Page 21 of Shock Marriage for the Powerful Spaniard
There was a snazzy black car in the drive and now an attractive blonde in her mid-thirties emerged and walked towards the Range Rover.
‘The ring selection,’ Rafael murmured, reaching across her to snap open the door and pausing before withdrawing his arm that was inches from her breasts. ‘For the love-struck couple, giddy after their whirlwind romance.’
‘Is that what everyone thinks?’
Rafael shrugged. ‘David knows the ins and outs, and Freddy has already begun to make outraged noises, but I’d say the rest of the world probably think that this is the real deal. Why wouldn’t they? I honestly don’t care but it might be easier all round for you to give as few people as little to talk about.’
Sofia was trying hard to concentrate on every word he was saying but her eyes were compulsively looking at his well-defined, sensual mouth and her body was way too aware of that arm of his almost but not quite brushing her breasts.
She barely saw the rings, which were a blur of diamonds and gold, small, glittering objects that mocked all the principles she had ever stood by. They nestled against the black velvet and all she could think wasthis should be for real. In front of them, the attractive blonde was positively throbbing with excitement.
Sofia pointed to the smallest and least ostentatious and felt the light touch of Rafael’s hand cupping the nape of her neck, gently massaging beneath her mane of hair. Time felt suspended. She inhaled and then found it almost impossible to exhale because every nerve in her body, every pulse, was caught in a whirlpool of dark, swirling sensation.
‘Way too small, my darling,’ he murmured, leaning forward, his hand still massaging her neck, to point at a far bigger diamond. Then he drew back and his hand dropped, but only to lightly rest on her waist.
‘Lucky you,’ the blonde whispered when the ordeal was at an end and rings had been selected, ready for adjustments before the big day.
‘Oh, yes.’ Sofia glanced to where Rafael was now standing to one side, on his phone talking work, safely out of range of her rebellious body. ‘I’m the luckiest girl in the world.’
As she said that, he looked at her, dark eyes tangling with bright green, and hot colour crawled into her cheeks.
Did she look like a genuine blushing bride-to-be? She hoped not and, to dispel any such illusion, she stood up briskly, smile pinned to her face, and ushered the woman out. Then she asked whether she could explore her surroundings.
‘Take your time,’ Rafael drawled. ‘I have some work to do. I’ll be in the kitchen.’
He vanished through one of the opened doors towards the back and Sofia knew that this was how it was going to be until such time as the marriage drew to its inevitable conclusion, leaving her a rich woman free to go her own way.
She did as told and explored. She took her time and, in the process, she fell in love with the sprawling, well-decorated house. She never imagined that she would actually live in a place like this. The proportions of the rooms were perfect, the muted tones exquisite, the furnishings luxurious. Whatever she’d traded, whatever dreams she’d locked away, she knew that the deal done had given her all sorts of advantages she could never, ever have achieved on her own.
She didn’t even have to pretend to be head-over-heels in love with Rafael. Mutual respect was what was on the table.
And what, exactly, had she left behind? Her infrastructure in Argentina had been almost non-existent thanks to all the travelling she’d done with her mother over the years. She’d lost touch with school friends. She only had her aunt and her cousin. Her heart constricted when she thought about them because she would miss them but, as she’d told Misa, it wasn’t going to be for ever and she would be able to do so much for Miguel.
‘Love isn’t the be all and end all,’ she had said with genuine honesty. ‘Mum had her heart broken because of love and then spent the rest of her life trying to relocate it and failing. Life would have been a lot easier if she’d just focused on...other things. Financial security. A steady job.’
She had already set up a standing order and had told her aunt to start looking around for a better property, suitably adapted for Miguel. She’d explained the situation, the practicalities of it. She had fought down the lump in her throat that somehow her aunt would be disappointed she had told herself that this was what mattered. Not big dreams of fairy-tale romances but the solid advantages of financial security.
She still believed all of that and it was frustrating to find herself doubting those long-held convictions.
On the spur of the moment, she dialled her aunt’s number, gently pushing the door to the upstairs bedroom behind her.
The minute Rafael had come clean about his intentions, she had slammed down the shutters and any temptation to confide further details of her private life had screeched to a halt.
She’d always been so protective of her privacy and she had been appalled that she’d begun opening up to a complete stranger who had turned out to be a fraud.
Her aunt answered on the first ring and, just like that, Sofia was transported back to Buenos Aires and the gruelling, repetitive life Misa led, doing her utmost to make everything more comfortable for Miguel.
It was a life that was so different from the one she now found herself transported to that it was scarcely believable.
In a low voice, smiling when she thought of all the possibilities that would open up to the only relative she knew and someone she loved, Sofia described the very house in which she was standing, describing the trip over and the car that had collected her. She peered through the window, down to a rambling garden that matched the house.
Trees fringed the back and beyond those trees were rolling fields. Borders of flowers and shrubs were artfully entwined and under a drooping willow was a wooden bench, perfect for reading.
Still smiling, she turned to find Rafael standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes cool and speculative.
She ended the call, flushing and annoyed with herself, because she had nothing to feel guilty about and yet she did.
‘Personal call?’ he asked, strolling into the room and joining her by the window through which he peered absently before turning around to look at her. ‘Call you felt you had to make with the door shut?’
