Public Marriage, Private Secrets

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Now, was I right?’ Cristina queried as they exited the boutique. ‘Or was I right?’

  Gianna laughed and lifted a hand to share a high-five gesture. ‘I concede. Now it’s your turn.’

  Red—a powerful colour for a powerful young woman.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Gianna declared a short while later as Cristina checked her mirrored image. ‘You have to have it.’

  ‘You’re wicked.’

  Gianna merely smiled. ‘If the glove fits…’

  The vendeuse smiled at the thought of her commission on two expensive gowns, and carefully packaged each purchase in tissue before consigning them to a glossy signature carry-bag.

  ‘Coffee—hot, sweet and strong,’ Gianna directed as they emerged from the boutique. ‘While you get to tell me about the Real Madrid soccer player.’

  ‘Nothing to tell.’

  ‘You don’t see it going anywhere?’

  ‘How can it? His face is constantly in the media. He doesn’t make a move without some photographer trailing along in the hope of a photo opportunity.’ Cristina gave a careless shrug. ‘Who wants that?’

  ‘You like him.’ It was a statement, not a query.

  ‘I’m merely one in a cast of thousands…millions,’ she amended.

  ‘You might see it that way,’ Gianna offered sagely. ‘The question is…does he?’

  ‘Who would know?’

  ‘Maybe he’s tired of women playing the sycophant and he values your honesty.’

  ‘And maybe the moon is just a round yellow cheese-ball.’

  At that moment Gianna’s cellphone beeped, and she took the message, keyed in an answer, then returned the phone to her bag.

  ‘We have ten minutes before Miguel collects me.’

  Except it was Raúl at the wheel when the large car slid to a halt outside the hotel entrance. Cristina declined his offer to drop her back to Aunt Rosita’s apartment.

  ‘Shopping,’ she explained eloquently, then waved as Raúl eased the Mercedes into the flow of traffic.

  ‘If Miguel was unavailable, I could easily have taken a taxi. There was no need for you to stop work.’

  He cast her a brief musing glance. ‘Perhaps I chose to take a break.’

  ‘How kind.’

  He bit down the desire to laugh. ‘You managed to fit in some shopping?’

  ‘Cristina can be very persuasive.’

  ‘Girl-time?’

  ‘Something a man will never understand.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Men tend to bond with each other from time to time.’

  ‘Business. The stock market. Shares. Property. Women talk clothes, shoes, bags, cosmetics, perfume.’

  He negotiated an intersection, then drawled, ‘You want to talk clothes?’

  She turned and subjected him to an analytical appraisal. ‘Love the shirt. That deep blue enhances the darkly brooding Mediterranean look.’ She wasn’t done. ‘And the cologne…what is that? A special lux blend, or off the shelf?’

  ‘Darkly brooding?’

  ‘Oh, definitely. White also does it,’ she offered sweetly. ‘Perhaps you could try pale blue, or…’ she paused fractionally ‘…pale pink? Just for a change, of course. Although I doubt your contemporaries would take you seriously in pink. Now, you can’t beat a black tee to project masculinity. A thin cotton blend that hugs the shoulders, emphasises the biceps and hints at tight abs. Now, there’s a look. Worn with black jeans, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Of course, if you want to go all out, you could let your hair grow a little, just so the ends curl at your nape, but kept well groomed—although wild and unruly is also a captivating look. Women love to have something to grab on to in the throes of passion. I could consider a moustache, well trimmed, although I think kissing a man with one could be rather hard on the lips.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Don’t wear a gold neck chain. They’re so yesterday. A Rolex is a must. And I do like a ring that makes a statement. Platinum set with two rows of diamonds. Hand-crafted leather shoes. Preferably Italian.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Spanish?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing. I’m merely offering my personal preferences here.’

  ‘I would never have guessed.’

  ‘You did suggest we talk clothes,’ she reminded him with a sweet smile. ‘I could, if asked nicely, assess your wardrobe.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with my wardrobe.’

  ‘Of course not. If I recall correctly, everything is colour-coded—suits, shirts, ties, trousers, even shoes.’

  ‘And that’s a fashion crime?’

  ‘Not at all. It merely accentuates your need for order. I, on the other hand, rather enjoy the seek and find method…I’m invariably surprised.’ Not quite true, for she did keep everything together in neat groups. Besides, she could always put her hand on what she needed at any given time.

  The Mercedes began to lose speed, and within seconds Raúl used a remote to open the gates to Teresa’s villa.

  ‘There, you see,’ Gianna offered in a deceptively mild voice. ‘We managed to survive the drive without once lapsing into an argument.’

  His eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘The day isn’t over, minx.’

  ‘If that’s an endearment, it sucks.’

  ‘What would you have me call you? Querida? Amante?’

  ‘Please don’t. They no longer apply.’

  He drew the car to a halt beneath the porte-cochère, and she collected her package and slid from the passenger seat, supremely conscious of him as they passed through the massive double doors into the lobby.

  ‘Thanks for the ride,’ she said quickly as she made for the staircase.

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  There were several hours until dinner, hours which she needed to fill productively, and somehow subsiding into a chair with a book held little appeal. The time difference meant it was too early to call Annaliese at Bellissima, and her brother, Ben, would be out taking his early-morning run.

  She needed action of the physical kind—exercise that would use up her excess energy. A hard workout would do it, but she’d need to drive to the nearest gym…which was where?

  Elena would know. She quickly changed into cotton trousers, pulled on a tee, then stowed shorts, a tank top, sneakers and her wallet into a backpack and made her way down to the kitchen. ‘Of course, señora. I shall tell Miguel.’

  Except instead of handing her a set of keys Miguel insisted on acting as chauffeur, in spite of her assurance all she needed were specific directions.

  ‘The señor insists.’

  ‘There was no need to disturb Raúl,’ Gianna protested, only to incur a frown in dissent.

  ‘I respectfully disagree. The señor insists you do not venture away from the villa alone.’

  You have to be joking. Words she didn’t express aloud. Instead, she merely inclined her head. ‘Would you mind waiting? I need to discuss something with the señor.’

  Did she ever!

  The office door was closed, its heavy panelled door an imposing statement which failed to deter her from issuing one brief knock before entering.

  Raúl glanced up from the computer screen, caught the determined look in those blue eyes, and settled back in his chair to view her with deceptive indolence.

  On one level he was amused to discover she imagined she could do battle with him…and win. Yet her barely concealed anger was intriguing.

  He was scheduled to participate in a conference call in five minutes, which didn’t allow much time for the inevitable verbal tussle she intended to perform.

  ‘Miguel has instructions to deliver and collect you from wherever you want to go.’

  Her eyes flared. ‘I don’t need a bodyguard. And don’t you dare refer to Miguel as anything else.’

  He lifted both arms and crossed them behind his head as he regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You’d prefer to drive to a destination you’re unfamiliar with, perhaps even misi
nterpret directions and end up on a winding mountain road?’

  He almost expected a verbally aggressive denial, and she didn’t disappoint.

  ‘I lived and drove a car in Madrid, remember?’

  ‘Mallorca is not Madrid.’

  ‘In which case I’ll call for a taxi.’

  ‘Doing so won’t necessarily eliminate a possible confrontation involving media attention.’

  He saw her eyes widen, then begin to narrow. ‘What precisely are you saying?’

  ‘Sierra is holidaying on the island.’

  And hunting him.

  Raúl shook his head. ‘Think again.’

  Her? Comprehension occurred swiftly as she envisaged a few scenarios Sierra was capable of manufacturing…none of which were pretty.

  ‘And you were planning on telling me this…when?’

  ‘After dinner, when Teresa retired for the evening.’

  Gianna’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘You believe Sierra will contrive a supposedly chance meeting…and you don’t think I’m capable of handling her?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to see you put in that position.’

  She took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. ‘Don’t underestimate me,’ she warned with silky intent. She longed to fling a verbal barb, only to restrain herself from doing so.

  It irked that he knew, and her eyes flashed blue fire.

  ‘My purpose is to prevent any mud-slinging Sierra may choose to create in order to gain the sort of attention Teresa would find distressing.’ He paused imperceptibly. ‘Not to mention you.’

  ‘Oh, please.’

  She was no longer the emotionally vulnerable young woman of three years ago. Yet his gut instinct warned he implement precautionary measures.

  Sierra was unpredictable at best. A disturbed young woman who had played a deliberate game to which only legal action had brought surcease…by which time his marriage had been in tatters and Gianna had retreated to the other side of the world.

  Sierra had been very clever, ensuring that while she skated to the edge of harassment she didn’t cross it, choosing instead to use her family connections to gain invitations to social events he attended on the Velez-Saldaña conglomerate’s behalf, thereby providing a visual taunt he was powerless to prevent while she abided by the terms of the restraining order. She didn’t call, contact or approach him in any way.

  She didn’t need to, he reflected bitterly. The damage had already been done.

  ‘Miguel or I will accompany you. Choose.’

  Gianna didn’t hesitate. ‘Miguel,’ she nominated sweetly, and glimpsed his faint smile as she turned to exit the office.

  Working out helped ease some of the built-up tension, and when she was done, showered, changed and had alerted Miguel via cellphone that she was ready to return to the villa, she felt refreshed, alert and on top of her game…whatever her game happened to be.

  Staying abreast of Raúl had to figure in there somewhere.

  Let’s not forget Sierra whose presence in Mallorca seemed to indicate she maintained a close eye and ear on every detail regarding Raúl.

  Not exactly difficult to do, Gianna had to admit, when he regularly appeared in the news media, having successfully closed another deal, or attending a social event. Therefore it seemed feasible word had circulated that Gianna was also in residence at his mother’s villa.

  A young woman who had regained her emotional and mental strength…was healed, confident and strong.

  So why did she feel emotionally connected to Raúl when she’d mentally confined him in a locked box and thrown away the key?

  Sure she had. During the daylight hours.

  It was the dark night hours when his image intruded into her dreams…taunting, haunting in a way that made for restlessness and little sleep.

  It was almost frightening that she could still be attracted to him when he’d betrayed her with Sierra.

  She had the proof…didn’t she? Even though he’d denied the affair.

  Except since spending time with him again in Mallorca a glimmer of doubt had intruded, causing her to re-examine for the umpteenth time the facts as she knew them.

  Sierra visiting Argentina at the same time as Raúl had been in Rio on business. Coincidentally staying at the same hotel or so she’d said.

  When Gianna had called him, it had been Sierra who had answered the phone in his suite.

  But had Sierra arrived uninvited on some pretext or other as Raúl had assured her?

  Had he, in fact, been taking a call on his cellphone, unaware Sierra had picked up the landline on the first ring?

  Had Sierra dismissed the call as being in-house…as he had said?

  Gianna had accepted the evidence as being conclusive proof…sure in her mind at the time that it was the truth. Except she’d been experiencing depression over the loss of their babe, vulnerable, sensitive and susceptible…and Sierra had been so convincing in her intention to wreak havoc.

  Oh, God… What if she had been wrong? What if the entire debacle had been a deliberate attempt on Sierra’s part to cause trouble?

  Should she have believed Raúl’s denial? Trusted in him? Seen the situation for what it was?

  The thought she might have played into Sierra’s hands sickened her now, as it had then. Dammit, she’d loved Raúl with every cell in her body, her heart, all that she was. Believed in him, them, the sanctity of their marriage.

  Had he been faithful to her since they’d first met as he’d assured her?

  Think, she cautioned. Only there was danger in too much thought.

  She had a life in Australia, a home, business, friends…plans.

  Yet the lingering doubt persisted, brought to the surface by Cristina’s confidence, and no matter how hard she tried it wouldn’t go away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS during breakfast that Teresa mentioned a soirée to be held that evening in a friend’s villa in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

  ‘It will be a pleasure to represent you,’ Raúl assured her gently, in a bid to minimise Teresa’s voiced regret at not being able to attend.

  ‘Ana is incredibly generous in opening her home to host these occasions. My help is minimal in comparison.’

  Yet Gianna recalled with ease the number of times Teresa had opened her Madrid home to host various fundraising functions. The expense of doing so gifted without question.

  Devising interesting functions in order to raise funds for deserving charities required experience, imagination, and above all, organisation. Committees were formed, women volunteered their time, expertise and even their homes in a bid to host a successful soirée to benefit a children’s hospital wing with equipment, toys, digital televisions, DVDs. The list was endless, the functions many. Some were elaborate annual events; others by select invitation only.

  Gianna had always respected the time and energy Teresa devoted to causes close to her heart, and knew the sadness Teresa must experience now at being forced through illness to take a much less active role.

  ‘Gianna, are you sure you don’t mind partnering Raúl?’

  Excuse me? Since when was it assumed she would partner Raúl? Surely there was someone else he could call on, even at such short notice?

  Except how could she say she had other plans when all her plans centered around Teresa’s welfare?

  ‘Of course not,’ she assured her with a smile.

  ‘Thank you. I’m very grateful.’

  And that was sufficient. After all, attending a function supporting a good cause was no big deal. It wasn’t as if it was a new experience, given she’d attended similar functions in the past.

  It was likely she’d be able to touch base with a few people she hadn’t seen in a few years. Appearing at Raúl’s side didn’t make it a date. It just so happened she was visiting Teresa at the time.

  Choosing what to wear posed no problem as she instinctively selected the lilac gown with its crystal beading.

  The colour enhanced her
blue eyes, added soft texture to her skin, and with the skilled appliance of make-up the overall result was pleasing.

  The length of her hair was swept into a fashionable knot held in place with crystal pins. A light spritz of her favourite perfume, diamond ear-studs, a slim diamond tennis bracelet added a finishing touch, and she slid her feet into delicate silver strappy stilettos, collected an evening clutch purse, then she exited the room and made her way to the head of the staircase.

  Raúl was in the process of descending, and he turned and waited for her to join him.

  The breath caught in her throat—a habit which occurred far too often just lately for her peace of mind.

  Resplendent in a black tailored evening suit, snow-white linen shirt with black silk tie, he was something else. Ruggedly attractive, with harshly chiselled features, well-defined bone structure, he emanated a formidable aura of power. For beneath his forceful image lay a blend of latent sensuality which drew women like bees to a honeypot. Including her.

  Even now, when she professed to dislike him for his purported transgressions.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he complimented quietly, and stilled the urge to place his lips against the sweet curve of her neck.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The faint pulse at the base of her throat had quickened its pace, and he took pleasure from the fact.

  Miguel had the Mercedes parked adjacent the main entrance, and Raúl saw her seated before crossing round the vehicle to slip in behind the wheel.

  ‘It would help if you’d fill me in about the purpose of this evening’s function, the name of our host and hostess, and any applicable background information,’ Gianna suggested as they left the villa.

  ‘Ana and Franco own a spacious villa at Sóller, high on a hill overlooking the sea,’ Raúl informed her. ‘Ana is a tireless supporter of children’s charities, especially those for children disadvantaged by life-threatening illness. Franco shared similar business interests with my late father, and both families are friends of long standing.’

  ‘Tonight’s function is specifically aimed at raising funds for which particular charity?’

  ‘The building of an entertainment wing where terminally ill children can enjoy some of the luxuries most children take for granted. Electronic games that can be engaged in via remote control onto individual screens and played from their wheelchairs. Future donations will include a nurse-aide’s salary. Laptop computers set up to access the Internet so that the children can e-mail family and friends. The aim is to stimulate the mind and keep it active, even if physical mobility is limited.’