Page 26 of Consequence of One Reckless Night

Frowning, she got off the motorbike and glanced at the gleaming yacht docked at the marina.

“Come.” He held out a hand to her and she took it after a minute’s deliberation, not missing the way his lips tightened at her reluctance to touch him.

She walked quietly behind him, aware of the tight grip of his hand around hers. Going up a plank, they boarded the gleaming vessel where, at once, he led her down into the darker, cooler interior of the yacht.

She stared—dumbstruck, at the opulence around her. Every surface was pristine white, and—gleaming, with not a speck of dust anywhere. The furniture was a mix of brown and white, the lights a lovely pearly white, with beautiful portholes providing a stunning view of the sea around them.

Alexandre gestured at a plush sofa in white, where she sat, perched gingerly on the edge.

“This is a beautiful vessel,” she whispered in awe, looking at the light fixtures on the ceiling which doused the cabin in a lovely glow.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “This is yours?” Her eyes were wide saucers in her face, and her expression—a mix of surprise and awe—made his lips twitch.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Her lips formed an O as she fell silent. Who was this man, she wondered, who rode around on what was obviously an expensive motorbike and owned a yacht? Looking back at him, she wondered if she knew anything at all about this man.

“Who made you cry?”

Her eyes slid away from his and she sat looking out of the porthole, at the beautiful sea that gleamed in the sunlight. “The stress got to me,” she replied, bleakly.

But it wasn’t just the stress that had made her cry.

Distraught by their disastrous conversation the previous night, she had stormed out of the Monteiro mansion, not caring that her behavior had shocked not only Leandro but her family, too. Sylvia had been furious at her rude exit, while Tahlia was highly suspicious of her reaction to Alexandre, but she hadn’t been in the mood to explain her actions to anyone. Upon reaching home, she locked herself up in her room, where she’d fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning only to be roused rudely with a loud bang on the door.

Raquel shuddered, remembering what had followed.

Sylvia’s scream of horror. Her accusations. “How could you do such a disgusting thing—sleeping with the brother of your own fiancé?” her mother had cried with disbelief.

“A reprobate,” Tahlia had added bitterly. “A shameless playboy.”

And the diatribe had continued.

“He’s a bastard,” her mother had flung viciously, “born out of a torrid affair that even his father didn’t acknowledge!”

“God knows how many women he’s slept with.” Her sister’s words had only added fuel to the fire.

But she had remained silent through it all. What should she have said? Refuted everything the paper had printed? Would that have helped?

So she walked out of her house. Sylvia was flummoxed by her lack of reaction. But Tahlia had run after her, asking her where she was going.

“I need some air,” she’d replied and walked out of her house, spending several minutes in the garden, wondering what to do next, when her mobile phone buzzed in the pocket of her dress.

It was from the school where she was a violin teacher. The principal, Rev. Sister Marion had been curt. “We have to let you go, Raquel.” The nun known for being blunt, didn’t hold back any punches. “We run a girls’ school. I simply cannot have a teacher with such a questionable reputation on my staff. I expect your resignation in a week’s time.”

She remembered hurling her phone against a mango tree, which shattered on impact, just like her life had. With one damning newspaper article, she had not only lost her privacy, but she’d lost her job, too.

Raquel slid down to the carpeted floor, the stole slid off her head, her long hair spilling all around her like a thick curtain. Gathering her knees to her chest, she rested her head against her knees. Tears flowed incessantly as she rocked herself not even stopping when Alexandre fell to his knees beside her.

“Raquel.” He shook her. “Talk to me. Tell me who hurt you.”

“No one,” she denied, raising her eyes to meet his when he tipped her face up. “At least not physically.”

“I’m sorry.”

His sincere apology, calmly given, broke her heart and she flung herself into his arms, her hands clawing into his back as she held onto him, hoping—praying, that he too, wouldn’t abandon her at such a difficult time.

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