by Jennie Lucas
“Which painting?”
“The—um... Mira?”
“Joan Miró?”
“Yeah. They said you’d gotten it at a steal for ten million dollars. I barely restrained myself from yelping, ‘That squiggle? I’ve seen better art done by preschoolers!’” Shaking her head, she added defensively, “And I have.”
“Very diplomatic to restrain yourself from saying so.”
“Took a lot of willpower, I’ll tell you.”
He smiled. “You were amazing tonight. Every time I glanced over at you, whomever you were talking to looked enthralled.”
She blushed shyly. “Really? You’re just being kind.”
“Excuse me, have we met?”
She smiled. “Well, I tried my best. Any time I felt nervous, I forced myself to smile and say something nice, like my mama taught me. You know, ‘Beautiful dress!’ ‘What a lovely necklace!’”
“What about the men? Did you compliment their neckties?”
She fluttered her dark eyelashes coyly. “I brought up football, or if that didn’t work, horses. You apparently know a lot of polo players. As a last resort, politics.”
“Do you follow politics?” he said, surprised.
“Not at all. But generally if you just start the ball rolling, the other person’s happy to take it and run. At that point, all you have to do is make sympathetic noises.” She rubbed the back of her neck and yawned again. “I’m exhausted. This must be what it’s like to act in a play all night. The role of trophy wife.”
“You closed a multi-million-dollar deal, Belle.”
She frowned. “What?”
“The McVoys...”
She brightened. “Oh, the guys from Calgary? They were hilarious. They were talking about this action movie they saw last night, with that Spanish movie star, you know, the famous one...” She rolled her eyes. “I think they have a crush on her. She’s married to some kind of prince already, but I told the guys it never hurts to dream.” She gave a sudden grin. “Movie stars get married and divorced dozens of times, don’t they? And you never know. She might decide what she really wants next is a middle-aged Canadian with hockey skills.”
Santiago’s body felt like ice. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been negotiating with the McVoys for weeks, trying to buy their company.” His voice was still a little hoarse. He forced his lips into a smile. “They just agreed to the deal only because of you.”
“Me?” she said, astonished.
“They said any man you love couldn’t be all bad.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks went red as she said quickly, “I never told them I loved you.”
“I guess they just assumed, since we’re getting married and all,” he said dryly. “Turn around.” Reaching out, he started massaging the back of her neck, her shoulders, brushing back the dark tendrils of her hair. As she leaned against his hands, he breathed in the scent of her, like vanilla and orange blossoms.
She leaned back, looking at him over her shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”
“You’ll ask it, whether I say yes or no.”
“You’re right.” She flashed him a sudden grin, then grew serious. “What turned you against the idea of love?”
His hands stilled on her shoulders.
“I told you about my parents.”
“That wasn’t all, was it? There was something else. Someone else.” She took a deep breath, and raised her eyes pleadingly to his. “You know about my sad romantic history, but I know nothing about yours....”
“You’re right,” he said slowly. “There was a woman.”
Belle sat up straight. He saw that he had her full attention. He wasn’t sure why he was telling her this. He’d never spoken about it to anyone.
“When I was a teenager, I met a girl in the orphanage. She was blonde, beautiful, with violet eyes...” He tensed, remembering how he’d felt about her as a boy. “She was older than me. Street-smart. Brave. We both had such big dreams about the future. We were both going to conquer the world.” He gave a humorless smile. “At fourteen, I asked her to marry me. She told me to ask her again after I proved myself. So I did.”
“How?”
“I earned a billion-dollar fortune. For her.”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
Santiago turned away, his jaw tight. “It took me sixteen years, but when my company went public five years ago, I went to Spain with a huge diamond ring.”
His eyes fell unwillingly to Belle’s left hand, but fortunately she didn’t notice. Sitting across from him on the bed, she was staring at him with wide eyes.
“What happened?” she breathed.
His lips twisted at the edges. “I came too late. She wanted more than I could give her. She’d just gotten engaged to my brother.”
Her expression changed to horror. “Your brother?”
He gave a crooked half grin. “She told me that she’d been attracted to Otilio in part because he reminded her of me. An upgraded version of me.” His voice held no emotion. He’d had a lot of practice at showing none. Feeling none. “I couldn’t even begrudge her choice. Marrying into the official Zoya family meant she would not be merely rich, but famous and powerful across Europe, and someday, after my father is dead, a duchess.”
“Of all men on earth—your brother!”
“Their marriage was a huge social event in Madrid, I heard later.”
“What a horrible woman!” she cried indignantly. Her lovely heart-shaped face was stricken as she faced him across the shadowy bed. “No wonder you think so little of love. And marriage, too. What did you do, after she told you she was marrying your brother?”
He shrugged. “I came back to New York. I worked harder. My fortune is bigger than theirs now. The Zoya family owns an estancia in Argentina, so I bought a bigger ranch in Texas. They have an art collection. Now mine is better. I don’t need them now. They’re nothing to me.”
“They’re your family,” she said forlornly.
“They chose not to be.”
Reaching out, Belle put her arms around him, hugging him close to her on the bed, offering comfort. For a moment, he accepted the warmth of her smaller body cradled against his. He exhaled deeply. He hadn’t even realized his jaw had been tense, until now, as the tension melted away. Drawing back, he looked down at her, and gently tucked a dark tendril of hair back into her loose chignon.
She’d offered him comfort tonight, and loyalty, and her charm had even helped him close a business deal. She’d given it all without asking for anything in return.
He wanted to show his appreciation. Give her a present. But she wouldn’t care about jewelry or clothes or art. Especially not art, he thought with amusement. So what?
Then he knew.
“I’ll cancel the wedding planner, Belle. We can have any kind of wedding you want.”
Her eyes lit up. It was worth it for that alone. She breathed, “Really?”
“I know you’ll want your brothers to attend. I’ll send my private jet to collect them. We don’t have to hold the ceremony at the cathedral. I don’t care about the details.” He looked at her. “As long as we are husband and wife before our child comes into this world.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “What about having the wedding here?”
“Here?”
She nodded eagerly. “I can have a flower bouquet, instead of holding a cactus. A real cake, instead of foam.” She was beaming. “We can have good food that people might actually want to eat!”
“Ah, Belle.” With a low laugh, he drew her closer on the bed, cupping her face. “Forget what I said about fitting in. You will never fit in.” She looked hurt. Still smiling, he reached out and gently lifted her chin. “Because you were born to stand out, querida. You were the most beautiful woman at o
ur engagement party. No one could even compare. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
Her cheeks flushed with shy pleasure. “Really?”
“Just one thing is wrong. That dress.” He ran his hand along the black fabric. “It’s driving me crazy.”
Belle checked the back zipper self-consciously. “What’s wrong with it?”
Sitting next to her on the bed, he pulled her into his arms.
“That you’re still wearing it,” he whispered, and lowered his mouth to hers.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR SANTIAGO, SEX had always been simple. Easy. A quick release. A brief pleasure, swiftly forgotten.
Sex with Belle was different than he’d ever experienced before. It was fire. A conflagration. A drug he could not get enough of.
But as with any drug, he was soon hit by unwanted, bewildering side effects.
Having Belle in his Upper East Side mansion, in his bed every night, he was shocked by the way their night-time pleasures started to bleed into his days. He could not refuse her anything.
First, he’d agreed to change their wedding, even though the celebration the famous wedding planner had proposed would have been the social event of the year. The wedding Belle wanted, small and private, without pomp or press coverage, would do nothing for the prestige of his name.
But he let Belle have her way. And it didn’t stop there.
He found himself thinking about her during the daylight hours, when his focus was supposed to be on running his company. The Canadian deal had gone through, but other deals began to fall apart. He was distracted, and it was affecting his business. He found himself impatient, even bored, at meetings—even when he himself was the one who’d called them.
He’d spent almost twenty years focused on building Velazquez International to be a huge multinational conglomerate, owning a host of brands of everything from food and soft drinks to running shoes and five-star resorts. He’d spent the last five years at an almost obsessive expansion, buying up small companies with an eye to a future where he owned the world.
But now, as he signed documents to purchase his latest company, a valuable nutritional supplement firm based in Copenhagen, instead of triumph he felt only irritation.
He didn’t give a damn about vitamins or protein powders. He wanted to be home with Belle. In her arms. In her bed.
And it was getting worse. At night, when he was in her arms, lost in her deep, expressive brown eyes, kissing her sensual mouth, he’d started to feel something he’d sworn he never would again. Something more than desire.
He found himself caring about her opinion.
He found himself...caring.
In daylight, the thought chilled Santiago to the bone. He couldn’t let himself be vulnerable. He’d be marrying her in a matter of weeks, and soon afterward, they’d be raising a child together.
Marriage he could justify, as a mere piece of paper to secure his child’s name.
But actually caring about Belle...
Needing her happiness...
Needing her...
That was something else.
He could never risk the devastation of loving someone again. He couldn’t be that stupid. He couldn’t.
But as the weeks passed and their wedding date approached, Santiago grew increasingly tense. Every day he was with Belle, every night, he felt intimacy building between them. The wedding he’d once insisted upon now started to feel like a ticking time bomb. Waiting to explode. To destroy.
It made him want to run.
I made a promise, he told himself desperately. To Belle. To our child. I’m not going anywhere.
But as their wedding grew closer, his fears intensified. No matter how much he tried to shove down his feelings. No matter how he tried to deny them.
I have to marry her. For my child’s sake. It’s just a piece of paper. Not my soul!
But the closer their wedding date became, the more edgy he felt.
* * *
Belle woke before dawn on her wedding day, and when she opened her eyes in the gray September light, she looked across the bed. A smile burst across her face brighter than the sun.
It was an omen. Today was their wedding day. And it was the first time she hadn’t woken alone.
Santiago was sleeping in bed beside her.
With a rush of gratitude, Belle smiled to herself happily, listening to his deep breathing beside her in the shadows of their bedroom.
After all her fears and plans, she would marry him tonight. And just in time, since at three weeks from her due date, her belly had gotten so huge that she barely fit into her simple, pretty wedding dress. Tonight, in a candlelight ceremony on their rooftop garden, she would officially become Mrs. Santiago Velazquez.
The past month in New York had been filled with unexpected joys, like fixing up this house. It hadn’t been a makeover, but a make-under. Seven stories, elevator, rooftop garden, wine cellar and all, it had become a real home as she believed a home should be: comfy and cozy. She’d softened the cold, stark modern design, replacing the angular furniture with plump sofas that you could cuddle in.
The master closet, sadly, was now full of fashionable, scratchy black dresses and stiletto heels, but on the plus side, if she still hated going out into society, at least she loved coming home.
This house had somehow become her home.
After their rocky start, she’d become friends with the live-in staff—Dinah Green, the cook, and Anna Phelps, the maid. Belle often helped them with their tasks, just for the company, and because she liked taking care of her own home. She’d helped Anna study for tests for law school. Dinah had taught her some delicious new recipes, and Belle had already volunteered to cook on every holiday so the older woman could have the time off to visit her grown-up son in Philadelphia.
Together, the three women had worked together to plan everything for the wedding tonight.
It would be a simple affair, a short ceremony attended by family and friends, followed by a late dinner. A judge friend of Santiago’s was going to officiate. They already had the marriage license. Afterward, there would be a sit-down dinner of roast beef and grilled asparagus on the rooftop desk, then dancing to music provided by a jazz trio, cake and champagne toasts, and all done by midnight.
Planning the event hadn’t been too hard. Belle wasn’t that picky, and besides, she’d discovered that living on the Upper East Side, with a driver and unlimited money, was an entirely different New York experience from when she’d shared a walk-up apartment and struggled to make the bills in Brooklyn.
Here, she had a concierge obstetrician who made house calls. Here, she had time. Here, she had space. Her heart fluttered when Santiago came home each night, and they ate dinner together at the long table. He was very busy with his company and often worked long days. But on weekends he would take her out to little cafés—which she enjoyed—and trendy restaurants—which she didn’t.
He’d taken her to see a certain famous musical sold out on Broadway, with front-row tickets that the whole world knew were impossible to get. Sitting next to him in the audience that night, Belle realized that she wasn’t wishing she could trade places with the actress on stage. She liked where she was, at Santiago’s side, with his hand resting protectively on her baby bump. She’d looked at him in the darkened theater. Feeling her look, he’d squeezed her hand.
Then, a minute later, he’d abruptly dropped it.
It was strange. One minute she felt so close to him, as their eyes met in mutual understanding, or a shared joke. But the next minute, he would suddenly seem distant, or literally leave the room. She didn’t know which was worse.
Maybe he was having annoyances at work. Maybe he was nervous about their baby’s upcoming due date, in just three weeks. She could hardly wait to meet their baby and ho
ld her in their arms.
She intended to have their baby sleep in a bassinet next to their bed at first, but she’d already decorated the nursery to be ready. It was a sweet room, with pale pink walls, a crystal chandelier, a pretty white crib, changing table and rocking chair. And a huge stuffed white polar bear in the corner.
That stuffed bear, twelve feet tall, had been brought home yesterday by Santiago, carried into the nursery with the assistance of Kip.
Belle had laughed. “And you say you have no idea how to be a father. Didn’t they have a bigger one?”
“I’m glad they didn’t. I would have had to bring it in with a crane through the window. It barely fit in the elevator.”
“You’re a genius,” she’d proclaimed, kissing him happily. “And to think all I’ve done today for the baby is look through the baby name book.”
“Find anything?”
“Well, maybe,” she said shyly. He seemed in such a good mood, she’d ventured, “What would you think about naming her Emma Valeria, after both our mothers?”
Santiago’s expression immediately turned cold.
“Name her after your mother, if you like. Keep mine out of it.”
And he’d abruptly left the nursery.
She shivered. He was always going from hot to cold. It was bewildering. You never knew what might set him off. Even during their happiest moments, he could suddenly become remote. He could be passionate, demanding, infuriating; he could be generous and occasionally, even kind. But aside from the night after their engagement party, when he’d told her about that horrible woman who’d broken his heart, Santiago had never again let her close. Never let her in.
Thinking about it now, Belle shook her head firmly. There was no point in worrying. Today was her wedding day. She should just relish her joy that Santiago had actually woken up beside her.
Careful not to wake him, she rose quietly from the bed. Going to the bedroom’s tall windows, she brushed aside the translucent curtains and looked down at the New York street, which was already starting to stir into life with taxi cabs and pedestrians, in a pale haze of pink and gray.