Page 61 of It Takes Three To Tango

“Would there be enough to set up on my own? Start my own business?” He laughs at the prospect.

“Easily, I’d say,” Constantin agrees.

Florencio holds up a lace bustier. “This is a genuine Dior. My friend Coco would kill for this.” With care, he packs it away again.

“What are they?” I ask, pointing to a few boxes he’s put aside.

“They’re for me,” he says with a slow smile.

“To wear?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice and am immediately embarrassed. Of course, Florencio can wear whatever he likes, but women’s lingerie causes some sort of snag in my brain. Years of unconscious bias can’t be undone in a few short weeks. “Shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Not everyone likes jockstraps and tighty-whities, though I appreciate a guy in them as much as anyone. But to wear, I much prefer something like this.” He holds up a cami set in the richest dark red silk I’ve ever seen.

I hear a sharp intake of breath and look to see Constantin lick his lips, his eyes dark and swirling.

“See? Con approves.” Florencio flashes me a quick grin. “We should find something for you.”

“Me? No, I don’t think I?—”

“If you were both wearing those, I don’t think I’d be able to let you leave the room... ever.” Constantin’s voice is gravelly and my cock twitches, thickening slightly. How is him being turned on at the thought of me in silk so arousingto me? Surely that’s not possible. But a turned-on Constantin is a delicious thought.

“We’d better take these back to our rooms, then,” Florencio announces, standing, picking up the boxes, and adding another one to the pile. “I have something perfect for you,” he whispers in my ear, but looks at Constantin as he says it.

“Is that drool?” he says playfully to Constantin as he walks past him, causing Constantin to chuckle and roll his eyes.

We’re passing through the lobby back to our rooms on the other side of the house when there’s a knock at the door. Florencio frowns and hands me the boxes he’s carrying while he goes to answer it.

“Who can it be at this hour?”

With the feather boa still draped round his neck, he opens the door to an elegantly dressed but tired-looking woman with straight black hair.

“Hello, Florrie. Are you going to invite me in, then?”

“I didn’t think he’d actually send her,” I grind out for the umpteenth time as I pace the kitchen where Rafe is making pancakes for breakfast. My sister arriving on the doorstep late last night was a shock I still haven’t recovered from.

Last night’s conversation didn’t go well, and after I showed her to a room—because even though this isn’t my house and I don’t want her here I’m not going to leave my sister on the doorstep—I crawled into bed with a headache. I even slept in my own room, not seeking out the others, which I now regret because I’m jittery. Rafe catches me as I walk past and presses me against the countertop, bracketing me with his arms.

“Stop and breathe for a minute,” he says. “I know this isn’t ideal, but what can she actually do?”

“I don’t know,” I whine, and Rafe gives me a little smile. My heart jumps because he never seems to mind if I’m being dramatic or, as I am right now, pathetic. I wish I could tellhim how much I love him. I would if I thought he might even half love me back. But I can’t think of that right now. I take a few deep breaths, and he patiently waits for me to recover.

“Okay, probably nothing,” I concede. It’s true she’s not going to discover any more than I did about our aunt’s will, but that isn’t the point. He sent her and that’s enough to send me spiralling. Every step of my life, it’s been “Martina can do this,” and “look how well Martina can do that.” She’s the chosen one. In the end, I gave up trying. I was never going to come close to her in achievement or his affection, so why bother? So the fact she’s here speaks volumes.

“Good, that’s better,” Rafe says, and I take another deep breath, inhaling the citrus and vanilla of him, using it to ground me. It almost works.

“Except drag me home,” I wail piteously.

“Really?” Rafe asks, his mouth twisting with incredulity. “Your sister, who let’s face it is the same height and weight as you, can physically make you board a plane you don’t want to get on?”

“Well, when you say it like that.” I give in disgracefully and peevishly.

“What’s this really about?” His tone is gentle.

“My sister has always been the shining example, the heights I could never attain. I thought she used to be shown as a way to make me try harder, but I think it was just a way of showing me how much of a failure I am.” I hang my head.

“Hey.” He lifts my chin up and looks into my eyes. “You’re not a failure, you’re anything but.” He kisses me softly. “You’re smart and funny and sexy as hell. You’re generous, a brilliant dancer and teacher, and an amazing cook.” He kisses me again and my stomach flips. “You’re really special to me and I?—”

“Well, isn’t this sweet?” Martina’s voice cuts through whatever Rafe was about to say, and right now I want to sliceher head off as I’m sure he was going to say he loved me, or something close to it. Close enough for me.

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