Public Marriage, Private Secrets

by Helen Bianchin

  Conversation carried them the thirty-minute drive to the airport, where, given Raúl’s private Lear jet, passage through Customs proved a mere formality before they were cleared to board.

  There were introductions to the pilot and flight staff, whereupon Raúl discarded his jacket, turned back his sleeve-cuffs, they took their seats and all too quickly were in the air.

  Gianna reached down into her carry-on bag and extracted a thick new release by a favourite author, and spared Raúl a glance.

  ‘Please don’t feel you need to entertain me.’ She even managed a faint smile. ‘I’ll be perfectly happy reading.’

  ‘Breakfast will be served in about an hour.’ Was that her imagination, or did the edge of his mouth twitch in amusement? ‘You have no objection if I work?’

  She met his dark eyes with equanimity. ‘Not at all.’

  Raúl inclined his head, extracted a laptop, and set to work, wrapping up configurations on screen, then transferring data from various files to update various graphs.

  The ability to achieve total focus had been something he’d acquired during university studies. That and a photographic mind had ensured a smooth passage as he earned one degree after another, choosing employment for three years in New York before returning to Madrid to join his father in the Velez-Saldaña conglomerate.

  On his father’s demise Raúl had assumed the position of CEO and developed the firm into a worldwide conglomerate, accumulating a personal fortune which included prime real estate in several cities around the world, industrial holdings—you name it.

  He had it all…amend that to nearly all. One thing was missing. Perhaps the most important, he mused. The love of a good woman…family.

  Not any woman. Gianna…who had been his, until life had thrown a curve ball and she had walked.

  Divorce hadn’t been on his agenda. Nor hers, apparently. Yet.

  Circumstance had presented him with a two-week window in which to ensure she would never consider it an option.

  Flight staff served a full breakfast an hour later, from which Gianna selected muesli, fruit and coffee.

  Given the time zone, she calculated they were due to arrive in Madrid late Tuesday, thereby gaining almost a full day.

  ‘Won’t it be an imposition to arrive at Teresa’s villa at such a late hour?’ The query held no validity, for, although the villa was fully staffed, Raúl would naturally possess the relevant keys to gain access.

  He regarded her thoughtfully as he reached for his coffee. He drained his cup and refilled it from the carafe. ‘We’ll stay overnight at my apartment, then fly to Mallorca tomorrow morning.’

  His apartment? Not in this millennium.

  Her eyes sparked brilliant blue fire. ‘I’ll book into a hotel.’

  ‘Afraid, Gianna?’

  ‘Of you? No.’

  ‘In which case you have no reason for concern,’ he drawled in response.

  Sure, she decided silently. And pigs might fly.

  It was relatively simple to pretend an intense interest in the book she was reading—except in truth she barely retained a paragraph or two on each page she turned. The plot was predictable, but she was a fan of the author’s style and individual voice.

  Raúl’s presence provided a distraction, one she found impossible to ignore, and after a while she simply secured a marker, closed the book, then, feeling strangely restless, stood to her feet and stretched her legs by covering the length of the jet several times.

  He, on the other hand, didn’t appear a wit disturbed as he worked throughout the flight, logging in the hours as if it was a normal day at the office…his focus total.

  Did he even notice she was there?

  Somehow it annoyed her, the fact that he might not—which hardly made any sense. What was wrong with her?

  Something she silently questioned as the hours wound down to arrival time, and the nerves in her stomach began tightening into a painful ball as the jet began to lose altitude in preparation for landing.

  There was something vaguely surreal about disembarking in the night hours after a long flight, and seeing Raúl’s driver, Carlos, move forward to meet them as they entered the arrivals lounge.

  Within a matter of minutes they were comfortably seated in Raúl’s luxury Mercedes, their luggage stowed in the boot, and the car eased towards an exit.

  Gianna leaned forward a little. ‘Could you please check hotel accommodation and book a room for me, Carlos?’

  She glimpsed the driver’s questioning look via the rear vision mirror. ‘Señor?’

  ‘The apartment,’ Raúl countered smoothly.

  She threw him a dark glare, which lost much of its impact in the shadowy interior. ‘I’d prefer a hotel,’ she reiterated with quiet vehemence.

  Only to have him remind her, ‘There are three guest suites.’

  As if she didn’t know this. She’d lived there with him for a time.

  The rational part of her brain registered that it was late at night, it had been a long day, and all she wanted to do was shower, then climb into bed and sleep.

  What difference did it make where?

  Except for the niggle of resentment at his intent to take control.

  His eyes locked with her own. ‘Give it up, Gianna.’ His voice was deceptively quiet, and her eyes sparked retaliatory anger for a few long seconds before she deliberately turned her attention to the passing nightscape as Carlos joined the main arterial route into the city.

  The thought of revisiting the penthouse apartment she’d shared with Raúl in the exclusive area of Salamanca meant a revival of memories she’d chosen to mentally compartmentalise in a box labeled ‘Past,’ where they lay buried in the deep recesses of her mind. Never to be retrieved, opened and re-examined…except in the intrusive dreams she was unable to control.

  When she had left Madrid, she’d only taken what she had brought into the relationship. All the gifts he’d generously bestowed…clothing, lingerie, jewellery…had been left behind.

  Had he changed anything? Redecorated? Removed all traces of her occupation?

  Oh, get over yourself, Gianna silently chided. Why balk at one night in a luxury two-level penthouse apartment? Raúl’s master suite and his home office occupied the upper level. The guest suites, lounge, dining room and service rooms were situated on the lower level.

  Why, she’d probably only see him in the morning, when Carlos drove them to the airport.

  So what was the big deal?

  There was none…except in her mind.

  Consequently she exited the Mercedes as it drew to a halt in the forecourt, rode a lift to the apartment, allowed Raúl to deposit her bag in one of the guest suites, then politely bade him goodnight.

  Unpack, shower, then bed, she determined, and completed each before sliding beneath the covers.

  Yet sleep eluded her, and she tossed and turned, caught up in a number of complex reactions. Vivid memories of happier times, the starkness of their break-up…and inevitably wondering if she’d made the right decision in coming here.

  Teresa—think only of Teresa.

  Except nothing eased the haunting pain, until with a low growl of anguish she slid from the bed and moved quietly into the kitchen.

  Hot milk with a dash of brandy might soothe her jangling nerves, overcome the jetlag and tension and allow her a few hours’ rest.

  Easy to fill a beaker with milk from the refrigerator and heat it in the microwave. When it was done she added a generous nip of brandy, hesitated, added another, then cupped her hands around the beaker and crossed to the window to look out at the nightscape, where pinpricks of light illuminated tall buildings and bright neon advertisements blazed in cascading colour.

  Raúl stirred at the faint beeping sound of the security monitor, saw the flashing sensor light position the lounge, and moved quietly from the bed, taking only a brief moment to pull on jeans before descending the stairs to investigate.

  Had the main entrance been breached, several
security measures would have been automatically activated and a security team would already be on their way.

  As it was internal there was only one logical explanation…Gianna.

  He entered the lounge and saw her standing before the floor-to-ceiling plate glass.

  Her slender form silhouetted there aroused a tug of emotion he tamped down.

  She was attired in cotton sleep trousers and tank top, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and her features appeared pale beneath the dimmed lighting.

  ‘Unable to sleep?’

  The sound of his voice startled her, and she turned, eyes widening as he crossed to stand at her side.

  He had the soft tread of a cat, and she instinctively hugged her arms across her midriff.

  ‘Several hours of air travel, I guess,’ she managed evenly.

  ‘You didn’t sleep during the flight.’

  How did he know that she’d simply closed her eyes and pretended sleep because she was unable to relax sufficiently in his presence? She hadn’t expected to feel vulnerable, or so acutely sensitive…and it made her cross.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, call it like it is… She was edgy, uncertain in hindsight if she’d made the right decision to place herself in a position where she’d be constantly reminded of what had been, not to mention the fallout of leaving Spain, leaving Raúl. Revisiting it again now seemed to be the height of foolishness.

  Yet she was here, and after breakfast the Velez-Saldaña private jet would transport her to Mallorca, where Teresa’s villa in Cala Fornells, Calvià, would provide panoramic views of the sea and an escape from Raúl’s disturbing presence.

  None of which helped now, as he stood close, within touching distance, his tall, partly clothed frame a vivid reminder of times past when she’d slipped from their bed unable to sleep. Occasions when he’d gently massaged her neck, shoulders, easing the kinks, before sweeping her into his arms and carrying her back to bed.

  For one brief moment she almost longed for the soporific effect…the comfort. She was aware the sensual tension still existed on her part. But on his?

  He was impossible to read, and she tried to convince herself she didn’t want to.

  Worse, to stand here, aware and almost compliant, was the antithesis of the image she cared to present. Dammit, she could sense the clean male scent of him, the faint muskiness merging with his brand of aftershave.

  It evoked too many memories…places she was loath to go.

  With determined effort, she drank the rest of her milk, then indicated the empty beaker. ‘I’ll take this through to the kitchen, then go back to bed.’ She waited a beat, then added, ‘Goodnight…’ with the utmost politeness.

  He made no attempt to stop her, and there was a small part of her that almost wished he would.

  Are you insane?

  The words echoed silently as she slid into bed and snapped off the bed-lamp, becoming the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A NOTE propped within easy visibility rested on the counter when Gianna entered the kitchen.

  I’ve eaten. Help yourself. The jet leaves at nine for Mallorca. R

  There was a sense of relief in eating alone, and she selected cereal, fruit, and strong sweet black coffee, then checked the newspaper headlines, surprised at how easily she recalled her fluency with the Spanish language.

  Soon Carlos would drive her to the airport where she’d board the Velez-Saldaña jet for Mallorca. Where at least she’d be free from Raúl’s presence.

  Sure, he’d fly in on occasion to visit with Teresa…but not every day.

  Short social visits she could cope with, she rationalised a few minutes before nine, as she transferred toiletries into her bag, closed the zip and emerged into the lounge.

  Raúl was already there, conducting a conversation in French on his cellphone. Not exactly a surprise—business encompassed a large part of his life.

  Unless he was touching base with a woman…the mere thought of which sent unexpected pain lancing through her body.

  She shifted her gaze and felt her heart jolt at the sight of a large overnight bag resting on the floor at his feet.

  Please tell me he doesn’t intend to visit Mallorca.

  Although why shouldn’t he? Teresa was his mother, and he’d been absent in Australia for a week.

  At that moment he cut the call and turned towards her.

  ‘Good morning. Ready?’

  ‘Hi,’ she said evenly, and indicated her bag. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s go.’ He collected both bags and together they exited the apartment, took the lift down to ground level, where Carlos waited ready to drive them to the airport.

  The flight to Mallorca was uneventful, their arrival low-key, with a car and driver waiting to transport them to Teresa’s luxury villa in Calvià.

  There was something magical about the Balearic Islands…especially Mallorca, Gianna reflected, with its mansions and villas, the lush green hills and the sparkling waters. It was a true panoramic vista that always stirred Gianna’s senses…offering tranquillity and a slower pace than Madrid.

  Teresa’s villa was situated on elevated landscaped land with carefully tended gardens, whose multi-coloured flora were scrupulously maintained. High ornate gates guarded entrance to a semi-circular driveway which led to a beautiful two-level home whose massive double wooden bronze-studded doors were open in welcome.

  It was there Teresa greeted them—a slender woman of average height in her early sixties, who hugged Gianna close with obvious affection before she turned to her son and embraced him as he lowered his head, touching her lips first to one cheek, then the other.

  ‘You brought her to me,’ Teresa said softly. ‘Thank you.’

  Raúl held Teresa close, then gently brushed his lips to her forehead in a gesture that tore at Gianna’s heartstrings.

  ‘Yes,’ he responded softly. ‘Anything you ask of me.’

  Which begged the question—had he been reluctant to comply with Teresa’s wishes? And, if so, why? Because he’d moved on? Was Raúl contemplating divorce proceedings, too, as she already had? And why did that possibility suddenly cause a shaft of pain? It hardly made sense. But then what did in the current scenario…except a mutual love and affection for Teresa? The only reason Gianna had agreed to travel to Mallorca.

  ‘I’ve had Elena prepare two suites in the guest wing,’ Teresa began. ‘Raúl, feel free to make use of the home office while you’re here.’

  Raúl was staying? Dear heaven…for how long?

  Not…please…for the entire two weeks, surely? He had a huge conglomerate to oversee. Yet with modern technology he could do that from almost anywhere in the world.

  A fact which irked her unbearably, and she barely veiled the gleam of anger threatening to appear in her vivid blue eyes.

  A faint smile teased the edges of his mouth, almost as if he could read the passage of her thoughts.

  ‘Go freshen up—change if you wish,’ Teresa offered. ‘Then join me for coffee on the terrace. It’s very peaceful there at this time of day.’

  Sadly, Gianna noticed, Teresa’s slender frame had diminished a little, and the beautiful dark eyes appeared to have lost some of their sparkle.

  Gianna’s heart ached, and she fought to keep the unbidden well of tears at bay as she turned towards the staircase.

  The villa was well planned, its physical structure comprising a large central area containing a spacious marble-tiled entry foyer, high ceilings and a wide sweeping staircase curving to the upper level, dividing the villa into two wings. One of them was devoted to Teresa’s private rooms, while the opposite housed four guest suites. At ground level a large formal lounge and dining room, media and entertainment rooms fanned to the right of the entry foyer, with library, home office and informal lounge and dining room housed to the left. A spacious kitchen, utility rooms and staff quarters were contained in an adjoining building and connected to the villa by an enclosed walkway
.

  Teresa loved to entertain, Gianna reflected as she ascended the magnificent staircase, and was a dedicated fundraiser for children’s charities. Her Madrid mansion had often been thrown open to host a variety of functions.

  Mallorca was Teresa’s sanctuary, providing a low-key lifestyle where she retreated to relax and unwind. Now she’d made it her permanent home.

  ‘Choose, Gianna.’

  The sound of Raúl’s drawl brought her back to the present, and she lifted a hand in a non-committal gesture. ‘Any one will be fine.’

  ‘As long as it’s not mine?’

  She spared him a dark look. ‘That doesn’t even qualify for an answer.’ With that, she moved past him and entered the suite at the end of the hallway. Only to discover he’d followed in her wake. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  One eyebrow slanted with musing cynicism as he deposited her bag at the end of the large bed. ‘I imagine you’ll want to unpack.’

  Gianna schooled her voice to be cool, polite. ‘Thank you.’

  He inclined his head, and she was willing to swear she glimpsed amusement in those dark eyes an instant before he turned and left the suite.

  Day one, she accorded wryly. Thirteen more to go. Please God, he wouldn’t stay for all those remaining.

  Each of the guest suites was spacious and lavishly decorated, with handcrafted furniture, walk-in wardrobes, and an adjoining en suite bathroom. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view over lush manicured lawns and gardens to the ocean.

  Beautiful, she complimented silently. Tranquil, she added. It came as no surprise Teresa had chosen to spend time here, for a sense of peace permeated the air.

  A double knock on the door provided a timely interruption, and when she opened it, Raúl was standing in the aperture.

  ‘If you’re ready, we’ll go down together.’

  To refuse would be churlish, not to mention impolite. Yet she had this innate desire to contest his every word and action. Which amounted to being childish, she castigated herself silently.