by Jennie Lucas
“Don’t look at me like that, querida.” He gave a low, rueful laugh. “If you do, I’ll cancel our plans tonight, and spend the next twelve hours with you in bed.”
“Would that be so horrible?”
“No...and yes.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Because I have something very special planned for you.”
“Are we exchanging our Christmas gifts tonight?”
“Maybe,” he said huskily. “Except my gift to you can’t be wrapped. Something I know—” his eyes met hers “—is your heart’s desire.”
Joy pounded through her, making her dizzy. He was going to tell her he loved her. Tonight. She blurted, “I have something for you, too.”
Turning, she raced back to the master bedroom, where the stylists were packing up clothes and beauty supplies. Finding her bag from the jewelry store, she pulled out the gold wedding band she’d bought as his Christmas gift. She glanced at its inscription: I love you now and always.
But where could she hide it until the right moment? Biting her lip, she looked around desperately. “Is there a handbag to match my dress?”
“There’s always a bag,” the stylist said lazily. He narrowed his eyes, then gave a satisfied nod and handed her an adorable pink minaudière laced with pink crystals. Hastily, she tucked her phone, ID, a lipstick and a bit of cash inside. She felt bright with happiness. “Wait,” the stylist said, wrapping a pink stole around her shoulders. “Take this. It’s cold out.”
When she returned to the great room, Rodrigo came closer, dark-haired and devastating in his sleek tuxedo. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it, causing her to shiver as ripples of electricity and heat whipped through her body.
“Tonight, I want to fulfill all your dreams,” he said seriously, wrapping her hand over his arm.
Lola’s heart was pounding as he led her outside, where she saw his red two-seater Ferrari waiting. She tried to tell herself to calm down but couldn’t. She felt like she was in a dream as he helped her into the passenger seat.
After starting the engine, Rodrigo drove past the beach house’s gate and onto the coastal highway, heading east, into the sprawl of Los Angeles.
When they reached the outskirts of Beverly Hills, traveling a winding road past all the hidden mansions with their gates and fortress-like hedges, a sudden suspicion began to grow inside her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Rodrigo shook his head, a smile quirking his sensual lips. Then he turned into a driveway blocked by an elaborate wrought iron gate. Words were worked into the top of the tall gate: La Casa del Corazón.
“What are we doing here?” She turned to her husband, eyes wide. “Is there a party?”
“You might say that.” Reaching out of his window, Rodrigo punched in a code on the security keypad, causing the electronic gate to smoothly slide open. The car continued up the sweeping driveway. To her surprise, Lola saw cars parked along the short private road, all the way to the massive circular driveway around a Spanish-style stone fountain. Parking directly in front of the lavish mansion, he turned off the engine.
He turned to face her, his dark eyes shining.
“The house of your dreams.” Taking her hand, he put a key into her palm. “It’s yours.”
She blinked. “What?”
“It wasn’t on the market.” He gave her a quietly proud smile. “But you told me you wanted it, so I made the owners an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
Lola looked up at the stunning 1920s-era Spanish Mediterranean mansion. Built by silent film stars a hundred years before, this home was a rare beauty, an architectural landmark. Tears lifted to her eyes.
It wasn’t that he’d bought her a mansion. They already had one of those, a nice one on the beach.
It was that Rodrigo had listened. When she’d told him her youthful dreams, he hadn’t mocked them. He hadn’t forgotten. He’d tried to make them come true.
“But why are we dressed up like this?” she said, blinking fast. “And why are there so many cars? I don’t understand.”
His smile widened. “There’s more.”
“More?”
Searching his gaze, she caught her breath. He’d brought her family and friends here, she thought suddenly. Since they hadn’t been at the wedding. He was going to tell her he loved her tonight, in front of everyone she cared about, in front of Hallie and Tess and their families. In front of her sisters. The certainty, the overwhelming romance of the moment filled her.
And suddenly, she couldn’t wait. Fear disappeared, along with pride.
Lola let him see her heart. She didn’t even try to hide the joyful tears suddenly falling down her cheeks.
Looking up at him as he sat beside her in the Ferrari, she whispered, “I love you, Rodrigo.”
He blinked. He said slowly, “You love the house—”
“No. You.” She lifted her hand to his rough cheek. “Not your money. Not these diamonds—” she glanced down at her necklace “—not even this beautiful house. I love you,” she said fiercely. Shaking her head, she smiled through her tears. “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you. From the night we first kissed. All this time. Even when there was no hope.”
His gaze shuttered. “Lola—”
“I told you I was only marrying you for Jett’s sake. But it was a lie. I was scared to admit the truth, even to myself. But I can’t deny it any longer.” Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I love you. Only you. And I’ll love you forever.”
* * *
She couldn’t mean it.
Lola...loved him?
A horrifying flash of memories raced through Rodrigo of three other women speaking those exact same words, with the same apparent sincerity—right before they slept with another, with his engagement ring still on their fingers.
Only fools put faith in love. Fools and masochists. If he let himself love her, he knew how this would end.
And yet... His heart cried out for her.
He wanted to believe. His long-ago engagements felt like nothing—just the hasty, shallow infatuations of a young man—compared to what he felt for her now.
The thought shocked him.
Rodrigo’s gaze fell to the diamond engagement ring gleaming on Lola’s left hand. He couldn’t let himself love her. What if she betrayed him?
No. He took a shuddering breath. He couldn’t live through it. It would destroy him.
Rodrigo forced himself to give her a casual, crooked smile. “Lola, you don’t need to say you love me. I’ve already bought you the house. You can relax.”
Lola’s beautiful face, which had been hopeful and bright, closed up instantly. He felt an answering wrench in his chest that almost made him sick.
He knew she wasn’t pretending or buttering him up. She actually believed she loved him.
But he also knew it wouldn’t—couldn’t—last. He could not take the chance of loving her. They were married. They had a child. There was too much at stake to risk it on something so deceitful and destructive as love.
His jaw tightened. “We have guests. We should go inside.”
“Guests?” she said, with a tiny sliver of hope in her voice. “What guests?”
“It’s part of your surprise. A housewarming party.”
“Who did you invite?”
“Everyone.”
Her eyes lit up. “My sisters? My friends?”
Rodrigo suddenly wished he had. He should have invited the Morettis and Zaccos and those sisters of hers. It hadn’t even occurred to him.
“No,” he said quietly. “Industry people.”
The light in her eyes faded. “Oh.”
Looking down at her, he felt it again, that punch in the gut. And all of his Christmas plans he’d been arranging for weeks with Marnie, the mansion he’d been so excited to give his wife tonight as
a surprise, suddenly seemed meaningless and cheap.
His shoulders tightened in his tuxedo jacket. Getting heavily out of the car, he opened her door. Holding out his hand, he said, “Come.”
Her hand shook as she placed it in his. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. As they entered the house’s glittering foyer, beneath the wrought iron Spanish chandelier high above, he felt a ragged blade in his throat.
“Mr. Cabrera!” Marnie McAdam strode toward them in black stilettos, her skinny frame swathed in a black sheath dress. “You’re here!” She looked at him happily, then glanced at Lola. “Mrs. Cabrera, I hope you like your party.”
There was a strange note of satisfaction in Marnie’s voice that Rodrigo didn’t understand.
She’s just being a good assistant, he told himself. Marnie cared so much about her job, of course she wanted to make sure his wife has a good time. And yet it struck Rodrigo as odd.
Then he looked around them.
The enormous grand foyer, framed by a sweeping wrought iron staircase on each side, was filled with the most powerful people in the entertainment and media worlds: studio heads, directors and movie stars. He’d invited them because he wanted to properly introduce Lola, not as his assistant, but as his wife—to gain their respect for her as a power in her own right.
But now, as he glanced at Lola on his arm, Rodrigo realized his mistake.
The Spanish-style mansion was decorated in glamorous Christmas finery, with holly and ivy draped along the wrought iron handrails of the dual staircases. In the center of the enormous foyer, a twenty-foot Christmas tree was decorated with sparkling ornaments and lights glittering like stars. Beneath the tree was a veritable Himalayan mountain range of gifts, all for Lola and the baby, elegantly wrapped in red, as the decorator had arranged for maximum effect.
For weeks now, Rodrigo had imagined Lola’s face when she saw this. He’d been determined to give her everything she’d once dreamed of when she’d come to this city at eighteen, broke and alone.
But now, Lola’s beautiful face was sad. Her big hazel eyes looked heartbroken and numb. He’d never seen her look so vulnerable. Her lovely face still was tracked with dried tears, from when she’d told him she loved him just moments before, when she’d been crying with joy.
And now, of all times, he was forcing her to face judgmental strangers, his business partners and rivals. Now, at the very moment he’d hurt her so badly.
Rodrigo suddenly hated this stupid party. And this stupid house. He wished he’d never thought of this gift. He would have given anything to have the two of them back at the beach house. Alone.
All the people in formal gowns and tuxedos, drinking expensive champagne, turned toward them with a cheer.
“To Mr. and Mrs. Cabrera!” someone cried from the back, and everyone held up champagne flutes.
“Congratulations!” The shout rang across the enormous foyer.
“You did it, old man!” laughed a hot young filmmaker, barely out of USC film school, holding up his flute.
“And Merry Christmas!” cried someone else. “Wishing us all fat profits in this happy season!”
Lola suddenly burst into tears.
“Excuse me,” she choked out, covering her face.
“Lola, wait,” Rodrigo said desperately, but she ran out of the foyer. He tried to follow but found his passage blocked by ten different people, all of them coming forward to congratulate him—that was to say, determined to network with the powerful Spanish film mogul in hopes of getting their various projects made.
“Don’t worry, sir.” Standing beside him, Marnie flashed a sympathetic look. “I’ll go check on her.”
He tossed her a glance. “No, wait—”
But his assistant was already gone.
Five minutes, he told himself grimly. He’d let Lola have five minutes to gather herself. He’d never seen her sob like that before. He knew her pride. She wouldn’t want him to see.
But he’d already seen the tears overflowing her lashes. Just as he’d already seen her vulnerable heart.
I love you, she’d whispered. Only you. And I’ll love you forever.
“And in the spirit of Christmas, Cabrera—” a Hollywood power agent was saying eagerly, pumping his hand “—I’ll let you read my client’s screenplay. You’re a lucky bastard, because it’s truly spectacular—”
Screw five minutes, Rodrigo thought. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t know Lola was somewhere, crying alone, while he did nothing to comfort her. It was unbearable. He had to protect her. Comfort her. He had to make it right.
“Excuse me,” he said to the agent as he droned about his client’s high-concept plot. “I have to find my wife.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and pushed his way through the crowds of glamorous, wealthy guests, in the direction Lola had disappeared. Suddenly, Marnie blocked his path. Her thin face was anxious and worried.
“There’s an uninvited guest.”
“Take care of it,” he told her harshly. “I need to find Lola.”
But as he impatiently started to pass her, his assistant stopped him with a tug at his arm. “It’s Sergei Morozov.”
His wife’s old boss from New York? The Russian tycoon who’d wanted to marry her? That grabbed Rodrigo’s attention. He scowled at Marnie. “He wasn’t on the guest list.”
“No. Somehow he snuck in.”
Rodrigo took a deep breath, trying to shake off the sudden tension in his shoulders. What could Morozov be doing here, three thousand miles from New York? Old fears started to creep in. Could Lola have...?
No. He thought of the emotion shining in his wife’s hazel eyes when she told him she loved him. Lola would never cheat on him. He trusted her, as he trusted no one else.
“Let the man stay. I don’t care,” he said suddenly. He turned away. “I need to find my wife—”
“That’s just it, sir.” Marnie stopped him with her solemn, owl-like gaze. “I’m trying to tell you. Mr. Morozov is here. He’s with Mrs. Cabrera.” She hesitated, then said, “They’re together.”
Rodrigo frowned, unable to make sense of his assistant’s words. “Together?”
She bit her lip. “In the back garden. I saw them. Kissing—”
Marnie kept talking, but suddenly Rodrigo couldn’t hear her.
As he looked around the foyer, all the people talking and laughing and drinking champagne suddenly seemed like mere noise to Rodrigo, just smudges of color.
He had no memory of how he walked through the crowds to the French doors overlooking the terrace. He’d only remember the feeling of wading through air like water, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.
Outside in the cold air, he heard his assistant behind him as he walked across the Spanish terrace, looking out into the manicured tropical gardens, lush beneath the moonlight.
But he saw nothing. No one.
Waves of relief went over him. There was no one here. Reason returned to his brain and he started to turn back to Marnie. “You were mistaken—”
Then he saw a gleam of pink chiffon from the corner of his eye. A flash of Lola’s long blond hair.
And Rodrigo saw, in the shadows on the other side of the terrace, the sickening sight of another man embracing his wife.
“Do not worry, zvezda moya,” he heard the Russian croon, holding Lola tenderly in his arms. “You are safe now. With me.”
CHAPTER TEN
SHOCKED, LOLA STRUGGLED in her old boss’s arms.
A moment before, she’d run out on the dark, empty terrace to sob alone, when a man had suddenly appeared from the shadows. At first, she’d thought it was Rodrigo, and unwilling hope had risen in her heart. Then she’d recognized her old boss, Sergei Morozov.
“Sergei? What are you doing here?” she’d said in surprise, choking back her tears.
“What ha
s he done to you, Lolitchka?” he’d said indignantly. “Look at you. Crying. He did this?”
She’d shaken her head vehemently. “No, he—” Then she’d stopped. Because Rodrigo was exactly the reason why she was out here crying alone.
No. That wasn’t fair. He’d told her all along not to love him. Just like he had during the months of their first affair. And just like she had then, she’d let herself care for him anyway.
Only this was so much worse. Because she truly loved him. And she didn’t know how she’d ever be able to face him again, knowing all he felt for her in return was pity.
She’d done this to herself.
Wiping her eyes, she’d said to Sergei, “Did Rodrigo invite you here? Are you friends now?”
“Friends?” Sergei’s eyes had flashed. “No. This man you married, he sent me a message. Inviting me to take you.”
Lola had frowned. There must be something lost in translation. “Take me? Take me where?”
“Away from him.” He’d snorted. “I do not understand how he could so easily tire of you. Now I, I would not so quickly tire. But I do not question. I am here. I gladly take.”
“Take?” she’d said, backing away until her heels hit the mansion’s stucco wall, trapping her.
“Da,” he’d said huskily. “His email said we must be seen together. Then he pays nothing to end the marriage.”
“What?” she’d gasped in shock, staring at him. “He would never say that!”
She’d heard a French door open, as someone came out on the moonswept terrace. Grateful to have someone else there, to stop her old boss’s apparent madness, she turned to see who it was—
“Do not worry, zvezda moya.” His eyes gleamed. Grabbing her suddenly with his big arms, he yanked her hard against him. “You are safe now. With me.”
“What? Stop!” Lola struggled in his arms, breaking away just in time to see who’d come out on the terrace.
Rodrigo.
His handsome face looked pale beneath his tanned, olive-toned skin, his dark eyes black as death as he stared at her. In another man’s arms.