by Jennie Lucas
He’d helped her put it on tonight in their bedroom. Then, after taking one look at her, he’d helped her swiftly take it off again. Which is why they’d arrived twenty minutes late. Her cheeks went hot, remembering.
It wasn’t like her to blush. But her husband did that to her. He peeled away her defenses, leaving her trembling and gasping and hot. Just as he’d peeled away her lingerie in that shop.
As they walked through the crowded ballroom, as they ate dinner at the head table, as she saw her husband honored by his peers, Lola basked in the glory of being his wife. Especially since he made it clear to everyone that it wasn’t just his glory, but hers. Whenever anyone congratulated Rodrigo, he said: “It was entirely my wife’s idea. She should be getting this award with me.” His dark, sensual gaze simmered through hers. “I’ll thank you later, believe me.”
She shivered. She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of him thanking her.
Her heart was bursting with pride as she watched him go up to the podium, to thunderous applause. But as he started his speech on stage, someone plopped beside her at the table in the darkened audience, into his empty chair.
Looking in surprise, she saw Ulrika Lund, the well-known director, whom Rodrigo had briefly been engaged to after Pia Ramirez, some eight years before.
“So you’re the wife,” Ulrika said without preamble. She was very thin, with muscular arms, and dressed in severe black.
“Do you mind?” Lola said, annoyed. “I’m trying to hear his speech.”
“I’m sure you are, because he’s praising you. He praised me once, too. For about a day.” Her jaw tightened. “But as soon as I agreed to marry him, he was suddenly too busy to see me.”
“Is that your excuse for cheating on him?” Lola said coldly, looking up at her handsome husband on the stage, wishing the woman would go away.
Ulrika leaned forward, drumming her fingers impatiently. “I met another man while Rodrigo was gone. A man who hung on my every word. Eventually I gave in. Then someone sent Rodrigo photographs of our night together. That gave him a convenient excuse to end our engagement.” She paused. “I never saw the other man again. Even when I tried to find him. I discovered he’d given me a fictitious name.”
A warning buzz went off in the back of Lola’s mind. It sounded almost exactly like the story that Pia Ramirez had told. Coincidence, she told herself firmly. Pushing the disquieting thought aside, she said, “And this affects me how?”
“I think Rodrigo was behind it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lola bit out. As her husband continued to speak on stage, other people at the table looked in irritation at their whispers.
“It took me a while to figure it out,” Ulrika said with a hard stare. “But every time Rodrigo gets close to a woman, he sabotages it. I used to blame myself, but not anymore. Not after it happened in all three of his engagements.” She looked at Lola. “He actually married you. So the devastation will be twice as crushing when it comes.”
“It won’t—because I’d never cheat on him!”
“Don’t get comfortable. That’s what I came to tell you. Because you won’t be with him for long.” The woman glanced up at the stage, her lips twisting bitterly. “He’ll see to that.”
And she left.
Lola felt dizzy as she tried to focus back on stage. Her husband was smiling, gripping the edges of the podium, looking out of his spotlight toward the thousand film industry people sitting at tables in the ballroom.
“And most of all, I’d like to thank my former assistant, now my wife, for being the reason I’m here tonight, accepting this award. And more importantly, for giving me the greatest gift of all—our baby son.”
There was a low awwww from the crowd, and then applause, scattered at first, then building to a roar, as he smiled for the crowd and, gripping his gold statuette high, left the stage.
But Lola only dimly heard his words or the crowd’s adoring response. All she could suddenly think about was the stranger who’d shown up in California, when Rodrigo was in South America. The stranger who’d come out of nowhere to chat with her on the beach.
Are you all alone? You’re too beautiful to be lonely. Would you like some company? You and your charming baby?
He’d made her nervous, but she’d told herself it was just typical California friendliness. And as for the man’s uncanny good looks, well, half of Los Angeles were out-of-work actors. Good-looking people were the norm, not the exception.
But now the whole thing had a surreal, almost sinister aspect.
Every time Rodrigo gets close to a woman, he sabotages it. I used to blame myself, but not anymore. Not after it happened in all three of his engagements.
No. Lola took a deep breath. It couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t sabotage his own engagements. Why would he?
She had the sudden memory of his face when they’d returned to the apartment in Madrid. He’d looked almost—haunted.
And yet she knew he’d grown up surrounded by wealth, with both parents. She’d always assumed he’d had a happy childhood, growing up in privilege. But now, not for the first time, she wondered about the dark shadows she’d seen in his eyes. Not just in Madrid, but from the day they’d met. That edge of cold ruthlessness in him, beneath his civilized veneer.
Together, you and I can give him a better childhood than we had. Either of us.
She’d never seen a picture of his parents or even of Rodrigo as a child, she suddenly realized. No family pictures, not in his beach house or anywhere else. And the story he’d told of his parents abandoning him on Thanksgiving, leaving him with the cook. Who did that?
What didn’t she know about his past?
A trickle of ice went down her spine. Could Ulrika Lund’s suspicions have a shred of truth?
I still wonder sometimes who sent those photos. Pia Ramirez had sounded bewildered. And who that man was. I never saw him again. But he destroyed everything.
Was it remotely possible that Rodrigo could have hired those men himself to try to seduce them, as a test of his fiancées’ loyalty?
Or, worse, as Ulrika had suggested, because Rodrigo just wanted a good excuse to end those engagements?
No, Lola thought desperately. Rodrigo’s not like that. He wouldn’t do that.
But she knew he had a cold, ruthless streak. She thought of the way he’d cut her so abruptly out of his life because he’d seen a few lingerie photos and heard a vicious, untrue rumor.
Right after she’d dared to say she loved him.
“Well?” Rodrigo sat down beside her, putting the gold statuette on the table with a grin. “How did I do?”
“It was very good,” she said, wishing she’d been able to actually listen to his speech, rather than the unsettling ideas that Ulrika had put in her head.
“I meant it.” His dark eyes focused on her intently. “Every word.”
“Oh. Um.” She bit her lip, lowering her gaze, feeling the smiling gaze of others around them at the table. “Good.”
Lola wondered what he’d say if she told him about Ulrika’s accusation. Surely, Rodrigo would laugh. Yes. He’d laugh. Then they’d both laugh together.
And yet, she couldn’t force the words out. Because she was scared of what would happen. Scared of what he’d say.
Lola remembered again that man on the beach. Walking alone, without any apparent reason to be there. Or any way of getting there, unless he’d climbed over the cliffs jutting out into the ocean. Why would anyone do that?
Unless he was paid.
Unless it was his job.
How easy would it be to hire an actor willing to do underhanded work for exceptionally high pay? Especially for a billionaire who happened to own an international conglomerate of television networks and film studios?
“Lola? Did you hear me?”
She blinked up at Rodrigo,
sitting beside her in the hotel’s grand ballroom in the center of Madrid. “Yes, I mean, no. What did you say?”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “I’ve decided I’ll go with you and the baby to New York for Thanksgiving.”
An unexpected smile lifted her lips. “You will?”
“If nothing else, I can use the time to negotiate with Cristiano Moretti for a deal with his hotels.” He grinned. “Though I know what you’re thinking.”
“I doubt that,” she said faintly.
“You’re going to tell me that I work too much. That Thanksgiving is a time for friends and family.”
“Yes. Exactly.” She turned away, reaching for her tiny handbag so he couldn’t see her expression. “I’ll let Tess know to expect us.”
As she sent a message on her phone, the ballroom lights suddenly became brighter, as guests began to take their leave. With a deep breath, she looked up at her devastatingly handsome husband, sitting beside her, barely acknowledging people’s congratulations as they passed by. His dark gaze was focused only on her.
“Shall we take advantage of the housekeeper watching Jett tonight, and go to the after-party?” Leaning forward to tuck hair behind her ear, he whispered huskily, “Or would you rather go home?”
Lola tried to pull away. To keep her body from responding to his touch. To be guarded and cold. To protect herself, just in case her worst fears were true.
But she couldn’t.
“Home,” she breathed, searching his gaze.
“Good.” Her husband cupped her cheek, his dark eyes lazy as he gave her a sensual smile. Exactly, Lola thought with a shiver, like a cat would look at the mouse in its claws.
* * *
“You’re sure this is it?” Lola said nervously, juggling their whining baby in her arms.
Rodrigo stopped ahead of her down the hall, pushing the empty stroller. Double-checking the number, he looked back at her.
“There are only two on the penthouse level,” he said, waiting for her to catch up. “This is it.”
Lola saw the number clearly on the door, and felt foolish. But then, she’d felt foolish a lot today.
After their five-day trip to Madrid, they’d left for New York later than planned yesterday. Jett had been fussy on the plane. He was teething, which made the baby irritable and unable to sleep, which made him miserable. Which made his parents miserable, too.
They’d woken up exhausted that morning in Rodrigo’s luxurious SoHo loft, cranky and tired from a transatlantic flight followed by a sleepless night. Her husband had suggested they let the baby sleep in that morning, and the two of them enjoy the time in bed.
But Lola had dreamed of seeing the New York Thanksgiving Day parade since she’d watched it on television with her mother, long ago, and then later, when her mother worked on that day, with her little sisters. She was determined that their baby’s first holiday season would be magical, starting with this Thanksgiving weekend in New York.
So she’d insisted on waking Jett up, getting everyone dressed and out early into the cold, icy morning to wait on snow-covered streets. They’d watched the parade from Rodrigo’s specially arranged VIP seats, and at first, it hadn’t gone too badly. Holding their bundled-up baby in her lap, as they waited for the parade to begin, Lola had felt excitement that exceeded the cold nip of the air. This was exactly the life she’d yearned for when she was younger. This moment. Being a family. Having enough money to be safe and secure. Jett was having the childhood she’d only dreamed of as a girl.
Reaching for Rodrigo’s gloved hand, she’d whispered, “Thank you.”
He looked surprised, then his dark eyes gleamed. “All this for some seats at a parade?”
“You don’t understand.” She blinked hard in the cold air. “My whole childhood, I dreamed of this. The life only rich people could have. To be in New York for the Thanksgiving parade, and see real snow, and eat a pretzel on the street and spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square...”
“You know that you don’t have to be rich for any of that, don’t you?”
“And a big expensive Christmas tree. And a mansion in Beverly Hills.”
“Beverly Hills? Malibu isn’t good enough?”
“I know. That part was silly.” She looked down. “But my first Christmas in LA, when I was still trying to be an actress, I delivered flowers for a shop in Beverly Hills. I saw all these gorgeous mansions decorated for Christmas, and sometimes I’d see the people who lived there. There was one house in particular, once owned by silent film stars. El Corazón, I think it was called. One Christmas Eve I saw the family who lived in it and I dreamed...”
“Dreamed of what?”
Catching herself, she flashed a crooked grin. “Dreamed of their mountains of presents around the tree.”
“Ah.” His voice was amused. “Mountains of presents in a Beverly Hills mansion. That does take money.”
As he took her hand in his own, Lola wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her dream hadn’t been mountains of presents, but something less tangible. She’d seen just a brief flash of the wealthy, perfect family, the handsome husband playing with his children as his wife answered the door in an apron, obviously just come from baking some kind of holiday treats. All of them glowing with health, happiness and love. To Lola, heartbroken over her baby sisters, with just five dollars to her name, that life had seemed as perfect and untouchable as their magnificent manicured gardens beyond the walls.
Lifting a dark eyebrow, Rodrigo said wickedly, his fingers tightening over hers, “But you’re getting ahead of yourself, querida. Santa brings mountains of presents only to those who are good, not naughty like you.”
“Oh, but I’ve been good,” Lola whispered, leaning toward him on the VIP bench as they waited for the parade to begin. Reaching out with her glove, she’d cupped his cheek, still dark with five o’clock shadow as they’d rushed out that morning early with no time for him to shave. “I’ve been very, very good. But maybe I can be even better...”
Rodrigo’s black eyes had gleamed as he leaned down to kiss her.
Then their tired, irritable baby burst into a plaintive cry in Lola’s arms.
She spent the next hour juggling him, with a pacifier and a teething toy. She was so frantic, bouncing him in her lap to keep him from crying, that she barely noticed the enormous balloon floats finally fly past or the marching bands pass by. As Jett continued to fuss, she imagined people around them judging her harshly for bringing a five-month-old baby to sit outside in the freezing cold morning for a parade that took hours. She glared at someone who dared to look at her. She would have yelled something rude, but Rodrigo suddenly took the baby from her.
“Relax,” he told Lola firmly. Then he looked down at the baby in his lap. “Don’t keep your mother from enjoying her parade, mi pequeñito.”
The baby looked up at his father, tears still staining his plump face, his lips parted. But something about the low rumble of Rodrigo’s chest seemed to calm the baby. Frowning, Jett waved a chubby arm in his father’s direction, then chomped quietly on his chew toy, staring up at the big cartoon balloons in the sky.
Lola just stared at them together, tears burning behind her eyes.
After all her years of dreaming about seeing the parade in New York, she barely remembered it afterward. What she remembered was the way Rodrigo had comforted their baby.
After they left, they’d visited an expensive toy store, where Rodrigo ordered thousands of dollars of toys for Jett without once looking at a price. Since Jett wasn’t fussing, it was all enjoyable. Until Lola suggested having the toys delivered to their SoHo loft.
“It’ll be delivered to California,” he said firmly. “That’s our home.”
Lola felt deflated. “I know. But it’s so nice being back in New York. That’s where my friends live. My sisters.”
“My accountant said you
r sisters still haven’t cashed the check you sent them for college. Did the girls ever contact you?”
“Um... No. Not yet.” Her heart tightened. She was trying not to think about that, or what it might mean. She rushed to say, “Maybe they’ve been busy. You know how teenagers can be...”
“They might be thoughtless, but what about their parents?”
Lola thought of the one and only time she’d spoken to her sisters’ adoptive parents, when she’d showed up unannounced at their suburban home seven years before. When, while the girls had clung to their new mother, their father had told Lola to get the hell out before he called the police.
Lola pushed the painful memory away. A lot had changed since then. Surely they would realize they had nothing to fear from her now, and they’d accept her gift? And, you know, send a thank-you note or something?
But they hadn’t. Even that big check hadn’t made them want to talk to her.
Lola’s heart twisted, but she turned away with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter. Eventually I’ll get through to them.” Biting her lip, she looked up. “Though it would be easier if we lived here in New York instead of California...”
His face shuttered. “No.”
Tilting her head, Lola said thoughtfully, “Did you know that as the film industry is increasingly a worldwide market, New York has become a hotbed of media companies that will dominate the future of the entertainment business?”
Rodrigo looked as if he were fighting a smile. “You just made that up.”
Her lips quirked. “It could be true.”
Rodrigo snorted, shaking his head. Then, as they’d left the toy store, he’d said quietly, “I’m sorry, querida, but we live in California. Enjoy your time here while it lasts.”
Now, as they stood in the hallway of Tess’s new co-op building, Lola looked at her husband, her heart in her throat.
Enjoy your time while it lasts.
Would their marriage last? Or would that, too, soon end?
Every time Rodrigo gets close to a woman, he sabotages it... He actually married you. So the devastation will be twice as crushing when it comes.