Page 24 of Consequence of One Reckless Night

Alexandre didn’t care about winning points with his grandfather anymore.

When he ran onto the plank, intent on leaving the yacht, Carlos called out. “If you have even a shred of decency in you, you will set this right, Alexandre! You hear me?”

Alexandre didn’t pause to answer his grandfather. Running to his motorbike, he started it. As the machine purred to life under him, he rang up his security team. “I need a phone number and address,” he growled into his mobile phone.

He already had a team gathering information on Raquel, so within minutes he got her address and phone number and rang her. When she failed to pick up, he muttered a vile curse. Calling up his security team again, he instructed them to send a security detail to Raquel’s home. Then, he set out on the long ride to her home in Benaulim.

On a good day, the ride took close to an hour but with the morning traffic, he was sure it would take him longer to get to the Casa DaCosta where Raquel lived with her family. As he rode past the morning commuters, he wished his would men reach her home before the press turned up. And he knew they would.

Over the years, he’d cultivated a symbiotic relationship with the press. He gave them juicy fodder for the papers, and they earned him the bad boy reputation which infuriated his father’s conservative family.

It had been a sweet deal for him, because he had been the one to set the narrative.

How the press got to know about Raquel and the child, he didn’t know yet, but he would find out. His security team would get him the information, only he didn’t have the luxury of time.

As he weaved his way in and out of traffic, he wondered how Raquel was. Had she seen the papers yet? Had her family?

At a traffic light, he grabbed his phone and hit speed dial, but Leandro also didn’t pick up his call. It frustrated him that his brother wasn’t returning his calls. Leandro would be furious with him, he was certain, and he deserved every bit of vitriol that was sure to come his way. What decent man seduced his brother’s fiancée? A kind woman, an innocent—a virgin—who had surrendered to his persistence.

But she hadn’t put up a token of protest, a small voice reminded him, which he simply brushed away. He had to protect Raquel—and his child. Both from the media furor and the disdain of their families.

He knew what it was like to be in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. His teenage years had been marred by lurid speculations and dirty insinuations—as if the circumstance of his birth was his doing.

He vowed not to let his child be subjected to such notoriety. An innocent child, who came into being because he was selfish enough not to protect himself, or Raquel.

But he would make things right, he pledged.

The bumper-to-bumper traffic thinned as he drew closer to Raquel’s home. But when he turned into the narrow lane which led to the grand estate that was the DaCosta family home, he saw a group of reporters standing outside the ornate gate. His security detail managed to keep the press outside the gate, but Alexandre was sure if the reporters spotted him, they would turn on him.

But he had to get inside the compound and speak with Raquel, who even now, wasn’t answering his calls. Deciding to look around the estate, he pulled down the visor on his helmet, so the reporters wouldn’t recognize him and whizzed past them, and down the lane.

He circled the huge acreage twice before he noticed a woman walking down a steep, narrow path that led away from the estate. Something about the drooped shoulders, prickled the skin at his nape. Deciding to investigate who she was, Alexandre rode toward her.

The woman wore a dark-colored dress with a black stole wrapped tightly around her, disguising the shape of her body. When he drew close, the purr of his Honda motorbike, loud and crisp, made her stop and turn.

Raquel!

“What are you doing here?” That she recognized him even with more than half of his face hidden under the helmet, surprised him but the disapproval in her voice annoyed him.

“What the hell areyoudoing outside?” he growled at her, not caring that she flinched at his tone. “Are you mad to walk around listlessly, while the press lay waiting outside your gates?”

“This is all your doing!” She shot back angrily, pointing a finger—accusing—at him.

“Stop yelling! Just get on the bike.”

“No!” She bristled, throwing her head back.

And that’s when he saw her red-rimmed eyes, the spiked eyelashes, and her terribly pale face. A quick once-over confirmed his suspicion that she was still wearing the dress from last night.

“Have you been crying?”

“What do you think?” she hit back, her eyes flashing with unbanked fury. “Having intimate details about my life splashed across news is cause to celebrate, right?”

“Stop shouting!” he said, switching off his motorbike and climbing off. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her close. “Don’t make a scene. I just want to talk.”

“I have nothing to talk to you about.” Freeing herself from his hold, she turned away.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he followed her. Pushing up the visor of his helmet, he tried a more polite approach. “Raquel, we have things to discuss.”

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