Читать книгу Bound By The Millionaire's Ring - Dani Collins, Dani Collins - Страница 11
ОглавлениеISIDORA’S MOTHER ANSWERED her call with “Oh, mi cielo. Henri just called. Such thrilling news! You’ve always loved Ramon so much—”
“Henri called you?” Isidora interrupted, praying her mother’s voice hadn’t carried.
Ramon was focused on his own phone as it buzzed with incoming texts. “Si,” Ramon said to Isidora. “Henri was watching the press conference. He’s sending a car for your mother now.”
“Henri is worried reporters will descend on you,” Isidora informed her mother.
Francisca would definitely say the wrong thing if she knew the engagement was a publicity stunt. Isidora didn’t clear up her mother’s misconception, and just said, “You should pack, Mama. Don’t keep them waiting.”
“Where is Ramon? I want to give him my love.” It was a twist of the knife her mother had plunged into her heart five years ago.
Isidora didn’t waste hatred on her own flesh and blood, though. She didn’t even bother speculating why her mother had taken Ramon to her bed when she had known how her daughter felt about him. She had processed long ago that her mother had an illness. An addiction. It looked like a dependence on sex, but it was actually a broken, empty soul starving for love and admiration. She was permanently an abandoned adolescent, like a broken runaway, with the same lack of judgment and gaping emotional needs.
Isidora would never feed in to that heartache by rejecting or reviling her. She did what she could to protect her. That’s why she held Ramon in such contempt. How could he take advantage of someone so vulnerable?
“Henri has spoken to both your parents. He’s bringing them to Sus Brazos for a few days while things blow over,” Ramon told her.
Don’t put them together, Isidora wanted to protest. Her parents were weak-willed where the other was concerned. It always ended the same, with her mother cheating and leaving for another man while her father nursed a freshly shattered heart. The hairline fracture left in Isidora’s heart pulsed with an old ache as she contemplated another round of emotional turmoil.
“Is that the doorbell, Mama?” Isidora broke in to her mother’s breathy ramblings. “Tell the staff to ask for identification. Call me when you’re settled. Te amo.”
Isidora ended the call and sent a text to her mother’s housekeeper with the same instruction about checking for identity.
“So,” Ramon said as their flurry of communication ended and they set aside their phones.
“Why?” she cried. “Why would you do that?”
Why had he said he loved her? It made it all the more hurtful. Thorny vines were tangled around her insides, squeezing and prickling. Half of it was self-recrimination. She would love to say she had gone along with it because she was a professional willing to sacrifice herself on the altar of her career. In truth, she had been so stunned, so appalled that he would exploit her old feelings in such a careless manner, she had been struck dumb.
“You know why. The retirement announcement wasn’t working.”
“Why me?” It was cruel. Her cheeks and throat and chest still burned, but when had he ever cared about hurting her?
“Was I supposed to come out as gay and propose to Etienne?” So blithe, shrugging off the damage he’d done. “I admit, that might have created a more effective stir, but maintaining that ruse for any length of time...?”
“Do you honestly think anyone is going to believe we’re a couple?” She wanted to kill him.
“That’s up to you, isn’t it? I’m serious about you working on looking more pleased about marrying a Sauveterre. We have an image to maintain,” he added with a disdainful tilt of his lips.
“Quit making jokes! This isn’t funny.” Her pulse raced like she was being chased through a dark forest by a pack of wolves. “I am not marrying you.”
“No,” he agreed, the single word dropping her old hopes like china on concrete. “But you will play the part of my fiancée until the attention on our family dies down.”
“Oh, right. When has that ever happened? No, Ramon. I refuse. Go ahead and fire me for insubordination. Make my day.”
He folded his arms and leaned his hips on the desk, his expression bored. “Are you done?”
“Are you implying I’m overreacting?” She was trembling, hands fisted at the ends of her tensed arms, entire body twitching with fight or flight. “You’re ruining my life.”
“Please,” he scoffed. “This is your job. You’re in front of the cameras all the time, standing next to one of us, making statements that say nothing. It’s more of the same.”
“It’s not. I’m fine as a Sauveterre minion, but I don’t want to be the main event!”
“You’re not a minion.” He drew back a little, sending her an annoyed frown. “You’re part of the inner circle. You know that.”
“Since when?” His siblings might treat her that way, but he certainly didn’t.
“I wouldn’t have gone down today’s route with anyone else, even if there had been other choices. We trust you. This is obvious by the position you hold. How is this news to you?”
“You trust me?” She refused to let herself believe it. Wouldn’t allow it to be important. “After what you said this morning about making my life difficult? Or was it miserable? Either way, you’re ticking all the boxes, aren’t you?”
He didn’t move, but his expression hardened. “Let’s talk about how I really ruined your life, shall we? Clearly we have to get that out of the way before you’ll be able to act like a grown-up.”
No. She felt her throat flex as it closed around a cry of pain, like an arrow speared into her windpipe. Without a word, she spun and headed for the door.
A snick sounded as she approached it. Oh, he had not just locked it. She gave the latch a furious wriggle and yanked on the door, but nothing happened. It was oddly frightening. She didn’t fear him exactly, but she was terrified of the feelings he provoked in her. They were always off the scale. And to lock her in and insist she talk about that?
No. Clammy sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hands and feet went icy cold.
She spun to see him behind his desk. His hand came away from a panel that he casually closed so the surface of his desk was smooth and unbroken once again.
“Why are you such a horrible person?”
“You know why. That is what I’ve been saying.” He spoke in a flat, implacable tone. The fact that he didn’t deny being reprehensible did nothing to reassure her. He moved to the wet bar near the sitting area and pulled out a bottle of anise. “Your preferred spirit, I believe?”
She didn’t answer, thinking it strange that he would know that. It was a common drink in Spain, though. It was probably a lucky guess. He poured them each a glass.
“You know our family history, Isidora. You played with my sisters when they had forgotten how. You visited Trella when she imprisoned herself in Sus Brazos. You showed a preference for me when every other girl on the planet couldn’t tell me apart from my brother and didn’t bother to try. Come. Sit.”
She stayed stubbornly by the locked door, arms folded, face on fire. She stood there and hated him for knowing how infatuated she had been. For talking about it like it was some cute, childish memory. Nostalgia for a first pet.
Most of all, she hated him for making her stand here and relive the morning when two of her most painful experiences collided and became an utterly unbearable one.
He leaned to set her drink on a side table and sipped his own, remaining standing, flinty gaze fixed on her resentful expression.
“I was flattered, but I couldn’t take you seriously. You were too young.”
She had known that. Eight years was a big gap and aside from a handful of boyish pursuits, he and his brother had always been beyond their years. Their sister’s kidnapping when they were fifteen had very quickly matured them, then their father’s early death had forced them to take control of an international investment corporation at twenty-one. They had been carrying tremendous responsibility for a decade. In many ways, Ramon was still too old for her.
“I don’t care that you never wanted to date me.” Lie. She cared. His disinterest had been demoralizing. “What I can’t forgive is that you slept with my mother.”
“I didn’t sleep with her,” he growled.
She snorted and looked away, working to keep her face noncommittal while she was dying inside, aching to believe that, but she wasn’t stupid. The fact he would lie to her face about it made it even worse.
“Did you ask her?” he prompted.
“No!” As if she wanted details about any of the men her mother slept with, most especially him. “I didn’t have to, did I? The evidence spoke for itself.”
“The evidence,” he repeated, tone light yet dangerous, increasing her tension.
“You were half-dressed, wearing a night’s stubble, and the hood of your car was cold. It doesn’t take a forensic scientist to figure out where you spent the night.”
“I’ve never denied spending the night.”
“In her bed. Two pillows were used. I looked.”
“I reclined on her bed while she changed and removed her makeup. We were talking. Nothing happened. We went back downstairs and drank enough that I decided to sleep it off on the sofa. I woke when I heard you come in. I tried to tell you this at your father’s birthday. You walked away.”
“Oh, please. Once she realized I’d come home, she didn’t say, ‘Oh, by the way, Ramon spent the night, but it was completely innocent.’ She asked how long I’d been there and looked guilty as hell.”
“That—” He pointed at her. “That is the real evidence, isn’t it? You don’t think your mother can’t bring a man home without making love with him.”
True, but that was such a complex issue for her, she refused to go there.
“You’ve hit a hard limit, Ramon. The way my mother lives is not up for discussion. I will walk. And that’s not why I think you’re the scum of the earth.”
His head went back as though the cold iron in her tone caught his attention. After a brief pause, he said, “If you’re thinking I’m the one who can’t spend a night with a woman and not have sex, you’re wrong.”
He was talking about Trella, she supposed. Her friend’s struggle with anxiety was something that turned Isidora inside out every single time she thought about it, but she refused to let herself soften with empathy. To give him the benefit of the doubt.
“You want me to believe that’s what you were doing that night?” She burned afresh with outrage and scorn. “Letting my mother cry on your shoulder? Then why didn’t you say so when we met in the lounge? I asked you what you were doing there and you said she had been looking for company so you came home with her. You knew what I took from that. You knew exactly what I was thinking. If you didn’t have sex with her, why did you let me believe you did?”
“Because you were eighteen and still carrying a torch.” His voice was a sledgehammer. “It had to stop.”
This moment was every bit as hard a hit as that moment had been, completely destroying any shred of hope she might have clung to. For a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe. The agony was that all-encompassing.
She wasn’t still carrying a torch, was she? She would swear she hadn’t been.
Until he had kissed her. Something tentative had begun playing in the back of her mind in the last hour, though. She was waiting for time alone to relive that kiss and properly savor it. To build it into something it would never become.
How pathetic.
He was right. This childish yearning had to stop.
As the silence lengthened, something tickled her cheek. She wiped at it, discovering it was a tear.
He released a heavy sigh, which scored, speaking as it did of his impatience with her intense feelings where he was concerned.
She was equally exhausted by it herself. She really was.
Last one, she vowed. That was the last tear she would ever cry over this man.
Because it didn’t matter if he had slept with her mother or not. What he was telling her, then and now, was that he would never be interested in her. Not as anything but a fake fiancée. A prop for one of his PR tricks.
She had to move on.
She nodded with understanding, feeling disconnected from her body. The muscles around her mouth twitched and she thought she might be trying to smile, but it was the kind that came when the tragedy was too great for any other emotion but laughter at how punishing life could be.
“Tough love,” she said, voice jagged beneath the irony.
He swore and she heard him exchange his empty glass for the one she hadn’t touched. He knocked back that shot and his breath hissed again.
“It was a test. You passed.”
“Because I didn’t turn on you and your family?”
Such a cold bastard. What had she ever seen in him? Aside from his incredible devotion to his family, of course. And his unbending will to win, his lust-worthy looks, his charisma, brilliant intelligence and unwavering confidence.
She wanted to turn on him now.
But she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her to walk away from people who needed her. Even when her own heart was twisted beyond recognition by staying.
That was her specialty, in fact. Wasn’t it? Helping her father and mother navigate the pain they caused each other, standing by both of them while they went through it. She carried on, fractured and battered by a heartrending personal life. Why should her professional life be any different?
Forcing herself to move, she closed herself into the powder room and checked her makeup. There was an emotive redness around her eyes and her lipstick was faintly smudged. She smoothed her hair and used a damp tissue to repair her lips, all the while thinking of the times her father had said he was proud of her. Not just for following in his footsteps, but for other things, too.
That love of his had pulled her through a lot—the devastation of learning he wasn’t biologically her father, for instance.
Bernardo was her anchor, her moral compass, her silver lining in a world too often clouded and stormy. He was the parent her mother was incapable of being.
He would never wind up in such a ridiculous position, but if he had to choose whether to work with a Sauveterre or against one, she knew what he would do: whatever was asked.
He would stay loyal to the offspring of the man who had convinced him to accept the child her mother had passed off as his own.
Isidora owed the Sauveterres for the man she called “Papa,” not that they knew it.
At least, when this was over, she would feel she had settled that debt.
* * *
Ramon savored the subtle bite of the anise, letting the fragrant sweetness roll on his tongue, thinking it was not unlike Isidora’s personal flavor. That kiss. As he finally had a moment alone, he gave in to the memory of driving his tongue into welcoming heat. He had half expected her to drive her knee into his groin, but the kick of her response had been even more devastating. That hadn’t been mere surrender. It had been a chemical explosion that had burned away everything he understood about kisses and women and sex.
What the hell?
He had held many beautiful women. None had sparked such a profound reaction in him. He had lost himself for a moment, absorbed in a vast landscape he instinctively knew would take a lifetime to explore.
Then the insanity of their public location had struck. He’d pulled out of the worst tailspin of his life, dazed and, yes, instantly defensive at having his thick shields penetrated so effortlessly.
If he had realized they were so sexually compatible—
No. He poured a third drink, refusing to go back and reexamine the turns he had already made. That was his brother’s MO. Henri liked to track results on spreadsheets and weigh options as he made projections and charted his next moves. That invariably resulted in accurate predictions that efficiently achieved the result he wanted, but it wasn’t Ramon’s style. He let his gut pick the goal and shot toward it via the swiftest, shortest line, making corrections as problems cropped up.
His aim was to protect his family, first and foremost. Always. He never let his libido distract him. It was a weakness. Strength was his only option. Too many people depended on him, especially now that Henri had a wife and two defenseless infants to look out for.
But Ramon did have weaknesses. Some of them came around annually as a long, dark night of the soul. When he was not in a position to spend those nights with family, he sought company, usually female. That was how he had come to enter a bar in Madrid and find the ex-wife of his father’s best friend, five years ago.
Francisca Villanueva was a delicate soul who carried a lot of pain. He had taken her home to keep less honorable men from taking advantage of her. He couldn’t save her from herself indefinitely, but he could for a night.
She had made him laugh and revealed her own pain, exposing more cracks in her family than he had ever guessed from Bernardo’s composed demeanor or Isidora’s sunny smiles.
Coming face-to-face with Isidora as he left the next morning had been like one of those moments on a racetrack, where a split-second decision had to be made.
Isidora had been making calf eyes at him since adolescence. The longer her legs grew, the more difficult it was to ignore her. Temptation had been closing its grip on him as she blossomed into an ever more alluring woman, but she was too young and inexperienced for the light, temporary affairs he offered.
As her smile of delighted recognition had faded into confusion and suspicion, then betrayal and devastation, he had let the disillusionment happen.
He could have corrected her assumption. He could have told her that his night with her mother had been wine and conversation and a chaste kiss on the cheek when her mother went to bed alone. He could have kept Isidora’s fixation on him alive, but to what end? He was never going to marry her. It wasn’t personal. He would never marry anyone. Children were completely off the table. His siblings might be changing their minds about opening themselves to liability, but Ramon hadn’t and wouldn’t.
So what had been his alternative in that moment? Encourage Isidora to keep mooning after him? Eventually date her, sleep with her, then break her heart? No. He had used the opportunity to cut her off the lane she was on. Cruel, yes, but a type of kindness. She was on track to crash and burn otherwise.
He had not foreseen that Henri would hire her years later, but he couldn’t argue with the appointment. Isidora had grown into a composed, accomplished woman with cutting-edge PR skills, and who possessed wit and intelligence. Most of all, she brought to the table a deep understanding of their family dynamics, allowing them to skip past painful history lessons.
Ramon accepted that she was angry. Hurt even. That she didn’t want to lie about their being engaged. His proposal had been another reflexive move. Cruelty without kindness, but there was no backing out. They would have to make the best of it.
He stroked his thumb on the curve of the glass he held, trying not to fall back into dwelling on how exquisite her response had been. It was a dangerous distraction when he needed to stay focused on what his family needed.
The powder-room door opened and Isidora came out wearing an expression that was both calm and—Was that a light of joy as she let a broad smile take over her face?
It kicked him in the chest. Dios, there really was no ignoring how lovely she was.
“Better?”
His ears rang so loudly it took him a moment to catch the sarcasm.
“You said I could leave when I managed to look happy about this. Good enough?” She dropped her smile.
The radiance in her expression dimmed so fast and sharp, he felt it like the chill when the sun went suddenly behind a cloud.
“You’ll need a retirement party and an engagement party,” she continued matter-of-factly. “Two different ones, to maximize the coverage.” She crossed to where she had left her phone. “We should do something around all the restructuring and promotions, too. We’ll call them team-building sessions, but something visual, like zip lines or a fun run. We’ll link it to a charity for a higher profile. You and I can make appearances, invite the press to watch you shake hands with your new CEOs. If I’m going to all this trouble to snag news coverage, Sauveterre International should benefit. I’ll need a ring. Something flashy. Gaudy, even. The gossip outlets are on ring watch with Angelique so let’s give them something to notice. I won’t keep it, so I’ll arrange a loan—”
“I’ll get the ring,” he interjected, not quite trusting this abrupt switch in attitude. “You’re doing this, then? No more arguing?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll argue, but you haven’t given me much choice, have you?” She took a moment to set her shoulders and lift her chin, as though bravely facing down a firing squad.
Was it really such a monumental favor? He hitched his hands on his hips, wanting to roll his eyes. “You’ll be compensated.”
“That’s not what I’m after.” She flashed him a cross look, offended. “I’ll always do what I can to help Trella. All of your family. But... How long does this have to last? Three or four months?” Her brow furrowed with calculation. “Once Trella has her baby and Angelique announces her engagement, you and I can have a nice public breakup, yes? Unless something else comes up along the way and we need a story?”
Ramon knew when to push an advantage and when to simply hold on to one, but it still bothered him as he said, “That sounds appropriate.”
“It will make sense that I leave the company when we part ways. You should talk with Henri about how you plan to replace me.”
A reflexive protest rose, but she was right. He would facilitate her finding a good position as part of her compensation. After a suitable period, if they needed her, they could pull her back.
She cut him a glance and briefly bit her lip. The self-conscious color in her face increased. “Etienne would seem the natural choice for my position. If that’s what you’re thinking, I should disclose something.”
He narrowed his eyes, not wanting to believe what had just leaped into his brain. “Continue.”
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, cleared her throat and smiled flatly. “He expected the promotion into my father’s position. He’s been upset about my receiving it.”
“So? We make our decisions based on what’s best for us.”
“I know, but...” She clicked off her phone. “He worked under my father for the four years I was at school. I’ve never advertised how close I am with your sisters so he doesn’t realize why you chose me. He feels passed over—”
