds held an infinity pool, a cabana, a well-equipped gym and a tennis court. There were separate self-contained staff quarters built above a large six-car garage.

  A large home for one man, Shannay reflected … aware he used it as his main base in between frequent flights to various major cities in various European countries, wheeling and dealing as head of the Martinez corporation.

  Marcello’s personal portfolio was enviable, providing him with billionaire status in a business world frequented by the ruthless drive for power.

  Shannay wondered if he continued to entertain on a regular basis, whether he was active on the social scene and continued to support a few selected charities.

  In four years there had to have been at least a few women in his life. Imagining Marcello as a celibate was beyond the bounds of credibility.

  Which inevitably led to Marcello’s former lover … and Shannay’s nemesis. Estella de Cordova.

  Was the über socialite still on the scene?

  And if so, did Marcello intend to marry Estella after they divorced?

  A cold hand clutched her heart and squeezed mercilessly hard.

  Please, dear God, no.

  The thought Estella might have any part in Nicki’s welfare was enough to make Shannay want to throw up.

  ‘You’ve had a long flight,’ Maria began quietly. ‘I have tea and some light food prepared. Afterwards, perhaps you would like to rest.’

  Carlo brought in their bags and took them upstairs.

  ‘Tea would be lovely. Perhaps a glass of milk for Nicki,’ Shannay suggested as Marcello indicated the staircase.

  ‘First, I’ll show you to your rooms.’

  A personal escort? Somehow she expected him to disappear into his home office.

  ‘It’s a big house,’ Nicki voiced quietly as they reached the upper level. ‘Do other people live here?’

  ‘Sometimes there are guests,’ Marcello said gently, meeting her dark, solemn gaze.

  ‘Like Mummy and me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Shannay felt her stomach execute a slow somersault as he turned away from the wing containing the guest suites and moved down the opposite passage.

  She knew the family wing well. Elegant suites, beautifully furbished and furnished.

  Did Marcello sleep alone in the master suite, or had he chosen another?

  Whoa. Where had that come from?

  As if she cared where he slept … as long as it was in a suite far from the one Maria had prepared for herself and Nicki.

  The master suite rose vividly in her mind. Positioned at the far end of the family wing, it comprised a large bedroom, two en suites, two walk-in wardrobes and an adjoining room containing comfortable deep-seated chairs, a sofa, reading lamps.

  Had he had the suite redecorated?

  ‘No.’

  Shannay heard his soft drawl and refused to look at him, hating that he still retained the ability to read her mind.

  He paused at an open door. ‘I think you’ll be comfortable here.’

  Here was two bedrooms separated by an en suite, with one of the bedrooms decorated especially for a young girl. Different shades of pink, from the palest shade to watermelon. Prints hung on the walls, toys in abundance, and the bed was fit for a princess.

  Nicki’s room.

  Shannay got it.

  A room that was Nicki’s alone, for whenever she visited. A suite she would become familiar with, feel comfortable in and look forward to occupying.

  Not too far in distance from where Marcello slept while she was young, so she would feel secure, knowing he was within calling distance.

  There was a part of her that hated him for deliberately setting the scene for Nicki’s future.

  Yet there was also a feeling of gratitude that she didn’t want to acknowledge. Together with a mounting anxiety that played havoc with her emotions.

  ‘Is this where I’ll sleep?’

  Nicki’s voice held a degree of wondrous awe.

  ‘Yes.’ Marcello moved towards the en suite, opened the connecting door and crossed to the opposite door which led into an adjoining bedroom. ‘Your mother will sleep here.’

  ‘Can the doors stay open?’ Nicki queried tentatively, and he offered a reassuring smile.

  ‘Of course.’

  Nicki caught hold of her mother’s hand. ‘Aren’t we lucky?’ she said simply, to which Shannay could only answer in the affirmative.

  ‘Marcello is kind to let us stay here.’

  She could think of numerous descriptive adjectives … not one of them remotely resembled kind, given he had his own agenda.

  Their luggage stood at the end of the bed, and Marcello indicated both suitcases. ‘Maria will unpack for you. Freshen up, then come downstairs.’

  He gave Nicki a warm smile, extended it towards Shannay, then he turned and left the room.

  Unpacking would take only a matter of minutes, and Shannay tended to her own, then she transferred Nicki’s clothes into the connecting bedroom.

  A short while later she accompanied Nicki downstairs to the informal lounge, where Maria served tea, delicate sandwiches and a bowl of freshly cut fruit.

  Dinner would be served l
ate … way past Nicki’s usual bedtime, and Shannay decided sandwiches and a glass of milk would suffice as an evening meal on this occasion.

  Marcello’s presence was unexpected. For some reason she had imagined he’d disappear into his home office and remain there until dinner. A meal she intended to skip on the pretext of bathing Nicki and settling her to sleep.

  The flight had been long, his company a constant, and she desperately needed a break from him.

  Nicki ate little, drank her milk and began to visibly droop.

  ‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Shannay took hold of her daughter’s hand. ‘Say goodnight, darling.’

  Nicki politely obliged, and Marcello surprised them both by lifting the young child into his arms.

  ‘I can take her.’ She reached out, expecting Nicki to lean towards her … except her daughter remained where she was.

  She told herself she wasn’t hurt. Silently assured herself it didn’t matter. But it did.

  Nicki’s head had tucked in against the curve of his throat as they reached the bedroom, and he gently lowered her down onto the bed.

  ‘Thanks.’ It was a polite, perfunctory gesture that didn’t fool him in the slightest.

  His eyes seared her own. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’

  ‘I’d prefer to remain close to Nicki in case she wakes.’

  He regarded her steadily. ‘There’s a monitor in her room, and auditory receptive devices in every room in the house.’ His gaze didn’t waver. ‘Dinner will be served in two hours. Plenty of time for you to bathe and settle her to sleep before you join me.’

  Shannay longed to tell him to go jump. She was on edge, angry, and feeling the effects of jet lag. The thought of sharing a meal with him held no appeal whatsoever.

  Yet it would provide the opportunity to vent … and she so badly needed to vent!

  He leant down and brushed his lips to Nicki’s temple.

  ‘Sleep well, pequena.’ He straightened, sent Shannay a piercing look, then he turned and left the room.

  She had the childish desire to pull a face behind his back, except she restrained herself and tended to her daughter.

  Two hours and five minutes later she descended the stairs and made her way towards the informal dining room.

  Five minutes over time was acceptable, and in her case deliberate, for she refused to conform to every one of Marcello’s dictates.

  She’d chosen to wear a black singlet top over which she wore a fine lace black blouse tied at her waist, pencil-slim black skirt, black stilettos, hair pulled back into a French twist secured by a jewelled comb, a slim gold bracelet, understated make-up and lipgloss.

  Dressed to kill was an adequate description.

  Ready for battle was more apt!

  Marcello was waiting for her as she entered the dining room, and one look at him was enough to set the pulse at her throat thrum to a faster beat.

  Attired in black tailored trousers, a white chambray shirt, his casual appearance belied the almost barbaric handsomeness of the man.

  Strength and power, a degree of ruthlessness made for a dangerous mix she had every reason to view with caution.

  Yet there was so much banked-up resentment and anger towards him, it took leashed control to avoid launching into attack mode.

  Play nice … for now, she reminded herself silently.

  Appear to enjoy a few sips of excellent vintage wine, be polite through the starter, aim for neutrality as they sampled the main course, then open the verbal discourse over coffee.

  That was the plan.

  ‘Shannay.’ His voice was a lazy, faintly accented drawl, and she unconsciously lifted her chin.

  ‘Marcello.’

  ‘Can I get you something to drink?’

  Civility. She could do that. ‘A light medium white, thank you.’

  He crossed to a storage cabinet, extracted the appropriate bottle, opened it, poured a quantity into a crystal goblet and extended it towards her.

  ‘Nicki settled well?’

  She was careful to avoid his fingers as she took the goblet from his hand. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘So polite, Shannay?’

  Her eyes sparked shards of golden fire. ‘I thought we’d feign peace and leave war until after dinner.’ Her chin lifted a little. ‘I have respect for my digestion.’

  His soft laughter was almost her undoing as he indicated the table set with fine china, silver flatware and no less than three crystal goblets. ‘Let’s eat, shall we?’

  Maria had surpassed herself with a delicate starter, followed by a seafood paella steaming aromatically beneath a covered serving dish.

  ‘Ramon is anxious to meet Nicki,’ Marcello informed as he touched the rim of his goblet to her own in a silent salute. ‘How do you feel about tomorrow?’

  ‘Perhaps it could be delayed by a day?’ Shannay countered. ‘Nicki has had to absorb a lot in the past week, followed by a long flight.’ She made a sweeping gesture with her hand to indicate his home. ‘All of this.’

  ‘I’ll make arrangements.’

  It was happening, the increase in Marcello’s control to the detriment of her own.

  Ramon she could cope with … even look forward to reconnecting with the generous elderly man.

  Ramon’s daughter, Penè, however, was a different matter.

  Ramon’s son, Marcello and Sandro’s father, had been killed instantly in a car crash when Marcello had been in his late teens.

  Nicki was the bonus … the one bright star in the Martinez firmament. No one, not even Penè, would be permitted to say a word out of place in Nicki’s hearing.

  Shannay sampled the starter, and insisted on a small portion of paella. She’d grown unused to eating so late, and she merely sipped her wine, choosing instead to drink chilled water, and declined dessert or coffee.

  ‘Finish your wine.’

  She met his faintly hooded gaze with equanimity. ‘I prefer to have a clear head.’

  Marcello sank back in his chair and regarded her with interest. ‘To indulge in verbal warfare?’

  ‘You doubt it?’ She barely hid an edge of bitterness in her voice. ‘I specifically requested our own accommodation.’

  ‘Yet I have provided accommodation, have I not?’ he offered reasonably.

  Far more luxurious than the most expensive hotel. ‘That isn’t the point.’

  ‘What is the point?’

  ‘You could have asked for my approval.’

  One eyebrow lifted in silent mockery. ‘And your answer would have been?’

  ‘Not in this lifetime!’

  He spread his hands wide. ‘Precisely.’

  She wanted to throw something at him. Anything to disrupt his chilling air of calm. ‘Doesn’t it matter that I don’t want to be here?’

  ‘In Madrid? This house? Or with me?’

  ‘All of that … and more!’ The words tumbled out with vehement ire.

  ‘Querida.’ His faintly accented drawl curled round her heart and tugged a little. ‘Perhaps you should have given thought to informing me of Nicki’s existence from the beginning, instead of hoping fate and distance would continue to keep me in ignorance.’

  ‘Don’t … call me that.’

  ‘Darling? Lover?’ He offered a faint smile. ‘But you are both, yes?’

  ‘Not any more. And never again,’ Shannay added with angry intent, and attempted to tamp down the vivid images that immediately flooded her mind.

  In his bed, theirs, she corrected. Naked, beneath him, her thighs wrapped around his waist, urging him on, pleading, begging for the release only he could give … the heat and the passion. Loving him with her heart and her soul. His … only his.

  ‘Careful, amada. I could view that as a challenge.’

  ‘In a pig’s eye,’ she managed fiercely, hating his silky indolence. Not to mention the instinctive feeling he was deliberately toying with her.

  He regarded her carefully. ‘Had I known you were pregnant, I’d have taken the next
flight to Perth and dragged you back here.’

  As he had done now, she perceived. ‘It wouldn’t have changed my decision to file for divorce.’

  His pause was deliberately significant. ‘Yet you failed to do so until very recently.’

  ‘It was my choice to avoid all contact with you,’ Shannay offered coolly. ‘Even via legal channels.’ She waited a beat, and aimed the figurative dart. ‘Reciprocal, obviously.’

  ‘Yet circumstances have changed.’

  Suspicion clouded her eyes. ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘There will be no divorce.’

  ‘The hell there won’t!’

  He shrugged in an expressive negligent gesture. ‘Why bother with legalities?’

  ‘It might suit you to conveniently have a wife in another country, but I don’t want a husband!’

  ‘Not even the faithful John waiting patiently in the background?’

  ‘He’s my boss and a friend. Nothing more.’

  ‘No?’ Marcello arched silkily, and watched her temper flare into vibrant life.

  ‘Damn you, no.’

  His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Almost four years, Shannay, and you haven’t welcomed another man into your bed?’

  She wanted to pick something up and throw it at him.

  ‘Don’t,’ Marcello warned softly. ‘I might seek retribution.’

  ‘Bite me.’

  ‘What an interesting concept.’ His lazy drawl held amusement … and something else.

  ‘Go to hell.’ She hated the faint shakiness in her voice.

  She wanted to leave … the room, this house, him.

  Yet leaving would amount to an admission of sorts, and she refused to give Marcello the satisfaction.

  Besides, there was Nicki. And for her daughter, she’d lay down her life. Without askance, or question.

  ‘Not a very comfortable place to be, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Shannay closed her eyes, then opened them again as she flashed him a look of gold-flecked enmity. ‘Let’s balance the scales, shall we?’ Her voice held a darkness she didn’t know she possessed. ‘Or is the list of willing women anxious to share your bed too extensive to recall?’

  ‘You have a vivid imagination, mi mujer.’

  My wife. She didn’t need or want the reminder. ‘With just cause.’