A Price Worth Paying?

by Trish Morey

  He took her hand before she could get out and pressed the back of her hand to his mouth, loving the way her eyes threw heated sparks at the graze of his lips on her skin. ‘I’m beginning to think this marriage might be more entertaining than I first thought.’

  Her smile widened. She even managed a little laugh. ‘Lucky you. I’m beginning to think it’s going to be a real pain in the backside. Or maybe that’s just you.’

  ‘I aim to please.’

  She pulled her hand free as she stepped from the car.

  ‘Don’t forget to smile,’ he said behind her.

  ‘Zer egiten ari da hemen zuen?’ Felipe said from his chair near the window as she entered.

  ‘What did you say, Abuelo?’ Simone said, leaning over to give him a kiss first to one and then the other of his hollowed white-whiskered cheeks.

  ‘He wants to know what I’m doing here.’

  She nodded her thanks to Alesander behind her, and turned to invite him in. She was still angry that he could be so entirely oblivious to the contribution he’d made to Felipe’s decline, but she was grateful for the translation. When her grandfather spoke in Spanish it was hard enough to keep up, but when he reverted to the regional Basque language she had no hope of understanding.

  But when she looked around she had to do a double take. The room seemed to have shrunk and the modest cottage that was perfectly adequate for the two of them now seemed tiny, the roof hovering low over their visitor’s head. She blinked and turned back to her grandfather. ‘I ran into Alesander in San Sebastian,’ she said, reeling out the story they’d concocted in the car. Not too many untruths to trip over. ‘We got to talking and found out we were neighbours and he offered me a lift home so I didn’t have to catch the bus.’

  Her grandfather grunted and turned back to look pointedly out of the window towards the land and the vines he’d lost, his message clear, but before he’d turned away she’d seen there was more than resentment in his eyes. There was sadness too, and hurt. Simone turned to their guest and shook her head. He shrugged, as if he’d been expecting such a lack of welcome all along.

  ‘How go the grapes, Felipe?’ he asked. ‘People are saying it will be the best harvest for years.’

  Another grunt from the window.

  Alesander gave up. ‘I should be going.’

  ‘You won’t stay for dinner?’ She wasn’t sure she wanted him to—the little exchange in the car had left her feeling unsettled—but maybe he’d been expecting to be asked after driving her home. And it would make a change to have younger company for a little while.

  He shook his head. ‘I won’t impose on any more of your time. Felipe, it was good to see you again. It’s been too long.’

  The old man gave a flick of his gnarled hand without bothering to look around.

  ‘But if there is one favour I might ask you before I go?’

  The old man’s head turned by only the barest of fractions towards their guest. ‘It is Markel de la Silva’s sixtieth birthday party on Saturday evening. I was wondering if you might let your granddaughter accompany me.’

  The neck that seemed comprised entirely of cords twisted around until his flat glassy eyes met hers. ‘Is that what you want?’ he asked her pointedly.

  ‘I would love to go,’ she said, liking the fact Alesander had asked Felipe for his permission. Their families might have been rivals for years but there was a note of respect in his request that had sounded sincere. Although she wondered what he would do if Felipe said no. ‘If it’s all right with you, of course.’

  Felipe merely grunted. ‘You can do what you like, while you are here.’

  ‘In that case, yes,’ she said, already panicking about what she would wear. Party dresses hadn’t been a high priority on her packing list when she’d come, expecting to stay just a couple of weeks, not that she’d had many to choose from anyway. She’d just have to head into San Sebastian again and find something that would fit into her limited student budget.

  Alesander must have been wondering the same thing, a telltale frown bringing his two dark brows closer together as if he could tell from what she was wearing that she would own nothing suitable for a posh Spanish party. ‘Did you bring a gown with you?’

  A gown? ‘No,’ she confessed. Although he might just as well have asked if she even possessed a gown. ‘But I’m sure I’ll find something.’

  ‘I’ll take you shopping,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow. There is work I have to do in the morning first, but shall we say three o’clock?’

  ‘Watch that one,’ Felipe said between spooning up his paella. His appetite had been waning lately, and it was the one dish she could guarantee he would do more than pick at. ‘Be careful with him.’

  ‘You mean Alesander?’ I thought he seemed—’ she searched for words that didn’t include arrogant and bastard ‘—very pleasant.’

  ‘You think he is interested in you? Bah! He only came to see how close to death I am.’

  ‘No, Abuelo, why would you say such a thing? Why would he do that?’

  ‘Why else? He is after the vines. He already has three-quarters of them and now he wants the rest, you mark my words.’

  She put her fork down, unable to swallow another mouthful, the ball in her stomach like lead and not only weighted with guilt. For, after the agreement she had made with him, Alesander as good as owned the vines. What would her grandfather say if he knew what she had done?

  What she had done with good reason, she reminded herself, certain that once the marriage was announced, Felipe would be celebrating to know his precious vines were once again reunited, the fortunes of the Otxoa family restored.

  Besides which, did it really matter who owned the vines after Felipe died? It might as well be someone who knew what to do with them.

  ‘I’m sure you’re wrong. I know you have had your differences with his father in the past, but I am sure Alesander is not as ruthless as you make out.’

  ‘He is an Esquivel. Of course he is ruthless!’

  ‘I could have met you in San Sebastian,’ she said when Alesander opened the car door for her the next afternoon. ‘You didn’t have to come all this way.’

  ‘I didn’t come for your benefit.’ He looked up at the window, where he caught the old man scowling at him before turning his head away. He waved, letting him know he’d seen. ‘Felipe needs to get used to seeing us together.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking suddenly contrite, ‘of course,’ before falling quiet as she got into the car, and warning bells went off in his brain. If she was going to start thinking he was being considerate towards her because he was interested in her …

  There was no way he wanted her thinking that. He waited until the car was at the end of the driveway so they were well away from the house and Felipe’s inquisitive gaze.

  ‘Perhaps I should remind you that we are actors in this masquerade. We are expected to convey an image—first that we are a couple—and second that we are in love.

  ‘But this is a marriage of convenience and it remains a marriage of convenience. A marriage in name only. That’s what you wanted and that’s what you will get. And if I show you any courtesy, and of course I will because it is all part of the act, it is not because I have suddenly fallen in love with you. It is merely to convince everybody else that I have.’

  He looked across at her. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. Of course I do. My mistake. I’m sorry for ever imagining you were simply being nice.’

  He managed a brief smile at her response. On the one hand he found her Australian openness appealing, but at the same time he was concerned at her willingness to embrace something as simple as picking her up from her home as being a sign he cared, and he wondered anew about her long-term plans. She’d said she was doing this all for Felipe, but why should she give up her inheritance for a grumpy old man she barely knew and who he’d never seen happy and would probably never would?

  Unless she’d had other plans from the start—othe
r plans that involved making a fake marriage real and trading a modest inheritance for a luxury lifestyle. Was her demand that there be no sex just a way to lull him into a false sense of security?

  It had better not be.

  ‘I warn you now, it would be a mistake to ever go thinking I was nice.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said snippily. ‘I won’t make the same mistake again.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE BOUTIQUE WAS just off La Avenida, the main street of San Sebastian, tucked away in a small calle closed to motor vehicles, and filled with planter boxes dotted down the calle spilling with bushes and greenery while the attractive three- and four-storey buildings that lined the street were home to exclusive boutiques and Michelin-starred restaurants topped by private hotels. The place screamed of money.

  Alesander led her towards one of the boutiques now, and she hesitated, thinking of her limited budget. When he’d said he’d take her shopping, she’d imagined he would take her somewhere a little more generic. ‘It looks expensive.’

  ‘It is. Only the filthy rich can shop here.’

  She stopped completely. There was no way she was setting foot in the place, let alone thinking about buying anything. ‘That’s not my kind of store.’

  ‘Which is why I brought you. Because I know you could not be trusted to buy the kind of gown you will need to pull this off.’

  ‘But I don’t have to step inside to know I can’t afford anything in that shop!’

  He pulled her aside, leaning down close to her face to keep his words and, no doubt, hopefully hers out of the public realm. ‘And we can’t afford to get this wrong. If we’re going to convince people that you are worthy of being an Esquivel bride, we cannot have you looking like you dressed yourself in some discount department store rags. People would not believe it.’ She opened her mouth to protest and he held up one hand, silencing her. ‘Especially not for something as important as Markel’s birthday party. Now, we are wasting time.’

  ‘You can’t make me go in there—’

  ‘I do not expect you to pay. Of course I will pay. And it will be worth every euro. And, just for the record,’ he added for good measure, ‘I am not being nice.’

  She found the nerve to smile up at him. ‘Now that was the one thing I wasn’t about to accuse you of.’

  She had no time to celebrate her oral victory, for instead she found herself herded, rather than led, into the hushed boutique, where garments hung in spartan clusters around the otherwise minimalist walls. Even so, what was on display was enough that she immediately felt underdressed, the cut-off capri pants and soft lemon cardigan she’d thought suitable for this shopping expedition now feeling decidedly underdone in this world of hand-printed silks and designer denim.

  Not that the two sleek shop attendants seemed to notice or care. They were too busy welcoming Alesander to their store with their wide smiles and gleaming eyes. If he wasn’t as good-looking as he was, she’d think they could almost smell his money.

  He rattled off something in Spanish too fast for her to understand and the two women threw a glance her way, sizing her up, chatting excitedly between themselves before one breezed past a rack of gowns and disappeared into a back room while the other introduced them both. Alondra and Evita promised to be of every assistance, she said, nothing would be too much trouble. ‘And you are in luck, señorita,’ the woman called Alondra said excitedly, ‘we have some very special gowns delivered just today. They are exclusives. You will not find them anywhere else in all of Spain.’

  Her colleague returned a few moments later, her arms laden with four exquisite gowns in rich colours that she hung side by side on a rail to compare. ‘What do you think of these?’

  They were all different in style, cut and colour, from strapless to asymmetrical to one-shouldered; from lilac to silver to fiery red, but with one thing in common—they were all exquisite.

  ‘Stunning,’ she said, overwhelmed by the detail of each of the gowns, whether in the beading or skilful pleating or the soft feminine drape of the skirt, finding it hard to believe that she might soon actually possess anything so beautiful—but, more than that, have an occasion to wear it.

  ‘What about that one?’ Alesander said behind her, but when she turned to see which one he meant, he was looking elsewhere, towards an aqua-coloured gown hanging by itself to one side. It was strapless with a pleated bodice, fitted through the body to the hip, where it finished emphatically in a ruffled skirt split high up one thigh. It was dramatic and sexy and seemed to convey the very essence of Spain, understated and yet over the top at the same time. And undeniably the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.

  Ordinarily her eyes would have already bypassed it, knowing there was no point giving it a second glance, knowing there was no way she could afford to even look at it, but these were no ordinary times and besides, she heard him say, ‘It would go with your eyes.’

  And she shivered and looked back at him uncertainly. When had he noticed the colour of her eyes?

  The women descended again into rapid Spanish, to which Alesander simply responded, ‘Who?’ And when they answered, he smiled and issued a series of instructions to the women and finished with one to her. ‘Try it on,’ he said.

  Heels were produced, and accessories and one woman zipped her into the dress while the other turned her ponytail into a messy knot that looked halfway to evening glam and when she was finally dressed she stared at the result in the mirror. My God, was that really her? Apart from being a little long, the gown fitted her as if it had been made for her, but instead of it emphasising how much weight she had lost in the last few months, like her other clothes did now they were too big, the fact this gown hugged her curves seemed to make the most of them.

  ‘I love it,’ she said, wondering at a dress that had the power to transform her from discount department store cheap to designer chic.

  ‘The hem can be altered,’ Alondra said. ‘That is no problem.’

  ‘And this before make-up and jewellery,’ the other clucked, beaming her delight. ‘You must show your boyfriend.’

  She almost denied it. Almost said that Alesander wasn’t her boyfriend, but stopped herself short. Because he kind of was now, even if it was only make-believe.

  He was on the phone when she stepped from the dressing room, his back to her and she said nothing, not wanting to disturb him, but he must have heard something because after a few seconds he stilled and, still talking into his phone, he turned, only for the torrent of words to stop as his dark eyes drank her in. And then he said something short, punched a button to punctuate the call and pocketed the phone.

  She smiled nervously, wanting him to like what he saw, if only to show him that she could pull this off. She didn’t care what he thought about her, but she did want him to be confident that she could carry off her side of the bargain before they signed the paperwork linking them together. ‘What do you think? Will it do for the party?’

  It seemed to take an eternity for him to answer, an eternity that had her wondering if he was regretting this deal because she would never be up to the task. ‘Sí,’ he said dispassionately at last, ‘it will do. And now you will have to excuse me for an hour or so. I have a meeting that will not wait. The señoritas have instructions to find you a range of outfits for day and evening and I will leave you in their clearly capable hands.’ And with that he was gone.

  She clamped down on a bubble of disappointment as she returned to the changing room, the women eagerly rushing around to gather up more garments for her to try on. Alesander approved of the dress. That should be enough. That was enough. There was no reason to be disappointed with his reaction.

  On the other hand, there was plenty of justification for the resentment that simmered and bubbled away inside her.

  Because she’d come here looking for a dress and she’d found one and now he calmly instructed her to find a ‘range of outfits’. Clearly he didn’t think her existing wardrobe lived up to the necess
ary Esquivel standards in order to convince the world they were an item. And yes, she understood that the world he inhabited was located somewhere high in the dizzy stratosphere compared to her own, but it still rankled to be so constantly reminded of that fact. It rankled even more to be given instructions without discussion, as if her opinion was not worth either hearing or seeking. After all, they were supposed to be in this together.

  ‘You will be very happy with that gown,’ Alondra said.

  ‘Your boyfriend thinks you look very sexy,’ said the other.

  He still wasn’t her boyfriend and she very much doubted he thought about how she looked other than to gauge whether she would pass muster and be accepted in his company. ‘Well, he sure didn’t say much.’

  ‘Didn’t you see his eyes?’ The women looked at each other with a smile. ‘His eyes, they said plenty. He thought you were hot.’

  Shop girl talk, she figured as she slipped out of the dress, the same the world over and designed to make you feel good about whatever you were trying on. If they saw anything in his eyes, it was most likely the greedy prospect of getting his hands on the rest of Felipe’s vines.

  Besides, he didn’t think her hot. She wasn’t his type and that was fine. That was good. It made it so much easier to deal with him, knowing he wasn’t in the least bit interested in her.

  She only wished she could be as impartial to him. Maybe then she wouldn’t spend so much time thinking how good he’d looked dressed only in a towel. And God, how he had. And then there was his evocative scent and the curl of his long tapered fingers around the steering wheel and the way her skin had sizzled when they touched …

  No, thank God he wasn’t interested in her because it made the whole no-sex deal workable. Knowing the terms of their contract would stipulate that condition was comforting. But knowing she could rely on him not to try anything was the clincher.