Читать книгу Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires - Rebecca Winters - Страница 45

RIGO BRACED BOTH hands on the marble countertop of the master bathroom. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled in one long burst in an effort to alleviate his tension. That kiss had been planned because he knew a candid shot would get them on the front page. But his reaction had taken him completely by surprise.

He was stressed—that was the only logical answer for a grown man having to fight off his libido after one kiss. Even as a hormone-addled teenager in boarding school he had been the most rational and in control of his peers.

Scowling at his reflection in the mirror, he decided a long cold shower was in order, to clear his brain. He unbuttoned his shirt and folded it neatly into the linen basket, doing the same with his trousers. He had just removed his boxer shorts when the door to the bathroom swung open unexpectedly.

Nicole’s eyes lowered, taking in his state of undress briefly, before she spun on her heel to face the other way.

‘Oh, God… I’m sorry!’ she groaned, covering her mouth with her hand.

Rigo fought the urge to laugh at her innocent reaction to his naked body. She was far from a shy virgin—that much he knew for sure.

‘Nothing here you haven’t seen before,’ he drawled, taking pleasure from her evident discomfort. ‘There’s no need to play the maiden.’

‘I’m not playing anything.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘And it’s not appropriate for you to keep…alluding to events in the past that we both want to forget.’

‘Does it unsettle you to think of our night together?’ He took a couple of steps forward, the urge to reach out and draw her against him again was almost painful.

Nicole turned around to face him, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture that couldn’t say have said ‘no’ any louder if she had screamed it.

‘It’s better if we don’t talk to each other that way, that’s all,’ she said, keeping her eyes trained firmly above his chin. ‘I just need to get my things and I’ll go to the other bathroom.’ She gestured to the items spread haphazardly across the countertop.

‘No, I’ll go.’ Rigo moved past her in the doorway, noticing her body tense as his arm brushed hers. It seemed she was wound just as tightly as he was.

‘Thank you.’ She quickly gathered her nightclothes from a drawer, disappearing into the bathroom without another look back at him.

Rigo abandoned his plan for a cold shower, deciding that maybe a cold Scotch might serve him better. He had just eased a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants over his hips when a loud bang came from inside the bathroom.

‘Is everything okay?’ He paused, his fingers on the handle.

The sound of rustling fabric and a delicate female grunt could be heard through the thin panel of wood between them.

‘Do you need help?’ he asked, hoping to hell that the answer was no.

‘I’m fine,’ she called out, but her breathing was definitely laboured.

Moments passed before the door opened and Nicole appeared dressed in a simple pink nightie. Her hair was deliciously ruffled, and Rigo tried to look away—but not before he noticed an angry red welt snaking down her shoulder blade.

‘Madre di Dio, what happened in there?’ Rigo looked past her, noting the bottles of lotions and potions scattered along the counter and on the floor in disarray.

‘Nothing, I just slipped. I think I ripped my dress,’ she said sheepishly, holding up a pile of red fabric.

He reached out, touching the reddened skin on her shoulder. ‘I’m more worried about your arm than the damned dress. Would you honestly rather risk splitting your head open than ask for some help?’

‘Who knew independent dress removal was so dangerous, huh?’ She shrugged away from his touch. ‘I’ll survive, I reckon.’

She moved past him, hanging up the torn dress. ‘I would try to sew it myself, but I’m terrible at anything that requires precision.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ He pointedly eyed her shoes on the floor.

‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ She placed a hand on her hip.

‘You’ve unleashed a minitornado in my bathroom, for one.’ He gestured to the array of bottles and brushes scattered all around his usually pristine bathroom.

‘That’s different. I fell. But I just don’t care if everything is lined up correctly. I’ve noticed you are freakishly neat. I’m almost afraid to touch anything in the closet.’

‘I like organisation.’ He shrugged.

‘Well, I am more organised chaos.’ She grabbed a pair of fluffy pink socks, slipping them onto her feet.

It was strange, seeing her this way. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman in actual nightwear. But then again, he’d never lived with a woman before. He’d spent the night with former girlfriends, of course. But none had ever gone without make-up, and their nighties had left a lot less to the imagination.

Nicole’s cheeks were flushed from her scuffle with the dress zipper, the rest of her skin flawlessly pale against the contrast of the dark waves of her hair. The nightie she wore skimmed just across her knee—hardly an instrument of seduction. And yet the sight of her full breasts curving against the soft cotton made his libido roar to life once more.

‘This is the kind of thing that can end a marriage, you know,’ Nicole joked, intruding on his less than innocent thoughts. At his puzzled look she continued, grabbing her hastily discarded shoes from the floor and looking for a place for them. ‘My mother left her third husband because he chewed too loudly.’ She shook her head. ‘She said it made her want to poison his food.’

Rigo raised a brow, watching with trepidation as she moved a few items around in the walk-in closet area. ‘So my tidiness will be the cause of our divorce?’ he asked.

‘That’s if I don’t drive you insane with my mess first.’

‘You seem very fixated on the eventuality of our marriage ending,’ Rigo said, watching as the smile died on her lips.

‘Why would you have had a prenup arranged if you didn’t expect a certain outcome?’ she countered, stepping out of the closet and closing the door behind her. ‘I’ve been to enough of my mother’s weddings to know not to be naive. Marriages end, Rigo. It’s just the way things go sometimes.’

Rigo moved towards her. ‘And when this inevitably ends, what will you do then?’ he asked, surprised that he genuinely wanted to know the answer.

‘Will I move on to another rich husband like my mother did, do you mean?’ She pondered for a moment. ‘Or perhaps you are the beginning and end of my illustrious career?’

He stepped closer, angry at her for once again twisting his words. But he soon realised his mistake. He stood still, feeling the pull of her scent, seeing the telltale dilation of her pupils as she looked up at him. He could just take her to bed and let them both give in to this angry heat between them. She wanted it just as badly. He could tell by the way she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

His hand trailed along her jaw. Their bodies were separated by a mere inch of space. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, small and pale against his olive-toned skin. He encircled the indentation of her waist, feeling the smooth curve under his fingertips. He wanted nothing more than to tear every piece of clothing off her and see if his memories of her naked body were simply an exaggeration of the brain.

Three long breaths passed with them both standing still before she finally stepped away. He almost groaned with the mixture of relief he felt mingled with crushing disappointment.

She pushed a tendril of dark hair away from her face. ‘This is just a result of us being forced into close quarters.’ She sat on the bed, tucking her fluffy sock–covered feet underneath her. ‘I’m going to sleep.’

Rigo blinked, trying to convince his body to follow the same path as his mind. There was no way in hell he would get to sleep anytime soon. His breathing was still heavy—as was hers. He could see the flush on her cheeks as she lay down and pulled the covers hurriedly over herself.

‘I’ve got some work to do,’ he said gruffly, needing to put some distance between himself and her beguiling presence. ‘I’ll likely be gone tomorrow before you wake, but Alberto will be on hand if you need anything.’ He left the room, trying not to dwell on the way her skin looked, so pale and inviting against the black sheets.

Why her ease in laying down boundaries should bother him, he didn’t know. He had done the same thing, hadn’t he? He should be grateful that she wasn’t blatantly pursuing him to try to gain more leverage in their situation…

An impromptu trip to New York had taken longer than anticipated, making it almost a week before Rigo stepped back on French soil. Having already changed into his evening suit on the jet, Rigo entered the apartment with barely ten minutes to spare before they were scheduled to leave for their engagement party.

The middle-aged nanny stood in the living room, holding Anna in her arms. The baby was smiling, clearly content in the older woman’s arms.

‘Monsieur Marchesi.’ With a smile she walked over to him, gesturing for him to take the child from her arms.

Rigo shook his head. ‘I’ve actually got a call to make.’ He made to move away, but the woman just smiled and placed the child gently in his arms before he could protest further.

‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ She looked down at the little girl. ‘Just look how happy she is to be in Papa’s arms.’

Rigo was frozen as the nanny disappeared into the kitchen. His arms felt awkward. The child barely weighed anything and yet he felt as though he held a solid boulder against his chest. What was he doing here? This was exactly why he’d been avoiding the apartment. He should have just collected Nicole at the door, as he’d planned.

Anna looked up at him with blue eyes just like his own, full of curiosity. She reached out to grab the shining satin of his tie, pulling it out of place and frowning. She was a serious child. Rigo felt an urge to laugh at her tenacity, but breathed out with relief as the nanny finally returned, holding a bottle of milk. He returned the curious blue-eyed bundle to the woman, murmuring something about his call, before stepping out to the peace and seclusion of the terrace.

He leaned forward on the balustrade, feeling the breath hiss out from between his clenched teeth. The evening light was fading and a handful of stars were emerging in the sky above the iconic Eiffel Tower in the distance. Normally this spectacular view would calm him after even the most hectic of days. But at that moment it did nothing to calm the quiet demons of his past threatening to escape from the corners of his subconscious.

He had thought his biggest problem was keeping his own inconvenient attraction to Nicole at bay, but it seemed he had entirely avoided coming up with a plan to deal with the fact that he was a father. His daughter was a Marchesi through and through—that much was now clear. Whether or not he had ignored the similarities at first, he wasn’t sure. But in the handful of times he had seen her since she’d arrived in his life he had become increasingly drawn to her.

He had meant it when he’d told Nicole that he planned to play a part in his child’s life. But as to how to begin playing that part, he had no idea. How did one apologise to an infant for missing the first six months of her life?

Rigo ran a hand across his jaw, feeling the tension in his muscles weighing down on him like lead in his bones. All he had to do was get through the next few weeks until their wedding was over. Then they could set about living separate lives. Perhaps that would be better for the child than having a virtual stranger unsettle her by trying to play daddy.

He shook his head, banishing all other thoughts from his brain. He had to be on the ball tonight. This engagement party was a chance for the company to publicly put the rumours to rest. Three hundred high-profile guests would be joining them to celebrate their union, and the Marchesi Group would be front and centre, taking the opportunity to capitalise on the exposure.

His plan had been a success from the moment the first picture of their kiss had hit the tabloids. Pictures of Nicole’s ring had gone viral and she had been immediately scrutinised, with full spreads about her past as a child star and her subsequent struggles as an actress being dug up. But for the most part the spin had been a positive one. The media was abuzz with this unexpected turn of events, and the company’s shareholders had immediately seen dollar signs.

For a fashion house there really was no better publicity than their figurehead’s very public no-expenses-spared wedding. His own team had taken full control of the event, with him only having to sign off on venues and entertainment without much of a second glance. The date had been booked and the paperwork prepared. Once tonight was through, the whole world would be on tenterhooks, waiting to follow Europe’s most talked-about couple down the aisle.

Having never previously allowed the press access to his personal life, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t intrusive. But it was necessary. Once their wedding had passed they would revert back to making selective outings as a couple, keeping Anna under a complete protection order from the media.

‘I wasn’t sure you were going to arrive.’

Nicole’s voice drifted from behind him and Rigo turned, his eyes widening as he took in the beautiful woman standing in the open doorway. She was breathtaking.

The dark waves of her hair were swept back to one side in a fashion that reminded him of old Hollywood. Her eyes seemed sultry and more intense, and a luscious red colour enhanced her full mouth. His throat slowly dried as he appreciated the way her light blue dress seemed to showcase every single delicious curve of her body. He vaguely recognised it as one of the exclusive pieces from their upcoming haute couture autumn line—an exquisite concoction of powder-blue lace and shimmering crystals. The overall effect was mesmerising.

His pulse quickened as he noticed the provocatively sheer panel that ran from the middle of her thigh to just below her knee. He cleared his throat, realising she was looking at him expectantly and he hadn’t yet spoken.

‘I would never stand my fiancée up.’ He looked down at his watch. ‘When I said seven I didn’t mean it with military precision.’

‘It’s hard to be late with a team of make-up artists and hairdressers.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you for organising that, by the way.’

Rigo shrugged. ‘You need to make an impression tonight.’ He looked down at those endless legs once again, feeling his jaw tighten in response. ‘We need to leave now.’ He brushed past her, momentarily surrounded by the sweet scent of her perfume before powering across the living room to the doorway. Nicole took a moment to speak with the nanny before following him with a puzzled look in her eyes.

He didn’t care if she was upset at his lack of pandering compliments. This might be their engagement party, but it wasn’t a date. And the less comfortable they were around each other until their wedding was over, the better.

Nicole held her breath as the car pulled to a stop. Bright lights flashed rhythmically against the one-way windows. Rigo finally ended the call he had been on for the entire journey just as the chauffeur opened the door.

Plastering on her best smile, she stepped out behind her fiancé, accepting his arm as support as they headed into the fray.

Cameras flashed from all directions as they stopped on the bottom steps of the hotel to pose for the photographers. Questions were fired at them in loud streams of French, Italian and English. Some were innocent, enquiring about their upcoming nuptials and about the dress she wore this evening. But one particular journalist took no time in going in for the kill.

‘How does it feel to have nabbed a billionaire, Miss Duvalle?’ she asked acidly. ‘Your mother must be very proud.’

Nicole kept her smile frozen in place, ignoring the attempt at provocation. Her skin prickled where Rigo’s hand lay at the base of her spine. She stole a glance at him. He was effortlessly casual, wearing the same smile he used for all the press. They were directing questions at him, too, mostly about the recent jump in sales of Marchesi prêt-à-porter range and the subsequent rise in stock prices. No one asked him about his sexual past, or made assumptions about his character. They treated him like a person. They respected him.

She focused on smiling for the cameras, moving her body so that they got good shots of the dress.

‘You seem very covered up, Nicole.’ A young male journalist smirked. ‘Has your fiancé decided to take your risqué dress sense in hand?’

‘Do you still have an alcohol problem?’ another called out.

‘How do you plan to shed all that baby weight for your wedding?’

Nicole swallowed hard as the barbs kept on coming. The PR team had been clear on the questions they should answer and the ones they should ignore. But it seemed the more that she ignored their assaults, the harder they pushed.

Rigo just sailed through without a scratch, but she felt as if she was fourteen again, being thrust in front of the paparazzi like a juicy steak to a pack of starving dogs. They all wanted a piece of the golden widow’s daughter. They wanted her to be just as scandalous as her mother.

‘What about the baby, Nicole? Who gets the magazine spread for little Anna?’

Nicole froze.

‘Who asked that question?’ she called out, unable to control her response.

Her voice was drowned out in the sea of noise. Rigo held her arm tighter, trying to steer her further along the line, but Nicole stood firm.

‘Who was it?’ she asked again, her voice a little louder. ‘There will be no talk of my child—do you understand?’

She was vaguely aware of Rigo’s hand sliding around her waist, her body being turned towards him before his mouth was next to her ear.

‘Smile and walk, Nicole,’ he whispered harshly, his breath fanning against her neck.

She shivered in response, her teeth scraping her bottom lip as she fought the mad urge to nestle against him and drown out the poisonous din that surrounded them.

She gave one final wide smile before letting Rigo guide her away from the flashes and up the wide stone staircase of the hotel. Once they were safely inside and away from prying eyes, he turned to her with barely controlled frustration.

‘You almost lost it out there,’ he warned, his voice a low rumble. Anyone walking by would think they were lovers, whispering sweet nothings to one another.

‘I held it together,’ she said quietly.

‘Barely.’ He reached a hand under her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. ‘You need to practise your poker face.’

‘You’re saying it doesn’t affect you when they speak your daughter’s name? When they talk about her as though she is a commodity to be speculated upon?’

‘It’s their job,’ he gritted. ‘You need to grow a thicker skin.’

Nicole shook her head in disbelief. Of course he didn’t care about Anna. All he cared about was how this sham of a relationship affected his stock prices.

She stepped back from him, letting his hand fall from its place on her chin and regaining a little of her composure. ‘I just don’t want them talking about my child. I don’t care what they think of me.’

She walked past him, powering ahead towards the elevator that would take them to their party on the top floor.

Rigo fell into step behind her. ‘Maybe just try to pretend that you’re happy to be here?’

Nicole fought the urge to roll her eyes, pinning her best smile back in place and focusing on maintaining as little physical contact with her infuriating companion as was humanly possible.

Once they reached the opulent grand ballroom and greeted their A-list guests, that task became significantly more difficult. With each new introduction Rigo took to draping his muscular arm lightly around her waist in a display of confident possession. His seductive smile and hooded looks were certainly for show, and yet she felt her pulse quicken with every change in the pressure of his fingers through the lace of her dress.

A man stepped casually in front of her, leaning forward to drop a light punch on Rigo’s arm. Nicole stepped back, the gesture catching her off guard. Rigo didn’t seem fazed at all by the action. In fact he practically beamed as recognition dawned.

‘Fratello! You made it after all.’ He turned to embrace the man, clapping his hand roughly around his shoulders. After a moment he stepped back, circling his arm around her waist once more. ‘Nicole, this is Valerio—my brother.’

Nicole offered her hand and a polite smile, trying to ignore the coldness in her future brother-in-law’s gaze. Apart from the blue eyes, the brothers were very different. Rigo was tall and athletic, whereas Valerio was more hulking and broad. But they definitely shared the ability to make a woman feel thoroughly disapproved of.

‘I thought at least one member of our family should be present at your big announcement.’ Valerio turned back to Rigo without another glance in her direction.

‘Will your parents not be joining us tonight?’ Nicole turned to Rigo.

‘They’re currently on a schooner cruise in the Indian Ocean,’ he explained. ‘They will return in time for the wedding.’

Nicole nodded, biting her lip. If his brother was openly disapproving, she dreaded to think what his mother would be like.

Nicole looked around at the throng of people staring at them, their hushed conversations and averted looks doing little to disguise their blatant curiosity. They were all wondering the same thing: Why were they here? It was public knowledge that Rigo Marchesi was a self-professed bachelor. Now all of a sudden he had a fiancée and a six-month-old daughter and the world was supposed to not blink an eyelid. The ridiculousness of it suddenly became too much. She needed a drink—or three.

Rigo watched as Nicole made her way across the room towards the bar. She had excused herself politely but he had felt the tension building in her from the moment they’d entered the room. She was on edge—but then so was he.

‘So, your fiancée…?’ Valerio’s smile didn’t quite meet his eyes as he took a long sip of his whisky. ‘What has it been? A whole week of courtship?’

‘What can I say, little brother? When you know, you know.’ Rigo shrugged.

‘This whole situation is like history repeating itself. Are you sure the child is even yours?’ Valerio lowered his voice.

‘I’m not even going to grace that question with an answer.’ Rigo’s jaw tightened.

‘I know you haven’t told Mamma yet. Just because they’re in the middle of the ocean doesn’t mean she hasn’t got a satellite phone glued to her side.’

‘I thought it best to wait until they had finished their trip.’

‘You’re afraid to tell her.’ Valerio smirked. ‘I would be, too. After you jumped into proposing to the last one.’

Rigo felt every muscle in his body tense at his younger brother’s reminder of a time when he had been younger and infinitely more naive. He resisted the urge to throw him down and fight it out, as they had as boys. Maybe he would postpone that for the future…in a less crowded place.

‘No more talk of that—not tonight.’ Rigo motioned to a waiter to bring him another drink. ‘We are here to toast my beautiful fiancée.’

He raised his voice so that the men and women surrounding them joined in, thus cutting off their intimate conversation.

Taking a deep breath, Nicole ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and stopped to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. It didn’t take long for her company to be monopolised by the other guests. Everyone wanted to know more about the woman who had finally snared the elusive Rigo Marchesi.

Rigo’s PR team had advised her to stick to the essentials and avoid awkward questions about their time apart. After a few minutes she felt her nerves melt away. Suddenly she found herself almost enjoying the pretence. She talked about her fiancé with the compulsory flowery endearments, referring to their relationship with all of the expected love-struck excitement of a newly engaged woman.

After the third time reciting the story she almost started to believe it herself.

How wonderful would it be if this were actually true? She sipped from a flute of champagne and listened as the group of women surrounding her gushed about her ring. What would it be like to be actually engaged to Rigo Marchesi? If this had truly been a celebration of their love with their closest family and friends? What would it be like to be the woman who held all of his attention?

As she began to describe their fictional proposal story for a fourth time she became aware of a commotion at the doors of the ballroom. A woman burst in, her shrill voice cutting across the soft music of the jazz band.

‘This is my daughter’s party, you buffoon!’ she exclaimed in a thick London accent, turning a hasty smile on the crowd of hushed guests. ‘Look at your bloody list again.’

A guard quickly appeared beside Goldie Duvalle, speaking in hushed tones into her ear. Whatever he said made her ageing features twist with distaste.

As though in slow motion, her mother’s trademark red talons lashed out and struck the guard on the jaw.

Nicole prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her at that moment. She looked across the ballroom to Rigo, watching as he nodded briefly to the security guard. The man backed away, clutching his red cheek, as Goldie scanned the crowd and easily spotted her.

‘There you are, my love.’ She rushed forward in her sky-high heels and her daringly low-cut neckline, crushing Nicole into a dramatic embrace.

‘Mother, what are you doing here?’ Nicole kept her voice low, pulling away from the obnoxious display of maternal affection.

‘I’m here to celebrate your engagement with the rest of these people.’ Goldie smiled brightly. ‘I’m going to presume my invitation got lost in the post and speak no more of it.’

Nicole cleared her throat, silently thanking the band for playing a louder tune to smooth over the awkward interruption. ‘I didn’t invite you, and you know why.’

Goldie’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Let’s not give in to dramatics on such a wonderful occasion, my love.’ She took Nicole’s hand in her own, squeezing it in a ridiculously maternal gesture. ‘I decided it was past time to make up after our little spat. I wouldn’t want to miss my only daughter’s wedding over a silly misunderstanding.’

Nicole felt her jaw clench. A misunderstanding? She strengthened her resolve not to lower herself to her mother’s level. She was the hostess tonight after all, and she had to play her part.

‘If you want to stay—fine. I’m not going to draw any more attention to you by kicking you out, so enjoy the festivities. You have already disrupted the party more than enough.’

She had hoped to make a calm exit, but she should have known her mother would never make things that easy for her. Her mother’s eyes hardened pointedly in a way she knew all too well.

‘Disrupted?’ Goldie raised her voice. Both perfectly plucked brows rose in astonishment. ‘I’m hardly a wayward child. I just wanted to see my daughter—is that such a bad thing?’

Nicole felt her control snap. ‘It’s been more than a year since we last spoke. You’ve never even met your own granddaughter.’

Her mother grasped her hand painfully to stop her from walking away, her eyes filling with tears. ‘You’re right, darling, I’ve been awful. But you need to understand—you wouldn’t listen to me.’

Nicole grabbed her hand back, massaging her wrist where her mother’s nails had dug in. ‘You were angry that I wouldn’t sell my story to the press. Nothing more and nothing less.’

‘I was worried about you! I couldn’t have my only daughter throwing away her future. Planning to raise that child alone when you could have lived in luxury.’ She shook her head. ‘But thankfully that argument is null and void now…’

Her mother took a deep breath, a bright smile breaking across her ageing features.

‘Just look at you. My Nicole—engaged to a billionaire, living in his penthouse… I’m glad to see you didn’t let your silly principles get in the way of common sense.’

Nicole felt nauseated at the look of approval on her mother’s face. ‘Are you trying to say that I wanted this?’

‘Of course you didn’t.’ Goldie laughed. ‘Not openly. You’re proud, just like your father was—God rest his soul. You’re just lucky you have me looking out for you, making it easier for you to do the sensible thing.’

Nicole looked at her mother’s smile, feeling a ball of cold dread sink to the pit of her stomach as it all clicked into place. She had been so blind, not wanting to believe her mother could be capable of something so cold. But no one else knew who Anna’s father was.

Goldie continued, unaware of any problem. ‘You are a mother now—you know what it is to only want the best for your daughter.’ She nabbed a flute of champagne from a nearby tray, downing it in one go. ‘There’s no need to thank me for my efforts. Lord knows I never thought the fool would propose, of all things, so I can’t take credit for that. All I ask is that you hold on to him now that you’ve got your claws in.’

She winked, and that one gesture sent Nicole over the edge.

‘It was you.’ Her voice sounded hollow and shrill in her ears. ‘You gave that interview, didn’t you?’

‘Don’t worry, it was anonymous—not a soul will ever know.’

‘I will know!’ She forced the words out, the emotion building in her throat. ‘How could you?’

‘Don’t act as if I’m the villain here.’ Goldie wagged a finger in Nicole’s face. ‘We both know I’ve done you a favour. I mean, what else could you do with your career history but marry for money? It’s like our little family business.’ She laughed weakly, stopping when Nicole’s expression darkened. ‘All I wanted was a normal life for my daughter…’

Nicole swallowed hard. It was futile to try to explain the concept of normality to her mother—a woman who had strived for superstardom from the moment she’d left home to be a model at sixteen. It was always going to be about what Goldie wanted. Nothing else mattered. She couldn’t deal with her mother’s narcissistic logic right now.

Her mother’s smile changed swiftly and Nicole became aware of a warm, muscular hand settling on her hip. A scent that she had rapidly come to identify as his enveloped her, wrapping her in its warmth. She avoided his eyes, finding herself suddenly unable to look at him for fear he might somehow see her shame. Rigo already believed the worst of her, and once he found out that her mother had been the catalyst behind this whole mess he would never believe that she’d had no involvement.

‘Mrs Duvalle, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.’ Rigo smiled, taking Goldie’s hand briefly.

Nicole was almost sick at the look of blatant female appreciation on her mother’s face as she allowed her red-painted fingernails to rest briefly on Rigo’s forearm.

‘Soon to be Miss Duvalle, I’m afraid.’ She blinked once. Twice. A sheen of moisture appeared in her eyes. ‘Husband number seven was not so lucky after all. Unless you count his getting lucky with anyone but his wife.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Rigo’s voice was sincere, and his hand still splayed casually across Nicole’s hip.

Nicole ignored the sensations his hand threatened to evoke and swallowed past the choking lump now forming in her throat at her mother’s words.

So that was why her mother had waited until now to out her daughter’s story to the tabloids. Her private life had been nothing more than a damned insurance policy for when Goldie’s latest marriage went belly-up.

‘I’m much more interested in your good news.’ Goldie touched Rigo’s arm once more. ‘I had hoped that we might all celebrate together privately…as a family.’ She simpered.

That was it for Nicole. She couldn’t stand there one more moment and listen to her mother’s empty words. She removed Rigo’s hand from her side and quickly excused herself, walking towards the nearest doors with as much speed as she could muster. The anger she felt, the pain at her mother’s betrayal, it was all too much. She needed to escape.